“I love you.” She didn’t know why, but she felt the need to say it once more.
His face softened. “I know. Believe me, sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps me alive.”
“Don’t say that.”
“For now, it’s the job.”
She nodded. They’d had this discussion before. Either of them could be killed on any mission. They’d agreed to make the most out of their lives, their marriage. Soak in as much as they could. But that conversation hadn’t seemed as grim as it did now.
“You’ve got that look on your face that I don’t like. I can’t tell you what I’m finishing up, but I will say that it’s much less dangerous than usual. Very routine. Mostly paperwork and assignment shifts. Absolutely nothing covert.”
Why did she suddenly feel as though they were talking about two different things? She shook away her disquiet. His news had just thrown her off-kilter, that’s all.
Realizing their discussion had changed the atmosphere of their time together and wanting to get back to enjoying themselves, she asked one last question, “When do you need to leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? But we—” She held her tongue. This was the job, too. Missions rarely came at convenient times. If he could’ve delayed it, he would have.
She drew in a silent breath. Okay. All right. Complaining about it would do no good and only spoil their last few hours together. No way was she going to let that happen. And once he was finished, he’d be back with her permanently.
“Then let’s not waste time we don’t have.”
His smile of appreciation washed away the taut atmosphere. Still seated, he pulled her into his arms, onto his lap. “Tha gaol agam ort.”
She smiled her delight. Other than some sexy time when he was seducing her or turning her on in bed, Declan’s Scottish heritage rarely showed itself anymore. Occasionally, she’d catch a hint of brogue, but for the most part he sounded as American as she did. However, he knew she loved it when he spoke Gaelic to her. His words, Tha gaol agam ort meant I love you.
Surprising her even further, he did something incredibly odd, something he had never done before. He drew her closer, cupped his hand around her ear and said in an almost soundless whisper, “You’re my everything, Little Fox. Never ever forget that.”
Last Chance Rescue Headquarters
Paris
“For right now, I’m offering the job only to those with special ops or covert experience.”
Sabrina sat before Noah McCall, her boss and the leader of Last Chance Rescue. Even though she’d been with LCR for four years, she had not yet learned how to read him. A few months back, he had hinted that there were going to be some changes for LCR. She had never anticipated this. Not only was Noah moving the main headquarters to the States, he was creating another branch, LCR Elite.
She loved being an LCR operative, but this sounded even more exciting. And with her background and training, a natural fit for her. Rescuing victims from the most dangerous places in the world. Totally unsanctioned and off the grid. Every mission a high-stakes risk. Her blood pumped with excitement.
“So. You interested?”
His black eyes coolly assessing, Noah asked the question with no emotion, not a hint of coercion. Not that the LCR leader would ever try to persuade an operative to take on an assignment. That was not his style. However, the question he’d asked her wasn’t as easy to answer as it might have once been. With the changes Declan wanted to make in his life, how would this new job mesh with it? If only he would come back so they could discuss this together.
“I actually don’t know yet.”
Black eyes flickered with compassion. “Still no word from your husband?”
She shook her head. “He said he’d be gone for no more than a month…it’s been almost two.”
“He ever been gone this long before?”
“Yes, but for some reason, this feels different.” She wasn’t much for psychic premonitions, but she did trust her gut. Something wasn’t quite right.
Aware that Noah was waiting for her answer, she said, “How soon do you need to know?”
“You’ve got some time. I’ve commissioned the building of a training camp outside Tucson, Arizona. Three former Navy SEALs are designing it. Once it’s done, they’ll be chomping at the bit to put us through their own version of Hell Week.”
Adrenaline surged within her. She loved challenging her physical and mental skills, pushing herself to do more. Hopefully, Declan would be back before she had to give Noah her final answer.
“I saw Aidan leaving when I arrived. I’m assuming you offered him a spot, too?”
“Yeah. With his Special Forces background, Thorne is a natural fit. If you join, you can continue as partners. You work too well together to mess with that.”
That was another reason she’d hate to turn down this offer. She’d be losing Aidan Thorne as a partner. They’d been watching each other’s backs for a long time. She’d miss the man she considered a friend.
“Just a warning. He’s already expecting that you’ll be on the team. And since he doesn’t know you’re married, he might be a little confused if you turn it down without explaining.”
She inwardly winced. She had been putting off that conversation for too long. Her brutal childhood had trained her to keep her mouth shut about private matters. And her Agency training had only reinforced her reticence to share personal information. Breaking a thirty-one-year-old habit was damned hard, but she owed her partner the truth.
“It’s time I told him.”
“Any reason why you haven’t? I know it’s not because you don’t trust him.”
“No, trust isn’t an issue.” She shrugged, unable to explain what probably was a defect in her personality. Getting the hell beaten out of you for telling personal details created an adult who had trouble opening up to others. She’d fought with all her might to overcome her past but still carried scars, both physical and mental. Declan had been the only person she’d ever been able to be completely open with, allowing him to see the real Sabrina.
“Aidan’s like a brother to me.” She’d never had a real brother, but her stepbrother had been a monster, so that was probably not the best description of their relationship. “Outside of you and Declan, there’s no one I trust more.”
“Good to know. I—”
The ring tone on her phone played Rod Stewart’s Purple Heather. Declan! Heart leaping to her throat, she jumped to her feet and barely took the time to throw Noah a look of apology before she dashed out the door. The amused glint in his eyes told her he understood completely.
The instant she was out of Noah’s office, she read the short text: Meet me in Florence tomorrow at 3:00. Salvatore’s Café. Have a surprise for you. DS
Her feet flew to the elevator, thinking about all the things she needed to do to get to Florence by three tomorrow. Didn’t matter what she had to do. She would not miss this opportunity.
Florence, Italy
Sabrina rushed out of the airport. Flying commercial and getting somewhere at a specific time rarely meshed anymore. Why hadn’t Declan given her more notice? She was going to be at least fifteen minutes late, if not more.
Waving madly at a taxi, she caught the attention of the driver. Barely waiting for it to stop before she opened the door, she threw herself into the backseat.
Giving the driver the location and street address, she sat back into the seat and tried to make herself relax. Silly. She didn’t know why she was so anxious about being late. It wasn’t as if he’d leave without seeing her. In fact, she was a little surprised he hadn’t already called to check on her. She’d called his cell phone to let him know she was running late and gotten his voice mail.
She tried not to be disappointed that it was just going to be a quick visit. If he were through with his assignment, he would have come to Paris. She’d already given Noah notice that once Declan was finished for good, she would be taking several days o
ff. Her boss was a happily married man and understood.
The taxi driver slammed on his brakes as a gridlock of traffic loomed ahead. Cursing softly, Sabrina spoke in rapid Italian, “I’ll just walk from here.” She dropped several euro into his outstretched hand and jumped out of the car.
She stood in the middle of the stopped traffic to get her bearings. Up ahead was a traffic jam of massive proportions. Horns were blaring, people were getting out of their vehicles and shouting. Any other time she might have enjoyed the entertainment of drivers spouting colorful and inventive curses. Today, she was too focused on her target—getting to Declan.
She spotted a street sign and realized she was within three blocks of the café. Even though she’d worn heels and a dress, she didn’t let that stop her. Weaving in and out of stopped cars, she got to the sidewalk and then started hoofing it toward her destination.
She stopped at a street corner and caught a glimpse of the café in the distance. Squinting against the afternoon sun, she focused on a man standing beneath the canopy in the doorway. That was Declan, or was it? He was the right height and coloring. She waved and was glad to see he waved back.
Traffic had picked up again, and she was going to have to either wait until the light turned red to cross the street or take her life into her own hands. She assessed her chances of making it across the busy street without getting hit—not good. Shrugging slightly, she waited. She’d rather arrive alive.
The instant the light turned red and pedestrian traffic was allowed, Sabrina crossed the street at a run. Declan was still there. Odd, but he looked as though he’d put on some weight. She grinned at the thought of teasing him about secretly hiding away and stuffing himself.
She took another step and barely registered the jolt and massive noise before her feet flew out from under her, and she was propelled backward. As she landed with a hard slam onto her back, her breath left her body. She lay for several long seconds as her mind scrambled to comprehend what had happened. Pain radiated throughout her body. What in the world…?
Breath finally returned, and gritting her teeth, Sabrina sat up. Horror washed over her. The restaurant was gone. Flattened. Demolished. The remains were heaps of ravaged brick and burning wood. The building had exploded.
Declan? Declan!
Darkness threatened, and she fought against its comforting pull. She went to her knees, and then stood, wavering. Her head swam, and blackness skirted the outer edges of her vision. An odd numbness swept up her right arm. Absently, as if she was looking down at a stranger, she noticed a large piece of wood sticking out of her shoulder. Blood dripped down her arm to the ground.
Sabrina tried to hold on to reality, to the fierce need to get to Declan. He couldn’t be dead. He was trained for things like this. He would have heard the beginnings of the blast and flung himself away from the building. Yes, he might be injured, but he wasn’t dead. She refused to even consider the possibility.
She took a step, felt a vague, distant pain on the bottom of her feet. Odd, but she was barefoot. Her shoes were gone. Ignoring the smoldering wood that scorched her skin and the broken glass that shredded her feet, she weaved and hobbled her way closer to the demolished building.
Declan was fine, she continued to reassure herself. Still, she needed to find him so they could help others. She jerked to a stop. A few feet from where the café had stood lay an arm beneath the rubble. Her heart stalled, her breath halted. It was tanned, large, obviously male, and on the hand was a wedding ring identical to Declan’s.
Shaking her head, mumbling, “No, no, no,” she pushed the debris out of the way and pulled on the hand. It came loose. She stood among the ruins of the destroyed building, holding an arm. No body was attached. Her mind screamed in denial, black mist swirled around her, and she fell forward into a blessed, mind-numbing darkness.
Chapter One
Republic of Congo
Central Africa
Eleven months later
A whomp-whomping noise woke him. His mind, though dulled from malnutrition and brutal beatings, could still recognize the unmistakable sound of a helicopter. He touched his eyes, felt them blink—the only way he knew they were open. How long had he been inside the tank this time? A week? More?
They’d dumped him here after his last interrogation. Not because he had refused to give them information. He’d been here a long time and hadn’t given them shit. Would never give them shit. No, this time the punishment had come from managing to break free for a few seconds and slamming his fist into his torturer’s gut. For the first time in forever, he had felt a spark of triumph...of life. Yeah, it’d gotten him a more severe beating and then thrown into this dark, dank hellhole, but damn, it’d felt good.
He didn’t even think about when they’d let him go back to his regular cell. He preferred being able to see sunlight instead of pitch-dark nothingness, but it was all relative. Hell was hell. At least in here, myriad insects weren’t sucking out the last of his blood.
The helicopter noise grew louder, like it was hovering overhead. New prisoners coming in? When he’d first arrived here, he’d glimpsed a few. But that’d been a long time ago. Months? Maybe years? He had no concept of how long he’d been here. Since he heard the occasional pain-filled scream, he knew some were still here. Had they given up all hope? Did they exist in a state of dull mindlessness, waiting and hoping to be killed, thinking that only death would give the final release of pain?
Odd how he could wonder about them but feel not one ounce of sympathy. Torture did that. Turned a normal, caring human being into an empty shell—hollowed out and lifeless. No heart, no soul, no humanity.
Gunfire erupted. Sounded like military grade. M4s, maybe? AK-47s? Whoever and whatever, there were several of them. Had someone tried to escape?
He noticed that his heart rate had picked up. That hadn’t happened in a while. He mentally shrugged. Whatever the reason for the fireworks, the speculation had given him a brief reprieve from misery.
A loud clanging noise sounded outside his cell. Apparently, it was time for another interrogation. Or would he be taken back to the hole he called home, where the endless sounds of her treachery whispered in his ears? Wouldn’t his torturers get a kick out of knowing that he’d rather take a beating than listen to that soft, soothing voice of betrayal?
Hurried footsteps came closer. He didn’t bother to raise his head. They’d get here soon enough.
Piercing light penetrated his sight. He squinted his eyes shut. Damn, that hurt. Covering his face with his arm, he lay still. Waited to be hauled out, for an attack…more pain. Coercion, more voices of betrayal. No point in getting to his feet. Why make it easy for them? Besides, if he tried to stand, he’d just fall.
Then he heard a voice. One he hadn’t heard in a very long time. “My God, it is you. It’s really you!”
Was he dreaming? No, he no longer did that. Dreams were for those with hope. So if this wasn’t a dream, was this reality? After all this time…after all the shouting, cursing and praying. After giving up completely, had someone actually come for him?
Seven days later
Somewhere above the Atlantic Ocean
Declan Steele returned from the dead a changed man. Eyes that had once been vibrant blue and glinting with life were now dark, murky…empty. The strong, muscular body that had once carried a comrade ten miles through a sizzling-hot desert was unrecognizable. Thick, dark-as-midnight hair had been replaced with a dull, wild mane that reached well past his thin shoulders. An emaciated wraith, more than thirty pounds underweight, with a bitter twist to his sensuous male lips, stood in his place.
His appearance wasn’t the only change. Hatred seethed and burned within him. He was a hardened, embittered, heartless creature, determined to achieve only one goal—vengeance.
After his rescue, he had been taken to a large private home, where he had been allowed to shower, alone and with clean water. Fresh clothes had been provided, and food that wasn’t covered in m
aggots or mold had been set before him.
A doctor had given him a physical, declaring him malnourished and anemic but in good shape considering what his body had endured. The doctor had remarked that his captors had been amazingly humane in allowing aid workers to attend to him from time to time. Declan had stared blankly at him. Humane? The word apparently had a different meaning for the physician, because he’d seen no humanity in any of the bastards who’d tortured him daily.
The health aid workers had been beneficial in one aspect, though. Apparently, one of the physicians from the group had told of a tall, dark-haired prisoner with a slight Scottish accent and predilection for quoting Robert Burns. And that had gotten the attention of his former fellow EDJE agent Jackson Sands.
“We’ve been working like mad to get you out. The minute I heard the description of the prisoner, I knew it had to be you.” Jackson shook his head. “Still can’t believe it…we thought you were dead, man. Everyone thought you were dead. That you’d been killed in that explosion in Florence. But then I heard about…” He lifted a broad shoulder. “I just had to make sure. We worked around the clock to save you.”
Jackson had been repeating these words since his rescue. Damning himself for asking, Declan said, “Who?”
The other man’s eyes widened. Was it the shock of Declan finally speaking or the rough gravel of his damaged voice?
“Who what?”
“Who’s been working like mad?”
“Oh…sorry…my team. I have my own security business now.” He jerked his head toward the two large, silent men across from him. “Meet Neil Erickson and Kyle Ames. I couldn’t have done it without them. Took us a couple of months to pull this off.”
The men remained silent, watching. Declan gave them a nod of acknowledgment and returned his attention to Jackson. “The Agency wasn’t involved?”
Running On Empty: An LCR Elite Novel Page 2
