“Tank.” She called him back with the hand motion Ian had showed her. He immediately released the bite and ran over to her. “Let’s go.”
She ran toward the beach, checking over her shoulder to make sure the surviving attacker wasn’t watching. He wasn’t. He hadn’t so much as lifted his head. He’d either passed out from the pain in his ruined arm or he was damn close to it. She scanned for other threats, but didn’t expect any, and sure enough, the grounds were clear. The Tango leader seemed like a smart enough guy. He had a limited supply of men—which, hallelujah, was awesome news for the good guys— and he wouldn’t risk sending more than two.
Still, that didn’t mean she was going to hang around any longer.
At the water’s edge, Tank scooped up his red ball and splashed into the surf. She called him to her. “Sorry, buddy. Now’s not the time to play.”
But he didn’t seem to mind. He was happy to gallop alongside her, his bloodstained tongue again lolling around the ball.
She had to get back to the cabana and let the guys know what she’d discovered. Yes, the situation looked grim, but it was not impossible. There had to be a way to rescue their guys and the hostages without anyone dying.
As she ran, the sand giving under her feet, the ocean breeze cooling the sweat on her bare skin, a thought occurred to her and she skidded to a halt.
The boat.
Cut off their escape route.
She dropped the dead man’s weapons into the sand and searched until—
Ah-ha. Grenade.
“Tank, stay.” She gave him the hand single and he sat, ball still in his mouth. She ran back in the direction she’d come, but kept going when she reached the main building. With how fast they had closed in on the resort, their boat had to be somewhere nearby.
And there it was, just around the next bend in the beach. Unguarded. Perfect. Grinning, she ran up to it, pulled the grenade’s pin, and let it fly. Just as she turned to take cover, she spotted two figures walking hand-in-hand toward the damn boat. She flung herself at the young couple, knocking them to the sand an instant before the explosion rocked the beach.
The woman shrieked. The man shook his head like he couldn’t understand what was happening. They both had shiny new rings on their fingers. Honeymooners.
Lanie pulled them both upright and looked the man square in the face. “Get your wife out of here. The hotel is under attack. Leave. Don’t pack and don’t go anywhere near the main building. Just get as far away from the resort as you can.”
“W-what?” he stuttered. He stared at the flaming debris from the boat, and her words finally registered. He grabbed his wife’s hand and pulled her to her feet.
Lanie watched until they were out of sight, then inspected her handiwork. Yeah, that boat wasn’t going anywhere on the water.
The bad guys were now stuck on this island, just like HORNET.
Chapter Nineteen
“Where are the locals?”
Jesse looked up from pulling glass out of a woman’s leg and found Ian standing over him. The woman recoiled, her calf muscle going tense in his hand. Irritation spiked through him, and he released a soft breath to dispel it. He focused on the woman and offered a smile. “It’s okay,” he said. Even though she didn’t speak English, he was careful to keep his voice soft and gentle. He carefully set her leg down and stood, motioning for Ian to follow him outside with a jerk of his head.
Ian stepped over the woman like she was nothing more than a log blocking his path. Jesus.
As soon as they were out of earshot, he whirled. “You need to keep the hell away from my patients. You’re scarin’ them and they’ve had enough terror for one night, don’t ya think?”
Ian crossed his arms in front of him. In deference to the island heat, his ever-present leather jacket was absent, and his heavily muscled arms bulged under the ink covering every inch of skin from wrist to the sleeve of his white T-shirt. “I’m not the fucking bad guy here.”
“Then stop stompin’ around scowlin’ at everyone.”
Seth seemed to appear out of nowhere—the sniper could move like a ghost when he wanted to—and stepped between them. “Guys. C’mon. This isn’t helping.”
“Stay out of this, Hero,” Ian said, knocking aside the scarred hand Seth set on his shoulder.
Seth ignored him. “Hey. I know you’re losing your shit about Tank. And you”—he sent a pointed look in Jesse’s direction—“about Lanie. They’re both going to be fine. They’ll take care of each other.”
Ian seemed to deflate, the fight going out of him for a moment. There were only two men able to talk Ian down when he got into one of his pissed-off-at-the-world moods—Gabe and, strangely, Seth. It was kind of amazing to watch because Jesse never had any luck talking to the guy.
“Still doesn’t change my question,” Ian said after a second and straightened his shoulders again. “Where are the locals? Martinique has a police force, and last I knew the French military had a significant presence on the island. So where the hell is everyone? This resort should be crawling with cops, but so far the only two I’ve seen are Lanie and Danny G.”
“Lanie’s not a Ranger anymore,” Jesse muttered. But, yeah, it was a good question. Not that he would admit it out loud. Ian was the only man on the team he had no interest in getting along with. The guy just rubbed him the wrong way. Had from day one. And he was pretty sure the feeling was mutual. Ian didn’t like anyone except his dog. And maybe, occasionally, Seth. The two men had forged some kind of rapport a couple years ago in the mountains of Afghanistan. Though why Seth or anyone else would want to be friends with a volatile asshole who thought blowing shit up was the best form stress relief and torture was a perfectly acceptable means of gathering intel was beyond Jesse’s understanding.
Ian grunted. “Once a cop, always a cop.”
“Spoken like a man who’s had more than his fair share of run-ins with the police.”
Ian’s lip curled and he stepped forward. “Yeah, well, nobody can live up to the perfection of Saint Jesse.”
“Holy fuck,” Seth said in exasperation. He shoved first Jesse’s shoulder, then Ian’s, separating them. “You two need to kiss and make up already because we don’t have time for this shit. We have men in trouble and I’ve already lost one team. I’m sure as fuck not about to lose another because of you two asswipes.”
“Are they at each other again?” Danny G’s voice sounded from the darkness a moment before he and Marcus appeared on the path. “Are they always like this?”
“Yeah,” Marcus said with a heavy sigh. “They’re like oil and water. The Sharks and the Jets. Rocky and Creed. Maverick and Iceman. Thor and Loki. Jacob and Edward.”
“Twilight?” Seth said, one brow arched. “Really?”
“Hey. You caught the reference. What’s that say about you?”
“That I have a fiancée, an older sister, and a teenage niece.”
Danny clapped Marcus on the shoulder. “Man, you need a woman. You spend way too much time on Netflix and not enough on chill.”
Marcus shrugged that off and turned back to the original convo. “Dudes. Seth’s right.” He waggled a finger between Jesse and Ian. “We have guys in trouble so let’s shelf the Hatfields and McCoys shit for the moment, okay?”
They were all right. This stupid rivalry he had going with Ian wasn’t helping. He held out a hand, intent on burying the hatchet, at least for the time being, but an explosion thundered through the air.
Everyone froze and looked toward the beach just as a furry, dog-sized bullet shot through the palm trees and all but tackled Ian.
Ian staggered backward, the dog’s weight nearly knocking him off his feet until he stabilized himself. He buried his hands in Tank’s fur and made a weird, rusty sound. It took Jesse a moment to realize it was a laugh.
Laughter. From Ian.
He didn’t think the guy knew how.
“Good boy. You’re a good dog, Tanky.” Ian pushed the dog down and his sm
ile faded as his hand came away red from Tank’s fur. His expression was one of horror before he shut it down, replaced it with an inscrutable mask. “Warrick—”
Jesse wasn’t listening. He was too focused on that blood painting Ian’s palm, splattered all over Tank’s fur. He heard the explosion again so clearly he almost thought there had been a second. His heart rocketed into his throat. “Where’s Lanie?”
He didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud until a firm hand landed on his shoulder. It belonged to Danny G, and the guy’s dark eyes were solemn and kind. He had a way about him, a calming effect that was probably why he and Marcus had made such a kick-ass team as FBI hostage negotiators. Marcus was the buddy, the charmer. Danny, the calm voice of reason.
But Jesse didn’t want to be reasonable now. Those bastards in the hotel were already holding his kid hostage. If they had hurt Lanie, too…
The hand tightened on his shoulder, holding him back, and only then did he realize he’d lunged toward the path leading to the beach. Danny was talking, saying something in a fast, urgent tone, but the words didn’t compute. The angry red haze that he’d spent so much of his adult life fighting against had enveloped his mind, and all he could think of was getting to his son, finding Lanie, and ripping the people who had hurt them limb from limb.
“I’m goin’ to kill them. I’m goin’ to kill them. I’mgoin’tofuckin’killthem—”
Danny’s grip left his shoulder and was replaced with hands on each side of his face. Soft, feminine hands with golden-brown skin. He blinked once, and again to clear the haze from his vision.
Lanie.
Her lips moved, but the fog hadn’t cleared enough to comprehend what she was saying. He raised a hand, touched her check. Yes, she really was here.
All right. She was here. She was safe. The blood wasn’t hers.
She leaned into his palm and smiled. “Hey, cowboy,” she said in a soft, soothing voice. “You back with us now?”
He had to swallow to settle his heart back in his chest where it belonged, but even then he didn’t trust his voice, so he simply nodded. His surroundings were starting to come back into focus. The guys all stood in a loose semi-circle around him with stunned expressions on their faces.
“Whoa,” Seth breathed.
Even Ian looked surprised, which was a pretty big deal. Usually his expression came in two flavors—sneer or master poker player.
Danny was rubbing his jaw and for the first time, Jesse noticed the sting in his hand. He glanced down. His knuckles were red and starting to bruise.
“Oh shit. Did I—?”
Danny waved a hand. “No worries. I’ve taken worse hits. It’s fine.”
No. No, it wasn’t fine. He’d snapped. Lost his cool and had hurt a friend. Which he’d promised himself would never, ever happen again. He was feeling too much, letting his emotions control him again instead of logic and reason. All because of Lanie. And he didn’t care. All he cared about right now was that she was okay. He dragged her into his arms, ignoring the sparks of pain the tight embrace set off throughout his body, and buried his face in her braids.
“What happened?”
“They were trying to get Gabe to talk. Were going to shoot Quinn and Harvard. I had to distract them. Their leader sent two guys after me. I got one. Tank got the other. Oh, and I tossed a grenade into their boat.”
“Christ, Lanie. You were only supposed to get intel. You weren’t supposed to get close enough to engage.”
“I wasn’t supposed to get close?” she repeated incredulously and pulled out of his arms. She propped a hand on her hip. “How else did you expect me to get the intel we need? I couldn’t see shit from the beach.”
It had been a stupid risk. He hated that she’d taken it, but at the same time, knew she was right. They needed to know what they were up against.
And still.
“You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Lanie—”
“Jesse,” she said in the same frustrated tone. “Tell me something. If Marcus had taken the same risk would you be pissed at him? What about Seth or Ian or Danny? Would you be standing here arguing with them about how dangerous it was, or would you be strategizing right now? Hmm?”
“I’m not—” He cut himself off before he finished the thought.
And she jumped right on that. “You’re not what? C’mon, finish the sentence, cowboy. You’re not sleeping with them?”
“O-kay,” Danny said, drawing the word out. “Let’s all take break here, yeah?”
Jesse ground his back teeth and told himself to chill out. He was way too fucking raw right now and should remove himself until he got his shit under control again. Too many emotions seethed right there at the surface and if he let them bubble over again, he might do more than punch someone. He might lose all control and find himself back in that dark, dark hole he’d worked so hard to claw his way out of last time.
Yeah. A break was a good idea.
He limped away from the group without a destination in mind. He just needed a few minutes to center himself before he became completely unhinged. He kept shuffling along until he reached the beach.
The moon was bright and cast a long white streak across the water from horizon to beach. With the way the beach curved, he couldn’t see the hotel, but he saw the lights from it over the tops of the palm trees. His son was in there. Every time he thought too much about it, bile surged into his throat, coating his tongue in the acrid taste of fear.
His boy.
His friends.
Somehow, he had to get them all out of there.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement in the water and spun toward it, reaching for a gun he didn’t have. Ian. Not a threat, but he still couldn’t make himself relax. Tank splashed in the waves while Ian threw his ball in long arcs down the beach in the opposite direction of Jesse. Neither man nor dog had noticed him yet.
He watched the two of them, fascinated despite himself. They functioned like a life-long team, which was downright disturbing. Weren’t dogs supposed to have a good sense for people? What the hell did Tank see in Ian that made him so loyal to the psychopath?
Tank finally noticed him and bounded over, happy for the additional company. Ian turned and his easy smile faded back into his usual scowl. “Are you checking up on me now? Jesus. No wonder your son hates you. I’ll be at the briefing on time. Tank had to wash the blood off.”
Jesse opened his mouth to retort, but all that came out was a weak, “Connor hates me? Did he tell you that?”
Like with dogs, Ian seemed to connect to kids better than adults. It was entirely possible he and Connor had bonded at some point.
Ian grunted. “All teenagers hate their parents. I sure as fuck did.” He flung the ball in a huge arc again and Tank rocketed after it. “But then I had a complete asshole for a father. Connor only has a half asshole. Guess he’s lucky.”
Jesse surprised himself by laughing. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it. I still don’t like you.”
He suddenly recalled Lanie once asking him what his problem was with Ian. He’d found the question uncomfortable, itchy, and claustrophobic, like a wool sweater against bare skin on a hot summer day, and he never wanted to examine the answer too closely. But here and now, he suddenly knew why. The reason was crystal clear and unavoidable. In Ian, he saw the man he could’ve been. The man he had been for a short time. All that disappointed idealism. All that anger. Ian expressed it by being a psycho. Years ago, Jesse had tried to find a cure for it at the bottom of a bottle. If he’d continued down that road, would he be Ian now? He shuddered to think it, but yeah, that was precisely why he found the man so repulsive. It was kind of like looking in a mirror and hating your reflection.
“Yeah, nothin’s changed,” he agreed softly, though he kind of doubted it. “Feelin’s still mutual, pal.” He turned away, i
ntent on going back to the cabana.
“Warrick.”
He considered ignoring Ian’s call, but in the end, he didn’t. He glanced back, but didn’t respond.
Ian stood with the moon to his back. It highlighted his skull-trimmed hair and shadowed the sharp edges and valleys of his face, and the effect was altogether eerie. The streak of white across the water seemingly led right to his feet. “Connor will be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”
With that, he threw the ball again, then ran along with the dog when Tank took off after it.
“He’s not the devil you make him out to be,” Lanie’s voice said softly behind him.
“He’s not a saint, either.”
“Like you?” she asked.
“I’m not a saint.” He closed his eyes and inhaled as she moved closer. Despite everything, she still smelled faintly of berries.
“You try awful hard to be.” She set a hand on his back, and he leaned in to her touch. He couldn’t help himself. He needed something to ground him right now, and her touch did.
“Jesus, Lanie,” he finally muttered and turned to drag her against him. He dropped his mouth to hers, and the meeting of their lips was more a possessive brand than a kiss. She melted, just for a moment, before breaking away.
He cupped her cheeks in his hands. “What you did tonight…”
She gripped his wrists. “I’d do it again. We needed to know what we’re up against—”
His thumb strayed over her lips, silencing her. “You are the bravest woman I know and that scares the hell out of me.” He could’ve lost her tonight. He could still lose her. He could lose everyone he cared anything about, and he wouldn’t survive it.
His throat closed. “I get what you did, but that doesn’t stop me from bein’ so fuckin’ scared when you pull shit like that.”
Her muscles tensed and he knew instantly he’d said the wrong thing. She deftly extracted herself from his embrace. One minute their bodies touched, the next all kinds of space opened up between them.
“What was that?” she asked.
He dropped his hands to his sides. “What?”
Code of Honor (HORNET) Page 13
