Jesse considered the first aid kit. “His lung is damaged. Without my trauma kit, I can’t do anythin’.”
“Where is it?”
Jesse kept his gaze focused on Briggs, careful not to give any indication that he was also speaking to Gabe, Quinn, and Harvard. “In my room. On the fourth floor.”
Translation: the cavalry is coming from above.
Briggs’s lip peeled off his upper teeth in a sneer. “Exactly where we have your friends trapped. Convenient. What else do you have up there?”
“Nothing but my trauma kit. Think about it. If I had weapons in my room, our friends wouldn’t be trapped.”
Briggs said nothing. Just stood there, staring down at Kennion.
“Do you want him to die?” Jesse demanded. “Because that’s what’ll happen without immediate medical attention.”
“People die all the time.”
“Hope you’re gettin’ paid well. That money will be a real comfort when your buddy here drowns in his own blood.” Feigning annoyance—though, honestly, he didn’t have to try too hard—Jesse began packing up the first aid kit. It was stocked better than most. Almost as good as his trauma kit. It had everything from QuikClot to…morphine in auto-inject syringes. The two knuckleheads who had searched the kit had completely passed over the auto-injectors because they weren’t obviously sharp.
Their mistake.
Jesse palmed the three morphine pens, and caught Gabe’s gaze as he stood. Gabe nodded slightly. Help may be coming, but they weren’t going to wait for a shootout. If they could end this now, they’d take the chance. He flicked his gaze over to Briggs and wiggled the pens down at his side. Again, Gabe nodded.
Just as Jesse moved into position next to Briggs, a small bell announced the elevator’s arrival and everyone jumped—the hostages and the hostage takers. Which, given all the frayed nerves in the room and the twitchy trigger fingers, was a recipe for disaster.
Everyone shifted to face the elevator bank and guns came up. Jesse slid one of the injectors into his pocket and readied the other two. Maybe this was the help he’d promised, but more likely, this was someone throwing a wrench into the works. He wanted to be ready in case things went to hell.
And they did the moment those doors slid open.
Schumacher stepped out of the elevator, dragging a semi-conscious, barely coherent Jean-Luc with him. He had a gun to the Cajun’s temple.
“What the fuck?” Quinn and Briggs said at the exact same time. And, ironically, for the same reason. It was a kick in the balls when a man you thought you knew decided to pull a Benedict Arnold on his trainers, then turn around and Et tu, Brute? his own teammates.
How had they not realized this guy was so dangerous?
Jean-Luc’s eyes weren’t focusing and as Schumacher dragged him forward, he slurred something in a language that was not English. In fact, it didn’t seem to be any one language, but a mix of several.
Jesus, did the Cajun have head trauma? Connor hadn’t mentioned anything about Jean-Luc sustaining a blow to the head. Or maybe he was just delirious from blood loss? Either way, this was really fucking bad.
And where, for the love of God, was Connor?
If Schumacher had Jean-Luc, did that mean Connor and the rest of the recruits were—
No. As his stomach twisted with horror, he couldn’t even finish the thought.
Briggs held up a hand to his three remaining guys, who all had their weapons trained on Schumacher. They relaxed a little, but didn’t completely lower their guns.
“What are you doing?” Briggs demanded.
“Following orders,” Schumacher said.
“Whose?”
“Your former employer’s. They’re unimpressed with your performance and asked me to fix the situation.” Without any other warning, Schumacher pulled his gun away from Jean-Luc’s head and shot Briggs directly between the eyes.
Briggs didn’t fall right away. He stood there, blinking in shock as blood dripped off his nose from the neat little hole in his forehead. Then his eyes glazed over and his knees buckled. The silence in the wake of the gun blast was so deep that the thunk of Briggs’s body hitting the floor echoed.
Schumacher, his arm still banded around Jean-Luc’s neck, easily spun and pointed his weapon at Jesse. “And this is ’cause I don’t like you or your little shit of a kid.”
That old saying about your life flashing before your eyes in the moments before your death? Yeah. It wasn’t so much his life, but his mistakes. And, boy, there were many. His relationship with Connor and the way he’d left things with Lanie chief among them. He had a moment to wish he’d done it all differently before—
Jean-Luc straightened and jabbed his elbow backward into Schumacher’s gut while simultaneously shoving the gun aside. The bullet missed Jesse by several feet and cracked the glass of the lobby’s front window. Another gunshot cracked from somewhere over their heads, and opened a gash across Schumacher’s cheek. If he hadn’t been wrestling for control of his weapon with Jean-Luc, if he hadn’t moved his head in the instant before the bullet struck, it would’ve gone into his skull.
Jesse looked up. If they had another shooter to worry about, he wanted to know where the hell the bastard was and—
Oh. Nope. It was the good guys. Seth lay flat on his belly, rifle pointed between two balusters of the second floor balcony, ready to take another shot at Schumacher. He didn’t get it. Schumacher shoved Jean-Luc hard enough that the Cajun, in his weakened state, lost his balance.
And then Schumacher turned to run like the coward he was.
Yeah, fuck that. Until Jesse knew his son was safe, that asshole wasn’t going anywhere. He lunged after Schumacher and caught him around the middle. They hit the marble floor hard, jarring every ache and pain in his body, but he ignored the discomfort and held on. They slid several feet and skidded into a potted palm tree. Schumacher twisted in an obvious attempt to get the gun up near Jesse’s head and pulled the trigger. The bullet burned past his cheek. Too close. Way too close. Jesse closed a hand around Schumacher’s wrist and knocked his hand against the potted palm until the gun clattered to the floor.
Schumacher swung a sloppy fist, all anger and no finesse. It glanced off Jesse’s chin and snapped his head back. He’d taken harder blows and recovered, but a simultaneous kick to his bad ankle had him seeing stars. His grip loosened and Schumacher squirmed free. He was gone before Jesse’s vision cleared.
Jesse pushed up on his hands and knees, and stared at the now empty hallway. He heaved out a breath, then limped to his feet and let the two empty syringes drop from his hand. Schumacher wasn’t getting far with two doses of morphine in his system.
At some point during the chaos, Gabe, Quinn, and Harvard had all reared up and used their zip-tied wrists as garrotes to neutralize the three remaining Tangos. Hostages screamed. Some scattered, racing toward any door they could find. Some cowered, adding to the noise and chaos. Danny and Marcus came down from the restaurant’s balcony and worked at directing people outside to safety.
Jesse snapped up the first aid kit and hobbled to Jean-Luc’s side. “Hey, Cajun. How you doin’?”
“Oh, you know,” Jean-Luc said in a reedy voice. He pulled his hand away from his side to show the fresh blood staining his palm. “Just bleeding all over the damn place like a stuck pig. I’m gonna pass out again, f’true.”
“Go ahead. It’s over now. I got you.”
“Good. Nobody else I’d trust to save my awesome self.” And his eyelids eased closed.
Jesse snorted. “Glad to see your ego’s intact, pal.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
5:35 a.m.
Trinity Sands Resort
Lobby
“Looks like we missed the party,” Ian said and lowered his gun.
Lanie scanned the lobby, counting heads. Only when she saw all of her people accounted for and whole did her heart rate slow to something below jackhammer. Ever since they’d heard the gunshots, she’d feare
d the worst, but her first priority had been to get Connor and the rest of the recruits out of the hotel to safety.
“What happened?” she asked nobody in particular.
“FUBAR happened,” Harvard said as he walked by with a stack of sheets. He had a bit of a limp, a split lip, and his Star Wars T-shirt was torn and spattered with blood, but otherwise he seemed all right. As he filled them in on what went down, he draped a sheet over one of the dead men on the floor, then continued on to the next in line.
In all, she counted four bodies. One had definitely been a hostage, judging by his clothes. Another was the man Tank had bit—teeth must’ve hit an artery. The third was another of Briggs’s crew, the guy Jean-Luc had neutralized. And the fourth was Briggs himself.
“Well, shit,” she said softly and motioned to Briggs with the tip of her weapon. “How did that happen?”
Harvard glanced over his shoulder at the body. “He was fired. Schumacher gave him his pink slip.”
She whistled softly. “That’s one way to handle HR.”
Harvard cracked a smile, which must have stung like hell because of his lip. “Don’t give Gabe and Quinn any ideas.”
She smiled back at him. It was impossible not to when he used that awkward, nerdy charm of his. “Where’s Jesse?”
He motioned to the sweeping expanse of windows. “Outside tending to the wounded. Where else? Tuc called. Back-up should be here any minute.”
“About time. Thanks.” She squeezed his shoulder as she passed. She’d intended to find Jesse and let him know Connor was safe, but as she neared the window, she saw the cavalry had indeed arrived in the form Tucker Quentin and a convoy of large trucks and vans. The beach and parking lot were full of people. Somewhere in the distance, police sirens finally sounded.
A little late, guys.
Still, she was glad to see them.
At the hotel’s front entrance, she paused to watch Jesse and Connor. If the emotional reunion had already happened, they sure weren’t acting like it. Jesse was sorting the wounded into vehicles, while Connor sat sullenly with Sami and several of the other recruits. Jesus. Those two. After everything, they were still being stubborn, neither wanting to break down first.
“’Scuse me, Lanie.” Marcus came up behind her carrying Jesse’s well-worn medical bag. “Jesse needed his kit,” he explained as she stepped aside to let him pass.
“Hey,” she called after him. “Earlier you quoted Point Break. The first one. The good one.”
He flashed a grin over his shoulder. “Nice catch.”
“‘Shall we play a game?’”
He didn’t turn back, but snapped his fingers. “WarGames, 1983. You need to do better than that if you want to stump me.”
“Oh, it’s on, Deangelo.”
Now he did turn and crooked his hand in the Neo “bring it” wave from The Matrix.
She laughed and stepped through the door, enjoying the rush of cool morning air against her skin. The sun wasn’t quite up and the humidity hadn’t yet cranked to unbearable levels. For the first time all night, she felt like she could finally breathe. She closed her eyes and savored the feeling of oxygen flowing freely in and out of her lungs.
From somewhere over by the vans, she heard Jean-Luc’s voice. “Hey, Quentin. The resort is top rate. Gorgeous views, friendly staff, excellent food, and bonus points for the crew of homicidal mercenaries. Who doesn’t want a bit of adrenaline with their Caribbean vacation? Five stars.”
Then Tucker’s wry reply: “You’re welcome back anytime.”
“Yippee,” Jean-Luc said with zero enthusiasm.
Laughing softly to herself, she opened her eyes and glanced over in time to see Jean-Luc being loaded into the back of one of the vans on a stretcher. He was still ghostly pale, but he was joking around, so she had no doubt he’d be fine.
They were all okay. Her guys would all be okay.
Tucker Quentin stood at the back of the van, consulting with some of his men. She should go thank him. Without his help, they wouldn’t have gotten into the building in the first place.
She started toward the group, but changed her mind and detoured when she spotted Danny sitting on one of the resort’s beach loungers, a rifle balanced across his lap. He stared out across the calm water at the rising sun on the horizon, but she had the feeling he wasn’t seeing Mother Nature’s gorgeous painting of pinks and oranges.
She sat down on the lounger beside him and dragged her hands through her hair. Her braids were falling out and her hair frizzed wildly around her face. The way she had to keep scooping it back, she felt like a sheep dog and wondered not for the first time if she should buzz it all off and just go natural.
But Jesse liked her hair. And, honestly, so did she. It was a lot of work to maintain, but she liked her hair long. Her one vanity.
God, that was a girly thought. She sighed at herself and drummed up a smile for Danny. “You okay?”
He didn’t answer for a long moment, then blinked and looked over at her like he just realized she was sitting there and had spoken. “Huh?”
She knocked her shoulder into his. “You look a bit shell-shocked.”
He gave a half laugh. “Guess I am. That was… Seeing the guys in action… It wasn’t like the training exercise. Jean-Luc taking on Schumacher like that when he could barely stand? Man. And then Jesse lunging after him? And Gabe, Quinn, and Harvard? They moved like one person when they decided to attack.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I know.” She smiled, remembering her first encounter with HORNET. “I felt the same way the first time. Shocked, but also—”
“Exhilarated,” he finished.
“Yeah. Exactly.”
He looked back out over the horizon. “I was just thinking about my wife. Leah didn’t want me coming here. We don’t fight about much, but we fought about this. She wants me to stay with the Bureau until I retire, but…”
“You want more.”
His gaze dropped to the weapon on his lap and he picked it up. “HORNET does a good thing. They help people, which is all I’ve ever wanted to do. But more and more, with all the politics and red tape in the Bureau, I’m not helping anyone. I feel…useless.”
“Oh, I get it.” Lanie scooped up a handful of sand and let it run through her fingers. “Last year, I was in the same boat. I’d worked my entire life to be a Texas Ranger like my dad was. I finally got there, and I wasn’t satisfied. When I met HORNET, I thought, this is where I belong.”
Her smile faded. At the time, it had seemed like such a clear-cut thing. It was as if she’d been in a dark tunnel and someone had handed her a flashlight. Now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe she’d won over the respect of the other guys tonight, but Jesse would never see her as a teammate. To him, she’d only ever be a lover.
God, sleeping with him had been a mistake. She wished she could chalk it up to temporary insanity, but she knew better. She’d wanted Jesse ever since he’d shown back up in her life last year. And as much as she knew she should, she couldn’t regret any of it.
“I told Gabe I want in,” Danny said in a rush, then pushed out a breath. “But I’m not looking forward to having this conversation with my wife.”
“Hey.” Lanie again knocked her shoulder into his. “I’m not usually all that great at girly stuff, but I do know one thing. If she loves you, she’ll support any decision you make.”
Behind them, a heavy foot crunched in the sand and she glanced back, hoping to see Jesse, but unsurprised to find Marcus approaching. She raised a hand in greeting, and a flash of light from the roof of the building behind him caught her attention. A dull, perfectly round glint…like the rising sun reflecting off a lens.
Sniper.
“Get down.” Her voice came out a croak. She tried again. “Get down! Sniper!”
Marcus didn’t hesitate and dropped so fast that at first she was afraid he’d been shot.
Danny lunged to push her out of the way, but they w
ere both too late. Too slow. Heat stripped her side and she heard a faint umph from Danny. Then more heat and wetness soaking through her shirt and…
Blood. So much blood, seeping out all over her hands as she rolled Danny to his back.
“Jesse!” Her shout was ragged, and not as loud as she’d wanted it to be. “Jesse, help! Danny’s shot!”
She tried to stop the blood from pumping out of the ragged hole in Danny’s chest while he gasped for oxygen and his face lost all color.
Oh God, it was like Gabe all over again, just in the sand this time instead of snow. This was going to destroy Jesse.
Footsteps pounded all around her and big, hard, male bodies crowded in.
“Where is he? Where’s the sniper?” someone asked. She didn’t know who, didn’t care. She pointed at the building without looking up.
Marcus scrambled over on his hands and knees. He drew up short when he saw the damage and his complexion also lost color. “Oh fuck. Dan, hang on. Jesse’s coming. He’ll fix you up. Just hang on.” He gripped Danny’s hand and used his other to help put pressure on the wound.
Breathing hard, Lanie backed away. A tremendous pressure crushed her chest. Danny wouldn’t die. Jesse would do everything in his power to make sure of that.
The guys had surrounded Danny, formed a human wall. All of them—Gabe, Quinn, Harvard, Seth, Ian, and Tank—putting their lives on the line to protect him. Even Jean-Luc had pulled himself out of the van and stood guard with them, scanning the rooftops.
Danny was protected. She should go to Connor, make sure he was safe. Jesse wouldn’t be able to do his job if Connor was in danger. She ran in the direction she’d last seen Connor, but skidded to a halt when she spotted movement on a nearby rooftop.
In the distance, Tucker Quentin called out orders and his men raced across the parking lot toward another building, guns drawn. She was pretty sure they were headed in the right direction—except the movement she was seeing now was on the roof of the convention center.
Jesus. Were there two shooters?
Bullets sprayed the sand half way between her and the guys. She dropped to the ground. The guys huddled in tighter, closing ranks around Danny. Tank showed his teeth and let out a growl that rumbled across the sand.
Code of Honor (HORNET) Page 18
