He frowned down at her with a look that happened often enough in the short time they’d known each other that it bordered on a habit. “Are you okay?”
“Not even close.” Breathless and strangely dizzy. She wanted to chalk the combination up to the terror of the night, but the way her heart took off on a frantic race had her thinking she’d just plain lost her mind.
He nodded. “Right.”
“That’s an interesting response.” It didn’t connect to anything she said, which seemed to be another habit of his.
He held her away from him and steadied her. The rip of Velcro cut through the night as he slipped his protective vest off. Then his black shirt, to reveal a second short-sleeved and very skintight version underneath. The impromptu striptease ended with him holding the vest and shirt out to her.
She looked down at the items in his hand. “What’s happening here?”
“I don’t have extra trousers.” Tucking the vest under his arm, he held up the shirt. His fingers moved quickly as he tied it around her waist.
“Are you eighty? Say pants.” But all she could think about was the surge of warmth moving through her. The material hung down. Thin and not nearly long enough to cover much, but the chill that had been wrapping around her eased.
His body heat still clung to the shirt. The way it fell down, it blocked some of the cool air nipping at her. Her teeth stopped chattering and she didn’t even know when they’d started.
“Put this on.” He threaded her hands through the armholes of the vest as he talked.
She glanced up at him as he fastened the straps and secured her in it. “What about you?”
“I’ll use you as a human shield.” He winked at her, then took her hand and started moving again. “I’m mostly kidding.”
His choices confused her. He’d accused her of things, some of which she didn’t even understand. Now he morphed into protector mode and talked about giving her pants . . . She didn’t get him at all.
They moved to the opposite end of the roof and stopped. The side of the building led to a sheer drop. A good six feet separated the building from the one next to it. It might as well have been twenty . . . or a thousand. Just looking down gave her vertigo. The world flipped upside down and her stomach turned with it.
“Now what?” She dreaded the answer.
“We need to get to that building.” He pointed to the next roof.
Nope. “Have fun without me.”
“Not an option.” He slid a hand under her arm and pulled her closer to the mid-thigh wall keeping them from tumbling over and into the slim alley below. Even lifted a foot as if he intended to balance on the ledge.
The man had lost his mind. She shirked her way out of his hold. “The helicopter can land over here. Next to us. Close enough but not so close that I get whacked with a helicopter blade.”
“This one isn’t stable enough.” He pointed again, as if she didn’t get it the first time. “That one is.”
One roof looked like the next to her. Both black with random fans and boxes sticking up. A gravelly texture and low light. Of course he’d probably researched the specifics on structure weight and size and all that. She didn’t care. No way could she jump across that divide. Her knees knocked together hard enough to trip her up just thinking about it. Some sort of Spider-Man impression was out of the question.
“I can’t—”
“Down!” His eyes widened as he put a hand on her head and shoved her toward his feet.
She dropped as loud bangs rang out above her and Josiah stepped over her back to stand in front of her. Right between her and the gunfire. She lifted her head and spied the gun strapped to his thigh. Not the type to curl into a ball, she ducked and fired. Made her body as small as possible as she tried not to be a target and felt his body jerk against hers.
The noise cleared and a new sound filled her ears. A thwapping. And footsteps. With her hands on Josiah’s calves, she peeked around and saw Mike racing across the roof toward them.
He jumped over a body lying facedown, stopping only to scoop up the gun by the still man’s hand. “Looks like I missed one.”
“Good thing I didn’t,” Josiah said before looking down at her. “You shot from between my legs.”
“Not at you.” That seemed like an important distinction for her to make.
He reached down and took the gun. “I think I’m impressed.”
Mike laughed. “The phrase you’re looking for is turned on.”
She decided to ignore that until her brain started working at top speed again. Despite her job, hunting people and information, she actually didn’t engage in gun battles every day. Maybe that’s why her legs turned to soup.
Determined not to complain, she leaned against Josiah’s legs then his body as she struggled to stand up again. He didn’t seem to care or mind being used as a wall. Once she got to her feet, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in tight.
The gesture contrasted with the killing talk. They acted as if being shot at happened every day. Like it was normal. She wanted to crawl away and forget this night, but she rode it out. These guys could be liars, but someone kept shooting and didn’t seem to care if she got caught in the crossfire. Josiah watched out for her. That counted for something.
He winked at her. “Nice moves.”
She squeezed in tighter to his side. “Any chance we could come up with a Plan B, preferably one that involves something on the ground?”
“That’s what this is. Our alternative . . .” He nodded toward the steep drop. “Time to jump.”
The cheese and crackers she’d eaten for dinner curdled in her stomach. “Or we could take the emergency stairs and go back downstairs.”
“Too many bodies to step over.” After a quick glance at the canyon between the buildings, Mike concentrated on the door that emptied out onto the roof. “You go first.”
One second she held on to Josiah in a death grip. The next he opened her fists and moved away, leaving her clutching nothing but air. Then he jumped. Stepped right onto the ledge and took off. Made it look easy, like one long step instead of a death-defying maneuver.
Forget curdling. Her stomach flipped over.
Hands landed heavy on her shoulders. “Your turn.”
Oh sweet Lord. Now she had two of them making this ridiculous argument. “This is a terrible idea.”
“Well, ma’am, we specialize in terrible ideas.” Mike pulled her up next to him, then lifted her onto the ledge.
The tread of her sneaker slipped. “Wait . . . what?”
“Off you go.” Mike shoved her, half threw her.
She squealed and closed her eyes. Didn’t feel anything under her foot. Then an arm hooked around her waist and her eyes popped open again. Josiah hung half over the opening and snagged her out of mid-air.
“There.” Josiah had the nerve to smile at her as he lifted her over the wall on his side and finally down to the relative safety of the roof. “Not so hard.”
She had no idea what had just happened. “Remember how I said I was going to be sick?”
His mouth flattened into a thin line. “This still isn’t a great time.”
The guy really needed a class in How to Keep the Kidnapped Woman Calm. He failed miserably almost every time he opened his mouth. “It doesn’t really work that way.”
“Do you get motion sickness?”
For a mercenary or commando or whatever he was, his conversation topics sure did bounce around. “What are you talking about?”
“That.” He pointed to lights moving through the air and coming straight at them.
“I don’t—” The sound of the helicopter drowned out her words. The thwapping grew louder and the wind kicked up. The landing skids danced above the ground, then bounced before settling flat. Lights brightened the space around them and cast the area outside of a close-in circle deeper into shadows.
“Our ride is here.” Mike shouted the comment as he walked past them, ducking u
nder the blades and going to the pilot’s door.
“This nightmare keeps getting worse,” she mumbled to herself.
But Josiah heard. Of course he did. She knew by the smile.
He leaned in and talked right into her ear. “And it’s hours until morning.”
“Lucky me.”
They flew without talking, sticking to protocol. Josiah stayed alert and kept watch while they got where they needed to go. In this case, a landing strip at Le Bourget Airport, about seven miles outside Paris.
Not the strangest or hardest extraction of his career, but wanting to hold on to his target was new. He tended not to hug rebel fighters or terrorists. He made an exception for Sutton. Also grabbed a blanket out of the storage area behind his seat and draped it over her legs. Then he added a glare for Mike to get him to stop smirking.
Josiah saw being decent as a way to lure her in, to get her to trust him. That would make it easier on all of them. Good strategy and nothing more.
They landed in a secluded area and waited there as the engine wound down. Harlan Ross, a man who had dedicated his life to public service, sat in the cockpit. After taking care of the helicopter, he took off his headphones and turned around to face Josiah and Sutton in the backseat.
Harlan now acted as coadministrator of day-to-day operations of the Alliance along with his American counterpart, Ward Bennett. But Josiah knew not to be fooled by the Oxford-educated proper accent. Harlan came to the Alliance from the Special Reconnaissance Regiment, a division of the British Army with roots in operations in Northern Ireland. He might sound smooth, but under all that propriety lurked a nasty temper and a crack shot.
He glanced at Mike in the seat next to him, then to Josiah. “I’m almost afraid to ask how the operation went.”
“Another Brit,” she mumbled under her breath.
Between the wide eyes and the way she kept rubbing her hands together Josiah was half surprised she wasn’t screaming. “She didn’t jump out the window, so that’s something.”
She held up a finger. “Yet.”
“Ms. Dahl, we—”
Sutton didn’t wait for Harlan to finish. “You all know who I am.”
Being the type to lead with manners even if he held a knife in his hand, Harlan nodded. “Of course. What you do, who you are. Everything.”
“Does it matter at all that I’m not in Paris to hunt down terrorists, or whatever it is you guys are doing?” She shifted in her seat to face Josiah but the seat belt didn’t let her get very far.
He decided not to lie to her. “No.”
“Very comforting.” She broke eye contact on a sigh and stared out the open door beside her.
There was that word again. Josiah was growing to hate it. “You may need to accept that tact and charm are not in my skill set.”
She rested her head against the seat back and rolled it to the side to stare at him again. “Yeah, well. Try harder.”
When she lifted up and looked past him, he followed her gaze. A group of men stood around a truck a good two hundred feet away. They worked on a tire, taking turns staring at it. Josiah made a mental note to keep watch on them just in case. But his bigger task right now was to help Sutton understand her position before Mike or Harlan switched from talking to other tactics to collect the intel they needed.
He knew he should search for the right words and ease her in, but they didn’t have time. The clock counting down the implosion of their private lives kept ticking. Benton would come at them and come strong. Josiah wanted the team to be ready. “As you now know, we have been tracking an international terrorist. This guy is under the radar to the point the public doesn’t even know about him.”
“But intelligence operations in every country do,” Harlan added.
“He’s violent. He kills without thinking. He collects weapons and sells them to the highest bidder. This is not a guy who’s dedicated to a cause. He believes only in money and destruction.”
Her gaze bounced back and forth between the men as they talked. “And you think Bane is this guy?” She shook her head. “I still can’t see it. He’s a weasel.”
“Is that the only reason?” Mike asked.
“He’s . . . forgettable. Average height, average everything, except for his scars. He’s not some James Bond type. He’s not ugly. Not handsome. Just . . . regular.”
“For the record, Bond is a good guy,” Harlan said.
“My point is that Bane blends in. It’s why he’s been so hard for me to track down.”
“Exactly.” The perfect type to move in, cause damage, then disappear. Josiah hated Benton with every cell but the guy had skills. He bided his time. Didn’t spend money or do anything to draw attention.
She frowned at him. “No, not exactly.”
Josiah tried again. “I know this guy, Sutton. He doesn’t go to fancy dinners. He has few close confidants, if any. He lies about who he is, moves around a lot, and nothing he says checks out if you dig deep enough under the surface.”
The seat creaked as Mike took off the seat belt and turned even more to face Sutton. “He flies on private planes without registered flight plans. His residence address is a secret. We only know about the Paris office through you. We traced your online search to you, and you’re now leading us to him.”
“It’s like you guys practiced this routine.” She rubbed her forehead. “You all fill in a blank or two. It’s kind of giving me a headache.”
Josiah decided to ignore that comment. “We’ve been studying Benton for about a year.”
“This guy is the scariest of threats.” Josiah prettied the description up but wasn’t sure why. “No conscience. He’s not a believer in any cause. Not beholden to anyone other than his own whims.”
Some motives made tracking easier. Josiah understood revenge and greed. He could use those to trip up any target. True believers proved harder, but Benton fell into a whole other category. The one with a big question mark on it. They didn’t know why he did what he did or how it started. Hell, they didn’t even know his real name.
“He sprang up out of nowhere and no one knows his real identity, but every intelligence operation in the world is trying to find some kernel of intel so they can look for him. We’re the ones who actually found him and identified him. We’ve seen him and can identify him, and that puts us ahead of everyone else to catch him.” Harlan held up a copy of the sketch they’d compiled after hunting Benton on a mission in Pakistan. “Until you, this was our only in-person description.”
Back then he’d been hiding weapons and planning something awful with a chemical weapons dispersal system scientists on his payroll had created. His one mistake had been in teaming up with Jake Pearce, agent turned traitor.
“We know why we’re tracking him. Why are you tracking the man you call Bane?” Josiah had a million questions for her but that seemed like the logical first step.
“This company Clayton is a front. There is no actual business behind it. Fake offices and invoices. Dummied up tax returns and bank accounts, but it’s all for show,” she said. “He’s a killer. A very good con man, but still a con man.”
For a second no one said anything as they waited for her to spill more details. Unless she’d perfected the art of lying and was a plant, they clearly all hunted the same guy. They tracked Benton, international fugitive. She followed Bane, someone she tagged for what amounted to everyday crimes that fell outside the Alliance’s interests.
Gasoline fumes from the nearby garages lingered in the air. Every few minutes the roar of an engine would break the quiet as a new plane took off.
Mike finally made a strangled noise. “A killer. And what else should we know?”
She shrugged as her eye contact wandered. “It’s personal.”
No way could Josiah let her get away with that answer. “Not anymore.”
With shaking hands she reached for the seat belt and fumbled with the strap. “Let me out of here.”
That quick Josiah reached
an arm across her chest and forced her back against the seat. “He has those scars because of us.”
“We shot a rocket up his ass. He just happened to jump at the right time and not die.” Mike hitched his thumb in Harlan’s direction. “Well, he shot it. We helped.”
Josiah realized he’d skipped over the introductions. He’d been too busy watching the surrounding area and preparing for her to bolt. “For clarity, Harlan is the pilot.”
“Okay, but who is ‘we’ again?” she asked.
That was fair. In her position, he’d want to know the same thing. “Still not answering that question.”
Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him. “But I’m supposed to answer yours?”
“We have the guns.” Mike chuckled at his own observation. “That’s how this works.”
“The Bane I know is reclusive. He has to be because he’s on the run. Not wanted, per se, but a criminal, and once I put the pieces together I’ll be able to show that.” She closed her eyes for a second, as if she were trying to call up some level of control. “There is nothing flashy about him. Nothing real either.”
That fit with everything they knew and all they’d collected. Benton, whether he pretended to be Ryan Bane or someone else, knew how to play this game. Josiah might admire the restraint if Benton weren’t such a dangerous asshole. “He’s someone who plans to unleash holy hell on earth.”
She sighed. “And it’s your job to stop him?”
“We’re the only ones who can,” Mike said.
Her gaze went to him. “That’s a bold statement.”
Josiah needed her to understand the bigger picture. He couldn’t sit there and go into detail about the inner workings of the Alliance. Didn’t want to either. But he could make her understand the power they held. They’d brought down dictators and stopped terrorist attacks. They were Benton’s worse nightmare.
“We have stopped him a few times.” He decided that didn’t sound strong enough. “Only us. No one else has even come close.”
Facing Fire Page 6
