Chasing Fortune (Stealth Ops Book 8)

by Brittney Sahin

Blood-boiling anger.

  Rory’s beautiful hazel eyes swept over him like a hot caress on his skin, and some of his anger loosened a fraction. A small, one-tenth-of-a-hundredth kind of fraction.

  “We’re all connected, which I know sounds crazy, but we are,” Rory said after Carter unraveled the shocking news Rory’s first partner, Jolie, had been Carter’s wife, Rebecca—the partner Rory had spoken about at the campfire.

  Did that mean Rory’s list of twenty-five smugglers originally came from Carter? Did Rebecca steal classified intelligence her husband assumed his wife would never look at? He’d been a new officer, only a few years in, from what Chris knew. But that would have been a rookie mistake on Carter’s part to allow that to happen.

  And damn, come to think of it, what were the chances both Rory and Rebecca had really been going after the same target back in Cartagena in the first place? He’d meant to ask that back on the island by the campfire, but his thoughts had been whirling around. Looked like this was part two of the dizzy ride of information.

  “Sit, please.” Rory motioned to the table since Chris was the only one still standing during Carter’s quick bullet point-like confession of “holy shit” moments as to what had gone down in the last three years.

  He hesitantly circled the table to sit alongside her. The aroma of the food on the table had his mouth watering on instinct. His hunger pains pissed him off because he didn’t want to have an appetite after hearing Carter speak.

  The only thing Chris liked about the man was his dog.

  He had to find a way to contact his people. Let Bravo and the rest of Echo know what was going on. He’d mapped out the property in his line of sight on the way from his room to the outside dining area and counted the guards. But he’d been blindfolded from the moment the helo picked them up at sea until they’d arrived at the estate, which made providing his people with a location difficult.

  Somewhere in the western half of Puerto Rico was his best guess.

  “How are you feeling?” Rory asked Roman, breaking the eerie silence that no one else seemed tempted to cut through. Chris, on the other hand, was inclined to use a big-ass knife to cut through it. Or hell, maybe he’d leave it heavy and thick to lose sight of the prick at the head of the table.

  “The men took him to our in-house medic as you demanded,” Carter said before Roman could answer. “He’s fine. I saw to it.”

  Rory looked to Roman for confirmation, and he nodded and mouthed, “I’m good.”

  “Eat,” Carter said a moment later. “Don’t be stubborn. You’re all starving. I didn’t poison the food.”

  Chris was inconveniently out of throttling range of the man. Rory was a buffer between them, which only made his palms itchy with the desire to strike him again.

  Chris reached for the wine, swirled it in the glass once to decide whether he was seconds away from getting drugged for the second time in a weekend, then brought it close to his mouth. Nope, can’t do it. He set the glass back down and side-eyed Rory sitting erect and tense next to him. But shit. “Let me test the food, then you should eat,” Chris announced, realizing Rory and Harper had to be starving.

  Chris hesitantly cut into the full plate of food in front of him and took a bite, which was basically cheesy deliciousness. He chased it down with water, then waited for a reaction.

  Carter watched Chris, then Rory lifted her fork, and Harper followed suit.

  “You saved us because you need us. Why?” Roman spoke up.

  “I need Rory. I’m undecided about the rest of you.” Carter’s attention shot to Chris as if expecting a challenge, and yeah, he’d be getting one.

  Chris dropped his fork and slowly stood once again, the legs of the chair scraping across the stone pavers.

  “I won’t help you without my team.” Rory’s statement surprised the hell out of Chris and had him looking down at her before he could throw daggers at the man by way of his words.

  Team? He liked the way that sounded. The team part. Not so much the helping Carter part. “You want to help this man? Again?” She wasn’t obliged to do what Carter wanted. Chris could get her out of this place. He’d find a way.

  She set a hand to his arm and gently tugged, urging him to sit. “The Italian most likely knows who I am. If we don’t take him down, I may never be safe. My life and, more importantly, the lives of everyone in my family depend on it. And”—Rory closed her eyes for a contemplative second—“for Rebecca. We take The Italian down for her. She was trying to do good, same as me.” Her eyes glistened as she peered at Chris, and damn, his heart was going to break.

  “You’re not willing to let your family be bait, though, right?” Chris asked.

  Rory had given up her mission in order to protect her family. He knew she would never compromise them in any way.

  “No, which is why we need to send people I trust to keep an eye on them,” she began, “but since The Italian has probably known about me for years and has yet to make a move, I don’t know what to think.”

  “As much as you want to hate me,” Carter began in a calm voice, “you also know you need to work with me.”

  “It’s not that I want to hate you, I do hate you, fairly fucking easily.” Chris finally sat again.

  “I need to reach out to my people.” Harper peered at Carter, her eyes set on him in a pretty awesome stare-down moment, one Chris hoped she’d win.

  But Carter shook his head. “Not until we have a deal.”

  “I don’t make deals with the devil,” Chris responded and reached for his food again if only to encourage Rory to fill her stomach.

  “It’s a good thing I’m not him,” Carter countered in a low, steady voice.

  “And what would Rebecca say to what you’ve done? The man you’ve become?” Harper asked, and Carter’s eyes immediately fell to his plate.

  “Rebecca’s dead. She can’t say anything.” Carter looked to the sky, then returned his focus to the table after drawing in a deep pull of air and slowly letting it go.

  “How about you fill in the blanks that I am sure you left out of your brief explanation. Start from the beginning,” Harper demanded. She was doing what she did best—searching for clarity, looking at all the angles. Chris was grateful she was more levelheaded than he was right now.

  “When my wife died, I had always assumed I was the true target of the so-called home invasion, given my job with the Agency. I mostly dealt with smugglers of all kinds while at the CIA. I figured one of them, probably a high-value target I’d been working to take down, had discovered my identity. Maybe they killed Rebecca as a warning to me. Faked the burglary since there had been a string of them in D.C. to hide the fact they were also searching the house for my files,” he explained, his tone void of emotion now, and Chris was certain he was working hard to make it that way. But his memories had to be ripping him apart.

  Chris hated the guy, but to learn your wife was murdered, then to blame your chosen career as the cause . . . It was something his teammates also feared, a reason they’d tried to avoid falling in love over the years. And now only three of them were still single.

  Well, am I single? When he looked at Rory, he sure as hell didn’t feel that way.

  “All of this time, even when Santiago admitted to the Agency two weeks ago that he murdered an officer’s wife—he just didn’t yet specify whose wife—I still believed Rebecca died because of me.” This time, Carter couldn’t prevent the emotion from grabbing hold of his voice. And for two hot seconds, Chris felt sorry for the guy.

  “So, you did ambush the CIA’s transport?” Chris asked since Carter had excluded that pretty important detail in his “briefing” after Chris had punched him.

  “My old colleague was one of the men tasked to interrogate Santiago after he was retrieved from El Salvador two weeks ago. Santiago offered to give up the person who hired him to kill the wife of a CIA officer two and a half years ago, but only if he could return home instead of winding up in a CIA black site.”

>   “Let me guess, the Agency wouldn’t deal,” Harper said, and she knew a thing or two about the CIA since she’d been an officer before joining the teams.

  Carter looked at Harper and nodded solemnly. “No, but my friend put two and two together that it was my wife Santiago was talking about. He supplied me with the transport details so I could get my hands on Santiago before he got locked up. He’d been a friend of Rebecca’s as well, and he wanted the son of a bitch to pay.”

  Chris blinked at the news. He’d known Carter had Rory followed, she’d told him as much. Rory had been inside the same compound in El Salvador before Chris and his men had grabbed Santiago. And the room with the slithering snakes came back to mind.

  And maybe he knew that, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t processed it until this moment, hearing the words from Carter.

  It was hard to imagine this incredible woman had gone into Santiago’s home by herself. Chris had been with his team. Liam inspired safety being on overwatch on the long gun. Finn had been right at his six every step of the way. Wyatt and Roman and the others had been in his ear. He’d had backup. Rory didn’t.

  His pulse raced with terror just imagining the scene of Rory slipping into that compound. The million things that could have gone wrong.

  It didn’t, though, he reminded himself. But what if K-9 training isn’t enough for her? What if she goes back to hunting bad guys? Instead of a knife wound in Cartagena, the next blow could be fatal.

  Rory lived on the edge, and what if she . . . leaves me?

  No. No, no, no. He wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t pigeonhole Rory into the damn boxes in his head his mom created when she left. That was his mom’s baggage, not his.

  Fuck that. If Rory needed to make a difference in the world the way he was trying to do, he’d be there for her. Support her. And he’d fight like hell to make sure she made it home alive the way he did with his brothers on the teams every day.

  Chris’s focus swiveled back to Carter to hear what else he had to say, pulling his mind out of the what-if gutter.

  “When I took Santiago into custody, as you now know, I discovered he had photos of Rebecca and Rory in disguises in Cartagena. Obviously, I recognized my wife, and since I’d already met Rory, I realized it was her, too. Santiago told me Rebecca was the original target, and The Italian paid him to have her killed and to search my home,” Carter repeated what he’d said when Chris first came down but threw in a few more details. “I may have been on Santiago’s radar before I left the Agency even if he wasn’t on mine, but after talking with Rory, it looks like Santiago told me the truth about Rebecca. That she was the target, not me. Although, I have to be on The Italian’s shit list now that I grabbed Santiago.”

  “We think Santiago’s capture may be what triggered this recent series of events, especially since he was chosen to follow Rebecca three years ago and subsequently kill her,” Rory said, side-eying Chris.

  We? He never wanted there to be a “we” when it came to her and Carter. Okay, maybe he was letting some alpha-male thing come into play, but he was certain it was mostly because he didn’t trust Carter around Rory.

  “What else do you know about The Italian?” Harper asked Carter.

  “All correspondence was done by way of untraceable phone numbers and email addresses. Payments through offshore accounts that dry up after the transactions are made. All other leads I have looked into since I learned about Santiago are dead ends,” Carter answered.

  “I might be able to help. Jessica, too,” Harper said with confidence. “We should start by looking into your wife’s contacts. She may have gotten the list of twenty-five from you, but she had to be ruffling feathers somewhere to turn a smuggler onto her before she even met Rory in Colombia.”

  “I’m still not sure we can trust you,” Chris announced. “You could be lying about everything.”

  “Sleep on it. I think that’s enough for tonight, anyway.” When Carter rose, three armed guards entered the dining area, and his dog hopped to all fours.

  “Wait.” Rory stood, snagging Carter’s attention.

  “I don’t want to sleep alone. If you want to discuss plans tomorrow, you let us stick together tonight.” Rory’s words came out strong and determined.

  “That’s reasonable.” Carter faced one of his guards. “Two rooms instead of four. They can pick who they choose to sleep with tonight. But doors remain locked.”

  “And I want proof my family is safe when I wake up in the morning,” Rory rushed out. “Or you and your plans can go to hell.”

  “Fine.” Carter left without another word, and Rory dropped down in her seat.

  “I’m so sorry,” Rory said, eyes sweeping around the table before landing on Chris last.

  Chris reached for her hand beneath the table. “This isn’t on you.”

  It was hard to believe they were at some lavish estate in Puerto Rico, when yesterday (was it really yesterday?) they’d been disembarking a sinking yacht, facing possible death. And shit, there were the nearly naked plank walks, too, that had happened today.

  He needed sleep.

  And more than anything, he needed Rory safe in his arms.

  “Are we really considering working with him?” Roman asked, an echo of Chris’s comment. “I don’t trust him.”

  “This isn’t just about me,” Rory spoke up. “Can you imagine what it would mean if we can take The Italian down?” She closed her eyes. “This would be a win for so many. Lives, human and animal, saved.”

  “And when someone else tries to assume the throne? Take over?” Chris softly challenged.

  Rory swept her thumb over the top of his hand that clasped hers. She dragged her gaze up to his face. “Does that stop you from taking out bad guys? Do you let a terrorist go because why bother? Two more will be in his place tomorrow.”

  Damn, she had him there. He selfishly wanted The Italian gone because he was a threat to Rory’s safety, but she was right. Taking him down would save a lot of lives. And if Chris had to go after whoever filled The Italian’s shoes, so be it.

  But one thing he couldn’t handle was not doing everything in his power to keep Rory safe. Even if that meant working with an enemy.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “And we’re locked up again.” Chris set a palm to the bedroom door, heaved out an exasperated sigh, then turned to face the room.

  Harper had offered to bunk with Rory, but no way would Chris let Rory out of his sight. So, Harper and Roman were now in a suite two doors down, maybe sharing a bed. But knowing Roman, he’d sleep on the floor even though his knife wound had to be sore and uncomfortable. The man was freakishly brilliant, but an idiot when it came to the woman he cared about.

  Rory peeled off her sexy white tank top and flung it to one of the two armchairs by the wall alongside the door, then removed her strappy silver sandals.

  Like a magnet, his eyes flew to the scar near her belly button, a reminder of the dangerous life she once lived and was now thrown back into.

  “Are you going to look at me with pity every time I take off my shirt?” Rory’s words stole his focus straight up to her face, and he replayed her question in his head to ensure he’d heard her correctly.

  Chris reached her in three quick strides and circled one arm around her waist while his other hand gently guided her chin up. Looking into her eyes so she would fully grasp his sincerity, he said, “Pity is the last thing on my mind. Anger toward the bastard who hurt you, yes, but never pity. After everything I’ve seen you go through, you’re one of the strongest people I’ve met in my life. The most amazing, kind, and compassionate woman, too.” His hand traveled to her cheek, and when he smoothed his palm over her skin, she leaned into his touch.

  “You’re amazing and strong, too, you know,” she whispered, nuzzling her face against his hand and closing her eyes as if relishing in their closeness.

  “I’m not so tough. I’m the one who fell out of bed and pulled a gun on you just last week.” It’d only
been a handful of days plus one kidnapping and nearly naked plank walk ago, but shit, he was never going to forget that.

  Her lids parted to reveal hazel eyes intently focused on him. “You’re human. You’ve been through so much, and I admire the hell out of you.” Rory mirrored his gesture, lifting a palm and caressing his cheek.

  And you still want me to get therapy? He couldn’t voice the question quite yet. But maybe she was right. Maybe after all of this, he needed to man up and face his demons.

  Demons of his own making because he was so terrified a woman would abandon him like his mom had. But hell, maybe he was equally as petrified he’d do the running. That he’d be like his mom, and in a way, he had become like her, hadn’t he? He’d never settled down. Never stayed in a relationship, not even before he was on Echo Team. And he’d never fallen in love. Mostly because he hadn’t allowed it.

  But Rory . . . she was different. She deserved someone without his mother’s baggage haunting him. Someone who didn’t grab their gun while sleeping because they were triggered by a movie.

  “You’ve been my rock in all of this. You know that, right? I can’t imagine how I would have faced all of this without you,” she said softly. He lowered his arm and lightly smoothed his hand along the soft skin of her shoulder. “Tonight was harder than dealing with the Trott brothers or those painful shoes.”

  I knew those shoes were hurting her feet, damn it. “Everything you learned from Carter . . . tonight was heavy. I can’t begin to imagine how you’re feeling.”

  Rory wet her lips, her eyes dipping to his mouth. She surprised him by leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m feeling both lost and found.” The slight crook of her mouth into a part frown, part smile, did make her appear a bit lost and unsure. “Knowing the truth is eye-opening, but I’m still so confused about everything.” She reached out and took his hand from her waist and laced their fingers together.

  “I’ve got you, I promise,” he murmured and set a kiss to her lips.

  “Thank you.” She smiled and stepped back, giving him the opportunity to drink her in. How had he gotten so lucky? “And that goes both ways. I’ve got you, too.” She ran her hand down the column of her throat, skimming over the soft skin of her breasts, continuing to her abdomen.