Bullet to the Heart

by Lea Griffith

  “Are you going to give me names, or will I have to guess?” His voice was dead, but his question pissed her off.

  She stopped pacing and noticed his intensity. He was focused solely on her, and she felt a thrill at the absolute attention. Ruthlessly, she smothered it.

  “There’s no need to be an asshole, Mr. Beckett,” Remi said with a sneer, walking closer to the desk and leaning over it. “Do you think this is some game I’m playing? Maybe you think that Trident Corporation is big enough, bad enough, to take down The Collective. That your desire for revenge alone will topple them over and destroy them.”

  “I don’t think it,” he said through clenched teeth. “I fucking know it.”

  He stood then and leaned over the desk from his side. This brought them to within inches of one another.

  His smell was sandalwood and mint, male and aggression. His jaw flexed, the muscle delineated there twitching. Her tongue played against the back of her teeth as heat spiraled inside her. She licked her lips, and his eyes widened just enough she knew he’d noticed.

  “I think that you need to re-evaluate, Mr. Beckett. Joseph Bombardier is a master at killing. And his reach is much farther than you know. You’ll start a war you cannot win unless you hit him in just the right way.”

  His gaze never left hers, and she was drawn in, sucked down in the vortex of him.

  “You give me nothing except exultations of how great he is at killing. Give me something, goddamn it!”

  She straightened, unable to bear the pain in his voice. Joseph had taken something from so many people, but Remi had never felt their pain as she felt Rand Beckett’s. Why him?

  She clenched her fists. “I know how to hit him, but you must understand, Mr. Beckett, that when you do this, you will be forced to eliminate them all. Bombardier is only the head. Cut off the head and the body will continue to live until another replaces him. You must eliminate them all. Are you prepared to do that? Take the body first and leave the head for last?”

  She could literally feel his control fraying. What she was giving him was tantamount to a tease, but she had to know the measure of this man before she divulged anything else. Ultimately, her goal, hers and her sisters’, was the one thing that would ensure safety for so many. If Rand rushed in and destroyed Joseph, The Collective would continue to breed and thrive. Child rapists, human traffickers, and drug smugglers would continue to operate with impunity in some of the world’s greatest countries. Remi couldn’t stop all the bad, but she could do her fair share to stop a damn good portion of it.

  And she’d free herself, Blade, Bone, and Arrow in the process.

  “I will do whatever it takes to destroy them all,” he responded. In his voice was the heat of hell, blazing and full of fury.

  A chill danced over her skin, and she barely restrained a shudder. Like someone walking over her grave, she was immersed in foreboding yet would allow nothing to sway her decision to include him.

  Looking back, she wondered if that had always been a desire of hers. Yes, she’d wanted him to have his revenge on Joseph, but something in his picture had called to her, and now here she was. Maybe she was losing her mind.

  “Then we should start to prepare because they will all meet in less than three weeks, Mr. Beckett.” She breathed out slowly and turned to walk out the door. “I’ve left a file right there on your desk. It has names, addresses, associations, and a diagram of the entire Collective. Dossiers are included but encrypted. It is by no means everything, but it’s a good start as you evaluate your ennemi, non?”

  She turned away and walked to the door. She’d let that last slip. Remi tried to keep it to herself, but in this moment of revelation the language of her mother was an illusion of safety.

  “So how do I decipher them? What’s the encryption code?”

  “A simple name, Mr. Beckett,” she whispered as she stopped on the threshold and let quiet rule for long moments.

  “And the name is?” He was right behind her, deep voice strained and gravelly. His smell, his warmth, everything she wanted but could never have.

  “It is my name. Gretchen Dearborn, Mr. Beckett.” She lifted her shoulders and her head, gazed at him over her shoulder, and said, “My name is Gretchen Dearborn.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  She’d given him her name. The impact as it settled his gut was staggering. Everything in him that was ice cold warmed. She’d gone from a nameless killer he lusted after to a woman he knew he’d ultimately have. All with her name. He’d given up days ago in his effort to deny it. She pushed, he pulled, and the dance between them was drawing to a close.

  It was inevitable, and rather than dwell on his desire for a woman with ties to his family’s killer, he glanced at the small thumb drive she’d placed on his desk. So small, and yet he wondered where she’d hidden it. He pushed the thought away, unwilling to dwell. The small device was advanced and no bigger than his thumb nail.

  He picked up his phone and called Dmitry. The man answered on the first ring. “I need a favor.”

  “Yeah?”

  Rand took a deep breath. “I need a USB adapter for a micro-SD flash card.”

  “I’ll be there shortly,” Dmitry said and hung up.

  The adapter allowed for smaller encryption devices to be used on less advanced computers. Rand would be able to view what she’d given him.

  Gretchen Dearborn.

  Her name bounced in his mind, played in his gut, and settled like the flavor of the woman on his tongue. Red hair, smattering of freckles, cream-colored skin, spoke French like a native, he wondered . . .

  “Here,” Dmitry said as he entered the library. “She gave you information?”

  Rand tossed the other man a look even as he wondered at the cause of Dmitry’s intense interest. The Russian had signed on with Trident five years ago. Dependable, quiet, and deadly, he’d proven a valuable asset as well as a friend. The former was necessary in their line of business, the latter a bonus. But the keenness with which he was following this situation reeked of personal interest.

  Rand shrugged and pushed aside his worries. “We’ll see.”

  Dmitry nodded. “Ken called earlier while you were in here with her. He and Adam will both be back stateside within the day. He said he’s bringing something with him.”

  Rand stopped in the process of loading the thumb drive. “Did he say what it was?”

  The big Russian shook his head.

  Rand grunted and turned to the computer. The screen went black, then blue, a small bar appearing mid-screen with a blinking cursor. He paused, hands over the keyboard, anxious for some unknown reason.

  This was a major step. Huge.

  And he had her name now.

  G-R-E-T-C-H-E-N-D-E-A-R-B-O-R-N

  The screen flashed, went black again, and then names began to load from the bottom, scrolling until the screen was full of files.

  “Son of a bitch,” Rand whispered.

  “That’s not who I think it is, is it?” Dmitry’s voice was quiet too.

  “Mother fucker. She wasn’t lying. This could start a world war. . ." he trailed off, disbelief shooting through him. His heart knocked against his ribs as anticipation sang through his veins.

  “Not if we hit them at the same time,” Dmitry murmured.

  “Fucking-A. Cut off the head and rip the body into pieces so there’s nothing left to war with.” The time had come—his vengeance was close. He pulled out the thumb drive and stuck it in his pocket.

  “Call me when Ken gets here,” Rand told Dmitry.

  “I passed her heading in. She’s headed out to run, I believe.” The look on Dmitry’s face was knowing, and his small smile pissed Rand off.

  Instead of engaging, Rand nodded and walked out of the library. He headed out the door, saw a flash of red off to the right, and he followed, keeping his steps measured.

  Where was she going? The sun was shining and the air warmer than it’d been in several weeks. March was quickly turning into
April, and spring was winging in bringing warmer temps and the promise of flowers. A pang shot through him, but he kept walking, one foot in front of the other, until he found her on her knees, digging into the earth with her hands.

  “What are you doing?”

  She looked up, took a second to brush a long lock of red hair from her face, and then she began digging again.

  “I could’ve loaned you a shovel,” he said with a wry twist of his lips.

  “I don’t need it.” Her voice was so low he automatically moved closer and went down on his haunches.

  Plumeria floated on the breeze. It was all her. He shut his eyes and remembered Lily. It was harder and harder to recall her face. Hazel eyes were overlaid with sky blue. Blonde hair now flowed like red wine. Lily was fading, and standing in her place was a tiny woman with a sharpshooter’s eye and the heart of a warrior.

  “Yeah. I’m starting to think you don’t need much of anything.” He stood then and turned away from her, his thoughts a morass of anger and—

  “I’ve never needed anything, Mr. Beckett. Help is for the weak, infirm, or lazy. I’m none of those things,” she said. Triumph rang in her tone, and he looked over his shoulder, watching as she hefted a bag out of the ground.

  She put it over her shoulder, picked up a—well, son of a bitch—her umbrella nee sniper rifle, and stood. She pulled her shoulders back and squinted into the sun behind him, and the look on her face made his heart stutter.

  Warrior.

  “Well, well, you brought your stuff with you. Why were you asking for my weapons?”

  “I didn’t know what you had planned. As I’m unwilling to part with my stuff as you call it, I found a nice safe place until I could be assured you’d cooperate,” she responded breezily.

  Some nameless thing curled in his gut, cramped, and set all of his senses on alert. Cooperate? But there was a new mantle that sat on her shoulders, some air of ease and invincibility he’d not noticed for the last two weeks. When he’d found her she’d been hurt, and then he’d compounded that, and it had taken time for her to begin to heal. She’d not worn broken very well, her internal fortitude obvious.

  But now she was exceptional. Cheeks glowing, eyes diamond bright, full lips rosy, and he was taken by all of this, the nameless curling thing forgotten, pushed to the back of his mind to percolate.

  “So where you headed?” he asked inanely. He’d lost his fucking mind.

  She cocked her head, wiping her hand on her sweats before running it through her hair, and then she pointed in the direction he’d come from. “To the house,” she responded and began walking.

  He grabbed her arm as she came within inches of him. Her skin was silk beneath his palm, and his grip tightened instinctively. Rand leaned down, her scent goading him. He inhaled deeply and then forced the air out. It ruffled the hair at her ear, leaving the perfect shell of it uncovered.

  “You’re going to have to answer my questions. But I wanted to say one thing,” he said, barely holding himself back from outlining that delicate ear with his lips.

  She turned her head, and just that quickly, her lips were a breath from his, her eyes wide and clear, fathoms deep. “What?”

  “Checkmate...Gretchen.” He liked the taste of her name in his mouth.

  Her eyes flared and her lips tightened. She jerked her arm from his grasp and walked away, but not before he heard her mumble something that sounded suspiciously like “asshole.”

  He smiled as the sun heated him from the inside out.

  Or maybe it was her.

  She really liked the sound of her name on his lips. So much so that she actually smelled the sea and felt the heat of the sun a thousand-fold. He reminded her of things best left forgotten. She sighed and brushed her heavy hair out of her face again.

  There’d been nothing to gain by encrypting that disc with her name. Nothing at all. She’d done it and let it go. Until the need had been there to tell someone. It had ripped the fabric of her soul to do it. She was fragmented inside still from the telling. She’d left the room quickly, passing Dmitry with a grunt and heading at a rapid clip to where her possessions were hidden.

  And Rand had followed. She’d long ago given up on calling him Mr. Beckett in her thoughts. Her mind refused to dissociate him from her emotions, and therefore he was Rand unless she was speaking to him. But his presence reminded her of the before-time.

  Let it go.

  She could not. The remembering was bitter but she’d set it into play by encrypting that fucking disc with a name from her past. She’d left Gretchen Dearborn behind a long time ago.

  Joseph had taken everything from her and her sisters, even their names. He’d stripped them of their identity, reforming them, indeed, renaming them all in accordance with the weapons they would be honed into. She’d been graced with Bullet. To Joseph she was a killer, but she’d needed a way to defeat him, no matter how small. So she’d named herself Remi.

  Short for Remington, the first model handgun she’d ever blow a man’s head off with.

  In that name, there was both acceptance and defiance of everything Joseph had forced on her. That day on a desolate mountain in Peru as she’d left Gretchen behind and become Bullet, she had also become Remi.

  She searched for her center, found it skewed, and reached instead into her bag to withdraw the SAT phone. No messages. Her gut tightened, and she punched in a single number. The phone rang and rang, ending with a short beep that indicated the person she was calling wasn’t available.

  “Je suis ici. Le chassé sera bientôt le chasseur,” she said softly then disconnected. She repeated the process with two more numbers, with the same result each time.

  There were no code words between them, but her sisters would know exactly what she meant. They were all the hunted now, but roles were reversing. She was surprised Joseph had made no move on Rand’s house yet. With the force he held at his command, it would be relatively easy to make a hit and be gone before the US government even knew he’d been there.

  One name rang in Remi’s mind, and she breathed in deeply. That one name had a lot of power in the United States, and was probably, even now, helping Joseph mobilize. Then again, perhaps her sisters had been as successful as Remi.

  Maybe every name on that list was even now scrambling to make sure they were protected and safe. Remi herself had sent a half dozen packages to parliaments all over the world. Chaos. A smile curved her lips and echoed in the organ that pumped blood through her body.

  So very close. But there were still things to be done.

  Remi walked in the house, passing Dmitry, who raised an eyebrow. She moved upstairs, placed her bag in the corner behind the door, and sat quietly on the floor, rifle in front of her, handgun at her side. She folded her hands in her lap and bowed her head.

  Tomorrow she’d tell Rand all the things he needed to know. Today, she’d taken a step she thought she’d been prepared for. Images shot through her brain, prickled the tiny part of her that was always in Arequipa. Overcoming the past was only as simple as staying alive in the present.

  Soon.

  Her voice was a whisper in the silence of her room, tones dulcet as she hummed and sought peace in the words of a lullaby. She felt more than heard the door open and ignored it.

  “Bayu-bay, all people should sleep at night.”

  “It’s Russian.” His voice shot through her, centering heat in her abdomen.

  She didn’t raise her head, refusing his presence even as her heart strained toward him. Yes, her heart. She had one, and there was room apparently for more than just Blade, Arrow, and Bone within it.

  That thought snapped her head up. Caught in his dark eyes, she wondered if there would be a time for her. Longing coiled up her spine and spread its vicious talons toward that piece of her that craved this man. This was something she’d neither anticipated nor planned for. How could she have? She’d never known the like or texture of this before.

  Her silence didn’t bother h
im because he forged on. “Yeah? It’s Russian, right? You’ve got the inflection just right. If it weren’t for the way you speak French flawlessly, I’d think you were Russian.” He shrugged and walked to stand in front of the window.

  “Why are you here?” She’d gotten lax around this man. Attempts to hold onto anger weren’t working, and she was becoming desperate. There had to be a barrier between them. He was a weakness.

  And Remi had no weaknesses.

  Silence reigned for several minutes, he looking out the window and Remi looking at him. His broad shoulder blocked her view outside. Slim hips flared into long, strong legs. His backside was a work of art. Remi licked her lips and uncrossed her hands before she drew blood.

  He turned to her then and finally answered, “I don’t know.”

  “Well, can you leave?”

  He snorted and gazed back out the window. “I could.”

  More silence. Her nerves frayed. Remi had been played by the very best. Joseph had taught them all to withstand all manner of torture, silence included, but right now, she was unraveling.

  Did he know? Was that why he continued to taunt her with his presence? He must have sensed her nervous energy because he sat down in the chair she’d moved beside the big bay window. He was too big for it. At a few inches over six feet, he wasn’t the biggest man she’d ever seen, but he filled his space so sweetly, seeming larger than life. And it had to do with much more than just the physical.

  “I want to talk to you, Gretch—”

  She flowed to her feet instantly. The anger she’d been searching for reared its head in that split second. In a movement so fast he didn’t have time to anticipate it, she had his neck under her knife and her other hand buried in his hair.

  “Do not ever call me by that name,” she said softly at his ear. Volcanic rage coursed through Remi. How dare he?

  He continued to breathe easy, though every inhalation dug her knife’s edge deeper into his skin. She hadn’t broken the tanned flesh, but the threat was there. His head was pulled so far back by her hand in his hair that he was able to look at her face.