Elite Ops Complete Series

by Lora Leigh

  Myron gave a quick, brief nod of acceptance, his expression approving, as though he were staring back at two well-behaved children.

  The bastard.

  “The missiles were definitely a coup,” John stated. “How did he pull it off?”

  Myron’s smile was filled with pride now. “As I said, some men will do anything to ensure that their weaknesses are hidden. Warbucks came across a rumor that a particular general enjoyed a rather perverted sexual taste. He managed to acquire pictures of the man partaking of the act, showed them to him, and then requested the information he needed to acquire the missiles.”

  Bailey felt John’s bicep as it tightened behind her head. A dozen soldiers had been severely wounded and several had died when Warbucks had acquired the weapon. Myron spoke of it as though it were something to be proud of, rather than the heinous act it was.

  As the Hummer moved through the heavy snowfall, conversation waned into an almost comfortable silence. Bailey was plotting, planning the acquisition of a weapon. She knew John would be doing the same. Weapons would be the first priority.

  If John’s plan succeeded, then the team backing him would be in place within minutes of their arrival at the warehouse. Once the weapons were verified and Warbucks identified, the eight-man team backing John would move in.

  It was John and Bailey’s job to acquire weapons and restrain Warbucks.

  As John’s fingers played with her hair along the neck of her jacket, she felt the skin tag on her arm activate and begin to heat.

  The sensation lasted for two minutes, the heat building to a pinprick burn before easing away.

  “Warbucks has been hoping to bring you back into the fold for many years,” Myron mentioned as he pulled a flask from his jacket, opened it, and drank from it. The scent of aged whiskey drifted through the back of the limo.

  “I was never out of it,” Bailey stated. “I was merely rebelling for a while.”

  “As all children do.” Myron nodded as he returned the flask to his pocket.

  Bailey caught the concerned look Raymond shot John. There was something not quite right here. Not dangerous, but not right. The hairs on the back of her neck weren’t standing up in warning; rather, they were tingling in distrust.

  As the Hummer approached the city, it turned off onto another paved road and headed around the back of Aspen. Bailey had a pretty good idea where they were going now.

  The warehouses had been abandoned ten or fifteen years before. They were still standing, still sturdy, but heavily guarded.

  The tracking tag on her collarbone heated as they passed through the guard post. Military-erect, weapons held ready, the guards were impassive and cold.

  They were mercenaries, she thought; she knew the sort. Icy-eyed, merciless, bloody. She might even have recognized that one.

  The limo pulled through the warehouse yards, moving to the very end of the row of half a dozen huge buildings.

  “He doesn’t have a regular security force?” Bailey asked. She could see several other mercenaries milling around.

  “He doesn’t need one,” Myron told them as the Hummer pulled into the open door of the last warehouse.

  They pulled in a few feet from another Hummer limo. Four guards stood around the vehicle, watching them coldly, intently.

  “We’ll check the items up for auction first,” Myron stated, his voice strangely hollow as he turned back to Bailey.

  Bailey nodded, watching him carefully as she felt John’s arm tighten around her.

  The door opened and Myron got out. As Raymond followed he turned back and glanced at her before nodding slightly.

  They were checked for weapons immediately. The guards were chillingly polite, well trained, and thorough. Finally, they nodded at Myron.

  “Move back.” He waved the guards away as he held out his arm to Bailey and John. “Come along, children, let’s check out the newest toys up for sale.”

  Bailey moved closer to him despite the concern in John’s gaze. She felt Myron’s arm go around her shoulder, and with a sense of shock felt the weapon that slid into the pocket of her coat.

  The handgun was heavy, clip-loaded. When her gaze met Myron’s, she saw something more there. Wariness, fatality. He knew tonight was going to see Warbucks’s reign coming to an end. Somehow, he knew it was all an act.

  “I’ve known you since you were a child,” he said quietly as they moved along the warehouse. “You were almost my favorite, did you know that?”

  She swallowed tightly and shook her head.

  “Warbucks was always temperamental. He didn’t care for others as you did.”

  Her heart was racing now as she realized he was talking too low for John or Raymond to hear him.

  “What’s going on?” she asked him.

  “I disabled the jammers this morning,” he said quietly. “Whatever devices you’ve managed to use have been working. I know what you are, I know why you’re here. I always have.”

  She almost paused. She would have if he hadn’t kept her moving.

  “I’m old and tired,” he said quietly. “And I voted for our current president. I believe in him.”

  “God, what are you doing?” she whispered.

  “Saving you, I pray,” he stated. “Don’t take anything at face value. Don’t believe in friendships of the past, don’t trust in them. Remember, psychopaths have no friends, no family.”

  They moved to the end of the warehouse and a small enclosed office.

  “In here.” He moved away from her, unlocked the office, and stepped inside. “I’ll remain with Raymond and leave you to inspect the product at your leisure.”

  Bailey and John stepped inside.

  There was no chance to warn him of the conversation. The cameras in the corner of each wall were wired with audio and—she was guessing—pretty damned sensitive.

  In the middle of the room sat a long table, and on that table was a portable launcher and four missiles.

  Bailey stood back so John could have the room he needed to check them out. As he brushed against her, she maneuvered her body until his hand brushed against the heavy weight of the gun she was carrying.

  His head jerked back to her in shock, his gaze narrowing as he felt the weapon before he turned back to the table and began to check the weapons.

  This was it. It was almost over.

  She leaned back against the wall and shoved her hands into her pockets. Her fingers curled around the butt of the gun, and in it she found a measure of comfort, as well as concern.

  Myron had betrayed Warbucks? It didn’t make sense. Nearly two decades of following the traitor and suddenly he was turning on him. Why would he do that?

  “This is it,” John murmured as he checked first one missile, then the other. “The product is viable and authentic.”

  She watched as he covered the watch with his other hand, his fingers activating whatever it had been designed for. Shit was going to hit the fan, she could feel it.

  “We have an auction then?” she asked.

  At the same moment the skin tag at her lower back begin to burn. That one was for one purpose. They had ten seconds to take cover.

  One. Two. Three. She stared at John, seeing his face as he carefully laid a wooden cover over the box that protected the missiles.

  Four. Five. Six. She moved to the entrance of the office, checked the empty building beyond them.

  Seven. Eight. Nine. She gripped Myron’s and Raymond’s jackets and gave a hard jerk, pulling them into the office as all hell outside began to let loose.

  “Here.” She pulled the gun from her pocket and passed it to John as gunfire began to erupt and voices began to scream in warning.

  How many damned mercenaries were there?

  Turning to Raymond and Myron, she shot them a hard look as John moved to the door and looked out carefully.

  “Stay here, you’ll be safe,” she yelled at them.

  Raymond looked dangerous, furious. His weaselly expression was pul
led into hard, cold lines as he glared at both her and John and then the weapon.

  “Ask him.” She nodded to Myron. “He’s the one who gave it to me.”

  Myron slunk to the corner of the room, then slowly let his body slide down until he was hunched into a protective ball, his face pale, frightened at the sounds of gunfight outside.

  “We have to get to Warbucks before he gets out of here,” Bailey yelled to John.

  “We protect the missiles,” he bit out, his voice commanding. “We’ll get Warbucks. If these missiles get away, then we’re fucked.”

  If Warbucks got away, then they were all fucked anyway. She couldn’t promise that Myron would turn on the man he was obviously so close to.

  “Fine, you protect the missiles.” Before he could stop her she was out the door.

  She heard him yelling before her, his voice brutally enraged, as she tore off her coat to give her freedom of movement, then jumped behind several wooden boxes for cover.

  Mercenaries were trying to clear the path for the limo. A heavy army truck blocked the exit, but several men were fighting to get to it.

  Heading for the limo, she worked her way around the boxes, moving behind one of the soldiers silently, her gaze trained on his body, her mind on the automatic weapon he was carrying.

  She was within feet of him when a shot sounded behind her and the soldier slumped to the floor, gun and all.

  Whirling around she stared in shock at John.

  “Not alone you’re not,” he growled. “And if those missiles come up missing then we’re both dead, and there will be no return.”

  They rushed to the body, stripped it of weapons.

  “Get to the limo, I’ll cover you. Wait for me before you go in,” John ordered.

  Bailey nodded quickly before surprising him with a hard, quick kiss. Then she turned, took the automatic rifle from him, and headed out again.

  Thankfully the soldiers were more concerned with the black-garbed figures trying to kill them than they were with the broker and his lover trying to escape.

  If she was lucky, very damned lucky, then Warbucks had made it plain that she wasn’t to be killed now, either. She wasn’t betting her life on it, but she was sure as hell hoping.

  “Keep moving,” John yelled as more mercenaries poured into the warehouse. “Get to that limo.”

  He was firing off rounds as she raced across the last distance to the vehicle. Throwing the door open, she flung herself into the interior and received the surprise of her life.

  “Grant?” She stared into Grant Waterstone’s clearly drugged eyes as he smiled back at her goofily.

  “Hell, could’ve swore I got you killed,” he chuckled. “That Colombian wasn’t near as good as Grace told me he’d be.”

  Grace. Ford Grace. He was Warbucks, and he had been the one to betray her to Alberto.

  “What the hell do you mean by that?”

  Grant laughed at the question. “I warned you, Bailey. He’s a crazed motherfucker.” He wagged his finger at her. “Loyalty, my girl. Loyalty. Too bad. Grace is packing. He’s flying away.” He flapped his wrists in a gesture of a bird flying. “Fly away, birdie.”

  Drug paraphernalia littered the back of the limo. Evidently he’d consumed quite a good part of the product.

  “Where is Ford going?” she yelled at him.

  “Ford?” Grant shook his head. “Not Ford. That old man is crazy. Wagner. He has the money. He’s gonna fly away home.”

  Jules.

  Her head jerked around. She watched as one of the mercenaries finally jumped into the truck blocking the entrance and began to move it away. At the same time, John jumped into the driver’s seat of the car.

  “The Grace mansion,” Bailey yelled out to him. “Get there now. He’s getting ready to run.”

  She heard John curse violently. But the car slid into gear and in the next second the tires were screaming as he laid the gas to it, turned, and shot out of the narrow opening that had been created for the Hummer.

  They ignored the mercenaries’ yells, demands, and gunfire. Grant was yee-hawing, laughing uproariously as John shot through the warehouse yards to the gate.

  “We’re crashing through it,” John yelled back at her.

  “Go for it.” She braced her body for the impact and watched Grant go tumbling as the heavy vehicle sliced through the chain gate.

  Snow fell around them, cold seeping into her bones. Myron’s words came back to her: Psychopaths have no friends.

  Grant’s words. Not Ford. That old man is crazy.

  It wasn’t Ford Grace.

  A part of her soul ached, cried out in pain. It wasn’t Ford, it was Wagner, and he had Jules.

  Insurance, she thought. Like Myron, he’d had his suspicions, and now he was hedging his bets. With Jules.

  CHAPTER 22

  “WE HAVE THREE MEN JOINING us,” John yelled as he inserted an earbud communications device in his ear and drove the treacherous roads with easy skill. “Myron confirmed Warbucks is Wagner Grace and that he has Ford and Mary with him. He had two mercenaries pick her up this evening.”

  He passed her a communicator that she inserted quickly.

  “He’s going to be expecting us,” she warned him. “He’s suspected us all along.”

  “He wanted to believe you would be loyal to him. When you threw that disk away, you convinced him you could be. But he doesn’t fully trust. No one in his position would have.”

  No one who really knew her would have believed she could have turned against her country, she thought. Myron had known, but he hadn’t told Warbucks. He had taken his chances, knowing that Wagner was pushing into fields that were going to get too many killed.

  The other man had grown a conscience of sorts. How and why, she wasn’t certain.

  “A helicopter is on its way to the Grace mansion,” a female voice reported calmly over the link. “ETA is in twenty minutes.”

  “He’s getting ready to run.” She gripped the automatic rifle she still carried in her hands. “If he flies out of here, then we’ve lost him.”

  “Well, let’s just make damned sure he doesn’t fly out,” he cursed. “Hold on.”

  He hit the gas harder, causing the limo to jerk into gear as it began to power through the snow falling heavily around them. The drive to the Grace mansion wasn’t a long one. Ford had always liked having his material possessions close at hand.

  As they accelerated up the drive that led to the mansion, Bailey quickly checked the weapon she carried for ammo before shoving another clip in her pocket, as well as the ankle backup John had stolen off the soldier he had killed.

  “You have to give me the appearance of going in alone,” she told him imperatively. “Come in after me and cover me. Let’s see if I can get Ford and Mary, then we’ll do what we have to do once we’ve rescued them.”

  She could tell he didn’t like this, but he nodded sharply. “I’ll be right on your ass,” he warned her as they neared the house.

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she promised him.

  “All cameras in the house have been jammed,” the voice at their ear assured them. “You have a four-minute window to reach the office.”

  Plenty of time.

  “Location of all heat signatures?” John requested.

  “Heat signatures show three people only in the house, Heat Seeker,” the female voice on the other side of the link announced. “One in the office, two in an anteroom.”

  “That has to be them,” Bailey murmured as John slammed to a stop in front of the house.

  The limo was still rocking when Bailey jumped out, shoved her weapon into the back of her jeans, and strode to the front door.

  It was unlocked. Opening it carefully, she stepped warily into the warmth of the house.

  It had been years since she’d been here. The last time she had stayed all night with Anna when they had both been no more than children. Before she had been killed. Betrayed.

  But had Anna
’s life ended at her father’s hands—or at her brother’s?

  Moving into the marble foyer, Bailey turned through the receiving room, then to the short hallway that led to the back of the house.

  Ford’s office was at the back of the house, just as Raymond’s was at the cabin. There were two anterooms: a sitting room and a second, smaller office. The house was wired with cameras into the office, but only one person was in there. If he was watching the cameras, he would know something was wrong. She could get lucky, she thought. It could be Ford harmlessly working away, with Wagner waiting to pounce. They could be ignoring the monitors, but she highly doubted it.

  She didn’t expect to get that lucky, but she could hope.

  Holding the rifle ready she moved to the office, noticing that the door was cracked open. Glancing back silently at John, she peeked into the room and saw Ford working silently at his desk. The monitors to the house were turned off, but if she wasn’t mistaken there were actually more in the smaller office.

  She eased the door open until it was flush against the back wall and stood in the doorway as John remained hidden at the side of the wall.

  Ford glanced up in surprise.

  “Bailey?” He came slowly to his feet, a frown on his face as he glared at the rifle. “What the hell is the meaning of this?”

  He was genuinely surprised. She was still shocked.

  “Where’s Wagner, Ford?” She glanced at the door to the other office.

  “Wagner left earlier.” He shook his head in bemusement. “I haven’t seen him all evening.”

  “Wagner’s here.” She walked farther into the room, lowering her weapon on the far door as it slowly opened.

  If she lived a hundred years she would never forget the sight that met her eyes.

  Mary’s delicate face was bruised. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut, her lips swollen, her cheek black and blue. Dear God, Wagner had hit her.

  He had her braced in front of his body, a smile on his face, a gun at her temple.

  “Wagner.” Ford’s voice was strangled as his son stepped into the room using Jules as a shield. “My God …”

  “Bailey.” Mary’s voice was thin, betrayed. Tears leaked from her swollen eyes and dripped down her face. “Bailey, what’s going on?”