Read Online Hell on Wheels by Julie Ann Walker - Free Book Online Page A

California at some fancy-dancy medical conference while Rock and Wild Bill were away covertly keeping an eye on a bigwig politician during his ill-advised trip to the Sandbox. He wasn’t even going to think about Christian and Mac and that goddamned Mossad agent.
    Man, he absolutely hated having so many of his men out at once, especially when he wasn’t with them. It gave him a severe case of nut-shrivel every time because he was used to being in the thick of things, neck deep in reconnaissance or bad guys, not sitting all snuggly warm at a conference table.
    But that was the price he paid, he supposed, for running his own crew. And it was a small price indeed when he considered the fact that it was in exchange for choosing which assignments they’d take and more importantly, having the green light to gather Intel and carry out those assignments as they damned well pleased without any input from some desk-surfing, thumb-up-his-butt, pencil pusher in Washington.
    Of course, it also meant he had to deal with visitors who strolled into his shop at the most inconvenient times.
    And speaking of that inconvenient visitor, Ali Morgan stared at the cup of coffee Patti placed in front of her like it was an unstable nuclear warhead.
    Uh-huh. He and the rest of the guys preferred their caffeine able to stand up without benefit of a cup, but it obviously wasn’t for everyone.
    Standing, he made his way over to the refrigerator where he removed a can of Coke, popped the top, and set it on the table in front of Ali before claiming her cup of coffee for his own and retaking his seat.
    She shot him an oh-god-you’re-my-hero smile right before she chugged down a healthy slug of soda. Wiping the back of her hand over her mouth, she took a deep breath, gathered herself, and blurted, “Someone’s after me.”
    Ghost twitched.
    That was the only way to describe the subtle tightening of every single one of the man’s muscles.
    Well, now, isn’t that interesting?
    Frank recognized Ghost’s intensely neutral expression. It was obvious the man was rigidly controlling his responses because he was scared shitless he might give something away. Anything away. Frank could certainly identify with that unfortunate predicament. He found himself in the same situation every goddamned time Becky walked into the room.
    And speak of the devil…
    “Someone’s after you? Cool.” Becky flopped down in a chair, bringing with her the weirdly appealing combination of smells that were acrylic paint, motor oil, and the softly clean scent that was all Becky.
    She unwrapped a Dum Dum. This one was green. Sour apple. He knew every Dum Dum flavor on sight because, pervert that he was, each time Becky popped a new sucker in her mouth, he fantasized about kissing her and tasting how that particular flavor would combine with her own personal essence to create—in his mind, anyway—ambrosia.
    “Are you insane?” Ali gave Becky the stink-eye. “You wouldn’t think it was so cool if whoever was after you had broken into your home, planted bugs in all your underwear, and tried to mug you.”
    “You’re bugged, too? Sweet.” Becky pulled a root beer Dum Dum—Frank’s favorite—from her hip pocket and slid it in his direction.
    He stopped the sucker from skimming off the table with a slap of his palm. It was warm from her body heat. That warmth made a barrage of wildly erotic images flash across his frizzled brain.
    Her, naked. Him, trailing the sucker over the skin of her hip and then licking away the stickiness with the flat of his tongue.
    Fuck!
    He’d like to say he could ignore the candy, but he knew if he stuck it in his shirt pocket, it’d only burn a damn hole through to his chest until he couldn’t concentrate on anything save for shoving it in his pie hole.
    Disgusted by his lack of self-control where root beer-flavored Dum Dums and Becky Reichert were concerned, he angrily ripped off the wrapper and crammed the sucker in his mouth, managing to