“Me.” The shooter rushed forward, knife up. He used the blade as a distraction, hiking a knee into Braxton’s rib cage.
Bone crunched under Braxton’s fist as he slammed his knuckles into the assailant’s face. Once. Twice. A muffled scream escaped from the shooter’s mouth underneath the mask as he swung the blade down. Agony washed over Braxton as metal met flesh. Blood dripped onto his shoelaces, the sensation of small taps against the tops of his boots the only indication of how deep the laceration went. He suppressed the scream working up his throat. No telling how fast he was losing blood without being able to take his eyes off the shooter, but the faster his heart beat, the more blood he lost. With a single punch to the shooter’s midsection, Braxton used the same distraction technique to reach for the blade. He wrapped his hand around the bastard’s wrist and twisted the shooter’s arm until the second blade fell to the ground. His opponent dropped to one knee as Braxton forced the arm backward. “You will never lay another finger on her as long as I’m around.”
Wide eyes comprehended Braxton’s next thought.
“Braxton, no!” Liz’s voice fought to penetrate through the haze of violence consuming him. Then her shaking fingers slid over his left shoulder. She tightened her grip on him, her fingernails digging into his flesh, her voice strained. “You can’t kill him.”
One kick to the sternum. That was all it would take to end this nightmare, to ensure Liz never discovered the truth about the deal he’d made. But...he couldn’t do it. Not when she expected him to be the good guy, to take the higher ground. “He’s not going to stop.”
“He’ll pay for what he’s done,” she said. “The bomb, the shooting in the garage, the shooting in the park and kidnapping me. He’s going to spend the rest of his life behind bars. But if you kill him now, you’ll be on the run for the rest of your life. And you’ll be no better than him.”
Braxton let go of the SOB’s wrist. The shooter lost his balance, hands desperately seeking something—anything—to grab on to. He came precariously close to toppling over the edge, but Braxton reached out, gripping the bastard’s suit jacket, and hauled him away from the edge. He should’ve felt relief. Should’ve been able to release the tightness building behind his sternum. But Braxton knew the truth. This wasn’t over. Wouldn’t be as long as the operative’s heart was still beating. “Don’t make me regret not killing you.”
“He’ll never be able to touch me from behind bars. And he’s going to have to live with that knowledge until he dies.” Liz’s grip softened as she raised a gun and took aim. The weapon shook in her hand and, for the first time, Braxton took his attention off the shooter to look at her. Muted sunlight highlighted the sheen of sweat between her brows as she fought to keep her eyes open. She struggled to straighten fully, free hand clutched around her lower abdominals.
“Liz?” Something was wrong. Braxton released his grip on the shooter, panic coursing through every cell in his body as he reached for her. “Liz—”
Her pupils rolled up behind her eyelids as she collapsed. Braxton caught her before she hit the ground, her skin cold and waxy. Pain shredded through his injured arm under the pressure, but he didn’t give a damn. Something dark and sticky stained the arm of her coat. Blood. But not enough for her to lose consciousness. Something else was wrong.
A long shadow cast darkness across Liz’s features as the shooter straightened. “Looks like my job here is done, after all.”
Before Braxton had a chance to stand, the bastard jumped off the edge of the cliff.
Pressure built in his lungs, crystallized puffs forming in front of his lips. What the hell?
Liz. He had to get Liz out of here. Digging his heels into the ground, he tipped her back against his injured arm and used every ounce of strength left to stand. Her thready pulse beat in rhythm to the pounding at the base of his skull. “Hang on, baby. I’m going to get you help.”
Pines clawed at him as he ran straight back down the small path he’d used to find her. Another dose of adrenaline flooded through him, but the human body couldn’t live off the fight-or-flight response forever. He’d crash soon. But he’d sure as hell get Liz help first. The last remnants of sunset lit the path as he took a sharp left. Rocks and twigs fought to trip him as he descended down to the trailhead. He wasn’t going to lose her. Not now. Not ever. He hit the trailhead, nearly sprinting toward the shooter’s abandoned Mercedes. The sight of the car alone was enough to push him harder.
He set her down then wrenched the back passenger door open, laying her across the back seat. Framing her jawline between his thumb and first finger, he swept a strand of hair away from her face. “Almost there, Sprinkles. Don’t you dare give up now. Fight. Listen to my voice and open your eyes, baby.”
No answer.
Braxton climbed from the car, rounding to the driver’s side door. And froze, hand on the door handle. The cliff where he’d fought the shooter fifty feet above claimed his attention. He checked the pavement below. That was the same plateau where the shooter had jumped. The hairs on the back of his neck rose on end as he studied the rest of the highway.
So where was the body?
Chapter Nine
“He shouldn’t have been able to find me.” New name, birth certificate, driver’s license, Social Security number, credit cards, established social media accounts. She’d done everything aside from getting plastic surgery. Even with full access to her program, the shooter shouldn’t have been able to track her down. At least, not without help. Oversight ran off federal databases, and everything there said she was Elizabeth Dawson. Plain and simple. She’d made sure before terminating her contract with the NSA.
The IV in the top of her hand tugged at her attention, cold fluid working through her veins. Braxton had gotten her to the hospital two days ago, but according to him, the nightmare was far from over. The shooter had jumped off that cliff he’d meant to use as her final resting place, but his body hadn’t been recovered. He was still out there. Hunting her. “I changed my name. I relocated.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sullivan Bishop had taken the seat beside her bed. Protection detail, he’d said. Her boss hadn’t taken any of his own cases since taking down one of the most trained stalkers in Anchorage history—his brother. So why was he really here? The former SEAL centered that sea-blue gaze on her, and everything in her heated. Not from attraction—Sullivan had the best damn army prosecutor in the country waiting for him up the road at Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson—but from embarrassment. “I told you when I hired you, we’d have your back. No matter what, but that comes with conditions, Liz. We’re a team. I can’t expect my team to function if my operatives are keeping secrets from me.”
“I came to Anchorage to start over. I’d left that part of my life behind. I didn’t see any reason to fill you in because none of this was supposed to happen.” But hadn’t she’d always known this day would come? Always looking over her shoulder for those green eyes she hadn’t been able to forget. Didn’t matter where she’d gone. Braxton would’ve found her sooner or later. “How is Braxton?”
“The nurses threatened to strap him down if he didn’t let them stitch his arm. Knowing what little I do about him, he’ll barge through that door any moment to get to you.” Sullivan’s five o’clock shadow shifted as the small muscles along his jaw flexed. He crossed his arms, massive muscles fighting to free themselves from the signature black T-shirt he always seemed to wear. “He said the shooter jumped off that cliff edge, but neither Vincent nor the crime scene unit have been able to recover a body or any evidence the bastard got up and walked away. Do you trust him?”
Wasn’t that the million-dollar question? Elizabeth pressed the edge of the bedsheet under her fingernail. She had no doubt Braxton would do what it took to protect her. Even if that meant neutralizing the threat after she’d passed out from the cramping in her abdomen. Snapping her gaze to her boss, she pressed
her shoulder blades into the pillows behind her. “It’s complicated.”
“What about the pregnancy? When were you going to tell me about that?” he asked.
Elizabeth swallowed against the bruising around her throat, the rising rhythm of her heartbeat registering on the monitor beside her. The pain she’d experienced on that cliff, the sensation of building pressure... She’d feared the worst as Braxton raced her to the hospital. When the doctor had wheeled in the ultrasound machine, she’d expected for him to tell her the baby was gone. But baby Karina’s heart beat strong. Her lower lash line burned as relief still coursed through her. “To be fair, I only told the father three days ago.”
“Braxton,” he said.
“Yes. What...what happened between us happened before I came to Anchorage, but I only found out about a month ago. I swear I didn’t know I was pregnant when you hired me.” She focused on a stray thread trying to escape from the white hospital blanket. She licked dry lips as she fought against the memories of Braxton on that cliff, of the shooter’s blade cutting through him. He risked his life—yet again—for her. He’d saved her. And she wasn’t sure that was something she could ever pay back. Elizabeth moved her hand over the baby. At least, not without letting him back in her life permanently. She forced herself to level her chin with the floor. To prove she could. Her baby wasn’t a mistake. She was, however, a surprise Elizabeth hadn’t been counting on when she’d taken on her share of clients for the firm. Her work had been the only thing keeping her sane these last few months. But if her withholding information from her boss lost her this job, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. Where she’d go. “If you’re worried whether or not I’ll be able to protect my clients—”
“I’m not.” Sullivan leaned back in his chair. “You’re one of the best operatives I have. And if you feel you can still do your job while carrying this baby, I trust your judgment to know what you can handle.” He ran a hand down his five o’clock shadow, the sound of short whiskers against his fingers louder than she expected. “What I am worried about is the people who blew up my conference room trying to get to you, and what they’re going to do next.”
“Is that why you’re in here and Glennon is standing outside my room?” The Sovereign Army had taken credit for the bomb at Blackhawk Security three days ago, but now she wasn’t so sure they were actually responsible. Wasn’t sure they were even aware they’d been pulled into the shooter’s game. What had he said? A headache pulsed at the base of her skull. The memories had gone fuzzy when she’d lost consciousness.
“I don’t know much about your work for the NSA, but I’ve seen groups like this before, and they’re not the kind of people who take government involvement in their lives lightly. For whatever reason, you’re their main target.” Sullivan sat forward, elbows on his knees, the butt of his favored .40 Smith & Wesson swinging forward from his shoulder holster.
“It’s not them.” Elizabeth had no doubt in her mind. “The man who shot at me in the parking garage after the explosion was the same one who kidnapped me off Seward Highway. I wouldn’t be surprised if he used their cause to throw me off the trail. He’s coming after me by himself. It’s personal for him.”
Elizabeth struggled to sit up without putting pressure on her broken wrist, now in a cast. Her throat tightened. The NSA had run dozens of missions with Oversight after she’d left. Some successes. Some failures. Hundreds of lives had been affected. Every family member, friend and radicalized militant involved could have reason to hunt her down for the program’s creation alone. Add losses to that number? There were too many suspects to count. “He’s doing this out of revenge.”
“Well, that changes things.” Sullivan’s eyebrows pulled together, deepening three distinct lines in the middle. “Do you know who it is? Did you get a good look at the guy?”
“No. He wore a mask the entire time we were together.” Flashes of those dark eyes materialized when she closed her eyes. She shook her head. “But I’m going to find out.”
“And we’ll be there every step of the way if you need us,” Sullivan said. “On one condition.”
Her stomach tightened.
Blackhawk Security’s CEO shifted forward in his chair, his attention on her. “I want to know who I really hired.”
She couldn’t keep the truth from him or her team any longer.
“My real name is Elizabeth Bosch. I was born in the smallest town you can imagine in the middle of nowhere, Montana. My parents ran the ski resort there, and that’s basically all I can tell you about them.” Only the memories of photographs came to mind now. Elizabeth trapped air in her lungs, firming her lips. How long had it been since she’d given up her secret? Four, five months? “They died when I was four. My aunt came to live with me after that, and the minute I graduated high school, I got out of there as fast as I could and haven’t looked back.”
“And your work with the NSA?” he asked.
“Two years ago, I was working for a start-up company, programming and piloting unmanned drones for their military contracts, when one day...” Elizabeth picked at her chipped nail polish. She was unraveling at the seams, starting with her pathetic chipped, dirt-caked nails. “A man named Dalton Meyer approached me. He said one of his analysts had been keeping an eye on my career and thought I would be the best person for a job they had in mind. The analyst was Braxton. He offered me a contract so I could get the chance to serve my country in a bigger capacity. Turned out, the NSA wanted me to create a facial recognition program called Oversight to identify possible threats across the country. Anything from small-time crime to terrorist plots. And I did. Utilizing surveillance cameras, news coverage, phone cameras, social media, you name it, the program uses that information to predict threats.” Her mouth dried. “But I ended up terminating my contract after Oversight’s first trial run.” She fought to breathe evenly. “Creative differences.”
Movement on the other side of the single window to her room raised the hairs on the back of her neck. She didn’t have to look at the man trying to force his way past Glennon at the door. Every cell in her body recognized every cell in his. Had since the day she’d met him. Would that ever change?
Door hinges protested loudly. Then he was there. Braxton was there, and she fought back the burn in her eyes from the pure relief rushing through her. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Goose bumps prickled along her arms. Bruises decorated his face, scratches cutting into his jawline. Proof he’d fought like hell on that cliff. For her. Silence settled between them. Comfortable. Electrically charged.
Sullivan stood and headed toward the door. “I can tell this is going to get awkward real fast, so I’m going to leave, but Liz—” He spun around, pinning her against the hospital bed with that hard sea-blue gaze. “Never withhold intel from your team again. Got it?”
She nodded. “Got it.”
“Good. Call if you need something.” The former SEAL maneuvered around Braxton without a word then shut the door behind him.
Braxton dropped a black duffel bag and closed the space between them. His bandaged fingers threaded through her hair at the back of her neck then pulled her into him. Right where she belonged. He tilted her head up and kissed her. Slow at first, then with more pressure, harder, as though he thought he’d never get the chance to kiss her again. Which he almost hadn’t. If it hadn’t been for him... If he hadn’t come for her...
A dull ringing filled her ears as she fought to catch up with her shallow breathing. The monitors beeped rapidly a few feet away, and she couldn’t help but laugh. Because if she didn’t allow herself this small release, she might’ve shattered completely. Elizabeth pulled back but kept her undamaged hand gripped in his shirt. Meeting those compelling green eyes, she tugged him down onto the bed beside her. “Take me home.”
* * *
WHEN A PHOENIX rose from the ashes, she was more beautiful and stronger than ever before. And, d
amn, he couldn’t stop stealing glances at Liz as she rested her head against the window. She’d faced death and survived. How many others could say the same?
The stitches in his arm stretched tight beneath the gauze, but he pushed the discomfort aside, attention on the all-too-familiar road. A light dusting of snowflakes fell across the windshield, but it wasn’t enough to detract from the intense hollowness setting up residence in his gut. Silent seconds stretched into minutes as Liz closed her eyes.
The baby was okay. Seeing their daughter on the ultrasound, hearing her tiny heartbeat. It was as though a dam had been destroyed and a flood of emotions had washed forward. He’d nearly sank to his knees right there in the middle of the hospital room. And in that moment, he’d allowed himself to imagine things he hadn’t before. Meeting his daughter for the first time, celebrating her first birthday, sending her off to kindergarten, walking her down the aisle on her wedding day. The three of them—him, Liz and Karina—together as a real family.
Slush splashed up onto the windshield, bringing him back to the moment. He’d forfeited those fantasies the night he’d walked out on Liz after they’d conceived their baby. Forfeited his right to happiness. His right to ask her for the possibility of a future between them—wouldn’t work. Not with the NSA dead set on putting him behind bars for treason. He couldn’t ask her to wait, to hope.
Braxton tightened his grip on the steering wheel of another Blackhawk Security SUV, fighting back dark memories of tearing down Seward Highway in pursuit of saving her life in another vehicle exactly like this. He might’ve forfeited everything that night, but he’d do whatever it took to keep his girls safe. No matter the cost.
Rules in Deceit Page 10
