Blowback (The Black Cipher Files Book 1) by Lisa Hughey Read Free Book Online Page B

fingers trailed along the bottom in what felt strangely like a caress.
    I retreated. This wasn’t working. He wasn’t engaging. “I'll shoot it open,” I said, testing him.
    “The lock is explosion sensitive. Any kind of device or blast from a bullet will cause a backup lock to activate."
    Sure.
    "Steel butterfly bolts along the inside walls will bore into pre-drilled openings and twist to secure." His shrug was for effect because the calm truth in his eyes convinced me. "You shoot the lock and it will take longer than trying to crack the code.”
    I glanced around, noting a multi-drawer tool chest in the corner, chock full of screwdrivers and wrenches of all sizes. Perfect. “Why so high tech?”
    His eyes gleamed in the bright glare of the garage lights. “I really like gadgets.”
    Right.
    Since I couldn’t shoot it or blow it up, I'd just dismantle the damn thing. It would take time, but I needed that syringe.
    “Truce?”
    I contemplated his hand, held out in an imitation of good will.
    “Look. I need a shower. Then I might have a solution to your syringe problem.”
    I deliberately put my hands on my hips. “Give it to me and I won’t have a problem.”
    “Later.” He grinned and used the hand I'd ignored to gesture at the car. “In case the diner guys noted the license plate, you want to disable the tracking box in the Focus or you want me to do it?”
    Huh. My brain must be rattled. It should have been my first priority. Dammit. If this mission was a disaster, the fault was mine. I’d been distracted and off balance since it started.
    “I’ll do it.” I yanked the connection wires, shutting off the device that would track location, accidents, speed and whatever else the rental company wished.
    While I disabled the box, he reached behind his neck and pulled his bloodied shirt off in a smooth one-handed move, leaving his gun hand free.
    Then he tossed the shirt in a garbage can just to the right of the washer and dryer. The ripple of muscles in his abdomen had my mouth going dry.
    His skin had been gloriously smooth. The urge to reach out and stroke him was intense. I curled my fingers into a fist.
    “I’ve got one shower. We can take turns.” He dug into his pocket for keys. My body reacted to the bulge outlined by the soft denim he wore. He was trying to distract me with sex. I knew it and still my brain took a moment to process.
    “It’s your place. You go first.”
    “And they said chivalry was dead.” He unbuttoned his jeans, his thumbs hooked in the waistband.
    I swallowed the shot of desire. Waiting until he had his jeans at thigh level, I struck out with a kick designed to unbalance him.
    Lucas, damn him, anticipated the move and grabbed my foot, turning the maneuver back on me. I slipped to the floor, jerking him with me.
    He grinned as he toppled onto me, kicking out of his pants as we fell onto a square of carpet. “Let’s get this over with. You are not getting the syringe. Yet.”
    His heavier weight pinned me. I tried to ignore the sultry heat of his bare chest pressing against my breasts. That momentary hesitation cost me, and I lost the chance to disable him with my knee.
    Lucas slid one large hand beneath the elastic waistband of the chef’s pants and boxers, the hot press of his palm against my naked skin startled me again.
    Erotic memories clashed with fight instinct.
    The remembered pleasure evaporated as he spoke. “Do I have to steal your pants as insurance, so you don’t leave again?”
    “I’m not going anywhere.” Without that syringe.
    He smiled at me–-a conspiratorial smile--as if we had some secret just between the two of us. “I know you want the syringe. I think I have a way to find out what’s in it.”
    Did my need to know what was in the syringe outweigh the caution never to trust anyone? Focus on what you can control.
    Something about this whole mission was...off. I should have stayed at that warehouse and gotten shot up with whatever was in the