So much for his theory about her and Logan teaming up against him. Alicia wasn’t here of her own free will and clearly someone, probably Logan, had roughed her up pretty good. And that made John want to do some killing in a bad, bad way.
Steady...
“What about Rory?” he asked. “How does he factor into this grand plan of yours?”
“Don’t you worry about him. There are only two ways off this island—by boat or air. The airports are on lockdown and the island is surrounded by navy, ICE, the U.S. Marshals Service, FBI—you name it, they’re here and all trying to be the ones to take Rory down first. He won’t be leaving this place alive. Bringing Alicia into custody was my crew’s one and only mission.”
“I’ll help you find Rory,” Alicia said. “Think of how it’ll boost your careers if you find him first. I can track him better than anyone.”
“Why would you help us capture him? You’re the one who broke him out of prison.”
“You have no proof.”
“Don’t I?”
Alicia swallowed, which looked as if it took effort given how hard Logan had his gun jammed against her neck. Bastard.
While Logan and Alicia kept up a back-and-forth about proof and being set up, John assessed his options. The van was shot to hell, its tires and windshield destroyed. At some point they were all going to have to get out of the vehicle because this stalemate they were in couldn’t go on indefinitely. John knew they’d try to get out of sight before the authorities showed up. Sure, Logan and his crew were law enforcement officials, but there wasn’t a black ops agent alive who wanted a bunch of uniforms slowing them down or mucking up their operation.
The question John needed to answer in the next thirty seconds or so was how did he get Logan and his crew out of the van, their threat neutralized without killing them, and all while maintaining his position of power? Problems, problems...
“What about me?” he asked, interrupting Logan’s snide response to something Alicia had said.
Logan huffed. “What about you? You’re free to walk away. And I suggest you do so before I change my mind.”
In other words, Logan thought he was harmless. How insulting. Did he not notice John had disabled their van and was holding them all at gunpoint?
“You haven’t left yet.”
“Keen observation.”
“Don’t get ideas about saving your lady love here. Consider this a lesson in who not to give your loyalty to...because it sure isn’t this one. If your positions were reversed, would she save you?”
Not in a million years. She’d already deserted him in the middle of the ocean. He probably could’ve forgiven her for that, except for the minor detail that she still clung to the belief that John was a traitor to his country and helped plot her murder.
The hard truth was that John’s most strategic move would be to walk away, leaving Alicia in Logan’s custody. Since Logan and the rest of the Feds didn’t perceive John as a threat, and with Alicia out of commission, John could hunt down his quarry unencumbered. He had no doubt he could find Rory faster than any of them. The truth was, Alicia being captured and ICE’s underestimation of John’s abilities worked in his favor in every possible way...except for John’s conscience.
Alicia’s life was on the line here. The thought of her languishing in a prison cell for the rest of her life made John’s heart race with panic. No matter what disgraces she thought him guilty of, her opinions didn’t change who John was, with his weakness for loyalty and all.
Rory’s accusations had stripped him of his reputation, his career and the woman he loved, but no one could take away John’s integrity. All he was now was the soldier and man he and his Maker knew him to be. And a soldier didn’t walk away from a teammate in trouble, just like a man didn’t walk away when his woman needed him—even though he wasn’t her man anymore and his days as a soldier were nothing but a fading memory.
Besides, John had never been a big fan of taking the easy way out.
He took his finger off the triggers of his guns and held them up, aimed in the air, like he was surrendering. Really, though, it was a great ruse to get the guns over the top of the van’s roof and out of sight. “All right. Here I go. One question—are you going to shoot me in the back while I walk away?”
“You’re not worth the bullet.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Alicia hadn’t reacted to the news that John was walking away. Not that he’d expected her to—she was too much of a professional. Keeping his expression passive and his eyes on Logan, he squeezed the trigger of his rifle, spraying the teetering balcony post with shots until it gave way and collapsed onto the passenger side of the van with a loud crack.
John dived off the van, out of the way, just before impact.
The force of the falling balcony tipped the van onto its side in a clatter of metal parts and broken glass. It hit the ground hard, dust billowing all around.
John scrambled to his feet and leaped onto the side of the van, to the broken window.
Alicia was grappling with Logan and the woman from the front seat. He’d get to them in a sec, but his first order of business was taking out the man in the back of van. He was partially covered by a fallen beam but still had command of his gun and was shooting wildly. John smashed the butt of his gun into the man’s face.
He stopped shooting and his eyes rolled back before he crumpled, passed out.
John grabbed the man’s gun and tossed it out the window, then transferred his own gun to his left hand, seized Logan by the shirt with his right and hauled him up.
Logan came up swinging and clipped John in the jaw. “What happened to walking away?”
John returned the favor. The impact of his fist on Logan’s cheek felt good. Like when he’d let his fists do the talking with Rory on the speedboat. “Did you really think I could?”
He ducked out of the way of Logan’s next hit, then slammed his shoulder into Logan’s chest and punched him in the gut, knocking him off the side of the van into the ground.
The woman from the front seat had crawled to the back. She and Alicia were going at it in a messy, opportunistic fight, both clearly prevented from making use of their close-combat training given the tight confines of the vehicle.
John jumped up onto the van’s side and got the barrel of his gun right in the woman’s face. “Yeah, you can go ahead and get your hands off Alicia now.”
Shooting daggers at him with her expression, she opened her hands and backed off.
John kept the gun on the operative as he offered Alicia a hand up. “Let’s go. I’m getting you out of here.”
She had the wherewithal to look offended. “I can take care of myself.”
“Really? Is that what was going on here—you taking care of yourself?”
“I was biding my time. I don’t want to owe you.”
John nearly got a cramp in his eyeballs from rolling them so hard. “Phoenix, you already owed me. This doesn’t change anything.”
Ignoring his hand, she pushed past him onto the side, now the top, of the van.
“John, look out!”
He wrenched his gaze up in time to see Logan coming at him. Logan grabbed him and pulled him off the van. With another lunge, Logan sent them careening over the side of the road, down a grassy ridge. John kept a grip on the other man’s shirt as they tumbled.
They landed near the base of a giant metal silo located out back of the rum distillery that was St. Croix’s claim to fame. John shoved him off and scrambled back. Panting, snarling, they faced each other down.
“You’re ready for round two?” John asked.
Logan swiped at a spot of blood in the corner of his lips. “Do you really think you can best me? I trained you.”
He
holstered his gun, then withdrew his knife. “You keep saying that like you think I haven’t picked up a single new move since then.”
Logan sprang forward with a roundhouse kick aimed at his knife-holding hand that John easily sidestepped.
“And I guess you forgot that in training me, you taught me all your moves.”
Logan regained his footing, then reached into a pocket on his cargo pants and brought out a massive, steel sawback bowie knife. “You say that like you think I taught you all my moves.”
For the first time, John noticed the dried blood on Logan’s pants and on his neck. Good job, Phoenix. “I thought you were my ally, but you used me.”
“Try not to sound so hurt. It’s unbecoming.”
They circled each other, breathing hard. John had no idea what Alicia was up to or where she’d gone—for all he knew, she’d taken off in the car he’d stolen—but he didn’t have time to worry about that at the moment.
“Why go after her? She was one of ICE’s best operatives.”
“You don’t think ICE keeps track of its highly classified operatives once they’ve left the agency? Spare me your selective ignorance. You know how the system works. Since Alicia was shot, she hasn’t been mentally sound. She’s a loose cannon loaded with national secrets and lethal skills, which was why I was assigned to keep tabs on her. It was only a matter of time before she broke bad. She proved that today with Alderman’s escape.”
“And you thought I was the perfect tool to get to her?”
“I knew you’d lead us right to her. Which you did.”
And here he’d thought he’d gotten beyond complacency and assumptions about the people in his life. How had he been so naive? He let his anger at himself and his anger at Logan fuse inside him. Adrenaline and power pumping through his veins and right into the hand that held his knife, he rushed Logan, growling as he cut through the air with the blade.
Logan counterattacked. They came together again in a clash of blades and perilously close misses. Logan proved himself the more experienced hand-to-hand fighter of the two, but what John lacked in sparring practice, he made up for in sheer grit and reflexes that were far superior to his opponent’s.
Logan slammed him into the side of the distillery wall, then threw his knife. John ducked, then aimed his knife at the bloody hole on Logan’s pants and lunged.
Together, they crashed through a door on the side of the distillery. He’d fallen into a warehouse loaded floor to ceiling with rows and rows of wooden barrels sitting on shelves. There weren’t any employees in sight, which wasn’t surprising being that it was Sunday.
Satisfied that he wasn’t going to be attacked from some new foe, he whirled around to face Logan, holding the knife in front of his body. He turned in time to see Logan lunging at him.
With a primal growl, Logan hooked his arm, slicing the air with his knife. Rather than clash blades, John dived sideways, putting all his momentum into a rolling tumble that crashed him into the nearest row of barrels. The shelves teetered and the barrels sitting on it jiggled, but none fell on his head, which was all he really cared about at the moment.
He leaped to his feet, but Logan didn’t let him get far. He came at John again, brandishing his blade. John met him halfway. Their knives clanked against each other, buying John time to get his other arm involved. He clamped his left hand around Logan’s right wrist, holding his knife away as he threw his weight forward, sending Logan’s back into the shelves behind him.
This time, the shelving unit teetered, then crashed. They fell into the mess of leaking rum and splintered wood, John still holding Logan’s wrist.
This wasn’t going to work. He wasn’t crazy about the idea of killing a government operative, despite Logan’s betrayal, and he was wasting time he should be spending in search of Rory. Add to that the irritating truth that Alicia had deserted him again, this time with John’s stolen car and his bag of money and weapons, and the inevitability that the police were going to show up any minute, if they weren’t waiting outside to arrest him already, and John felt confident in concluding that he needed to get the hell out of Frederiksted and regroup.
What he needed was a new plan to take Logan down in a temporary way, then get on with the business of capturing Rory. He dropped his knife and socked Logan hard in the jaw, disorienting him long enough that he was able to push off with his leg and roll them over, pinning Logan to the ground.
“Give it up, Logan. I’m going to best you in every battle. Just like I did when you were so-called training me.”
“Freeze!” shouted a voice in the distance.
John raised his attention. Through the broken door, up high on the hill he and Logan had slid down were two of Logan’s teammates, racing toward them with their guns trained on John, though he knew they’d never shoot until Logan was out of the way.
“So much for your training,” Logan said with a sneer. “You’re forgetting about the first and most important rule I taught you—always have backup.” Logan spoke in that smooth voice that made John want to punch him again. In fact, that wasn’t such a bad idea. He wound back and slugged him in the jaw just for the pleasure of watching his eyes cross in pain.
Logan was right, though. He was about to be outnumbered and outgunned—which meant he was right back in his comfort zone as an underdog. No problem.
He kneed Logan in his family jewels to slow him down, then leaped to his feet and zigzagged through the aisles and into a second room, this one housing enormous vats as tall as a one-story house.
He took a side trip up a set of metal stairs to a catwalk over the vats of fermenting sugarcane to give himself the benefit of a superior position, then squeezed off a handful of rounds at Logan’s legs as he took the catwalk stairs three at a time in pursuit.
John got his gun up and took a few more shots at the two black ops commandos bursting into the room. One of the bullets must have hit the fermenting liquid in one of the vats behind Logan because it exploded in a whoosh of flames and energy that knocked John off his feet. His leg lolled over the side, dangling over the bubbling vat below. He let go of his gun and gripped the opposite edge of the metal walk, stopping his momentum before he fell any farther off the edge.
“Are you crazy?” Logan spat. John raised his head to see most of Logan’s body dangling off the walk as he pulled himself up using the safety railing. If John weren’t so determined to avoid killing Logan, all he would’ve needed to do was squeeze off a single round to the vat below him and boom! Bu-bye, frenemy.
Since he wasn’t keen on adding murder to his growing list of crimes, he chose to turn and run. There was no shame in taking the path of least resistance in black ops, not when it avoided further violence. At the top of the catwalk stairs on the opposite side of the building, he squeezed off a couple purposefully wide shots to slow Logan’s momentum, then flew down the stairs.
“At this rate you’re going to blow us up, along with this entire building,” Logan shouted.
Great idea.
He pivoted in place, assessing his options. Logan’s teammates had joined him on the catwalk, leaving the aisle wide-open for John to dart back into the barrel room. As predicted, Logan and his men followed. John held his breath against the alcohol fumes, knocking barrels over and shooting holes in others as he ran through the room. Brown liquid splashed down and pooled on the floor.
As soon as he reached the threshold door leading to the gift shop, he turned. Logan and his men were standing a few feet behind the closest spilled rum, their guns out and ready and a trail of rum streaking from the puddle to their feet as though they’d overshot the rum before realizing that John’s intention was to set the room on fire.
John ducked behind the metal gift shop counter and took an incendiary grenade out of his bag. He crouched, ready to bolt, then peered around the side. One of the men shot at him, dimpl
ing the metal counter. Nice try.
He held the grenade out so it was visible to Logan and his men, making it real clear that he was about to throw it and they’d best be on their way before it detonated. He shouted, “Fire in the hole!”
“Don’t do it, John.”
Like he was in the business of taking advice from the people who were trying to kill him. He glanced around the corner of the counter again, zeroed in on a spot right in the middle of the room, pulled the pin and tossed it.
Chapter 6
Logan shouted for his men to run. Goodness knew that’s what John was doing. The rum distillery’s gift shop door was locked and chained closed, so he unloaded the rest of his magazine onto the glass, then shouldered his way out as the barrel room exploded into a belch of flame and violent energy that threw him to the concrete ground.
With a shake of his head to clear it, he jumped up and sprinted past the front gate of the distillery, his head on a swivel looking for Logan’s crew or the cops. Above the ringing in his ears from the roar of flame and explosives emerged the sound of sirens wailing in approach. He pushed himself faster, eyeing a car repair garage two blocks away.
At his first glimpse of a car bumper, he threw himself into a thicket of vines and shrubs on the side of the road. Another look, though, and he realized it was the stolen hatchback, with Alicia at the wheel. He gaped at the car in shock and wonder...and a heaping dose of relief.
She screeched to a stop in the middle of the road. “Get in,” she called through the open passenger’s window.
She didn’t have to ask twice. Before he’d gotten the door closed, the tires squealed as she stomped on the gas pedal. He didn’t inhale a full breath until the rum distillery was out of sight and she’d slowed to a respectable speed that wouldn’t draw attention.
He couldn’t figure out how to ask what he was most curious about without sounding offensive, but he decided to ask her, anyway. “Why did you help me? You could have taken off.”
Hot on the Hunt Page 6
