Chasing Fortune (Stealth Ops Book 8)

by Brittney Sahin

  “You think your people can find us? Track us?” Rory asked a few minutes later.

  “Absolutely,” Harper remarked with zero doubt in her voice. “Jessica will track us down. Find out who took us out of the hotel.”

  And why? She was waiting for the why. “How do you think the men got us out of the hotel?” Rory had run through a few ideas in her head, but she was curious to hear what they thought.

  “My guess is the smoke set off the fire alarms. The bad guys came dressed as firefighters and carried us right out to an ambulance, and then they put us in a fake ambo and took off without anyone being the wiser,” Harper quickly explained. “Jessica will look at all the surveillance footage from in and near the hotel to put eyes on us and the vehicle that took us.” She slowed to walk in stride with Rory, whacking a branch out of her path in the process. “And Asher happens to be a hell of a tracker. We’re in good hands. Don’t worry.”

  “Yeah, but here? Is anyone that good?” she countered, not wanting to be a pessimist, but they were on an uninhabited island with no cell reception.

  “We find the unfindable,” Chris said, an easy confidence in his tone.

  It felt like years since Chris had told her about his mom’s voicemail. There’d been no time to discuss how he was feeling about it. And she assumed it was the last thing on his mind now, but at some point, maybe when they were safe and off the island, he’d share more.

  “It’s what we do, kind of like what you used to do, right?” Chris’s question interrupted her thoughts.

  “I, uh, suppose.” She gulped. “But I guess I’m not too worried.” And that was the truth. They all had the necessary skill sets that, when combined, would make one hell of a team. “I’m so sorry I pulled you all into my mess.”

  “Still don’t know if this is because of you,” Chris reminded her, but nope, that ship of disbelief that this wasn’t about her had sailed.

  Rory attempted a smile when Chris glimpsed at her. “How long have you been working for the Agency?”

  “Good one,” Harper said without missing a beat. “Finn and Roman told me you think we’re with The Company, but we’re not. I was once upon a time ago, but we’re not with the CIA.”

  “The CIA likes to color outside the lines,” Chris said in an easy tone, “but we’re more of an abstract, ‘throw your paint on the canvas, and see what happens’ kind of team.”

  “Your Pollack-to-a-Picasso analogy makes me wonder if you still have some of the drugs they pumped into us coursing through your system.” Harper squinted at Chris like she thought he was nuts.

  Rory stopped and set a hand to a tree to rest for a moment, even though they’d taken a tiny break back by the waterfall. Hunger pain was crushing her energy level. “You don’t actually think I believe you’re only private military contractors, do you?” she asked after Chris handed her one of the two water bottles. She took a conservative sip and gave it back to him. “You all went after Santiago in El Salvador. Santiago’s a smuggler. The Agency received the tip on his location in August. Why’d the CIA sit on the intel for nearly two months? And what I’m really curious about is why they sent you?”

  Chris looked to Roman. And Roman looked to Harper. Dominoes of shock falling one by one.

  Chris and Roman were aware she’d overheard some of their conversation in the garage last Sunday, but they’d find out soon enough how much more she actually knew about men like Santiago.

  “And how do you know this?” Roman’s dark eyes remained steady and focused on hers until she shifted her focus back to Chris.

  “Because I’m the one who tipped off the CIA. Tied up all the intel needed to take him down with a neat little bow.” Rory held a palm up before questions were hurtled her way. “But I promise, I’ll get into that later.”

  Chris blinked a few times, surprise crossing his face. “I, um.” He pinched at the skin of his throat, searching for words, maybe.

  “Is this going to be a ‘you won’t tell us what you know unless we fess up to what we know’ kind of thing?” Harper asked, a frown on her face that Rory hoped was more curiosity than disapproval.

  “No, I wouldn’t do that.” But it’d be nice to know the truth about them.

  Chris stepped in front of Rory, eyebrows pinched with concern. “Those guys on that boat, they work with Santiago? Is that what you’re thinking?”

  “I don’t know, to be honest,” she said, her shoulders falling. “But there’s so much to . . .” Rory closed her eyes when the memory that’d been taunting her finally formed into a full-on picture in her mind.

  The dead man with the snake tattoo . . . she remembered why he looked familiar.

  But no, that didn’t make sense.

  “The guy on the yacht,” she whispered upon opening her eyes, “he’s the man who paid off the guys who kidnapped Andrew and me nine years ago.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Thanks to the lighter Chris had grabbed from the yacht before disembarking, they were able to relax by a fire after cooking. They’d eaten the grouper and flounder Chris and Roman had managed to catch with an improvised spear. They were close to the coast, though, so they’d be putting the fire out soon to prevent any new assholes catching sight of their location with the sun beginning to dip from sight.

  But now that they’d eaten, it was time to peel back her layers.

  Show her cards.

  Explain what she’d so unceremoniously dropped on them earlier. Elaborate on what they’d patiently allowed to hang in the air until she was ready to talk.

  Rory stood in front of the fire and turned her back to the others. She let go of a deep breath, then lifted the hem of her shirt to reveal her back.

  “Rory.” Chris’s voice sounded choked with pain as if he hadn’t already seen the scars Friday night. He lightly, almost reverently, skated his fingers over the welts.

  “There’s no doubt in my mind this is about me.” A thick knot formed in her throat. “Those modern-day pirates I mentioned, well, they kidnapped Andrew and me nine years ago. They wanted the coordinates for a treasure we’d planned to salvage in the Caribbean. The whip tore my skin pretty badly, and, um, as you can see, the wounds didn’t heal properly.” She relaxed at the feel of Chris’s hand still on her back. “Andrew offered them a million dollars to let us go, and the man who brought the money . . . I’m almost positive he’s at the bottom of the ocean on that yacht right now.” She lowered her shirt and faced Chris but found his eyes glossy as if on the verge of shedding tears at the sight of her back.

  He’d had that look in his eyes Friday, but she’d forced a distraction by way of a kiss and then an orgasm.

  “The men who did that to you,” Chris spoke around a hard swallow, “are they dead?”

  The soft look of compassion on his face instantly transformed to one of sheer fury. The same fury she’d tried to break through in his bedroom in Virginia.

  “Yeah, they’ve been handled. Jesse rounded up some of his friends after I told him what happened, including A.J. This was before A.J. joined Scott and Scott. They took off for a week, and when they came back, Jesse told me I’d never have to worry about those men again.”

  Chris set his hands on his hips, his gaze moving to the fire dancing in the gentle breeze. A touch of relief at some justice flashed in his eyes.

  “And what do you remember about the man from the yacht you recognized?” Harper sat on top of her rain jacket with her legs stretched out alongside the fire. Her hair hung in messy strands around her face, same as Rory’s.

  Roman had his back to a nearby “tourist tree”—arms folded over his chest, eyes on the flames. Quiet since they’d finished eating.

  “I don’t know his name. I just remember the jagged scar in the shape of a seven by his right eye and the tattoo on his neck. A green serpent. And you know how I feel about snakes, so it was hard to forget. But I’m fairly certain it was him. I just don’t know why he would have abducted us Friday.” Having been connected to Cutter, it made n
o sense. “He helped negotiate the rescue and paid the pirates a million in cash from Andrew’s bank account to get us free. We still had to give up the location of the sunken ship, but we knew if we didn’t also buy our way out of there, they would have killed us.”

  “Back then, did Cutter say who the man was? A friend? Colleague?” Harper inquired. “And did anyone notice him at the party on Friday night? I don’t remember him or anyone from the yacht, for that matter.”

  Chris and Roman both shook their heads to Harper’s last question, then focused back on Rory, waiting for her answer.

  “No, I don’t remember him from the gala, but when I asked Andrew about that guy nine years ago, he told me not to worry about him. And that was the last time I ever saw him. But if Andrew trusted him with his bank account and a million dollars, he must have been important to him.”

  “Cutter wanted you at that event. He said he would have reached out to you even if you didn’t come. What was the special project he needed your expertise with, the job you refused?” Chris asked, his voice gravelly. Anger still evident in his tone.

  Rory thought back to Friday. “He didn’t tell me. Just said it was the biggest find of his lifetime, and he needed me on the job because I was the best.”

  “And when you said no to his job offer, did he push back?” Harper stood and folded her arms across her chest, moving closer to Roman, but she kept her focus on Rory.

  “He was insistent, but I said goodbye and went to find Chris right after.” Then we made out and got gassed in the elevator. I mean, because why wouldn’t that happen to me?

  “Someone went to a hell of a lot of work to take us. The elevators. Smoke and gas.”

  “Requires a lot of prep to nab someone who never RSVP’d to the event. Cutter didn’t know you were gonna show until you were there,” Chris finished Roman’s line of thought. “Maybe someone planned to kidnap several people for ransom.”

  Why are you still trying to let me off the hook?

  “The fact Rory recognized that guy on the yacht and that he’s connected to Cutter can’t be a coincidence,” Harper countered their argument. “You both know that.”

  “Plus, I did RSVP. I called on Wednesday, the day Elaina said I should go, figuring I’d cancel at the last minute if I had to, but I wanted to mark myself as attending in case I decided to show up.” Why the hell did I do that?

  “Cutter seemed surprised to see you, though.” Chris folded his arms. “But it could have been an act. And fuck, he wanted you alone in that hall. If I hadn’t been right there, he might have taken just you.”

  “There was only one toothbrush in that travel bag.” One person. That was the original plan, right? Andrew was ambitious, but kidnapping? “Andrew wouldn’t force me to help him on a job. And also, why would he take you all?” She chewed on her lip for a moment in thought. “Shit, he asked if we worked together, but we never responded. Maybe he just assumed . . .”

  Cutter worked with people from all over the world. And Chris said he’d heard multiple languages spoken on the yacht, which would make sense if Andrew employed those men. Could Andrew have done this?

  “Then maybe it is Cutter, and he decided to take all of us at the last minute to distract from the fact he was only planning on taking you, throw people off his scent, so to speak,” Roman spoke up.

  “If it’s Andrew who wants me, I guess that’s better than the alternative. I can deal with my ex. He’s not as scary as”—she looked to Chris—“as someone else who wants me dead.”

  Chris’s eyes narrowed on her, and she’d swear she nearly saw his pulse throbbing at the side of his neck in anticipation of what she was about to say.

  Or maybe it was her pulse racing.

  She clenched her hands into knots at her sides and edged closer to the fire to dispel the sudden chills on her skin.

  “What happened five years ago?” Chris’s tone was so low it could skirt the equatorial line.

  Rory glimpsed over at Harper, who stood rigidly beside Roman, and Harper gave her a slight nod of encouragement. A woman-to-woman “it’s okay” in her eyes.

  “While working with Andrew, I discovered that the black market for antiquities was much bigger than I thought. The number of artifacts smuggled and sold, and not just by criminals, but by powerful organizations as well, is staggering.” She looked at Chris again. His jaw was set in a hard line as he observed her, but his eyes were a warm and consoling contrast. “You dealt with ISIS while in the military, maybe even now, and well, even terrorist groups like ISIS traffic art and other relics as one avenue to help fund their operations. Tens of millions of dollars in revenue a year.”

  Chris’s blue eyes widened at her mention of ISIS, clearly not what he’d been expecting to hear.

  “I hated it, hated seeing priceless artifacts sold on the black market to a bunch of rich dicks willing to pay top dollar regardless of the fact they were supporting terrorists.” Rory set a hand to her stomach and took a steadying breath. “I know this because I ran into some treasure hunters who were hired to raid and plunder for criminals and other groups. Andrew told me to let it go, but I was pissed. And well,” she continued, drawing her hands together in front of her, “I left Andrew’s team and started my own crew, and we used my research skills to hunt down the illegal sales. I couldn’t stop ISIS, but I could steal back what they sold and return the artifacts to their original owners.”

  “Red Robin Hood.” Roman’s words had Rory releasing an involuntary gasp. “That was you?”

  “I always wore different red wigs, so I guess that’s where the nickname came from.” Better than being dubbed a thief, she supposed. “I, um, broke into their homes and took back what didn’t belong to them.”

  Chris swiped a hand over his head, then gripped the back of his neck and looked at the ground.

  “But you stopped doing that. It was only two or so years before Red Robin Hood—I mean you—changed gears, am I right?” Roman asked, and how he knew so much was beyond her.

  “Yeah, I stumbled upon something that I couldn’t unsee when I was on a job in Peru.” She closed her eyes, remembering the moment she walked onto that man’s compound and had heard the cries. Pitiful, heartbreaking cries. “Animals,” she said, nearly under her breath. “I was there to recover artifacts that belonged to the people of Syria. And I discovered the guy who’d purchased them was a wildlife trafficker. He smuggled animals. And seeing all those beautiful animals, some on the verge of extinction, on his property as he prepared to sell and transfer them across the ocean—I’ve never been able to erase the image from my mind. I felt so powerless. I couldn’t save them.”

  Chris’s eyes were closed now, most likely absorbing what she’d just revealed. He may not have said it out loud, but Rory instinctively knew that Chris considered the life of an animal sacred. He would understand the horror and pain she’d experienced that night three years ago.

  “Wildlife smuggling is one of the most profitable forms of transnational organized crime in the world. Ten to twenty-five billion a year in profits. The highly coveted trade routes alone are worth a fortune,” Roman threw out a fact she knew well. “Risk is low. Profit margins are high. Little chance of getting caught. And going after these smugglers, well, the attempts are underfunded, and many smugglers end up with a fine and a slap on the wrist.”

  “And yet, these people are destroying biodiversity. Essentially ruining the balance of the planet. And so many animals die before ever making it to their destination.” Rory’s voice trembled, and her vision blurred with unshed tears. “Some are killed long before the journey and used for parts.”

  “The snakes at Santiago’s home,” Chris began, “he was going to smuggle them out of the country?”

  Rory nodded.

  “Are you telling us you’ve been hunting wildlife smugglers for the last three years?” Chris stared at Rory, brows lifting.

  “Someone has to do it. There’s a lot of money and resources out there to go against the other
types of smugglers, but animals . . . the planet . . .” she explained, choking up a little. “I once heard someone say we can’t fight twenty-first-century crimes with twentieth-century tools. So, I came up with my own plan to hunt traffickers—see how they liked being the prey instead of the predator.” Chills continued to coat her skin, and she eased her body so close to the flames she nearly burned herself.

  Harper walked around the fire to get closer to her, drawing Rory’s attention. “What exactly do you do? How do you find them?”

  “I took the methods I learned to hunt treasure and applied them to hunting smugglers. A lot of research is involved. I sneak onto their property one or two times, depending on the situation, to get what I need. I’m gone before they know I’m there. Afterward, I give the evidence to an agency or group who can take them down.”

  Chris had his back to her now, his hands once again situated on the nape of his neck.

  Rory peeked at Roman, who remained unchanged. His back against the tree. Arms still crossed.

  “I’ve worked with only a handful of people in the last several years, and I did my best to protect my identity. The work I did was risky. And I was okay with the risks I was taking but didn’t want my choices falling back onto my family. But early on, I discovered someone known as The Italian.”

  “The Italian?” Roman pushed away from the tree, and Chris spun around.

  “You were hunting him?” Harper asked, eyes wide with shock.

  “Yeah, you’re familiar, then?” Rory shivered at the shocked looks on their faces.

  “No one has been able to confirm his real identity,” Chris finally spoke. “A legend in the world of smuggling. Basically, an overlord of illegal trade routes.”

  Roman stroked his jaw as he looked to the ground, the first real reaction Rory had seen from him since she began opening up. Now they knew the real danger of being around her.

  “When I first started, I stumbled upon a woman targeting the same smuggler as me in Cartagena. She also saved my life.” Rory lifted the hem of her shirt to show the scar from her knife wound, and Chris briefly squeezed his eyes closed, his jaw locking tight. She waited for Chris’s gaze to find hers again before she continued, “Jolie and I formed a partnership and quickly discovered one person was connected to dozens upon dozens of smugglers and trade routes. Smugglers on the Dark Web referred to him as The Italian. We had a list of twenty-five targets to start with.”