by Cindy Dees
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ve had enough of these bastards. I’m going to kill them.”
She didn’t stop to ask how. She just started to retreat. She averted her gaze as she passed the man she’d shot, but it didn’t matter. The sight of what she’d done to him was burned into her memory forever. As she topped the next ridge, she looked back. Mitch was just turning to follow her. He nodded reassuringly. And then it was a mad scramble, first over the dunes to the beach and then a dead sprint along the blessedly firm sand. She’d almost arrived back at the hotel when she heard footsteps behind her. Mitch. She stopped gratefully and turned to wait for him.
And jerked in shock as a beefy, dark-haired man closed in on her. Belatedly, she remembered the gun in her hand and raised it to shoot. He was almost upon her. She braced herself to pull the trigger, when another shape came hurtling out of the darkness from her right. In a flying tackle, the second man took out her attacker.
The two men rolled over and over in the sand, carrying them into the shallow surf. They struggled fiercely, and she couldn’t make out anything but foam and sand and body parts. And then one of the men rose up over the other one, straddling his chest for a moment. A slash of dull metal, and the man on the bottom’s throat exploded like a swollen sausage sliced open. The white, fibrous tube of an esophagus burst out, along with the dark, slimy strands of veins. Blood went everywhere.
She staggered back in terror, aiming her pistol at the dark form that rose away from the dead man and whirled to face her.
Mitch.
She leaped forward, flinging herself into his disheveled arms. “Are there any more of them?” she gasped.
“Nope. He was the last one. You’re safe now.”
And that was all it took for the shaking to set in. She’d seen more horror tonight than she needed in a lifetime. Somewhere in the aftermath she started to sob, and Mitch urged her face down to his chest to muffle the sound. But then he held her tight and let her cry it out.
How long they stood there like that, red waves washing up over their feet as the dead man bled out behind them, she had no idea. But finally, Mitch murmured into her hair, “We’ve got to get out of here, princess.”
She nodded numbly against his chest and let him lead her around the casino and directly to the parking lot. He put her into the passenger seat of their car then went around and got in the driver’s side.
She noticed his hands were steady and sure on the steering wheel as he guided the vehicle into the last vestiges of the night. Just another day at the office for him. Kill four men in cold blood and leave them for the vultures. Of course, her hands weren’t clean, either. The destroyed visage of the man she’d shot haunted her, leering at her, a macabre reminder of her night’s work.
Dawn was just breaking as they returned to their hotel. There was blood on her dress, but the red stain wasn’t tremendously obvious against the scarlet background. Mitch hustled her past a sleepy clerk and up to their room.
“Why don’t you take a shower, Kinsey?” he murmured quietly. “I’ve got to make a phone call.”
To report his kills? Did they keep some sort of scoreboard back in the H.O.T. Watch ops center? Score four for Mitch Perovski, and one for the rookie, Kinsey Hollingsworth. She shuddered at the thought. “Am I a criminal now?”
She must have voiced the thought aloud, for Mitch responded gently, “No, you clearly acted in self-defense. No court would convict you, not in the United States or Cuba.”
“But I killed a man.”
“A man who would have killed you in another second or so. It was you or him. You did the right thing. Now go take that shower. A hot one. You’ll feel better, I promise.”
* * *
Mitch waited until the water was running in the bathroom to dial the ops center. “Lancer here.”
Brady Hathaway picked up the line. “Looks like you had some excitement last night. We had you on satellite. Picked up quite a few muzzle flashes down there. You two okay?”
“Yeah. Five hostiles down, by the way. A mixed bag. Several of Camarillo’s men, possibly a couple of federales.”
“How’s your girl?”
“Pretty shook up. She shot a guy in the face at point-blank range. Killed him.”
Hathaway didn’t comment. Both men knew what it was like to experience a first kill. Kinsey would have to work it out in her own way. No one could make it better for her. “Don’t let her crash and burn too hard, eh?” Hathaway finally murmured.
“I’ll do what I can.”
“What are your plans now?”
“I got a knife to the throat of one of the guys before I killed him. He gave me an address where I can find Camarillo. Thought I might go pay him a little visit this evening.”
“Do you want to wait for backup? I can have a team in-country in twenty-four hours.”
Mitch considered. Common sense said to wait for a half dozen of his colleagues and the extra gear they’d bring with them, but his gut said to take action immediately to keep Kinsey safe. “I’d better hit him before he has time to get ready for an assault. I’ll take this one on my own.”
“Don’t make it personal, Lancer. This is business. Just business.”
“I hear you.” He might hear the words, but that didn’t mean he agreed with them. This was personal.
Camarillo’s men had nearly succeeded at killing Kinsey. Payback was required. Now.
“Did you get pictures of your attackers?” Hathaway asked, jarring Mitch out of his grim thoughts.
“With my cell-phone camera. They’re dead in the photos, but maybe you can make IDs, anyway. I’ll send them to you as soon as we hang up.”
“Roger. We’ll get on it.”
“Start with the database of Camarillo’s henchmen.”
“Will do. Get some rest. And take care of your girl.”
Hathaway hung up. Mitch sent the pictures wirelessly to the ops center. And then, finally, he relaxed. He let the stark terror of the night flow over him and out of him. Damn, that had been close. Way, way too close. Thank God Kinsey had come out and warned him about the additional men. Without that, and the extra firepower she’d provided, it could’ve been dicey. Well, he’d wanted her to get over the James Bond fantasy. For better or worse, she’d seen the real deal now.
He swore under his breath. It had been fun while it lasted having a woman as beautiful and sexy as Kinsey chasing after him. He’d even let himself indulge in a fantasy of the two of them being together. But after tonight—
Now she knew him for the killer he was. It was one thing to shoot at some guys on a speedboat. But to order her to shoot a guy’s face off...then to slit a guy’s throat right in front of her...
She’d never look at him the same way again. James Bond was dead. Mitch got up heavily and went over to the small refrigerator. He pulled out two minibottles of whiskey and opened them. Grasping both bottles in his right hand, he tossed them back in one slug. The dark liquor burned a path through his gut but didn’t do a thing to unwind the giant knot of tension at the base of his skull. He opened the refrigerator again. Stared at the rows of little bottles. Slammed the door shut without taking out any more booze.
Dammit, he’d really wanted her for himself.
Chapter 10
Kinsey hugged the hotel’s thick complimentary bathrobe more tightly around her and headed for the window. She’d slept away most of the day. Her dreams had been bloody, and she felt intolerably soiled by them. When she awoke, she’d succumbed to a driving compulsion to take another shower. She’d scrubbed her skin until she was pink all over. It had helped a little. But not enough.
She lifted aside the drapes to gaze out at a sunset over Havana. Something seemed wrong with the daylight, all cheerful and normal out there. D
idn’t Mother Nature know she’d killed a man? It was still supposed to be dark outside, grim and black like her soul. As homeward-bound cars crowded the roads and pedestrians hurried to finish their daily business, none of them had any idea that last night she’d become a murderer.
The water cut off in the bathroom behind her. Mitch was in the shower now, although she highly doubted he was scrubbing his skin until it burned, trying to remove the indelible stains of death. The bathroom door opened on a rush of warm, humid air.
“Hungry?” Mitch murmured from close behind her.
“No. Thanks.”
“You have to eat sometime. You need to keep your strength up.”
“I don’t think I could keep anything down right now.”
She felt his sigh as much as heard it. “Getting over your first kill is always hard.” He paused, as if searching for words. “I’m no expert at teaching anyone how to deal with it. You just sort of do.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him, surprised. “Your first kill gave you trouble?”
He shrugged. “My first one was a buddy kill, so it wasn’t nearly as...traumatic as yours.”
“What’s a buddy kill?”
“Two snipers shoot at the same target, a rookie and an experienced sniper. You both fire at the exact same instant, and that way you’re not sure if your bullet or the other guy’s killed the target. Makes it a little easier to wrap your brain around.”
A fine shiver passed over her. “There’s no doubt who blew that poor man’s face off last night.”
Mitch was beside her in an instant. “He wasn’t a poor man, Kinsey. He was a hardened criminal. He worked for a cold-blooded killer and was no doubt a cold-blooded killer himself. You can be sure he was prepared to blow your face off without a second thought had he pulled the trigger just a little bit sooner than you.”
Nausea roiled in her stomach. She hadn’t even begun to deal with the fact that she’d nearly died herself, yet. One trauma at a time.
She watched the beach far below, while Mitch stared silently out the window beside her. Eventually, he muttered, “I want to make it better, but I don’t know how to comfort you.”
She looked over at him in surprise. Mitch Perovski was expressing uncertainty about anything? Wow. He must be really rattled. His troubled gaze met hers for a moment and then slid away.
She replied, “It’s not that hard. You put your arms around me and tell me it’s going to be all right. And then I cry a little and you wipe away my tears.”
He lifted the heavy curtain out of her hand and let it fall closed. The room plunged into nightlike darkness. His voice came out of the gloom. “How did that go again?”
“Arms. Around me.”
His big form loomed close. Mitch’s familiar hands slid around her waist, his strong, impossibly gentle embrace drawing her close and wrapping her in warmth. “Arms, check.”
She smiled against his chest. “Now tell me it’ll be okay.”
“It’ll be okay.” Then he ad-libbed, “I promise. It just takes a little time and distance.” A pause. “How was that?”
Her smile widened. “That was fine.”
“Now you’re supposed to cry a little.”
Her smile got even bigger. “Not happening right now.”
He drew back to peer down at her. “Do you need me to make you cry?”
“No, that’s okay. But thank you for offering.”
They leaned into each other for several minutes in silence, resting in each other’s company. Finally, she roused herself enough to murmur, “What’s next for us?”
“Dunno. I’m not real experienced at this comforting stuff. I think I’m supposed to wipe away your tears once you have some for me to wipe.”
“No, I mean what’s next in the mission?”
“Oh.” A pause. It stretched out until she wasn’t entirely sure he was going to answer her. But then he said, “One of the men last night gave me an address before I...he...expired. Tonight, I’ll go check it out.”
“How do you know it’s a real address and not a trap?”
A faint shrug beneath her cheek. “I don’t. Only way to find out is to go see.”
“I’m coming with you,” she announced.
“Oh, no, you’re not,” he retorted instantly.
“Oh, yes, I am.”
He leaned back a lot now, almost to the end of his reach. “This is not open to discussion. Last night was way too damned close a call. I’m not putting you in harm’s way again like that.”
“I put myself in harm’s way, thank you very much. I’m the one who came after you out in the sand.”
“And I’m not taking a chance on you pulling a foolish stunt like that again.”
Indignation flared in her gut. She didn’t stop to question whether or not it was the right reaction or too much reaction. “Hey. I saved your neck out there. Had I not warned you about those extra guys, who knows what would have happened?”
Mitch released her. Spun away. Paced the room once and came to a stop in front of her. “You were lucky. Plain and simple. It was sheer, dumb luck that you weren’t killed out there.”
She flared up. “Shooting that guy had nothing to do with luck! Who ran around and got those other guns and gave them to you? And who kept up with you up and down all those blasted sand dunes when I was so tired I wanted to sit down and die? None of that was luck.”
“You don’t know the first thing about field operations. You don’t know how to do surveillance, how to tail someone, how to send or receive dead drops, how to work with a black-ops team—”
She interrupted. “You and I made a pretty good team last night.”
“We shot like crazy and hoped to hit them before they shot us. That’s not teamwork. That’s desperation.”
She paced in irritation. “Why are you being like this? All that stuff you just listed off can be learned. The main thing is I didn’t panic under fire and I kept moving. I might not have saved the day, but I also wasn’t dead weight.” She stopped prowling to glare at him. “I think you don’t want me out in the field at all.”
“Damned straight I don’t want you out there.”
She inhaled sharply. Had she misjudged him? Was he that big a chauvinist? He did say to Jennifer Blackfoot that he didn’t like working with women. Her eyes narrowed. “Well, like it or not, you’re stuck with me, so you might as well get used to it.”
“As soon as I get rid of Camarillo, I’m getting rid of you. I’m sending you back to that catamaran and you’re sailing out of here.”
“What if I don’t want to go? What if I want to see this operation through? I’ve already been seen around town. Won’t it raise suspicion if suddenly you start hitting the dance clubs without me? Face it, Mitch. You need me. I’m your cover, and I’m a darned good one.”
His gaze was dark and angry. He clearly did not like being maneuvered like this. But that was just tough. She was fighting for her future here. For her very identity as a useful, intelligent member of society. She was done hanging around the margins of life, pretty but useless, like...like...draperies!
She gritted her teeth and said as calmly as she could, “I killed a man for you. I’ve earned the right to be out there.”
Their turbulent gazes locked, waging a silent struggle of wills. His was formidable, but she’d grown up with a dynamic and forceful politician for a father. She refused to back down. Finally, Mitch moved forward as fast as a striking snake and swept her up
into his arms. His mouth swooped down upon hers, invading.
Like that wasn’t a transparent tactic! But then his mouth moved against hers, mirroring the way his body moved sinuously, drawing her higher and closer into him, and her train of thought spun away like so much chaff on the wind. One of his big hands slid under her heavy, damp hair, cupping the back of her head.
“This isn’t going to work,” she grumbled against his lips. “You’re not distracting me. I am staying with you.”
She felt a tug at her waist and gasped as cool air wafted against her skin. And then his hands were on her body, sliding across her heated flesh and down to the small of her back. His fingertips stroked the sensitive spot at the base of her spine and she nearly sobbed with pleasure at the sensations ripping through her.
Then her right shoulder was bare. Cool air blew across it, but in a moment was replaced by the fire of his lips against her skin, kissing hot and wet, nipping at her just hard enough to make her wriggle.
“Mmm. You taste like candy.”
“You taste like darkness.”
He murmured against the column of her neck, “What does that taste like?”
“Wood smoke. And good vodka. Cool and biting with a hint of fire beneath.”
“Honey, there isn’t anything cool about me right now.”
She laughed. “I don’t know. The way you swagger around with those pistols is pretty cool.”
He crushed her against him and all but inhaled her. A charge of energy built between them, crackling and snapping, biting everywhere they touched, sending need screaming all the way to her toes. “I don’t swagger.”
“Do, too.”
“Do not.”
She raked her fingernails lightly down the side of his neck to trail down the bulging muscles of his chest. Her fingers brushed one edge of the bandage on his shoulder, a reminder of the danger of his work. “Fine. You prowl, then.”
