EDGE OF SHADOWS: The Shadow Ops Finale (Shadow Ops, Book # 3)

by CJ Lyons

  His body trembled, slow-moving shakes that soon became earth-moving tremors as the icy water crept up his body. He’d been in worse spots, he told himself. And Chase was on the way. All he had to do was get the hell out of here.

  He drew his knife, an Emerson CQC-15, slimmer and shorter than the CQC-8 he used to carry in the field. A quick flick, and he had the air bag punctured, deflating it completely. Another slash, and he was free of the seat belt.

  He could breathe again, though his chest hurt where at least one rib was cracked. He took a quick moment to make sure both his feet were free—otherwise all he’d end up doing was drowning even faster once he cut into the convertible’s roof and the outside water began to flow in.

  Ignoring the cold, he focused his attention on his exit strategy. The convertible’s top consisted of two layers of thick fabric, impervious to wind and rain, wrapped around metal supports. Good thing he had a fetish about keeping his knife blades sharp—one of the several traits that had earned him his Delta nickname of “Edge.”

  But that had been years ago. He was forty-two, no longer a young man. Did he still have what it took?

  The rising ice water sent shockwaves of tingling and burning through his legs and belly. If he didn’t have what it took to save himself, he should probably just cash it in right now. If he didn’t have what it took, he didn’t deserve a woman like Rose.

  Rose. The thought of her, of what she’d endured, her zest for life despite everything…it was a challenge more compelling than any Delta mission.

  He raised his gaze to the black swath of fabric overhead—the only thing between him and several feet of deadly water. The only thing between him and Rose.

  Without another thought, he punched his knife blade into the fabric, using all his might to slice through it. Water gushed in, blinding him, stealing his breath with its icy torrents. Unable to see, unable to feel the blade in his numb fingers, he fought the fabric, straining against it.

  The car was almost completely filled with water now, and still the hole in the convertible top wasn’t large enough for him to push through. Billy gasped, turned his head, seeking the final, diminishing air pocket, and sucked in one final lungful.

  He drew his knees up onto the seat and pushed with all his might, knowing this was his last chance. In the black void surrounding him, all he could see, all he could hear, the only reality he knew was the memory of the first time he met Rose, her laughter a gift to weary warriors as they gathered around a campfire.

  Rose…

  He stretched his arms, reaching as if she might pull him from the water, but cold, black emptiness was all that greeted him.

  Chapter 13

  Billy pushed himself through the roof, yanking his jacket free as the metal struts grabbed the fabric, then kicked hard. His chest burned as he held his breath, searching for the surface in the gray-on-black murky water.

  Suddenly, a man’s arms wrapped around him from behind, propelling him to the surface. Billy kicked, gasping for air as soon as his face broke free from the water. The rocky bank leading to the road was only a few yards to his right, but his limbs were so heavy with the cold, he wasn’t sure he could make it.

  Thankfully, his rescuer had the strength to push them both onto the rocks. Billy landed facedown. He rolled over, torn jacket flapping open, and looked up at his rescuer who sat on the ground beside him holding a semiautomatic pistol on Billy.

  “Good thing you’re a hard man to kill, Price,” the man said. Billy recognized his voice—the man wearing the lion’s head mask this morning.

  Billy grunted an acknowledgment, made a show of hauling in a breath. His jacket hid his knife hand. He hoped his fingers had enough life left in them to do the job. He pushed himself upright, hand still out of the other man’s sight, glanced beyond him up the bank to where two SUVs were in sight, and three men armed with Tec-9s stood, their weapons trained on Billy.

  “All this just for me?” he asked, trying to leverage himself to a standing position and slipping back onto the ground as if his legs were too weak to hold his weight.

  The man nearest him reached down and hauled Billy to his feet, putting himself in the perfect position for Billy to pivot behind him and put his knife to his throat with one hand and take the pistol with the other. Now Billy had a human shield and another weapon.

  The odds were three against one, but Billy was in no mood to give the bad guys a chance to even them.

  “Drop your weapons or he dies,” he called as he pushed his hostage up the path to the road.

  The three men above them glanced at each other and nodded. Then one of them raised his weapon and shot Billy’s hostage through the head.

  <><><>

  Chase spotted the taillights of three SUVs blocking the road twenty yards ahead. “Stop here.”

  “Here?” Jay asked. “Shouldn’t we get closer?”

  “Turn the lights off and stop. Right here.”

  Jay complied, stopping the Jeep in the middle of the road. “We’re blocking traffic. Shouldn’t we call the police?”

  Chase ignored him, his door open, maneuvering his damn crutches out of the way. “Hurry. Get the rifle from the rear and grab the ammo.”

  Jay hopped down and raced to the rear of the Jeep. “Which one?” he asked, rummaging through the stack of gun cases. “The one KC was using on the range last weekend?”

  “Yeah, the AR-15, that will do.” KC had it outfitted with thermal imaging instead of the night scope that was on Chase’s Remington. Given the glare of the headlights from the SUV, the thermal imaging would give him better accuracy. And the distance was still within the smaller rifle’s range.

  Chase planted one crutch on the ground and used it to stabilize his injured leg as he stood, balancing with his good leg on the running board. That left his bad leg dangling, the weight of the cast pulling against the delicate surgical repairs and pain like lightning lanced up his leg.

  Jay realized his plan and scrambled up onto the roof of the Jeep to position the rifle for Chase. “Is that good?”

  Chase didn’t answer, all his energy concentrated on blocking the pain and finding his target. Make that, targets. Three above the water on the road. Two, considerably colder heat signatures, emerging from the water. The coldest one, his legs almost black they were so sapped of heat, fell to the ground. Billy.

  As he forced himself to wait for an opening that wouldn’t risk Billy, he saw Billy make his move. Good one, boss. Then came a shot from above, the muzzle flare streaking through Chase’s sights.

  He shifted his aim, figuring Billy’s guy was neutralized, and fired at the shooter, three quick shots, one to the head and two to the chest. The other two fired down at Billy, who flattened himself against the rocks where they couldn’t get a good angle down on him and returned fire as well.

  Chase ignored the crack of gunfire that tore through the night, concentrating on taking down the other shooters. He hit his mark, and one dropped, joining the first man he’d killed. He pivoted, aiming at the final man when that one dropped as well, presumably from a bullet fired by Billy.

  Hopefully. Or maybe he realized his only cover was on the ground, and he was playing possum until Billy emerged from hiding.

  Chase saw no more movement through the scope. He dropped back down into the passenger seat, his leg banging against the door as he hauled his foot back inside, followed by the crutch. By the time he had the door closed, Jay was back in the front seat.

  “Drive,” Chase shouted.

  <><><>

  Rose lay in the tall grass outside the Georgia warehouse and stared through her thermal imaging binoculars at the large building. Except for the guards milling about within the fence’s perimeter, the building looked deserted. There were two doors in the front, one large bay door on the side for trucks, and then another bay door around back that nestled up to the water.

  “You’ve got one coming in on your right,” KC whispered into her comm.

  Rose shoved her fa
ce into the mud, held her breath, closed her eyes—the only part of her flesh she couldn’t camouflage. Ah, the glamorous life of a covert agent. You’d never see James Bond doing this part of the job. She had a hole cut into the chain link almost big enough for her to squeeze through. The guard made his pass, looking bored as he walked back and forth, muttering to himself. After another long three minutes, he entered the building.

  “Clear,” KC said.

  Rose went to work on the fence again. A minute later, she slid into the compound where the grass was short and there was no cover, nowhere to hide. She snake-crawled through mud mixed with grass. Just her luck, the weather had turned warm enough to defrost the ground and turn this marshy area into swampland.

  Her gaze swept over the building’s perimeter, a nondescript, large steel building surrounded by chain-link and razor wire. The building lay silent in darkness. The only people they’d seen while monitoring it for the past hour were the two guards alternating turns at patrolling.

  Rose sprinted across the grass, heading toward the same door the guard just entered. If he followed the same protocol he’d been following for the last hour, he would emerge out the side door next to the large trucking bay and make the circuit again.

  The building’s heat signature had been steady, indicating no change in any potential sources of heat like production equipment. For a building this size, it actually showed very little heat radiating through the walls. And no signs of any occupants.

  Rose feared the worst. They were either too late or their intel was bad, and this really was a normal warehouse closed down for the night. Either way, there were no signs of the Preacher’s people or Grigor, much less any evidence of an active production facility.

  Maybe she’d been wrong about all this.

  Except her gut still had that tight edge to it, that something out of the corner of her eye sense of imminent danger. The same fight-or-flight instinct that had led her to Georgetown earlier today, despite the risks of an in-person meeting. She couldn’t risk her secrets being exposed, just as she couldn’t risk allowing anyone else to enter the building and face a possible trap set by Grigor.

  “You’re good to go.” KC’s voice was interrupted by static.

  Rose hit the side wall of the building. Back flattened against the wall, she inched toward the door. The overhead camera was aimed out, leaving her a large blind spot to maneuver in. It was a regular camera, no infrared. She breached the door and slid inside.

  Twelve minutes before the guard made it back this way, more than enough time to get the intel she needed—verify the presence of a lab, discover if it was true that Grigor was involved, plant some bugs on the computers and cameras.

  She keyed her subvocal mic. “I’m in.” Static answered her. She jogged silently through the large lobby, bypassed security and entered what should have been the laboratory area, according to the building plans. Instead, she found herself in a corridor with a row of metal doors lining each side. Each door had a small window. No lights except a faint glow at the far end of the corridor, the red of the emergency exit sign.

  No movement. No sound except the hushed rasp of her own breathing. She looked inside the first room, expecting to find laboratory equipment. The room was empty except for a metal cot with a man lying on it, sleeping. No sheets, no blankets. He wore a hospital gown that barely came to his knees.

  Were the SOBs doing human experiments? Her hand went to the door handle, then she jerked it back. What if she was wrong about the weapon being chemical and the patients had been infected? They’d be walking time bombs—she couldn’t risk their entering the general population, spreading contagion. They’d have to be quarantined.

  Except…where was the staff?

  She glanced down the hall, counted the doors. Eight that she could see, and that was just one corridor. Other than her own personal protection gear—a mask, respirator with fifteen minutes of air, and antidote kit—she wasn’t set up for a hazmat situation. She’d have to complete her mission first, then find a way to save these people.

  Behind schedule, she should check the next level, find the lab, snag her documentation, plant her bugs, and get the hell out of Dodge. But the corridor ended in a central nurses’ station, and she couldn’t resist a peek at a patient’s chart. Maybe they weren’t infected, not yet.

  Except there were no charts. Just a bunch of empty binders. There was a computer monitor, ancient, looked at least fifty pounds, but no keyboard, no actual computer. Then she glanced up. On the wall behind the desk, pictures were stuck together in a macabre collage.

  Candid shots of the Team: her, Billy, Chase, KC, Lucky, Vinnie, Teresa, Hollywood, EZ, Marion, and even Chase’s little brother, Jay, taken in many different venues—restaurants, outside their offices, downtown at the Capitol building, Jay at his dorm.

  Each face circled in red, notes plastered to the side of the photos with names, addresses, habits…

  A stalker’s trophy album. A stalker after her people.

  “Abort,” she told KC. No answer. Just static. “KC, abort!”

  Chapter 14

  Cold and exhaustion dragged Billy into sleep while he waited for the ER doctor to finish with him. He heard people talking around him, something about a cracked rib, normal head CT, labs pending, core temp rising…jargon that translated into gibberish as his mind drifted where it really wanted to go: Rose.

  Her face filled his vision, hair sweeping over his naked body in silky waves that he caught in his fingers, tried to hang onto as if a lifeline…her laughter, not the raspy, deep voice she had now, but the way she’d sounded five years ago, before Grigor…Grigor!

  He jerked up, and fighting hands pushed him back down. Instincts took over, and he lashed out with an elbow, then realized the man holding him down was Chase. Billy dropped his arm and shook his vision clear. God, he hurt. Everywhere. Head throbbing, body aching, chest burning with each breath.

  “Rose—”

  “No news,” Chase said. “They should be out by now.” Worry filled his voice.

  Billy blinked, the fog in his brain clearing. “Did they miss a check-in?”

  “No,” Chase admitted. “Not for another eighteen minutes. But, still—”

  “You don’t have a good feeling about this.”

  “Three attempts on our team in one day? A freakin’ hat trick for the Preacher’s men and who says they’re done?”

  “What did you tell the staff here?”

  “Said we were taking a piss near the river, got into a fight, and I pushed you in.”

  “They bought that?” Billy said, a nod to Chase’s crutches.

  “Of course they bought it. Soon as I told them I was a Marine and you were Army.” He glanced around, lowered his voice. “I had Jay grab photos of the dead men, none had any ID. He called it into the cops after we got here.”

  Billy swung his legs around to the side of the bed, ignoring the IV and the monitor leads. “Get me some clothes and let’s go.”

  “Thought the idea would be to play it low-key, not ping anyone’s radar. The docs said you’ll be ready to go in a little while, just waiting for blood work or something.”

  “No. Tell them I’m ready to go now. They’ll have my tox screen back, know that I’m sober and can sign myself out. Work your charm on them, tell them I need to get home before my wife finds out or some shit.”

  Chase nodded. He disappeared and returned a few minutes later with a pair of surgical scrubs and some patient slippers. “The nurse will be in to take your IV out. I’ll go get Jay.”

  Billy gritted his teeth as he lowered his feet to the ground. “Good. Hurry.”

  <><><>

  “KC, abort, abort.” Still no answer. Anxiety tattooed a staccato beat along Rose’s nerve endings.

  A woman’s cry of pain pierced the air. She spun and continued cautiously down the hall, listening. The scream came from a room up ahead. The door was open. A light was on.

  Where was the guard?

 
; She should go. Run. Get out. Obviously, this was a trap, someone targeting her and the STR, but she couldn’t stop herself from creeping forward one tiny step at a time. She reached the door and peered inside.

  A TV was on. A video playing. A video of Rose. Begging. Screaming.

  Memories rocked her psyche. She took a step back, her eyes shifting away. Her hand rose up to cover her mouth, but she couldn’t stop the screams ricocheting inside her.

  A tangle of barbed wire lay on the floor of the room. A smear of blood. She stared at it, remembering…feeling each sharp metal tooth as it pierced her skin.

  A woman lay on the bed in the shadows beyond the TV, staring at the ceiling, mouth agape, hand fallen to her side. Sitting on her face, nibbling at her lips and ears, were two large rats.

  Rats and barbed wire. Grigor. Of course.

  He was here. Leaving behind a calling card addressed to Rose.

  The woman on the bed didn’t move, didn’t try to fight the rodents off. No blood came from the rat bites. She was dead.

  Not a patient. A corpse.

  What was this place? Rose ran to the next door. Another body.

  All dead!

  Of course they were. That explained the lack of heat signatures. She keyed her throat mic even as she sprinted toward the exit. “Abort, abort, abort. KC, acknowledge, abort. Get the hell out.”

  It was all she could do not to shout. Who was she going to wake, the dead? But there were still the two living guards. Hopefully, they didn’t know their security had been breached.

  If she didn’t hurry, they would soon. She had to get out, warn KC.

  She ran toward the rear exit sign, still sending the abort code to KC, hoping at least a few seconds of transmission broke through the static.

  She paused before the steel door standing between her and freedom. Were the guards lined up, waiting for her, an unholy reception? Grigor standing with them, laughing at her panic and terror.