While the newbies were technically “partners,” they each held a minor share of the company. He, Doc, Razor, and Mercer still owned seventy-five percent of K19. The remaining twenty-five percent had been equally divided between Striker Ellis, Onyx Yáñez, Alegria Mondreau, Monk Perrin, and Dutch Miller.
They’d offered a spot to Mantis, but he’d turned them down. Gunner wasn’t sure what to make of that, but it really wasn’t any of his business.
There had been talk, mainly by Razor, about offering a partnership to Shiver Whittaker, but since he was next in line to run MI6, they’d decided to put that idea on the back burner.
The only other person Gunner had heard mentioned as a possible new partner was Raketa. Bringing her on as a contracted operative was one thing. That, he might be in favor of, but he’d never agree to offering her a partnership.
She stirred, murmuring something unintelligible in what sounded more like Azeri than her native Russian.
He knew that in her line of work, mastering not only languages but dialects too, was a necessary core skill. Perhaps she’d decided honing the language of Azerbaijan would be beneficial while being held captive by Petrov.
To Gunner’s relief, they were getting close to Alat, which meant they’d soon be transferring from Striker’s escort to Shiv’s. It wasn’t that Gunner doubted the CIA agent’s ability to handle their current situation; it was simply that he would feel more confident with Shiver any day of the week.
Marquess Thornton “Shiver” Whittaker was one of the best operatives in the world. He and Gunner went way back to one of his first missions for the NCS.
Right out of training, Gunner was as green as they came. Doc and Shiv were both leads on that first mission, which meant he couldn’t screw up too badly without either of his commanders cleaning up after him. He ended up learning a great deal from both men on that op.
It was Shiv’s stealth that had impressed him the most. Gunner had studied, emulated, and finally asked Shiv if he’d consider training him. He’d agreed, and the two had been friends since.
In the world they operated in, Gunner was second only to Shiver in his ability to get in and get out of almost any situation without anyone ever knowing he was there.
“Where are we?” Raketa asked, sitting up and moving away from Gunner.
“Almost to our rendezvous point,” he told her.
“Change of plans,” said Striker from the front seat.
Gunner tensed.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“Why?” he asked Striker.
“Something about a plane.” The man smiled in the rear-view mirror.
“Sonuvabitch,” he muttered.
“This is a good thing, Gunner,” Striker added.
“It’s just a prop jet, but it’ll get you out of Azerbaijan faster,” reported Alegria.
“Where’s Shiv?” he asked.
“Meeting you, asshole. Do you not appreciate—”
“Watch it,” Gunner warned.
Striker was used to ordering the K19 team around, not that any of them had ever paid attention to him. Now, though, things were entirely different. Striker no longer worked for the CIA; he worked for K19, and Gunner had no intention of putting up with shit from him.
There was a clause written into the K19 partnership agreement stating that any of the new partners could essentially be forced out by a unanimous vote of the founding four. The leaving partner would be compensated, of course, but it allowed them a means to get rid of anyone they collectively deemed wasn’t “working out.”
Gunner had no doubt that no matter which partner came to the other three with an issue, it would be respected and dealt with. You didn’t do this kind of work with someone you couldn’t stand to be around or who didn’t follow orders.
—:—
English wasn’t her first language, but Raketa knew what a prop jet was, and the plane she was looking at bore no resemblance to that type of aircraft. However, a plane of any kind seriously thwarted her plan to get back to Baku.
Looking at the jet as they exited the SUV, she guessed it belonged to K19. How Shiver had managed to get it to the private airfield was anyone’s guess. However, MI6 had friends in places United Russia and even the CIA never would.
“Thanks,” mumbled Gunner as they exited the vehicle.
“Safe travels,” Striker said as she passed by him. When he leaned forward to kiss her cheek, it was all she could do to stop herself from taking a step back. It was a friendly gesture and should be taken as such. Raketa just wasn’t used to public displays of affection of any kind.
She remembered being hugged, even cuddled, before her parents died. After that, she hadn’t been shown another sign of affection by an adult.
Gunner stayed behind her as she followed Alegria up the steps to the plane.
“Mantis?” Raketa heard her say, and watched as the two tentatively greeted each other. She witnessed the look that passed between them, and their body language, and guessed that something had gone on with the two operatives at some point in the not-so-distant past.
“Who’s piloting?” Gunner asked, stepping inside the aircraft, behind Raketa.
“I am,” answered both Mantis and Alegria.
It was amusing, at least to her, but neither laughed. In fact, they squared off and glared at each other.
“Mantis is,” said Shiv, coming up to the cockpit from the back of the plane.
“Alegria, you’ll fly the second leg to London.”
London? It would be next to impossible to get back into Azerbaijan if they made it all the way to the UK.
“Have a seat,” Gunner said, ushering her through the galley.
Raketa looked left and right, wishing he’d just choose a seat for her.
“Wait,” he said, walking around her. “Follow me.”
He went all the way to the back of the plane and opened a door.
“Get some rest,” he said, putting his hand on the small of her back and leading her into a cabin that had a bed, two chairs, and a table. “Privacy room,” he explained. “There are two.”
Raketa sat on the edge of the bed and looked into Gunner’s eyes. Had he felt the current of electricity that passed between them at his simple touch?
He shook his head. “I’ll be back to check on you later.”
She watched him walk back out the door, feeling what only could be described as profound disappointment.
She rolled to her side and closed her eyes. Gunner was right about her needing rest. She’d never felt this level of exhaustion.
* * *
The cabin door opened, and Raketa shot upright. She had no idea how much time had passed since he’d left her to sleep.
“Settle down,” Gunner said, locking the door after he came inside.
She sat on the edge of the bed while Gunner took the chair.
“It’s time for us to talk, Rocket Girl. What’s the connection between you and Petrov?” he asked.
Raketa shook her head. “There is no connection.”
“Bullshit. Try again and tell me the truth this time.”
She shook her head again. The less she said, the harder it would be for him to pick up on her lies.
“Why did he take you to Azerbaijan?”
“I don’t know.”
Gunner rested his arms on his legs and leaned in closer to her. She waited for him to ask another question, but he didn’t. He just stared at her.
They could sit right where they were for the rest of the flight, but no matter what he said or did, there’d be no way she’d divulge her connection to Petrov, to him or anyone else.
“Who’s the other person being held captive at the compound?”
Raketa did her best not to react to the question she had anticipated. “I don’t know.”
“What did Petrov want from you?”
“I don’t know.”
“You need to understand something, devochka moya. This is going to go one of two ways. Eit
her you start telling me the truth, or once this plane lands, you’re on your own.”
When she looked away, trying to hide the tears that threatened with his use of the haunting endearment, he stood and walked out.
4
Gunner sat in the seat across from Shiver and opened the window shade. There was nothing to see given what they were flying over was a desolate as Death Valley.
“Anything?” Shiv asked.
Gunner shook his head.
“Once we land, we’ll do a proper interrogation.”
He looked into Shiv’s eyes and saw amusement. “You’re an asshole.”
“And you just told me everything I need to know. How long has it been going on?”
“There isn’t anything going on.”
“Don’t lie to me, you bloody bastard.”
“You wanna tell me you never kept another MI6 agent warm on a particularly long and lonely op?”
Shiv grinned. “You know I have, and so does Doc.”
Gunner shook his head. “Fatale was above your pay grade.”
“Fair point, well made. Although it wasn’t for lack of trying on my part.”
Merrigan “Fatale” Shaw was a former MI6, now married to Kade “Doc” Butler, and the managing partner of K19. The woman had been one of the best in the business, but semi-retired after she and Doc got married. Now they had a baby boy, and her husband behaved like she was the first woman in the history of the universe to give birth.
“I’ll interrogate her,” he told Shiv.
“You’ll have plenty of time to.”
“What’s that mean?”
“The two of you are going dark until we find Petrov and see this mission through to the end.”
“Back up. I am not going underground with Ivashov.”
“You are.”
Gunner studied Shiv, trying to determine how serious he was.
“Where?”
“You’ll be under the MI6 protection.”
That could be just about anywhere, other than the US, since there, they wouldn’t need it. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“There’s a safe house in the Cotswolds where I think the two of you would be very comfortable.”
“I’m not a bodyguard.”
Shiver raised an eyebrow.
“I’m no longer offering those services. Onyx can take this assignment.”
“What assignment?” asked Raketa, coming out of the private room.
“We’re taking you to a safe house outside of London.”
“No.”
Raketa’s response was so abrupt, Gunner raised his head and their eyes met. “The hit United Russia has—”
“I’ve decided to return to Moscow.”
Gunner scrunched his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
Raketa raised her chin and squared her shoulders. “My words were clear.”
“They’ll kill you,” Gunner muttered, still studying her for any sign of what this might really be about.
“I have something they want. They will not kill me.”
Gunner stood. “What?” he asked, taking a step forward so he was directly in front of her.
“That is not your concern.”
“I risked my life to get you out of Baku. You’re not going to turn right around and walk in front of a firing squad.”
Raketa put one hand on her hip and then lowered it as though she was about to argue his point but changed her mind.
“You assumed I wanted to leave the Old City.”
Gunner was ready to throttle her. What in the hell was this about? He spun around to get Shiv’s take, but the man had left the main cabin. He turned back around and got closer still, so he was right in her face.
“Explain yourself,” he seethed.
Raketa tried to take a step back, but there was a seat directly behind her.
“You came to me asking for help,” he said, still incredulous that the tack she’d decided to take was to return to Moscow, not that he believed that’s what she was really going to do.
Even as close as he was, leaving her little room to look anywhere but at him, she refused meet his eyes.
Gunner took hold of her arm and pulled her in the direction of the privacy room. She tried to wrench free, but he tightened his grasp, led her into the room, and locked the door behind him.
“One more chance, Rocket Girl. Tell me what this is about.”
—:—
She hated the tone of Gunner’s voice as much as she loved it, especially when he called her Rocket Girl.
He was angry, and he had every right to be, but that didn’t mean she could risk telling him the reason she wanted to return to Baku, or even that she intended to.
This was an op she’d handle on her own because if it failed, she’d never be able to forgive anyone who had been a part of it.
Raketa shook her head when she realized he was still waiting for her to respond.
“You’ll tell me eventually,” he said as he walked out of the room and locked the door. Somehow she knew, like the door of the apartment on Petrov’s compound, that the lock he’d thrown was intended to keep her inside.
—:—
“What the hell?” Shiv asked when Gunner came back into the main cabin.
“You heard her. She’s going back to Russia.”
“Do you believe her?”
“Not even a little.”
“What is this really about, Gunner?”
“My guess is her behavior has something to do with the person who is still being held by Petrov.”
“But she won’t give her up?”
Gunner shook his head.
“I need to know what happened between the two of you.”
“Why?”
Shiv folded his arms but didn’t answer.
“Nothing.”
The MI6 agent raised an eyebrow.
“We were together the same night I killed Lena.”
He nodded his head slowly, his eyes boring into Gunner’s as though he was trying to read his mind.
“But you have feelings for her.”
It wasn’t a question, not that Gunner would’ve answered if it had been. How he felt about anyone or anything was no one’s business. Did he care about Raketa? Obviously he did, to a certain extent, but beyond that, even he didn’t know.
There was something that stirred in him every time he saw her, and got worse if she was near. He wanted her like he’d never wanted another woman. Part of him wished he weren’t so drunk the night they’d spent together, so he could remember more—more than how it had felt to sink deep inside her. He hated that the other events of the day had marred him finally being naked and alone with a woman he so often caught himself fantasizing about.
Raketa was planning something, and like he’d just said to Shiver, he guessed it related to the person Alegria had told them about at the compound.
Perhaps if he could figure out Raketa’s connection to Petrov, he could also determine who that person was.
No theory he’d come up with thus far made any sense. When Petrov was reported killed and disappeared from the face of the earth, believed to be at the bottom of the Caspian Sea, Raketa was a child. He’d reappeared in the States as Conor McNamara, married multiple times, and fathered two twin girls. There was no intelligence indicating that Raketa had ever worked for him or been associated with McNamara in any way.
Onyx was unable to make a connection between her and any of the people working for Petrov either, including the bodyguard who had been posing as his latest wife.
There had to be a reason why Petrov abducted her from their last op, but it seemed that until Raketa told him what that was, it would remain a mystery. For now, she remained locked in the privacy room, which was laughable given they were on an airplane. It wasn’t as though she could decide to walk away.
“That’s quite a conversation you’re having with yourself,” said Shiv, still studying him.
Gunner shook his head, stood
, walked to the back of the plane, and put his key into the outer lock of the door. He didn’t bother to open it; Raketa would know what he’d done and could come out if she chose to, although he predicted he wouldn’t see her again until he either joined her or the plane landed.
“We’ve been cleared to fly directly to London,” said Alegria from the cockpit.
Gunner nodded. It would be harder for Raketa to stage an escape once they were on UK soil, but harder still if they traveled all the way to the US.
“I’ll go underground with her, but not in the Cotswolds,” Gunner turned and said to Shiv.
“Where, then?”
“The East Coast.”
“Be specific, Gunner,” said Shiv, smirking.
He walked away without answering because Shiv knew damn well where he was headed with Raketa.
He was taking her to a place almost no one knew existed. Kade, Razor, and Mercer did, but they were more than business partners; they were Gunner’s best friends. Shiver knew about it too, but only because Gunner had needed the kind of help that only the MI6 agent could give him.
Raketa would be the next person to see the compound he’d spent the last couple of years constructing for his retirement.
—:—
There would be no way she could fall asleep, regardless of how much she needed the rest.
Gunner would be relentless; Raketa knew this. She had to craft a story more plausible than her intention to return to Moscow, but her brain wouldn’t play along, and it was because she was mentally and physically exhausted.
Having Gunner so close didn’t help. He’d had this effect since the first moment her eyes met his.
There was nothing soft about the man—every inch was rock-solid. At five feet, ten inches and in near-perfect physical condition herself, there weren’t many men who made Raketa feel petite, but Gunner did. It wasn’t just his height—he had to be at least six feet, five inches—it was the girth of his torso as well as that of his extremities.
She’d heard stories from other Russian agents, detailing what he was capable of when it came to hand-to-hand combat. He could snap a man’s neck without breaking a sweat, and hurl someone weighing three times as much as she did through the air like a rag doll.
Gunner Page 3
