by J. M. Madden
Rushing to the computer he pulled up a map. You’re coming in on 70?
Yes.
How far behind you are they?
A few miles, at most.
He turned to look at the bedroom. Angela!
She popped her head out of the bedroom. “What?”
For a second he reeled. Had he actually reached her? “Wake Fontana. Get those damn ear buds out of his head. Wulfe needs help.”
Quickly, she crossed to Fontana. Rather than touch him, though, she very wisely tipped the couch, then let it fall back down. Immediately, his eyes were open and he was rolling to his feet. “What the fuck?”
Without saying anything she pointed at Aiden, then disappeared into the bedroom again, probably to get dressed.
“Wulfe has been calling for us.”
As he turned back to the console, Fontana moved up beside him, scrubbing his face. “Where is he?”
“East on I-70.”
Scrolling the screen he looked for a spot for a confrontation, because that’s what it was going to be. He glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen. It was after seven. Damn, had they really slept that long? The sun would be going down in a half hour, so they would have the cover of night to do what they needed to do.
Fontana pointed at the screen. “Looks like there’s a railway transfer station there. That would be better than in the city.”
“Agreed.”
Wulfe, I’m texting you a GPS location. We’ll be ready for you when you get there.
Roger.
Aiden sent the location, then jogged for the bedroom. Angela had already dressed in a tight black t-shirt and black BDUs. There were several weapons spread out on the bed and she was loading a clip. She’d fitted a double holster harness across her shoulders as well as another holster low on her hips. Aiden frowned.
“I don’t know if you should come to this, Angel. You’re a cop damn it, and we’re not going to be doing law abiding things tonight.”
She paused in what she was doing and cocked a hip. “Do you actually think I would let you go out there alone?”
“I won’t be alone. I’ll have Fontana with me. And once Wulfe gets there we’ll be damn near bulletproof.”
She stared at him a moment, as if deciding if he meant that literally. “Then you’ll need a getaway car. I’m a good driver and I’ll be an asset. You’re not leaving me behind.”
As he looked into her determined eyes, he didn’t have the heart to deny her. “Fine, but you’re staying in the car.”
Angela snorted. “Sure.”
Aiden moved to the dresser and pulled similar clothes from the bottom drawer, dressing quickly. Then he pivoted the dresser out ninety degrees. A nylon gun safe door organizer had been mounted onto the back of the dresser, and it held all his weapons and gear. Aiden loaded three guns and half a dozen knives onto the web harness he pulled on over his shoulders.
When he looked up, Angela was grinning at him. She nodded appreciatively and Aiden felt ridiculously proud that he’d been able to impress her.
Within minutes they were speeding east. The sun had fallen behind the mountains and long shadows were welcoming the night. The interstate was fairly busy, but the farther they went the less traffic there was. Twenty miles from the city center was Norbit Transfer Station, a vital grain transfer depot and one of the biggest employers in the area. Hundreds of thousands of tons of grain were hauled here by truck, then loaded onto trains to be disbursed all around the country. It had made the news about ten years ago for having one of the largest grain fires in history.
Angela took the exit, then the access road that ran along the perimeter fence. “When they had some vandalism out here a few years ago they hired off-duty officers to do patrols. Since then they’ve added surveillance equipment. But I know for a fact that the security company monitors it from off-site, because the PD has had to run out here for alarm checks when the state patrol was tied up. There is a single security guard that does rounds once an hour, assuming it doesn’t interfere with his sleep schedule.”
Aiden stared at her and Angela laughed as she pulled onto a gravel driveway, on the far left side, out of the range of the camera posted on the entry gate. “Glad you brought me now, huh?”
She looked at Fontana in the rearview mirror. “See that box up there?”
“Yeah,” he murmured, leaning around her seat.
“That’s their main router box. When Wulfe gets closer if you knock that out like you did the security door this morning, the security company has at least a twenty-five minute response time. They only call law enforcement if they consider it an emergency. Once you knock it out we can— what do you call it? Finesse? — the lock and we can lose them in the sea of train cars and semis. Or we can pick where you want to confront them.”
Fontana looked her with new respect, “Okay, we might keep you around.”
Then they settled back to wait. Aiden let Wulfe know exactly where they were and what their plans were. Wulfe let them know that he had at least four operatives after him. And there was another, larger presence a few miles behind them. He had no idea what it was either.
When he relayed the information, Fontana sighed. “Guess we know for a fact they have other camps now, huh?”
“Well, we assumed that anyway.”
As the minutes ticked by the tension crept up in the interior of the car. Angela rolled the windows down so they weren’t feeling so claustrophobic, then took Aiden’s hand in her own. When she turned to look at him, a soft expression in her eyes for him, he could have melted. Months ago when Duncan had gotten together with Dr. Hartfield, he remembered watching them in a parking lot, and wondering what it would feel like to have a woman touch him the way Alex touched Duncan. Since his experience with women was limited to unremarkable hookups on bases around the world, he’d never been with anyone that cared about him. And it was right there in her eyes to see. Angela Holloway cared about him.
“What’s your favorite food?” he asked abruptly.
She laughed. “I love a good steak, burnt on the outside and pink in the middle. Pizza, of course. Pineapple when it’s fresh, not canned. Bahama Mamas and the occasional artisan salad when my arteries protest the steak.”
He catalogued the information, thinking about the great steakhouses around Denver he’d heard about but never been to.
“And you?” she asked.
“Peanut butter sandwiches and vegetable soup,” he answered immediately.
Her mouth fell open and her eyes filled with emotion he could see even in the dimness of the car. She turned her head away, obviously fighting for control as she remembered the meal she had handed him at Harmony House. Aiden was glad that he was challenging her. Their relationship wouldn’t be an easy one.
It was a bit of a joke, really. The lawless former SEAL and the cop. What a combination.
“Sorry to break this up, kids,” Fontana drawled, “but we’ve got lights coming down the ramp.”
Angela started the car but she didn’t move it within sight of the gate. Fontana would tell her when the router was down. As the other car pulled closer it was obvious it was a high-end sedan, but it had been beat to hell. Speed had apparently won out though.
The car pulled up beside them and the interior light flicked on. A darkly shadowed man leaned over the center console to give them a grin. Aiden was thrilled to see his German teammate. “Took you long enough to get here, Wulfie.”
“Ah, how I’ve missed you quaint Americans. At least the new one is more beautiful than you, arshgeige. Pardon us, Miss.”
Angela grinned at him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. Call me Angela. What did you just call Aiden?”
The other man waved a hand in front of himself. “Ass instrument. Violin. It’s friendly but…” he waffled a hand in front of himself.
“Nice to see you too, Wulfe,” Fontana called loudly from behind Angela. “Not like it’s been months since we saw your ugly mug.”
�
�Mr. Fontana. No slight. Had to talk to the pretty woman first, you understand of course.”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “We ready to go?”
Sparks erupted from the black box on the power pole. “There were a few minutes of static before I blew it, so they’ll know it was a maintenance issue,” Fontana told them.
Angela put the car in gear and drove through the open gate, but her eyes were wide with surprise at what Fontana had done. The close, hands-on interference was one thing, but to see it done this far away from her car was really something. If the timing hadn’t been off, he’d have laughed.
Angela drove them into the depths of the train yard. In the center was a small outbuilding, and she parked her vehicle behind it. Wulfe pulled his car in behind it, and they all scrambled out.
“I’m too fucking tall to be in the backseat,” Fontana growled.
Wulfe looked tired, but intact. As Aiden leaned in for a back-slapping hug, he brushed deliberately at the man’s mental barriers.
I’m fine, Aiden. Nothing some sleep and food won’t cure.
Nodding, he allowed the stalwart German to pull away. Then Wulfe and Fontana shook hands. Aiden noticed, though, that it felt odd to be doing this without TJ there, yukking it up. He’d been the youngest of the group and they’d all taken a roll in instructing him. He’d been the one to come up with the designation of the Dogs of War, because they’d been caged and beaten and abused —worse than the mangiest stray.
It had caused some laughs at first, then it had kind of stuck, basically because it was so appropriate.
Wulfe moved to Angela and took her hand in his own. “I wish we had more time to chat, but it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She gave him a single nod, then turned away. Aiden was a little surprised. Wulfe was a handsome devil, thick black hair and cold silver-blue eyes. And he was exceptionally tall and well made, but Angela hadn’t even blinked at him. She hadn’t at Fontana either, another handsome man. Apparently she went for homeless chic.
“Let’s scope out the area while we have a minute,” Aiden advised, focusing. “I’m not sure how they’re tracking Wulfe unless they can pick up mental signatures like we’ve been doing. Hell, they may have a satellite on our ass. The Collaborative has enough money for anything, so stay on your toes. And if you have to engage, try to do it quietly unless you have no other choice. If we can skate by the security guard completely that would make me a very happy man. We don’t need civvies involved in this.”
Wulfe dug into his pocket and handed the drive to Aiden. This had better be worth it, American.
They each drew weapon bags from the vehicles, strapping on whatever they thought they’d need first. Then, with a final shared look, Wulfe and Fontana headed into the night.
Aiden looked at Angela. “I want you to stay with the car and be safe.”
She frowned at him. “The car is not going to make me safe. If anything it will make me more of a target. It’s not like I haven’t done this before, Aiden. Just in a different country.”
Aiden frowned, having a feeling she was right. “Then stay safe, whatever you do. Don’t try to take on one of the operatives yourself. You won’t win.”
Pulling her close he kissed her as thoroughly as time allowed, then backed away, leaving the drive in her hand. Grabbing his own equipment from the back of her car, he headed off into the night at a jog.
The train station was lit with floodlights around the perimeter, but there were still areas of long shadows. It would be a dangerous tangle, but he’d been training for this for a long time. Adrenaline began to pound through his blood as he thought about actually ending the entire fiasco. Then maybe he could dare to think about more than just a date with Angela.
Chapter Nineteen
As Aiden and the other men moved off into the night, Angela had to stop herself from calling out to him. What would she say? Good luck? Happy killing? I love you?
She blinked as the thought ran through her, but it didn’t alarm her. It was just one of those things that when you did it, it seemed perfectly okay, and you wondered why you hadn’t done it sooner. Maybe she wasn’t in love, per se, but she was sure in something. Then she thought about making love with Aiden and feeling more drawn to him than any other man she’d ever met in her thirty-three years. Hell, it had to be love if she was willing to overlook everything they were getting ready to do right now.
She looked down at the drive in her hand. What the hell was she supposed to do with it? Hide it? She shoved it into her pocket for the time being.
She was in a moral quandary right now. There was a weapon she’d packed in the cargo space of the car that would give them perfect backup, if she could find a high enough vantage point. But was she willing to throw over the career that she’d worked so long for avenge a wrong that hadn’t even happened to her?
Her heart told her yes, because there was a chance that what they’d done to Aiden they were still doing to other men. Other Marines, her brothers. The proof was in the fact that there were enhanced men about to converge on them, men that had to have been trained in the two years since Aiden had broken out from the camp. And if they’d been trained the same way, viciously and cruelly, was it fair to hold them accountable for their actions now?
Yes, her mind told her. If Aiden and the other three had had the power to break out and into a different direction then others should have that as well.
Would she be able to sit in her car and just wait for them to get done? Fuck, no. Sighing, she headed to the back hatch of her vehicle. Sometimes you had to make a choice between right or wrong and it didn’t always fall neatly within the constraints of the law.
The Sig Sauer rifle she drew from beneath the third row seat was a formidable weapon. 7.62 x 51mm, it was similar to what she’d carried in the Marines, but her father had tweaked it for her. The frame had been lightened as had as the trigger pull. Normally, she used it for target practice, but it would serve for heavier duty use.
When she’d gotten out of the Marines she thought she’d been done with this part of her life, but maybe she’d been given the skills for a reason. She would take care of these men in her adopted squad to the best of her ability.
Securing the bag of ammo over her shoulder she looked up and around. There. A granary tower.
Angela didn’t even remember jogging across the parking lot, or jumping over the rails. In her mind, she began going through the process of picking out targets. She didn’t have a spotter so she would have to hope that the low-light scope would illuminate the targets enough for her to see. And for her own peace of mind she would try to shoot to disable rather than kill shots.
No, that’s not right. Furious with herself, she shook her head. That wouldn’t be fair to Aiden. Why did she expect him to kill easier? If she had the shot, she would take it. Period.
When the black suburban pulled down off the ramp a few minutes later, Aiden let the others see what he did from his point on the roof of one of the train cars. He sent out a wisp of a probe, trying to feel how many men were inside. At least four, for sure.
Then a second SUV, similar to the first, drove from under the underpass. Wait, that one had come from the city.
We’ve got two teams, gentlemen. All shielding. Cover your fucking asses and don’t be heroes. If you need help, call out.
Then the SUVs were pulling along the gravel drive, slowly. They stopped about fifty feet from the station, then they each abruptly shifted into reverse and backed between a set of railcars. Aiden lost sight of them and the game turned deadly.
Fontana engaged first. He’d been spoiling for a fight. And that edge served him well.
I see six men on this side. I just took out their point man, but they’re kind of hanging around the vehicle like they’re protecting someone. Or waiting for directions.
Aiden stayed where he was. If the Collaborative didn’t see anyone close they’d start to fan out. Aiden’s group was too valuable not to try to recover, so he expected them to
come in light and try to capture rather than kill.
And he was right. Within just a few minutes he heard the tiniest shift of gravel as someone took a step toward him. Lifting his head to peer over the side, he saw a compact man in dark fatigues prowling toward him. He had a knife in his hand, no gun, reaffirming that the Collaborative still wanted to take them alive if possible.
It wasn’t going to happen.
He waited a few more seconds as the man crept closer, then simply rolled over the side of the train car. He landed in a crouch behind the man and immediately jumped back from the swinging knife. The dark haired man’s eyes connected with Aiden’s, and the power connection was immediate. He slammed at Aiden’s walls.
The man darted forward, speed enhanced, while Aiden was trying to recover from the forced connection. Before he could pull back Aiden felt the slice of the knife blade across his upper chest, near the collar bone. Now that had been a kill shot. If he’d been just a few inches closer it might have nicked his carotid artery, then he would have been in a load of shit. Maybe this guy had received orders, but considered an ‘accident’ an option.
Aiden had his own knife in his hand and he didn’t waste time in returning a volley of slices to the man’s body, moving faster than he could see. The man seemed stunned as Aiden moved in tight and shoved his knife up into his heart, beneath his rib cage.
As soon as the short guy fell, there was another mercenary in black fatigues on him. Aiden dodged a heavy fist to the head and returned his own blows. A kick caught him in the lower left thigh, but he jumped back, giving himself a second to recover before he re-engaged. This guy was a heavy duty fighter, preferring fists over knives, but he didn’t move as fast, and that was what eventually killed him. Because Aiden preferred knives in close combat.
He darted in close and sliced the man’s thighs, catching one on the lower thigh. Not exactly where he’d wanted it.
The man cursed in some foreign language. Was that Czech? Polish? It was some kind of eastern European language. With a grunt, he jumped toward Aiden again, obviously hoping to overwhelm him with size. It would have worked if Aiden hadn’t dropped to the ground and rolled, reaching out to slice open the man’s groin. The big man went down with a scream, holding himself. All thoughts of prolonging the fight went out of his head and Aiden finished him quickly and mercifully. There would have been no recovery from that last wound.
