And when he didn’t give up the codes, the fun would begin. He wished he had a reason why their game, out of the hundreds of thousands of games, was singled out?
Muscle’s phone beeped. “She’s here.”
Reeves’s heart rate was off to the races. He stood, not wanting to give Galina any advantage. All his childhood chess tournaments were paying off for psyching out an opponent.
Expecting Natasha, a sleek Russian villain with harsh features from the Rocky and Bullwinkle Show, Reeves was shocked by his nemesis’s appearance. Galina, an overweight, thirty-something woman with mousy hair and horn-rimmed glasses that were sliding down her nose, wore a denim jacket and a Game of Thrones backpack.
“What took you so long?” Reeves crossed his arms over his chest. He had learned to take the offensive right at the beginning of a meeting from Richard Dean.
Galina blinked. Her wide-rim glasses made her look like a baby owl. “You have somewhere to go, Mr. Hewitt?”
She had no Russian accent and was dressed as if she belonged at a con of some sort.
Reeves shrugged.
“Fine, let’s get started. Give me your computer and the password.”
McDonald spoke to Muscle as he moved toward the door. “I’m out of here. What do you want?”
Muscle followed McDonald to the door, his back to the room. “I’m tired of burgers. Get us some teriyaki or sushi. And get this one some coffee.”
With Muscle distracted, Reeves sat and opened his bag. His computer was his only weapon. Not exactly a well-hatched plan, but desperate times called for less than brilliant moves.
Placing her PC on the table, Galina moved around the table to sit next to him. “I don’t want them to hurt you. But you know from seeing your friend Thompson what happens when you don’t cooperate.”
Reeves spotted the grip of a handgun sticking out from her denim jacket pocket—so much for the assumption from her clothing choices that Galina was “tech only.” Could he be fast enough to grab the gun from a Russian agent before Muscle reacted? Anxiety and fear worked as well as caffeine. Scenarios were rapidly firing as he sorted through the probability of which one had the best chance of a non-dead, non-shot-to-the-head outcome.
“Why don’t I sign in for you? It will make it a lot quicker. And you won’t need to spend hours trying to get in.”
“Just like that, you’re going to sign in for me?” She’d never get into anything important, not even the game files. All his work was encrypted and encrypted again in his “special” way. A fake login would nuke this computer and set up a help call. And in case his escape failed, he had already overwritten the code in his files to prevent anyone from accessing the game. He’d made the changes on their flight to Santa Barbara while Darcy slept.
“Maybe. Are you sure that Snakes Ahead doesn’t have open source code?”
Galina pushed her glasses back on her nose. “Think you’re so clever. Not when they break your fingers one at a time. You’ll download the code.”
“That seems counterintuitive to get what you need.”
Reeves’s fingers were flying over the keyboard. She watched his screen. “We updated the graphics not too long ago with C++unreal. Are you familiar with the coding? Or are you more of a GC# kind of girl?”
He hoped the damn CIA and Izzy were tracking all sign-ins for the game before he made his getaway. He might make it out of the building alive, but it got more complicated and a lot dicier if he were in Tijuana.
His heart thumped against his chest, and his stomach churned like a wind turbine. He opened Snakes Ahead and typed in “XChoco” as the player.
“I want to show you what a difference C++unreal made to the graphics. Look closely. Do you see how well we’ve done with the GPUs? It’s hard to appreciate since you haven’t seen the old version, have you?”
She leaned forward, unable to not look like any gamer/geek. Her gun was within his grasp. It was now or torture.
“Close down the game and open your files, or he’ll break your thumb.”
He hesitated, pretending to decide. “I thought you’d appreciate the graphics.”
With a loud, dramatic sigh, he slowly closed the game. With his left hand, he lifted the PC and slammed it with full force into her face. Her head snapped back. He hadn’t knocked her out, but he was able to stun her, giving him time to grab her gun.
Muscle reached, but Reeves already had her Russian-made GSh-18 pressed against Galina’s temple. “Give me a reason to fire this baby. I should blast you for what you did to my friend and the CIA agent.”
Galina’s nose was broken from the amount of blood gushing, and her glasses had fallen onto the table. Reeves yanked her upright by the arm, never losing sight of Muscle. “Slide your gun on the floor nice and easy toward me.”
“Go ahead, shoot her. I don’t give a fuck.”
“You might not. But your boss and the Russians will definitely care if she dies.”
Muscle slowly bent and kicked the Glock to Reeves.
Galina tried to pull away by trying to get traction for a counter move, but he wrapped his arm around her throat, cutting off her airflow. Reeves would love the chance to demonstrate his martial arts skills, in which he had the most extensive training and a lot more confidence than defending himself with a 9mm revolver.
He pushed the muzzle hard against her head. “My finger is on the trigger. Any fast movement and you’re dead, your brains all over the room.”
“Now, your phone.” He turned to Muscle. Survival instincts blasted through him, ready to take on any threat.
Bending for the phone and keeping cover on both Galina and Muscle was a risk. This was the time for Galina to demonstrate her Russian operative skills or for Muscle to rush him.
She stiffened but didn’t react when he secured both the gun and phone. Spending years gaming and typing made him quite ambidextrous, or maybe it was the “piss your pants” fear.
He tucked the Glock into his waistband and the phone into his shirt pocket. He left her phone on the table. Muscle wouldn’t get past Galina’s phone password.
“Hey genius, how do you plan to get out of this room?”
Reeves dragged Galina to the door, keeping his hold tight. “Enter 654123. And no fucking around. I haven’t forgotten Tex.”
She entered the code, and the door clicked.
He scanned the warehouse before dragging Galina out of the room. Anticipating her to make her move in the larger space, he tightened his hold on her throat, letting her feel his strength and keeping her light-headed. With the adrenaline pouring into his body, he was hyper-focused on both Muscle and Galina. Every cell was firing, aware of every shift in her body. He waited for her counterattack. Her breathing was choppy, and her body trembled. Was she that skilled to feign fear?
“Asshole, you’ll be back in this room in less than five minutes, and then you’re going to pay. The crew is outside. I won’t go easy on you as I did with Thompson,” Muscle said.
Reeves’s intense training kicked in his muscle memory. His hand was steady, his body primed to react, and his heart rate was slowing. He hauled her across the room with her spine forced against his chest. The gun never wavered from her temple. Muscle hadn’t rushed him, not taking the risk of Galina getting caught in the crossfire. It showed strategic thinking that Reeves didn’t think the criminal was capable of.
Or maybe Muscle was covering his ass not to get killed since he either expected McDonald back or the crew was really outside the warehouse door.
Reeves tightened his forearm on Galina’s windpipe. “How many guards are there waiting for me?”
She choked and gasped. Her body slackened.
“Don’t think of lying to me. I’ve nothing to lose here, and you have a lot to lose.”
He lessened his hold. She sucked air into her lungs. “None. They’re picking up a shipment.”
“Enter the code 654123. Now.”
Reeves didn’t believe her. He was a highly valued target. T
he Sureños surely had more than three armed guards in their “safe” warehouse if Reeves included Galina as part of the security detail.
He pushed her out the door, hyped for the next fight, but there was nothing. Nothing but old buildings. No cars. No activity. No men with assault rifles to take him back.
He scanned the area. His pounding heart lodged in his throat. The rundown warehouse was in the middle of a row of dilapidated houses and vacant office buildings. He had no idea where he was. An area of Palo Alto that he didn’t know from his days at Stanford. A busy thoroughfare was straight ahead that he’d avoid, expecting where the reinforcements would arrive from once they learned of his escape.
With full momentum, he slammed the pistol into the side of Galina’s head. She’d have one helluva a headache, but she would survive—unlike Tex. She crumpled from the blow. He lowered her to the ground.
And then he ran …
Chapter Fifteen
Rubbing her eyes, trying to stay focused on the monitor, Darcy scanned the street cams at the intersection where she had been T-boned, looking at the different views of the driver to get an angle that she could run face rec on. Staring at a monitor wasn’t helping her violent headache and typing with one finger wasn’t helping her frustration. The FBI, CIA, and NSA teams, all better-equipped and skilled, were reviewing the same footage that she was. She should lay down to reserve her strength until they were ready to roll, but the idea of being still, allowing her mind to take over …
If she weren’t busted up, she would have taken a run or hit the gym. She had to stay busy, not go down the black hole of imagining Reeves in the hands of the drug gang. From her time in Afghanistan and with the CIA, she had a lot of close-up experience to conjure up images of the lowest denominator of humankind.
Desperation swirled so close to the surface that she didn’t know how to handle the feelings. It would be easier if she were the one kidnapped. She was trained in SERE—unlike Reeves. Being helpless, not able to act was worse than any torture the Sureños could cook up for her. Knowing she was responsible for Reeves’s suffering, raw, primitive fear squeezed her chest in a steel vise. She had put assets in danger without this gut-wrenching worry. The assets knew the risk and had their reasons for their role. But Reeves had done nothing. And he would be safe in Seattle if she hadn’t involved him. And it would have been better for him if he never met her—never agreed to work with her.
“When is the last time you took your pain pills?”
Darcy startled, unaware of Nick Jenkins’s presence. It irritated her that she had missed the approach of a large man who was not trying to hide his movement.
“I never pegged you as a mom-type.”
Nick ran his hand through his thick hair. “When our dad died in Iraq, I inherited the role of parenting my hell-bent brothers. There weren’t many days when one of the Jenkins boys wasn’t injured from pushing the limits. I had to grow up fast.”
She hadn’t pegged him as a man to share either. She had never thought about the cost that her brother Mike paid by being forced into the role of head of the family.
“My oldest brother was my rock after our dad was killed. He was the one who helped me get my head screwed on right by enlisting. From what I’ve read and heard about the Jenkins brothers, it looks like you did a good job too.”
She and Nick had one thing in common: neither liked receiving praise for doing their job.
“You should take a break. You’ll do Reeves no good …”
Cutting too close to the truth, Darcy snapped, “Sure, I’ll go take a nap, maybe take a hot bath. That will really help.”
“Take a break, soldier. It isn’t a choice.”
He was a big man who was trying to intimidate her, but his intentions were honorable. She had to remind herself that he wasn’t the enemy, but right now, she needed a punching bag. And Nick Jenkins looked as if he could handle whatever she threw at him.
“I’m in charge, and I’ll take a break when we have actionable intel. And not before.”
“Suit yourself, but I’m in charge of the assault. And I won’t take a team member who is a risk to herself and my team.” He emphasized “my” with his deep voice.
She should be thanking Nick—for allowing her, injured as she was, to be part of the team to recover Reeves. Nick didn’t do it because she was charming or compliant or was as skilled as him. She was sure it was because of Nick’s regards for Reeves. For a reason she couldn’t comprehend, Nick believed Reeves cared about her and would want her there when he came out.
She pushed herself up from the chair with one hand and faced him. “I can’t do nothing.”
“I get it, but you’ve got to trust the team. Everyone is working their asses off to find something. Izzy is using some secret NSA software to find which of the hundred cars left the parking garage in the time frame when they transferred Reeves from the ambulance. And Molly is monitoring all the traffic out of Palo Alto, airports, bus stations, and gas station cameras. Every possibility of how and where they transported Reeves. NSA and CIA and FBI are using their superpowers to find him. And then when they get us the intel, we’ll go in. And I need you to be in good shape, or Reeves will threaten to kick my ass again.”
Black humor was standard practice among military types for coping with high-risk threats. Darcy wasn’t prepared for the effect serious and grim Nick Jenkins’s attempt to make her laugh in the middle of a shitstorm had on her.
Tears welled behind her eyes. She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to hold in all the fear and pain. She never cried. Not since her father had been killed. She swallowed hard and brushed at the tears, hoping to hell that Nick wouldn’t try to console her.
“Any word from the FBI on Ramirez yet?”
Darcy’s respect for Nick Jenkins grew exponentially. She was grateful that he hadn’t offered any comfort.
“Nothing from the FBI yet. It will take time—time we don’t have.” Darcy tried to bring her hands together and was stopped by the damn sling.
When Darcy had contacted the FBI, the conversation immediately became a pissing match since kidnapping fell into the FBI purview. But after a phone call between her boss and the FBI director, the CIA was still in the lead. From their ongoing investigation into organized crime, the FBI identified Raoul Ramirez as one of Sureños’s lieutenants working in Palo Alto. The FBI was running everything on him and all his associates—credit cards, travel, bank accounts—to find where he did his business.
“The Palo Alto Police Department’s gang unit wasn’t useful. Nothing that we didn’t already know. Of course, the police chief wanted to send SWAT helicopters to search all the industrial areas. The chief is jumping at the chance to use his SWAT team since they don’t see a lot of action. The FBI nixed the locals from alerting the kidnappers into acting rashly.”
Nick paced, running his hand through his hair, a tell of his stress. Like Darcy, he hated sitting around. “Anything from the Sureños CI in Santa Barbara?”
Every agency was doing their thing, but it wasn’t enough—every time she thought of Reeves, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t concentrate.
“I think he’s our best bet for information on what warehouses they use along the coast to ship between Mexico and the rest of the states. The detective who handles him sent the message to make contact, but it could be hours or even days before the CI can communicate. He can’t just break his cover and disappear to contact his handle.”
Darcy was well-versed in all the ways connecting with an asset could go wrong. Her CIA heart told her that the CI might be the break they needed. If he was able to get away from the gang.
“What the hell?” Nick rushed away to the sound of a woman’s voice. “How the fuck did they get here?”
Darcy followed Nick toward the entrance of the house but lagged behind, not knowing what to expect. Had Reeves’s sister arrived? Nick wouldn’t bring her here, would he? Anxiety about meeting Emily, whom Reeves deeply cared about, made her more off
-kilter than should be possible right now when her world was twirling. How could she explain to his sister that it was her operation that put Reeves in harm’s way?
Two blondes—one tall and svelte, and the other with curves, both dressed very fashionably—breezed through the highly secure front door. Darcy recognized Sophie Dean from the picture, and she was more gorgeous in person. Her blonde curls were cut in a style that framed her face versus Darcy’s out-of-control Orphan Annie look. Darcy patted her hair, trying to tame it. She had lost her clip somewhere along the way, and her hair required two hands to control. Her appearance was the least of her present concerns.
Lars came from the back room where he was putting together the team’s equipment. His chin was thrust forward, his shoulders tight at the sight of the women. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought we agreed you’d stay in Seattle?”
“And I missed you too.” The tall woman had to be Danni Knorr. She matched the CIA description of the woman who the Triad had kidnapped with Jordan and Sophie Dean, and was now in an obvious relationship with Lars Jenkins.
“Sophie, you didn’t clear this with Finn, did you?”
“FYI, Nick, I don’t have to clear with Finn a trip to help a friend.”
“And how do you plan to help Reeves? Huh?” Nick’s face tightened in a severe grimace. “You have all the latest intel as it comes in. How does coming here change anything except you getting in the way?”
“Lars, tell Sophie where Finn is while Nick cools off.” Danni rubbed Lars’s chest and snuggled close to him.
“Sophie, Finn is coordinating with the FBI’s HRT team for the rescue. He won’t be back for several hours.”
“Perfect. That gives us time.” Sophie grinned at Nick, oblivious to the two-hundred-pounds of seething male rage.
Mission: Impossible to Deny (The Impossible Mission Romantic Suspense Series Book 7) Page 11
