Rory froze at Carter’s statement, and a slice of panic cut through her as she kept her attention riveted to his dark eyes.
Was this it? Was this how it ended?
In a surprising move that had her swallowing hard, he came closer and knelt before her. His dark hair was a touch spiky. His skin golden from living near the beach, no doubt. When he placed a hand on her knee, she followed his touch but reined in her fear and kept her breathing slow and even.
“Why do you want me? Are you delivering me to him?” She forgot to hide her Southern accent this time. “Doesn’t seem like your style from what I’ve heard about you, but I never thought you’d get in league with a man like him, either.” She was showing some of her cards. Letting him know she knew who he worked for, but what did it matter anymore? If Carter had made the effort to lure her to his home, surely he planned to offer her to his boss, the man pulling the strings for so many.
“I highly doubt you know much about me.” His statement slid under her skin and struck her in the heart. The words imbued with sadness, but why?
She dragged her gaze back up to his dark eyes and found emptiness—loneliness in his irises. Not the eerie, lust-filled look other assholes had given her, and this wasn’t her first time being tied up, either. Although maybe it ought to be her last. Her family and friends were right. It was time to settle down.
No one back home had the slightest clue what Rory did when she was off traveling the globe. But she’d need to survive the night if she intended to heed Savanna’s advice and become a tree. Or maybe she’d said Rory needed to plant roots. They’d both been tipsy on champagne at the time, and Rory was too out of it at the moment to remember exactly.
“But no, I don’t work for that man. It was simply how I lured you here. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist that tasty morsel.” A smile on his lips faded fast. “I don’t work for anyone.”
Could she believe him? Probably not. “Why?” She kept her head high, hoping to stamp out any fear in her tone.
“I doubt you came alone, am I right?” he asked, ignoring her. “Should I go look for your friend? The person whom you entrusted with your life to prevent you from falling to an ugly death?”
“I came alone,” she lied, flinching as his free hand went to her ear. He removed her comm and tightened his fist around the little device.
Carter pushed back upright and handed it to one of the men in the room who materialized as if on cue before disappearing back into the shadows.
“Why am I here?” Rory repeated, this time with more oomph and through gritted teeth.
“Because I need your help,” he tossed back casually.
“I would never help you,” she rushed out.
“You think I would just let you go?” His body was ramrod straight, but his arms remained casual and relaxed at his sides. “Many would offer up their firstborn to get their hands on you, especially to turn you over to the one man that—”
“I’m not that—” she interrupted, only to have him quickly cut her off.
“You are that . . .” Carter let his words trail, and his chest lifted and fell with a deep breath. His Texas roots clung to his tone, and he made no attempt to hide his accent as she had.
“Then what do you want from me?” she whispered, hating the touch of weakness that now seeped through her tone.
“You should quit before you die.” His words were blunt and still rang with a hint of coldness despite his odd request. “If he, or anyone for that matter, discovered your identity, you and your entire family would be killed as retribution. You must know this.” His hands dipped into his pockets. “Someone will find out who you are. They will get to you as I have done tonight.”
“Why do you care? You’re a criminal.”
“Life is all about perception.” He tipped his head to the side, his expressive eyes softening. “But we can help each other.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Doesn’t look that way from where I’m standing.” Carter paused. “Before he gets to you, you’d be wise to quit. Do something different. Something no one would suspect of you. Because he will find you. Come for you. And kill everyone you love. That is a promise.”
And like the crack of a whip to her back, which she’d also experienced before, his words cut into her, brandishing a mark. “So, you brought me here to save me?” she asked, not buying this for one minute. “You trying to earn your way into heaven? Reclaim your soul?”
“No one can save my soul, and no, I’m not that nice.” He let go of a deep breath, his chest falling with the exhale. “If you choose to continue this dangerous life, that’s your death wish. I can only offer my suggestion. But I do need your help.”
“And if I don’t help you?” Her chin lifted in challenge.
“Then perhaps I’ll give you to the man who wants you even more than I do.” Carter was a dangerous, shadowy criminal, but looking into his eyes, part of her believed he wouldn’t kill her.
She gulped, digesting her reality. Analyzing the situation. The truth of the here and now. Chills dashed up her spine, which was damp with sweat beneath her hoodie.
She squeezed her eyes closed, the memory of Chris, a man she barely knew, springing back to mind for some reason.
She could use that former special operator for a save right about now.
I’m not ready to die. But if she made it out of this alive, would she be able to turn her back on everything she’d worked so hard to achieve?
How many times had she tried to walk away only to come back?
Her mission whispered to her at night.
It pulled.
It pleaded.
It urged her back when she had tried to walk away out of fear.
Rory’s heart beat wildly, and she slowly opened her eyes and lifted her chin to peer at Carter towering before her like an impenetrable wall she’d need to scale to get to her freedom.
One more swallow, and then she asked in as confident a voice as possible, “What is it that you want me to do?”
Chapter Two
Santa Ana, El Salvador - Six Weeks Later
“Doing God’s work today, brothers. Taking a man like him off the streets,” A.J. said over comms from his position as he swept the exterior perimeter, taking out any tangos attempting to flee the compound.
“Damn straight.” Chris continued to move down the hall inside the home, then stepped over the body of an enemy he’d taken out with his Sig Sauer 9mm ten seconds after entry. “First floor secure.”
Echo Five set a hand on Chris’s shoulder, and Chris stopped at the base of the staircase. “Preparing to check the second level,” Finn alerted the team.
Chris and Finn went upstairs, their khaki-colored boots moving almost soundlessly on the wood floors as they stealthily ascended. The team had practiced their infil plan several times before spinning up for the mission today, so while they’d anticipated every next step, they just didn’t know how many enemy targets would be waiting for them.
They hadn’t been able to put a drone overhead for thermal imaging given the clear, sunny skies.
“The HVT is secure.” Echo One delivered the good news over comms after Chris and Finn cleared five of the six rooms upstairs. No one had been inside. “What’s your vantage point, Bravo Four? Am I clear to move to the exfil site with the package?” he asked Liam, who was the sniper on overwatch for the op. They didn’t normally conduct missions at 1500 hours, but CIA intel gave them a two-hour window to make their move.
The CIA had sat on intel about their target’s location and activities for almost two months but were only giving Chris and his men hours to procure him. During daylight, of all freaking times.
Today’s high-value target was the particular kind of evil that always made Chris regret orders he be returned alive. Chris preferred a slow, painful death for predators like Alvin Santiago, a human trafficker.
Generally speaking, to take down a bad guy, you had to think like one. Which could be t
ough, especially regarding a fucker like Santiago.
“This is Bravo Four,” Liam said, his Australian accent hidden by the blip of static that cut over the line. “I’m clearing a path for you now. Give me thirty seconds.”
The pop of gunfire sounded in the air. The sting of bullets outside gave Chris and Finn the cover they needed for a surprise entry into the last room in case any bad guys were waiting on the other side of the steel door.
Steel? Chris turned the knob. “Deadbolt.” He looked back at Finn, who motioned to the floor below them.
“I’ll grab a key off the guard downstairs. Whatever is in this room must be important. Or whoever,” Finn said in a low voice before starting down the hall.
Chris brought his back flat to the wall and gripped his firearm in a ready position as he waited for Finn’s return. Eyes on the staircase, the only access point to the second level.
“Your path is now clear,” Liam told Wyatt.
“East side is all good, too,” Roman, Echo Four, announced.
“You’re good to exfil. No incoming outside the compound,” A.J. added.
“Echo Three. Five. What’s your status?” Wyatt asked a moment later.
“This is Three. One door to check. Made of steel and locked, so we’re thinking we need to take a look. Be out soon.”
“Roger that,” Wyatt responded, a bit breathy as if running in tow with the HVT. “TOC, come in, en route to the exfil site with the package.”
“Roger,” Harper answered. She served as their off-site support for the op and was waiting in one of two Tahoe SUVs a mile away from Santiago’s compound. “Intel said there wouldn’t be any hostages at the compound, but—”
“We’re doing a thorough check,” Roman reported.
The CIA director had supplied the identity of their target package through their new liaison, Natasha Pierson, a CIA officer who also happened to be Wyatt’s wife. The U.S. government couldn’t get clearance to operate, which was why Chris and his team were sent in.
His people worked off-the-books ops for a handful of higher-ups who reported directly to the Commander in Chief.
To the world, the guys had retired from the Navy and were now employed by a private civilian-military contracting company, Scott & Scott Securities.
Chris hadn’t kept count of how many ops they’d handled over the years, but they never seemed to have much downtime. The majority of their ops were outside of the country. However, there were occasions when they’d operated on U.S. soil due to the fact it was a big no-no for the CIA and other military branches to do so.
The Scott & Scott alias used by Bravo and Echo Teams provided Uncle Sam a layer of protection to hide the fact they were running ops directly for POTUS and thereby circumventing Congress. Plus, their company pretty much funded their missions, so the taxpayers didn’t have to.
Saving the world on their dime, and the guys wouldn’t have it any other way.
Like today, taking down a human trafficker. And it’d felt fucking good to grab the bastard.
At the sound of footsteps heading his direction, Chris readied his gun but eased the tension in his arms when he saw it was Finn returning with the key chain.
“Got it,” Finn mouthed.
Chris stepped aside to let Finn check each key, but he remained on alert, weapon drawn and aimed toward the staircase at the end of the hall.
Wyatt, Liam, and Roman may have been the best snipers on the Teams, but Chris could still drop a guy with pinpoint accuracy. They were all artists with their guns. And handy with knives.
“Jackpot,” Finn whispered a moment later, then he reached for his rifle and opened the door with his free hand.
Both Chris and Finn quickly jerked back at the unbelievable sight before them.
Snakes.
Cobras, vipers, and other venomous snakes writhed and slithered over and around each other. There were even some perched on top of what looked like pet furniture for cats. The sounds of hissing and the clacking of rattler tails emanating from the room were chilling.
“Shit,” Chris whispered, “it’s like Raiders of the Lost Ark . . .”
“When Indie lowered himself into the Well of Souls,” Finn finished for him.
“Why’d it have to be snakes?” Finn and Chris simultaneously muttered Harrison Ford’s famous line from the movie.
A couple of vipers approached, tongues darting out, prompting Finn to slam the door shut.
“I think he just . . .” Finn faced Chris with wide eyes. “Did that snake just eat the other snake?”
Chris shook off the disgusting feeling crawling across his skin, regrouped, and looked back to the staircase, ensuring they were alone. “Well, we can confirm there are no people in the final room,” Chris informed the others.
“Do I even want to know?” Wyatt asked.
“Echo Two, we got a really nice present up here for you as a welcome back to operating,” Finn remarked.
“Ah, hell no, I ain’t coming up there,” A.J. answered.
“Snakes,” Chris said in astonishment, chills erupting over his spine beneath his clothes yet again. “A room full of freaking snakes.”
The black Chevy Tahoe tore down the dirt road as the teams moved to get away from Santiago’s compound—away from those damn serpents.
“Who the hell owns a room full of snakes?” A.J. visibly cringed, sitting next to Chris in the back of the SUV.
“At least you don’t have to live the rest of your life with that image.” Chris grimaced. “But remember that guy who smuggled baby king cobras into the U.S. hiding them inside potato chip cans?” Chris tossed out a random memory he’d read in the news. “It was a few years ago.”
“No way,” Finn said from behind the wheel. Wyatt was riding shotgun. The rest of the team were in the second Tahoe behind them with the “package.”
“Can’t bullshit a bullshitter, brother,” A.J. said with a laugh, and Chris pulled out his cell phone, powered it on, and googled the story. “Well, shit,” A.J. said when scrolling through the article on Chris’s phone a moment later.
“I should have wagered on that,” Finn added. The guys would bet on just about anything.
“That’s wrong on so many levels.” A.J. handed Chris his phone, and Chris stuck it back in his side cargo pocket and secured a better grip on the rifle on his lap for a just-in-case moment.
With his free hand, Chris rolled down his window, but dirt from the tires kicking up hit his face and had him sputtering and coughing. Bad idea. He powered the window back up and shifted in his seat, thoughts drifting to the dog he’d recently rescued, only to have to give him up.
“Why the long face?” A.J. asked a beat later. “The mission was a success. And we didn’t get shot or—”
“Bitten by a snake,” Finn pointed out.
“So, why do you look like your dog died?” Wyatt chimed in.
“He didn’t die, but I had him for less than two days. I didn’t even have a chance to name him before the owner decided she wanted him back.” Maybe it was better he hadn’t given him a name. The loss would hurt even more.
“That dog wasn’t meant to be.” Wyatt glimpsed back, shifting his aviator sunglasses up to briefly catch his eyes. “We’ll get another canine for the team. And then you can have your shot at begging Rory to train him.”
“Because we all know your ulterior motives.” Chris could practically hear the smile in Finn’s voice.
Rory McAdams. Just thinking about her had his pulse racing. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his head, and according to A.J., that was supposed to mean something.
The first and only time he’d come face-to-face with Rory had been back in June.
A.J. had corralled Echo Team and Bravo Two to join him in Alabama to scare the piss out of his sister’s fiancé for a bachelor party and do a little recon on the groom-to-be, to see if he was good enough for Ella. The result: the guy sucked. And the wedding never happened.
But that night had other perks, li
ke meeting Rory.
He’d hopped out of A.J.’s brother’s pool to find a stunning blonde with an incredible smile and the most amazing legs he’d ever seen standing next to A.J.
He thought back to that night as he’d done many times since then. His body tensing with anticipation at the idea of seeing her again.
A.J.’s sister’s fiancé had challenged Chris to a race that night—riding mowers. A first for him. Does he seriously want to race lawnmowers? he remembered asking, a grin easing onto his lips. No cow tipping? Wrangling bulls or something?
Is that what you Northern boys think we do down here? Rory’s hand had dipped to her outer thigh and slowly worked up to the line of her cutoff jean shorts. Well, that’s what he remembered happening, but he may have been wrong.
What makes you think I’m a Northerner? he couldn’t help but challenge, moving in closer to her. The smell of the nearby honeysuckle fading away with her scent intoxicating his senses.
I detect a Boston accent you appear to be working hard to disguise. Rory’s eyes had traced over the lines of his washboard abdomen. He wasn’t naturally blessed with muscles like some of the guys on Bravo and Echo Teams. He’d been tall and lanky until he was sixteen when he’d made the decision he wanted to be a SEAL, and he’d worked his ass off ever since to earn the body he had. And every day, he had to keep at it, too. Nothing good in life came easy. And he had a feeling Rory would also be a challenge.
Am I up for that kind of challenge, though? Falling in love? He wasn’t so sure if he had it in him like the rest of the guys to marry and have a family, but he also hated avoiding something, or in this case, someone, out of fear of failure.
His parents’ marriage failed miserably, but not all great loves were doomed, he supposed.
And since he’d replayed the night he and Rory met over and over again in his head, unable to get her off his mind, well, that must be a sign that he should take a chance. See if Rory felt something, too.
Chris had had every intention of visiting Fourth of July weekend, but then he got called up to operate.
Chasing Fortune (Stealth Ops Book 8) Page 2
