His fingertips pressed into the back of her skull, refusing to let her budge as he swept his tongue past her lips. He worked to claim her from the inside and—right in the middle of her destroyed barracks, with her peers on the other side of the door—she didn’t care. No hesitation.
Passion and familiarity spread through her as his full beard tickled the oversensitized skin along her jaw. The sensation only spurred her further. She kissed him back, kissed him with everything she had. Shoving years of loneliness, of pain and self-doubt into the near-forgotten connection between them, Glennon surrendered for the first time in years. To him. Always to him.
Anthony pulled back first and she swayed on her feet. His masculine scent drove through her system, determined to mark her from the inside. Staring down at her, he shifted on his feet, but kept her close. “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you in that abandoned house.”
Abandoned house? She blinked to clear her head. Right. The investigation. Her partner.
Glennon maneuvered out of his grasp. His pupils grew smaller as she ran a hand through her hair. Air. She needed air. She’d gotten so lost in him, she’d completely forgotten why she’d called him in the first place. To find Bennett. Rolling her lips between her teeth, she bit down to get her head back in the game. It’d felt good to let go for those countless seconds, to give up her control for a moment, but it couldn’t happen again. Not with him. Not with anyone.
Glennon moved to the door. “You’re right. The marshal isn’t going to wait around all day for us to interrogate him. Let’s go.”
Chapter Six
She’d lied to him.
While she’d claimed whatever she was hiding wouldn’t ultimately get them killed, Anthony had read the distress in her expression. He slid his finger along the side of his Beretta as they waited outside the downtown office building. Civilian turf. Nothing to tie back to Glennon if this went south. According to the lieutenant general’s administrative assistant, the marshal had a meeting scheduled here in ten minutes. Enough time to get some answers.
Glennon hadn’t said a word since they’d left the barracks, but the uneven tension straining her jawline as she watched out the passenger-side window for their target revealed the truth: he shouldn’t have kissed her.
Anthony wouldn’t apologize. He wasn’t sorry. But the silence that had filled the inside of the tinted SUV pressurized the air in his lungs. “Want to talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” She kept her eyes on the side mirror. “You kissed me. I kissed you back. Won’t happen again. The end.”
He tapped the back of his head against his headrest, his grip light on the Beretta in his lap. As much as he wanted to believe she meant every word, he’d been part of that kiss, too. She’d surrendered to him. For those few brief moments she’d given up her tight control, had reverted to the woman he’d fallen in love with during her basic training. And damn, what he wouldn’t give to feel that release again. To see her let go. “How can you be sure it won’t happen again?”
“There’s our target.” Glennon sat forward in her seat, unholstering her service weapon as the marshal’s nontactical vehicle pulled up to the underground parking garage of the building with two armed military escorts. She unlocked the door and shouldered her weight into it. “Let’s go see if the marshal wants me dead.”
Anthony was right behind her. His boots hit the asphalt, instincts on high alert. They’d lost the advantage of ambushing Lieutenant General Sykes under the cover of darkness, but he wasn’t about to open fire in the middle of a public street, either. They had to be smart about this or risk involving Anchorage PD, the army and any other interested parties—the last thing Glennon wanted in this investigation.
She jogged across the street, gun at her side.
Anthony surveyed the area in case Sykes was being watched. Tall, with a slight build, headed into his seventies with a full head of white hair and deep wrinkles, the marshal didn’t scream suspected traitor, but Anthony wasn’t taking any chances. Not with Glennon in the crosshairs. The rooftops were clear. No civilians took more of an interest in their movements than normal. So far, so good.
Glennon picked up the pace when the tail end of Sykes’s vehicle cleared the entrance to the garage, but she pulled up short once she approached the corner. Back pressed against the wall, she closed her eyes for a split second then turned to Anthony. She locked on him, determined, controlled. One hundred percent the special agent he’d imagined she’d become. “If this goes sideways, we’ll be court-martialed. You can still back out.”
No. He couldn’t.
“I’ve got your back.” His pulse beat steadily in his chest. This was what he did for a living, what he’d been born to do. Adrenaline dumped into his blood. Primary objective: protect Glennon. If her interrogation with the marshal went south, he’d get her out of there. No matter what. Giving up wasn’t in her personality, but her life was far more important than this investigation. He pulled back the slide on his weapon, ensuring he’d loaded a round into the chamber. He nodded once. “On your signal.”
“Go.” Glennon swung her Glock up as she rounded the corner.
A rush of icy air slammed into him as they descended into the darkness. His senses adjusted slowly. Glennon’s outline was straight ahead of him. She moved with quick, sure movements toward Sykes’s NTV parked in the second row at the back of the garage. No sign of the marshal or his armed escorts. Anthony listened for movement. The start of a car, footsteps—anything to give them an idea where their target had gone. He gripped the Berretta tighter.
Nothing. The garage was too quiet for this time of day.
As they neared the NTV, he caught sight of two bodies. Two soldiers. His instincts prickled a warning. Damn it. Sykes had known they were coming.
Anthony lunged for Glennon up ahead, wrapping his hand around her arm. He tugged her into him a split second before a bullet ripped through the darkness. Cement exploded to their left as a column absorbed the shot. Her breath slammed out of her chest and across his neck with the impact. Shuffling sounds echoed off the asphalt, but not long enough for Anthony to pin down their target’s location. Her fingers gripped his Kevlar vest, keeping him pressed against her. His fight-or-flight instinct sharpened his senses. He sure as hell wouldn’t take flight. The son of a bitch had taken a shot at her. Wouldn’t happen again.
“You shouldn’t have come here, Sergeant Chase,” a deep, drawling accented voice called out. “You’re in over your head.”
Glennon’s chin notched higher, her shoulders stiffening. She rolled off him. Follow the plan. She’d distract Sykes while Anthony closed in on the target. “Is that the same warning you gave Sergeant Spencer when he confronted you about your ties to Mascaro’s operation?”
A low rumble of a laugh vibrated through the garage as Anthony maneuvered along the south wall of the garage, gun in hand. The marshal’s voice barely reached him. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, little girl. The operation you and your partner have been investigating is more than you can take on. Hell, it’s more than the US Army can take on. Sergeant Spencer understood that.”
The outline of a man about Sykes’s height and build moved from around a white van thirty feet ahead. Toward Glennon’s position.
Anthony focused on the four cars between him and the marshal. She could take care of herself, he had no doubt about that, but he picked up his pace all the same. He heel-toed it across the cement, ensuring he kept his weight evenly distributed so the lieutenant general wouldn’t know what hit him. The muscles in his shoulders ached the longer he held the gun up, deprived of oxygen as he held his breath.
“Did you kill him?” Glennon’s voice wavered.
Three cars between him and the target. Anthony kept low and moved fast. Two cars. The scent of spicy aftershave clouded his head.
“I barely escaped with my lif
e after Sergeant Spencer came looking for me.” Sykes’s outline sharpened as Anthony closed in. The marshal raised his weapon and took aim. A quick glance in Glennon’s position revealed how close she’d gotten. Too close. And directly into Sykes’s sights. “I won’t make the same mistake with you, Sergeant.”
Anthony pulled the trigger.
The bullet ripped through his target’s shoulder, an almost identical wound to Glennon’s. The marshal crumbled to the pavement, a rich groan filling the garage. But to Sykes’s credit, he didn’t scream.
Dim overhead lighting chased the shadows from Glennon’s features as she moved in, weapon aimed at her commanding officer. Even with a bullet in his shoulder, Sykes was a highly trained military operative in his glory days. A threat.
Anthony kicked the marshal’s gun across the pavement, out of reach. Metal scraped against asphalt as the weapon disappeared under a parked car a few spaces down.
“The mistake you made was assuming I’d come without backup.” Glennon crouched low as the marshal clamped a hand over the hole in his shoulder.
Blood seeped from between the lieutenant general’s fingers, but Sykes would live to tell his tale. As long as they got their answers. Someone had sent a professional shooter after Glennon, then another man to break into his cabin. Anthony wasn’t leaving until he found out who would be on the wrong end of his weapon next time.
“Where is Sergeant Spencer?” Glennon’s voice promised a not-too-happy ending for the marshal.
Anthony’s phone vibrated in his pocket. One look at Captain Reise’s email and the forwarded scene report from Glennon’s barracks said they had the right guy. “Your fingerprints were all over Sergeant Chase’s barracks.” He nodded toward the marshal, but Glennon only had attention for her commanding officer. Not a hint of surprise on those beautiful, stone-like features. “He destroyed the files you gathered on Bennett and Sergeant Mascaro’s operation. Should’ve been more careful, sir.”
The marshal didn’t respond. No surprise there. Trained operatives spent hundreds of hours counteracting interrogation tactics. Sykes wouldn’t admit guilt, but the small twitch of his white beard gave way to another almost inaudible groan.
“Tell me where Sergeant Spencer is, and you might be able to call an ambulance in time,” she said.
“You don’t scare me, Sergeant Chase. You’re not a killer.” The marshal’s chapped lips thinned into a smile. He checked back over his shoulder, toward Anthony. “As for the company you keep, that’s a different story.”
Glennon blinked. “You don’t know anything about us.”
“Oh, I know plenty, darlin’.” A thick Texan accent bubbled to the surface. Sweat across Sykes’s forehead reflected the dim overhead lighting. Blood loss tended to have that effect—it drained color from the face, forced the hands to shake. “I know you’re from Anchorage. That your daddy walked out on you and your mama at a young age. That you were engaged to Sergeant Major Harris here before you transferred to the Quantico office. And that you, my dear, are not prepared for what’s about to happen.”
“You killed your escort,” she said. “Why?”
Anthony searched the garage. They weren’t getting anywhere with this guy. The marshal wouldn’t tell them anything about her missing partner. He caught sight of the elevators at the north end of the building, the panel above the doors counting down. Level three. Level two. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. “Glennon.”
“And I know your secret,” Lieutenant General Sykes said. “The one you’ve been keeping from the army and your bodyguard here.”
Anthony homed in on the marshal.
Straightening, Glennon lowered the Glock to her side. If the garage hadn’t been so dark, Anthony would’ve sworn the blood had drained from her face. Her gun hand shook briefly, but she stilled so fast, he could’ve been mistaken. “You’re lying.”
Level one.
“Glennon, he’s baiting you so he can stall.” Anthony maneuvered around the marshal. Someone was about to step off that elevator and, from their current position fewer than fifty feet from the doors, blow their entire operation. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
Bright red lines across the elevator’s electric panel said they were out of time.
“Your partner had a secret, too, Sergeant Chase.” The lines around Sykes’s eyes deepened—to counteract the pain in his shoulder, most likely. “Don’t suppose the fact Sergeant Spencer is a lieutenant in Nicholas Mascaro’s operation is the reason he’s gone missing, do you?”
The elevator doors parted.
* * *
HER WORLD SLOWED.
Anthony raised his weapon in her peripheral vision. Thumping vibrations shot through her as sparks exploded off two cars nearby, but Glennon couldn’t move. It wasn’t possible. The marshal was lying. Bennett wouldn’t have gotten himself involved with a criminal organization. Everything they’d done the last six months had been to bring down Mascaro’s operation... He wasn’t a lieutenant.
“Glennon!” Anthony shoved her down. “Get out of here!”
The dimly lit garage blurred as she hit the ground. Reality caught up as Lieutenant General Sykes army-crawled away from her. Bullets ricocheted off the vehicle at her back, and she shook her head clear. The Glock remained heavy in her grip as she lunged. Catching his arm with one hand, Glennon ripped her commanding officer from the asphalt and ran. Sykes wasn’t going anywhere. Not until she had what she came for.
Anthony fired two shots—three—as he followed close on her heels. “Go, go, go!”
Who the hell was shooting at them?
She pumped her legs hard, dragging the marshal behind her with everything she had. The bullet in his shoulder slowed them down, but she wasn’t about to leave him behind. He jerked forward—trying to rip away—but Glennon kept a tight hold on his arm.
They dove behind a white commercial van at the back of the garage. The rhythmic firing of automatic gunfire echoed loudly in her ears. The van would give them enough cover for the next few minutes, but they couldn’t afford to be pinned down much longer. Every second she wasted trying to get answers out of Sykes limited her and Anthony’s chance of escape.
She fought to catch her breath, turning on her commanding officer. She fisted his three-star-decorated uniform and wrenched him toward her. Asphalt bit into her knees with his added weight. “You’re involved in Mascaro’s operation. Tell me about Bennett. Now.”
Something wet and sticky dripped down her T-shirt.
“Seems like we’re both running out of time, Sergeant Chase.” The marshal’s coffee-brown eyes glassed over.
Blood. He’d been shot in the chest. No, no, no, no. “Come on. Stay with me, Marshal. Tell me where my partner is.”
“We’re pinned down.” Maneuvering around the van, Anthony crouched low and switched his magazine for a fresh reload.
Relief flooded through her, but didn’t last long. He’d get them out of here. Whatever it took, she believed in him. But the provost marshal general was losing blood fast and the chances of getting information out of him were quickly dwindling. Hell burned in Anthony’s cold blue eyes, locked on Sykes, and a shiver chased down her spine. This had been exactly why she’d come to him for help.
Focusing on the blood spreading across the asphalt, Anthony shook his head. “He took a bullet to his left lung. He’ll suffocate before we have a chance to even move him.” His voice was flat.
“That’s not good enough.” The gunfire pounded through her head, never ceasing. How were they going to get out of here? “Please—” she leveraged both palms against Sykes’s wound to stop the bleeding, in vain “—tell me about Sergeant Spencer. What happened to him? Where can I find him?”
“Mascaro...paid me...will kill... Sergeant Spen—” Blood stained the corners of Lieutenant General Sykes’s mouth as he sagged back against the pavement. A rough ex
hale escaped him as the life drained from his aged features.
“No. You’re not allowed to die on me! Tell me where Bennett is.” Glennon leveraged her weight and pumped eight quick pulses to get his heart started. Counting another eight, she barely registered the strong grip trying to pull her back. Wrenching out of Anthony’s hold, she slid her blood-covered fingertips to her commanding officer’s neck. No pulse. Frustration climbed up her throat.
The marshal stared at the ceiling, unmoving.
He was dead. And any information he’d had about recovering Bennett had died with him.
“Glennon, we need to get out of here!” Anthony’s voice barely registered over the gunfire that seemed so much louder than a few minutes ago. Strong hands ripped her from beside the marshal’s body and thrust her toward the back of the van.
“The only way we’re getting out of here is through the main entrance.” Another round of bullets ricocheted off the vehicle. Three shots? Four? Glennon couldn’t think. Her best chance of putting an end to this investigation had just bled out on the asphalt six feet away. Anthony unloaded the rest of his magazine at the shooters then took cover once again to switch weapons. “We need a plan here, sweetheart.”
Blood coated her palms, but she gripped her Glock hard nonetheless. A dull ringing filled her ears. Glennon shook the last few minutes of the lieutenant general’s life from her memory. Sykes might’ve held the answers to her investigation, but she wasn’t giving up. It wasn’t in her personality. Dead or alive, she’d find Bennett and put an end to this nightmare. Even if she had to break a few of the very laws she’d upheld to do it.
She turned on Anthony. This wasn’t over. “Mascaro’s operatives want me.” She counted the rounds left in her magazine and slammed it back into her weapon. “They’re going to have to come get me.”
Rules in Rescue Page 7
