by J. M. Madden
The lights above them flickered and she glanced up, but they didn’t do it again. “She won’t be back for another month.”
The lightbulb in the fluorescent light above her head exploded, raining glass down upon her. Shannon cried out and jumped away from the table. Jordyn covered her head instinctively, praying that that was the only thing that was going to happen. She waited, breath held, expecting the light fixture to fall on her head or something, but after the initial pop of explosion, nothing else happened. She lifted her head, surveyed the scene, then leaned over the carpet to shake glass out of her short hair. It was still all over her, though. Sliding out of the chair she stepped away from the table to shake out her clothes, careful not to get cut.
The three Lost and Found partners were looking at the other three men on the opposite side of the table, and Jordyn got the feeling that something was going on. Aiden and Wulfe, two of the men she didn’t know, muscled the blond out of the room, and it looked like it took every bit of strength they had to do it. The big man was staring at her, his expression an odd mix of contrition and frustration and anger.
Jordyn straightened, planting her hands on her hips. “Pardon my French, gentlemen, but what the fuck just happened?”
Chad scowled and got up from the table to come around and make sure she was glass free. Jordyn didn’t mind that he brushed a few flecks of glass from her shoulders and back.
Duncan was the one who cleared his throat, drawing her attention.
“Well, to put it bluntly, some of the experimentation that the company did was a success.”
She stared at him, unwilling—unable— to believe what he was telling her.
“Are you saying that one of those men made that light fixture explode over my head?”
Duncan gave her a single nod. “They have developed some mental capabilities that no one has ever seen before and I believe that when their emotions are heightened, that power can leak. If I was to guess I would say that Fontana let a bit of his control slip. He’s the most… determined to return to the jungle to check for survivors.”
“Fontana, the blond,” she clarified.
“Yes.”
Jordyn stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest. Shannon sat tentatively in one of the chairs the men had vacated, her notepad ready. Chad used a yellow legal pad to sweep the remaining glass on the table into a waste basket before he went back to his chair.
Jordyn wondered what the hell she’d gotten herself into. LNF had seemed like a pretty plum job, working with other vets. No one passed judgement on her as soon as they saw her, and she was regarded with respect, which shouldn’t even ever be an issue as a vet, but it was.
Duncan sighed and rocked back into his chair. “I guess we’ve kind of wasted your time this morning, Jordyn, and I apologize for that. It was a bit of a Hail Mary pass anyway, hoping that we had that kind of resource at our fingertips. You can go ahead and go home. We’ll find another pilot. It was presumptuous to hope that your mother would help us anyway.”
“Oh, I have no doubt she would have if asked, regardless of the political issues it could get her into.” Sighing, she planted her hands on her hips. “My mother can’t do it, but I know someone who will. I think I can even get you a chopper.”
Duncan leaned forward, tilting his head. “You know someone who would be willing to do this?”
He didn’t get it. “Yeah, me.”
Chapter Two
Fontana jogged on the treadmill, leg screaming with pain, trying to burn off some of his anxiety. For some reason it had peaked, today, and he wasn’t sure exactly why.
Actually, he did, but he hated to admit it to himself. It was the woman. She’d knocked him off his game.
As soon as she’d walked into the room, he’d felt a charge go up his spine. He’d latched eyes on her and he’d been unable to look away. And it hadn’t been because of her scars, which she had to be thinking.
The woman was a compact package of kinetic energy. She couldn’t be more than an inch or two over five feet, tiny, but she was built strong. Her t-shirt strained over her upper half and there wasn’t an ounce of fat on her. The lower half of her body looked just as strong, but curvy, her hips rounded nicely and her thighs looking long and athletic in spite of her height. She wore black BDUs, and a black t-shirt that hugged her full breasts. But even as strong as she was, she still managed to keep her femininity. Her thick blue-black hair was perfectly cut, longer in front and very short in the back, and her fingernails… he’d never been one to notice that kind of thing on a woman, but today he did. They were squared off and painted a deep burgundy-purple.
Fontana was drawn in by her eyes, though. They were thick with black lashes, and the iris was a rich hazel green color. Army green. Arched brows curved over her eyes, sleek. Her face was lean with high cheekbones, her lips surprisingly lush. Her coloring spoke to some type of Hispanic influence. In spite of her clothing and her attitude, she was most definitely all woman.
The burn scars that ran down the right side of her face spoke to a devastating injury some years ago. Dangerously close to her eye, the scars tugged the corner of the eye back, making the symmetry of her face a little off. The skin around her right ear was malformed, partially burned away at the top, but there were little diamond studs in the lobes. Her perfectly cut hair seemed to be a bit longer on this side, covering a patch of hairless skin on her scalp just above the ear. The rough scar tissue ran down her neck and beneath the collar of her t-shirt, and he wondered exactly how far the scarring went.
Fontana had seen injuries like that before on veterans, but never on a woman. His heart gave an unexpected twinge of sympathy for what she had to have gone through. He’d developed a callousness over the past few years and not a lot affected him, but the thought of her being damaged in some way made him curl his fists.
She’d walked across that room like she owned it, though. It was obvious she’d had to deal with stares for a long time and she’d learned to power through it. He loved the confidence it took to do that and he could feel the determination in her heart.
There was something more, though. She had a confidence she had fought for, over and over again. Being that diminutive in the Army she’d surely gotten some ribbing from Basic on.
Sitting at the table, she’d given them all considering looks. For the briefest moment her eyes had met his, and it had shaken him. There was something about the woman that roused him. He wanted her to notice him. Was that why he’d slipped? To draw her regard?
No, that didn’t seem right. He wanted her to see him but he certainly didn’t want to hurt her.
That was a little fucked up, Aiden murmured internally, looking up at him from the weight bench.
Fontana punched the button on the console to stop the belt. He stepped off the machine.
Yeah, it was fucked up. “Not sure what happened,” he panted.
And he didn’t, really. One minute he was ready to leap out of his chair and go kill something, and the next he was wondering if the woman’s hair was as soft as it looked.
He needed to apologize to her, even though she couldn’t help them.
With that thought in mind he turned toward the conference room. Wulfe stepped in front of him, hand up. “Where are you going, hitzkopf?”
“I’m just going to apologize, Wulfe, let me by. I’ve cooled off.”
“I don’t know,” he said slowly, not budging an inch. “I think you are tired, yes?”
Fontana blinked, taking stock of his body. Yeah, he was feeling tired, and not just from the treadmill sprint. He was still tired from fighting Priscilla Mattingly and all of her mercenaries in the train depot two nights ago. That had taken a lot out of him, using that much mental and physical power. But they didn’t have time to rest just yet. They needed to move while the Silverstone Collaborative was still reeling from Priscilla’s death.
“I’m fine,” he told his friend softly. “I’m more in control now. I need to apologize to that woman.
She might be the only way we can get into the country.”
Wulfe shook his dark head. “No. If she doesn’t work, we will find another way. Even if it’s just you and I going in, we won’t lose this opportunity.”
Fontana eased back, reassured that he wasn’t the only one pushing for this op to work. He just needed to remind himself that he wasn’t alone.
As if in answer to his thoughts, Wulfe reached out and squeezed his shoulder, even going so far as to give him a back-slapping hug. Fontana took it, appreciating the big German’s zeal.
“Get a drink, then we will go back.”
They crossed to the coffee machine together and each poured a cup. Fontana dumped in sugar and an obscene amount of coffee creamer until the liquid almost overflowed the cup, then he slurped in a drink. As soon as it hit his stomach he was reminded that he hadn’t eaten anything recently. Turning to the vending machines he looked for something to eat, but nothing really appealed to him.
Anxiety churned in his stomach like he was in trouble with the teacher again, or something. He slurped down more coffee. Then, looking at Aiden, he nodded. I’m good to go.
For a long moment Aiden just stared at him, then nodded and they headed back down the hallway.
When they walked into the conference room, his gaze immediately went to the compact woman across the room. She’d moved from her spot, obviously, and had a notepad in front of her. Her eyes turned guarded as they skimmed over him and she sat back in her chair, waiting.
“I’m sorry about that,” Fontana told her softly. “It won’t happen again.”
She gave a single nod, then turned back to her notepad, silent.
“Gentlemen,” Duncan greeted them. “Have a seat. We have a lot to talk about. Ms. Madeira has agreed to fly the op for us.”
Fontana’s eyes jerked back to her. She still sat in the chair calmly. “You’re a pilot?”
“I am.”
“Were you a pilot in the military?” Aiden asked.
“For a while. Till a crash took me down. And, no, I wasn’t flying that time,” she clarified, crossing her arms beneath her breasts.
In spite of the situation a grin tugged at Fontana’s lips. He could read the aggravation in her posture. It was obvious she still harbored resentment for the other pilot that had been on the stick when she was injured.
She held up her small hands with their pretty nails. Scar tissue he hadn’t seen before layered both her palms. “The Army considered this enough of a threat to safety that they grounded me, put me in Intelligence for the rest of my tour. But I still fly. My license is current and I do charters in Vail in my free time.”
Fontana felt a surge of excitement. If they could get her a chopper in Venezuela they’d be set.
He looked at Aiden, who was in turn looking at the woman. “This is going to be dangerous,” Aiden warned.
The woman shrugged, a glint of something flashing in her eyes. “I’m up for it. The Army didn’t like my scars but they don’t slow me down at all. I can do anything you need me to do and probably more than you expect. I saw combat many times and I never flinched. I’m also good with languages. I speak Spanish and Portuguese fluently, as well as half a dozen derivatives. It was why Intelligence snatched me up when I was injured. I would be an asset to the group.”
“It sounds like we have the beginning of a plan,” Aiden said, and Fontana could hear the edge of excitement in his voice. They were all ready to get on this.
Jordyn turned to Duncan. “I don’t think he should be in on this,” she said firmly.
It took Fontana a moment to realize she meant him. Frustrated fury swept through him and it took every shred of control he had to not blow something up, which was exactly what she was waiting for. Her eyes had widened, as if she could feel the surge of his power. She sat ramrod straight in her chair, but her chin was up, determined.
“In spite of what happened here,” Aiden told the woman, instinctively protecting his friend, “Mr. Fontana is a man to have at your back. I’ve trusted him with my life several times and he’s never let me down. He’s the one that broke us out of the camp to begin with.”
Her gaze swung to Aiden and stayed there. She motioned to the light fixture. “And if he did that inside a helicopter, we could all be dead.”
The rest of the group shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his eyes.
Fontana clenched his jaw, but he couldn’t even blame her. He wanted to tell her that he’d travelled over a thousand miles, killed at least nine mercenaries, used his mental abilities more in the past forty-eight hours than he had in the past three months, all on about three hours of sleep, but he didn’t know if she’d believe him. He looked her in the eye. “I’m tired,” he admitted, letting her see it in his face. “More tired than I’ve been in a long time. I’ve given more of myself in the past week than I ever have before. But I can’t rest knowing there might be men out there being tortured like I was, living in a cage barely big enough for a dog. Now that we have the information we have to move, no matter how tired I am. If you don’t take me I’ll find a way to get there on my own.”
Jordyn could see the absolute weariness in the man’s eyes, and she felt herself softening in spite of her determination not to. She didn’t owe this man anything, but her heart was suddenly interfering with her mind. When had it started doing that when it came to work?
She stared into his face, trying not to allow him to suffer with desperate hope, but she knew how it could be. When there was something driving you that wouldn’t allow you to rest. When that one thing was so important you allowed your health to suffer for it.
That was there in his pretty clover green eyes. Her determination to be a hardass crumbled. The room faded from around them as she focused on his expression.
“You realize that if you do something like that in a helicopter, flying only five hundred feet in the air, we will die. And everyone we might rescue could die.”
He nodded once, crossing his arms over his heavy chest. “I am aware of that. It won’t happen.”
She stared at him for a few more long moments before turning to look at Duncan. Her boss seemed to understand her expression.
“Okay, so we’re set,” he said. “Brian will be in in a little while to let us know about the money situation. Jordyn, if you can do what you need to do to arrange for the helicopter?”
“You have a chopper?” Fontana breathed.
Jordyn couldn’t help the small smile as she glanced at him. “I do. There. Not here. We need to figure out how to connect the dots.”
Wulfe stepped forward. “The Terberger corporate plane is waiting for use.”
They all looked at each other, wondering at how all the pieces had begun to fall together.
“Jordyn,” Duncan said, “while we’re finalizing details and collecting materials, why don’t you go pack a bag. Prepare for a few days in country. And call whoever it is you need to get the chopper.”
Pushing to her feet she gave him a mock salute. “Will do, First Sergeant.”
With a final glance at Fontana she left the conference room, her heart racing with excitement. She had a lot to do and little time to do it.
The men settled in to plan. Duncan’s experience was invaluable for this aspect. No, he hadn’t led anything recently, but he hadn’t forgotten anything about when he had. He weighed that experience in with the Dogs of War's more recent altercations with the Collaborative, and their jungle knowledge, and they came up with a plan.
They had to go to Venezuela first for the helicopter. Jordyn had told them it would be a twelve-seater, which was perfect. That would give them room for a six man team, plus gear. It would also give them a bit of room if they needed for sick or injured.
Brian Calvert had set up a trust with the money Dr. Shu had been given by the company. It was a substantial amount, well over fifteen million, and they had plenty of money to finance the operation, which they were now calling Absolution. Fontana would be in charge of Team Alpha.
>
Everything was coming together.
Duncan put out an all-call to his men looking for volunteers for a high risk, out of the country, armed operation. Within just a couple of hours, Fontana was meeting four men that would be on the team. Duncan briefed him on all of their injuries before they entered the conference room, promising that none of them would impede the op in any way. Fontana would have to see… he didn’t mind using former military or disabled vets as long as none of them got him killed.
The first man to walk into the room had the self-assured, confident stride of a man who knew what he could do. Drake Hardwick was a recent hire from the Navy SEALs. Tall and broad-shouldered, he was a badass from his nearly bald head to his cowboy boots. The fact that he had only been retired from the Navy for about six months made him a shoe-in for the op. And Fontana could see the confidence in his expression. More importantly he could feel the confidence in the other man. He’d seen shit and lived to tell about it.
Kenneth Bracken was a former Army Ranger, six-four, with night dark skin, massive biceps and a blinding, easy smile. For a moment the easy going personality, plus the Ranger tattoo peeking from beneath his t-shirt, reminded Fontana of TJ, in spite of the vastly different appearance. Big Kenny, or Kenny, as he preferred to be called, had done jungle ops before and had no worries about the prosthetic on his right leg.
“Nah,” he chuckled. “This sucker is cutting edge. I run in this, swim in it. It’s completely self-contained.”
Pulling his pant leg above the knee he knocked on the lower section of the black carbon fiber leg for emphasis. “And the battery that helps power it is recharged by my movement.”
“I’m pretty jealous of it, actually,” Chad admitted.
Eric Payne was a smaller guy, more compact, his mental shields solid. Everyone was smaller than Zero and Big Kenny, but Payne didn’t seem intimidated. There was a confident air to him as he moved into the room, his dark eyes steady, like he’d dealt with looming military before. Kind of made Fontana think of the fiery Jordyn Madeira as she’d rolled into the conference room like she’d owned the place. Payne had been a Marine sergeant years ago, until a sniper in Kandahar had put a bullet through his left shoulder joint, completely obliterating the arm. He wore a cross-chest brace to support the black, full-arm prosthetic he wore, as well as the sidearm he carried, easily accessible in a cross-draw for his right hand.
