DEDICATION
To my nieces Jennifer, Barbara and Danielle—
may you be fierce in your determination
and fearless in all your choices.
CONTENTS
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Acknowledgments
About the Author
By HelenKay Dimon
Copyright
About the Publisher
1
AFTER SPENDING most of his adult life in the Marines, Weston Brown recognized a shithole when he stepped right in one. He had no one else to blame for this assignment. Just his piss poor decision-making. Next time his team leader told him about an optional operation, he’d take a pass. Wouldn’t kill him to sit one out now and then.
With his gun in his hand and his finger skimming along the side, right off the trigger, he scanned the area, squinting to check his surroundings in the fading light. Skardu, Pakistan. The town served as the launching area for high-altitude climbing expeditions. Dusty and barren, filled with grayish-brown boulders and outlined by a towering mountain range. A few rivers and bursts of green provided by man-made irrigation systems broke through the rough landscape.
This was not his idea of the ideal vacation spot, and that’s what he was supposed to be doing—taking mandatory leave—forced rest between assignments with the Alliance, the elite black ops fighting force put together mostly from the United States’ CIA and MI6, the British intelligence service.
The work suited him since he wasn’t a desk guy, but it wouldn’t be a bad thing to go a week or so without choking or shooting someone. When his eyes locked on the target dead ahead, he knew the no-violence thing wasn’t going to happen today.
He’d done this a million times. Careful steps, slowed breathing. A mental countdown to impact. Calculating the risks and preparing a second option if this one went sideways. He’d been trained to be ready—always. To kill without thinking.
His boot hit the ground right behind the armed unknown leaning against a tree and aiming his weapon at the building in the distance. The guy must have sensed him because he flinched a second before contact. Started to turn. West locked his arm around the guy’s neck before he could call out and bring his friends running.
Flailing and full of panic, he had one last burst of energy. The bottom of the guy’s shoes scraped against the loose pebbles on the ground as he beat his fists against West’s arm. West pressed harder and the guy fell in a heap in the dirt.
West had been using the choke hold since boot camp. Just shy of thirty-four and he could still take a man down in less than four seconds.
Oorah.
“Nice, now stay low.” Josiah King, clean-cut, British, and one of the toughest men in Alliance, issued the order.
“It’s not my first day on the job.” West wasn’t accustomed to following Josiah’s lead. He directed Delta team’s operations. While the men could be moved around as needed, West generally worked on Bravo.
He’d been home, lifting weights and sitting out an enforced break with the rest of Bravo following a successful operation in Germany when he got the call. Between his knowledge of the region and his preference to keep moving, tagging along seemed like the right choice. Problem was, volunteering put him smack in the middle of the one place he never wanted to see again.
Josiah shook his head. “You’re a big target.”
“Good thing I run fast.” West pointed off to his right. “India’s that way, right?”
“Funny.” Though Josiah’s tone didn’t say funny.
But if the Pakistani army unleashed its fury, that was exactly what they’d be doing. Burning for daylight. They weren’t exactly in-country on tourist visas or with the government’s knowledge. Any government.
That’s how Alliance worked. Underground and answering to few. Lethal but expendable, so everyone in power could maintain plausible deniability. For this assignment, they’d hooked up with a team of charity workers and flew in over the Karakoram mountain range and right past K2, the second highest mountain in the world.
The long and breathtaking trip from Islamabad ended here, in Pakistan, eighty miles from the ongoing conflict with India over a strip of wasteland called the Siachen Glacier. People referred to the conflict as the highest battleground on Earth because it took place 20,000 feet in the air. West viewed it as a fucking nightmare he’d vowed never to return to.
It sucked that his nightmares haunted him longer than his promise to stay away.
Josiah gave the hand signal and they headed out, moving fast, doubled over and crouched down, all while continuously scanning the landscape. They took cover behind rocks and an occasional shed as they made their way over the span of open area between them and the one-story beige building in the distance.
Intel pinned this place as a clinic. The one place other than the state-run Combined Military Hospital in Skardu where injured hikers were brought when they were rescued. Most came here off K2, but hikers ended up here from a few of the thirteen other highest mountains that loomed nearby, known as the eight-thousanders. The clinic looked like every other building, as far as West could tell, only spookier since there was no sign of life around the place.
Josiah rushed up to a group of trees and hid behind them. He motioned for West to follow. “I’d prefer if we didn’t turn this into an international incident, so try not to draw fire,” Josiah said.
“That’s a reasonable position.” But since military battles waged in the mountains nearby, and armed officers walked the streets, the boss might be asking a bit much.
Only Alliance would send in a two-man team to attempt this kind of motherfucking retrieval madness. West loved that about this group. No weakness allowed.
“Nothing can go wrong,” Josiah said.
“You should have thought about that before we decided to kidnap a doctor out of Pakistan.” As far as West was concerned, damage, collateral or not, had to be expected.
Josiah’s gaze flicked away from the building to West’s face. “Rescue, not kidnap.”
Yeah, right. “We’ll see if the guy’s using that word when we interrogate him.”
“Talk with.” Josiah emphasized each word as if he were addressing a confused child.
If his temporary leader wanted to engage in verbal gymnastics, West would comply. “We both know the truth.”
“That you’re a pain in the ass?”
“That’s not news.” Neither was the suicidal nature of this mission. So much for all the rah-rah bullshit about it being a quick in and out. Tell that to his nuts, which were in the process of freezing off.
Despite it being May, he could see the snow piled on the mountain range around him. In this part of the world, seventies during the day and forties at night were normal for this time of year. He expected that. He didn’t plan for the unseasonable cold snap that ushered in blustery winds and frigid temperatures well below normal. He blew a warm breath into the palms of his black gloves.
Josiah glanced over then did a double take. “You okay?”
“
I hate this place.” Spent the worst damn three weeks of his life hunkered down in this area, alternating between pulling bodies out of the ice and hiding from the Pakistani army.
“Skardu?”
But now wasn’t sharing time. They were almost on top of the building and anyone could be lurking, so West kept it short and sweet. “Anywhere with mountains and snow.”
“Be happy it’s not winter. The whole place is impassable then.”
Sweet damn this was a lot of talking. Ford Decker, West’s team leader on Bravo, knew not to engage him in mindless bullshit. Josiah would learn. “I have the itch to shoot something. Wanna volunteer for my target practice?”
“Keep in mind I’ll shoot back.” Josiah scanned the horizon and checked the coordinates on his GPS watch. “This is definitely the right location.”
As the wind whipped over the scarred land, West wondered what the hell was so right about it. Nondescript and squat. Plain with few windows and no discernable signs of human life.
As a clinic, the building should be buzzing with activity. A steady stream of locals and climbers seeking treatment. The usual check-ins from the military stationed nearby.
But they had no movement. Hard truth was they might be too late to call this part of the mission a success. Their witness could be dead.
Josiah must have reached the same conclusion because, though his frown didn’t lessen, his grip on the gun tightened. “We go in and grab Alex Palmer, then get out.”
The whole reason for this fucked-up venture. “The doctor with the intel.”
“The doctor in trouble.”
“We’re basically saying the same thing.” West didn’t separate the doc from the information he’d relayed through back channels and coded chatter. Risky and brave, but the doc had to know the dangers going in for an American working in this part of the world. “Let’s grab him.”
They skipped the front door and circled around to the side, checking for tracks and finding a mishmash of prints. Their footsteps landed in almost noiseless thuds on the dirt over the others. No extra movements or stray comments. They stayed focused and clear, the sole objective being to get in there and get the doctor out.
Ducking, Josiah moved to the far side of the window. He pulled the fiber-optic camera out of the utility pocket of his pants. New tech and pretty damn impressive. Nothing more than a thin wire. Thinner than West had ever seen. Harmless, unnoticeable to anyone not looking for it.
With an expertise and patience West admired, Josiah screwed on the tiny lens no bigger than a mint that he kept in a separate pocket and eased the end up until it touched the edge of the glass. Whatever he saw on the monitor on his watch had him nodding. He motioned for West to take the back door.
The tension thumped around them, broken only by the stark silence. West knew they could be walking into a bloodbath. Or worse, a trap. Last place he wanted to die was on this forsaken strip of land. But if it was his fucking time, so be it.
He made his way to the corner, keeping his back tight against the building but careful not to shuffle or create noise. His gaze bounced from the open dirt-covered area around them to the empty few feet in front of him. A quick peek to check behind him, then he rounded the building and stepped up to the open door.
Bad sign. A smart doctor would keep the door locked, if only to protect the meds.
Every little noise echoed to a deafening roar in his ears. A pebble here. The creak of the hinge as the wind knocked the door back and forth there.
He half expected the entire Pakistani army to pour out of the building. Instead, more quiet greeted him. A stillness that reeked of death. He was far too familiar with that stench.
He squinted, looking between the crack and the edge of the door. A man in uniform held a gun to the back of a woman’s head. From the position and where she sat in a chair, West could only see her hair, long and brown. That didn’t tell him a damn thing other than they had a hostage situation, which ranked pretty low on his list of favorite things.
He scanned the small room, taking in as much information as possible. Overturned furniture, glass shattered and covering the floor. The worn soles of sandals sticking out from under an overturned chair. From the size, probably male, which suggested they already had one down.
It looked to be an operating room of sorts. Equipment, all with plugs ripped from the walls, placed in a circle like a shield between the hostile and whoever might come storming in. Tables and supplies strewn around.
Someone came looking for someone or something, and since West didn’t see an older white male, he guessed the hostile found his target, and now was biding his time.
One faint click came from his watch. Well-timed, just as expected from someone of Josiah’s expertise. Between the wind and the crunch as the gunman shifted his weight and crushed whatever lodged under his foot, the sound barely registered. West answered with two clicks. The prearranged signal.
He started the mental countdown. When he got to one, he crossed the threshold and slammed his shoulder against cabinet blocking his path to the hostile. With access open, West dropped. Gunfire pounded over his head in rapid succession. Panic firing.
Then came the swearing. West couldn’t make out the words or nail down the dialect, Urdu or Balti, or maybe a regional dialect, but he knew ticked off, and this guy sounded like that.
The hostile shouted as West slithered across the floor on his stomach. Fast and unconcerned about sound now, his knees thudded against the wood as he scrambled over the lifeless body he saw earlier—definitely male—and headed for the woman. Shots pinged around him and Josiah yelled for the guy to stop firing. Yeah, this one wasn’t going without a fight.
Launching his body, West switched from prone to the balls of his feet, hitting the hostile square in the side and driving him into the wall as the man aimed at Josiah. The guy’s assault rifle dropped then clattered against the floor. West saw the flash of movement as Josiah jumped over a broken desk on his way to provide backup.
West stayed focused on knocking this guy out. Registering the glint of steel, he pivoted as the hostile’s blade sliced through the air in a wild arc. West heard a rip but didn’t feel pain. He slammed his body over and against the smaller man, crushing him into the thin wall.
The hostile groaned and shouted, but the frantic knife-waving didn’t cease. West caught a nick along his chin. Felt the blood swell. Got really fucking pissed off and the rage went nuclear when the hostile shoved against him and tried to knock his head back.
When the guy’s fingers brushed against the extra gun West kept at his side, he stopped trying to take him alive and fired. A single shot rang out. A boom, and the guy’s hands dropped. His balance faltered as his head lolled to the side. Unsteady on his feet, he smashed into the wall and stayed pinned there by West’s hand.
Blood seeped through the hostile’s fingers where he covered the wound, and the color left his face. A second shot, this time from Josiah’s gun, nailed the guy in the forehead and took him out for good.
Breathing in, forcing the adrenaline buzzing through him to slow, West eased his grip on his gun. The whole attack probably took less than two minutes, but it dragged in West’s head. He lived every second in slow motion. Always did.
Suddenly he was facing down the barrel of a nasty assault weapon. An AK-103 or something similarly problematic in the hands of someone aiming it at his head. To add to the fun, this one had a grenade launcher attached to it. Which was just fucking fabulous.
West’s gaze traveled over the shaking arms to the white-knuckle grip on the plastic. Then to her face. A brunette of the shockingly hot variety. Not that he cared about that on a job.
He didn’t like shooting women, but he would. He had. An enemy was an enemy, and he waited to see if that’s the tack the victim-turned-potential-attacker took.
“Two roads diverged.” She spit out the not-so-random sentence, and the dark energy spinning around the room eased.
“Well, damn,” West whispe
red, stunned to hear the code from her.
Josiah lowered his gun as he finished the agreed-upon signal. The one the doctor provided and insisted on, citing faulty short-term memory and a love or Robert Frost. “Sorry I could not travel both.”
She blew out a long breath as the stiffness across her shoulders eased. “Thank God you’re here.”
West tagged her as American but definitely not male, which made little sense under the circumstances. But she wasn’t firing at random, so he considered that a bit of good luck.
Still, a potential novice with a weapon was an invitation to get his nuts blown off, and he sure as hell didn’t agree to that when he signed Alliance’s employment contract. “Ma’am, I need to you put that gun down.”
She blinked a few times before her gaze went to her hands. It was as if she forgot she took it off the dead guy when he dropped it. “Why?”
West chalked the confusion up to the chaos of the last few minutes. Still, shock and bullets rarely mixed well. “I don’t want to be shot.”
Her chin came up as she nodded at him. “That makes two of us, so you lower your weapon first.”
Okay, chaos or not, her attempt to order him around was pretty fucking hot. Kind of brave, too. “No.”
Not dropping his guard, West took a second to study her. Long hair, half in and half out of a ponytail, huge whiskey brown eyes, and the sexiest pouty mouth he’d ever seen. He couldn’t make out her frame under the olive pants and oversized long-sleeve tee but he guessed curvy.
Not just pretty but lose-the-ability-to-spell sexy. Of course that could be the gun. Something about a woman holding a weapon turned him on, sick twist that he was.
“I’m not really giving you a choice,” he said, more to stall than anything else.
Falling Hard Page 1
