by Cindy Gerard
“Do you know where we are?” he asked.
She wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her bound hands. “It’s the overflow food storage shed—empty now, but I’m guessing it’s where they keep their winter supplies. Why wouldn’t they have a jail or a brig like any other military operation, since Lawson fancies himself a general?”
He hadn’t wanted to tell her this before, but there didn’t seem to be much point withholding it now. He shuffled over to a wall, leaned against it to keep from keeling over. “Remember my buddy, Bucky? He made it pretty clear one day that I needed to keep my nose clean. You break a rule around here? You cross the boss? One shot. Back of the head. The coyotes eat well that night. There is no discipline. Just death.”
“Well. It’s efficient, I’ll give him that.”
No whimpering. No hand wringing. Way to take it on the chin, Eva. God, he loved this woman.
“How many guards?” he asked.
“I counted six—three at the door and three more stationed around the perimeter of the building. Inside? It’s just you and me and the mice.”
“So… thoughts?” God, his head hurt.
“None that I see working. Even if I could climb up to that ventilation grate and get outside without making enough noise to raise the dead, I’ll never get past the guards. And you? Right now, you’re pretty much worthless thanks to your smart mouth.”
Okay. So she wasn’t totally over being pissed at him.
“But you’ve got a plan, right?” He knew she had one. Eva wasn’t a reactor. She made things happen.
“Yeah. I’ve got a plan. But you’re not going to like it.”
“Try me.”
“We wait for Gabe and Green.”
He carefully let his head fall back against the wall. Closed his eyes on a fractured breath as sweat trickled down his spine. “You’re right. I don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to like it. We just have to do it.”
Now she was throwing his own words back at him. Guess he had that coming.
“At least with them inside, we’ve got enough numbers to make something work. And unless you sprout wings and a machine gun, we aren’t going anywhere anyway.”
Very slowly he sank back down to the floor. Breathed through the pain. “Fine. We wait.”
He closed his eyes and dozed on and off, so he wasn’t sure how much time passed when a key rattled in the lock and the door swung open. He squinted up to see Simmons standing in the threshold, carrying his shotgun. Then he flipped on the light switch and an overhead bulb blinked on. “Special delivery, asshole.”
Simmons stepped aside and Wagoner and Bryant shoved two men into the room, their wrists bound with flex cuffs, their heads covered with hoods.
Even though he’d been expecting it, it ripped a hole in Mike’s chest to know that he was responsible for putting Gabe and Joe in this position.
He propped himself up on an elbow. “Four people? This small room? Gotta be breaking some fire code for maximum capacity. Who do I see about lodging a complaint?”
Simmons backed toward the door. “You’re a real funny guy. What do you wanna bet you aren’t laughing tomorrow at this time? Oh, wait. Tomorrow at this time you’re gonna be dead. You and your bitch and your buddies. If it was up to me, the deed would already be done. Make a joke about that.”
He stomped across the room, flipped off the light, slammed the door, and locked it behind him.
Mike swallowed back the lump in his throat, feeling a despair unlike anything he’d felt since Afghanistan. He thought of Gabe’s little girl. Of the baby on the way. Of Jenna and Stephanie—the wives and lovers these men might never see again.
“Sorry, guys.” His voice broke. “Didn’t exactly see it going down like this.”
Both men reached up and wrestled off their hoods.
And for the first time that he could remember, Mike couldn’t have uttered a sound if his bare feet had been held to a fire.
He squinted his eyes into focus, certain he was hallucinating, but there was no getting around it. It wasn’t Gabe Jones staring back at him. It wasn’t Joe Green.
“Long time no see, Primetime.” Bobby Taggart stood there grinning at him as if he’d just checked into a resort and eight years of hating Mike’s guts had never happened.
What the hell?
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Jamie Cooper’s Hollywood smile was as blinding as it had ever been. “Always landing your sorry ass in a sling.”
What the holy hell?
“And dragging us along for the ride,” Taggart added, then directed his attention to Eva. “Ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you—present circumstances notwithstanding.”
All Mike could do was stare. At those far-too-familiar faces that looked so much like he remembered, yet had changed in ways he understood too well. He still couldn’t believe what he was seeing. After he’d left a message on Jamie’s machine and never heard back, he’d figured that the bridge was well and truly burned.
“Wh…” He stopped, shook his head, unable to form the words. What are you doing here? Why did you come? “What happened to Gabe and Joe?” Even before Cooper spoke, he knew. Cooper hadn’t just gotten his message—he’d believed him. Then he’d convinced Taggart and, knowing Taggart, he’d needed a helluva lot of convincing.
“Your buddy Jones says ‘hey,’ ” Cooper said.
“And to not fuck this up,” Taggart added.
Since they both had candy-eating grins on their faces, Mike knew Gabe had probably had a lot more to say.
The fact that the two of them were here, though, said everything he needed to know. When they couldn’t reach him, they’d called the number he’d given Cooper to reach Gabe, who had read them in on the mission, and they’d asked to take his and Joe’s place.
Pig simple. And not simple at all. They were here because they needed to be. They were here because they had to be.
Because they were his brothers.
His vision misted over as a relief so huge and so consuming threatened to drop him to his knees.
“Not that we don’t appreciate the stellar digs”—making a point of giving Mike a chance to pull himself together, Cooper craned his head around, checking out the possibilities—“but it’s a little stuffy in here. I’m all for going for an upgrade to oh, say… anywhere but fucking here.”
“I’m down with that.”
Mike recognized the gravel in Taggart’s voice, since the same rock of emotion had lodged in his.
Sonofabitch. They’d come.
• • •
Eva sized up Taggart and Cooper, deciding the two men were as different as tequila and scotch. Taggart was tall, fair, wore his light brown hair in a military buzz cut, and was built like a tank. Cooper clearly had Latino blood running through his veins. The man gave Mike a run for his money in the drop-dead gorgeous department. He was also muscular, but more like a runner or a swimmer.
And regardless of the trash talk that passed between the three of them, that indefinable bond that united them still held strong. Not that they weren’t feeling their way carefully around each other. Eight years of distance and resentment, no matter that it was founded on lies and misunderstanding, rode heavy on the air between them. But the team mentality had fallen back into place like well-oiled gears.
The looks that passed between them made Eva’s heart break. Typical men, they couldn’t come out and say what was really on their minds. Years of regret. Years of pain. Years of loss. And all they exchanged were looks and trash talk. No handshakes. No hugs, because, God forbid, contact might trigger an emotion they’d have to actually deal with.
Okay. She got it, she thought, as Mike filled them in on the semis full of guns and their speculation that a deal with key members of the Juarez cartel was about to go down. Now wasn’t the time for a sentimental reunion. Now wasn’t the time to voice forgiveness and repent. Neither was it the time to sort out her link to Lawson, although she susp
ected that Gabe had connected the dots between her and Ramon when he’d read them in on the operation.
But so help her God, if they got out of here alive, she was going to make sure that the three of them confronted the ghosts that haunted them. They were going to have a touchy-feely moment if she had to knock them all in the head with a hammer.
But first they had to get out of here. Cooper and Taggart were already making a visual sweep of the room for possible escape scenarios when a commotion outside had them all turning in that direction.
Mike gave her a What now? look.
“Open it.” Lawson’s voice was unmistakable on the other side of the door.
Eva’s heart sank. This couldn’t be good.
Was this it, then? The end? Why else would Lawson be here?
Mike moved close against her side just as the door swung open and the overhead light flipped on.
Lawson walked in, flanked by Simmons and Wagoner, both of them armed to the teeth. Lawson glared at Taggart, then Cooper, let his ferret gaze drift over Eva and finally land on Mike. The smile that tilted his lips was ugly. “You’ve got yourself a little problem, Walker. Excuse me. Brown.”
“I’m guessing this means I’m not going to get that promotion?”
Anger flashed in Lawson’s eyes, but his smile never wavered. “What it means is that you’re a dead man. You and your friends. But not just yet. I’m not without compassion. So as long as we’ve got this reunion theme going, I want to give you an opportunity to say hello to an old friend.”
Lawson stepped aside. First into the room was a woman Eva didn’t recognize. She was blond and totally unremarkable except for her eyes. And the coldness Eva saw there chilled her blood to ice. She was dressed all in black. In one hand she held a wicked Heckler & Koch MP5K. Her other arm was immobilized in a sling. And though she’d never seen her before in her life, Eva got the distinct impression the woman’s ice-queen exterior was a wall holding back a red-hot hatred.
A man stepped in behind her. Big man. Tall. Late fifties, maybe early sixties. Like Lawson, he was dressed in camo pants and a neatly pressed broadcloth shirt. An officer’s shirt, complete with a shiny nameplate pinned to his breast pocket.
She squinted to make out the letters… then sucked in her breath on a gasp.
BREWSTER.
34
“Well.” Brewster looked from one shocked face to another. “I guess we can safely say you hadn’t figured it out.”
He’d been close to these men once. They’d believed in him. Trusted him. Whatever regrets he harbored, however, held little sway when stacked up against the money he’d made over the years.
“I could have had you taken out eight years ago, you know. The three of you are only alive now because I arranged it.”
“Gosh.” Cooper was the first to break the silence. “Does that call for a thank you very much or a fuck you very much?”
Brewster grinned. “I always liked you, Jamie. Hell. All of you were damned entertaining.”
Brown glared at him. “So glad we could be of service.”
“And that,” he said, lifting a chiding finger, “was the crux of your problem. Your dedication to service.”
“You sonofabitch,” Taggart swore under his breath.
Again Brewster smiled.
“You sold us out.” The calm edge in Taggart’s voice did little to hide his outrage and hatred. “You murdered our brothers. And for what? Money? Power? The fucking fun of it? Sir,” he added mockingly.
Brewster shook his head and let out a sigh. “I misjudged you. That was my mistake. I hadn’t expected a bunch of flash-and-dazzle party boys to pull together and turn into a cohesive and, frankly, exemplary unit. Figured it would be all about the hotdogging, right? That’s what you all did best. Thought I could keep you contained. But I didn’t take into account the Boy Scout factor. You really did believe in the greater good. Well, all except Salinas.”
Oh, that got a reaction. Pretty little Eva went ghostly pale. And Brown’s eyes flared with hatred.
“Shut up,” Brown warned. “Just shut the fuck up. She doesn’t need to hear this.”
“Interesting. You never liked Salinas, Michael, yet you don’t want to sully his name in front of his widow?”
“Leave her the hell alone.” Brown couldn’t keep his emotions in check.
“No.” Eva took a step forward. “I want to know. Tell me.”
His gaze swung to the lush and lovely widow Salinas. Under other circumstances he might have looked for a reason to save her, but this was a done deal and he was finished with leaving any loose ends.
“Your husband wasn’t the man you thought he was, dear.” A hard truth, but few men were the heroes their women thought them to be. God knows he’d never been, but he’d sure convinced a helluva lot of women that he was Superman, and they’d all seemed happy to believe him. “Ramon was easy to corrupt, a greedy bastard who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants, or his hand out of my till.”
Her face paled, and he could see her struggling to find some way to push her long-dead husband closer to the purer end. A lonely guy too far from home and his beautiful wife, just needing a little solace in another woman’s arms, a hardworking man who realized his boss was on the wrong side, and tried to right some wrongs.
Wasn’t going to happen. Not with Ramon Salinas.
From the tight, sad expression on her face, he figured she knew. Smart girl.
“So if he was working for you, why did you kill him?” she asked.
“Because every time I turned around, he was standing there with his hand out. When he started bitching about either getting a bigger cut or else running his mouth to the wrong people, he left me no choice. I buried the bastard. Frankly, my dear, you’re better off without him. Well, relatively speaking.” They’d all be dead by morning, and not one of them was naïve enough to doubt it.
Not even the lovely Eva.
He let his gaze run over her from top to bottom and back up again, not missing a curve. The lady was built. He had a soft spot for smart, gorgeous women, and this one was starting to look like a lost opportunity. He should have done the right thing eight years ago and been there to console the grieving widow.
Oh, well. Jane was a safer bet—and she had the same mean streak he did, which made them a good team.
“You weren’t supposed to make it out of Lima,” he said, holding her gaze. “Jane was contracted for the hit.” He gestured to the kick-ass blonde at his side, and saw dawning recognition in Eva’s and Mike’s faces. “She still wants to finish the job, professional pride and all that. She wants her pound of flesh.” And he was inclined to let her have it. His boys deserved the best, and Jane was the best.
He slid his gaze over the three of them, all that was left of the One-Eyed Jacks. That’s what they’d been—his boys, and he couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of regret. They’d been the best team he’d ever had, and they’d been their own worst enemies.
“You were too good,” he told them. “You couldn’t keep your heads down and ignore what needed to be ignored. It was a simple deal: drugs and guns. Lawson and I delivered the guns, and the Afghani warlords delivered the opium. But you guys”—he shook his head, and a small grin curved his mouth—“you guys just kept screwing their pooch. I don’t want you to think I gave you up. There wasn’t a choice to be made. It was purely a question of logistics. You had to go.”
“OSD was a setup from the get-go,” Mike concluded.
“And your own Salinas lead you into the trap.”
“Why not just kill all of us that night?” Cooper looked genuinely puzzled. “You knew we were out there hiding.”
“Ah, that was the genius of the plan. We could have killed you, yes, but then how did we explain what happened? Nothing like a whodunit to bring on a major investigation.”
“So you deflected the attention to us. Put the blame on us for killing those civilians.”
Brown always had been intelligent.
“How’d you get it buried from the media?” Taggart wanted to know.
“Same way every potential political bombshell gets buried. Money. Karzai made out like a bandit. Plus he got his warlords off his back when the Spec Ops teams were booted—which was exactly what Lawson and I wanted. It got you out of our hair so we could continue to run our opium pipeline without interference.”
None of them had anything to say to that.
“If you had just left it alone”—he turned back to Eva—“everything would have stayed status quo. You’d all still be alive tomorrow.”
“Then why did you leak the OSD file to me?”
He frowned, puzzled, then let out a soft chuckle. “Someone leaked the OSD file? To you? God, that’s what set this whole thing off? Well, that explains a lot. Leak the file? No, that wasn’t me. Though now that I know someone’s playing fast and loose with information I had made certain was buried… well, when I find out who did it, they’ll be as dead as you’re about to be. And that’s the irony, isn’t it? Apparently they thought they were doing you a favor. Instead, they signed your death warrant along with their own.”
“So why are we still alive? Why not get it over with?”
Taggart. Always impatient, to his own detriment.
Brewster looked at the men who had once been under his command and actually felt regret. “Don’t worry. We will. But right now we have pressing business that can’t wait.”
Lawson’s walkie-talkie squawked, then a disem-bodied voice crackled over the radio. “ETA on the chopper, five minutes.”
“Stand by,” Lawson said into the radio, then looked at Brewster and nodded. “We need to cut this little reunion short. Our guests are about to arrive.”
“Your pressing business?” Cooper was insolent as ever.
