by Beth Rhodes
He watched the lights on the main console blink, but mainly kept his eyes on his own computer.
“Hey, quit it.”
Malcolm frowned, looking over at Craig, who nudged his jumping leg with a foot. Malcolm consciously stopped moving his leg.
The red dot on the screen took the road southwest out of town, and, spreading his feet, he braced for the coming turn.
John grunted, his driving pace staying the same, not fast enough for Malcolm’s racing heart. He remembered Dimitru’s possessive gaze. Only an instant to recall the history, the myth of immortal powers connected to these two families.
No. Dimitru would have Marie with him.
“Hurry, John.”
“We won’t lose them,” Craig said calmly.
Malcolm shook off the panic. They’d done this dozens of times. They would get her back. Bobby sat with his head resting in his familiar powernap position, his eyes closed.
“Dimitru thinks he is about to gain immortality,” he said to no one in particular.
“What?” John and Craig said at once. John’s eyes met Craig’s in the rearview mirror before they glanced over at Emily, who also had a shocked look on her face.
Malcolm hadn’t put much weight in Marie’s statement yesterday. He’d been more pissed off Dimitru thought he could marry her. But now…
“No kidding. He thinks if he has the golden armband and marries a Bălan, he’ll have riches and immortal power.”
“Well, that changes things,” Craig said as he picked up his phone. “Thanks for keeping that bit to yourself, asshole.”
“It’s so far-fetched. Fucking immortals. Fucking stupid-ass magic shit. I didn’t take it seriously.”
Craig frowned. “Her life is on the line—as an undercover agent for Hawk Elite Security, no detail is too small. And this detail makes him crazy. And crazy is unpredictable.”
“Well, it’s Marie. She’s unbelievably cool under pressure.” Malcolm ran a hand through his hair, loosening it from the ponytail at his neck. “Fuck. I can’t explain it. I knew it wasn’t a joke; only I was more worried about the marrying part—”
“What a psycho.”
“Fucking immortal bullshit.”
Craig’s phone rang, and he answered, “Hawk.”
Malcolm went back to tracking the vehicle’s movement. The drive to the coast never seemed so long, and Dimitru had a good fifteen-minute lead, not to mention they were going for stealth so were staying back until they were able to assess the situation and get Marie out alive.
“Yes, sir. Got it.” Craig ended the call and looked at Malcolm.
He lifted a brow. “What did they find?”
“Albert’s been shot.”
Every muscle in his body tightened. “Is he—”
“He’s on his way to Oregon University, up on the hill.”
“He was getting better.”
“It was a botched execution. The shot to the chest was small caliber. He’s still alive. They don’t know how.”
“He’s not going to die today.” He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. It was too soon. It was wrong. But Malcolm knew his thoughts were a bluff. He had no idea what would happen. What had happened to Marie. “Hurry, John,” he said.
“Looks like Dimitru found Bert’s phone,” Craig said. “It was crushed on the floor next to the bed where he lay. A chair was knocked over, like there was a struggle.”
Malcolm rubbed a hand over his mouth and nodded again. Marie. She would have been devastated. She might have done anything, thinking her uncle was dead.
“FBI and Hawk have air transport and support,” Craig said. “They’ll be on the coast within the half-hour.”
John took the next curve at breakneck speed.
Malcolm’s blood pumped viciously through his veins. The moon had risen and now shed enough light that he could see the landscape and recognize the approaching coast. He checked his watch. 0025 hours. Felt like an eternity. “Park on the road.”
He didn’t want Dimitru warned they were coming. It meant more time to get up the driveway in the dark. But they’d trained for this, in jungle and desert and urban settings. This was easy. Hostage rescue. Been there. Done that.
Then why the fuck are you so nervous?
“Got it,” John said, still calm, still in control.
Why did Malcolm feel like his heart was going to explode from his chest? Everyone around him seemed fucking serene. He clutched his shaking hands in his lap.
“You okay?” Craig asked.
“Fine.”
“You going to be able to handle—”
“Fuck yes.”
Craig’s gaze pierced through his conscience.
“Fuck.”
“New mantra or something?” He almost smiled.
“Fuck you.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
John pulled to a stop under a small grove of trees next to the road, and they all piled out.
“We split up,” Malcolm started, and when no one questioned him, he continued, “I’m going in through the cave. Give me ten minutes. I’ll circle the house, doing recon, before I head over the cliff.”
Emily nodded. “You’ll need sights on the house, and that will give me time to get into position on the rise to the north.”
“Craig and Bobby, you’ve got the front approach,” Malcolm said. “Give me five to get in there before you come through. John, you okay back in the van? I need a man on the surveillance equipment. I want infrared on the house. And then I need you close by with access to the equipment.” In case he needed a medic.
John nodded. “Understood.”
“Let’s go.”
The house was quiet but lights were on in the back, at the kitchen and screened-in porch. Would Marie hand the armband over without a fight? Did she know Malcolm would come for her? Would she even care at this point?
A shadow crossed in front of the window on the south wall of the house.
Tall, big man. Had to be Dimitru. He was close. So fucking close.
Once Malcolm reached the edge of the backyard, where the brush met dry, scraggly grass, he hunched over and ran for the path to the stairs down to the beach. It wound around first one short tree and then another. When he hit the stairs, he flew down them, taking the first four in one leap.
Stairs turned to rock before he jumped feet first into the pool below him. The tide was coming in, so he sucked in a breath, went under, and swam, five yards, ten yards, and then twenty yards back into the cave before he came to the surface, his lungs screaming for air. He gripped the edge of the rock and pulled himself out of the water.
The tunnel felt smaller, darker, more sinister.
When he reached the ladder, he climbed, each step a heartbeat.
He undid the latch at the top and opened the rear hatch to the upstairs closet.
Malcolm felt for the earpiece and touched to activate it. “I’m in.”
“Roger.”
Down the hall, Malcolm avoided the top step and hugged the left wall. He stopped when he saw the shadows of Craig and Bobby against the front windows, waiting for his cue.
Dimitru’s voice rose and carried through the hallway to the front door, confirming his presence in the house.
“Now, Vladimir,” came a soft male voice. “You know I won’t be part of coercion.”
Malcolm crossed the foyer, unlocked the front door, and soundlessly let his teammates in. He pointed two fingers into the living room doorway and then pointed down the hallway to the back of the house, indicating the direction he planned to go. He patted downward, telling them to wait, hold off on making any moves until they knew more.
Craig nodded, pulled his gun from the holster, and disappeared against the wall in the living room.
“How do you sleep at night, reverend?” Marie’s voice, sounding off yet full of piss and vinegar, came next, stopping Malcolm at the doorway to the dining room.
Silence met her question until the man spoke again. “We are g
athered here together to witness the joining of these two, Vladimir Dimitru and Marie Feur—”
Someone grunted.
“Marie knocked down the guy wearing a scarf,” said Emily through Malcolm’s earpiece.
Malcolm moved, staying in the shadow of the kitchen.
“Sis’is crazy, Dimitru. You’re not going to be immortal by marrying me.” Marie was talking, and her speech slurred. Malcolm changed his angle to get a better view, and saw her.
Dimitru had her hands tied in front of her. Her face had been beaten, her nose was swollen and her lip split, dripping blood down her chin. But her eyes—God, he fucking loved her eyes. They were bright with anger and belligerence.
“Now,” he said, and crossed the threshold at the same time as his teammates did from the other side of the room. “Freeze!”
Guns were trained on Dimitru and his henchman. The big muscled man’s arms came up even as Dimitru began to laugh. His white shirt was rolled up to his elbows, flaunting the armband tight on his forearm.
Craig took another step forward, the displeasure and disgust clear on his face. “Give me one reason,” he said quietly to Dimitru.
Rage blazed to life in the whites of Dimitru’s eyes, and he reached at the small of his back.
“Don’t,” Craig demanded.
Malcolm turned his gun to Dimitru, whose gun was pointed directly at him.
He didn’t think, no hesitation, and shot first. Craig did the same even as Marie lunged for Dimitru—Jesus, to save me.
His heart stopped.
Two bodies dropped to the floor as his world slowed.
“Marie!” He threw Dimitru’s body off her.
Bobby crouched over him to check for a pulse and then pulled a zip-tie from his leg pocket and tied the man’s wrists. Dimitru wailed.
John walked in with a black bag.
Malcolm rolled Marie over, checking for wounds. When he got to her face, she was staring, and her pupils were large, obliterating her pretty blue irises. She blinked, trying to focus. “Malcolm?”
“Yeah. I’m right here.”
“All those women. Did you get the women?”
“Shh,” he said, his throat tightening. “Hawk got ’em. He’s taking care of them.”
As if she were forcing herself to focus, her hand came up to his face and pulled him down. “He gave me something, Mal…injection.” Then she gripped his shoulder. “Don’t leave the armband,” she whispered, and then dropped into unconsciousness.
“Fuck.” He picked her up. “Helicopter?”
“Two minutes out.”
“Lay her back down, Mal. I’ll get an IV in her. They’ll hook her to a saline drip until they know what she was given,” John said.
Malcolm’s heart stuttered, but he did what he was told. He glanced at Craig. “Hand me the armband, man.”
The armband was too small for Dimitru’s arm. “It’s stuck,” Craig said.
“Fuck stuck,” Malcolm growled, and turned back to Dimitru, who was stirring, the bullet hole through his shoulder bleeding. Malcolm didn’t care, just picked up the arm and tugged on the gold.
Dimitru screamed from the pain.
Malcolm wiggled and wrenched and tugged some more. It finally slipped the needed fraction of an inch and moved down. Malcolm pulled his knife.
The coward screamed. “No, don’t, don’t—”
“Shut up, you bastard.” Malcolm slipped the knife through the plastic ties around Dimitru’s wrists. He didn’t expect it when Dimitru’s good fist came at him. Malcolm blocked it and pressed a knee to Dimitru’s hip, pinning him down.
For good measure, Malcolm sent a left hook to Dimitru’s head, knocking him out. “For Marie,” he stated, then pulled a zip-tie from his leg pocket and cuffed him. John had picked up Marie and taken her outside.
Malcolm went through the living room and lifted an afghan from the couch as he made his way outside. The sound of the helicopter approaching shook the house. He hurried over with the blanket and opened it. John set her in his arms, and it was like Malcolm’s world righted.
He slid the gold armband onto Marie’s arm, and as if she knew, she shifted and moaned before settling again. He wanted to believe the thing was glowing. Maybe it did hold some kind of power.
The rotor wash hit them as Hawk and Jamie walked over. “How is she?” Hawk yelled over the blast of air.
“She’s going to be fine,” he hollered before hitting the step up into the chopper. His little thief was chilled, beaten, and bruised, but breathing.
The attendant tapped him on the shoulder to stop him, mouthing, Sorry.
Fear consumed Malcolm, and he looked to Marie.
But he swallowed the fear, the need, the fucking screaming agony that ripped through him, and leaned over his Marie. He ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her cool lips. He took a deep breath and held on. He’d held back for too long. He’d mistrusted her. He’d told her he loved her.
And he was damn well going to love enough for both of them. “Don’t you dare die, Marie.” He cleared his throat and put his mouth next to her ear. “I fucking love you too much.”
The nurse picked up Marie’s arm, nudging him out of the way, but when she went to remove the armband, he panicked and gripped the nurse’s wrist. “Don’t fucking take the armband off. Leave it… Please.”
There was pity in her eyes, and she shrugged. “I’ll do my best.”
He nodded then turned and jumped to the ground.
Craig pulled Malcolm back as the helicopter lifted off. “We’ll drive. Come on.”
Malcolm nodded, unable to take his eyes from the chopper as it disappeared from sight.
Chapter Thirty-Two
I fucking love you too much.
She clawed her way out of whatever drug-induced hole Dimitru had thrown her into. Her heart pounded faster; noise filled her head and pounded against her skull. Loud, thumping, rhythmic. She moaned. When a sharp pain stabbed her arm, she woke with a jolt and screamed. She reached for her arm, but found herself strapped down.
Panic hit her, making her struggle. She couldn’t catch her breath.
Someone put a hand on her shoulder and yelled something over her head. Marie focused. Scrubs. Headset. Rotors. A nurse. Marie grabbed her hand. “Hurts.”
The woman plunged something into the IV at Marie’s elbow. Warmth started in her arm and spread through her body, relieving the pain.
“Malcolm,” she whispered, barely able to keep her eyes open.
The second medic smiled down at her and patted her head. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
She struggled to make sense of it. Had Malcolm been shot? Had she failed to stop Dimitru? “Where is…” Her voice faded.
“Don’t worry about it now. You’ll see him later.”
The pain dissipated, and so did her consciousness.
***
Don’t you dare die.
Marie woke with a start, sweat dripping down her temples. She kicked the white blanket off her legs and forced air into her lungs.
Alone. She was completely alone. Because she’d failed. She was responsible.
She’d insisted on stealing the stupid armband—
The armband.
On. Her. Arm.
Frantic, Marie gripped the gold on her arm, pulled it off, drew back, and let it fly with a frustrated yell. Malcolm opened the door, ducked and snatched it from the air. He had a coffee in the other hand, and he lifted his brow.
“Malcolm,” she said. Her brain couldn’t keep up. He was dead; she hadn’t stopped the bullet. She cried. He set his coffee on the side table. The worry on his face made her cry harder. She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried herself into his embrace. He hesitated only a moment before he circled her with his strong arms. “Hey, hey, hey now,” he said, making comforting noises. He was actually pretty good at it, even if he made her cry more. “Do you need a doctor?” he asked, tipping her head back. “Are you in pain or something?”
/> “No. I’m sorry. I thought—” She cleared her throat. “I messed everything up, Malcolm. I broke the law.” Her throat tightened. “I’m going to jail, and, and…and I deserve it. I thought you were dead. Uncle Bert’s dead. The amulet has left me with no one.”
“He’s not dead,” Malcolm said.
“What?” She sat up straighter, noticing for the first time Malcolm was in his regular clothes, his skinny black jeans and a flannel. He’d showered, too. “He was shot.”
“He survived.”
Her lips trembled; her hands shook. “Is he here? Can I see him?”
“He’s in surgery, Marie.”
“But he’s alive?”
“Yes.”
She cried into his flannel shirt, smelled his familiar cologne, and wanted to wrap herself up in it forever. Marie tapped her forehead against his sternum. “Thank God.”
He paused and then said, “Or something.” He ran a finger over the armband as he set it on the bed next to her.
Her heart fell a little. “My parents are dead. My uncle is still dying, and I have to face the consequences, face the charges made against me.”
“I doubt it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Dimitru is dead.” Malcolm stepped back and cupped her face. “The bullet wound shouldn’t have been fatal—”
“Holy cow.” She needed to get up, and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She stopped. “He’s really dead?”
Malcolm ran a hand over her hair and touched gently at the bruises on her face. “He would have gone to jail for a long time. But in the end, he wouldn’t quit. And then he went after you—”
“He pointed his gun at you,” she said.
He shook his head. “It wasn’t me he wanted to hurt,” he whispered.
She stared at him as his words hit her. Dimitru had seen what she hadn’t even been able to voice yet. How?
Malcolm was still talking, though, not knowing how badly it hurt her that she was the one who had veered so off course. She’d been in lust with Malcolm for so long. Now he loved her. And she was the one who’d been holding back.
