Midnight Games

by Elle Kennedy

  Isabel shifted her gaze. Her heart stopped at the sight of Holden McCall’s face.

  Dead.

  God, the man was completely dead inside. In fact, he looked very much the way Trevor had when she’d first met him. Vacant gaze and defeated posture. Radiating sheer and total indifference. To his surroundings, to those around him. To life.

  “Do your thing, Isabel.”

  Trevor’s soft request caught her by surprise. “My thing?”

  “That thing you do. You heal people with your warmth. You make them feel . . . safe.” He sounded tired and sad.

  When their eyes met, she found herself breathless. Concern. Sorrow. Rage. Tenderness. Heat. So many emotions flickered in his gaze that she didn’t know which one to focus on.

  Eventually she just broke the eye contact and stumbled away, but she could feel Trevor’s gaze boring into her back.

  She went to Holden, who didn’t even react to her approach. “Come on,” she cajoled, holding out her hand, “sit in the backseat with me. We’ll keep each other company on the way to the airfield.”

  At the sound of her voice, Holden blinked several times, as if emerging from a trance. Then his broad shoulders slumped and he nodded.

  You heal people with your warmth. You make them feel safe.

  Trevor’s words floated through her head, and she couldn’t quite argue with his observation. She did seem to possess the ability to put people at ease. To soothe them.

  The only person she couldn’t ever seem to soothe was herself.

  She took Holden’s hand and led him to the Humvee. When she stole a glance over her shoulder, she found that Trevor was still watching her intently.

  Their gazes locked again, and something hot and sweet and confusing passed between them.

  But now was not the time to try to decipher that odd jolt of connection.

  Wrenching her eyes away, she slid into the backseat next to Holden and shut the door.

  • • •

  D felt like someone had beaten his skull in with a sledgehammer. His head throbbed like a motherfucker, aching with each vibration of his pulse. When his eyes opened, his vision was assaulted by fluorescent lighting that made him grit his teeth. Fighting the urge to close his eyes, he breathed through the pain and examined his surroundings.

  White paint-chipped walls. A small square window. That nausea-inducing lighting and the smell of disinfectant.

  He was at the clinic, then. But why? Had he been hit? Had one of those motherfuckers shot him in the head?

  The world started to spin like a carousel when he tried to sit up.

  “Don’t be a hero, man. Just lie back down like a good little soldier.”

  Kane’s taunt brought a scowl to D’s lips. He shifted his gaze and spotted his teammate standing in the doorway.

  “Doc, he’s awake,” Kane called to someone outside D’s line of vision.

  “What the hell happened?” he grumbled as the other man entered the room.

  “A beam crashed down from the ceiling and connected with your skull. But I mean, of course it did—your big fat head makes an easy target.”

  “Ha ha.”

  Damn, he hadn’t even been shot? He scanned his brain for the last thing he remembered.

  Setting the charges.

  Scaling Morgan’s balcony.

  Finding Holden with a dead woman in his arms.

  He swiftly forced away the memories and focused on business. “You took care of loose ends?”

  Kane nodded. “Compound’s gone. Nothing but a pile of rubble.”

  “Trev and Holden?”

  “They’re around here somewhere. Ethan took a bullet to the arm, but he’s good. Isabel and Abby are fine.”

  “Did you call Morgan?”

  Before Kane could respond, a little brunette with dark hair and sharp green eyes flew into the room like she owned the place. Well, technically she did. Barely thirty years old, Sofia Amaro was the sole physician at this clinic, a privately funded medical facility that catered to the surrounding villages. The small brick building was tucked away at the base of the mountain, several hours from the city of Oaxaca and isolated enough that it made an ideal place to get fixed up. At one time or another, nearly every man on Morgan’s crew had paid a visit to Sofia.

  “Good to see you, Derek.” She approached the gurney he was lying on, a grin on her face.

  “How’s it going, Doc?”

  She gave a mock gasp. “Wait. Did you actually ask how I was? You must have been hit harder than we thought.”

  She was right—he normally didn’t go out of his way to find out how the people around him were faring. Truth was, he didn’t give a shit.

  But he’d figured out a long time ago that if you weren’t nice to Sofia Amaro, you paid dearly for it.

  “Let me do a quick examination.” She pulled a penlight from the pocket of her flannel button-down shirt. “Follow the light, big guy.”

  For the next five minutes, he humored the good doctor, but only because the last time he’d given her grief she’d retaliated by telling Morgan that D required a week of bed rest, when they both knew he could’ve been walking around within a day or two. No way was he letting that happen again.

  The compound had been attacked, for fuck’s sake. Some asshole had hired a middleman to put together a hit squad of mercenaries. Mercenaries who’d been ordered to leave no one alive. So, yeah, he refused to let this sadist of a woman keep him from hunting down the fucker who’d ordered this morning’s ambush.

  “Pupils look good. Any nausea?”

  “Nope,” he lied.

  “How bad is it?”

  D glared at her. “I just said—”

  “I know what you said.” Sofia arched a brow. “How bad is the nausea?”

  “Manageable,” he muttered.

  “Headache or dizziness? Ringing in your ears?”

  “Mild headache.”

  “Feeling weak? Any trouble breathing?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” Those green eyes grew serious. “You lost a lot of blood. You would’ve died if Kane hadn’t performed an emergency transfusion.”

  D’s gaze flew to Kane’s, who grinned. “Yup. I did it on the plane. Congratulations, you’ve got two units of grade-A Woodland blood in you. Be prepared—you’re going to feel extra strong from now on.”

  The doctor rolled her eyes and stepped away from the gurney. “Bed rest,” she said, jabbing a finger at D. “A few days, at least. You’ll be weak and lethargic because of the blood loss and you need to give your body time to recover.”

  Not fucking likely.

  Aloud, D said, “Sure thing, Doc.”

  Clearly he wasn’t at all convincing, because Sofia turned to Kane and said, “Make sure he stays put for a while.”

  “You got it.”

  After Sofia left the room, D made another attempt at sitting up. This time he managed to do it without feeling like he was going to simultaneously puke and pass out.

  The moment they were alone, Kane resumed the situation report. “This is a total clusterfuck, man. And we can’t reach Morgan.”

  D narrowed his eyes. “He shouldn’t be out of touch. He went to meet his CIA guy in D.C., nothing high risk about it.”

  “Well, the bastard’s not picking up his phone.”

  “How long have I been out?”

  “Since we left the compound—five hours. But like you said, we should be able to reach him. Even if he was in the middle of a meeting, he would’ve seen my hundred SOS’s and called back. I also left a message with our contact at the CIA. So we’ll see what he says when he gets back to me.”

  Worry churned in D’s gut, making him even queasier than before. The boss often disappeared for days or weeks at a time, but never without warning. This trip to D.C. was a routine business meeting, only a two-night thing. There was no reason for him to be AWOL, unless . . .

  “Shit,” D mumbled.

  Kane lowered his voice. “Remember what th
e fucker said about how they were ordered to kill every man on the compound? Morgan’s compound, his entire team. Stands to reason that our boss really pissed someone off.”

  D had been thinking the same damn thing. Which wasn’t at all surprising—Morgan had almost as many enemies as D. Men in their line of work usually did.

  “This is bad, man.” Kane raked both hands through his hair, looking frustrated and pissed off. “Compound’s been blown to hell. Holden’s wife is dead. Lloyd and Hank are dead. Morgan’s gone. We’ve got men in the field who may also be targets, but I don’t know if I should pull them out.”

  “You got in touch with Castle?”

  “Yeah. I told him to watch his back, watch his team, and get the job done as fast as he can. I also spoke to Luke—he was ready to get on the next plane out, but I told him to stay put. Sully and Liam are on call too, until we figure out our next move.”

  Kane’s arms dangled at his sides, a tired look entering his eyes. “Once Sofia clears you for travel, we’ll head to the Costa Rica estate. Morgan was intending to use it as a second base camp, if needed. The place is fucking huge, and there’s no connection to Morgan. Technically Abby and I own it, but the paperwork is buried deep. I can coordinate with B-Team from there.”

  D shook his head, then ignored the resulting jolt of pain. “Fuck that. You and Sinclair go. Leave the rest of us here to hunt down that motherfucker Lassiter.”

  “No way. We can’t jeopardize Sofia by staying too long. We’ll get on Lassiter’s trail from the new headquarters.”

  “It makes more sense to start the hunt here,” D countered.

  “Actually,” came a female voice, “it makes more sense for you to go to Noelle.”

  Both men glanced at the door to see Isabel enter the room.

  Her mention of Noelle had D’s muscles tensing. That same possibility had been niggling at the back of his mind, but he hadn’t wanted to voice it.

  “Noelle’s got a ranch in Northern California,” the blonde added. “The property’s isolated, but secure. Only a few hours from here by plane.”

  “Thanks for the offer,” Kane said, “but we can handle this on our own. We don’t need to involve your boss.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Really? Have you located Morgan yet?”

  “No,” Kane admitted.

  “Well, I can guarantee that if anyone can track him down, it’s Noelle. She has more contacts than the president.”

  D spoke up reluctantly. “Blondie’s right. Her boss can help.” He paused, hating to reveal his hand in any way but knowing he had no fucking choice. “Noelle might have a way to contact Morgan.”

  Kane’s brow furrowed. “How do you know that?”

  “Just a suspicion.”

  “He’s probably right,” Isabel said. “Noelle and Morgan have a past—we’ve all suspected as much. If anyone can find your boss, it’ll be my boss.”

  Kane still looked unenthusiastic.

  “You know this is our best move,” D maintained. “You and Sinclair get the new base camp ready and coordinate with Castle. The rest of us will track Morgan and Lassiter using the lady killer’s resources.”

  “Assuming Noelle even agrees to help,” Kane said darkly. “That woman is a total fucking bitch.” He shot a quick glance at Isabel. “No offense.”

  “None taken. She is a bitch. But trust me, she’ll help.” The blonde moved back to the doorway. “I’ll let Trevor know.”

  Once Isabel was gone, D reached up and rubbed his aching temples. He hated showing any sign of weakness, but he couldn’t deny that he wasn’t at the top of his game at the moment.

  He’d have to shape up, though. And fast. Noelle would take far too much pleasure in seeing him weak and immobilized.

  And no way was he giving that bitch the satisfaction.

  Chapter 5

  “There you are.”

  Trevor looked up to find Isabel in the bathroom doorway, her blue eyes lined with fatigue. She wore a pair of black leggings and a black T-shirt, which he suspected she’d found in Abby’s go bag because the shirt was far too tight; Abby’s breasts definitely weren’t as full as Isabel’s.

  At the thought, his gaze dipped to the aforementioned full breasts, and when his cock stirred in his pants, he was legitimately startled. After everything that had gone down tonight, he couldn’t believe he was capable of feeling aroused right now.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Kane and Abby are heading to Costa Rica, but the rest of us are going to Noelle’s ranch in California.”

  “Kane agreed to this?”

  She nodded. “And D backed me up. Noelle has a network of contacts you guys can’t afford not to tap into.”

  Trevor wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Isabel’s boss certainly had the resources, but he didn’t trust the woman. Not only that, but Noelle made no attempt to hide her dislike of Morgan. Trevor couldn’t imagine her going out of her way to locate the man.

  “What if Noelle refuses to help?” he countered.

  “She won’t. Not if you ask her nicely.” Isabel’s blue eyes twinkled for a second before growing serious again. “Noelle is a very powerful woman. If Morgan’s truly in danger, she’ll be an asset.”

  “I guess we’ll find out.”

  Isabel lingered in the doorway, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. After several moments of silence, she glanced at the sink, toilet, and walk-in shower stall as if she’d suddenly realized where she was. “Oh. Were you planning on doing, you know, bathroom stuff? I didn’t mean to barge in.”

  He had to grin. “Bathroom stuff?”

  She actually blushed, which he’d never seen her do before. He nearly teased her about it, until he realized now was not the time for lighthearted banter.

  Holden had lost his wife tonight.

  Lloyd, the gentle giant who’d worked for Morgan for years, was dead.

  Morgan could be dead too, for all they knew.

  The reminders were more than a little sobering.

  “I was about to clean up some cuts,” Trevor said, gesturing to the first-aid kit he’d left on the edge of the sink.

  “Why don’t you ask Dr. Amaro to do it?”

  “I don’t want to bug her.” And besides, Sofia Amaro had the evil habit of forcing unnecessary bed rest on her patients. Trevor had a feeling that if she got a look at his feet, she wouldn’t let him leave the damn clinic.

  Isabel entered the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

  He looked at her in surprise. “What are you doing?”

  “Playing doctor. I’m getting pretty good at it.” She eyed him expectantly. “So, what needs to be cleaned up?”

  Reluctance washed over him.

  “It’s either me or Dr. Amaro. Take your pick, Trevor.”

  The stubborn lift of her chin told him she meant business. With a sigh, he bunched up the collar of his shirt and yanked it over his head.

  Isabel’s answering gasp made him smile. “It looks worse than it is,” he assured her. “Seriously, Iz.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? You look like you fell into a pit of razor blades.”

  The anger and concern flashing on her face brought a spark of warmth to his heart. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a woman worry about him. It felt . . . nice.

  “Sit down.” She pointed to the closed toilet seat.

  Her tone brooked absolutely no argument. He’d never heard that commanding voice leave her mouth. She was usually so easygoing, self-assured, speaking with quiet authority. But there seemed to be a crack in her composure, revealing a rawer, more emotional side to her. He’d noticed that same emotion swimming in her eyes at the rendezvous point when she’d thrown her arms around him without stopping to worry about propriety. At that moment, it was as if she’d forgotten she was trying to keep her distance from him.

  Friends. Ha. He couldn’t believe she’d even suggested it. Didn’t she realize she made his body burn with her mere proximity?


  When he looked at her, he didn’t see a friend. He saw a woman he desperately wanted to hold. To kiss.

  Trevor dutifully sat down. A jolt of heat went through him when Isabel sank to her knees in front of him. Jesus. He hadn’t had sex in two years, and now that his body had decided to come alive again, it was doing it with a vengeance. His cock stiffened and strained against the crotch of his pants, but luckily Isabel’s gaze was focused solely on his chest.

  “There are like a hundred pieces of glass lodged in your skin,” she murmured in distress. “How are you not in pain?”

  “I’m a soldier. I’m good at blocking out pain.”

  With the most gentle of touches, Isabel went at him with the tweezers. She picked out the tiny shards of glass, dropping each one into the wad of toilet paper in her hand. Silence settled over them as she worked, diligently tending to each cut and scrape. When she reached his left shoulder, she hissed out a breath.

  “This is not a graze, Trevor.”

  He glanced down and noticed that the bullet had taken a small chunk of skin with it, leaving the area raw and bloody.

  “Flesh wound,” he amended.

  “And let me guess—it doesn’t hurt either.”

  Her sarcasm made him laugh, but the sound died in his throat when she dumped nearly half a bottle of rubbing alcohol directly on the wound. Without warning.

  “Son of a bitch,” he ground out. His arm felt like it was on fire, and he bit down on his lip so hard he tasted blood in his mouth.

  “Oh, did that hurt?” she asked sweetly.

  He glowered at her. “That was evil.”

  “That was aimed to teach you a lesson.”

  “What, that you’re evil?”

  “No, that you should tell people when you’re in pain!”

  She looked so flustered he found himself leaning forward and touching her delicate jaw. When his hand made contact, she jumped, her eyes widening.

  “Were you this angry at Ethan when he kept his bullet wound from you?” Trevor asked huskily.

  “What? Um, of course.”

  “No, you weren’t.” He met her eyes in challenge. “You don’t like seeing me hurting.”

  She visibly swallowed. “Of course I don’t. I don’t like seeing anyone hurting.”