Larger Than Life by Alison Kent (read the beginning after the end novel .txt) 📕

He unfolded the keyboard, boosted one hip up to sit on the edge of the cargo area, grimacing as he jarred his very sore bones. Once he'd booted up the battery-powered computer, positioned the antenna, and made contact with the satellite, he pulled up a prompt screen and typed the command that would connect him to the only place in the world he ever thought of as home.

This time of night he expected Christian Bane to be manning the communications desk. One of the Smithson Group operatives always did, providing a necessary pipeline for those in the field. But it wasn't Christian that responded. It was Harry van Zandt.

>Rabbit here.

>Savin checking in.

>You good?

>Yep.

>Coming home?

>Not yet. Indisposed.

That much was true enough. He was still aching like he'd lost his best friend along with half of his body hair. He glanced back at Rabbit's response, white letters on a black screen.

>Want reinforcements?

>No. Satellite surveillance.

>Coordinates?

Mick typed in the location of the Spectra bunker. He needed an eye and an ear up above to finish gathering the intel he'd started pulling down in New Mexico while he concentrated on the Spectra connection to the duo of Bremmer and Mitchell and the stolen two hundred thou.

>Done. What else?

>Upload. Ready?

>Go.

Mick plugged the first flash card from FM's collar into the USB reader and typed the command that would send the data to Rabbit. Cards two and three followed, and then he stored away all three.

>That's it.

>Got it. Anything more?

>A lead on the ground. Possible sighting. Ezra Moore.

>Christ. Dude gets around.

Mick gave a wry shake of his head. He and Harry had run into the Spectra assassin in Mexico. Julian Samms had taken on Moore in Miami. And Kelly John Beach's clash with the man had gone down in Manhattan.

Everything on Moore's sheet said he should be hurting and hindering the Smithson Group's efforts to annihilate Spectra IT. Weirdly enough, he wasn't. And now he'd released Liberty Mitchell. . .

>Mick? You there?

>Yeah. What's the deal with Moore?

>A mystery. Another day.

>Check in tomorrow, mate.

>Right. Rabbit out.

Mick signed off and shut down the machine, then secured the equipment in its compartment before locking up. FM, on full alert, sat at the corner of the Rover's rear bumper. Mick reached down and scratched the dog's ears. "I told you, dog. No rides tonight."

Now that he'd touched base with Rabbit, the only thing on tonight's schedule was sleep. That and trying to make sense of what he was feeling for Neva. Groaning, he pushed out of the Rover to his feet, realizing he hadn't even known her a full twenty-four hours.

He wanted to blame some of what was going on with him, the anomaly of an instant attraction he hadn't jumped to gratify, on the drugs. That excuse didn't work since he hadn't taken but half the dosage prescribed, or been on the meds any real length of time.

And since the drugs weren't the cause, he was at a loss. He couldn't even remember the last woman he'd wanted the way he wanted Neva, yet had done no more than talk to. Or kiss. That kiss had left him hurting. The way it had reached out, grabbed him by the throat and squeezed, cut off his breath, seized him like the wrong end of a vise.

He reached up for the cargo hatch, used his good arm to pull it down, and quietly latched it. He wanted to know what made Neva tick, why a woman with her intelligence, her snap and her wit was hiding out in Bumfuck.

He didn't care what half-truths she told him. The full truth was obvious. She was running from something. He recognized the kindred spirit. And because he was soul-sick weary of ball-and-chain secrets, he suspected that she was, too. Coincidence ... or fate? What if somehow, some improbable way, they each held the key to setting the other free?

"I want to know everything," Candy said the next morning at the breakfast table while she and Neva drank coffee as they did every day at dawn. "And I mean everything. Do not leave out a single gory detail."

"No gore involved, Candy, my sweet," Neva teased as the other woman rolled her big dark eyes. A half second after walking through the back door, Candy had drilled Neva about Mick's Range Rover, still parked outside. "Unless you count the mess I almost made with the fudge."

"Don't tell me." Candy collapsed back, her chair legs scraping the floor. "He brought you Patsy Cline's. I can't believe it. Ed never even brought you Patsy Cline's."

Neva set cream, sugar, mugs, and a fresh-brewed, filled-to-the-brim carafe on the table, then added a plate of toasted bagels. "That's because Ed didn't want to tempt me with anything that might not be good for me."

Candy took over and poured. "And he wonders why you broke things off. Lord save us from clueless men. Good thing they're not all like that."

"Yeah? Since when?"

"Don't smirk at me, girl. Just yesterday you rescued one from the side of the road and he's already fulfilling all your heart's desires."

Not exactly, Neva wanted to say. She liked the way Mick Savin looked, just not the way he looked at her. And then there was the way his fingers had felt on her wrist, the way his mouth had felt on hers. She hadn't liked that at all. The way her pulse had pounded. The way her skin had been warmed by his. The way he'd pushed her hair away from her face as if wanting to see her better.

She'd have preferred none of that had happened. That he'd done what he said he was going to do, gather his things and go. And damn but if she hadn't become an expert at lying to herself because she'd loved every last bit of last night. "It was a thank-you. That's all. For hauling him out of the ditch to the doctor."

"Honey, I'm not buying it. And I've got enough cash that I could if anything about it