Page 8 of Fatal Love
Bastards.
Still petting Maggie with one hand, he closed off the black hole that sucked at him every time he thought of the terrorist group.
Bzzz-bzzz. The phone on Sabrina’s end rang again. It was Saturday night. A beautiful, smart, hip gal like her couldn’t possibly still be working this late on a Saturday night, could she?
“Conmeister?” Her voice was rough and sexy, like he’d woken her from a nap. He heard her yawn. “It’s nearly two a.m. What are you still doing at the main desk?”
God Almighty, he hated it when people called him nicknames—flashbacks to fifth grade and Derek Martin calling him Connie always made him want to punch a wall. But hearing any version of his name coming from Sabrina’s luscious mouth was heaven. She got a free pass, regardless of what she wanted to call him.
“What areyoustill doing in the lab?”
She chuckled. “Touché. What’s up?”
“SOS from Cal. He and B got home from Chicago but something’s wrong. I don’t know what. He must have thought his cell was compromised because he was speaking in code, but he used my name, which is like, I don’t know what. I think he was definitely shook up.”
She was fully awake now. “Oh, shit. What can I do?”
“Man the phones and watch Maggie for me. I’m gearing up and heading their way.”
Her voice was full of indignation. “No way! Not without me. Who did you call for backup?”
“There is no one. Everyone is working or out of town.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Connor opened his bottom drawer and pulled out his Beretta PX4 Storm and checked the clip. Full. “With the addition of the San Diego and Chicago satellites, we’re short on staff. Literally, there’s just you and me in DC at this moment. We can’t leave the phones unmanned, so tag, you’re it.”
“Why don’t you call the cops?”
If Cal had thought the police could handle it, he would have dialed 911 himself. Whatever this was, he didn’t want them involved. “I’ve got to go.”
He hung up on her protest, punched the button to transfer incoming calls to the lab phone, told Maggie to stay, and headed for the weapons room.
Preparing for the enemy was challenging when you had no clue who the enemy was.
Pretend it’s a sleeper cell of 12 September. If you were taking them on, what would you bring?
A rocket launcher.
The biggest one he could carry, in fact.
SFI’s weapons room had plenty of firepower, but they did not, in fact, have any rocket launchers.
A shame, that.He mentally added it to his inventory list for next month.
Connor snatched a black duffel from a shelf and started throwing in grenades, a couple of H&K submachine guns, ammo, and a sweet sniper rifle he’d been dying to use.
He was strapping on a vest when Sabrina came skidding into the room in her socks. Her boots were in-hand, her hair flat on one side, totally sexy and tousled on the opposite.
Probably what she looked like when she first got up in the morning.
And damn, if her big brown eyes and that crazy hair didn’t make him hard.
“You’re not leaving without me, Conmeister.” She slipped on one boot—with a 3-inch black heel—jumping and hobbling on her other foot, and breathing heavy from her run to catch him. She was dressed from head to toe in red like always.
A deep burgundy red that totally clashed with her copper colored hair.
Connor tore his gaze away from her full lips and even fuller cleavage on display from the deep V of her silky shirt. She continued hopping on her foot as she pulled on the second high heel, the action jiggling her double-Ds and making his hard-on downright painful. “I’m totally leaving without you, Red.”
