A Shot Worth Taking (Bad Karma Special Ops Book 3)

by Tracy Brody

  “I can live with that.” She winked.

  He wanted both to be true—that the Bureau would find no threats, and he and Angela would have time to give this thing between them a shot. Still, his training refused to let him stand down until they had facts.

  Twenty-Seven

  Tony’s gentle tap on her leg woke Angela. It took a second for her eyes to focus on him punching the button on a ticket machine in a parking deck. She returned her seat to the upright position and shook out the headscarf she’d used as a pillow from the time they’d hit the interstate. Tony hadn’t said where he planned to take her—and she hadn’t asked.

  He’d gotten them something to eat shortly after leaving the airport. By the time he picked up I-95 South and passed Quantico, she deduced he was headed to North Carolina. To his home.

  Being with him, letting him take the lead, let her relax, breathe easier, and she’d fallen asleep. There wasn’t any place, or with anyone, she felt safer.

  According to the dashboard clock, she’d been asleep for over three hours—thanks to his making sure she took the full dose of pain meds.

  The roar of a plane’s engines penetrated the car as they circled up in the garage. He stopped on the fourth level, got out, and came around to open her door. The taillights of a black SUV flashed when he unlocked the car with the key fob.

  “I’ll go turn the rental back in. You okay?” He took her arm when she struggled to get out of the car.

  “Yeah. I need to move a bit.” Despite his mission, she needed the contact she’d longed for the past few days. Instead of moving toward his vehicle, she stepped closer to him.

  As if reading her mind, his arm wrapped around her. He held her as close as the sling supporting her left arm allowed, and her head rested against his chest. She listened to his heart beat in a soothing, steady rhythm. A car drove past, but it wasn’t enough to make her leave the comfort of his arms.

  His right hand rose to cradle the back of her head. He lowered his face until his mouth met hers. When another car cruised past, he ended the kiss, but the look in his eyes promised more to come.

  It had only taken Tony Vincenti a few days to work his way past her protective bubble. Sneaky bastard. Healing her heart and making it ache at the same time.

  Waiting inside Tony’s car while he turned in the rental, she inhaled his masculine scent that prevailed despite the pine air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. The interior was clean. No empty cups, cans, or trash. It didn’t surprise her, but if Tony liked his life neat and orderly, that didn’t mesh with her past. With her life.

  She checked her phone. No message from Kathryn yet. What if they found nothing? Anyone could turn on the alarm system with the push of the “Away” button. But she was the only one with the code to trigger the “All Clear” rather than “System Off.”

  If the power had been out long enough to drain the backup batteries, would it have erased the extra measures she had in place? Every cell in her body jangled with the certainty that someone had disarmed her security system. If not for that, she wouldn’t have noticed the buildup of dust present on the side table but not on the floor. The perpetrator had been clever enough to cover their tracks.

  Her mind jumped to the timing of someone possibly finding her now.

  Would Hakim’s men want revenge? With al-Shehri’s resources, could he have figured out her identity that fast?

  Her mind whirled with worst-case scenarios. It’d been years since Tito Vasquez offered the generous bounty for her head. Though there hadn’t been any credible threats, she’d changed her real name after leaving the CIA. Names and faces from past cases paraded through her mind. She hadn’t exactly been in the business of making friends. Powerful enemies, though …

  One of Hakim’s men or al-Shehri might want payback for his death and the failed bombing attempt. If they stayed at her place, Tony would have insisted on assessing the situation—only there were dozens of ways someone could get payback, depending on what they wanted. If they wanted her dead, a trigger wired to the gas stove could do it. Or carbon-monoxide poisoning. A syringe to inject cyanide or another poison through the cork into a bottle of wine. Acid placed in a showerhead to disfigure her and prolong the agony.

  A dull throb built in the base of her skull. Physical exhaustion mixed with the painkiller hangover didn’t make for the clearest thinking.

  She was going to make herself crazy. Better to wait and see what the search turned up.

  She needed a diversion. Tony had to have a handgun in his vehicle. She pulled the handle on the glove compartment. Not there. Where? Under his seat? She couldn’t check, so she opened the center console instead. The breath mint she helped herself to was the same spearmint flavor she’d tasted when they’d kissed.

  Satisfaction rippled when she found the small ridge for a door to a hidden compartment. She slid it open, and her fingers touched the cold steel of what felt like a .9mm and spare ammunition magazines. Bingo. She closed the compartment and console. Knowing it was there was enough.

  She hit the unlock switch when Tony reached the driver’s door. After he slid in, she handed him the keys. His gaze lingered on her before he started the car.

  “We’ve got another hour. Do you need to make a restroom or food stop?” He backed out of the parking space.

  “I’m good.”

  “Hope you’re okay with going to my place …”

  If only he could read my mind. “Yeah. I trust you.”

  He turned to see her face. She couldn’t decipher his expression, and he didn’t say anything, but he swallowed and turned back to navigate the parking deck.

  “What?” Tony asked when he caught her staring.

  “Admiring your new profile.”

  His eyes rolled up, and color tinged his neck. “My nose got broken again a few months ago. Had to get it fixed this time. My colonel suggested changing things up a bit. You know, in case I have to go back to one of the countries that might not be willing to let me through customs.”

  “Gotcha. How’d it get broken?” Her imagination got the better of her.

  He grimaced before he described his encounter with the Afghan family and the old woman who broke his nose with her crutch. Despite his apparent embarrassment, he laughed at himself, making her laugh along with him.

  “It wouldn’t have been so bad if we’d caught al-Shehri then.”

  “Wait, it was al-Shehri you were after? I thought you said a different name.”

  “Yeah. Sorry. LaRuh is the Pashto word for fog—the nickname we gave al-Shehri.”

  “The Fog. It fits. And you were that close?” She groaned. If they’d caught him, that might have stopped these bomb threats.

  “Missed him by hours at the most.”

  That connection explained his team being sent to New York and their need to end al-Shehri’s reign of terror, too.

  “When you were working with the CIA, did you, uh, was he one of your targets?”

  “He was a target of every operative.”

  “Carswell mentioned they came close to nabbing al-Shehri when he was working for that private contractor firm, Dìleas Security, over in Afghanistan.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

  “Yes, we worked with the team from Dìleas, including Jarrod, when they caught one of al-Shehri’s suspected couriers. The courier wouldn’t talk, so they told him they’d bring in his daughter and rape her if he didn’t help them get al-Shehri.”

  “Jarrod and the contractors planned that?” Tony’s mouth hung open, and his knuckles whitened gripping the steering wheel.

  “Sorry to say, it was my higher-ups at the Agency. They kept me out of the loop. I thought they were just threatening it. But then I found out they tasked Dìleas to kidnap the girl. That was the mission I quit over. Told the Agency I was done and left their camp.”

  “Did Jarrod request you assist the New York office because of your past work together?”

  “Hardly. Our association didn’t
end on good terms since he was the one who told me the plans, and I don’t think Jarrod had disclosed the full mission details to his boss, either.”

  “Before that, you were on good terms, though?”

  Was Tony digging for info? She wouldn’t put it past Jarrod to somehow out their history. She didn’t want to admit it or risk hurting Tony, but it was better if he heard it from her than Jarrod’s potentially lurid version.

  “There’s something you should know.” God, she hated that phrase. It was always the precursor to something people didn’t want to know.

  “Okay,” Tony said but wouldn’t make eye contact.

  “When we were in Afghanistan, Jarrod and I … slept together a few times.”

  Tony finally looked at her and gave her a nod, wearing a grim smile. “I appreciate you telling me. Carswell did insinuate there was something between you, but I was hoping it was his typical BS and didn’t want to believe him.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I wish it weren’t true. It wasn’t love. It was two people in high-stress situations needing release, you know? It’s also something I truly regret.”

  “He can be charming when he wants to be. Sorry I made you bring it up.”

  “It’s better we got it out in the open, and now we can bury it in the past.”

  “Sounds good. Let’s do a rewind. What were we talking about before?” He reached over and squeezed her hand. His subtle smile gave her hope that he wouldn’t hold that lapse in judgment against her.

  “Let’s see. Oh, yeah, your nose. Did your team give you a little flack over the woman breaking it?”

  “Little? Ha. That’s an understatement. Mostly Dominguez. And my family.”

  She could see him relaxing after dropping their conversation about Jarrod. Maybe Tony wouldn’t view her differently after knowing she’d been intimate with his former teammate. “How did you explain the nose job to your family?”

  “Told them it was classified. My mom knew that was BS, but she dropped it.”

  “I’m guessing the cops interrogated you?”

  “Yes, but I sure as hell was not telling my dad or brother that I got whacked in the face by an old woman with a cane.”

  “Why’d you join the Army instead of going to the police academy?”

  “Growing up, I wanted to be a cop like my dad more than anything. Only I wasn’t very athletic. One of those chubby kids who got picked last for teams in gym.”

  “Really?”

  “When I said I was going to become a policeman, I got jokes about cops and donuts.”

  “Ouch,” she said in sympathy.

  “When I was sixteen, I grew a few inches. I was what my mom called a late bloomer. I made the football team as an offensive lineman. I started working out—a lot. I grew a few more inches, and the jokes quit. But in the wake of 9/11, as a New Yorker, I was still pissed. I wanted Bin Laden. That wasn’t gonna happen as a cop here. So, I enlisted. Figured I’d get good training and experience for later. Get to go to Afghanistan.”

  “‘Get to go?’ You wanted to get Bin Laden?”

  “Of course. What did I know?” He shrugged. “After the SEALs got him, I set my sights on Special Forces. I already had my Ranger tab and made it through the Q Course to be a Green Beret. By then, I didn’t want to go back and be a beat cop in my dad and brother’s shadow. I’m my own man. Not that chubby kid anymore.”

  “Definitely not.” The words slipped out, but the grin he gave her was worth it. “Delta Force. Best of the best.”

  “A lot of what I do is hard. You probably know that. More often than not, I have to embrace the suck. But I make a difference. I didn’t get Bin Laden, but the Bad Karma team likes dishing out justice to evildoers. We can get al-Shehri. We’ll make you an unofficial member.”

  “It would be an honor.” Tony Vincenti was the type of man she could happily spend her life with. He would think he could protect her. It was too damn bad she couldn’t give him what he wanted.

  In the hospital, she’d listened to his voice change as he talked to his family when he called during the party for his dad’s birthday. It was another confirmation of what she’d picked up on when his teammate showed them pictures of his girls.

  Tony didn’t know all her history. With her dysfunctional upbringing and lack of maternal examples, it would be better to be alone than screw up the lives of kids. While she’d developed genuine feelings for the Vasquez boys as their nanny, she’d been playing a role. They had a mother. Elena wouldn’t have won any mother-of-the-year awards, but she didn’t treat the boys as if they were a burden the way Angela’s mother had made her feel.

  She steered the conversation to his family and soon pictured his parent’s home filled with his brother, Frank, and sisters Marie and Caterina, and their spouses and kids. His mother would have a table full of food. It’d be loud and chaotic and exactly where Tony wanted to be.

  Minutes after leaving the highway, he pushed a button on his rearview mirror, and the garage door to a modest one-story brick home went up. He parked next to a black Harley-Davidson motorcycle. A heavy punching bag hung from the ceiling behind the bike, and racks mounted on the walls held yard tools.

  He came around the back of the vehicle. Before she could swing her legs out, he had a hand under her arm to help her.

  Stepping into his home sent an unexpected tingle through her limbs, and erratic energy zipped through her.

  “Time for more meds.” Tony set her purse on the small kitchen table.

  “They make me sleepy,” she complained.

  “You need a nap before dinner anyway.” He filled a glass with water, keeping an eye on her to be sure she followed orders. “This way.”

  He guided her through the house. In the family room, an end table sat between the oversized black leather couch and chair facing a large screen TV. The early evening sun filtered through the white wooden blinds. The walls were a light gray. They passed a framed print on the wall of camouflaged figures freefalling, still above the clouds, the setting sun in the background. The picture was very badass and very Tony.

  The master bedroom had a large dresser and a king-size bed. Telling, though there were no signs of a woman having lived here. Tony pulled back the covers on the bed.

  “Can you help me get my dress off?”

  “You want something from your suitcase?”

  Her usual lack of sleeping attire might not be the best choice right now. “Can I borrow one of your tees?”

  He rummaged in a drawer before he moved in front of her. His gaze didn’t drift down when he eased the long, loose-fitting dress up and around her injured shoulder, then off her head. He gently helped her into the V-neck shirt.

  “I’ll rustle up something for dinner. I don’t think I have any Jell-O.” He winked, then tucked soft sheets around her instead of undressing and sliding in beside her.

  She sank into the mattress with the feeling that Tony Vincenti had already come to the realization that she didn’t fit with his future.

  Tony walked back to the kitchen. He sure hadn’t expected what Angela had shared today. But she trusted him. She’d even said it. And now she was here.

  He opened the fridge and set about finding something to feed her.

  “Ew.” Something smelled rotten after his week away. Leaving the refrigerator door open, he grabbed the garbage can and tossed out the slimy, browned head of lettuce, the baggie with half a liquefied cucumber, and take-out container he didn’t bother to open. As he poured the expired milk down the sink, an unfamiliar ringtone sounded behind him.

  He hesitated a moment before digging into Angela’s purse for her phone. Seeing Kathryn Barnsley’s name on the screen, his need for an update overrode the nudge of concern about boundaries.

  His greeting was met with a moment of silence.

  “I’m calling for Angela Hoffman.”

  “She’s sleeping right now, ma’am. Did the team turn up anything at her condo?”

  “If you’ll have h
er call me on my personal number when she’s able—”

  “What’d they find?” His mouth went dry.

  “I’m not at liberty to disclose—”

  “Let’s cut the bureaucratic bullshit—”

  “Excuse me. I don’t know who the hell you are, but this is now an active FBI investigation, and I’m not—”

  “I’m Sergeant First Class Anthony Salvatore Vincenti. US Army Special Forces—Operational Detachment-Delta.” That would likely get her attention. “I guarantee I’ve got the security clearance for whatever you’re about to tell me, and more importantly, Angela trusts me. That’s why she’s with me. I need to be in the loop. Now, if you’d rather be the one to tell her what the Bureau turned up, fine, you deliver the news. She’ll tell me. But in the meantime, if there’s a credible threat, and you withholding information endangers her, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”

  “Anthony Vincenti?” Kathryn’s voice was cool and calm.

  Damn, had he really mouthed off in hopes of intimidating a special agent in charge with the FBI? “Yes, ma’am.” He stopped short of asking if she wanted his serial number and kept his mouth shut while the puddle of sludge in his stomach spread. His gut told him whatever they found at Angela’s condo went beyond someone looking for classified case information.

  Typing on a keyboard was followed by the faint tapping of fingernails on a solid surface.

  “All right, Sergeant Vincenti, here’s the deal.”

  Tony sank into a kitchen chair while she began filling him in.

  Twenty-Eight

  It took a moment for Angela to orient herself upon waking. Darkness cloaked the world past the blinds, but light peeked in from the cracked bathroom door.

  The drone of a floor fan and her folded clothes on top of her suitcase were evidence Tony had come in while she slept. She eased from the bed. A delicious aroma, laced with fresh basil and oregano, made her stomach rumble. Hunger eclipsed the pain radiating from her side and the throb in her shoulder.