The Omega Team: Lethal Intent (Kindle Worlds Novella) (MacKay Destiny Book 7)

by L. J. Garland

Smack!

  The other way. He grimaced. Moaned.

  “Jay-me Mack Kay.”

  The odd cadence of the guy’s voice threw him, and it took a moment to figure out he’d said his name. He tried to move, but his arms and legs were strapped down. Zip ties. And his feet were so damn cold. Peering through his lashes, he disvoered why—his feet were submerged in a large pan of water and ice. Damn. This can’t be good. He kept his eyes closed, let his chin rest on his chest. Where am I? Wait, forget that. How did I get here?

  A hazy memory rolled through his brain. He’d been in bed. Heard footsteps. Lily? But even in his sleep-dazed awareness, he’d known it wasn’t her. He’d shifted to see who, but then…a sharp prick to his neck. Fire burning through his veins. Then bits and pieces that made no sense. Gunfire. A tan jacket fluttering to the ground. Blood. Nothing.

  “Jay-me Mack Kay. Wake up.”

  The deep voice rumbled in Jamie’s ears. The cadence and foreign inflections sounded familiar. Afghanistan. Memories of what Lily had confessed filled his mind. Terrorist. But she said they found him.

  Smack! His head twisted to the right again. He groaned.

  Apparently not. Though his heart jackhammered in his chest, he forced himself to remain limp.

  “Fine. We will play your way.”

  A light ting of metal hitting metal then the guy approached him. He set his hand on top of Jamie’s and pressed down to the point of pain. Jamie gritted his teeth, waiting for whatever came next. A slight pressure on his index finger then—

  Jamie yelled.

  Searing pain shot beneath his fingernail. The bastard had driven something into it…hot, molten fire screamed through his hand. Sweat popped out on his forehead. When he got a glimpse of the damage, a splinter of wood sat jammed beneath his nail. Deep.

  “So you are awake, Jay-me.” The guy smiled. Pure evil glinted in his dark eyes. “Good. I am Tariq Faraz.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Information.” He clutched Jamie’s jaw, yanking his head up at a sharp angle and jacking it back against the chair. Blunt fingers crushed into his cheeks. “You fly drones for your government.”

  “Is that a question?”

  With his other hand, the guy tapped the end of splinter, and fire shot up Jamie’s finger and into his palm. Fuck me!

  “I’m a baker, you asshole.”

  Tariq tightened his grip, squeezing until Jamie tasted blood where a tooth cut the inside of his cheek. With an abrupt jerk, Tariq released him and turned away.

  “I’m telling the truth.” Sweat rolled down Jamie’s temple. “You saw my shop.”

  Tariq picked up a manila file and flipped it open. “Technical Sergeant Jamie Andrew MacKay. Twelve years of service in the US Air Force as a drone pilot. Five tours overseas, three of which were in Afghanistan. After the last tour, you didn’t re-enlist, instead electing to return to the US.” He set the file on the table.

  Jamie glared at the guy. “Why are you asking questions if you already have all the answers?”

  Closing the distance, Tariq leaned forward, his hand snaking out to Jamie’s. Tap. Tap.

  Fire. More yells erupted from his throat. “I swear, when I get out of this”—he jerked against his bonds—“I’m gonna hurt you real bad.”

  “But I will have first go at you.” Tariq turned away again, picking something else up from the table…a tube sock and a pool ball. He dropped the ball into the sock. “Before I begin loosening a few of your teeth, I will ask you a question. If you answer honestly, you will die a quick, painless death.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then there will be much pain before you die.” Letting the heavy end of the sock dangle from his hand, he swung it side to side like a hypnotist with a watch.

  “Sounds like the game’s rigged. But my mama didn’t raise a liar or a fool, so go ahead and ask.”

  The guy smirked. “You flew the drone that destroyed an ISIS cell near Kandahar.”

  “That in my file, too?”

  He gave a tight-lipped smile. “Who gave the order?”

  So that was what he wanted to know. “Well now, that’s kinda tricky. The call came from higher up. I didn’t see faces or hear names. I just followed orders.”

  Whoosh-whoosh. Whack!

  Pain pierced his jaw where the pool ball hit then reverberated outward through his head. Son of a bitch! He sucked deep breaths and willed his vision to clear.

  “Who gave the order?” The guy’s calm demand grated nails in Jamie’s skull.

  Whoosh-whoosh. Whack!

  Stars flashed behind Jamie’s eyes. The room spun; he couldn’t tell which way was up. Holy shit. More deep breaths. Before he could get his bearings, darkness circled and his eyes slid closed. When he came to—could’ve been a second or an hour, he had no clue—the guy had moved behind him.

  “You are awake. Good.” Tariq wrenched Jamie’s head back and forced his mouth open. Something metal jammed inside. “Ah, there’s a loose one.”

  Tug, twist, yank. “Aaarggh!”

  “That is one,” the asshole announced. “You’ve got a whole mouthful of teeth, and I’ve got all night. But why bother with such things when all you have to do is tell me who gave the order.” He released Jamie’s head.

  Choking on the blood pouring from the hole where the tooth had been pulled, he coughed and spat. Forcing his head up, he looked into the eyes of a dead man. “I doe no.”

  “You don’t know.” Swaggering to the table holding his instruments of torture, Tariq dropped the pliers and tooth on a tray. “You don’t know.” He shook his head and snorted. “Why do you protect these rich, imperialistic pig dogs who use you to carry out their death and destruction? They use you, Jamie, while they sit fat, happy, and safe behind the protective steel doors of the American government.”

  The rhetoric sounded like something straight from an ISIS training manual. Jamie wanted to roll his eyes, but it hurt too much.

  Reaching over, the guy twisted a knob then picked up a set of jumper cables. He tapped the ends together and sparks flew then he gestured toward the metal tray of water his feet soaked in. “You will tell me who gave the order to murder my brother, Jamie.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Moonlight trickled between tree limbs, lighting Lily’s path as she crept toward the fishing cabin where a terrorist held Jamie. She’d left the SUV about a half mile down the road so as not to give away her arrival. And, after setting her cell phone to silent, she’d tucked it in her pocket, grabbed her Glock, and headed out to find Jamie.

  Jacquie had come through locating him—though it had taken longer than she’d wanted. But when it came to the ins and outs of accessing satellites, Lily was clueless. During that time, she waited for the ambulance for Will who’d passed out again. The sounds of panic and chaos from the convenience store explosion floated on the air to her. First responders had answered the initial crisis, and in such a small town, Lily imagined all available hands were at the scene.

  She’d touched her fingers to the side of Will’s neck, barely able to feel his heartbeat and worried he’d lost too much blood. When, at last, the EMTs arrived, they prepped and loaded him with quick efficiency. By the time they headed to the hospital, Jacquie called. She’d accessed a satellite that had acquired footage of Jamie’s abduction.

  The cabin sat sentry ahead, a squat box with light pouring through the windows. Night creatures chirped and sawed, their song swallowed from her ears by the burbling river that lay yards from the front porch.

  “Aaaagh!”

  Lily froze. Jamie! Her heart banged against her sternum. Instinct screamed for her to run to him. It took every bit of self-control to force herself to follow years of training. As badly as she wanted to help him, she needed to take a moment to find the approach that offered the highest success. Rushing in could get them both killed.

  She edged up to a window and peeked inside the cabin.

  Jamie. Strapped to a chair. Bruised, bloody.
But alive.

  A modicum of relief flitted in her chest—she still needed to get him out.

  Best she could tell, the place held two entrances. One front, one back. The inside resembled a studio apartment—a single bed against the wall, kitchenette facing that, and, toward the rear, a separate bath and closet. The bath created a short hallway leading to the back door. If she entered there, she could get closer undetected, maybe even signal Jamie.

  The terrorist knelt near Jamie’s feet, a black jumper cable end attached to the metal pan his feet sat in. He picked up the red end. “This can end, Jamie. Tell me who gave the order that ended my brother’s life.”

  “Mmph.” He struggled weakly against the zip ties holding him to the chair while he glared through his swollen eyes. “Fuck you.”

  The guy touched the hot end to the pan, completing the circuit.

  Jamie jolted and bucked. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth where he’d most likely bitten his tongue.

  “Aaaagh!”

  Oh, Jamie! Lily looked away. How many times had the bastard done that to him? She needed to get to him. Now. He may be healthy and strong, but a heart could only take so much of that shit. And she didn’t want to find out what his limit was.

  Ducking down, she hurried to the back of the cabin, relieved to find the guy had been arrogant enough to leave the door unlocked. Easing it open, she snuck inside then eased down the short hallway, a round already chambered in her Glock. She slid closer, both hands on her pistol. As she forced her breath to fall into controlled measures, her focus sharpened.

  At last she moved close enough to see into the room. Jamie. God he looked horrible. But he’s still alive, and that’s all that matters.

  The terrorist knelt next to him, his body at an angle to her—not enough to see her, but not enough for her to get a jump on him either. Jamie struggled to lift his head, but it lolled to the side. One eye was swollen shut, but the other eye…he opened. And, as though he’d sensed her presence, his blue gaze landed right on her.

  “Tell me.” The guy tapped the metal pan, sending a sharp jolt through Jamie. “Who gave the order to kill my brother?”

  “Terrorist,” Jamie mumbled.

  “No. You’re the terrorist. You killed my brother.”

  “How many did he kill in the name of ISIS?” he grumbled.

  “None,” the guy growled. “Sayd was no terrorist. You killed an innocent man. Someone must pay.”

  Jamie wagged his head. “You want retribution.”

  “Yes. Tell me who gave the order.”

  “Over fifty miles north of Kandahar. Middle of nowhere. Deep in the foothills. In a dugout cave.” He gave a wry chuckle that ended in a short coughing spasm. “If Sayd died there….”

  “No. I won’t believe it.” He touched Jamie’s hand, causing him to yell again.

  “Satellite showed…” He sucked in air. “Munitions. Guns. Missiles.” More coughing. “S’why it blew half the hill.”

  “No,” he bellowed.

  “Sayd was terrorist.”

  Growling, the guy bolted forward, grabbing the chair’s armrests and getting in Jamie’s face. “Lies. Tell me who gave the order!”

  Jamie spat in his face.

  Jerking back, he swiped at the blood and spit spattered on his skin.

  “If Sayd was in that cave, he was ISIS,” Jamie pushed. “Killed innocent people. Children. Bombs in subways. Planes into buildings. Dirty bombs and—”

  Smack!

  Jamie’s head twisted to the side from the impact of the man’s backhand. Lily jolted, started forward, but stopped when his remaining good blue eye, riddled with pain, met hers.

  “More lies.” The guy took a step backward. “You will tell me what I want to know.” He turned and walked out of sight. A moment later, the sound of running water filled the small space.

  Now. Lily came out from behind the wall, gun at the ready. “On your knees! Now!”

  The guy turned, and something flashed in his hand. She squeezed the trigger, and the Glock jerked in her grasp. But the target dropped to the floor and rolled, the window behind him gaining a hole and a web of cracks.

  She went after him, rounding the end of a ratty couch only to dodge when something flew toward her face. A huge weight slammed into her midsection, driving her backward and to the floor. When her elbow hit the hardwood, she lost her grip on the Glock, and it went flying from her hand.

  Lily kicked out a leg and flipped the target off her. Again, he rolled, and she had mere seconds to spring to her feet again. His fists flew toward her. She dodged then shifted her weight onto her back foot, aiming her boot at his knee. He blocked her, dancing to her left.

  Too close to the back door. He’ll escape! Lily feinted to the side to throw him off, but he snatched something off a tray and came at her like a crazed bull. She caught sight of the scalpel just as she angled her shoulder into his chest. With a quick move, she captured the hand holding the weapon her own. Jamming her elbow back, she caught him square in the jaw, twice, but he wouldn’t let go of the knife.

  He tried to overpower her, using his bulk to his advantage, and they stumbled—him trying to slice her cheek, her barely holding him off. Popping her heel back, she caught him in the shin then thrust her hip into his gut and tugged his arm downward, attempting to flip him. But he threw his weight again and rammed her into Jamie’s chair, toppling him.

  Crash!

  Jamie landed on the floor on his side. Grappling, Lily and the terrorist tumbled off into the floor. At last, the scalpel left his grasp, skittering across the hardwood and out of reach. Scrabbling, she tried to get away, regroup, but he grabbed her ankle, dragging her back. He crawled on top of her, pinning her to the floor, his hands circling her neck like bands of steel squeezing tight.

  “Gah!” Lily slapped at him, clawed, and scratched. She went for his eyes, but he just leaned out of her reach. With him sitting on her thighs, she couldn’t kick.

  He growled and tightened his grip, his fingers digging into her skin. She tried to suck in air, but the airway was blocked. Her arms grew heavy. Harder to lift them. The edges of her vision blurred and darkened. Jamie….

  Pop! Pop!

  The hands around her neck loosened. Sweet air rushed into her lungs.

  The man trying to kill her trembled. Red covered his jeans and part of his shirt.

  Shot. She used what strength she’d regained to shove him to the side. He didn’t resist, moaning as he landed on the floor next to her. Greedily, she sucked in breath after breath, willing her head settle, her vision to clear. Bone-rattling coughs racked her body.

  “Lily?”

  With great effort, she pushed herself up onto her elbows. “Jamie,” she croaked.

  He lay on his side, her Glock in his hand. She glanced from him to the guy moaning and bleeding on the floor next to her and pieced the events together. Rolling over, she crawled across the floor, seizing the scalpel as she went. She sliced one of the zip ties then handed the knife to Jamie. Seconds later, he was free.

  Pushing to his feet, he stumbled across the floor, grabbing a couple of ties as he went, and restrained the injured terrorist’s hands and feet. He leaned near the guy. “You may not be a terrorist, but your brother was.”

  “FBI will take him. Interrogate. See what he knows.” She dug her phone from her pocket, not surprised to find the screen cracked. Even so, it still worked, and she dialed 911.

  Jamie plopped on his butt next to the guy. Setting his forearms on his knees, he let his head dip forward, his shoulders sag. “Tariq, you’re one fucked-up dude. Good thing my mama raised me to be sympathetic, or you wouldn’t be breathing right now.”

  Epilogue

  Lily pulled a tray from one of the bakery ovens, the scents of pastry, cinnamon, and almonds swirling around her. She inhaled and sighed. I’m going to gain a million pounds.

  “Great, fresh bear claws.” Jamie strode into the kitchen, stopping on the side of the prep table opposite
her. “Mack’s out front asking for a dozen. I swear he smelled them cooking all the way down at the firehouse.”

  She pulled a bakery flat from the shelf behind her then folded it into a box. I am really good at this. She grinned at him. “Every day now since we reopened the shop, he’s been in here. Says he’s supporting a local business.” She snorted. “I think he’s addicted.”

  “He is. Said he’d never had bear claws as flakey as these.” He handed her a spatula. “And Mrs. Blankenship just put in an order for three dozen cupcakes for her son’s birthday party this Saturday.”

  She scooped the bear claws into the box then added the baker’s dozenth on top. “Chocolate or vanilla?”

  He closed the box and sealed it with a Desserts du Jour sticker he’d ordered online a few days ago. She liked them—he’d put his own personal stamp on the shop. “All she said was, and I quote, ‘Donald will be turning ten. He likes soccer and Oreos. Be creative.’”

  “Ooooh.” Ideas swirled in her mind. “I’m sure we can come up with something.”

  “Good.” He picked up the box and carried it out front. A few minutes later, he returned. “We’re almost out of turtle brownies, and it’s only ten thirty.”

  “I’ll make another batch.” She got the ingredients out and set them on the table just as her cell rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and answered. “Hey, Grey. I’ve got you on speaker. Jamie’s here with me.”

  “How are you doing, Jamie?” Grey’s smooth voice flowed out the phone’s speaker.

  “Almost healed up.” And he was, too, much to Lily’s relief. In a week’s time, the bruises had faded to a light yellow, the swelling gone—unlike her, who would continue applying makeup over the bruises on her neck for the next several weeks. The worst damage was to his finger. The splinter had caused his nail to come off, but the new one already peeked in.

  “Good to hear. Actually, I’m glad both of you are there because I’ve talked with Athena and we’d like to make a proposal.”

  Lily leaned against the table, an odd tingle tickling her nape. She glanced at Jamie who arched an eyebrow at her.