by Katie Reus
She withdrew her weapon and checked the chamber out of habit. While she might not be as trained as Selene, she still had a lot of weapons training. All part of the job. Gripping it tight in her hand, she scanned the parking area once more and then raced after Osborn, who’d disappeared around the back of the hangar. She was going to stop him before he got to Tucker. Her sneakers were quiet against the pavement as she ran, but her heart was beating triple time.
As she neared the corner of the hangar, she slowed her pace and steadied her breathing. Another glance behind her showed the parking area still quiet. Good.
She risked a peek around the back of the building—and found herself staring down the barrel of a gun.
Chapter 21
Bird: military slang for helicopter.
Tucker glanced into an office as he made his way down a hallway in the hangar he’d just broken into. Though breaking in was a weak description. A child could have gotten in here undetected. He’d come in through a side door, easily avoiding two of the video cameras outside. He could break in here at any time and steal a helicopter if he wanted. Pathetic.
The office had a desk with paperwork scattered all over it and a laptop in the middle, sitting on top of some of the papers. A space heater was in the corner. Not surprising, since so far Tucker couldn’t feel a difference from the iciness outside and in here. There was an echo of voices in the distance, so he slowed his pace as he neared the end of the hallway.
It opened up into a huge hangar with multiple helos inside, along with a couple of ATVs and crates storing who knew what. A quick visual scan of the place showed the hangar doors rolled up and a royal blue helicopter waiting outside in the bright sunlight.
It was smart of Vane to hire a helicopter tour company instead of chartering a plane. Tucker figured he’d wait until they were in the air, then pull a gun on the pilot and tell him where to go. Or maybe he’d pull a weapon before they’d taken off. Either way it would give him a quick escape, and if Vane killed the pilot after landing somewhere, it would cover his trail for a while. Probably give him long enough to escape the country.
Too bad for Vane that wasn’t going to happen.
Tucker stepped out into the hangar, his rubber-soled boots silent as he made his way around the inside perimeter of the place. The voices were coming from near the hangar door. Male voices, but he wasn’t certain how many there were.
Tucker shrugged out of his dingy coat and shoved it behind a crate. Underneath the homeless getup, he had on black fatigues.
Less than sixty seconds later he’d made his way almost to the front of the building. He hunkered down behind a bird he wasn’t even sure worked, using it as a cover.
“. . . just waiting on my friend. He’ll be here in a couple minutes.” That was Vane.
Friend? Tucker moved down the length of the helicopter, stopping at the rear to peer around it. With a visual of Vane confirmed, another shot of adrenaline surged through him. He was talking to a man who was clearly the pilot.
“No problem, I’m not in a rush today.”
“We appreciate you fitting us in so last-minute.”
The man wearing a leather bomber jacket and jeans shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s off-season right now. Not many people want to go up when it’s this cold.”
Tucker scanned the hangar again before stepping out from his hiding place, weapon drawn. He’d find out who Vane was waiting for, but he was going to incapacitate him now.
“Hands in the air, now!” he shouted as he strode toward them.
The pilot’s arms dropped, his face going hard and his stance defensive. But he put his hands in the air at the same time Vane did. Vane’s wounded hand had been professionally bandaged by someone at the NSA before the subway meet, but he’d still be in pain for a while.
“It’s over, you piece of shit,” Tucker growled at him.
Vane’s nose was bandaged and there were faint black smudges under both his eyes. They’d only continue to look worse in the next week. The dirty DEA agent’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond.
“On the floor, hands still up.” Tucker motioned with his pistol to Vane. “You know the drill. After you’re on your knees, lie on your belly.”
“Who the hell are you and what do you want?” the pilot asked, hands still in the air.
“Federal agent, and this man is under arrest. Just keep your hands up and all this will be over in roughly ten minutes. I’ve got a team on the way.”
“He’s lying,” Vane said, even as he got to his knees.
“His name’s Tucker Pankov and he’s wanted for treason.”
The pilot looked at him hard then, recognition flaring in his eyes. Tucker pointed his weapon at him too. “On your knees, then belly.” He hadn’t planned to cuff the pilot too, but it seemed as if he had no choice. Tucker didn’t need some guy trying to be a hero. “In ten minutes you’ll be thanking me for saving your life.”
Vane was on his stomach now, groaning as he moved.
Keeping his weapon in one hand, Tucker reached into his back pocket and pulled out two zip ties. He tossed one in front of Vane’s face. “Behind your back, slip them on.”
Vane did as he said, albeit awkwardly and cursing under his breath as he moved. Weapon still trained on the pilot, who’d moved to his belly, Tucker stepped up to Vane and placed his boot on the guy’s back. Moving quickly, he bent down and finished tightening the zip tie before doing a pat-down of Vane. He found a SIG tucked into the back of his pants. Had to have been taken from one of the agents.
Tucker slipped it into his own holster. “If you killed one of Burkhart’s guys, you’ll never see the inside of a prison cell,” he murmured low enough for Vane to hear, his intent clear. He wanted him pissing-his-pants terrified. And it was likely true. Burkhart didn’t seem like the kind of guy to let the death of one of his people go. He’d be covert about it, but he’d see Vane dead and in the ground.
Next he moved to the pilot and zip-tied his wrists. “Sorry about this,” he murmured. Then, as an afterthought, he continued. “After this is over, get better security.”
The man didn’t respond, but his body language made it clear he was angry. At least he wasn’t spouting off hollow threats. Tucker searched the pilot too, found a cell phone and pocketknife, took both.
“What’s the security code to your phone?” he asked, scanning the interior of the hangar again. It seemed oddly quiet. “Where is everyone?” he asked again before the guy could answer his first question.
The man paused, but answered a moment later. “Assistant’s on lunch break and my partner’s got another charter up right now. One of the romantic tours with champagne and chocolate, so it’s longer than normal. Look, if you need me to take you somewhere I’ll do it right now. We can leave before my people get back and no one has to be the wiser. There’s no reason for anyone to get hurt.”
Tucker’s eyebrows rose. It was hard not to be impressed by the man’s nobility. “No one’s going to get hurt. What’s your security code?”
Sighing, the man said, “Six, two, eight, one.”
Tucker put some distance between himself and the two men as he swiped it in. He’d started to call Elliott when movement from the open hangar door snagged his attention. His weapon was up in an instant, all the breath whooshing from his lungs. Rayford Osborn had a gun to Karen’s temple and was using her as a shield.
No, no, no.
A flood of ice invaded Tucker’s entire body, making it impossible for him to breathe. Everything else around him funneled out as Osborn shoved Karen forward. Bastard was still careful to keep her in front of him. She had a bag in her hand too, likely Osborn’s.
“Drop your weapon,” Osborn shouted, his voice trembling as much as his damn hand.
Oh hell, that wasn’t good at all. If Osborn didn’t have any experience with firearms, he could accidentally kill Karen.
“Osborn?” Vane shouted from behind Tucker. “I’m tied up over here!”
Without turning around, Tucker knew that Vane wouldn’t have a good visual of them. He was on his stomach and there was a helo blocking him off.
Tucker remained steady, his stance strong as he kept his gaze pinned on Osborn’s. He didn’t let himself meet Karen’s eyes. Didn’t want to see the fear there. If he looked directly at her he could get distracted, and that couldn’t happen.
Not with her life in the balance.
“It’s over, Osborn. There’s a team arriving at the airport now. You’ll never get out of here, but you haven’t done anything you can’t take back. Hillenbrand sucked you into this, we all know it.”
His brown eyes looked wild, but he didn’t take another step forward. He also didn’t move his pistol away from Karen’s head.
Tucker couldn’t help it—he flicked a glance at Karen. Her emerald green eyes flashed with anger, not fear. Okay, anger was good. He wished he could convey to her that he was going to get her out of this no matter what it took.
“Where’s the pilot?” Osborn demanded.
“Right behind that bird.” Tucker motioned with his chin but didn’t drop his weapon.
“All right, all right,” Osborn murmured, seemingly to himself. “I can still do this.”
“Can I put the bag down?” Karen asked quietly. “It’s heavy.”
“What . . .? Fine,” he snapped.
Moving slowly, Karen let her arm stretch out before she let the bag drop. It landed with a heavy thud, the sound echoing in the hangar. It was smart that she’d asked him; otherwise Osborn might have freaked at the sound and shot her. When she brought her hand back to her side, Tucker watched as she carefully slid it into her jacket pocket. He didn’t focus on the movement, though, not wanting to draw attention to her. He was terrified for her, but he had an idea what she was doing.
Osborn shoved her forward. “Come on, this is almost over. You’ll go back to your life soon.”
“Osborn, listen to me, you haven’t done anything that can’t be undone,” he said, repeating what he’d said before, trying to drive the point home. A lie, but Tucker was willing to sell his soul to save Karen. He’d do or say anything. “It’s clear you were sucked into this. If you testify against Hillenbrand—”
“Shut the fuck up! And put down your gun. I’m not telling you again!”
Vane was shouting in the background, demanding to be set free, but Tucker tuned him out. Tuned everything out but Osborn and Karen. Soon the backup team would be here and everything could go to hell if Osborn got spooked.
Tucker had to bring him down before that. He looked at Karen again, saw the determination in her gaze, knew she was planning something. Did she have a weapon tucked in her jacket? Had to be her brother’s knife. He knew she kept it on her. If Osborn took the weapon off her and she made a move, he’d have one shot to bring the guy down.
One chance.
“I’m putting it down now,” he said, his gaze still on the woman who’d come to mean so much to him. Blood rushed in his ears as he bent down, slowly moving his weapon to the floor.
Osborn pointed his pistol at him now. “You should have just left us alone! We’re doing this country a favor,” he snarled, his face a mask of mottled rage.
Karen’s hand pulled free of her pocket, her brother’s knife in her hand. Tucker ignored the continued ranting of Osborn and forced his heart rate to slow, to remain steady. He gave the subtlest of nods to Karen, hoping she understood.
“I’m putting it down now,” Tucker said quietly. He raised his free hand out to his side, using it as a visual distraction.
Osborn’s head turned in that direction. In one fluid movement, Karen slammed the blade behind her into Osborn’s thigh. She threw herself to the floor as Osborn screamed out in pain.
A shot fired, pinging off the floor mere feet from Tucker. He didn’t flinch as he aimed and fired at Osborn.
Pop. Pop. Pop. He hit Osborn center mass.
Osborn’s eyes widened, his weapon falling from his fingers as he fell to his knees, then half rolled onto his side with a quiet groan.
Tucker ran to him, kicked the weapon away. The pistol skittered across the floor. He checked the guy’s pulse. Thready, fading fast. Out of his periphery he saw Karen picking the pistol up and tucking it into the guy’s bag, out of reach. He wanted to go to her, pull her into his arms, but he had to make sure the threat was over first.
Osborn was gasping for breath as Tucker patted him down, looking for more weapons. He found none. For the first time since this whole shit storm had started, a true sense of relief slid through him. Maybe he should press on the guy’s wound, try to stanch the bleeding, but that wasn’t going to happen any time this century. The fucker had held a gun to Karen’s head. Trying to stop the bleeding would be pointless anyway. He’d be dead in minutes.
Tucker stood, still holding his own weapon as he did another visual sweep. “Was he alone?”
She nodded, eyes wide and a little bit shaky, but she was alive. “Yeah.”
They moved toward each other at the same time. He holstered his weapon as he crossed the few feet to her and crushed her to his chest. She was alive. He repeated that to himself even as he kept his eyes open, scanning the area. He hugged her tighter, was glad when she returned the hard embrace. “Did he hurt you?” he rasped out, his voice shaky.
She shook her head against his chest and didn’t loosen her grip around him. “No. It’s finally over.” Her voice shook the tiniest bit, but fearless woman that she was, she was keeping it together commendably well.
Better than any civilian.
Out of instinct, he looked over his shoulder just to check on the two men. Vane was still on his stomach, cursing and squirming, but he wasn’t going anywhere.
It was truly over. As they stood there embracing, the backup team arrived. No lights or sirens announced their presence, but when Selene jumped from one of the vehicles, relief damn near overwhelmed him.
He knew that the mountain of paperwork, interviews, and debriefings they’d have to go through would be a giant pain in the ass and very lengthy in the near future, but soon he’d have Karen all to himself. He was counting down the seconds.
Chapter 22
Blown: discovery of an agent’s true identity or a clandestine activity’s true purpose.
Two days later
“I never doubted you boys for a moment,” Mary Southers said, her voice surprisingly strong as she clasped Tucker’s hands tightly in hers. Her husband’s funeral had been this morning and she was holding up better than anyone else it seemed. A slight woman, she had short dark hair and everything about her was soft and feminine.
Tucker’s throat tightened as he looked down at her. They were in her kitchen, along with a few other women who attended Mary’s church. They were getting food ready and talking quietly, but he tuned them out. The majority of the people were in the living room or sitting room, but some were on the back porch despite the cold. It had been a very long day.
He tightened his grip on hers. “I can’t tell you how much that means to me to hear. We wanted to contact you right after . . .” God, he couldn’t even say it and felt weak for it. “But we didn’t want you inadvertently pulled into that mess.”
Pale and tired-looking with slightly puffy eyes from crying, she let the ghost of a smile touch her lips. “You could have called, but I understand. And you’re all heroes now, especially you and Cole.”
Heroes was a stretch, but at least they weren’t painted as terrorist villains anymore. Of course they’d never be able to do undercover work again, but he and his men had been cleared of all wrongdoing. They were still debriefing various heads of agencies, all with the support of the DEA and NSA. He knew there would be more to come in the next couple of weeks. Some of it would go public, but most of it never would. His agency was pissed and embarrassed about their mole since Vane had caused so much damage. They were cracking down everywhere and tightening security.
He cleared his throat, feeling
awkward. “I know everyone is saying this, but if you need anything let us know. We’re all here for you and the boys.” Her two sons, both still in college, were in the living room and holding up better than Tucker had expected. They both had friends with them, though, and that always made a difference.
She patted his hand and smiled. “I know that. And I’ll let you know.”
When one of her church friends came over asking about where to place a casserole in the dining room, Tucker made his way out of the kitchen. He didn’t see any of his guys or Karen in the living room or sitting room, so he headed out back.
Sure enough, the four of them along with Burkhart and some DEA guys were all standing near one of the outdoor heaters, talking and drinking beers.
As he approached the group, Cole threw his arm around Karen’s shoulders. “If you ever get tired of him—”
“Don’t even finish that thought,” he muttered, taking Cole’s beer from his hand.
Cole grumbled good-naturedly and left, likely to go grab another beer. Tucker immediately moved in next to Karen and wrapped his arm around her.
She tucked right into him, sliding her arm around his waist. He loved the way she smelled, all fresh and citrusy. “How’s Mrs. Southers?” she murmured.
“She’s a rock.”
Kane and Brooks nodded, their expressions somber.
Burkhart nodded in agreement too, the pain in his eyes clear. “She’ll weather this just like she does everything. She’s a warrior.” He raised his beer bottle a fraction as if in toast to her, and it was clear today was hard on the man.
From Tucker’s interaction with him, he knew Burkhart rarely showed emotion, but he would have known Mary as long as he had Max, since they’d been in the Navy together so many years ago. Max had had a good life and been a truly good man. His loss would be felt for a long time to come.
“So, what are you boys going to do now? Stay with the DEA?” Burkhart asked.
