Hitting Xtremes (Xtreme Ops Book 1)

by Em Petrova

  The guys lined up along the ridge, scanning the area with binocs.

  She made a grab for Penn’s. “Let me see.”

  She didn’t understand the expression he wore when he hesitated. She issued a low growl of irritation. “Do you think I’m incompetent?”

  He refused to answer but finally relented. She grabbed the equipment and brought the binocs into focus, staring at the tracks.

  “I don’t know how he did it,” she said slowly, “but he got a plane to land here. Maybe it landed long before the worst of the storm hit, and took off the minute the skies cleared enough.”

  Penn grabbed the binocs from her and looked again. “So he took off. He was lifted out.”

  “Or a plane dropped off someone else to help him reach that drug drop. I don’t think for a minute that they’ll abandon it, Captain,” Lipton added.

  Penn opened his mouth, but any words were cut off. A shot blasted by them and shattered some of the rock face where they all stood.

  “Incoming!”

  Cora barely processed the first shot when a second hit the ridge.

  Penn threw her behind the big wall of his body. The men pulled up their weapons and flattened themselves at the same time. Penn shoved her again, and Cora hit her behind. She didn’t have time to scramble to her feet again before Penn forced her backward until her spine came up against a hard spike of rock covered in ice.

  “What—”

  “Don’t say a word,” he threw out at her. “See that crevice? Hide. Make yourself small.”

  She hesitated and he yelled, “Get in!”

  More shots rang out. “Where the fuck are you, you bastard?” she heard one of the guys mutter.

  She squeezed between two protruding faces of rock that could house any kind of animal in these parts. She expected a wolverine to attack her ankle at any moment as she strained her ears as if she could predict the next shot.

  Heart racing, adrenaline battling for supremacy in her veins, she waited. Wishing to hell she had a weapon to take aim at the man who killed her father.

  Chapter Five

  “Broshears, find that motherfucker.” Penn’s command came out as a gritty growl.

  “On it!”

  All eyes scoured the opposite ridge. Thick snow scraped across the face of stone like the painting of a master. The landscape was shades of gray, white and the dark break of black here and there.

  Penn caught a flash of light. “Three MOA!”

  “Got him.” Stretched out on his stomach with the crosshairs on the shooter across the valley, Broshears adjusted for windage and then set his finger on the trigger, all in a second’s time.

  He squeezed off the shot. The flash disappeared.

  “Fuck, Broshears. You really are a sharpshooter.” Lipton nodded.

  “Keep on them. There’s more than one shooter.”

  “How many by your guess?”

  “Two shots—two different weapons. One’s a Lobaev. Russian issue.” His tactical mind quickly worked out the angles of those shots too. After a look at the splintered rock that was too close for comfort, he projected the shooters’ positions.

  “Hundred yards to the right. Eyes on that ridge!”

  Another shot exploded over their heads. Penn darted a glance over his shoulder at the place where he ordered Cora to hide herself. Fuck, he better not have made the wrong decision.

  “You got him, Broshears?” Penn demanded

  “Aww, c’mon. Now you’re just makin’ it easy on me,” Broshears drawled out.

  “You got him?” Lipton repeated.

  “This man was dead from the first shot fired.” Broshears’ statement was slow in comparison to his quick moves. He loaded a shell into his long-range sniper rifle and lined up the shot. Nobody spoke, granting their man the silence he needed to focus.

  At that second, Penn caught a flash from the left. He didn’t even get out the words, “There’s a third!” before he pulled up and took his own shot. Without the planning and precision, his shot came close, ricocheting off the rock and causing snow to slide down the face. Snow and ice picked up speed, skidding down the rock face and crashing to the valley below.

  He squeezed off another shot, and this time he had backup. They opened fire on the location. The report echoed across the valley.

  Something touched Penn’s waist, right along his spine. He started to whirl just as someone ripped his sidearm from the place it nestled along his back.

  Cora raised the weapon and fired at another man who’d made it to their ridge and stood feet from him and his men.

  “Fuck!”

  Her shot grazed him in the shoulder, and he staggered back. His blue eyes burned into Penn’s a split second before Penn shot him in the head. The body flew backward and hit the snow, legs splayed, face turned up to the sky.

  “Jesus, where’d he come from?” one of the men burst out.

  “Spread out! He won’t be the only one. Beckett, guard her.” He barely glanced at Cora.

  The woman had defied his orders to stay hidden.

  Goddammit.

  She’d probably saved his life.

  Son of a bitch.

  And she was a bad shot to top it all.

  They cased the ridge, searching in every crack and crevice. The shooting had stopped, and they’d shot four men. If one of them was Yahontov, all the better. Their mission would be complete, and he could get Cora home to safety. He didn’t want her out here anymore.

  “Clear, Captain.” Gasper returned to the group with Hep at his side.

  “You checked the backside of this ridge?” Penn asked.

  “There’s no way anybody could scale that side of the ridge.” Cora’s voice came out strong, with no hint at all that she might be shaken by what had taken place— completely blowing his belief that an emotional person could not do this job.

  Penn sliced a look at his second in command. “Lip.”

  “Take care of what you need to, Penn.”

  Focused solely on Cora now, he reached the woman in two strides. Her eyes lit with surprise as he latched onto her arm and hauled her away from the guys. When he located a spot where they were both safe and out of sight of the others, he grabbed her by the arms and glared down at her.

  She narrowed her eyes. “What are you glaring at me for?”

  “You could have been killed. You disobeyed a direct order from me. And you can’t shoot for shit.”

  Defiance jutted her little jaw forward, and she twisted those full rosy lips that had tortured him most of the night. “I saved your life, you idiot!”

  “Now is a good time to stop talking.” His tone sounded with an edge of warning.

  “Or what? Big soldier man’s going to give me another order? Ha!”

  “Cora,” he warned.

  “Penn,” she mocked.

  He cocked a brow at her, daring her to continue. Like a stubborn child, she compressed her lips. The tight line did nothing to make him stop wanting to taste her sweet lips. Then, just because he knew she couldn’t resist, she opened her mouth to speak again.

  He cupped the back of her head and slammed his mouth over hers.

  To shut her up, of course.

  The pressure of her soft lips against his threatened to rip a growl from him. He didn’t need to utter a noise, though, because she did it for him. The softest, sweetest, sexiest moan he’d ever heard passed through her lips to wash across his.

  “Goddammit, you coulda been killed.” He claimed her mouth again, thrusting his tongue inside to quell any more protests from the woman. He plundered her, and it was completely one-sided, with him in control.

  The heat of her mouth and the flavors ignited him. Flicking his tongue over hers, he drew more of her essence into his head while gathering her closer with a palm on her spine. He molded her against him, and she didn’t even try to step away or break the kiss. In fact, she dropped her head into his palm and melted into the caress even more.

  It was the hottest damn thing he
’d ever experienced.

  She was the hottest damn woman he’d ever known, puffy snow pants, irritating personality and all.

  And he had to quit kissing her.

  He tried to peel himself away, but the instant he inched back, she followed him. A growl did escape him this time, and she answered it with another of those cooing moans that women only made after you made them come.

  He dived in.

  Testing the depths of her mouth, he angled his head and steered himself into madness. What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he stop kissing her? He had men to lead. They had bodies to recover and to ID. He’d bet his ass that Yahontov hadn’t put himself on the line, and the man was still out there.

  But Cora’d put her life on the line by sneaking from her hiding spot and taking his sidearm. It still pissed him off she hadn’t managed to put a bullet in the man, because he only needed a millisecond to shoot her. Maybe the element of surprise at finding a woman on the ridge shooting at him made him pause.

  Whatever the reason, she was alive, in Penn’s arms, and her lips were swelling beneath his.

  Cold wind rippled over them, allowing him enough of a break in the rampant passion burning inside him to pull free.

  He couldn’t step back, so he pushed her a step from him. Who knew blue-gray could burn so hot with intensity? Her eyes seemed to scorch through him.

  His blood pressure spiked from adrenaline and pent-up need to shove his body between the splayed thighs he had yet to see without her thick clothing.

  “Captain!”

  He returned to reality, and damn, it didn’t make things easier. Cora stood silhouetted against snow, ice and rock, and he didn’t want to stop kissing her.

  “C’mon.” He reached for her arm, thinking to haul her around the rise again to see to his men, but she jerked from his hold before he could close his fingers.

  “I’m capable of walking by myself. You don’t need to manhandle me.”

  He was right—her lips were swollen from his kisses and the short beard he wore had scraped over her cheeks, reddening them. Along with the wind and a fair amount of anger still burning in her cheeks, she could impersonate a tomato.

  “Stay close to me. We’re not out of danger yet.”

  When they rounded to the men gathered around the dead man on the ground, five sets of eyes slid from his face to Cora’s. Fuck—just what he needed.

  Lipton cleared his throat. “We’ve got a blood trail to follow.” He pointed to the opposite ridge. “Looks like I didn’t make a clean shot the last time. I thought he jerked his head at the last second, and I might have clipped him in the shoulder.”

  “And Yahontov? Was he among the shooters?” Penn’s chest still heaved, and his cock throbbed within the layers he wore, but he ignored all of it to concentrate on the mission. He never should have gotten distracted. His discipline had swirled down the toilet just now, and he had no excuse.

  Lipton shook his head.

  “Then our goals have changed. We’re going to hunt, X Ops.”

  “Yes, sir,” sounded all around.

  Hep hung back.

  “What is it?” Penn asked.

  A sharp gasp sounded from behind Penn, and Cora bumped into him as she rushed forward. She grabbed Hep’s forearm and lifted his hand up to inspect the blood freely dripping from his glove. “It’s bleeding a lot. How did this happen? You didn’t take a bullet, did you?”

  “No, Mizz Hutton.” He looked to Penn. “I know we don’t have time for injuries.”

  “We can’t have you leaving a blood trail for someone to follow either.” Penn shifted automatically into a stance to guard and protect.

  Cora took over. “Come sit here as much out of the wind as you can. There, yes.” Gently, she removed his glove. Hep didn’t so much as wince.

  “How did it happen?” Penn asked.

  “Slipped scrambling to my feet. I put my hand down, and a sharp edge of the rock sliced my glove and finger too.”

  Cradling his big palm in hers, Cora looked up into Penn’s eyes. “This needs stitches.”

  “Nah. Super-glue it. Hep, you’ve got a first-aid kit on you?”

  He nodded and slipped his pack off his shoulders. He started to rummage in a pocket and came out with the small kit.

  Stiff wind blew straight in their faces, and Cora held her hat in place. Penn had long ago, after watching her do this countless times, realized why—her hat was too large and had a tendency to slip backward on her head. When she did it now, Hep’s gaze locked on her face.

  Penn issued a low noise of warning, and the man looked away from Cora. With both of them hunched over his hand while Cora used the antiseptic wipes to clean the blood and more to flush out his wound, Penn had to ask himself what the hell his problem was.

  He’d kissed the woman. Come damn close to groping her too. Hell, if he had time, he might have found a cave and claimed her there like some savage.

  From this second on, she was nothing but their guide—a method to reach their final destination.

  “I’m sorry if I’m hurting you.” Her tender tone scratched at the armor he attempted to put up where she was concerned.

  “I’m fine. Do what you need to do to get it clean,” Hep answered. The man’s gaze was on her face again. Who could blame him? The woman was beautiful, with a softness rarely seen. She might be tough enough to trek across the Alaskan wilderness, but she looked like a woman a man kept piled under covers in front of a roaring fire and loved her all night long.

  She bit down on her lower lip as she inspected the wound closely. Penn’s guts clenched at the sight of that plump lip he’d made even more swollen with his hard, demanding kisses.

  She hadn’t refused him.

  That thought only drove him more insane.

  She stowed the bloodied wipes in her pocket of all places and then Hep passed her the medical super glue. She held up the small tube, lip trapped in her teeth again.

  “I’ve never glued a man together before.”

  The sight of soft, bare fingers shouldn’t get him excited. Next thing he knew, he’d beg her for a peek at some ankle and a glass of lemonade on the porch swing.

  Without her gloves, he was able to see she wore no ring tying her to any man, but a boyfriend didn’t leave a stamp on a woman. Penn had no possibility of knowing if he’d just overstepped a huge boundary.

  She kissed me back.

  She fucking followed me for more.

  He issued a low groan.

  Both Cora and Hep twisted to look at him. Cora’s blue-gray eyes locked onto his. “If the sight of Hepburn’s wound is upsetting you, Penn, you can step away. I can handle it fine.”

  His brows slammed together, and Hep started cracking up.

  “Blood doesn’t bother a man like me. Besides, that’s barely a scratch.”

  She turned her attention to Hep again. “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  With the tip of the adhesive over his gash, she hesitated.

  “Get on with it,” Penn snapped. “We don’t have time for this. There’s a wounded man on the opposite ridge and we need to find him.”

  Cora rolled her eyes, which got Hep laughing again. She kept his hand still in hers while applying a steady line of glue along the wound. She pressed the edges together.

  Dammit, he wanted her bare fingertips on him. Hep was one lucky motherfucker.

  When she removed her hands and the edges of the wound stayed closed, she issued a joyous laugh. “It worked!”

  “Well done, Mizz Hutton. Thank you,” Hep drawled, smiling in response to her contagious happiness, just as Penn was.

  Standing here grinning like a schoolboy.

  She looked his direction, and he slapped the scowl back onto his face. “Let’s go.”

  Penn was a grumpy ass. Then he kissed her. Then he turned into a grumpy ass again.

  Cora shook her head. What was his problem? Two hours of hiking down one ridge, precariously avoiding fissures in the ice
and working their way up the other ridge later, she still had no idea.

  She took a bite of an energy bar. A snow-covered log wasn’t the comfiest of seats but after so many hours of walking, it felt like a La-Z-Boy recliner. Two feet from her Beckett stood with his spine to her, on high alert, guarding her while the rest scoured the ridge for the injured man…or more who had yet to make themselves visible.

  “Beckett.”

  He didn’t exactly turn to look at her. He was too locked into his role as bad-ass special operative to give her his full attention. But she got a look at his profile as he pivoted his head. She knew he was listening.

  “Penn seemed angry that Hep’s finger required medical attention. Why?”

  “Because we’re trained to never slow down let alone pause when we’re on a mission.”

  “Out here, we treat injuries and illness with utmost importance. You’re already worn down by the elements, and having an injury only leaves you more vulnerable. I’ve heard a lot of stories about people with something as small as a strained muscle who give up and require rescue. Surely Penn knows that.”

  “He does. He just doesn’t have empathy for a little cut on a pinky. Good leaders don’t believe in that word.”

  His statement made her insides flare with interest. If she hadn’t already felt the raw power emanating from Captain Penn Sullivan when he kissed her, she sure felt it in those words.

  “If you’re all going to last in Alaska, then he needs to learn the importance of stopping to care for an injury.” She bit off another chunk of her bar.

  Beckett made a noise that sounded like the equivalent of fat chance.

  Silence followed. She tipped her face toward the small patch of sky visible between the pines where they hid from sight. The hue of the sky reminded her of the shade of her father’s eyes.

  Everything toppled down on her again. The crash…her daddy…

  Grief rolled over her, and she felt her shoulders bow. Was this how loss was? Moments where a person forgot the sadness of losing that loved one, only to feel guilt and fresh devastation as soon as they remembered they no longer had that person?

  She tucked the wrapper around the uneaten portion of her trail bar and leaned against the tree where Penn ordered her to sit and stay put. She could only think that wherever her father was right now, he was looking down and saw that she had chosen to help Xtreme Ops find the hijacker for his sake.