by C. J. Snyder
Ice quit. He was still out there, wasn’t already dead. Despite the cold that went deeper than her bones, Mykael smiled.
He vaulted out of the truck and scooped up her clothes. “C’mon. I’ll buy you breakfast.” They were on their way in less than five minutes, with a quick time out at a rest area, where Mykael could see nothing but the communicator firmly clipped to Ghost’s belt. The recriminations for not grabbing it when she had the chance pounded her. She had a job to do, and Ghost to thank for reminding her.
Chapter Five
Greg wanted only to eat, sleep and kick himself in the ass. Not necessarily in that order. Mykael’s withdrawal since his queries about Blade was complete and impossible to breach so far as he could see. Of course a stun gun would have been more subtle. He’d ignored the warnings in her voice, in her body language, in her very being, and charged on–taking her confidences at face value. What a moron! If he never found out another solitary tidbit about her, it was more than he deserved.
He didn’t bother to glance across the truck’s interior to see if she’d thawed any. He could feel the ice of her Siberian titanium wall from here. Worse still, he could sense the tears she wouldn’t cry tearing her apart. Why hadn’t he seen the truth before he’d all but hit her over the head with it?
The answer to that was simple, once he let himself face it. In the hour and miles since she’d climbed back behind the wheel, he’d thought of nothing else.
The woman hidden behind the facade of Decoy made him jealous. Crazy jealous and protective and all those fucking emotions he hadn’t felt since Robyn. Gone was the superiority that came with believing himself immune. Hell, last year he’d watched Max throw away his life, his career, everything he’d worked so hard to get, for a woman. Viper was dead because of that same woman. And Greg had laughed inside at the very idea.
He wasn’t laughing now. Decoy, on paper, had piqued his curiosity. Mykael, the flesh and blood woman, had attracted him from the moment he’d touched her in that hotel lobby. But he’d been attracted to women since Robyn. The problem was that never, not even with Robyn, had he lost his inability to remain detached, to function when he needed to. How many nights had he and Robyn fought about just that? He could hear her, as clearly as if she sat between Mykael and him now.
“If not with me, Greg–if you can’t stop gathering data, stop disengaging when you’re with me, then when? I’m your wife!”
He hadn’t had an answer for her. Didn’t have one now. For the first time in his life, he’d taken someone at their word. Close. . .friends. He’d believed her because he wanted to believe her. And because he knew Blade. Peter hadn’t been the type to be more than friends with a woman. A charmer, natural-born, with love-‘em-andleave-‘em in his blood. Everybody knew that. Mykael had surely known. What had happened between the two of them? More than a fling, considering her reaction. And Max had told him. . .what had Max told him exactly?
A woman.
Greg closed his eyes, drew back the words his friend had uttered over a year ago. Darkhaired. Max thought she might have been a Mexican native. Greg’s heart pounded in disgust as he easily pictured Mykael’s exotic beauty. Max couldn’t have described her more perfectly if he’d thrown down a damn photograph. What else had he said?
Cooking, washing clothes, bringing order to the little shack where they lived in the wilderness of the Mexican mountains. The wrong place to hide–away from people. Nowhere to blend in, and once Blade was caught, he’d tried to surrender. The woman had stolen out of the rickety shelter, listened as her lover tried to salvage something of their future. Blade had to have known his attempts at negotiation were futile. The order had been given. Would be carried out. Ice hadn’t had a choice, any more than Blade had. Viper had seen to that. She’d tried to come after him.
Once Viper’s treachery was discovered, Ice–Max–was crushed. He’d spent the past year searching desperately for the woman, wanting to help her, care for her. His friend’s final description came in a rush, and Greg sat up ramrod straight, turned slowly to stare at Mykael. Her beautiful mask was still firmly in place. Not an emotion simmered anywhere on her features. Not a tremor betrayed what had to be a soul in chaos. Part of him admired the ability, even as his mind raced. The answers to his questions were dually important now.
Who was this woman, dancing the dangerous trail of death where only men were allowed to tread? What had happened to her in the past that allowed her to agree, to partner with someone who knew that life, at least in some instances, had to be taken to be preserved? When had the blackness taken her over?
Where the hell was the baby?
*** Mykael smiled her way through breakfast, then disappeared into the motel room he rented for her. She avoided even casual physical contact, closed the room door so abruptly in his face Greg touched his nose to make sure it was still intact.
He let himself into his own room, two doors down from hers. “Well, that went well.” Grimacing, he slung his bag to the table, fingers itching for a computer. Mykael was only one of many problems he had to solve. He glanced at his watch. Seven local time. Ten back home. If he remembered correctly, his younger brother Cole was home on leave from the DEA unit where he was stationed. Had been home for two days, so Greg wouldn’t be eating into prime Mom-time. Mom pissed at him too was all he needed right now. He dialed, waited, and got Cassidy, the youngest of the Lassiter brood.
“Ghost! Where the hell are you? You know Cole’s home–you’re not going to miss dinner on Sunday, are you? I wouldn’t if I were you.” Cassidy had named him Ghost after Robyn and Hunter’s death. The name stuck.
“How’s he look?” Greg slumped into the chair built for a frame much smaller than his own, rubbed the back of his neck.
“Not too bad. He’s favoring his right leg, some bad jump or something. Of course he wouldn’t tell me any of the details.” He pictured her cute little nose scrunched in disgust and smiled. Cassidy was like sunshine. Bright, cheerful, steady and capable of burning the shit out of you if handled wrong. A junior at Chapel Hill, she was most definitely his favorite person on the planet. “Didn’t want to worry your pretty little head, honey.”
“He said it wouldn’t keep him from going back next week. It’s bad enough that I knocked him down when I jumped him, though.” Greg frowned. “Let me talk to him.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“You’re right.” Nothing but silence. “C’mon, Cass. Get your brother for me. I need his help with something.” “You’re not coming, are you?” Her voice sounded like a used up balloon.
He closed his eyes and braced for an argument. “Nope.”
All he got was a sigh. “Hang on.”
“Cole! Phone!” Greg heard the receiver dumped on something hard, but face up because he could still hear Cassidy, her voice already regaining its bounce. “Mom, I’ve got bad news.” “Who is it?” Cole barked.
“What am I, your secretary? Mom?”
“She’s outside.” Cole’s voice got more audible. “Lassiter.”
“Here, too,” Greg smiled. “How’s leave?”
“Sucks. What’s up?”
“I need you to run a file for me. I’ll send the particulars to your computer. Got the secure line on?”
“Always. What’s wrong with yours?” Cole’s voice already held more enthusiasm. Like Greg, he’d rather work than eat. “I’m in the field.”
“Send away.”
“Thanks, bro. And tell mom I’m sorry I can’t make dinner.”
“Can’t help you there, Ghost. You want to wreck her day, you’re welcome to it, but you know she’s planned this for two years.” “How’s your leg? Cass said she knocked you down.”
“Cassidy’s gained a lot of weight. Leg’s fine. How soon you need the file?” “Now.”
“Got it. Later.”
He sent Cole Ibrajim Azisi’s name and which databases to check, then paged Tron, rummaged through his duffel for a notebook. “You got the upload?”
“I did. Looked like they burned it to the ground. Where the hell was it? What the hell was it? Some kind of safe house?” He ignored the questions. “Do you have any other names?”
“Cap’s working it. Azisi arrived from Canada via Rykbert/Porthill into Idaho two days ago.” “Two days?”
“I know. Yes, he should have been detained. And yes, they screwed up royally. No, they didn’t report the screw-up until this morning. Said they were behind on paperwork.” “What else you got?” Greg bit off the expletive that wanted out and tipped back in his chair, weariness lapped at his edges. “That new CI, Magnum.” Greg noted the disdain for their new confidential informant that Tron didn’t try to hide. He’d yet to meet the kid who wanted to be the team’s newest member. Those who had, Tron included, believed him to be nothing more than a pretty face. “He’s in tight with Caldera.”
Greg’s chair legs hit the floor hard. “Say what?”
“You heard me. Problem is, unless you’ll let me send Crater, we’ve got no one to debrief him until Friday.”
“I’ll fix that. Go myself if I need to. See you at four?” Greg connected to his own workstation. He could have bypassed Cole and retrieved the file on Azisi himself, but for all its high-tech convenience, his communicator was small enough to clip to his belt which meant an unfriendly keyboard for fingers his size. He hated typing on the damn thing.
He downloaded the current schedules of all his agents. Tron was right, he could see at a glance, but that only meant shuffling the deck. Azisi’s arrival in the states–and his attack on Mykael’s cabin–moved him to slot number one on the priority list. For ten minutes, he studied names and locations, until a mighty yawn blurred the columns. Couldn’t be helped, he’d have to make the trip to San Diego to meet with Magnum. He’d wanted a face-to-face with the possible recruit anyway.
Only problem was, he’d have to take Mykael with him. Or leave her with Tron to babysit. That didn’t sit well. He shook his head at his incorrigible emotions. No time to sort them out now, but if they didn’t behave he’d have to make the time. Decoy had moved way past the fantasy stage. In fact, he could still taste that reality on his lips and smell her scent on his skin. .
He reached for his phone to dial Senator Blakely. One of the stability factors he’d implemented after the Viper fiasco was accountability with a Senate Defense committee member. The chain of command was his to determine, but a verbal report needed to be filed with one of three senators on the Homeland Security and Government Affairs committee.
He staved off another yawn just in time to sign off with Senator. Hopefully Decoy was sleeping. Regret stung again before he shoved it away. He’d apologize, before the meeting with Tron, and cross his fingers she’d accept it.
Next on the agenda was a head’s up to Calla that schedules would be shifted. She’d need to carve out an hour or so this afternoon to finalize the new lists, cross-check his new agendas with current demands. Demands that shifted as quickly as an IED blast. Greg pressed SEND on his communicator and then went to take a shower and try to at least identify the major pieces of the puzzle facing them.
What was Azisi doing in the states?
Was the Vegas hit related?
Was someone new gunning for Black Fire?
Had they hired Azisi to pull the trigger?
What was Azisi’s connection to Caldera? Who was he really? Where had he come from? A man didn’t just become the most highly paid and deadly accurate hit man in the world without some serious training behind you. Military training.
What was Mykael’s position in all of this?
How would he ever get her to talk to him again?
*** Mykael felt she’d barely closed her eyes when an explosion outside rocked her cheap motel room. Instantly on her feet with her weapon ready, she darted to the window in time to see her poor Mule’s chassis land with a bounce. Flames shot out from what remained of the windows, the tailgate and the engine, obliterating the last thing she owned larger than herself. A single tremor shook her, ricocheted deep inside the cavern that was her soul, reverberated pain, anger and loss.
Ghost didn’t knock, just busted through her flimsy door, breaking the tiny chain she’d foolishly drawn along with the deadbolt. “You okay?” He yanked her from the window, to the floor, hands thorough as he checked her for injuries.
So relieved to see her standing at the window, safe, Greg wanted nothing more than to snatch her hard against him and fold her inside his arms. Her skin was clammy and cold, and although she’d nodded in response to his question, she hadn’t met his eyes and hers didn’t leave the window where traces of the inferno blazed in the parking lot just outside.
“Mykael. We need to go.” Another nod, but she didn’t move, didn’t look back at him. Greg left her on the floor to grab her duffel. He slung it over his shoulder and drew his gun. Mykael was on her feet, back at the window where he’d found her, a Koch 9mm in hand, staring out at the burning wreck of her truck. A perfect target for anyone who cared to take a shot.
“Mykael!”
She startled, but didn’t turn. He placed a careful hand on her shoulder, eyes on her weapon. “Time to go, angel.”
Still nothing. She didn’t react when he took the gun from her stiff fingers either. Not good. He stashed her weapon at his waist, lifted her into his arms and slipped back out the door after a careful look at the narrow walkway separating the rooms from the parking lot. Plenty of bystanders had gathered but he couldn’t do recon with his arms full of Mykael. The destruction of her truck had answered the target question. Greg yanked his communicator off his belt, dialed Tron as he headed back to his room.
Mykael came out of her daze when her feet hit the floor. “Where’s my gun?” “Here.” He lifted her chin, found eyes that scared him. “Sit here, angel. Tron will have a new location for us shortly.” And he needed to be back downstairs, mingling with the crowd, taking pictures, but he sure as hell couldn’t leave her.
“My gear?”
“Right here.” He slung her duffel to the bed.
Motions extremely economic, she stashed her weapon in a leg holster, opened a pocket on the outside of her duffel and retrieved a camera. “I’ll follow you.” The duffel went over her shoulder.
He wanted to tell her no. Hell, no, actually. Questions flew through his mind. How did she know to grab a camera? What happened to the shock? Unfortunately, every second they delayed meant the perp might escape, if he’d stayed around to watch. “Really?”
She gave a single nod and opened the door.
He paused a moment longer. “Absolutely sure you can do this?”
“Are you?” A touch of irritation showed in her voice, heartened him a little. When he still hesitated, she marched through the door without him, firmly settling the matter. By the time he reached the doorway, she was on her knees behind the second story railing, using her camera as a video to capture the crowd and the smoldering wreckage.
Ghost knelt beside her, on the lookout for a sniper. If someone wanted Mykael dead, it wouldn’t happen on his watch.
***
An hour later Mykael dropped into a flimsy chair at the back-up motel and crossed her legs. She needed time, to sort, to gain some distance from the emotions that wanted to tear her apart. Shaky and dazed, she glanced over the to-go menu Greg had placed in her hands. She should eat, but the thought of a sandwich turned her stomach. “Soup,” she told Greg and handed him the menu without meeting his eyes. To do so required a level of contact, of strength she just couldn’t muster. Instead, she turned to Tron, who sat cross-legged on the closest of the room’s two beds.
“What did you find out? Who was in my house? What are they planning?” Tron made his large hands into a T, then raked his fingers through dark, shaggy hair that badly needed a cut. The thick unruly mess immediately fell forward again, nearly into his chocolate brown eyes. He retrieved a small spiral notepad from the pocket of his denim jacket and flipped through pages, waited for Ghost’s app
roval before he started to answer her. “Ibrajim Azisi. He entered the US at Rykbert/Porthill into Idaho from Canada two days ago.”
“Carlos Caldera was there, too.” She saw the look both men shot her, but was so past caring.
“Don’t know how Caldera got in. Yet. He’s already back in Mexico, though. I’ve got a confirmed sighting at noon local time today. “Who else?”
Tron searched his notes. “Caldera’s grunts. I’ve got names, but they’re minor league.” “How about the hotel in Vegas?”
“Nothing from facial recognition yet. Partial hits on the guy who took you but nothing over 50 percent. Still working it.” “Wait.” Greg’s instruction was terse. He stood and moved next to her. She shrank back into her chair, unable to stop the instinctive movement, but Greg only grabbed up the phone, placed their order and then returned to the room’s only other chair, a twin to Mykael’s.
In the two hours since they’d destroyed her Mule, Greg had stayed close, crowded her, his way-too-physical presence yet another battle she had to fight. For now, she was thankful to have the tiny table between them.
Greg yanked out his own notebook. “Caldera. Let’s start there.”
“Brother of Jaime.” Her voice was calm. Her thoughts suddenly, surprisingly, matched her voice.
Tron glanced up from his notes. “How do you know that?”
“Just what I wanted to know.” Greg spoke before she had a chance to. She could feel his gaze on her, but she kept hers firmly on Tron while she completed his answer. “Mexican drug underlord who specializes in the recruitment of children–gets them hooked and pays them in drugs–lots of babies die. His family murdered my brother. I know the Calderas. Who is Azisi?”
“We know Azisi,” Greg answered, which didn’t help at all. “What’s he doing with Caldera?” Tron glanced at Greg, but she wouldn’t. There were undercurrents in the room she really didn’t like. Tron shook his head in response to Greg’s question. “Don’t know, but I’ll get on it.” “Mykael.”
