by Beth Rhodes
“Marie,” John said sharply.
Malcolm held up a hand. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to protect her, but the instinct was there. John relaxed a little, and she hurried to finish. “He’s got money problems, and he needed a large amount of money, quickly. He told me he was fine, that he had an ace up his sleeve.”
Silence filled the room.
“I’m sorry,” Marie said.
“Craig, I want you, Ranger, and Malcolm on your way to the airport now,” Hawk said.
“Sir—” John started.
“You can wait, John,” Hawk said, inviting no argument. “You’ll slow them down in your state.”
The man still had blood streaming down his face and neck. He looked like he’d crawled out of a war zone, because he had.
Malcolm picked up his computer, snatched the keys of the little Jeep they’d been using, and tossed them to Craig.
It had been—maybe—eight minutes since they all converged on the TOC.
Malcolm only hoped it wasn’t too late to catch Emily before she was on a plane to only the devil knew where.
Hassan followed the weasel of a friend—disloyal to anything but himself, typical westerner—through the crowds at the airport. He’d unloaded the girl somewhere before Hassan had caught up to him. And since the girl was his goal, he was going to have to capture the man and find out where he put her.
He was on his own now. The men at the house had been small losses.
When he got too close to the man, he paused to give them a little distance.
Perhaps the man would get her on a plane. He’d have to have his own plane, a flight plan.
But the man with the curly hair bypassed the check-in counters, crossed to an employee-only door, and went through. Hassan hurried and slipped through an instant before the door clicked shut. Then he stopped.
The guy had disappeared like a fart in the wind.
Orange-and-yellow-vested workers moved around in the baggage area, sorting and moving bags onto the motorized baggage tugs. No one noticed him. Not one person paid any attention to him…
He couldn’t believe he’d lost his target, lost the woman.
He took one step. A breath of air touched his ear, and he stopped.
The barrel of a gun pressed to his spine. “Mr. Hassan. Just the man I’m looking for.” The accent was European, rich with French and Scandinavian tones. “Come with me.”
The push of the gun against his back had him moving forward, guided by the man’s hand on his arm. “Where’s the girl?”
“Ah, yes. You want the girl. You paid for the girl, didn’t you? Poor Marcus. He thought he was dealing with the devil. Probably assumed you’d be dead when Hawk Elite finished with you. And then I found him. It wasn’t hard to follow his tracks to you. I wanted Emily…” The man shoved Hassan into the baggage tug. He hit his head on the upper shelf where baggage had been piled. The man kicked Hassan in the head. He curled into a fetal position and turned away from his attacker. He stopped short when he found himself facing her. Emily. The missing woman. The blonde who had killed his son. The woman he was to kill. Her eyes went wide, fear draining the color from her face as she scooted back further into the baggage carrier until the canvas cover stopped her.
The man ducked his head in. “Oh, good. You’ve officially met. I have to tell you, Hassan. I wanted Emily for bringing my Sandra to Belgium for her security conference, trying to bring peace with their destruction, their guns—hypocrites, all of them, don’t you think?”
Hassan grunted when he felt the pressure of an injection in his neck.
“But I wanted you even more. And there was only one way to get you. And that was to follow her. Now I have Hassan and Emily. And you will both pay for killing the one person in the world who should have lived.”
They all had their communication units back in working order.
John paced as the team hit the airport, a mere ten-minute ride, and then began the search.
Malcolm continued his quiet stream of consciousness, talking about the red dot on his screen then describing the surroundings. “We’re through the guards and beyond the terminal where the ground support equipment is docked. I lost her signal.”
John held his breath.
“Fuck,” Malcolm said over the comm. “We’re going to have to do a search. Hawk, any word from the airlines or from the local police?”
“They’ve got men in the terminal looking for this Tim Roche. But no one’s purchased any tickets in the last twenty-four hours, not even with cash. If he’s leaving on a plane, it’s not from a terminal.”
John turned to Hawk. “Let us go. We can help with a search.”
When he saw leniency and compassion in Stacy’s gaze, he pressed a little harder.
“They can use the backup. We can cover more ground in a search.”
“Go,” Hawk said.
John was already moving, and he didn’t care if Marie had to run to catch up.
“John.”
He stopped.
“Don’t be a dumbass.”
“Yes, sir.” He had no intention of being a dumbass or getting himself killed.
He was going to find her, and he was going to bring her home.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Emily flinched awake at the crack of a bullet.
Her breathing grew rapid, even when she knew she should try to remain calm, remain undiscovered.
Tim. Sandra’s Tim. Jesus, he was alive. Had been this whole time. Angry and bitter.
An inhuman scream echoed off the rafters of the empty room. Cement walls, dirt floor. A hum of engines that made it almost hard to hear and probably covered the sound of the screams coming from Hassan.
Sweat dripped down her temple and into a swollen eye, her face mashed against a dirt floor. Quietly as possible, slowly and carefully, she felt for the small phone in her boot, and then almost cried when it was there. Thank God.
That meant John—no, Malcolm—would know her location.
John is fine. He was breathing. He’s strong.
Another high-pitched scream had her heart pounding, and she turned her head. Not because she wanted to see, but because…she had to.
“You decided to join us. Look, Hassan.” Tim grinned, bent over to see into her face, and then punched her in the head.
She fought the visceral reaction, heaved, and vomited. She rolled away this time, discovering that she wasn’t tied down, nor was she secured to any stationary object.
As she forced herself to look at the mutilated man across from her, fear became a tangible emotion that made her hands shake and tears fill her eyes.
“Don’t be afraid.”
She was afraid, and ashamed of the relief. That could have been her in that chair instead of Hassan. She could have woken to the sound of her own screams. Had it been chance? Was it that Tim found her slightly less culpable? Would he put a bullet in her brain…out of mercy?
Emily knew Hawk Elite would come for her.
John would stop at nothing.
She was going to survive.
“Looks like it’s your turn, Emily.”
She stilled, and Tim pulled her up by her hair, sitting her against the wall at her back.
Hassan’s life was draining from him. And an odd peace came over her as she looked at the man who had changed her life and forced her to re-evaluate the path she’d taken. He deserved to die for all the men and women he’d killed—in Belgium, and before that, in Turkey and again in Paris.
“Hassan,” she called out. “I’m sorry for your son.”
The man had no strength to even lift his chin from his chest, but she saw him blink.
The familiar slide of a handgun made her bite her lip and swallow. “Now, now, Emily. Don’t act all nice. You know who you are and what you’ve done. Hardly forgivable. He probably feels my righteous anger doesn’t come close to his plans for you. He begged me to make you suffer. You think a little apology is going to cut it?”
“No,�
� she whispered. “I’ll carry the weight of my own sin—”
BAM!
The floor shook and Hassan’s unconscious body tipped over in the chair. Tim’s gaze went molten and he drew his weapon.
Emily’s heart surged. Hawk.
Men in black—shadows against shadows—swarmed the room. She leaned her head back against the wall as relief filled her. They’d come.
Another crack of a bullet reverberated through the air, and pain seared through her.
“Damn it,” she said. “So close.”
Her vision began to fade as she watched Tim’s body shake from a barrage of ammunition.
Her heroes had come.
John lifted his gun, pulled the trigger, and slammed a bullet straight into Tim’s chest. And so had everyone else, it seemed. The man went down hard and fast.
He turned to Emily, lying there on the floor in her own blood, and he didn’t regret the kill shot. “Ranger?” he said.
Ranger came in behind him and opened the first-aid bag. It had everything from Band-Aids to blood. John stripped his gloves. “Gauze,” he said, his training taking over. He cleared the blood and found minimal flow. The relief left him lightheaded. With some of the blood cleaned out, he called for the forceps, and they appeared in front of his face.
“Set a saline IV,” he ordered, but Ranger had already done the prep for it and was sticking her free hand. “Push eight milligrams of morphine.
“Emily.” John gently touched her face where it wasn’t bruised. “Hey, wake up.”
She moaned and tried to move. “John.”
“Hey. I’m gonna get this bullet out, and it’s going to hurt.”
“I knew you’d come. I wasn’t worried at all.”
“That’s good. I’ll always come for you. But right now, I need you to hold still.”
She peered down at the hole near her arm. “Well, that doesn’t hurt at all.”
John looked up at Ranger, who shrugged. “She must be a lightweight. It’s only been in there a few minutes.”
John put a hand on her ribcage and rolled her an inch, and she started giggling. “Hold her, Ranger. I don’t want her to move suddenly while I’m pulling the bullet out of her.”
Ranger did as he was told, helping John roll her so the bullet was exposed. He held the forceps, ready to go in, and she started sobbing.
“What?” John froze and put a hand on her shoulder.
Her gaze was fixated on the open room, which the rest of the team had descended upon. Airport security made things a little tricky, but it was the body not far from Emily that had him silently swearing.
“Cover the body,” he called out to everyone and no one in particular.
“He wanted his life back.” Emily’s body shook. John leaned over her and whispered into her ear. “He had no right to try to take mine.” That stopped her, and she looked up into his eyes, her gaze somewhat hazy because of the drugs. “But I know how he feels,” she said.
“Then you can forgive him,” John said. “Now hold still, babe, because it’s time for us to go wheels up out of this country.”
Emily nodded, closed her eyes, and looked away.
The forceps went in smoothly. “More gauze,” he said to Ranger as blood seeped from the wound. Ranger cleaned around his work. The bullet made a sucking sound—familiar and stomach churning—and then popped out.
His hand shook for an instant, and he relaxed and took a breath. This wasn’t surgery. It was a bullet, lodged in her flesh, nowhere near an artery. “Sutures.”
He stitched the wound, cleaned it, and bandaged it. He looked down into her face, and found she’d fallen back into unconsciousness. Her breathing was deep and even. “Is she sleeping?”
Ranger readjusted his hold and held a hand under her mouth and nose. He grinned. “Sort of looks like it.”
“Fuck,” John said, relief flooding him.
Ranger stared at him.
“What? I can’t swear?”
“Just never heard you say that before.”
John scowled. “Let’s move.”
“Change of plans,” Malcolm said, standing over them. “Back to the hotel. Qatar got wind of our little operation. We’re waiting on embassy intervention. Hawk worked a deal for us to stay at the hotel tonight. As long as we don’t make anything go boom.” The man grinned. “…but when has that every been a problem?”
“Every damn time,” John said as he lifted Emily into his arms and stood.
Malcolm sat in the lobby with his laptop and a book, his two favorite things, but it was the small gypsy woman who kept stealing his thoughts. She’d fucking stood between Emily and that asshole, as if to take a bullet for the woman.
She worked outside the lines, and that hadn’t sat well with him. The only reason she was on the team now was because Hawk had a way of gathering the underdog under his wing. It was nice…but not necessarily a trait Malcolm would recommend.
Marie Gabor was up to something, had been since he’d picked her off the street, ready to steal from Hawkins. He had no doubt.
He flipped the page, even though reading was the last thing on his mind.
And there she was, barely under curfew, sneaking back into the hotel.
He got up, lifted his messenger bag from the floor, and followed her into the elevator.
“Hey,” she said, nerves flitting through her eyes. She licked her lips. He scowled at her, and a blush rose on her cheeks. “Crazy day, huh?”
“Huh,” he said. “What takes you out this late at night?”
“Nothing. Getting some fresh air.”
He had a hard time believing it.
“Honest,” she said, wide-eyed.
And the belief disappeared completely.
Malcolm rolled his eyes, wondering why in hell he’d followed her into the elevator. Thinking with his dick. That had to be it. The subtle fragrance of her soaps and that husky tone of her voice. She wasn’t only conniving, she was seductive.
“How’s Emily?” she asked.
“Fine.” He glanced back at her. “How’s your side?”
“Fine,” she echoed. Silence filled the small space again, and then the door dinged as it opened.
He followed her out.
“What are you doing?”
“Seeing you to your room.” Why was he seeing her to her room? He needed his head examined.
“If you wanted to chat, we could have sat in the lobby, in a public place.”
“Don’t intend to talk,” he said.
She lifted her perfectly shaped brow over that intelligent, sparkling hazel eye. Then she stepped up to him. “Oh really?” Her grin was pure…sex. And she leaned against his body, which woke to the idea.
And then her lips were on his. His brain short-circuited, and he gripped her, lifted her, and pulled her in. She opened her mouth to him and took his tongue with her own. Warning bells were going off all the hell over the place, but she obliterated them with the touch of her hands. At his waist, up his sides, gripping his shoulders.
Malcolm turned her, pushing her back against the wall of the now-silent elevator. He tasted her, biting at her lip as he thrust against her sweet apex. She made a sound of arousal that blew through any thought. And he gripped her through the light material of her skirt. She moved against his hand, pressing against its heel as he sucked her neck. “Malcolm.”
The mellow sound of the elevator ding was like cold water on his hot skin, and the elevator’s hum had him shoving away from her as they began the slow descent back to the ground floor. “Shit.”
He rubbed a shaky hand over his mouth. “Shit.”
“I’m sorry,” she started, but he cut her off when he lifted a hand.
“Don’t fucking apologize for something that was obviously two-way.” He sighed, trying to bank the frustration. “So, obviously, there’s some kind of chemistry here.”
Her silence suffocated him as he continued. “This isn’t going to happen. This can’t happen.” Anger laced his
words. And he was trying to be nice, but he really hated being played. And right now, he felt completely played, seduced, fucking humiliated by his weakness for a pretty face. “Shit.”
“All right. I get it. You don’t like me.”
Holding his tongue was harder than he expected it to be. But she was right. He didn’t like her dishonest ways. She’d been a pickpocket on the street. Her quiet way, as if she was waiting for something, had kept him on edge for too long.
They reached the lobby and he got out. He turned to her. When the door started sliding shut, he put a hand in to stop it. His pounding heart wanted to finish what she’d started. He thought of how she’d begun to fit in at Hawk Elite, and how she’d been willing to take a bullet.
He might not like her…
Her chin lifted when he hesitated to let her go.
“Don’t stand between anyone and a bullet again, got it?” Her eyes went soft, and he knew he’d revealed too much. He let the door go and added, “Leave that to the real soldiers.”
Before it slid closed, she growled, “How dare you!”
And he grinned.
Chapter Twenty-Five
John made her leave the IV in, and as the afternoon waned, and she was forced to stay in bed, Emily found herself ready to pretty much scream. He’d gone out for something else. To check on their status? To drink a beer? What the fuck was he doing?
When her phone rang and Callie’s name appeared on the screen, she answered—perhaps too exuberantly.
“Emily.” Callie’s bright young voice made her smile.
“How are you?”
“Oh my God. Are you okay? Where are you? Your friend John called and said I should talk to you. But he couldn’t say where you are. You guys really are spies, aren’t you?”
Emily chuckled. “No.” She’d been thinking that might have been easier. “How are things in Harbor View? Is Bobby treating you well?”
Callie lowered her voice. “Emily, he is hot.”
“Don’t let your dad hear you say that.” Emily rolled her eyes, knowing how protective Eric was of his daughter. “But you’re okay?”
