Garrison's Creed (Titan)

by Cristin Harber

  “Check her for concealeds,” Antilla directed the driver, who was quickly proving to be very adept at several things: chauffeuring, bleed outs, and pat downs. Her ankle-holstered .38 was removed as well as the knife tucked into the back of her pants. “And get her inside.”

  The driver manhandled her through the door. If Cash’d seen that subcompact at her back and the unfriendly shove, there was a solid chance the driver was going to die tonight.

  Despite David’s murder, Nic wasn’t as nervous as before. The fear was gone. She was stone-cold ready to work. Her backup was a sniper extraordinaire, and somehow, he’d get eyes on them. Hopefully, he’d heard everything.

  Antilla walked to a far corner to make a phone call and started talking. Sweet Jesus, she’d knocked out the phone jammer, and Antilla was too preoccupied to worry about it. The driver walked outside, most likely to remove David.

  Nicola bent her chin as close to her collarbone as possible and whispered, “Cash, can you hear me?”

  She held her breath. A noise clattered on the metal roof. An acorn or a tree branch. Something. Something that Cash shot long range. A smile melted across her face that she faked as a yawn, just in case.

  “Hi,” she whispered again and waited. “Second bomb. My parents’ house.”

  A dull bang echoed through the empty room. Definitely Cash. He’d take care of her family. God, she loved him.

  “Fucking squirrels,” the driver murmured, pulling David into a corner. “What are we doing with her?”

  “We wait. I need to handle my inventory problem. Tie her to something. I don’t care. And then find me dinner. Try to have it still hot when you return. And none of that American fast food crap.”

  The driver snagged a rickety folding chair and pushed her into it, zip-tying her arms together around a metal piece.

  All right, Smooth. Just you and me now. Let’s do this.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Whatever Nicola had done to fix their jammer problem had worked. Their earpieces squealed, and both Cash and Jared grabbed at them. Perfect clarity that’d make Verizon jealous. Talk about a listen and learn session. Cash prayed to the techie gods that Parker also had access to this feedback at headquarters.

  “There were twins? Smooth’s still alive. Fuck me.” Cash whistled, lying prone on a warehouse roof. A warm breeze swirled around them, bringing with it the gasoline and plastic smells of an abandoned factory.

  He looked through Miss Betty’s scope and caressed her perfectly molded trigger.

  “Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.” Jared growled slowly next to him and rolled onto his back, laying the binoculars to his side and texting into his secure phone. “Talk about a huge hole in intelligence. How did the CIA not know there were two of them?”

  “Not even a rumor. You know gun runners talk. Nothing.” He followed through the eye of his scope, still listening. Nicola was pushing the conversation, narrowing in on a crack between her captors.

  “You hearing this?”

  Jared grunted. “David’s going to get himself—”

  They didn’t need earpieces to hear the single blast of close range fire power.

  “There goes Operation The-Butler-Did-It.” Jared paused. “Don’t take out Smooth yet. No telling what the other man will do with that automatic at her back.”

  Cash nodded. Endangering Nic’s life wasn’t worth a clean shot now. Smooth would die shortly. How and when were still to be determined, but it might as well have been etched in stone. He’d make sure both Smooth twins were hanging with an angel of death. By his hands. And Cash would ensure David was never awarded a nameless star on the inner hallways of Langley.

  Jared rolled back in place, spotting and surveying for Cash. Both men watched Nicola take a push from the butt of a gun. A growl rumbled low from Cash’s chest.

  “Keep it together.”

  He was together. Never more confident in his girl, and never more ready to pull the trigger if she needed it. Though she was in the warehouse now, he could feel her, sense her. He didn’t need to see her to know she was mentally the one in control this moment. After all, she’d just played Antilla’s emo-card and was now one captor less. Two was better than three, even if David had been the weakest link.

  “Cash, can you hear me?” her voice whispered into his ear.

  The sweet question stirred his soul. Concentrating for all he was worth, he took a moment to feel the quick fire of pride flow through his chest.

  With a deep breath and intense focus on an old tree leaning over the metal-topped building, Cash aimed. The silencer did its job: a muffled shot, but nothing that would register as gunfire in the warehouse.

  A small branch landed on the metal roof.

  “Hi.”

  The word melted through him, earpiece to his toes. He smiled, loving that word. Hi.

  She continued, “Second bomb. My parents’ house.”

  On it already. Giving her another confirmation that he was there for her, Cash slid another round forward, cradled Miss Betty to him and bam. More tree debris landed on the roof.

  How about that shot, baby?

  The fuzzy feelings drained away as he listened to a man grunting around her, moving something metal.

  Cash pulled back from Betty. “How we going to get her out of there?”

  “Are you sure she wants us to get her out of there? This probably isn’t her first time tied up.”

  “Jared, I will kill you.”

  “What? Calm your trigger finger. I meant in the captive sense. Not whatever your perverted mind came up with.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Jared laughed. “We’ve had direct orders to kill Smooth, so we’re not only in backup mode, but we have to trust our girl to either kill them or ask for help. She knows we’re here. She said, “hi,” not “help.” We’re five hundred yards away and can get there quick. If Smooth was going to kill her, he’d have done it by now.”

  Voices buzzed in their earpieces. Jared and Cash paused, listening.

  Don’t touch me. Untie me first, you prick. Smooth laughed. The sound of Nicola struggling stopped Cash’s heart.

  “I’m getting closer. If she wants help, she can look over her shoulder and nod.” Cash was on his feet, ready to shimmy down the building. “Don’t lose that gun. I have a sentimental attachment to it.”

  Pushing from one covered spot to the next, he was at the warehouse door lightning fast. He pulled the transmitter’s earpiece out, keeping Jared in his other ear. The real deal was happening on the other side of that door. He wouldn’t need the transmitter.

  Cash slid through the door. It squeaked, but Antilla and Nic didn’t notice as Smooth cut through her zip ties with a pocket knife. At once, she popped to her feet, striking him in the throat.

  God, Cash loved a good throat punch. That one was spectacular. Still, the protector in him needed to run to their tangle, throw her to safety, and shred Antilla Smooth into flesh and bone with his bare hands.

  Acting as backup fucking sucked. She held her own, which was good and bad. It didn’t matter though, no clean shots at this angle anyway.

  Cash crept closer. The urge to annihilate Smooth beat loudly in his ears, speeding his pulse and competing with Nicola’s concern that he didn’t trust her to do the job.

  If this was Roman, would he step in? Christ, man, he couldn’t answer that. Could he? Would he jump in now for Roman?

  No… fuck, no, he wouldn’t.

  Not yet.

  Smooth rebounded, grabbing her arm. She countered, striking. Good girl. Nicola moved fast. Faster than when we sparred. She didn’t run from the son of a bitch. She speared toward him, nailing him in the groin, giving cheap shots and calculated moves equal play time. Nicola was good, but she needed to end this.

  Smooth went down on his knee, her follow up could—

  Damn it. A hand wrapped around her ankle. She flipped through the air. Smooth was on her. They spun, growled, and grunted. Curses and war cries echoed around the empty w
arehouse.

  Antilla slammed her against the wall. Her head lolled to the side, but righted. Her eyes locked on Cash’s. A fucking smile danced across her face, mouthing, “hi.”

  She’s insane. I’m in love with a crazy woman.

  Cash took a step forward into the open. Smooth didn’t see him, but Nic did.

  “No,” she growled, looking bull’s-eye at him.

  His heart thundered behind his ribs, beating so hard they would be bruised. Nicola was good, but Antilla was larger, stronger. Cash had no choice. He ran toward their fighting bodies and hooked a forearm around Antilla’s neck. Nicola fell, driven away by the men’s momentum.

  Watching, she stood, ready for more, but at a standstill. Antilla struggled, shifted sideways, and elbowed his gut, which only strengthened Cash’s resolve. One more shot at escape with a weakening foot stomp, and Antilla was fading for the final countdown.

  Nicola ran forward, screaming. “No!”

  What the hell?

  She couldn’t possibly want him to stop. Her arms grabbed Cash. Fighting through the men’s weight, and their fight, she forced partially between him and Antilla. Slivers of a second passed and, ready to end this, Cash twisted the bastard’s neck. Nicola pushed under his arm, then pulled back. Smooth dropped in a dead man’s pile.

  Behind him, a crash and a whoosh. A different man’s cry spun Cash around, grabbing for his sidearm.

  He was too late.

  Nicola was bent over, hands pressed on her knees, head down. Beyond her, the driver lay with a tactical knife centered in his chest.

  Cash’s hand flew to his waist. His knife was gone. She hadn’t pushed between him and Smooth, she’d gone for his weapons, grabbing his blade. And thrown it with perfect accuracy.

  He looked at Nicola, then at the dead man with a subcompact machine gun in hand.

  Holy hell, she’d saved his life.

  He’d saved hers.

  “Nic, baby.” He was on her in a flash, scooping her to his chest, not giving a fuck who heard. “Sweet girl. My sweet girl.”

  Jared grumbled in his ear. “Cut the mushy bullsh—”

  Cash pulled his earpiece out. He might not be able to cut the audio transmission, but he sure as shit wouldn’t have Jared as the voice of God in his head.

  Nicola didn’t cry. She didn’t whimper or scream, just caught her breath after doing her job and watching his ass.

  “There’s a second bomb. At my parents’.” Her words came out heavy as she recovered from her brawl with a man a hundred pounds heavier than her.

  “We knew already. Roman’s with them. Brock and Rocco have the device. Everything’s cool.”

  “Oh.” A huge sigh of relief washed over her face. He let go, watching her process the news. At least she didn’t fight him off when he’d power-grabbed her. “How’d you know?”

  “We have Gianori. We knew before you did.”

  Her eye went goose egg wide. “What?”

  “We’ll debrief. There’s a lot to catch up on. You did great.”

  “Thanks. You too.” Her breaths slowed down. Cash heard nothing over-stimulated or hypersensitive in her tone. Just another day on the job for her.

  He smiled. That was… cool.

  “Did you hear all that, earlier?” she asked.

  And she wanted to review the play-by-play, just like he’d want to rehash after an op. “That was some shit, right?”

  “Damn.” She laughed. “Never saw it coming.”

  “I didn’t mean to step in—”

  “No, I needed backup. That was good. We were good.” She nodded, turned, and went looking for something.

  A purse. She held it up, looking pleased. Well, all right then. The big brown purse made her happy. Good to know.

  “You were seriously good, Nic.”

  “Told ya.” She winked at him, moving stuff around in the bag.

  Were all her bags that big? How much stuff did she have, anyway? She shouldn’t stay with that asshole Jackson. She should stay with him. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “I’m going to tell the CIA I want to work with you on projects sometimes. That was awesome. That whole you-twist-I-throw thing was out of this world.”

  Well, he’d never mention that he wasn’t one hundred percent sure what she was doing. Nor would he mention he didn’t hear the other man come in.

  Everything in Cash’s head buzzed. Loudly. His fingertips tingled and the thump, thump in his chest overwhelmed him. She was perfect—impressive—and he’d handled her in the field semi-okay. Always room for improvement, but this moment, he wanted nothing to change. That adrenaline rush pinking her cheeks was something he wanted to see every day.

  “Look, Nicola. Now’s the wrong time, I get that. But goddamn, woman, I’m the luckiest bastard alive. Getting to fall in love with you twice.” He couldn’t have stopped speaking if he tried. “Hell, I’ve never not loved you.”

  Frozen and eyes wide open. Not the look he was hoping for. Nicola didn’t move. She might not have been breathing.

  “Sorry to lay it out there like this. But there it is. Deal with it. Ignore it—”

  Nicola lunged into his arms, smashing her palms on either side of his cheeks. “I’ve loved you every day. Since as far back as I can remember, Cash, I’ve loved you.”

  Tears glistened in her eyes. The tough operative from a moment ago transformed into the woman he daydreamed about. His forehead, his cheek, hell, his soul, touched hers. Her silent tear tickled his skin. “I wasn’t trying to make you sad.”

  “God, Cash. Sad isn’t what I am.” Her lips brushed his bottom one as she sighed into a kiss.

  Soft and supple. Her mouth was designed for him. He knew it to the bottom of his soul. The caress of her tongue brought him far away from the operation. The faint smell of lavender and flowers whisked over his senses, reminding him of every kiss they’d ever shared.

  His fingers tunneled through her silky hair as he consumed her kiss. The need to breathe was secondary. The reasons he had to live and fight and survive realigned themselves. It had hit him fast and furious with such conspicuous accuracy that her exclamation of love was deafening. Life changing.

  Drawing back from her, Cash memorized her beautiful chocolate brown eyes and upturned lips. Some days, moments, would be remembered for the rest of his days. This was one of them.

  He laced his fingers with hers, still pressed on his face. “Let’s call for a cleanup team and go home.”

  She signed and leaned into him, allowing him to easily envelop her in his arms. “I’d like to see my parents. I…” He waited to see what else she had to say. “Will you go with me?”

  He’d been to Janet and Rick’s place a thousand times, from when he and Roman raced bikes in the driveway to Sunday night pot roasts while Nic was gone. Her parents might’ve well been his to a certain extent. Why her hesitation?

  Remembering her anxiety and guilt at the gun range, he said, “Of course I will. It’ll be fine. I promise.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Nicola’s small hometown remained untouched, and passing the high school, memories flooded her from every direction.

  The house she’d grown up in hadn’t changed either. Stone fenced. Two-level Colonial. White clapboard. Black shutters. Red door. Why she’d thought it would look different was beyond her. She could’ve driven through this neighborhood a thousand times over the last ten years. But she hadn’t. And that had nothing to do with the life-altering agreements she’d made with the CIA and witness protection that allowed her to live and work so close to where she had family and contacts.

  No, her avoidance had everything to do with the nauseous feeling that was making her dizzy in the driveway. She hadn’t set foot outside the car, so this wasn’t going well.

  “Nic, you look like you’re gonna puke.”

  She grimaced at Cash. “You have no idea.”

  “Put your head between your knees. Take a breath, and it’ll be okay.”

  Easi
er said than done. Still, Nicola followed his directions, flipping her head down and pressing it between her kneecaps. Maybe she could squeeze away the headache that had tortured her for the past few days.

  Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Sort of.

  “Okay, I’m good,” she lied.

  He threw an I-don’t-buy-that-for-a-second grin, then took her hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Let’s do this. Move your cute ass.”

  They opened their car doors and jumped out of Cash’s new jacked-up, black Rubicon. She liked it. It fit his personality. He said it’d do in a pinch, whatever that meant. The tires practically came up to her hip bone, and she stared at the front one until he came around the hood and took her hand in his again.

  Roman’s truck was parked at the top of the driveway. So he was here first. Good. If they were angry at her, he may have calmed them down. How would I feel if my daughter walked away for ten years? Anger might be tops on that list, but when she’d talked to them on the phone, they were anything but angry. More like better than thrilled. Happier than elated. So why the butterflies?

  Each step toward the imposing front door felt heavier than the last. She couldn’t breathe. She needed to practice that whole inhale, exhale thing, maybe sit on the front stoop, trying to re-master that skill set. But her parents were expecting her. Hell, they’d expected her since she called home to explain she’d been swept into witness protection then the CIA.

  And here she was, on the front steps, unsure.

  The red door swung open. Her beaming mom—with teary eyes and a smile spread wide across her face—had her arms outstretched. Dad stood close behind. He was still huge and commanding, with warmth plastered on his face that made Nicola cringe in an emotional ache.

  Nicola’s feet stopped moving. Her legs were made of cinderblocks, her arms cemented in place. The only things she could feel were pain and shame and… Cash’s hand. She couldn’t focus. Somehow Cash moved them toward her parents, and they took over.

  Hugs and kisses. Words, certainly, but she couldn’t make heads or tails of them because of the fierce sobs racking her body.