by Elle Kennedy
But there were no other boats. No signs of life or civilization, except for a black SUV parked in the lot.
Damn it. He didn’t trust this man. And he didn’t believe for a second that Paulo was FBI.
“The rendezvous point is nearby,” Paulo said as he lined the boat up with the side of the dock and tossed a rope around one of the rotted posts. “My team is waiting there for us.”
“We won’t be rendezvousing with your team,” D answered sharply.
Grabbing Sofia’s hand, he helped her out of the boat. Their boots hit the dock with a thud, causing the boards to creak.
Paulo’s forty-five snapped up as he joined them. “You’re not going anywhere until my superiors debrief you.”
D chuckled. “You really want to keep playing this game? You’re not a Fed—we both know that. So why don’t you tell me who you’re actually working for?”
Paulo offered a chuckle of his own. “Does it really matter? I have my orders. Who’s issuing them is inconsequential.” He cocked his gun. “Walk to the car.”
D raised a defiant brow. “Or what—you’ll shoot me? You have your orders, remember? And clearly those orders are to keep me alive.”
“Yes, but nobody said anything about keeping her alive.” Paulo shifted his aim to Sofia.
Rolling his eyes, D immediately stepped in front of her to shield her with his body. “If you want her, you’ll have to go through me. Which we’ve just determined you can’t do. So walk away, asshole. Go back to your bosses and tell them I died on the island during our escape. I’m sure they won’t fault you for it, because, hey, you tried, right?”
An angry flush rose in Paulo’s cheeks. “Walk to the car.”
“No.”
The man took a menacing step toward them. “Walk to the fucking car! Now!”
D smiled. “No.”
Sheer frustration darkened Paulo’s eyes, making his entire body tremble. But his gun hand remained steady. “Jesus Christ! Are you always this fucking difficult? No wonder he wants you dead!”
As entertaining as Paulo’s temper tantrum was, D was growing tired of this exchange. “Who’s he? Who wants me dead?”
“Who the fuck do you think? Bryant!” Spittle flew out of Paulo’s mouth as his anger continued to spill over in palpable waves. “He’s invested nine years of his life looking for you—nine years of my life—and I swear to God, if you don’t walk to the motherfucking car right now, I won’t give him the honor of killing you! I’ll do it myself!”
Bryant.
The name made D freeze, the rest of Paulo’s rant muffled by the sudden pounding of his heart.
Edward Bryant.
He wasn’t even surprised. He’d always known his former handler would track him down eventually. D had covered his tracks after he’d left Smith Group, but Bryant was the most resourceful man he’d ever met. Former CIA and a legend in the black-ops community, at least before his agency’s reputation had been blown to smithereens. He also had a very long memory. If you crossed him, he never, ever forgot it.
“Do you realize what I’ve had to do these past nine years?” Paulo shouted. “I’ve seen things, done things, that I can never come back from! Because of you, you goddamn piece of shit! I worked for that sick fuck Mendez for nine years! I sold his girls and fucked his whores and tortured his enemies, waiting for you to show up. No, praying for you to show up! Who do you think helped your buddy escape? I did!”
D blinked in surprise. “My buddy?”
“The blond guy,” Paulo spat out. “Mendez’s prisoner. I risked my ass to let him go, just on the off chance that he might lead us to you—”
D was past listening. The blond guy.
Sullivan?
Sullivan was alive?
“Well, I’m done waiting for you. You’re going to do what I fucking say, you hear me?”
D ignored the burst of hope that soared in his chest. Tucking the thought of Sully aside, he focused on Paulo’s enraged face and asked, “Why?”
That stopped the other man cold. “Why what?”
“Why would you put yourself through deep cover for so long?” D furrowed his brow. “How much is Bryant paying you?”
Paulo’s jaw fell open. “I’m doing my job, you fucking moron. The same job you used to do, before you betrayed your country and sold our secrets to foreign enemies.”
D laughed. “Oh, shit. Is that what Bryant told you I did?” He was beginning to put the pieces together, and the gravity of what Edward Bryant had done triggered a rush of pity toward the infuriated Paulo.
“Now you’re going to get in that goddamn car and pay for your crimes,” Paulo hissed. A red vein appeared in his forehead, throbbing visibly. “You’re not going to screw this up for me, you hear me? I was promised retirement. I deserve it after everything I’ve had to do in service of finding you.”
The pity in D’s stomach intensified. “Retirement? For fuck’s sake, man, there’s nothing to retire from.”
Paulo blinked.
“The agency was shut down nine years ago,” D clarified.
Silence crashed over the dock.
Paulo’s jaw opened, then snapped shut. He cocked his gun, but his hand shook as he did it. “You’re lying,” he said coldly.
“Sorry, but I’m not. The government disbanded Smith Group after my last gig with them.”
“Stop lying to me.”
“Mendez kidnapped that senator’s daughter, remember?” D met Paulo’s uncertain gaze. “Remember how the senator raised hell? Well, he raised even more of it after the job went south. Got the president on his side, and our commander in chief brought down the wrath of fucking Lucifer on the special-ops community. All the intelligence agencies were scrambling to protect themselves, but the senator wouldn’t rest until there was a head on the chopping block. Bryant took the heat.”
Paulo’s face went pale. “Bullshit.”
“Our boss broke the number-one rule of black ops—he put his agency in the spotlight. And you know what happens when covert operations are no longer covert. If you can’t do it discreetly, then why do you exist?” D shrugged. “The president decided Smith Group no longer deserved to exist.”
“Bull. Shit.”
“Bryant went underground after his forced retirement. There were rumors that he’d gone private, but his name never came up in association with any contracted jobs or operations around the globe. I haven’t heard a peep about his activities since Smith Group was shut down.” D had to laugh. “I always wondered what he was up to, but . . .” Another laugh. “Christ, I didn’t hear about his activities because there were none. He was too busy hunting me. And he used you to help him.”
Paulo’s breath caught.
“He lied to you,” D told the man, unable to control his laughter.
The soft squeeze of Sofia’s hand on his lower back killed the humor, reminding him of the stakes.
“Bryant pretended that Smith Group was still operational so you’d follow his orders and go undercover. Because a Smith agent doesn’t turn down an order, does he? And a Smith agent reports to no one but his handler, so you really had no way of knowing the agency was disbanded.” D grinned. “You’re a fucking idiot, Paulo—or whatever your name is. Not Paulo, obviously.”
Pure anger reflected back at him in Paulo’s eyes.
“You got played, bro. And of course you did. He dangled retirement under your nose?” D snorted. “Shit. You should’ve known better, though. Even if Smith Group was still around, you know it doesn’t let its agents retire. We know too much, which makes us too big of a threat. Which makes us expendable. Bryant never would’ve let you go. But that doesn’t even matter. He played you.”
“You’re lying,” Paulo said again.
D shook his head. “He had no authority to assign you to Mendez, but he did it anyway. And why? Just so you could twiddle your thumbs for nine years in case Mendez found me before Bryant did? Jesus, man. I actually feel bad for you.”
Paulo made a
strangled sound. “Shut up. Just . . . shut the fuck up.” His hands shook uncontrollably. The gun swayed, winks of silver catching in the darkness.
D’s shoulders tensed. Crap. He’d gone too far. Paulo was a heartbeat away from losing his shit.
“You know what? I don’t even care if you’re lying,” Paulo said abruptly. His arm flew up, the barrel of his gun moving from D’s chest to his head. “I’m done with this bullshit! I’m done with this job, I’m done with you, I’m just fucking done—”
A hiss sliced through the air, the faintest crack of a rifle, and Paulo dropped like a sack of bricks.
Sniper. Jesus Christ.
D barely registered the thump of the body, barely heard Sofia’s horrified gasp.
One second D was upright. The next he was throwing himself at Sofia and covering her body with his. Waiting for the sniper to take his next shot.
Chapter 21
Sofia’s heart nearly burst through her rib cage as the wind was suddenly knocked out of her. The heavy weight of D’s body crushed her spine, pressing her chest into the wooden platform beneath her. Blood. She smelled blood. Paulo’s, she realized. He’d just been shot in the head.
The marina was scarily silent. No gunfire. No voices or footsteps. Nothing but the soft whisper of the wind.
“Why isn’t he shooting at us?” Sofia’s voice sounded muffled to her ears. Probably because D’s body was stretched on top of her like a two-hundred-pound blanket.
“Because Bryant wants me alive,” he murmured, his breath fanning over her ear.
“You think the sniper belongs to Bryant?”
“Has to. No one else would have been tracking Paulo. The sniper would’ve called it in, too—we’ll probably have company pretty fucking soon.”
Sofia drew a breath, but not a single trace of oxygen reached her lungs. “D, I can’t breathe. You’re crushing me.”
He shifted his position slightly, redistributing his weight to his elbows so his chest wasn’t flat against her back. Sofia inhaled deeply, then said, “What do we now?”
“We make a run for the car.”
Alarm raced through her. “He’ll shoot at us if we run. Maybe we should start crawling.”
“It’s a lot harder to hit a moving target, baby. We run. No, we fucking sprint. On my count, okay?”
Okay? No, not okay. She’d almost faced execution by firing squad not even an hour ago. There was no way she was placing herself in the path of another bullet.
But D’s tone brooked no argument. “On three, we’re going to get up. Keep your head down and stay on my right, understand? We’re running to the passenger side of the car. Not the driver’s side, not the front bumper—the fucking passenger side, all right? And I want you to hit the ground the moment you get there.”
Fear lodged in her throat. “I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I, but we’re sitting ducks here and Bryant’s men are gonna show up any second. We don’t have a choice, Sofia.” His tone became brusque. “On my count.”
She sucked in a breath, fighting to control her racing heartbeat.
“One.”
They were absolutely going to die.
“Two.”
Sofia drew another breath.
“Three.”
D yanked her to her feet and they took off running. His right side—he’d told her to stay on his right. And to keep her head down. God. It was impossible to see where she was going when she was ducking her head. Fifty yards. The car was only fifty yards away.
The frantic slap of their boots on the gravel matched the wild hammering of her heart. They were halfway to the SUV when gravel exploded at her feet, flying up into her face. The sniper had taken another shot. Holy hell, they were really going to die.
“Run,” D growled.
His strides were so much longer than hers that every sharp tug of his hand on her arm nearly sent her airborne. Her lungs burned as she tried to move faster. Damn it, why couldn’t she be taller? Why were her legs so fucking short?
Sofia was panting for air by the time they reached the car.
They’d actually reached the car.
She dove for the passenger’s side and hit the ground just like D had ordered. Sharp pebbles sliced into her palms as she braced them on the gravel. Another burst of fear ignited her belly when she realized D wasn’t beside her anymore. He was crouching near the front tire, one hand snaking beneath the undercarriage of the vehicle, while his feral expression focused intently on the tree line beyond the parking lot.
“Derek,” she whispered. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Grabbing the key. Just stay down.”
A moment later, his hand emerged—with nothing in it. Sofia bit back her panic when D slowly crept toward the front bumper.
“Derek. Goddamn it, don’t leave me.”
He didn’t answer. He was already gone, and from her perch on her stomach, she couldn’t see what he was doing or where he was going. Her heart rate tripled, thudding in her blood and shrieking in her ears until it was all she could focus on. Her entire world had been reduced to deep, pulse-pounding fear.
She jerked when a door slammed. Oh God, had Bryant’s people arrived? She hadn’t heard a car engine. She didn’t hear voices, either.
Except D’s, low and commanding as the door above her head suddenly flew open.
“Get in. Head down.”
Holy shit, he was inside the SUV.
Sofia threw herself into the passenger’s seat and slammed the door, then huddled as low as she could get. “You actually found a key?” she blurted out as D hit the gas.
“Magnetic box under the bumper.”
The car lurched forward, and Sofia braced herself, anticipating gunshots, a shattered windshield, anything. But nothing happened. The sniper wasn’t shooting at them. Why wasn’t he shooting at them?
“How did you know the keys weren’t in Paulo’s pockets?” she said in amazement.
“Because he was undercover,” D answered, as if that explained everything.
“So?”
“So he wouldn’t be stupid enough to carry around keys for a car Mendez didn’t know about. It would raise too many red flags.” D sped up, his hands firm and steady on the wheel. “You can sit up now. We’re good.”
She raised her head, worried when she glimpsed nothing but blackness through the windshield. He hadn’t turned on the headlights. “Where are we going? Back to the safe house?”
“Too risky.”
“Then we need to find a phone. Let Liam know we’re all right.”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
D didn’t seem at all concerned as he drove at a dangerous speed down the dark road. “We need to switch cars first.”
“Why?”
He glanced over. “Anyone ever tell you that you ask a lot of questions?”
“Anyone ever tell you that answering questions with two-syllable responses is annoying?”
An honest-to-God grin filled his face, and despite the fear still surging through her veins and the uneasy suspicion that they were still in grave danger, Sofia found herself grinning back.
• • •
“What do you mean, they’re gone?” Bryant screamed into the phone.
“They took off before we got there, sir.”
“What about Jones?”
“KIA. He snapped, sir. He was two seconds from pulling the trigger on Pratt—Hawk had no choice but to take him out. But you said you wanted Pratt alive, so Hawk didn’t engage.”
Frustration sizzled in his blood. “He should have shot Pratt in the fucking leg, then!”
Christ, was he working with amateurs here? Hawk was a trained Smith operative, the best marksman Bryant had ever employed. The man was perfectly capable of a strategically placed shot meant to injure rather than kill.
“He didn’t have a shot,” Tanner reported. “Pratt isn’t some two-bit hack, sir. He knows what he’s doing.”
Bryant fought
the urge to whip the phone across the room. He drew a calming breath, but just before he could respond, Tanner spoke up again.
“We’ll be able to track him no problem. Sanderson just checked in with some good news.”
Sanderson was running point for the contractors Bryant had dispatched to tail the prisoner, but so far his reports had been uneventful. The prisoner had rendezvoused with two soldiers at an apartment building outside Cancún, and there’d been no notable activity since then.
Bryant perched on the edge of the desk, wrapping the fingers of his free hand over a crystal paperweight, using the circular stone as a stress ball.
“Four mercenaries showed up about thirty minutes ago. Sanderson recognized one of them.”
“Who?”
“Kane Woodland. Former Navy SEAL, left the teams about eight years ago to work in the private sector. For James Morgan.”
Bryant frowned. He knew Morgan only by reputation—but it was quite a reputation. Ranger, black ops, and now a soldier for hire. The man was known for getting shit done, particularly hairy extractions overseas.
Derek was a merc now?
The thought was like a slap to the face. He’d trained the bastard, turned him into an efficient killing machine, and now Derek was a soldier for hire? Rescuing kidnapped CEOs and taking out rebels?
“Order Sanderson and his men to pull back,” Bryant said slowly.
“You’re terminating the surveillance?”
“No. Not a full retreat. I want them to give the mercs a wide berth. We don’t know what Jones may have said before he died. If he admitted to releasing Mendez’s prisoner, then Pratt will warn his team that they’re possibly being watched. And if they work for Morgan, then they’ll be smart enough to make a tail.”
“Roger that.”
“But the moment Pratt makes contact with them, your orders are to move in, understood?” Bryant squeezed the paperweight until his knuckles where whiter than the crisp dress shirt beneath his blazer. “And this time, if it looks like he might be able to escape? Shoot him down like a fucking dog.”
