by Kris Norris
She placed her hand over his, orienting herself. “If you’re all done talking around me—about me—while I sit here as if I’m invisible, I’d like to say something.”
Kent grunted. It sounded painful, but she pushed aside the part of her that wanted to comfort him. He needed to listen to her, not just acknowledge that she’d spoken. Actually listen.
She drew herself up. “I realize all of you have more…extensive training than I do. That you’ve trained for the kind of battles I can’t even imagine. But at the end of the day, I’m still a cop. Still took an oath. And if you’re all right—if these flashbacks I’m having are actually the truth slowly bleeding through the cracks—then someone I worked with. Some bastard I trusted my life to, killed my partner. Tried to kill me. Now, you can put as much security as you want around me. Kent can wire this entire place to blow, if he hasn’t already. But I’m staying. End of discussion.”
She whirled on Kent when he huffed. “I’m not helpless. I appreciate that everything you’re saying is coming from a place of caring. That you don’t want me to get hurt. And I’ll admit, a part of me loves you for that. But—and you really need to listen to this part—if I ever manage to get my sight back, I’ll never be able to look myself in the mirror if I bow out. Will was more than a partner. He was my best friend. Saved my ass more times than I can count. Even took a bullet for me once. And I’ve let him down. Well, that stops. Now.”
She stood, took a few steps to the side, then crossed her arms. Kent wasn’t the only one who could be stubborn.
A chorus of sighs, then a round of chuckles.
“I gotta hand it to you Rigs. You sure know how to pick ‘em.” Russel, off to her left. “Sounds like she’s made up her mind.”
A growl. No other way to describe it. Kent was pissed. “We’re talking about having her sit in the middle of the damn room. The same one they put bullets through not twenty-four hours, ago. That I’m sure they have satellite imagining on or drones patrolling the area, gathering intel. How is that remotely sane?”
“You’re right. It’s not. But it’s also the best we’ve got. And she won’t be alone, buddy. We’ll all be here. Hidden, but here. All we need is for her to stay visible long enough to get the bastards here. Get them to out themselves. Then…”
“Then, we’ll be outlining her body in chalk when they decide talking is overrated and they send an RPG through the house, instead. Or pick her off with a sniper. If there’s even enough left to outline.”
“Do all MARSOC guys think in terms of worst case scenario? Or is it just you?” Cannon. From somewhere off to her right. And Addy didn’t miss the humor in his voice.
“I’m not gambling with her life. Ask anything else of me, and I’ll do it. But not that.”
Addison sighed and held out her hand, smiling when Kent was there instantly. Taking her fingers in his. Placing them on his forearm. Her rock. “Surely, there’s a way we can compromise. One you can live with.”
“There is.” Cannon, again, moving closer. His energy washed over her—just as deadly as before, but now, she sensed the difference. How it wasn’t directed at her. More like a permanent part of his DNA. “When we first discussed this, I made a few inquiries. I wasn’t sure if I could get my hands on what we needed, but…”
He paused, and Addison bet her ass he was smiling. One of those big, authentic ones that men got when they were looking at a new car. Or in this case, weaponry. Because she was sure these guys turned into kids at Christmas when a new gun or knife came their way.
“But…” she pressed.
“Let’s just say, it’s good to have a few friends in low places. And I think I have just what we need.” He placed a small device in her hand. “Picked this up after that great show you put on this morning. Seeing as our friends are relying heavily on electronics, seems only fair we take them down a peg or two.”
She used both hands, gliding her fingertips over the surface. “Is this a…a…an EMP?” Electro-magnetic pulse that would disable anything electronic for god knew how far.
“It’s fairly compact. Concentrated. Enough to scramble a drone or any kind of device relying on a charge to drive it that might be in the immediate vicinity. Thinking that will level the field if they decide to come at us armed for bear like Rigs fears. Guarantee that no one will be able to see you—see us—until they come through that door. By then…”
He snorted, and she imagined him shrugging those massive shoulders she’d gotten a glimpse of the other night. “But just to be sure, I have a few blankets that will lower our heat signatures. Make it hard to detect. If we coordinate that with Rigs tripping some smoke grenades, or blinding them with a flashbang… They won’t stand a chance. Besides, I figure Rigs will be close enough he’ll have you off the couch and under him before anyone could take a shot. Ain’t that right, buddy?”
“Joke all you want, Cannon, because you’re right. I won’t be more than a breath away. Period. Not if everyone insists on going through with this.”
Addison smiled. She heard the tone of Rigs’ voice. The slightly reduced tension. Obviously, Cannon’s precautions had eased some of his worry.
Defcon two.
That’s what he’d called it.
Either way, it meant they’d end this. Tonight.
Of course, she hadn’t anticipated how much work was involved in getting the place—getting her—ready. Though, all she’d done was sit at the table, listening to Hank go over the plan. Step by step, multiple times, until she thought her head would explode. And all around her, noises. Nothing concrete she could pinpoint, but the men were doing…something. Moving stuff. Changing the layout, maybe.
She suspected they were installing cameras and motion detectors. That Kent was wiring everything. If she’d learned anything about him it was that he didn’t feel truly secure unless he had explosives in the mix. Had rigged her home to his satisfaction. And after intruders had managed to break through his defenses the other day, she suspected he wouldn’t worry about whether the charges were lethal. Only that they stopped whoever tripped them.
People she’d worked with. Trusted. That’s who would trip them. Men she would have taken a bullet for.
A hand on her shoulder. It wasn’t Kent or Russel. She’d recognize the feel. The shape. And there wasn’t any oppressive energy sending her system into overdrive, which only left one other guy, besides Hank sitting across from her. “Yes, Sam?”
He laughed. “Guessed me by default?”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Nope. Still impressive. Okay, we’re just about ready. We’ve got everything wired for sound, too. If our hunches are right, whoever’s coming for you isn’t going to break down the door. They’re going to knock. Have you invite them in. Make it all seem innocent. Build a backstory that will account for you dying. Personally, I suspect they’ll have their forces barge in after they’re here—most likely outfitted like gang members. Say they tried to help, but you got caught in the crossfire. Couldn’t see to help yourself. And Bridgette wants everything on tape so she can crucify them—or at least have Jeremy do it.
“Also, the Bureau still owed Hank a favor from when we unearthed a few moles in their ranks—back when Harlequin was being hunted. They’ve got a small crew down the street. Far enough away the EMP won’t affect them should we need to use it, but ready to bust in. We’d like this to go down with as little bloodshed as possible.”
“Fat chance.” It was Kent. She could tell even before he spoke. By the way he moved in beside her. The soft brush of his hand over hers. “They‘ve got nothing to lose, here. That makes them more than dangerous. It makes them desperate.”
“True. But with Addison showing up at the precinct… It might look too suspicious if her house gets attacked like that, again. Thankfully, most of the damage was on the outside. Easy to hide.” Sam squeezed her shoulder. “You ready? Any questions?”
“I’m ready. Though, my job is pretty simple.”
Sam sigh
ed. “Okay, we’re going to make a show of leaving, in case they’re already watching. They were expecting Rigs to stay until ten. It’s nine thirty. We’ll all head out, then double back. Take our positions. Ice will hang with Bridgette, Jeremy, and the Feds—in case anyone needs his expertise. He doesn’t like it, but…he knows the score as the only medic among us. Rigs will see himself out at ten. Drive off until he can make his way, back, too. He’ll come in through one of the rear windows, then take up a position not too far from your living room. Clear?”
She nodded, turning to hopefully take in everyone. “Thank you. All of you. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t…” She choked on the rest of the words. The ones that felt like lumps stuck in her throat.
The others came over—making enough noise she could hear them. Pinpoint their location. They took turns giving her arm a squeeze, then made their way to the door. It seemed surreal as they joked and laughed, chatting about poker and who would win next time. Like this had been nothing more than a friendly night with buddies. Then, they were gone. Nothing but an eerie void in the house.
Kent took her arm, walked her back to the couch. He didn’t speak, just wrapped his arms around her—held her close. His heartbeat strummed against her cheek—slow. Steady. Only the occasional breath that belayed his worry.
He was putting on his own show for her. And she knew why. If he wasn’t concerned, wasn’t anxious, then it meant things would be okay. Or maybe he’d just changed into soldier mode early. Become Rigs—ordinance soldier and stone cold operative.
She didn’t care, clinging to him until it was time for him to leave. To start the entire ball rolling. He dropped a kiss on her head then pushed to his feet. She went to follow him, but he held her shoulder—keeping her seated.
“I’ll see myself out. You…” He huffed, but she heard the tremble in his voice. The way he swallowed with effort.
“It’s going to be okay.”
He chuckled. “That’s my line, sweetheart. But yeah. It will, because I can’t think about it any other way. You’re going to live. Period.”
“You, too. Don’t go getting any crazy ideas that sacrificing yourself for me is an acceptable countermeasure. Losing you…”
“We’re quite the pair.” Another kiss. Soft. His lips barely brushing hers. “Stay vigilant. And when the shit starts flying, get down.”
Then, he vanished. Just like that. Standing in front of her one moment, gone the next. She didn’t even hear the door open and close, just the subtle growl of his truck as it started, then pulled away. And she was alone.
Completely.
Sure, the house was wired. Explosives. Cameras. Bugs. But that feeling—the sense of no one else around her—it hit home. And she realized how lonely she’d been before Kent. Having Blade had helped. Had taken away the overwhelming pain of loss. But Kent had banished it. Obliterated it as if it had been an enemy force he’d secretly been sent to destroy.
And now, it was back. In her face. Making her acutely aware of what she had to lose. That if things went badly—if Kent sacrificed himself for her like she knew he would if the situation warranted it—she’d be smothered, this time. Lost in the grief. In the never-ending darkness that had nothing to do with conversion disorder or trauma or her fucked-up mind. That he was the source of light she’d been searching for. The only part of her she needed to keep whole.
The doorbell rang.
Showtime.
Addison rose from the couch, gripping the cane Kent had left by her side, then made her way to the door. She’d wondered why he’d insisted she use it—her home was the one place she could navigate on her own—only to realize the men had moved things around. Not a lot. Just minor shifts in her chairs. In a small table in the hallway by the door.
Probably opening up different sight lines.
Or maybe Kent had moved the pieces in order to wire her house. Not that it mattered. Using her cane would make whoever was at her door feel as if they had the upper hand. That she wasn’t a threat.
She reached the entrance after the second chime of the bell. “Yes? Hello?”
“Addison? It’s Shawn. I’m here with Dave, Paul and Trent. Can we come in?”
All of them?
She hadn’t counted on that. Were they all in on it? All dirty? Or had she gotten the visions from her flashbacks wrong? Implicating people who had nothing to do with Will’s death. The attempts on her life.
She forced herself to swallow, to remove any emotion from her face as she turned the lock then opened the door. They were standing there. Close. She felt the weight of the air pushing on her, the combined heat of their bodies. They took a step forward, the sound of fabric sliding over metal reaching her.
They were armed. No doubt. Not that it was highly unusual. But it made her feel at a disadvantage. A part of her had hoped they’d count on overpowering her—using their hands. That, she could have countered. But guns—she’d have to rely on hearing them draw. Maybe the click of the safety going off. But if they had Glocks—and that was definitely Paul’s choice of weapon—they didn’t switch off like her Beretta. She’d never hear anything before it was too late.
Addison waved them in, closing the door behind them, then following them back to the living room. The two chairs the guys had moved slightly creaked, as did one of the cushions on the love seat. She took her place on the couch, feeling the cushion next to her dip.
That meant two of the men were across from her. One on her right in the love seat and one beside her on the couch. Virtually surrounded by people she suspected had shot her. Killed Will then hoped they’d both get lost in the explosion.
“So, Addy, are you feeling better?”
It was Trent. Beside her on the couch. Shit. He was the one that was CIA. Might have been a Black Ops soldier. Delta, like Cannon. Though, she didn’t get the same sense from him. No overwhelming death vibe. And while she knew they were dangerous, they didn’t compare to what she’d felt from Cannon or any of Kent’s friends. God, she hoped that meant they weren’t a match for them.
She twisted to face him, plastering on her best smile. “Much. I’m…sorry you guys had to see that. I never know when an episode is going to hit me, or how hard. They’ve been getting…worse, since the incident at the auction.”
“No apologies needed. We were just a bit…shocked.” He snickered. “Townsend thought you’d had a seizure until your…friend said it was a flashback.” The cushion shifted, and she knew he was looking around. Searching for Kent. “Is Walker gone?”
There was something in his voice. It sounded like regret—frustration that Kent wasn’t there—but it faded. Replaced by the sense of being watched. That all the men were staring at her, judging her response by the way she tilted her head. How she looked at them. Even if she couldn’t see, she could out herself. Give away their plan by a careless shift of her eyes.
“He left about ten minutes, ago. Had a security issue he needed to tend to. He hopes to be back tomorrow.”
“You two seem to be hitting it off.” It was Paul. And she didn’t miss the sarcastic tone. She just wasn’t sure if he was amazed that Kent wanted to be with her, or the other way ‘round.
She forced herself to turn in his direction. Smile, again. “He’s…one of the good guys.”
“Right. MARSOC. Those guys are pretty hardcore. Not really known for being…soft. Emotional.”
“No, they’re not. So, what brings you guys by? Did I miss the meeting? Is the US Attorney’s office upset?”
“Walker must have called them. They didn’t show up. Though, that is why we’re here. We thought maybe we should go over what happened. Talk it out. If you remember.”
This was it. The part where she needed to get them to spill something damning. One slip up, and the feds would storm in—avoid what she knew would be a bloody shootout.
“That’s the hard part. I remember…bits. Walking into the warehouse. Gun shots. Will over me before arching back. I know this sounds crazy
, but…I think he was shot. Killed. Are you sure he died in the explosion?”
Silence. They didn’t vanish like Kent and his team, but it was unnerving, just the same. Sitting there. Being the only one who couldn’t see. Who didn’t know what was happening around them. They could be drawing their weapons. Signaling each other who would fire, and she wouldn’t have a clue. Would simply sit there, waiting for one of them to cap her in the head unless they made a noise. Gave themselves away.
Was that a rustle of cloth? A muted scrape of one of their feet across the floor? She heard a ping. Not the kind of a bullet ricocheting or someone removing a safety. It sounded like an incoming text. The same noise Kent’s phone had made just before he’d set off his countermeasures. Bought them enough time to escape.
God, had they wired something to blow? She wasn’t sure Kent’s team had considered that. Someone using explosives close up. Was there a contingency plan? Had Hank mentioned something, but she’d been too busy being stubborn to hear?
A slight dip of the cushion next to her. Trent had moved closer. Not a lot. So little no one might have even noticed. Just him rearranging his legs. Then, the cushion behind her. He’d laid his arm across the back. Caging her in. Close enough she was sure he could grab her if he wanted. One move, and she’d be in his arms. Or dead.
Did he have a knife? She was sure Kent had one. Maybe several stashed on his body. Between his shoulder blades or at his ankle. Maybe both. She remembered hearing what seemed like an endless array of weapons hit the side table when they’d made love that first day.
How long ago had it been? A day? Two? Half her life? Because it felt as if he’d been in it forever. Or maybe it was simply that she hadn’t started living—really living—until he’d bumped into her. Filled some hole inside her she hadn’t know was there. Just waiting to be fixed.
Warning bells went off in her head. She needed to adapt. Or get them to confess. Something before Murphy’s Law kicked in and blood started flowing.
She shifted forward on the seat, gripping her cane. Wondering if she could use it as a form of defense. “Can I get you guys something to drink? Water? Maybe a beer? You’re off-duty, right?”
