Every Last Breath

by Juno Rushdan

  The scent of melting rubber peppered the air.

  Maddox climbed into the back seat, opened the other door for Gideon, and helped him load Matthews inside, tugging the unconscious man by the shoulders. Once Gideon hopped in, sandwiching Matthews between them, Reece cut into the snarl of traffic. Horns blared and another car screeched to a halt. He made a sharp right out of the congested artery and gunned it down a clear road.

  She was shaking from the high of the retrieval, the rush flooding her system, but the hardest part was yet to come—getting inside the target’s head and figuring out the right buttons to push.

  Cole Matthews was slumped over, head on her shoulder. She tilted his chin up and pushed his hair aside. A sudden knot in her chest forced all the air from her body as her hand fell from his face.

  For a staggering moment, the shock couldn’t have been more brutal if she’d been blindsided by a speeding bus.

  The world warped in a shattering upheaval. Sent her careening into the impossible.

  It couldn’t be. Yet it was.

  Longer hair, but the same pristine black of a starless sky. Tattoos befitting a killer on his arms—those were new. His body a marvel of lean muscle honed by dedication. The jagged scar added a savage touch to his brutally handsome face, but without a doubt, it was her Nikolai.

  “Maddox,” Gideon said, jump-starting her brain. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s him.” Her voice was a ghost of a whisper. “Nikolai…” His name tasted of bittersweet ash on her tongue and words failed her.

  “Your fiancé?” Gideon peered at him.

  Her best friend had seen the picture in her locker many, many times, heard the name—first name only—although he didn’t know the whole story. Recognition ignited in his blue eyes.

  “Holy shit.” Gideon recoiled with an uncharacteristic crack in his composure. “I thought he was dead.”

  The knot twisted. “So did I.”

  * * *

  Shady Oak, Virginia

  3:47 p.m. EDT

  Cole stirred to consciousness, his brain swimming in murky water. He opened his eyes.

  A blur of golden light flickered like a meteor shower. Maddox’s face floated toward him through the buttery haze of dancing light.

  Beautiful.

  She knelt, looking up at him, and pressed a palm to his cheek. Solid and warm. So real.

  Too real.

  His vision came into sharp focus and his brain cleared in a mad rush of blood to his head. He flinched as if struck by a high-voltage cattle prod.

  “Maddox.” His voice was raspy. It sounded as if his larynx had been raked over gravel, but it was a wonder he could breathe. The air in the room had turned dense as mud. “You’re real?”

  “I could ask you the same.”

  Pain slashed through her eyes, faster than lightning splitting the darkness, before it was replaced with a distant emptiness.

  He went to reach for her, suddenly that naive twenty-four-year-old fool again, but couldn’t move his wrists and ankles.

  Shit. He was bound to a chair. A steel chair that was bolted to the floor.

  What the fu—

  “I gave you an IV drip of a special cocktail to help combat whatever mickey the Russians used to drug you.” Maddox unscrewed the cap of a water bottle and tipped it to his lips. His Buddha necklace, clean and sparkling, was wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet. “But your tongue probably feels like sandpaper.”

  He guzzled the water, eyeing his surroundings. Sunlight filtered through trees into a first-floor window, casting shadows in the left-side corner of the small room. The unfurnished bedroom faced south.

  “Better?” She wiped his mouth with her thumb.

  Standing, she eased back into the piquant sunlight. Maddox, in the flesh. He took her in with such vivid clarity, his eye sockets burned.

  Time had twisted him into a monster while sculpting her into a masterpiece.

  Her light-brown skin was smoother, the taper of her waist narrower. A tank top hugged fuller breasts. Those striking eyes, the color of the Bering Sea in winter, were clearer yet deeper.

  She was more of everything that’d once brought him to heel. He’d been an eager-to-please puppy who’d have chased after her into highway traffic.

  He caught himself staring, the sight of her ripping a tender scab from his heart. She’d nearly killed him once. If he wasn’t careful, he wouldn’t survive her a second time.

  “What happened to the Russians?” Best to attack a rattlesnake before it shook its tail. He yanked at the flex-cuffs and sensed someone move behind him. “Why am I restrained?”

  Two men strode into his periphery, coming up on either side of him. Fit and lean, they carried themselves with self-assured, stealthy gaits. An edge radiated from them that had diddly to do with the big-ass guns in their shoulder rigs.

  A white heat filled Cole’s chest, rising until he tasted his anger.

  Ex-military, if he had to guess. Some brand of special forces, but they didn’t give off the overbearing fetor of mercenaries.

  Both guys eyeballed him, sizing him up. Pure posturing. They’d already done the once-over while he was unconscious and had appraised him as a potential threat. Hence the restraints.

  “You took down four armed, well-trained men in close quarters,” said the man with dark hair, wearing a ball cap. “We wanted to make sure you could tell the difference between friend and foe when you woke up disoriented and defensive.”

  “From where I’m sitting,” Cole said, cutting his gaze to Maddox and ignoring her muscled motley crew, “Frick and Frack don’t look too friendly.”

  “That’s Reece.” She nodded to the dark-haired guy. “Gideon.” She pointed to the pretty-boy blond.

  Frick and Frack would do. Cole wasn’t in the market for bosom buddies who had a penchant for bondage.

  “They helped me get you away from the Russians.” Her gaze was direct, assessing. Her stance tense like she balanced on a tightrope over an abyss. “Why are they after you?”

  Better questions: How had she found him? Why did she have backup? Why was she questioning him while he was restrained?

  Fate was playing a cruel joke on him today.

  Cole shrugged. “I guess the Bratva in the Motherland heard I was alive and pulled strings to have the pleasure of my company. The Lazarus trick seems to have put me in high demand.”

  “They heard all the way in Russia while I’ve been clueless right here in the Beltway.” Hurt glinted in her eyes, but her tone remained cool. “I guess the only thing worse than being the last to know is never knowing.”

  The air stuck in his chest. They’d been as close as two people ever could be. He’d lived for her, killed for her, and, in a million ways, died for her.

  He unlocked his lungs, drawing a breath, and shoved the cloying memories into his mental bunker. Needing to get a handle on this situation, he dropped his gaze and caught the gleam of his necklace on her wrist. The beads glimmered like a lifeline just out of reach.

  “Would you mind returning my prayer beads? They have a calming effect. And how about freeing one of my hands so I can scratch an itch?”

  “Tell me where you itch.” Her bedroom eyes held him, her butter-soft words tickling his underbelly. “I’ll scratch for you.”

  His mind went tailspinning into the gutter, which was inevitable if he was near Maddox. Proof you could be attracted to someone you hated, but it didn’t take long for him to course-correct his thoughts with her armed sentries in the room and flex-cuffs chafing his wrists.

  “And when did you become a monk?” She fingered the beads. “From what I recall, you had the most ferocious appetites.”

  “I saw the light after the woman I was going to marry almost got me killed.” His tone was sharp enough to sever a carotid artery. “A near-death experie
nce can make a man turn to prayer.”

  An indefinable look settled on her face, not giving anything away. She watched him as one would an adversary. Her question had been loaded, and he’d taken the bait. She was poking around for something. But what?

  Nine years, two weeks, and a heat wave since he’d last seen Maddox, and she was on a fishing expedition while failing to give him his due.

  No apology. No explanation for why she’d ruined them. No tears of joy and I-missed-you kiss, although he’d have to be suicidal to let those lips touch his. Not one irrefutable iota she gave a damn he was alive, except for whatever she wanted from him.

  Oh, he was way beyond ticked and was so pissed that he was shaking. Hell, he wanted to shake her, maybe even strangle her. His restraints might be necessary, or anger management. Anything but this fucktastic vacation.

  “How did you find me?” He glanced at Frick, who tipped up the bill of his cap. Frack leaned against the doorjamb chewing gum, hands in his pockets, looking as if his body ran ten degrees lower than Maddox’s reptilian temperature. “What am I doing here, wherever ‘here’ is?”

  “We have a situation,” she said. “Our employer needs your help with a problem.”

  Here it comes—the shitstorm Cole needed to avoid. Aside from his job, he dodged involvement, had no attachments, and was resolved to serve his sentence in peace.

  Getting ensnared in another soul-shattering Maddox mess was not on his wish list.

  A bitter laugh bubbled out of him, and he leveled a glare at her. “Who’s your employer, and what’s the problem?”

  He wanted the answer as much as he wanted a snakebite in the balls.

  From the looks of her, he was about to get one anyway. Maddox was coiled, tail rattling, fangs bared and poised to strike his gonads—then something in her shifted. Shuttering her gaze, she flattened her mouth in a grim line and folded her arms.

  “I need to speak to him alone,” she said to Frick and Frack. The men exchanged glances and gave her a questioning look. “Two minutes. Please.”

  They nodded and left, closing the door. Heavy footsteps drew away out of earshot.

  She crossed the room and crouched between his legs. “I never wanted you restrained, but they insisted.” The note of sincerity from her struck a sensitive chord in him he despised.

  Holding his gaze, she patted down his legs, working toward his shins.

  Her hand froze on the hilt of his knife. “Nice to see some things stay the same.”

  She wriggled his pant leg up, pulled the Ka-Bar, and cut the flex-cuffs on his ankles. Casting a furtive glance toward the door, she hustled behind his chair and freed his hands.

  Cole leapt out of the chair and whirled, pinning her against the wall with a hand on her throat, not hard enough to hurt her, only to compel a straight answer from her fork-tongued mouth. But an electric frisson skipped over his skin, stilling him. That magnetic pull to her revived. No matter how much time had passed, it’d never been extinguished.

  Talk about fucked up.

  “Don’t crowd me,” she said low and controlled, not a flicker of fear in her fiery eyes.

  “Or what?”

  Tapping on his inner thigh drew his gaze down. She had the tip of his Ka-Bar pointed at his groin. He glanced lower, noticing her shoes.

  She wore black tactical field boots. The cushy, expensive kind, same as Frick and Frack.

  Who had she become? “What’s going on, Maddox? Why are you with those men?”

  “We don’t have much time before they come back.” Her gaze darted to the door. “You won’t be able to take the three of us.”

  The words had an unexpected sting. “That’s the first time you said us not meaning you and me.” Damn, had that been his out-loud voice?

  An unguarded look broke on her face, vulnerable and somber. “You’re the one who left and never looked back.”

  She was the one who had wronged him. Every action he’d taken since had been justified. Still, there was a pathetic niggle of regret.

  He forced his grip to slacken and stepped back.

  She flipped the matte-black blade in her hand like a badass, handle pointing to him. A shimmer of pride and a hint of alarm seeped through him.

  He took the knife and shoved it in the ankle sheath. As he stood upright, she draped the beads around his neck, fingers caressing his collarbone, and handed him the key to his bike.

  “I had them get your motorcycle. It’s parked on the west side of the house. Go out through the window. Lay low until nightfall, somewhere the Russians won’t find you.” Honest concern shone in her eyes. “Then come to my place. My address is written on a piece of paper in your pocket. You’ll be safe there and I’ll explain everything.”

  She pressed her palms to his chest, her expression softening. He couldn’t help soaking in the bittersweet familiarity of her touch and the intimacy in her gaze. Emotions he’d buried in an unmarked grave in DC, where his previous life had ended, resurrected with a ridiculous kick.

  “I need your help. It’s a matter of life or death. Please, come.” Her emphatic tone tugged at him, and he needed a swift boot heel to the head to snap out of it. “I’ll answer any question.”

  “Any?” Just like that, she had him hooked. For him, any condensed to one. Why had she betrayed him?

  She squeezed her eyes shut for a breath, the faintest quiver running through her, and nodded before glancing at the door. “Hurry, before they come back.”

  He hesitated. Would she be okay alone with them?

  It was insanity to be concerned for her. Then again, she’d always triggered his protective instincts. At one time, his entire world had revolved around Maddox, and her safety had been more important than his own.

  He would’ve sworn by now he was immune to her, but she was an incurable disease out of remission and might put him six feet under for real.

  He gritted his teeth against the prickle of sentiment. She’d be fine—shed her skin and slither out of trouble.

  He unlatched the window, opened it, and climbed out. The small house appeared to be isolated in the woods. For a heartbeat, he stood quiet, listening to be sure neither man had wandered outside, then ran. West side, hugging the wall, through grass, where he found his bike.

  Frick and Frack would be alerted as soon as he cranked the engine.

  Unease kept nagging at him. Fool that he was, he couldn’t help hoping they wouldn’t take it out on Maddox.

  * * *

  The roar of the motorcycle split the air. Emotion seesawed through Maddox. She clenched her jaw and ignored her churning stomach. This asset needed delicate development.

  Jeez. Did the term asset apply here, considering he’d been the love of her life?

  She slammed the safe house window closed and locked it.

  Reece opened the door, entering the room. “Are you sure this is the right play?”

  Nikolai Reznikov was alive, back from the dead with a new name and life, and he wanted nothing to do with her. The red-hot poker of such an unfathomable reality jabbed between her ribs, leaving her unsure of anything. So she was following instinct. Her gut had never steered her wrong.

  “Positive.” She took her blazer and holstered gun from Gideon, who’d trailed Reece inside. “As soon as I mentioned our employer, he iced over. Would’ve gone better if you two had listened to me and not zip-tied him to a chair.”

  “Based on the carnage I saw in the café,” Reece said, “we had a tiger by the tail.”

  She’d taken down guys twice her size, but her combat skills were useless with Nikolai—Cole—whatever the hell he was calling himself. Nine years ago, he’d been deadly.

  Today, he looked sixty-nine shades of lethal.

  “Your history with him is complicated,” Gideon said, “and things ended badly. You hadn’t seen him in years. No telling what
he was capable of besides extreme violence.”

  The walls pressed in on her. Cole obviously despised her enough to let her grieve and suffer with the torment of thinking she was responsible for his death.

  Reece pulled off his cap and raked a hand through his scruffy dark hair. “After the Russians jacked him, he would’ve been geared to butcher first and take names later.”

  Okay, caution had been the right call. Cole was furious, hurt, defensive. Hated her.

  After baiting him, she’d seen the loathing in his eyes. He’d never forgiven her and might not even help her. Not that she was entitled to it, after what she had done to him and his family.

  “How can you be sure he’ll show tonight?” Reece asked.

  Cole had curled his hand around her throat as though he meant to strangle her, but then his touch had softened. A different kind of spark had kindled in his eyes. There was so much more simmering beneath his rage.

  “He has questions only I can answer. He’ll come.”

  And when he did, she wouldn’t smell like an old lady slathered in arthritis cream.

  Reece rubbed his chin. “What if you’re wrong?”

  Beaded sweat chilled on her skin. She couldn’t afford to be wrong. “You usually have my back, Reece. What’s with the twenty questions?” And the utter lack of faith in her judgment.

  “If I didn’t have your back, your ex would still be strapped to that chair. Not out of our custody, on his bike. The DGB is going to grill us on what—”

  “I’ll explain to Dad.” A nickname for the DGB they used with affection and respect, albeit never to his face. “I put a roving bug on Cole’s phone.” The bug would allow her to activate the microphone on his cell. She could listen in on his calls, remote eavesdrop on any conversation within the vicinity of the phone. And if he tried to turn his cell off, the malware would mimic a shutdown while keeping the phone on. “We can stay abreast of his plans and keep him on a short leash.”

  “We’ll give him a three-mile tether and stay off his shadow while you get Dad’s blessing on this COA,” Reece said. Any course of action that impacted the mission this much needed to be sanctioned.