The Girl Who Wants

by Amy Vansant

  Mason continued, oblivious to the first-person shooter game playing in her head. “First, we have to lock the place down.” He put out his hand. “Go inside. Give me your gun.”

  She obeyed. He seemed pleased with her response until she pulled the second weapon from behind her back. His shoulders slumped.

  “I meant give me all of them. You go inside.”

  She loaded one in the chamber. “Not a chance.”

  “Shee, let me handle this. A trained SEAL against some guy who spent the last twenty-five years in prison? He doesn’t stand a chance.”

  “He has two legs.”

  Mason scowled. “My missing leg doesn’t level that particular playing field.”

  She looked at Bracco. “You have a gun?”

  Bracco pulled up his shirt to reveal a Glock identical to her own.

  “Good. Go inside and secure the place. Watch over Mick. Shut off the lights, indoor and out.”

  She took a quick breath hoping the momentary pause wouldn’t give Mason a moment to butt in.

  “They won’t see us crossing the lot in the dark,” she continued. “Here’s a fun fact. No moon tonight, and Jupiter Beach restricts lights to keep the nesting turtles’ lunar navigation on track. It’s dark as a witch’s armpit tonight.”

  Bracco put a hand on Shee’s arm, his lips moving as he strained to find his words.

  “Safe,” he said.

  She nodded and he lumbered inside.

  Mason hung his head. “Please go inside with him.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “You know we can’t just march into the woods and shoot him, right?”

  “No?”

  “No. We’re in America. Not a movie.”

  She shrugged. “Accidents happen.”

  He walked down the last step to join her on the ground. “Look, if you go inside—”

  She grabbed his shirt with the hand not holding her gun. Curling her fingers into a fist she pulled his face toward hers.

  “Mason, I’ll shoot you before I let you do this without me.”

  She released him.

  He leaned back. “Hm. That would be the one thing you haven’t done to me yet.”

  The hotel’s lights shut off, plunging them into darkness.

  Mason’s fingers gently gripped Shee’s jaw, holding her still as his lips brushed hers. He pressed, lingering there for a moment before pulling away.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure why.

  “You’re insane,” he said. His left hand slid down her arm to take her hand, his fingers entwining with hers.

  “Let’s roll.”

  &&&

  Chapter Fifty

  With only the dimmest light glowing from the houses down the street, Shee and Mason sprinted across the short patch of grass to the adjacent woods. They secured a spot behind one of the larger trees, placing the trunk between themselves and the river that was still, several hundred yards away.

  Shee slapped at her neck, using the tips of her fingers to keep from making noise.

  “If Scotty doesn’t get us, the no-see-ums will,” she whispered to Mason. “All they’ll find are our gnawed bones.”

  Mason cocked his head. “Listen.”

  The sound of voices echoed from the opposite side of the forest, near the water. At least two. Maybe more.

  “Not just Scotty,” she said.

  “No. Stay here. I’m going to move in.”

  He pecked her on her forehead and moved away, striding from tree to tree.

  The spot where his lips touched her forehead seemed to warm, as if he’d branded her. She reached up to touch it.

  Does that mean he forgives me?

  The poisonous red fog enveloping her brain lifted. For a moment, he’d stunned the rage out of her.

  Maybe that was the point.

  She peered around the tree and caught a flash of movement fifteen feet ahead. He’d gotten far, quietly, in a short amount of time, with one good leg.

  Almost like he does this for a living.

  Tiptoeing her way in his wake, she squinted through the darkness, stepping over branches and other earthy bits she thought might be more noisy than others, pleased with her stealthy approach.

  She didn’t make it to the next tree before Mason’s head swiveled and he waved her back.

  Shee tucked behind the tree.

  So much for my career as a ninja.

  The voices still chatted near the water’s edge. Mason stood half way between herself and them.

  He might be close enough to hear them.

  She moved to the next tree and then another. In her haste to get as close as possible before Mason caught her creeping again, she stepped on a twig.

  It snapped.

  She froze.

  The voices stopped.

  She’d been about to lean her shoulder against a tree before her misstep. At least she wasn’t standing in the open. She held her breath.

  The talking began again.

  She released her air in a slow steady stream.

  “You really are trying to get us killed,” hissed a voice one tree to her left.

  Mason had backtracked.

  “Sorry,” she whispered.

  He moved to her tree, standing close in front of her, her back against the trunk.

  “There’s at least four of them. Looks like they’re wearing body armor.”

  Shee frowned. Their clothes could stop bullets. Her attire couldn’t even stop biting flies.

  “I—” Mason raised his index finger to his lips. Shee had heard it, too. A sharp bark of a noise, as if several voices had chanted a word in unison. She heard the crunching of leaves and swiveled her attention to the left to watch shadowy figures move toward the hotel.

  She looked at Mason. She could tell he saw them, too. She slapped her pockets and groaned, realizing she’d left her phone in Mason’s truck.

  “Do you have your phone?” she asked. He shook his head.

  “They left one behind,” he said, motioning toward the water.

  “They’re headed to the hotel. I have to get back,” said Shee.

  He took her hand in his and held her gaze.

  “Listen to me. They’re going for the back. Go to the main entrance. Warn them. I’ll be there in a second. I’m going to take out the straggler while the odds are in my favor.”

  She put a hand on his cheek and gave him a stare she hoped conveyed her thoughts.

  If it’s Scotty, and you kill him, I’ll kill you.

  The corner of his mouth curled into a smile and she blinked.

  Did he read my mind?

  He pushed her toward the hotel and she stumbled from behind the tree. Exposed, her options were to throw herself back at Mason or run for the hotel.

  She ran.

  &&&

  Chapter Fifty-One

  The lights of The Loggerhead Inn went dark. All of them. The outdoor floodlights, the porch lights, the indoor lighting—even the landscape lighting blinked out.

  From his spot in the small patch of forest beside the hotel, Scotty Carson’s mood blackened as well.

  They know something.

  Scotty pulled on the vest brought to him by his team, eyeing the young men around him as they bounced from toe to toe, overcome by boundless energy. For the money he’d dropped on them, he expected a more seasoned group. They looked as if they’d spent the afternoon in a frat house crushing beer cans on their heads. He had to remind himself he’d been that young once—younger even, at the Naval Academy—and he considered himself a beast then.

  He’d laugh if the memory of his lost youth didn’t make him feel so murderous.

  He hadn’t wanted to breach The Loggerhead this way, but everything was spinning out of control. That stupid P.I. raising suspicions. Martisha panicking. That big friend of Shee’s showing up...

  No surprise there.

  Once a whore, always a whore.

  But it had been the stranger in the woods that forced
his hand.

  Who was that guy?

  He’d hesitated to kill the stranger, thinking he might be part of his own team arriving early.

  That knife-throwing trash had noticed.

  Hopefully, that guy was the reason the hotel had gone dark. There was no reason for them to suspect him yet.

  Scotty pulled his work shirt on over his Kevlar. He still had the element of surprise, but he might not have it much longer. Not if they took a good look at Beatriz.

  Scotty rubbed his eyes.

  His plan was to have his team enter the hotel and take Shee. He had a house rented and waiting out by Lake Okeechobee.

  Remote.

  It excited him just thinking about the fun they’d have there.

  He’d done everything right. Though, he thought Shee would come running as soon as she heard about her father. Dead father had been the original plan, but dying father worked just as well. It just meant more work for Martisha, keeping him quiet.

  Who knew Shee hadn’t been keeping touch with the hotel? He and Martisha had tried to get her tough old man to reveal her location. Torturing a doped-up ex-soldier without leaving marks in the middle of the night in a hotel full of people hadn’t been easy.

  He’d almost given up hope when Shee arrived.

  Then, somehow, everything had gotten worse.

  Time to right the ship.

  “Ready, sir?” asked the oldest team member. Traynor. Maybe thirty-two years old. He spoke the best English by far.

  Scotty nodded. “Call me Alpha Leader.”

  Traynor nodded once. “Okay.”

  He sniffed. “Okay, team, we’re going in. Everyone is expendable except Siofra McQueen. You all remember what she looks like?”

  They nodded in unison.

  “Give me an affirmative, Alpha Leader.”

  “Yes, Alpha Leader,” they chimed. Scotty chalked their lackluster voices to stealth.

  “Good.” He pointed at the youngest face. “You stay here with the boat—”

  Something snapped in the forest and all heads turned. They froze, listening.

  Nothing else moved.

  Animal. Maybe.

  Scotty pointed at the next soldier and lowered his voice another notch. “You—make a sweep of the woods and then come meet us at the hotel. The rest of you, with me. We’re going in the back.”

  He put out a hand.

  “Team, on three.”

  They piled their paws on top of his.

  “One, two, three—team!” They quietly chanted the final word with him.

  With a final glance into the woods, Scotty used two fingers, his index and middle, to point to the hotel and jogged his team toward the back entrance.

  “Stay in formation behind me,” he said over his shoulder.

  He had trouble wiping the smile from his face.

  “Ready or not, Shee, here I come.”

  &&&

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Mason dashed toward the water, wobbled and clipped a tree with his shoulder. He’d almost forgotten about his prosthetic. He grunted and put a Florida pine trunk between himself and the soldier at the water’s edge.

  Dammit.

  So much for sneaking up like a SEAL. His attack needed more brain, less leg.

  His stump throbbed. On the road with Archie, he’d ended his evenings early. By six p.m. they’d be holed up in a hotel, sharing take out. He’d remove his cup and sock and let his residual limb rest.

  But this day refused to end.

  He peered around the tree. The soldier wore black, his frame bulked by body armor.

  Never a good sign when people show up at your door in body armor.

  Average height, average size. Not terribly good at his job if the sound of Mason slamming himself into a pine didn’t catch his attention.

  The soldier stared at The Loggerhead, his hands resting on the automatic rifle hanging around his neck, as Mason started his crawl forward again. It frustrated him to move so slowly. Old, one-hundred-percent-intact Mason could have sprinted, could have been on the scout in seconds. Nullified him. Moved to the next battle.

  The battle about to erupt inside the Inn.

  He needed to get to Shee and the others. Even if the hotel was staffed with retired military like Shee had said, they weren’t prepared for an armed squad of—

  A twig cracked beneath Mason’s metal foot.

  Shit.

  He threw his back against a tree. He heard footsteps heading his way.

  Here we go.

  Crouching as best he could, Mason came out low and fired, aiming for center mass. He hit his target in the chest. A spray of bullets hit the trees above Mason’s head as the man fell back. The soldier’s butt hit the ground as Mason moved forward, gun raised.

  “Stay down,” he said.

  The young man lay on his back, struggling to breathe, fumbling with his rifle. Mason guessed him to be in his early twenties. The blow to the boy’s chest armor had knocked the wind out of him, and by the look of his panicked reaction, he hadn’t been shot before.

  Mason jerked the rifle off the boy, tossing it into the trees for later. An automatic weapon might come in handy. He plucked the kid’s sidearm out of his holster and tossed it into the river.

  “What are you doing here? What’s the plan?” he demanded.

  The boy stared at him, his hand on his chest over what Mason guessed was a nasty bruise.

  “How many of you are there?”

  “Дівчині. Нас десять.”

  Mason scowled. The kid didn’t speak English. Ukrainian?

  Mason kicked his foot. “Speak English.”

  “No English.”

  Great. If the kid was determined to play the I no speak English game, he didn’t have the time to change his mind. He needed to get to the hotel.

  His weapon still trained on the merc, Mason moved toward the canoe resting on the shallow shoreline, hoping to find rope.

  He noticed the Ukrainian’s attention shifting past him a moment too late.

  “Freeze,” said a voice to his right.

  Mason closed his eyes and silently swore.

  He raised his hands.

  “Don’t shoot me,” he said, trying to sound nervous. After all, he was just a guy in khakis and a polo shirt, out of his depth against trained soldiers.

  “Drop the gun,” said the second merc.

  Mason turned to face his new foe. This one was older by ten years, his face ravaged by pockmarks. His accent suggested he, too, was Slavic. He wore the same black body armor, but had no rifle. Mason guessed they’d left him on the far side of the lot to keep an eye out for nosey neighbors. He’d heard gunshots and come running. He pointed a nine millimeter at Mason’s face.

  Mason held his own weapon above his head. He waggled it, his eyes wide. “Hey, easy man. I don’t even know how to use this thing. Who are you guys?”

  The kid on the ground said something, no doubt pointing out the American had known how to use his gun well enough to tag him in the chest.

  Shut up, kid.

  The new soldier barked something in Ukrainian and the downed kid began clambering to his feet.

  “Drop it,” Pox said again, eying Mason’s waggling gun. He took a step toward him.

  Too close.

  Mason smiled. “No problem. Sure, man.”

  He took a second to think about how his leg would react and then tossed the gun toward the solder like a spaz. The guy’s attention moved to the weapon. He couldn’t not watch it, as awkwardly as Mason had lobbed it toward him.

  Mason snatched the merc’s gun from his hand. Clearly shocked, Pox lunged forward to retrieve his weapon and Mason clocked him on the side of his head with the gun. The guy’s knees buckled.

  Mason felt pretty good about the entire exchange—until the bruised kid kicked out his leg.

  Mason found himself falling forward just as the second solder recovered from the blow to his noggin and straightened to full height. Mason tuc
ked his head and slammed into him, using the man’s body to catch his own balance and drive Pox against a tree.

  The soldier threw back a leg for leverage.

  Showoff.

  Pox swung his right, rabbit-punching Mason in the kidney. The air blasted out of him.

  They wrestled for control of the gun. The soldier wrapped an arm around Mason’s neck to put him in a headlock. Mason punched him in the stomach and then used both hands to keep the gun.

  The kid moved in to help. Both soldiers worked at prying the gun from Mason’s hand.

  Fine. Nobody gets the gun.

  With a roar, Mason twisted his arm free long enough to flick his wrist and toss the gun into the river.

  The two men watched it fly. The pressure on Mason’s body eased. Finding balance on his prosthesis, he kneed the smaller man in the crotch. The kid doubled over and he kneed him again, this time in the face.

  Pox hung on his shoulder. He felt the man’s jaw against his collarbone.

  At least I know where your nose is.

  Mason back-punch him in the face and the monkey on his back fell away. Attention still on the kid, he grabbed the top of his vest and jerked him up to plant his fist on his Ukrainian nose. He needed to nullify this one so he could concentrate on one foe at a time.

  The young man’s eyes rolled back into his head. Mason felt movement behind him. He spun, jerking the limp kid with him like a dancer swinging his partner.

  Pox came knife-first, a large black combat blade. Mason hefted the kid in front of him. Unable to stop, Pox fell into his partner.

  The Kevlar couldn’t help the kid this time.

  From behind his human shield, Mason heard the first merc gasp as the knife slipped through the vest fibers and penetrated his lower abdomen.

  Pox’s eyes widened. Mason reached around to chop at the hand holding the knife. He struck the wrist hard. Pox released the knife, leaving it in his partner, who raised his own hands to it as he collapsed forward. Without Mason to hold him up he fell face first.

  He remained on the ground, still.

  Mason took a step toward the other soldier.

  “I don’t have time for this.”

  The man took a fighting stance.