by Kris Norris
Kent pushed into her touch, and his smile nearly took her to her knees. God, everything he’d said had been true. Because what she saw staring back at her…
She smiled. “Kent…”
She gasped as the images shifted, Kent’s face fading into a smoky haze. Gunfire popped in the distance, the acrid smell of propellant heavy in the air. It mixed with something else—some kind of flowery scent that made her stomach threaten to empty. Right there on Russel’s floor. Her name sounded from somewhere, but it was crushed beneath the weight pushing her down. She blinked, and Will was above her—hands on her chest. Her blood splattered up his arms. He was telling her to hold on, not to die, then he was falling—covering her. Voices all around her. A face behind his shoulder. A gun…
“Addison!”
Kent called her name, again, and she sucked in a deep breath, realizing she was on her knees, Kent’s face level with hers. Russel was on the other side, taking her vitals, his bag opened beside him.
How long had she been lost? Reliving that night while everyone watched?
Her vision started fading—little black dots slowly slipping in from the sides. She pushed everything away, willing the light to stay. The darkness paused—held steady as she made eye contact with Kent. His eyes were so blue. So bright amidst the encroaching shadows.
She wet her lips, still fighting to see. “Will was shot. I saw it. He was over top of me, trying to stem the bleeding. He was fine, then…then…”
Pain had her closing her eyes, grabbing her head in order to stop the unrelenting pounding. It stole her breath, constricted her chest. Kept pushing on her until she finally let the memories die—crumble around her like the warehouse had done.
“Addison. Come on, sweetheart, talk to me.”
She groaned, palming one temple as she blinked—knowing the instant nothing changed that the flash was gone. She lifted her hand off her head. Held it out, relaxing when Kent sandwiched it between his. As if he’d been waiting for an opportunity to hold it.
His breath caressed her cheek. “You back with us?”
She nodded, too drained to voice the words. Kent sighed, then gently scooped her into his arms, once again, lowering onto a chair. She wasn’t sure if it was the same one or if they’d moved her. But feeling his body hugging hers eased the unsettling sensation in the pit of her stomach—the one that usually had her clutching at the blankets, or wrapping her arms around Blade’s neck.
Kent stroked her hair, brushing a soft kiss across her forehead. “Flashbacks are a bitch. Just try to breathe while Russel gets you some more tea.”
She burrowed against him. “This feels pretty great just the way it is.”
His heart kicked up against her cheek, the increased rhythm making her smile. The guy was hardcore. Had made a living by blowing up bridges. Disarming trip wires and IEDs. He hadn’t shown any kind of reaction to danger. No increased breath. No shaky voice. Yet, her admitting that his arms soothed her had his heart tapping wildly in his chest. His breath fluttering the hairs around her face.
Kent exhaled. “You’re determined to be the death of me, aren’t you?”
“Not a bad way to go.”
“Nope. But I’d prefer it to be after we spend the next fifty years together.” He smiled against her head at her gasp. “Okay, we’ll make it sixty.”
Addison eased forward, thankful when Kent helped her sit upright. She opened her mouth to question him when footsteps sounded beside her followed by the press of a mug in her hand.
“Drink.” Russel. And she hadn’t missed the commanding tone. The one he’d probably used as a PJ whenever he expected compliance.
But the mug felt warm, and her hands were cold, despite the summer temperatures. So, she lifted the cup and took a cautious sip before arching a brow at him. “Is there any tea with my whiskey?”
Russel chuckled. “Very little. Just…trust me. It’ll help.”
She smiled her thanks, taking another sip. It went down warm and smooth. She relaxed against Kent, only to have him give her a gentle shake.
“I know you’re probably exhausted, Addy, but… If there’s anything else you can tell us. Anything to go on. You said Will was over you, then…”
A shiver shot across her skin as a few of the memories shuffled through her head, but she kept them distant. Used her grip on Kent’s hand to keep her grounded.
“Then… He fell on top of me. There was blood—his blood. I remember voices. Smelling some kind of sickeningly sweet fragrance. Seeing someone over his shoulder, then…” She shook her head. “Maybe that’s when the lab exploded. It’s like a flash of white light.”
That heavy energy pressed in on her, again, and she knew Cannon was standing close. Then, his voice at her level—he must be crouching. “So, he was dead before the place blew?”
She nodded, grimacing against the resulting pain through her temples. “I couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything other than lie there.”
“You said you heard voices. Do you remember what they said?”
Kill her too… The whole place is gonna blow...
The words looped in her head, the malicious tone settling with unforgiving clarity. Most of the other stuff was still muddled—echoed voices that didn’t quite make sense outside of the moment. But those phrases stuck.
She straightened, still holding Kent’s hand. “There were two people. One of them said to kill me, too, but the other guy knew the place was going to blow. I think he thought I’d die in the explosion. And I know I’ve heard their voices before, I just can’t place them. It’s still…mixed up. Like I’m listening through a filter.”
Silence.
Then, Kent’s harsh breath. “I’ll kill them.”
“Kent—”
“Don’t even suggest otherwise. Bastards will pay.”
She turned toward him when Cannon moved closer, his sheer size disturbing the air around them.
“Rigs? You’re our expert.” It was Cannon, again. “Is it possible her partner falling on her is what saved her from the explosion?”
Kent’s body stiffened, and Addison was certain she felt a low rumble through his chest. “Explosions are tricky. Using the wrong amount, even just a slight miscalculation, can have dramatically different results. Not anticipating the way the heat will fill the building, how the walls will react, can alter the explosive pattern. Decimate areas you thought would be fine. Save others. Or if they had to improvise on the spot—use different chemicals to create the blast than what they were used to… A thousand ways it could go wrong. How about I paint a picture for us?
“Let’s assume the people in question are cops or feds or DEA agents from the task force Addison was on. That they’re on Stevens’ payroll. They’d want to make it look like a takedown gone wrong. People getting shot? Nothing new. They alert the gang they’re coming, and anyone not involved meets a tragic end.”
He released a slow breath. “But on the off-chance some of them die from friendly fire, or just to reduce the chances of leaving any damning evidence behind, they’ve rigged the place to blow. No one’s going to question a meth explosion—which rules out using C4 as the charge, by the way. Chances are the ME won’t even dig that deep when they have the reports—obvious burn and crushing injuries. Even if they find evidence of bullet wounds, they were involved in a shootout. No bullet, and they assume it was from one of the bad guys. They just make sure everyone uses the same caliber.
“But Will and Addison survive the shootout, then Will falls on top of her too close to when things are going to get ugly. They can’t move him in time, and he shields Addison, just like you suggested. Takes the brunt of any burn or impact injuries. Either way…they weren’t planning on anyone coming out of there alive.”
Addison inhaled. “Oh god. I think I know why this is all happening, now. I was added as a backup witness to the Stevens’ trial about a month ago. It’s very unlikely I’ll testify—not like this—but the US Attorney’s office wanted me and Joe Wilson put
on the official docket so they had the option to call us. Obviously, in my current condition, they wouldn’t consider my testimony reliable, which is why I didn’t even think about it. It’s a remote possibility, at best, but…”
“But these people aren’t taking any chances. Figured they’d eliminate any possibility of you or Joe saying something you shouldn’t. Something that would have the attorney’s office digging deeper. Which is why they staged that burglary.” Kent groaned. “Damn. I knew I’d forgotten to ask you something. You mentioned at the auction that you had a new phone. Was that just weird timing or…”
She shook her head. “I was getting odd calls. Either no one on the line or voices that didn’t quite make sense. They sometimes gave me headaches. Triggered flashbacks. I tried blocking the number, but they kept coming, so I finally opted to get a new phone number.” She groaned. “You think it’s all connected. I mean, of course, it’s all connected. I should have considered that before. Told you straight off. Maybe then, we wouldn’t be continually adapting. And I would have before the raid—when I was at the top of my game. Before I became this version of myself.”
“Hey…” Kent’s hands wrapped around hers. “You’ve had a bit to deal with besides trying to adapt to losing your sight—the robbery. Blade getting shot. Attempts on your life.” He cleared his throat. “Me being an ass for a while. I’m not sure any of us here would be as well put together as you are.”
She smiled at him, wishing she could look him in the eyes. “I like the way you turned out.”
Russel chuckled. “Who’s making all the goo goo eyes, now, Rigs?”
Kent snorted. “Unless you want your Tacoma to end up in a million pieces, I wouldn’t be too cocky.”
“You’d never blow up that truck. You love it, too.”
“Just keep putting that theory to the test, bro.” His breath caressed her cheek, and she knew he was focused on her, again. “Okay, we have a working theory. But that’s all it is. What we need is more intel. A plan.”
“Addison?” It was Cannon. “Can you give me a list of who was on the task force? I’d like to investigate if any of them have a military connection. Maybe they’re ex-military themselves or have friends. Family. Might help narrow down possible suspects because my gut’s telling me there’s definitely a soldier or two involved.”
“Of course, but… I worked with some of them for years. No one ever mentioned being in the military.”
“Might not be common knowledge. I can’t talk about the past ten years of my life without worrying about accidentally giving something away. So, it’s easier to just pretend it didn’t exist to anyone who hasn’t been part of the Teams.”
“I hadn’t really considered that. Though, I was thinking…” She paused, giving Kent’s hands a squeeze. “I have an idea. One that might shift the balance of power to us.”
Kent snorted. “Am I going to like your idea?”
“Probably not.”
Chapter 17
No way. No fucking way. Not happening. Over his dead body. Or worse—Addison’s.
Rigs clenched his jaw, looking around the table at the men gathered in chairs, gazes fixed on Addison. They’d reconvened after dispersing last night—giving Cannon, Hank, and Sam more time to investigate the members of Addison’s task force. To consider her idea—the one that put her in the crosshairs. Made her even more of a target. The plan Rigs was about to crush until it was nothing more than a dim memory.
Because he would not put her life in jeopardy, again.
“Rigs?”
Rigs pulled himself out of his thoughts—from the plan of hiking Addison up over his shoulder and disappearing. Going so far off-grid no one—including his teammates—would ever find them. And he would. He’d lift her in his arms, walk out to his truck, and drive. Except, she’d never leave Blade behind, nor would he, and the dog wasn’t fit to travel, yet.
Then, there were his buddies. No way they’d stand idly by while he ran. That’s not how teams functioned, and he owed every man at the table his life. Had saved theirs. They were in this together. Which meant talking calmly. Rationally. Not glaring at his buddies before he’d explained his concerns.
He turned to stare at Ice. Convey his displeasure with nothing more than eye contact. “Ice.”
The man winced. Actually winced at Rigs’ tone. “Obviously, you’re not happy with what’s being discussed, so… Might as well get it all out in the open.”
He glanced at Addison when she swung her head his way, that beautiful sightless gaze staring at him—all bright blue eyes and pink lips. It was the same expression she’d had when she’d woken up in his arms, after spending the night together in Russel’s spare room. They hadn’t even had sex—how could he when her fucking side was still raw. Still likely oozing beneath the bandages. All because he’d allowed her to get hurt.
Instead, he’d simply held her. Counted every second of her body pressed against his, her heart tapping against his palm. Listened to her steady breath. Assured himself that she was still alive. Still there with him.
It had been one of the best nights of his life.
And it had scared him shitless.
Because he knew. He knew as sure as the damn sun would rise, that his face would still be scarred, that she wouldn’t back down. Wouldn’t stop at anything less than what it took to bring these monsters in. Put the bastards who’d killed her partner behind bars.
She didn’t seem to care about the risks. The real chance she would get killed, because despite his determination, his crew, shit happened. It had happened to his MARSOC unit, and it could easily happen here. Now. And he’d lose her. Lose himself.
He took a deep breath, once again, reminding himself to keep his voice even. “Not sure there’s much to say other than I can’t get behind a plan that has Addison front and center. Out in the open where these bastards want her. We’re at a distinct disadvantage. Have no idea how deep Stevens’ pockets really are. For all we know, Addison is the only cop in her precinct not on the take.”
To his credit, Ice didn’t roll his eyes. Didn’t snort or laugh. Instead, he nodded, looking around the table at the rest of their team. “You’re right. We don’t know for sure that our suspicions are correct. But before we rule anything out, let’s hear what Cannon has to say. He should be here any minute.”
Rigs clenched his jaw in response. It was the best he could do without pounding his fists on the table—looking like a complete ass. Because he knew what the others were thinking—that Rigs had fully supported the plan when Harlequin had been willing to face her enemy. Had convinced Russel to trust him. It made sense to allow the other man the same privilege.
Except for the part where Rigs knew—firsthand—how even the best plans went up in smoke. How Ice had nearly lost Harlequin to a lack of intel, and how this could go so much worse. Granted, Addison was a trained officer. Had proven she could hold her own. Wouldn’t go down without a fight.
But that didn’t sooth the burning sensation under his skin. The nervous energy that was making it hard to sit there when he wanted to pace. He never paced. Never let any doubts show. Feeling like this—it was new and not something he enjoyed.
Addison reached over—placed her hand on top of his. And bam, everything slid into focus. That he’d do anything to protect her. Starting with eliminating everyone gunning for her.
A knock, followed by Cannon walking into the room. Addison inhaled, tightening her grip on his hand. Rigs shifted closer. While he couldn’t stop her from sensing how dangerous Cannon was, the least he could do was offer her the comforting support of his body close to hers. A subconscious signal to her brain that assured her nothing bad would happen as long as he was beside her. That he was primed and ready to strike.
Cannon stopped a few steps back, studying Addison before releasing a weary breath, then taking a seat next to Ice. He offered Rigs an apologetic smile. “Still sensing that mercenary vibe, Addison?”
She snorted, visibly pushing her s
houlders down. “How big are you?”
“Six four. Two fifty.”
“Wow. Okay, that accounts for the shifting of air whenever you’re around. As for the mercenary vibe—I know you’re not a threat. At least, not to me. I do. It’s just…” She sighed. “Maybe it’s all the sensory input over the past few days. The flashes of vision. I’m hyper aware of everything. Though, having a mercenary vibe when it’s directed at the people targeting me isn’t a bad thing. And Kent has assured me—repeatedly—that you’re one of the good guys.”
She twisted to face Cannon. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be reintegrating after two years. Even if it’s just some forced R&R. I’ve seen veteran cops go sideways after several months of deep undercover work. After all your time, and in unimaginable conditions…”
He shrugged, even though she couldn’t see him. Though, maybe she could feel the other man move. Rigs wasn’t a small guy. He matched Ice for height at six feet, though his buddy probably had a good thirty pounds on him. Still, size had never really mattered. Someone was either a threat or not. But even he had to admit, Cannon was large—beyond that, really. Not someone Rigs would choose to go up against unless it was necessary. And he was pretty damn glad the other man was on their side.
Still, for Addison, Rigs would challenge anyone. Eliminate any threat.
Cannon leaned back in his chair. “I’ll do my best to direct that energy at the shitheads after you. Because any soldier who’d betray a fellow officer. Sell out his soul for blood money deserves everything we throw at them.”
Rigs straightened. “You’ve got leads?”
“A few too many for my liking. Seems there were three ex-military personnel on the task force, and another two who have ties. Our ex-soldiers are Detective Trent Seymour, and DEA agents Shawn Townsend and the recently deceased Joseph Wilson. His partner, Grace Sanchez, has a brother in the service, as does the medical examiner, one José Pedro, who signed off on the findings for both Agent Sanchez and Detective O’Toole.”
