by Cara Carnes
Dallas, Graves, and Sanderson packed enough for a small war. Fine with him.
The trudge up seventeen stories was a pain in the ass, but he’d done worse. The Texas heat turned the interior of the closed building into a microwave oven. Sweat rolled down his back as he lugged gear up to the roof. Graves and Sanderson would stage along the corners, street level while Dallas took position a block over on the target’s other side.
“Bravo One in position,” he mumbled into the headset.
“Don’t forget the new toys, Bravo.” Vi’s voice startled him a moment, then he remembered. Mary always worked with her. The Quillery Edge.
Dylan unshouldered the gear and grabbed the small, black zip bag. He’d gone through three rounds of training with Addy on the gear, then Vi had gone over it twice. He wasn’t a tech savant like Cord, but he figured he could handle this.
The headgear slid into place like a second skin, one he didn’t mind. Lighter than the military night gear, it flashed data in the upper left area near his left eye. Direction. Wind speed. The never-ending scrolls along the side were distracting, but the pattern turned soothing easily enough.
Each member of the team clicked into the line with a slight ding. Their positions appeared in the upper right panel, all green to signal good. He clicked the side button and marked himself the same.
“Okay, we need eagles to scan the upper area of the target coordinates. We have street level established,” Vi said. “From both sides. Edge indicates the building’s age will obstruct depth abilities on this model of gear.”
“Roger.”
A couple moments ticked by as he fiddled with the gear. Hands-on practice was a priority.
“Did you put the wrist band on?” Mary asked over the com.
Shit. He’d known something was missing. He grabbed the thin band and snapped it in place. One push of the red button, and the headgear got to work. Heat signatures appeared. He moved his gaze slowly, allowing the feed enough time to register at headquarters.
“Not to be the fly in the kickass soup, but how do we know if the heat signatures I’m taking aren’t the same ones he is?” Dallas asked.
“HERA’s monitoring depth and field of perception. When the program puts everything together, the final piece will be a stitch of all four views, along with any drones if you’d dispersed any,” Edge replied.
The voice was confident, strong. Definitely Edge, not Mary.
“There’s an open window without any nearby targets on the fourth floor, facing Bravo One,” Quillery replied. “You have six zingers and six sleepers. Recommendation to disperse three of each for the first wave recon, Bravo One.”
Dylan analyzed the intel coming in and was surprised to see there were only four heat signatures, three on ground level and one on the sixth floor. “We have four armed targets. Drone recon is unnecessary, Quillery.”
“Fair enough,” she replied.
“Bravo One, give me this play. Disperse the drones as requested.” Mary’s voice softened to a barely audible whisper over the com. “For my calm.”
Dylan opened the bag and pulled out three, red-tagged drones and three blue. “Dispersing red and blue one through three.”
He pulled out the small remote apparatus and keyed in the numbers on the side of each one into the system. It beeped and the drones rose. He keyed in the coordinates appearing on his headset when he looked at the window. The six baseball-sized machines whirred a moment, then flitted off.
Dylan keyed in the coordinates of the door farthest from the three heat signatures on the bottom level. “Move to position.”
Three beeps rang in his ear as he hauled the gear down the stairs. Four people didn’t bode well for their chances of finding Driggs. Whoever the bastard who’d snatched Riley up was contacting was likely a middleman. Sanderson and Graves were at the designation position when he arrived. Dallas came down the side alley.
“Drones are scanning the interior, Bravo One,” Quillery said. “Weapons cache on third level, southeast corner. Intel center second floor, northwest corner.”
“Roger, going in.”
Sanderson and Graves had flash bangs at the ready. Dallas popped the lock, and they entered in a tight formation, fanning out. He signaled for Sanderson and Dallas to head up, grab whatever intel they could, and handle the person on the upper floor. He and Graves could handle the other three.
Trash littered the building’s interior. He stepped over heaped food wrappers and beer cans. The headgear flashed yellow, then red as he stepped onto a cardboard box. The quiet snick thundered in his ears.
The readouts went wild. A red light appeared in his status message. He’d been in enough landmines to know it wasn’t an explosive. He’d already be picking bits of bone from his sizzling carcass if it was.
“What the hell?” Graves muttered over the com. He’d headed toward the two targets on the other side of the large floor.
“I heard a click. The headgear went nuts. I don’t know the codes.” Dylan’s pulse pounded in his ears. No other sound registered through the headset. Had they disconnected from headquarters?
Drones circled around him. Two broke off and headed toward where Graves was coming from. Someone had taken control of the little beasts and clustered them all near him.
“Bravo One, you activated a silent alarm. Disperse the remaining drones and take cover. We’re detecting movement from the exterior of the building.”
Quillery’s confident voice calmed his pulse a bit as Graves motioned toward the stairs where Dallas and Sanderson were coming, their packs loaded.
“Data secure,” Dallas said.
“Tap the blue and red buttons on the panel,” Edge ordered.
Dylan did as ordered. Images rolled through his headgear as the drones made their way out the holes in the broken windows and exited the building. Heavily armed targets approached from both ends of the alley.
“The east side of the building is clear. Two options. One. Breech the wall on street level and fight your way out if the noise draws attention.”
“Not an option, Edge,” Graves replied. “Structural integrity is an issue.”
“Then go up. Roof level. Let me know when you’re there.” Mary’s voice lowered. “Vi, get two of the drones to the east side. Scan street level with the others, fanning outward in a cobweb pattern around these sectors. Grid it.”
Dylan hoofed it triple time to the roof. While running from a fight went against his sour mood, they were outgunned. Sanderson busted the door open just as a percussive explosion rattled the railings around them.
“Building is unsecure, Edge,” Graves muttered.
“Roger, head east. You’re base jumping.”
Everyone removed their packs and rifled through their gear. There was no discussion on what she meant. Likely she realized they’d all performed enough jumps to be familiar with the process.
“You’re one hundred eighty seven feet up, so this needs to be a static line.”
“Integrity of the line is a problem,” Sanderson said.
“Let me handle the science,” Mary replied. “Each of you snag one of the flying drones—doesn’t matter which one—to the line once it’s secured to the building. Jump at will. Sooner is better. They’re almost to you.”
Dylan didn’t ask why they were attaching drones to their line. If Mary wanted them on, he’d put them on. Dallas gathered the rest of the ones left and tossed them into his bag. With a brief glance at his team and a final look back at the lines they’d secured to a metal hand railing a few yards away, he jumped.
Skydiving was a favorite activity of his. Base jumping...not so much. Static base jumps? It was like shoving your nuts into a blender and pushing the mush button. The landing jarred the hell out of you. Landing on concrete would likely crack a few bones.
An upward lift sensation startled him seconds before he landed on the hard concreted sidewalk. Cars blared their horns as they slowed. He turned to the side and noted an upward lift in Grant
’s movement as the massive soldier plummeted to the ground.
The drones slowed the fall somehow. Jesus. What those five women couldn’t do. Riley had called them the Pentagon the first night they’d gotten drunk together. As far as Dylan was concerned, put together, the women were unstoppable, way more powerful than the real Pentagon and its red tape.
He hauled ass around the corner as gunfire ricocheted around them. Drones whizzed and whirred around them. He followed the darting machines, weapon drawn but to his side.
The streets were somewhat abandoned compared to the typical urban warfare they experienced in other countries. A few people dodged them with fearful screams, but Dylan and his team didn’t stop.
“Left is the vehicle, but you should be good to go right and make a detour. I found Driggs,” Mary commented.
He and the men turned right. The drones whirred overhead and darted into a building, a rickety motel where customers probably paid by the hour. Talk about the ratty side of San Antonio.
Dylan halted the team at the entry and pushed the scan button on the headgear. Graves and Dallas angled down the right corridor of the two-story building while he and Sanderson went left.
“There’s a hallway at the end of both corridors. He’s upstairs, room 204, facing the building you were in.”
The trap.
“Recommend drone countermeasures prior to engagement to ensure he doesn’t get away. Drone recon indicates two armed targets at the upper level of both stairwells,” Mary said.
The two men were exactly where she said and fell easily.
“Drone countermeasures? Mind speaking English for us field grunts?” Sanderson asked.
“Send a blue drone in and press the yellow button on the controls. Wait until it returns to you. Unless something goes wrong, he’ll go down, and you can haul his mangy ass out,” Vi explained.
“On it,” Dallas muttered.
Dylan and Graves took position on one side of the entry, with Dallas and Sanderson on the other. Driggs wasn’t getting away. The drone returned sooner than he expected.
“I’m really liking these little guys,” Dallas commented. “I think I’m in love.”
Dylan and Graves entered while Dallas and Sanderson maintained protective detail outside. The hotel room was gutted, no furniture in sight except a table in the far corner. Driggs was hunched forward near the window.
“It’d be real sweet if you figured out how we could haul dead weight around without carrying them,” Graves commented.
“We’ll add that to the list,” Vi commented dryly. “Exfil route for the runner sent to you and Sanderson, Bravo One.”
“On it,” Sanderson muttered as he headed out to grab the truck.
“The drug lasts for about twenty minutes. Once you get him in the truck, you might want to hit him once on the orange setting. That’ll keep him down until you return,” Mary offered.
“Roger,” Dylan replied. “Great job, Edge. Now sit back and relax. We’ve got this under control.”
“We don’t relax until you’re home, Bravo. That’s our job. Getting you back.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Dylan entered operations with a determined stride. Lips firmed, gaze narrowed, fists clenched. Good for him, he’d found his angry. She’d stewed in hers all morning. Then he went and stepped on a freaking tripwire and damn near gave her a heart attack.
Then shit got real fast. An army of operatives on Drigg’s payroll stormed the building. She got them out, secure. Then she’d put them right back into danger when the drones sweeping the grid she established found the bastard.
Dylan got Driggs.
It was over.
No. No, they were barely scraping the surface. Martin Driggs was a money mogul, a figure head too fat and ignorant to earn the respect of the Hive operatives he’d commanded. Someone pulled the strings, someone savvy enough to identify the men under Driggs’s thumb who’d worry more about the bottom line than what it took to get there.
“I know you’ve figured out a hundred different ways to chew my ass out, sweetheart, but hear me out first.” Dylan’s velvety voice fractured the tentative hold she’d maintained.
She attacked. Not with the fists and curses he expected, but with mouth and hands. Well, hand. She hauled him down by his shirt until his face was close enough for their breaths to mingle. Unbrushed teeth and all. She crashed her mouth to his and wrapped herself around him monkey style.
Safe. Alive.
Tears spilled down her face. She didn’t know why she was crying, why seeing him here, breathing and secure, created the shockwave of need spewing from her. It didn’t matter. All she wanted was him. Dylan Mason.
Pleasure coursed through her when he took the lead. A hand on her ass and one in her hair, he deepened the kiss, a carnal melding of the mouth she hoped she’d experience as a full-body activity soon. To hell with taking it slow.
Applause and hoots and hollers echoed through the room, but she didn’t stop. Not to even breathe. Legs wrapped around his waist, she remained latched, monkey-style, as he steered them from the building without breaking the lip lock.
Was this what it was like for Addy when she came off a long, horrible mission? The adrenaline crash, the dark hunger to resynch with humanity through raw, angry sex? She’d described it once, long ago, and Mary hadn’t understood. Now, though. Now she was the raw, hungry monster.
It pulsated through her, an invasion of lust and desire so fierce Mary couldn’t imagine stopping. Not in a million years.
They entered his room, and he set her on her feet. She clawed and tugged on his shirt, growling when he grabbed her wrists.
“Look at me, sweetheart.”
“Shirt, off. Now.”
“Look at me, Mary.” His voice deepened. The commanding tone snapped some of the haze from her thoughts. “It’s just you and me. We’ve got as long as we want. We’re both safe, secure. Slow down and take a breath.”
“I want you,” she stated. Grabbing his shirt, she dragged it over his head and tossed it aside. “I need you.”
He grabbed her shoulders, turned her around, and held her to him, back to front, hands restrained with his. Hot breath settled near her ear. Tears coursed down her face. She gasped, suddenly unable to breathe beyond the knot forming in her chest. She doubled forward, feeling Dylan follow her maneuver until they were hunched over in an awkward position.
“Talk to me, sweetheart.”
“Fuck me,” she ordered.
The grasp about her wrists eased a bit as he hauled them back to standing. She pulled and pushed, but he held her locked against him. Why wouldn’t he just strip her naked and let this happen already?
What was he waiting for?
Anger seeped into her. She breathed harder, deeper.
“You don’t understand,” she spat.
“Then make me understand, sweetheart. What’s going on in your head? Give it to me.”
“It was a trap. I almost led you into a trap, got you hurt. He was waiting for you.” She gasped, swallowing the tears spilling into her mouth. “Like he waited for me.”
“He took you by surprise,” he guessed.
“I got a text, a code red. I didn’t even think, I just went.” She screamed, enraged she hadn’t thought, just like she hadn’t thought today. Dylan had almost died. What if the tripwire had been a bomb? She’d failed. “I failed. I got distracted by you, by what you make me feel. I got distracted, and you triggered a tripwire. You could’ve died. I failed. I failed. So stupid. So stupid. Dad was right.”
Mary stumbled to her knees, dragging Dylan along. Still, he hung on, locking her to him as he wrapped his legs around her, reverse monkey of how she’d clung to him. She rocked. Cried.
“He would’ve taken you, beaten you. Waterboarded you so long you felt it burning in your lungs weeks after.” She coughed, choked on the phantom water filling her body. She punched and kicked at the arms holding her in place. She screamed her rage.
“What
else would he have done, sweetheart? Tell me,” he whispered.
“No. You don’t get to know. You’re too good. You aren’t stupid, you don’t get caught. Only the stupid get beaten, hear their friend’s screams. Chained down like an animal while the screams rip you open.” Her throat burned from the raw sounds coming from her, the terror she’d heard hour after hour.
“Then it’s your turn again. Then you’ll learn what you’re good for. You think you’re hot shit, in charge and untouchable. Well, they’ll touch you plenty. Oh yeah, they’ll make you take it again and again. Just when you think you’re in the bottom of hell, he’ll lean down and whisper the real hell in your ear.”
“Fuck, sweetheart, come back to me.”
“No! You’ve gotta know what he’ll say. You’ve gotta know.”
“Then tell me, sweetheart. Tell me, and let me take it away.”
You’re just the warm up, bitch. She’s gonna get it even worse. Give me what I want and I’ll let her go. You know what I want, bitch. Give it up.
“What do I want, sweetheart.”
“Stupid bitch never listens. Give it up, and Vi goes free. Where’s the drive you gave Peter? Give me the names of the suppliers. Access codes. Give it to me, bitch, or she gets it worse.”
“It’s okay, come back to me, sweetheart.”
“It’s not okay, you can’t trust him. Promise me you won’t trust him. He’ll hurt her anyway. Don’t give them up. Ever. You’re disposable. You can hurt. You can die. She can’t. HERA has to live. Free. People have to know what Peter found. They have to know.”
“They’ll know, Mary. Come back to me. You’re okay. I’ve got you. No one’s ever going to touch you again. I swear.”
“You shouldn’t have left. It wasn’t safe out there. You know better than leave. People hurt you when you leave.”
“You kept me safe, Mary. You got me secure. You tracked him down.”
“No. No. No. No. No.”
“Why no, sweetheart? Tell me what’s happening.”
“He wasn’t alone,” she whispered, terror stabbing her insides, invisible claws scratching for freedom. “He was yelling, shouting at someone to hurry the fuck up and get everyone in position. The bitch can’t take much more, you stupid shit head. She’s just a dumb cunt. Dead pawns can’t be played. Get everyone into position and start phase two.”
