Strike Force

by Beth Rhodes

  “Right behind you,” Uncle Bert called, his voice muffled. He’d gone for his go-bag, one he probably hadn’t used in a good ten years. She liked seeing him so alive and full of energy, but worried about him as well. She’d missed so much in the last year.

  Dimitru’s bullets hit the front of the house. Windows shattered and the front door ripped apart.

  “Uncle Bert!” Marie ran but was stopped short by Malcolm, the force of his block surprising, the bulge of his arms around her, holding her.

  “He’s down, Marie,” Malcolm yelled into her ear through the deafening sounds.

  Uncle Bert lay there half in, half out of the living room. The world stopped around her, and she fought to be free. “Let me go, Malcolm!” Her legs kicked. Her ears noted only a low buzzing. Her eyes didn’t see anything but her uncle.

  Malcolm circled her waist, his hands digging into her, and tugged her back into his chest. Rage blasted through her until his voice broke through. He was speaking into her ear, his breath on her face. “Listen, listen. Listen to me. Marie, Marie.” He kept saying her name as he eased his hold.

  She sucked in air, the world coming back to her. She’d forgotten how big and strong he was.

  The front door slammed open. What felt like an eternity had been mere seconds, and Marie lifted her gun and blasted the man behind the mask. Malcolm shoved her up the stairs. “Move, Feur. I’m right behind you.”

  He was going for her uncle. “No, Malcolm!”

  He’d made it a few steps when Dimitru followed the first man through the front door, turned, and pointed a gun right at Malcolm.

  Marie aimed and shot once, as Malcolm put on the brakes and scrambled backward up the stairs.

  A pain in her arm made her shot go wide.

  “Get down,” Malcolm growled, anger ripping through his words and twisting the emotions roiling through her stomach. More shots came through the window to their left. They were pinned down. No going downstairs now. She moaned. Uncle Bert—

  In that hour, you run, baby girl. Don’t look back. You survive.

  It was like Uncle Bert was right next to her as his words ran through her head. She turned to Malcolm. “Follow me.”

  They crouched and ran back through the hallway, where she opened a secret panel in the back of the hall closet. “Close the door behind you. There’s a latch, which automatically releases a false front hiding the door.”

  She took the stairs leading down two at a time, Malcolm right behind her.

  She hadn’t been this way in years. More. A decade, probably. They continued down, past ground level. As the floor turned to dirt, the tunnel opened into a cave. She stopped, her heart pounding, and breathed.

  Next to her, Malcolm was breathing hard, but he’d managed to grab his own bag and hers from the top of the stairs. She could kiss him, really. Where was her head that she’d leave without her bag?

  “Just a little farther,” she said. “You okay?”

  He nodded. “You?”

  “No, no, I’m not. I’m leaving my only family on the floor up there, and—” She cut herself off.

  Marie walked to the little cubby her uncle had built into the rock and reached in to find the set of keys and the radio.

  She forced her brain to shut down thoughts of her uncle.

  “Come on.” She walked with heavy steps toward the sound of water. The small Zodiac rested half in, half out of the water. She tossed her stuff into the bottom of the boat and then gripped the sides and pulled it into the water.

  “Life jackets?” Malcolm asked.

  She looked up at him and stared for a moment. “You know how to swim, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” he answered succinctly.

  “Then we go without.” She shook her head. “Fucking hell. Life jackets,” she muttered. “We might have to swim, so unless you want to be a floating target sitting in the moonlight on top of the water when things go to hell in a hand basket…”

  He pushed the boat the rest of the way, and they both jumped in.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Keep your head down,” she said. She revved the engine a little more, and they shot out onto the open sea. Exhilarating. Jeez. She’d forgotten the feel of the air against her face.

  “Around this point in the land to the cove one klick south.” Marie had to yell over the wind whipping through the darkened sky and the engine cutting through the choppy waves. Malcolm glanced back at her, revealing a light in his eyes, one she’d never seen before, but it excited her, as if he was enjoying the ride as well. His hands gripped the sides of the boat, and he was tense, his muscles bunched as if waiting for the next attack.

  The route was familiar, like the back of her hand. Some things she would never forget.

  The image of her uncle lying on the floor of the front of his house splintered by bullets flashed through her mind, and she kicked it aside to focus on escape.

  Now, she had to get Malcolm to a safe place.

  She turned where the rock that looked like a turtle jutted out from a small point on the coast, and then followed the land into the cove and up to a rocky ledge where Uncle Bert had created a sort of dock-like ledge. He’d installed a cleat for her to tie up the small boat, and she did so now, carefully standing with her feet braced equally between each side.

  She gripped the rock, stepped out, and looked down.

  Malcolm was staring up at her when the moon broke from the clouds, and she could see the glitter of light in his brown eyes. “Jesus, Marie.” He moved like a panther, hoisting himself out of the boat and into her space.

  Panic shot through her. He was big and intimidating…and he’d been mad. Now he was on the run, because of her. And the light, the glitter didn’t look like so much excitement now. Her heart in her throat, she stepped back, slipped on the wet rock, and would have gone down if not for his hands at her waist.

  “You’ve been shot.”

  “What?” With a frown, she looked down at her arm. The sweatshirt was soaked and blood dripped down her hand. “Well, shit.” With acknowledgement came pain, which sliced straight through her consciousness, leaving a trail of heat from her fingertips to her shoulder, a sharp reminder of the secret she wore on her arm. “We should move,” she said, ignoring the pain.

  Malcolm nodded, then pulled her arm to look at it anyway.

  “Hey!”

  He ripped her sweatshirt right at the hem on her shoulder, pulling the sleeve down. It was dark, but not dark enough to hide the glint of gold on her arm. He glanced up into her eyes as her heart pounded ridiculously against her sternum. “You need stitches,” he said, “and the flesh has swollen.” He took the material he’d torn, wrapped it around her arm, and tied it tightly around both the wound and amulet. His fingers were incredibly gentle for all of the tension she could feel radiating from him.

  When he was done, he cupped the side of her face, making her hold her breath. Then he sighed, and the warmth of his breath brushed her forehead. His fingers tensed on her neck before he released her. “Nice armband; it’s going to be a bitch to get off.”

  She winced, letting the guilt wash over her.

  Malcolm’s cold eyes bored through her, and she second-guessed herself.

  Had she indulged her uncle at the cost of his life? At the cost of the one friendship in her life she wanted to see go further? For a moment, her lip trembled, but she bit it and stood up straighter.

  “That’s more like it,” he responded, and took her bag from her hand. “Don’t ever apologize.”

  Her mouth fell open.

  He leaned in, his anger fading, and kissed her cheek.

  But it left her wanting, left her feeling like he’d given up on her and was ready to say goodbye.

  For good.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “From now on, I’m calling the shots.” Malcolm made the announcement as he threw their bags into the back of the Subaru her uncle had squirrelled away down here by the shore. “I’m calling Hawk, and then we’r
e getting your arm looked at.”

  “No, Malcolm,” Marie said sharply. She started backing up, away from him. And the anger, which had been simmering all evening, came to a quick and fierce boil in his gut.

  “Fuck yes, Marie.” In two long strides, he stopped her retreat. Instead of grabbing her arms, he took hold of her, one hand at the back of her neck, so he didn’t hurt her already wounded limb, the other at her waist. “Your little game is over. If Hawk hasn’t already heard about your activities, he will. Hawk Elite doesn’t leave bodies behind them in their path.”

  She winced and swallowed, as guilt and regret at his own callousness blinded him. “No,” he said, forcing aside the sympathy. “Your uncle is probably dead. Why? There are police for these types of matters. This is exactly why Hawk works with the police, not against them. You should have reported the armband stolen a year ago.”

  “I have to go back and get my uncle.”

  “No.”

  Holding his arm, she placed her second hand on his chest, resting it over his heart. “I would never ask Hawk to break his code. I swear it. I would have left this afternoon, taking my uncle and the armband with me. Hawk is not responsible for what I did.”

  “Something happened in the last year to heighten the stakes. He came after you, guns blazing. He knew who you were as soon as he opened the door to us.” Which, when he thought about it, could have put them both in huge danger.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve never met the guy. I didn’t realize—”

  “Have ya looked in a mirror, Marie?” His voice rose, but the wind coming off the water drowned their conversation. He let go of her and turned away to run a hand through his hair. Turning back, he held out his hand. “Key.”

  Her shoulders fell.

  “We do this together from here on out.” He gave her credit for digging into her bag and pulling out a keychain with an old fob-less key attached. “This thing runs, right?”

  “Of course,” she said with a sniff. “You know how to drive standard, don’t you?”

  Without bothering to answer, he opened the door and sat in the old vinyl seat behind the steering wheel. “Let’s go.”

  She hesitated, and he wondered if she’d refuse.

  “Marie! Get your fucking ass in this car, right now, or I will leave your uncle for dead.”

  She hurried around to the passenger side.

  The tank was full. And the car started on the second try.

  “Who takes care of the boat?”

  “I’ll have to come back in a few days. Next week, if it takes that long to get around Vladimir.” She shrugged, biting her damn lip again. “The neighbors, down the coast, are friends of ours. They keep an eye on things.”

  He looked at her sharply. “Will they have called the police after the fireworks?”

  “Maybe. They don’t really know…”

  “That you’re criminals?”

  “Hey, we’re not criminals, not really…sorta— Oh, never mind.” She swallowed and looked out her window, moving over a bit to put space between them.

  “Enough, Marie.” Malcolm stepped on the gas, taking them back toward her uncle’s place. “You put my life on the line when you played this game.”

  “Stop calling it a game,” she said, but the wind was out of her sails now.

  “You’ve worked with us for going on two years. You went overseas with us. How do you not get the loyalty of Hawk Elite? He would have done anything to help you get your precious armband back.”

  “Turn up here,” she said, and he followed the direction of her pointed finger, taking the road north until he recognized the area.

  He slowed at the dirt road, which led back toward the shore and her uncle’s home.

  “Dimitru is probably gone by now.”

  “Probably isn’t good enough right now, Marie.”

  She nodded. He hated feeling like he’d kicked a puppy.

  Especially since he was the one who’d been kicked—by her.

  She’d said she would be good. He’d let himself fall for her charms, her insecurities, her family loyalty…

  He drove by once, twice, and then, on the third time, pulled in. Slowly, he took the first turn. But his gut was already telling him Dimitru was gone, like she’d suggested. The air was still, and the clouds above remained, finally covering the moon with a darkness that fitted his mood. He rolled down the window, and only the sound of wind broke the silence.

  At the front of the house, he pulled in next to his rented vehicle, riddled with bullet holes. Though he hated Marie was even prepared for something like this, he was grateful for the extra vehicle and the way out they’d had earlier. Dimitru had come in ready to take and to kill. A fitting end to this clusterfuck of a weekend.

  Marie was out of the car before he turned it off, and she ran up the steps to the front door, also riddled and hanging from its hinges. Shit-storm was the only term he could think of to encompass all the crap raining down on his head. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it had started turning south, but he was getting a funny feeling it was when he agreed to spend personal time with Marie and then let himself fall for her.

  He climbed the steps and stepped over a broken board on the front porch. He breathed, looking up as he sighed, and opened the door to go in.

  Marie stood in the living room, dripping blood on the old, worn, yet expensive-looking rug in front of the fireplace. Defeated. Exhausted.

  And Bert was gone, a dark pool of blood on the floor where he’d fallen.

  “They wouldn’t have taken him if he was dead,” Malcolm said, coming up behind her and putting a hand on her shoulder. He still wanted to comfort her.

  She turned into his arms and grabbed him around the waist, squeezing as if her life depended on it. By reflex, his arms circled her shoulders and drew her in. “I’m sorry, Marie.”

  She sniffled. “What have I done?”

  “Probably what your uncle expected of you.” Malcolm hadn’t given voice to it yet, but he held little respect for a man who put a girl, like Marie had been, into this line of work. As good as she’d been—and was—at acquiring things, she might have been good as a lawyer or teacher or…whatever the hell she wanted to be.

  Now, here she was, broken by her own actions.

  Broken because someone had reaped retribution on her family in the worst way—again. “We’re going to do whatever we can to find Uncle Bert. We’ll get him.”

  She nodded. “I wanted the armband so badly—for my parents, for Uncle Bert. He always said not to let my heart lead, but I didn’t listen. I had to do it. He’s dying, Malcolm.” Anguish coated her words, and her weight shifted as she leaned into him. “So mad.” She slurred a little. “And the way that asshole showed it off, like it was his to brag about, fueled my fire to get back at him. To get my family’s armband back.”

  Malcolm ran a hand down his face, squeezing his eyes closed. Uncle Bert had given up a secret. The old man was dying. Fuck. He wanted to punch something, anger and sorrow a mangled mess inside of him. Instead, he brushed a hand over her hair, not wanting to feel the sympathy at all.

  “Mal?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m going to pass out now,” she said as her knees gave out. He used his upper body and an arm to keep her upright, and then crouched to put another arm under her knees, carried her over to the couch, and laid her down.

  Pulling his cell, he called Hawk as he went for the first-aid kit he’d seen in the kitchen. “Hey, boss. We got a problem.”

  “No shit, Malcolm. I got a call from the FBI, telling me there was a break-in at the Dimitru estate. What the hell is going on out there? I thought the systems were all up and running?”

  The FBI. So Benson had been right about a man on the inside. “Um, there’s been a turn of events.” Malcolm hesitated. Why? To protect her? She’d be revealed soon enough. Better it came from him than from Hawk’s government source.

  He returned to the living room where she was unconsc
ious on the couch, and then scowled. “Fuck,” he whispered to himself before clearing his throat. He opened the freezer and found it stocked—meats and frozen bags of vegetables and fruit. He grabbed two bags of peas.

  “Marie had a bone to pick with Dimitru, sir. Things got a little out of hand, and Dimitru retaliated. We’re holed up at her uncle’s on the coast. Marie was shot at our own rendition of the OK Corral, and she’s passed out on the couch.” He set the kit down next to her on the couch then went to the hallway bathroom for a towel.

  Hawk’s silence was pregnant, but for the first time, Malcolm couldn’t tell with what. He didn’t hear disapproval. Hawk spoke to someone, moving the phone away from his mouth for a moment, and then came back. “I thought she’d come to me, ask me for help.”

  “You knew about her connection out here?” Malcolm took the towel and pressed it to the wound on her arm then placed one bag of peas under her arm and the other on top of her arm.

  “Suspected.” Hawk’s tone softened. “Is she okay?”

  Malcolm dabbed at the blood and saw the flesh wound. “Yeah. She’ll be all right.”

  “West Coast Security has an office and safe house up there.”

  “Benson.”

  “Yeah. You ever meet him?”

  “We talked earlier today.” Did he take a chance on tangling with Dimitru’s former security company? What if Dimitru was keeping tabs on them? What if he was a completely paranoid bastard…because he was. “I’m taking her somewhere else.”

  “Okay, where?” Hawk said; he trusted his men.

  Relief washed through Malcolm, and he grinned. “Marie’s got just the spot.”

  He explained the bunker, mentally going through a list of what he would grab from the house to take down with him. Dimitru wasn’t stupid, but he’d been fooled by the hidden panel. He’d be back…and by then, Hawk would have a team here and they’d be ready.

  “I’ll have John out there by morning, along with a team. My contact at the bureau will need to know what’s going on.”

  “What’s going to happen to Marie?”

  Hawk hesitated, and as if she knew they were talking about her, Marie stirred. “I don’t know,” he finally answered. “She broke the law.”