by Regan Black
“Nice shot, boss.”
John ignored the compliment and the moniker. “He doesn’t get past this line.”
“No way. I’ll draw End Game into the house and…”
“Stick with the plan,” John said, when Ben’s voice trailed off.
“Right. Why can’t I kill him?”
“Because we’re not ready to meet the assassin Messenger believes is better than this one.”
“Oh, yeah. Got it.”
John hoped he remembered it for more than the next two minutes. He didn’t want to think about what could happen if Ben was caught working against UI. Right now he was the perfect mole, but it was a high-risk play that could backfire with a single misstep.
The Cleaner pushed open his car door, used it for shelter and called out to Sandman as if they were old friends. John buried another bullet into the doorframe and the assassin responded with a few rounds of his own.
“Moving to cover the back,” John said.
The silence was all the confirmation he had of Ben moving to his next position. The man was damn spooky.
“Hold your fire!” The Cleaner went on a predictable tirade about the busted engine. “I’m on your side,” he called out from the shelter of his car.
John watched as he assessed the charred vehicle blocking the drive. “What is this, a new practice range?”
“You tell me,” Ben shouted back through the broken front window of the house. “You here for training?”
“I’m here as a damned courtesy.” End Game started forward, gun raised.
Courtesy? John would’ve laughed aloud if it hadn’t given away his position.
Ben’s voice called out again. “Sorry about that. My phone died and the woman resisted. I’m hurt.”
From behind the shelter of a tree John watched End Game approach, gun at the ready. “There’s a new op waiting for you.”
For you too buddy, John thought waiting for the right moment to move again. Get your ass inside where we can knock you out, he urged silently, impatient for the plan to play out so he could assure himself Amelia was fine.
“Better pass it on. I’m injured,” Ben answered.
“Stand down,” End Game ordered, lowering his gun a fraction. “I’m coming in.”
Finally. John had seen him before, but intimidating wasn’t a strong enough word for this guy. Not just the physical attributes, though the height and brawny build were a factor. Not just the set-in-stone, void expression. It was the sense of utter confidence and control underpinning the man’s every move.
This guy didn’t lose. Ever.
“Today’s your day, my friend,” John whispered. “Your worst day.”
He thought of the way this bastard had walked out of a coffee shop with Amelia and his trigger finger itched to bury the next bullet right between his eyes. He hadn’t expected to be the unpredictable part of this equation. That was Ben’s job. Taking a long, slow breath, John dialed down his emotions before they were all blown.
End Game had one foot on the first step of the porch. “Sandman, drag your ass out here.”
John heard Ben making enough noise for an elephant inside the house as he went to cover the back door.
The voices were muffled now, but John knew what Ben was supposed to be doing. He waited, listening to the cadence of the debate. The injured ‘Sandman’ couldn’t come outside, End Game would resist going in.
The crunch of a boot on broken glass signaled John that End Game had entered the house. He braced on the back stoop while he listened to the ensuing scuffle, waiting for the all clear from Ben.
He was not ready for the gunfire. What the hell would End Game shoot at? Ben was as good as invisible and the plan was for him to attack End Game from behind. John moved in, gun ready.
“All clear!” Ben shouted with childlike enthusiasm. “But he didn’t scream,” he added as John lowered his weapon and stared at the scene.
The towering assassin looked like a felled tree, face down on the dusty planked flooring. “Why’d you kill him?” he asked Ben.
“It’s a flesh wound,” Ben protested. “Followed by a tranquilizer. Man, you seriously need to stop caring about the bad people. I tried the plan and smacked him with the butt of the pistol. It didn’t work.”
“Shit.” If End Game remembered he’d been attacked by nothing more than thin air, he’d know Ben was working against UI. “You have to get out of here.”
“Relax,” Ben said, stretching the word out. “I let him see me.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Like this,” Ben said.
He materialized in an inexplicable way magicians would envy. John studied him, deciding he looked like a modern-day ninja in the tight fitting clothing in a dark camouflage pattern. Ben grinned and did a slow turn, arms out wide, as John stared. “I didn’t know you could do that.”
“No one does. Well, no one but me and now you. They all think I’m a lab accident.”
“And you’re sure he saw you?” John asked, getting back on track.
“Definitely. But he won’t recognize me. It’s been so long, no one remembers what I look like. They’ll think Sandman called in an old buddy or something.”
“And he’s off the program anyway.”
“Yup.” Ben faded from sight. “If we tie him up right, it should give them a decent head start.”
John agreed. “If we’re lucky, Messenger might think there’s a competing agency at work.” That wouldn’t help Sandman’s cause much, but that wasn’t exactly John’s problem.
“Well, isn’t there?”
John hadn’t thought of this new stage of his life in quite that way. He wasn’t in the market to recruit agents, had no desire to do anything but fade into a quiet, less eventful life with Amelia.
Except the two of them knew too much and, like Ben accused, they cared even more. Other agents were out in the world, men and women trapped by Messenger’s grueling system and questionable agenda.
The air rippled and one of End Game’s arms elevated as Ben, having turned invisible again, picked it up. John helped Ben drag End Game deeper into the house where they restrained him before he came to and could fight again.
“Let me blow the house,” Ben said, almost pleading. “I can do it so he won’t die.”
“You drugged him and this place is a tinderbox. It would burn down with him in it.”
“Is that a go-ahead?”
“No,” John said. “We just wanted to give Sandman a head start.”
“Right. Then that’s mission accomplished.”
“Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”
When they were outside, jogging toward Amelia’s hiding place, John encouraged Ben to keep his guard up.
“Always, man,” Ben replied in his typically careless tone.
“I’m serious,” John said. “If Messenger suspects you’re leaking intel…”
“I die.”
Ben sounded almost eager and John understood the sentiment all too well. “You’ve been helpful to me. To us,” he added as they neared the car hidden under a hunter’s camouflage netting.
“Always will be.”
The unconditional loyalty was an unfamiliar sensation. A sensation he wasn’t sure he wanted to get used to. Clearing his throat, John changed the subject. “What do you know about Sandman’s history?”
“Less than his present,” Ben said. “He was on the trigger when Messenger ordered your take down.”
How did Ben know these things? A normal man might be pissed off and look for revenge against the man behind that bullet, but John wasn’t anywhere close to normal anymore. He owed Sandman a debt, even if the agent had only been following orders. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It messed him up bad,” Ben said. “Taking out the legend.”
“Legend?”
“Dude, you were first. They called you Bulletproof and told us we could be like you.”
John scowled. “No way. There were at le
ast twenty of us in my training class.”
“Yeah.” Ben sighed. “That was training. You were the first to survive what came after. When they succeeded with you it spurred them on with the rest of us.”
Dear God, the implications… “You were in training. You drove the instructors crazy.”
“It’s a gift,” Ben said with pride, “and I only get better with time and the enhancement.”
John studied Amelia as she joined them, pulling her close to his side, so grateful they’d cleared this hurdle.
“Everything went well?” she asked.
“We bought him some time,” Ben answered. “I’ve gotta hit my next assignment or Messenger will bench me, but I’ll be around.”
John and Amelia waited in silence until Ben’s soft footfalls faded. “You have something.”
“I do,” she said, her sly, reporter’s smile curving her lovely lips. “And there’s every reason to think positively. Come on.”
He let her lead him to the car, listening to her rattle on about Vaccaro family connections and old flames that didn’t make sense to him. His mind was on what Ben had said. “We owe Sandman more than a head start,” he blurted, interrupting her with the news Ben had shared.
“Even better.” She kissed his cheek. “I think if we give her the opportunity, Renata can find the way out of this for herself and, unless I miss my guess, for Sandman too.”
Chapter Nine
Renata stared at Matthew, her worst fears confirmed. “Why did you fake your death?”
“Oh, no.” He shook his head. “You were supposed to die back there. Tell me what you’re into.”
“You weren’t there to rescue me?”
The look he leveled on her gave her chills. This wasn’t the sweet guy she’d dated years ago, the youthful Marine with a tender streak she’d loved with all of her young, untested heart. This was a man hardened by his circumstances. She trembled, more than a little unnerved by how much she liked the tough new edge.
“I promise I’ll tell you everything, but just answer one question first, how did you know where to find me?”
He checked the dashboard, then the rearview mirror before glancing her way again. “I told you. I bought you online.”
“What?”
“You’d rather I let the kidnapper sell you to someone else?”
“Of course not, but –”
“I made the purchase – officially – for the purpose of following my orders and killing both you and your kidnapper.”
Furious, and more than a little worried about the danger she was in, she turned the citrine ring on her finger. Changes or not, she couldn’t believe he would have gone through with it. She shifted a little closer to the door.
“Don’t even think about making a break for it,” he said. “This might make sense if you’ll tell me what the hell you were into.”
She swore. Matthew wasn’t dead. He had a codename: Sandman. The man who’d used it, the guy who was invisible, had bought them time to escape. She rubbed at the goose bumps on her arms. There’d been a business card on the seat and she’d tucked it away, wondering if Matthew had left it, or someone else. “Where are we going?”
“That depends on what you tell me.” He accelerated as the sun tried to peek through the clouds hovering at the horizon.
“When you died, I was… I was devastated.” It was too late to hold anything back even if she’d wanted to. Should her life be cut short in the next hour, day, or week, she refused to live with any regrets.
“I wanted to believe there was another answer, that someone had made a terrible mistake.” She couldn’t seem to get enough air into her lungs and her palms tingled, but she had to tell him the whole story. “I ran down reports of soldiers and Marines who survived attacks unscathed, those who were imprisoned conflicts and wars, those who wandered lost and disoriented only to be found later. I’ve met people all over the world, Matthew. I’ve heard all kinds of stories. I studied anything and everything that gave me a shred of hope that you were alive. My heart refused to accept your death and look, it was right all along.”
“Renata.”
The velvet-soft tone nearly brought her to tears. “I’m not nearly as flighty as everyone wants to believe. Of course I love my shoes and fashion, but I go a little deeper than that.”
“I know.”
“I think you’re the only one who did. Does,” she corrected. As much as she loved her family, they’d never expected too much from her. There had been a lovely acceptance in Matthew, before he’d been ‘killed’. With him, she’d felt safe enough to be herself, to test and explore ideas about who she wanted to become. In some ways, his death had empowered her.
Why hadn’t she realized that until now?
“Anyway, being with the diplomatic corps meant meeting a lot of diverse and interesting people. I was on my way to Madrid not to socialize with a wealthy man, but to use his connections to meet with a recluse who verifies old documents. He specializes in World War I and World War II eras of scientific advancement. It’s rumored he has some original research records from Mussolini’s efforts to create the ultimate soldier.”
“That’s absurd.” Matthew adjusted his speed as they drove through a sleepy little town.
“You can say that, but I think it’s clear you are one of them. The idea of a super soldier is almost as volatile a topic as cloning. The potential concepts are coveted intellectual property and I believe there are places where terrible experiments are already taking place. Obviously you didn’t die in some far off place. You left me for this research project, or whatever they call it.”
“No. Part of me did die,” he contradicted quietly.
Surely, he was speaking figuratively about the man he’d been, at least she hoped that was the case. Losing him, so suddenly with no explanation, left her with an open wound in her heart, and her pain felt as fresh today as it had been when she’d first heard the news. These past years, she’d walked around with an emptiness inside her that nothing could fill.
“But you didn’t die.” She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears blurring her vision. “Unless… is that your way of saying there really is a ghost classification in your system?”
“No.” He flexed his hands on the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. “I don’t know where you’re getting this stuff.”
Oh, yes he did. “Now who’s lying?” She couldn’t stand it. “Let me out. I’ll call the family for help, unless you plan to follow through and murder me.”
“You know I could never kill you. But you’re treading in deadly waters, Renata. I can fake your death, smuggle you out of the country, and teach you how to survive where they can’t touch you.”
“And forever be looking over my shoulder for your mysterious ‘they’ to kill me. No. There is another way.” She couldn’t imagine a life without her family. She didn’t want to settle for a life without Matthew, unless he told her outright he didn’t want to be with her. “What about you? What happens if you let me go?”
“That doesn’t matter.” His gaze jumped from the road ahead, to each mirror, then landed on her for a moment. “You’re not safe with me. This topic isn’t safe. You have to drop this if you want to live.”
“Absolutely not! It’s too important, Matthew. There has to be a way to ultimately assist those in combat without abusing others as guinea pigs. Those old experiments were barbaric and the rumors I’ve heard –”
“Stop!”
She jumped at his outburst, stunned into silence.
“I know how I got to this point. How did you get here?”
“My curiosity, as I said. But I – I needed some way to make sense of losing you and all the others.”
“Others? What do you mean?” He turned off the main road and parked near the front door of a grocery store still closed for the night. “Tell me quickly and don’t leave anything out.”
“The published reports about your death listed a six man team, three of you killed during
an attempt to bring down a terrorist cell. It got ridiculous play on the embassy circuit and a few of your CIA leaders were investigated as a result. If it’s any consolation, all three of you were regarded as heroes.”
“No consolation.” Matthew snorted. “And no one died on that mission.”
“I was afraid you’d say that. But it gets worse, two more of your team died shortly after returning to the States. One in a bar fight, another in a traffic accident a few days later. Then Rafe called a few days after that, inviting me for coffee. He said he needed to talk. We were both grieving so much.”
Matthew smiled, covering her trembling hands with his. “I’ve always been so grateful your cousin introduced us.” He lifted her hands to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to the backs of her chilled fingers. “What did he tell you?”
“Nothing.” Tears rolled down her cheeks as the horror replayed in her mind. “He was killed in a drive by shooting in front of the café. Right in f-front of me.” Her hands caught in his, she blotted her tears against her shoulder. “He loved the Marines, loved that he’d made his way on his own merit.”
His silence soothed her, sharing those dark days with the man she’d never stopped loving served as a balm to a heart battered by so much loss in a short time frame. “My uncle was nearly inconsolable when Rafe died. It remains an unsolved case, but the gang assumed responsible, identified by witnesses who noted their colors, suffered heavy losses in the weeks that followed.”
Matthew released her hands to scrub at his face. “Do you recall any gang colors or signs?”
She shook her head, overwhelmed again by the sadness, the waste of it all. “All I recall is his guarded expression. He wasn’t smiling that day. Then he was down…”
He looked around. “We have to find a safer place to hide out and make some decisions.”
She fished the card out of her pocket. “This was on my seat when I got in the car. I noticed a sign for it a ways back. I think we must be close,” she added while Matthew looked at the card.
“How did a bed and breakfast card wind up here?” He turned the card over. “Do you know this name?”
She examined the back of the card. “Reservation for Bennett Anderson? No, it’s not familiar.”
