Playing Dirty

by HelenKay Dimon

  Adrenaline poured through him. He lived for this. The chase, the find, the hunt. And he had a handy way to solve this part. With his handheld computer clicked into place, numbers flashed across the small alarm screen, flipping one after another until they revealed each number of the code.

  The final one snapped in place. “We’re in.”

  After a click, Ward’s voice came over the com. “We’ve got a green light, gentlemen.”

  No one moved because they all knew the alarm amounted to the first step of many. They’d studied the building’s layout and watched the tapes. They had to get through the small courtyard and to the back side of the building before the missing scientist bolted.

  First they had to know how many hostiles they had inside.

  “How we looking?” Ford asked the question, knowing Harlan followed the action through their helmet cameras and the surveillance back in the Warehouse. Despite being a general pain in the ass, Harlan knew his stuff. He kept in top physical condition and could pick up a weapon if the moment called for it.

  “Two heat signatures to your northwest,” he said.

  Two against eight. Ford loved those odds. With both Alliance teams on the job and some serious planning, they could take on the full military power of some small countries. “Still in the corner room?”

  “Affirmative.”

  They’d walked through the plans several times back at the Warehouse and agreed Ford would take his men inside. Josiah’s team would secure the perimeter. Or that was the theory. One explosion or wrong turn and the whole op could flip upside down on them. That’s why Ford wanted to know where all the players stood. “Movement?”

  “One hostile is walking around in the doorway,” Harlan said. “Likely a guard.”

  Ford motioned for his team to take their positions. “Eyes open.”

  He waited until Josiah’s team cleared out before clicking off the com. Just for a second, but the message needed to be said: “Be prepared for a fuck-­up. This intel came through official channels.”

  West nodded. “I don’t like it.”

  “Let’s say I’m skeptical.” Ford didn’t trust anything he couldn’t track on his own.

  Tasha had handed this over, and that carried some weight, but she got the tip from another department in Liberty Crossing. From someone not affiliated with Alliance, which made Ford’s inner alarm blare a warning.

  “Getting this far undetected was too easy.” Reid’s attention never slipped from his visual scan of the area.

  “For you, since you just stood there while I did the work.” Ford went for sarcastic but inside he agreed with Reid. With a nod, Ford turned the com back on and snapped into attack mode. “Going in.”

  He and Reid slipped into the opening first, taking positions just inside. Weapons up and gaze roaming, they moved a few feet so the other two men on the four-­person team, West and Lucas, could step behind them and watch the flank.

  Ford sent Josiah and his team spreading along the outside of the building. They all stayed silent, depending on hand gestures and Harlan’s directions to guide them to the man with the deadly toxin. Turned out the boss’s precise nature helped in cases like this.

  Inside, Ford blinked several times, forcing his eyes to adjust to the stark darkness. They’d skipped night gear for fear of being unexpectedly blinded by hostiles because the Hampstead setup showed they were dealing with professionals.

  Stray rays from the lights outside snuck in through cracks in the boarded-­up windows. The scent of rancid fish and stale air mixed to create a gagging stench. But there was little else in there. They’d stepped into a large empty room. Remnants of machinery had been pushed up against the walls and wires hung from the exposed ceiling. Stray pieces of metal and crushed cement crunched under the soles of their black shoes.

  Looking around, he couldn’t figure out if someone was in the process of breaking the place down or building it up again. Except for the eye-­watering smell, none of what they found amounted to a surprise.

  Having the electronic model in the office match up with the real layout this time would be nice. No unexpected rooms to weave through, which also meant nowhere to hide.

  According to the briefing, at the far end, about a half a football field away, a doorway led to a series of hallways and small offices. What they needed—­who they needed—­was behind there. Ford opened his hand and pointed in the direction of the door.

  Without another word, they broke into a light jog. In formation, from one end to the other, they moved. Never stopping and taking in every inch of the surroundings.

  When they reached the opposite end, Ford stood to the side and put his hand on the door, feeling for heat or any sensation. Nothing. With the doorknob in his palm, he turned, half expecting another lock. Instead, the door opened. A creak echoed through the near-­empty building as he pushed it a few inches.

  Reid winced and Harlan swore over the line, but Ford kept moving, heading through and into the next open area. A left turn, a right turn, then a straight shot. That was the plan, and they’d execute it. Grab the weasel science wunderkind and save the world. What he hoped would become a typical day for Alliance, but they had to get out of there alive first.

  The fall wind whistled through the small spaces between the warehouse’s broken boards and rattled the walls. The building creaked and their clothing rustled from their swift movements and bulletproof vests.

  They made the first turn and Ford closed his fist to stop them before the second. A wave of heat smacked him in the face. The temperature didn’t make sense with the

  cool outside breeze. Someone could have the heat on, but the place didn’t look like the wiring would hold and this was too hot for normal.

  A nerve at the base of his neck twitched. He glanced over at Reid and read his flat mouth and saw West’s stiff shoulders and the small shake of Lucas’s head. They all knew something was off. Maybe just a fraction, but that’s all it took.

  They were in tune with their surroundings and each other. They were also on alert, and it looked as if they were walking into a second trap thanks to bad intel fed to them through supposedly friendly channels.

  Yeah, the mole, if there was one, was going to go down screaming.

  Ford scanned the open ceiling tiles. Harlan and the tech team had blocked cell phone signals into the place and scanned the area for devices. Even now they monitored the power usage on the building, just as they had been doing for the last twenty-­four hours since word came down this could be either a hideout or a place to find the toxin.

  All evidence pointed to this being a solid lead. Trent’s rich daddy owned the building. Not the usual expensive condo or high-­priced commercial property in Anthony Creighton’s portfolio. The tip from the waterfront worker informant triggered an investigation that led to round-­the-­clock surveillance and photos from every angle. Trucks had pulled in and out at all times of the night and the men took precautions not to have their faces show up on film.

  Still, Ford was having trouble imagining some guy in a lab coat testing GB-­19 in a place without a high level of security. Never mind that it reeked of dead fish.

  Once they learned about it, governments would want Trent’s research. Powerful ­people would fight to own him or kill him. Knowing that, the lax setup didn’t make sense.

  The ticking at the top of Ford’s shoulders kicked up to a nonstop hammering.

  After a final visual check for cameras and company, he used the small mirror in his right pocket to check out the hallway. Nothing. The door at the end stayed closed. If someone was pacing, they did it inside and out of sight.

  Yeah, it was fucking official. Ford hated this op and wanted to beat the hell out of Trent.

  Taking the lead, Ford turned the corner and hugged the wall. The rest of Bravo team filed in behind him.

  “Bravo’s a go.” Harlan s
at miles away and still whispered over the com.

  “We need the kid alive,” Ward added.

  They had to know how and why Trent Creighton slipped out of his lab. The kid, all of twenty-­one, was considered a Superman of toxic research. Him going missing—­or worse, going rogue—­pointed to all sorts of nasty possibilities. Terrorism, espionage, bribery. None of which headed down a positive road and seemed to collide in a potential auction in Yemen.

  This substance was a death sentence. A terrorist’s dream weapon. Mix a short incubation period and a very limited time in which to apply the antidote—­something that wasn’t even fully tested and vetted yet—­and you had a near guarantee of death and destruction on a massive scale. Trent had created a catastrophic virus and no solution.

  An auction would touch off an End of Days countdown. It would mean Trent, or a partner, or someone holding Trent, planned to fuck up everything in the vicinity of exposure and make a shit ton of money doing it. Which was why Ford would stop him, even if doing so meant a bullet to the kid’s head.

  Once again Shay’s face flashed in Ford’s mind. He blinked it out before the guilt clenched at his gut. It was an unusual sensation for him but one that kept kicking up when he thought of her.

  They got to the door to the offices. With Ford on one side and Reid on the other, they waited. Heat rolled over Ford until sweat broke out over his eyes and across his back. This wasn’t a furnace gone wild. Someone was playing with the temperature.

  Keeping his voice as low as possible, barely above a rumble, he tried to send a warning. “Heat.”

  “Negative on fire,” Josiah answered from his position outside.

  “The temperature is rising in the target room. The heat signatures are blurring,” Ward said over the shouts of voices behind him. “Could be subterfuge to hide their presence or could be an incendiary device. Pull back and assess.”

  Ford’s gaze shot to West and Reid. They both shook their heads. No shock there. Not from a Marine and a guy so deep into black ops that whispering his old program’s name would get you killed.

  Lucas was the odd man out, but Ford trusted him and his skills. They all were trained to fight until the end, to give everything, even if it meant handing over their lives. Ford just hoped today was not that day.

  Losing this kid, Trent, this lead, meant chasing the toxin out in the open. In liquid form, GB-­19 could enter the water system, and then forget any talk of antidote. Death was instantaneous when ingested. As a gas, the Metro, museums, government buildings, even residential neighborhoods, could become testing grounds.

  No, doubling back wasn’t the answer. The domino would not fall on his watch, even if that meant hurting Shay, which was just about the last thing he wanted to do.

  “Stand down, Bravo.”

  Harlan was running this show. Ford really wished Ward would shove the Brit aside and unleash the men to end this.

  “Negative.” Ford whispered the response, then signaled to move.

  Harlan said something else but Ford stayed focused on the path ahead. Through the door, take out the guard and grab the kid. Simple . . . unless they had a repeat of Hampstead and all burned to death first.

  Reid slammed into the door, going low as West and Ford went in high and Lucas covered the back. The hot air wrapped around them like a blanket, thick and suffocating. Ford struggled to breathe over the ripping inside his throat.

  With only the light from an open refrigerator as a guide, he conducted a quick visual sweep of the room in less than a second. Empty tables and bare shelves. Papers scattered around the floor and shadows shifting in front of him.

  A red dot raced across West’s chest. Before he could reason it through, Ford knocked his teammate to the hard ground. Not easy since West was almost six-­three with a massive chest and not an ounce of fat on him.

  As they fell, gunfire rang out around and over them. Sparks shot in every direction as the back wall exploded, glass rained down, papers kicked up and plaster sprayed.

  Through it all, Ford kept moving. Remaining stationary meant being a target. He rolled, drawing the guards’ fire away from West. They were both on their feet and in constant motion.

  Unable to tell a scientist from a guard in the confusion and smoke, but figuring the science guy wouldn’t be holding a Glock, Ford shot at will. He could make out figures ducking from the rubble crashing in on them. Still, no one surrendered.

  The series of concussive thuds stopped but the ceiling broke away and crashed to the floor. Before Ford could scramble to his feet, Delta team rushed through the new hole they’d created. Bullets continued to fly as one guard went down, leaving Josiah standing right behind him.

  A second later West swore. He clutched his arm and his knees buckled. Lucas caught him on the way down.

  The remaining guard spun around as Delta swarmed. When Ford raised his weapon in West and Lucas’s direction, a shot hit the guard’s leg and another one clipped his throat.

  The man’s eyes rolled back as his hand went to the gush of blood at his neck. Air gurgled as he fell down. Ford dove for him, thinking to stem the blood and get him talking, but a chunk of ceiling crashed to the floor between them, making Ford jerk back as smoke and debris spun through the room again.

  The smell of burning electric cut through the wall of heat. Pieces of the ceiling continued to fall and booms rang out. When Ford uncovered his head, he spied the guard in a motionless sprawl on the floor five feet away. Blood puddled on the floor and seeped under his head.

  “Fuck me. He’s down. They all are.” Ford didn’t even try to get to his feet. He crawled over the piles of debris, ignoring sharp cuts into his palms and knees. With a hand pressed to the guard’s throat to stop the flow of blood, he screamed into his face, “Where’s Creighton?”

  Alliance members moved through the room, turning over the larger pieces of drywall and checking every inch of the space. Ford willed this guy to live but his chest wasn’t moving and the blood ran like a river, soaking his right side and into Ford’s black pants.

  “Ford.” Reid dropped on the other side of the downed man while Ford kept yelling into his closed eyes. Reid grabbed for Ford’s arm and started issuing orders. “Hey, man. Ease up.”

  Josiah’s hand touched Ford’s shoulder. “Yeah, that one is gone.”

  Finally Ward’s deep voice registered in Ford’s brain. He’d been hearing this constant stream of noise and chalked it up to the chaos spiraling around him, but now he knew Ward was barely holding onto his temper as he demanded a status. “Someone talk to me.”

  Ford sat back on his haunches with his hands on his thighs. “We’ve got two down and no scientist.”

  Harlan mumbled something that sounded like swearing, even though he rarely did that. He threw in a “bloody” now and then but that was about it. “Body check.”

  “West got hit,” Lucas said with a proper British accent that mirrored Harlan’s but didn’t annoy Ford nearly as much.

  Until Josiah made the comment, Ford had forgotten about the injury. His head shot up. Big, tough, say-­as-­little-­as-­possible West stood against the wall cradling his arm and leaning against Lucas while waving Josiah off.

  “I’m fine.” With his jaw tight and his voice rough, West sounded anything but.

  “The cleaning crew is on the way. Get to medical.” Harlan’s exhale caused a crackle on the com. “Either guard alive?”

  Ford swallowed back a coughing fit itching to grab hold and forced the word out. “Negative.”

  Reid got to his feet. “Creighton’s in the wind. No equipment that I can tell either.”

  “What?” Harlan shouted the question.

  Ford grabbed onto Reid’s hand for an assist. As soon as he was on his feet, Ford conducted a mental body check. Except for some aches and the drip of blood down his leg from what he guessed was a cut around his knee, the
special gear and vest held.

  “Just a lab where some nasty shit used to be,” he said.

  “The forensic squad is headed there.” Ward’s voice trailed away, as if he was talking to other ­people in the room and had given up on the lab recon.

  Ford wiped the last drips of sweat from his forehead. Despite the cool air blowing in from the new hole in the wall, the heat still lingered. Damn, but he’d been right. Just as Ford predicted, it had been a setup, a way to lure them in then block their ability to tell one figure from another.

  The score read something like: Bad Guys two, Alliance zero.

  At least Bravo team had one win. Ford was determined to add to their side of the score. Thanks to the impromptu trip to Paris, Alliance knew that Benton was in on the search for a toxin. The manhunt for the weapons supplier had kicked into hyperdrive. But not grabbing Trent now started a new plan in motion. They’d hunted the kid down through other means. Now it was time for pressure.

  Josiah clapped, gaining everyone’s attention. “Looks like it’s time for Plan B.”

  “Shay Alexander.” Reid whistled. “That woman is smokin’.”

  Now there was an understatement. Long brown hair, big blue eyes, and an ass that made him speechless. This was the last avenue Ford wanted to drive down, but now he didn’t have a choice. His team didn’t know he’d jumped the gun, moved in and started sleeping with Shay. He’d laid the groundwork for this part of the job for weeks. He just hated thinking of her as a job.

  Now he really liked her, which meant he fucking hated this assignment.

  “Yeah, Ford. Looks like it’s time to make contact with the pretty cousin,” Lucas said.

  Too late. “Right.”

  “Lucky you.” Josiah shook his head. “You get to search and squeeze and do anything else that needs to be done.”

  It all sounded so cold-­blooded, but Ford couldn’t blame them. He’d made similar comments about other operations in the past. The ones where he didn’t lie to the target.

  “Guess that means I’m up.” Ford dreaded the ongoing subterfuge and how high he’d have to turn up the lying to get answers.