“And the rest will fire wild and blind,” Dallas said with a nod. “We’ll pick them off as they scatter.”
“What about Jenna?” Amy was worried. “She could get hit in the crossfire.”
“She’s smart; she’ll find cover. She’s also out of our line of fire and we’re going to be creating enough havoc the bad guys are going to be too busy covering their asses to worry about her,” Dallas assured her.
“Here’s where you come in.” Jones glanced at Amy. “Keep your head down, but after our initial hits, you hit ’em with your flashlight. Lift it high and start firing wild. With luck you might hit one of them. For certain you’ll blind a few and become their prime target, one they won’t be able to see. In the meantime, we’ll roll left and right. Hit ’em again while they focus on you. Then we’ll mop up with these.”
Jones handed Dallas two frag grenades, kept two for himself.
“You keep your head down,” Dallas said sternly as he fixed the grenades to his belt. “No heroics.”
Amy wanted to argue. Tell him she could hold her own in a gunfight and they didn’t need to protect her by hiding her behind a berm. But she saw the logic of Jones’ plan. They needed a reserve after the initial volley. She could provide it.
“Got it?” Dallas drilled her with a look.
She nodded. “Got it.”
“Then let’s do this.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jenna swallowed back bile and contemplated her impending fate. Scarface stood, drew a knife and threatened his loudest contender, who happened to be Rambo and who instantly decided he would wait his turn.
She braced herself and was wondering how many groin kicks she could land before he overpowered her when the night exploded in gunfire.
Scarface spun like he’d been hit broadside with a two-by-four, then dropped like a stone. Two, then three, then five other men fell in rapid succession.
“Jesus. Holy Jesus,” she whispered under her breath and scrambled toward the biggest damn rock she could find. She’d heard and seen enough weaponry fired in Iraq to recognize the sound and muzzle flash from small-arms fire. Had figured out enough about these yahoos to understand there was little honor among thieves and wondered who in the hell hated them more than she did.
She heard a man scream. Another roar, then felt the concussion of an explosion that set her teeth rattling.
A ball of fire lit up the sky and she chanced a peek over her rock to see debris fly out of a crater where the campfire used to be.
“Holy shit!” Whoever these guys were, they meant business. She didn’t plan to stick around long enough for introductions.
Clumsily gathering the folds of her tattered skirt together with her bound wrists, she crab-crawled at warp speed toward the lean-to. Found a heavy iron frying pan—they couldn’t have left one lousy gun?—and crept behind a big conifer.
She hadn’t any more than reached the thick trunk of the tree when a silence as loud as the gunfire crashed down like a bomb.
She closed her eyes, held her breath and listened.
“Jenna?”
Her eyes flew open.
“Jenna?” Louder this time. And sounding a helluva lot like Amy Walker.
Very slowly, she peeked around the tree trunk. Saw a slim, petite figure, flanked by two very large, very dangerous-looking soldier of fortune types picking their way through the bodies and the rubble.
“Amy?”
Oh, God. It was Amy.
“Get away from her,” Jenna ordered, stepping out from behind the conifer, wielding the iron pan like a club.
Both men stopped. Glanced at her. Glanced at each other over Amy’s head.
“What?” The biggest one grunted out a surly laugh. “Or you’ll soufflé us?”
Okay. She was definitely going after him first.
“Jenna.” Amy stepped forward. “It’s okay. They’re with me.”
“Oh, Jesus. Oh, thank you, Jesus.” Battling tears of relief, she started toward Amy at a trot.
She hadn’t gotten five yards when a hand snagged her ankle. She skidded to a stop. Looked down to see Rambo, his face covered in blood, struggle to a sitting position.
Ten yards away, the rattle of automatic weapons told her both of the men with Amy had the lowlife in their sights.
“No,” she said, “this one’s mine.”
She drew back the iron skillet and swung it at Rambo’s head with a megaton of adrenaline fueling the blow.
She connected with a bone-crunching thud. The recoil shimmied up her hands to her wrists and rode all the way up her arms as Rambo dropped like the bag of dirt he was.
“Paybacks are hell,” she said, a dizzying mix of vindication, agitation and delayed terror ricocheting through her blood.
Still wobbling from the recoil, she lifted her head high and sneered at the big guy. “Soufflé that, badass.”
Then she ruined her big moment by bursting into tears.
Where are we going?”
Gabe pressed hard on the accelerator of the Suburban as they tore down the dark road. He glanced in the rearview mirror. Scowled at the woman with the wild tangle of red hair, nonstop questions and smart mouth.
He didn’t like her by reputation, didn’t like her on sight, resented her for being a party to Alvaro’s death. And her snide “badass” remark had royally pissed him off.
“For a woman who was about to be passed around like a bong at an orgy, I’m sensing certain lack of appreciation.”
As they’d hotfooted it back to the Suburban in the dark, there had barely been time for introductions, so it wasn’t like she’d had a chance to fall all over them with gratitude, but a thank you would have done nicely.
Green eyes glared back at him. “Pardon me for the oversight. I tend to forget my manners when I’m terrified out of my mind and surrounded by blood and gore.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for poking your nose around where it doesn’t belong.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a nasty disposition?”
He grunted. “Many have tried.”
“Yeah, well try this.” She shot him the finger.
“Whoa. Whoa. Wait.” Amy’s voice rose above the spit of gravel hitting the undercarriage of the Suburban. Stunned confusion colored her words. “What is it with you two?”
“I don’t like him,” Jenna announced baldly.
“Yeah. We got that part. Just settle down. Both of you. Give the adrenaline a chance to let down. We’re all a little rattled. All on the same side here.”
“Which made me think I might be entitled to know where we’re going,” Jenna grumbled with another sour look that Gabe caught in the rearview mirror.
“Someplace safe,” he said grudgingly. “That’s all you need to know. Deal with it.”
That finally shut her up. About damn time, too. So why he felt like a bully and a brute when she dragged her hair back from her bruised face with a breath as weary and weighty as a broken dream, he didn’t know. Just like he didn’t know why he felt an uncharacteristic tug of sympathy when she lifted a hand and gingerly wiped a trickle of blood from her swollen lip.
“There’s a first aid kit in the back,” he said to no one in particular and concentrated on driving.
He had more pressing things to do than bicker with Jenna McMillan. Better things to do than think about her or to wonder how bad she was hurting. Or to get pissed all over again by the look Garrett was giving him from the front passenger seat. A look full of speculation. Kind of like the look Gabe had given Garrett when he’d figured out the way it was between him and Amy.
Hell. Garrett was so far off center he hadn’t even hit the corners of the paper target. Gabe could give a rip about the reporter.
And the sooner he got her out of the hot zone and out of his hair, the better he’d like it. Problem was, that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.
He glanced in the rearview mirror again. She had a face on her. He’d give her that, he admitte
d grudgingly. Classic. Regal. Intelligent. Even bruised and swollen, her lips made a nice statement—until she opened them. Closed and silent, they spoke volumes about what they could do to a man on a hot night and cool sheets.
He dragged his attention back to the road. Cursed himself for a fool. He’d been black ops for too long, that was all. Too many months on his own with nothing but his guilt and thirst for revenge to fuel his thoughts. Rule his actions.
Angelina.
He was thinking about her way too much these days.
Jenna McMillan was nothing like Angelina, who was pure and sweet and heroic. And dead.
Even thinking Jenna McMillan’s name in the same breath was an insult and an abomination to Angelina’s memory.
A memory he fought every day to forget.
Dallas figured they’d traveled about fifty miles before Jones slowed and turned right onto a road that was little better than a cattle trail. Cloud cover had moved in heavy and low, obscuring the moon, threatening rain. It made it difficult to see anything. A quarter of a mile or so down into a valley, however, Dallas made out the black silhouette of a small building dead ahead.
A barn, he realized when Jones pulled up in front of it. Without a word, Dallas got out and opened the double doors. Jones drove the Suburban inside, cut the motor.
Dallas closed up behind them, then walked back to the Suburban. Jones was already out from behind the driver’s seat and opening the rear cargo door. He dug around and came up with a camping lantern and struck a match.
The interior of the small building was washed in soft light—enough to see Amy and Jenna’s faces as they emerged from the backseat.
Shock. Both of them were feeling the aftereffects of the assault. He recognized the look in their eyes. The thousand-mile stare. They were caught somewhere between now and then and fighting like hell to make a permanent swing to the now.
“Don’t think about it,” he said.
Two pair of soft eyes lifted to his.
“Don’t think about it,” he repeated. “It’s done. It was necessary.”
Amy nodded. Jenna stared.
Jones came around from the back of the Suburban with an open bottle of beer. He shoved it in Jenna’s hand.
“Drink,” he said.
Dallas waited for the blowback. But she surprised him. She didn’t argue. She drank. And then she drank some more.
“How long since you’ve eaten?” Dallas asked Jenna.
That got a reaction. “Like I could eat after that bloodbath? I am so not hungry.”
No, he didn’t suppose she was. But that was beside the point. He glanced at Amy.
She understood. They all needed fuel. “I’ll see what’s left in the cooler.”
He stopped her with a hand on her arm. Studied her face. The smudges of dirt on her cheek, the halo of blond hair, the resolute determination in her eyes to soldier on.
He would hurt for her, for her loss of innocence if it hadn’t been taken from her long before now. But regret would do no one any good on this night.
“You were okay out there,” he said with a nod. “You were really okay.”
She nodded. Seemed like she was about to ask him something, then shook her head and turned away.
He caught her arm, turned her toward him. “No,” he said, answering her unasked question. “You never get used to it. You just deal with it.”
He squeezed her arm, touched his other hand to her hair. “You just deal with it.”
She nodded again, gave him a tight smile and he let her go.
Yeah, you just deal with it, Dallas thought as another barrage of memories assaulted him like a blast of C4. He’d fought his own demons all the way here…as he suspected Jones fought his. He didn’t care how hard a man was. There was nothing noble about killing. There was simply necessity.
Jenna glanced toward the men. They were standing in the shadows by the back of the Suburban, talking in low tones. Jones pulled out a radio phone of some sort and Garrett looked on as Jones waited for a connection.
Whoever he was calling was super-secret, of course, Jenna thought in disgust. Macho jerk. Well, not a total jerk. A little while ago the badass had handed her a packet of wet wipes so she could clean herself up a little. He’d even tossed her a clean brown t-shirt and a pair of pants. Both hung on her, but it was better than her torn skirt.
A little later, he’d pulled a blanket out of the back of the vehicle. Amy had used it to make a little nest in a corner of the small barn. She’d tugged Jenna down beside her and insisted they both eat while Amy filled her in.
“Oh, my God,” Jenna said, her mind reeling over what Amy told her about being run off the road in New York right after they had talked. About killing the man who’d been sent to kill her. About Alvaro’s no-show in Buenos Aires two nights ago. And how Jones had implied that Alvaro was dead.
“Oh, my God,” she said again, her voice full of pain and regret. “He…Alvaro. He was a cool guy. Man. So, that’s why he didn’t show up to meet me that night. And why I ended up tossed into the back of a van instead.”
Jenna thought back to those long terrifying hours while they’d driven her across country then parked her in that horrible jail. Fiery images of the bloody assault back at the bad guys’ camp flashed before her eyes like a surreal dream.
She forced herself to eat another bite of the sandwich Amy had given her. She couldn’t absorb, much less process, all of this.
“So,” she said, needing a diversion, “are there more back home like him?”
Amy glanced at her, then followed Jenna’s gaze to Dallas Garrett. His dark good looks were striking. His bearing and the way he handled himself, confident and capable.
So unlike Jones, who, Jenna had decided, was a very short step up from Neanderthal.
Amy turned back to peeling an orange. “Two more. But they’re both taken. Sorry.”
Jenna studied Amy’s face. “And what about Dallas? He taken too?”
Amy didn’t look up from her orange. After a long moment, she nodded. “Yeah. I think maybe he is.”
Jenna had figured that was the way of it. She’d seen the way Garrett looked at Amy. The way he always seemed to know exactly where she was.
“And Jones?” Jenna asked, not because she was interested in the man, but she was curious. “Where does he come in?”
“Dallas says he’s CIA…or was CIA…or could maybe be a contractor working, loosely, for the CIA. Whatever he is, whoever he works for, the man has connections. He’s the one who found you, flew us here and led the assault on the jail, then got the information about where they’d taken you out of the jailer.”
Jenna rubbed her head, gingerly explored the knot on her temple. “This is…it’s all so crazy. And Jones…he doesn’t strike me as the benevolent type. Why is he helping you?”
Amy chewed on a section of orange, thoughtful. “Two reasons. Alvaro was one of his men. I think they might have been close. As close as men in this line of work can be, anyway.”
“That would explain why Jones is so pissed at me,” Jenna said, understanding. “He feels I’m responsible for Alvaro’s death. Can’t say as I blame him.”
“Hey. You’re not the bad guy here,” Amy reminded her.
No. She wasn’t the bad guy. But a good man was dead because of her. She couldn’t think about that now either. “You said two reasons.”
Amy nodded. “Yeah. Jones isn’t happy about me being here, either, searching for my grandfather. He tried to convince me to go back to the States. Told me he’d find you, get you to safety. When he realized I wasn’t budging until I found both you and my grandfather, he didn’t have much choice but to help me. Seems he had some ongoing operation regarding MC6, and if he let me loose I would mess up whatever plans he had in place.”
“MC6? Oh, God. That explains so much. Remember, when I called you, I told you I’d found something to corroborate rumors of a new generation of SS operational here? MC6 was the name that kept popping up.”
/>
“It’s also the reason you were abducted.” Amy smiled tightly. “And that’s my fault for asking you to help me. You were getting too close. Even though Jones had sent Alvaro to intercept you.”
“Okay—shoe on the other foot time. You are not the bad guy here either. With or without you, I’d have been here, Amy. Are you kidding me? A group of rogue SS scientists still carrying on their horrible mind-control testing and research? Amy, it’s the story of the century.”
“Not yet, it’s not. Apparently the local government is aware of the organization. Per Jones, there’s a lot of hush money exchanged to insure anonymity.”
“Which is why I was kidnapped. To shut me up,” Jenna concluded. “What I don’t get is why they didn’t just kill me.”
“Dallas and Jones both think they were planning on using you for bait.”
“Bait?”
“To get to me. If they didn’t find me first, they counted on me coming after you.”
“And the reason they want to kill you…”
“Because I know too much about my grandfather. And, they have to assume that since I came down here, I know too much about MC6.”
“So if Jones is CIA or something, why isn’t the U.S. government all over these guys?” Jenna asked. “If they’re aware of what MC6 is doing, why not just bring them down?”
“For the same reason they didn’t take out Bin Laden when they had the chance years ago,” Jones said, stepping in front of the lantern and blocking the light.
His shadow loomed large over them, dark, dangerous, deadly. “It’s a little matter of chain of command, of the repercussions and the fallout if it gets out who’s behind any takedown.”
“You and I both know that’s bullshit,” Jenna shot back, weary of the man’s need to show dominance and superiority. “The CIA is behind any number of ‘takedowns’…many that have led to the downfall of small dictatorships and have derailed hundreds of terrorists plots.”
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