Deadly Aim (Bad Karma Special Ops Book 2) Read online

  “No.”

  “What would you like?”

  “Uh, a pedicure.” Which might mean waiting as two other women were in various stages of manicures, and three of the five pedicure chairs were occupied. Another customer sat in a seat by the front window, scrolling through her phone.

  The nail technician’s eyes roamed over Kristie’s uniform and down to her boots. “Sign in.” She gestured to the sheet on the counter. “It’ll be about half an hour. Pick your polish.” Her head dipped as she resumed working.

  Kristie signed in, then kept an eye on the window as she browsed the rack filled with hundreds of polishes in every color of the rainbow. Regulations prohibited most of them on her fingernails when on duty, but her toes were usually the bright shade of Blue-My-Mind or I’m-Not-Really-A-Waitress red. She checked the label on the bottom of a sassy fuchsia. Her mind and attention were incapable of making a simple decision, though. A stop-sign red to signify danger?

  Damn. Sheehan was getting to her. Getting a pedicure should be a relaxing event. She sighed and summoned up her courage. She’d flown dozens of combat missions, recently exchanged fire with cartel gunmen, and performed a risky-as-hell extraction. She’d stood up to Sheehan on her last tour, and he’d deserved it. He needed to man up and face the consequences rather than blame her. Hadn’t he learned shit from getting reprimanded?

  Well, maybe he had. The truck exited the shopping center and headed back in the direction they’d come. She watched until the pickup disappeared from sight. Time to bolt—in case he circled back.

  She returned the polish to the rack. “I’ll make an appointment for a better time,” she said to the employee nearest the desk.

  Kristie kept an eye out for gray trucks as she drove home. She made it to the Lundgrens’ certain she hadn’t been followed. Hopefully, Sheehan had his fun jerking her chain and would be satisfied. She would avoid him going forward. But if the jerk followed her again, she wasn’t running away. It’d be time for confrontation and involving the authorities.

  Thirteen

  Friday evening, Kristie navigated around the cars lining the street as she neared Ray and Stephanie’s house. She’d never seen so many cars on the road. Based on the black SUV, the sleek, red motorcycle, and faded-silver Honda with dents in the back bumper and side panel parked in Mack’s driveway, he must’ve had buddies over.

  In addition to those vehicles, a white minivan blocked in Ray’s SUV. As Kristie parked behind Stephanie’s car, the skin on her arms prickled. Her internal warning system telling her something was amiss rarely failed her.

  She made her way to the side door and glimpsed a woman standing by the kitchen island talking to Stephanie. Kristie opened the door, and a multitude of voices greeted her. Nope, not Mack’s place. Too late to duck out now.

  Stepping into the kitchen, where food covered the table, she inhaled the tantalizing aroma of barbecue pork. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her how long ago she’d eaten an apple and protein bar. Memories returned of team get-togethers at the Lundgrens’ when they’d been at Fort Lewis.

  “Kristie!” Stephanie welcomed her. “Did the guys leave you a spot to park?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t realize you were having a party.”

  “I mentioned we were having a barbecue.”

  “You said we were having barbecue for dinner.”

  Stephanie smiled, the picture of innocence. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Let me change first.” She smiled back at Stephanie and the woman beside her.

  Kristie didn’t have a choice other than to pass through the living room filled with people. Luckily, most focused on the TV. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Ray seated at the dining room table with Mack, two women, and several men she remembered from the cantina in Colombia.

  She hadn’t laid eyes on Mack since Sunday. So much for thinking she could continue to avoid him. In the hallway, she nearly collided with a fresh-faced young man coming out of the bathroom. He did a double-take, scanning her uniform. “Sorry, ma’am.”

  Oh, great. Now I’m “ma’am.” Another reminder of the rules and regs. With Eric’s team and friends, she’d been Kristie, Eric’s wife. A part of the group, despite being an officer.

  What were the chances she could hide in her room? Knowing Stephanie, zero. She ran through several evasive maneuvers while she slipped out of her boots and uniform.

  Move on. Keep living life, Eric’s voice prodded in her head. She peered into the closet, settling on a pair of denim capris and a red V-neck. While she studied her reflection, she traded her small stud earrings for a pair of silver hoops.

  Before joining the party, she ducked into the bathroom and applied a touch of eyeliner and lipstick. Then she took a long, deep breath while debating her options. Should she do this? Go back out there and mingle with Ray’s team? Part of her wanted to. It was no big deal. Just hanging out, making new friends.

  Passing back through the living room, she glanced around. Mack and several of the other men checked her out, making a flush heat her face. Ray had his mouth full, and though he motioned to her, she acknowledged him but didn’t pause for introductions to the rest of the team.

  Kristie found Stephanie still in the kitchen. “Where’s Alexis tonight?”

  “Babysitting at my house,” the woman with Stephanie answered, killing Kristie’s improvised escape plan of taking Alexis to a movie.

  “Kristie, this is Tammy Shuler,” Stephanie introduced them.

  “You’re a pilot. I saw the insignia patches on your uniform,” Tammy explained.

  “I fly Black Hawks. I just joined the 82nd Aviation.”

  “My first husband flew Kiowas in the 159th.”

  “Oh.” Something in Tammy’s voice made the hair on the back of Kristie’s neck stand on end.

  Tammy’s eyes flicked to Stephanie. “He was killed when his helicopter went down in Mosul.”

  Kristie’s head jerked involuntarily. “I’m sorry.” Damn. Even though she hated that empty platitude, it still slipped out.

  “It’s been hard … but you have to go on. I had kids to take care of. And then I met Walt.” Tammy gestured toward the living room.

  Kristie cut her gaze to Stephanie. Had she told Tammy about Eric? She grasped for something to change the subject. “How old are your kids?”

  “Mine are seven and almost five.” Tammy patted her stomach, drawing attention to the slight mound. “This will be our first together.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. Walt has three girls—fifteen, ten, and eight. It’ll be a full, crazy house when they’re with us. We don’t get to see them much, especially his oldest since she lives with her mom in Kentucky. Now, let’s get something to eat before the guys come back for seconds,” Tammy said like they were old friends.

  Kristie nodded. Okay, this widow had moved on. Remarried. Was having kids. Her story should inspire hope, not feel like a swift kick in Kristie’s gut. However, between her new job, needing to find a place to live, and now Sheehan following her, she didn’t have the energy to deal with one more thing.

  Tammy seemed happy. Marrying a guy who had at least two exes, which wasn’t all that uncommon in the Special Ops community, took a lot of courage, especially for a woman with kids.

  Stephanie motioned Kristie to the table. Tammy loaded her plate with generous helpings of barbecue, slaw, potato salad, and beans. Mack walked in as Kristie finished filling her own plate. She didn’t let her gaze linger on him long. The sensation of being watched was probably her imagination.

  Why had Mack and his wife split? Infidelity? Deployments?

  Why the hell did it even matter?

  Maybe someday she’d remarry, but not to another man in Special Ops. Not with the risk of losing him in combat or the high divorce rate in units like this. She couldn’t handle more loss or heartache. And she wouldn’t settle or marry just to have someone. She didn’t have kids, and she could take care of herself. Finding a comp
atible spouse was like winning the lottery. Better to invest those winnings to make them last for a lifetime.

  When Kristie wandered into the living room, Ray nabbed her and introduced her to the team. Rather than take the chair at the table across from where Mack sat a minute ago, she headed to the couch. “There an empty seat here?”

  “For you? Definitely.” The guy edged over. “I’m Tony.”

  “Kristie.” She eased down in the middle. “Who’s playing?” She cringed as a hockey player in red slammed another player into the wall.

  “’Canes versus some Yankee team.” Mack rounded the end of the couch and sat in the vacant spot next to her.

  Did he have to do that? Trapped between the two, she had no easy way to escape.

  “Funny,” Tony remarked to Mack, then turned to her with a conspiratorial grin. “Buffalo Sabres. I’ll give you five bucks to cheer for them with me.”

  “You from Buffalo?” She pointed her thumb toward Tony’s Buffalo Bills T-shirt, trying not to think about Mack’s leg rubbing against hers when he leaned forward to set his cup on the coffee table, pushing another plastic cup aside.

  “Small town just outside.”

  “Thanks a lot.” A handsome Latino soldier with a short beard scowled down at Mack on the full couch.

  Tony jerked his head toward the adjacent dining area. “There’re seats at the table, Dominguez.”

  “I want to see the game.” Dominguez picked up his cup from the edge of the table.

  “You don’t even like hockey,” Tony said.

  “I like the fights.”

  “Here. I can—” Kristie started to rise.

  Tony moved a hand to block her. “Three guys on the couch? Not happening.”

  She glanced at Mack, who didn’t budge, then gave Dominguez an apologetic shrug.

  Grumbling under his breath, he stepped over and cleared a space on the coffee table. He set his plate down, then grabbed a chair from the dining area and sat near the end of the couch.

  When the Hurricanes scored a few minutes later, everyone cheered, except for Tony.

  He frowned at her. “Thought you were rooting for my team.”

  She would have been intimidated except for the amusement in his chocolate-colored eyes. “Gotta cheer for the home team,” she answered.

  Tony was attractive in a bad-boy way. However, it was Mack’s smirky grin, those enthralling blue eyes and dusting of freckles she found immensely attractive.

  “How you like that, Vincenti? Two to zip,” Dominguez crowed.

  “It’s the first period, and we’re up two games to one. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

  “How was your first week here?” Mack swung his beer bottle back and forth by the neck.

  “Good. I flew some. Mostly, I reviewed flight logs to plan training and got to know the guys in the company.”

  “What do you fly?” Tony asked.

  “Black Hawks.”

  “Really?” Tony’s lips curled up, and his head bobbed.

  “Yeah. You’ve flown with her, dumbass.” Dominguez took a potshot.

  Tony’s brow furrowed. “When?”

  “Last time you got shot. Remember that?” Dominguez sneered at Tony.

  Tony studied her, though he appeared to bite the inside of his cheek in an attempt to ignore Dominguez. “Colombia? That was you? Nice flying.”

  “All in a day’s work. How’s your arm?” she asked.

  “Eh, arm’s fine. Messed up the ink a bit, though.” Tony pushed up his left sleeve, revealing a tattoo banding his arm. The skin puckered where the bullet had torn through his muscle, leaving a scar that distorted the intricate design of the woven, thorny branches.

  She gave him a sympathetic nod and turned her attention back to the game, trying not to think about Mack’s bicep grazing her arm. Why couldn’t she be attracted to beta males? There was so much testosterone in the room, it made a girl lightheaded.

  She was used to being outnumbered by males. This was different. Most of these operators were above-average looking, and it was more than their strong jaws and athletic builds. Not one of them slouched. Each had a swagger about them, but not in a cocky way. They had a quiet self-confidence that was downright, undeniably sexy. Here she felt safe. No worries about Sheehan while surrounded by these guys.

  “You know, we need to give Grant a workout with the team on field ops.” Ray’s booming voice commanded everyone’s attention. He rested a hand on the shoulder of the young man she’d encountered in the hallway, but Ray’s sights were focused on her. “You’ve got newbies to break in, too, don’t ya, Kristie?”

  “I do. What did you have in mind?”

  Ray’s wicked smile told her everything. “I’m thinking spot jumps. Fast roping. Different insertion scenarios.” His smile widened at the chorus of “Hooah!” around the room. “I’ll make a request to set it up.”

  Ray’s proclamation sent a buzz of anticipation through her, making her arms and hands tingle. In the past, flying similar training ops had been her favorite activity, but this didn’t fit into her plan of avoiding Special Ops guys. Sandwiched between Tony and Mack, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander to places it had no business going, especially since she had to keep her relationship with Mack professional.

  At the end of the game’s second period, she escaped into the kitchen. She spooned a serving of banana pudding into a bowl before she caught sight of Mack and Tony following her lead.

  “Better have a cannoli, or you’ll hurt Vincenti’s feelings,” Mack advised, eyeing her with a playful smile.

  “Did you bring them?” she asked.

  “Bring them?” Tony huffed and puffed out his chest. “I made them.”

  “I would love a cannoli, then.”

  Mack placed one in her bowl. Their eyes locked again, and her heart skipped a beat. Her gaze dropped to his lips, then shifted back to his eyes.

  “Thanks,” she said with an internal sigh.

  Tony cleared his throat.

  “Sorry for holding up the line.” She didn’t dare make eye contact with him—even when he gave a rough chuckle.

  Mack watched Kristie take a seat at the dining room table—instead of beside him on the couch. He’d noticed how quickly, yet subtly, she’d moved aside when his leg brushed hers earlier. The last thing he wanted was to give her more reasons to put distance between them, so he feigned interest in the game.

  His jaw hurt from grinding his teeth while Tony had chatted her up. He glanced over to where she sat next to Grant, but she was talking with the women. When the game ended, Kristie disappeared into the kitchen with Stephanie. He heard the clattering of dishes being stacked and loaded.

  Walt and Tammy were the first to head out. The other guys made their way through the kitchen to say goodnight. As expected, Stephanie had set out containers of leftover barbeque. Dominguez, Rozanski, and Porter each snagged a container, thanking her and Ray before they ducked out.

  “Thanks for bringing the cannoli, Tony. Hope you don’t mind that I kept a few. Alexis requested one.” Stephanie handed Tony a clean platter and tub of barbeque.

  “No problem. Thanks for having us. Nice to meet ya, Kristie. See you soon. Night, Mack.”

  “I’m coming, too.” He ignored Tony’s surprised expression and targeted his eyes on Kristie. “Good night ladies.” Stephanie pressed the last container of barbeque into Mack’s hand. He took one last peek at Kristie and trailed Tony out the door.

  Dominguez backed his beat-up car out of Mack’s driveway as they walked across the street. Heavy-metal music blared from his open window. Grant lowered the face shield on his helmet and started his Ducati. Cruising down the driveway, he followed Dominguez’s taillights.

  “You want to come in for another beer?” Mack asked Tony.

  “As consolation for my team losing, or so you can make sure I don’t invite your girl out?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Kristie.”

  “Noth
ing’s going on there.”

  “Why not? I saw how you kept looking at her. And being around you made her nervous like a schoolgirl with a crush on the quarterback.”

  Shit. He thought he played it low-key. Apparently, not low enough. “She’s a warrant officer.”

  “So? Breaking rules adds danger and excitement to the mix.”

  He shook his head, not that Tony’s suggestion surprised him. “I don’t think she’s willing to risk it.”

  “You know this because …?” Tony drew out the last word.

  He shifted his weight and broke eye contact under Tony’s stare. “I kinda tested the waters. Got shot down.”

  “Sure it wasn’t a warning shot? ’Cuz it sure wasn’t a kill shot based on what I witnessed. I was barely a blip on her radar. Don’t worry about me trying anything, but keep an eye on Dominguez.” Vincenti opened the door of his SUV.

  Mack tried to laugh it off—though his buddy was an expert at reading people. The idea Tony picked up on something he missed played across his mind. After taking another glance at the Lundgren house, he headed inside, contemplating her reasons for brushing him off.

  It made sense she wouldn’t cozy up to him in front of others due to rank. The Army drilled rules about fraternization into you from boot camp on. However, with the amount of money invested in training and retaining operators, people tended to look the other way for minor things. Aviators had a lot invested in their training. Maybe that gave them leeway to skirt the official rules and regs, at least enough for them to discreetly explore if they wanted a permanent solution. He’d watch his step.

  Land mines were only dangerous if you stepped on one.

  Fourteen

  It had been a good afternoon of flying, and Kristie hoped that was a good precursor for the apartments she was scheduled to tour. The potential roommate situation she’d checked into last night had been a non-starter.

  Ray choked from laughing so hard when she told him and Stephanie about the woman having a stripper pole—in the living room. The pole had been the first warning sign. Lots of women did pole dancing for exercise. Maybe. But the number of liquor bottles in the kitchen and what she’d glimpsed in the woman’s bedroom were also indicators they might not be compatible roommates.