“Gecko,” he breathed.
“Marshall?”
He blinked and stared into the pale-brown eyes of Rel Dighton. Was her brother dead? Marshall had seen the man shot down in cold blood. Just like Azzan. Were the two men gone?
“What is it?” She touched his shoulder.
“I know who took us down. Gecko.”
Confusion screwed her face tight. “I’m sorry?”
“A man who has worked security for my father for years. He’s slippery and quick, so my sister and I nicknamed him Gecko.” But the reinstated memory unleashed a whole new bevy of questions.
Namely, why was his father trying to kill his friends?
Heathrow International Airport, London
Griffin hustled down the metal steps, his heart hammering in his chest like a misfiring Gatling gun. He roughed a hand over his face and head, working himself down after the kiss she’d nearly planted on him. What was she thinking? Did she really think the only way to him was through his pants?
Was that her way, what she’d done in her life, to fulfill her mission?
His respect for her fell through the earth. Straight to China. He wanted to pace, but his pulse did it for him, rapid-time. No, he didn’t want to think of her like that. She had more honor than that. Had to.
A black SUV screeched around a corner and barreled toward them. Griffin slunk back toward the stairs to use them for cover as he reached for his weapon.
Kacie emerged and stalked down the stairs, straight toward the SUV, right into its path. It lurched to a stop directly in front of her. She reached for the handle and glanced over her shoulder, amusement in her expression. So, this was their ride. Griffin toned down his tension and crossed the ten-foot space to the vehicle.
Once the doors shut, a vacuum pulled at his ears.
“Bjorne is waiting.” A male voice cut through the darkness as they slid around planes and luggage carriers, racing toward the gate. The zigzagging around pylons and construction made it feel like they were in a pinball machine.
A hand offered bottles of water.
Griffin twisted the cap, listening for the crack of the safety seal to know he wasn’t going to be drugged or poisoned. He heard the sound and opened the drink, then took a long draught. “When will the exchange be made with our man?” He squinted at the dials on the control panel, hoping to feed some AC into the rear. Too warm.
“I do not have that information. That will be provided by Burgess.” The man gave a humorless laugh. “I’m sure you’ll understand data like that is heavily protected. Too many hands in the pot and all that.”
Griffin took another swig. “You don’t have a British accent.”
“Neither do you.”
He glanced at Kacie, who hadn’t moved or spoken. Not the best plan to be at odds immediately before a pivotal part of the mission. But no way would he let her think that kissing him would buy his confidence.
Sweat beaded on his brow. Using his forearm, he swiped it. Took another drink. “How long to this club?”
“Are you warm?”
“Yeah.” Why did his tongue feel five sizes too big for his mouth? He lifted the bottle…and stilled. His gaze flicked to Kacie’s water. Unopened. Her gaze was on the window.
Gray washed in around his field of vision. Griffin shook his head—but it only seemed to feed the haze devouring him. He cursed as a white sheet dropped on his mind and vision.
Kazi cupped Griffin’s head as he slumped toward her. She eased him down, swiveling around to lower his bulk onto the leather seat. As she drew her hand from under his face, she traced the smooth but rugged angles of his jaw. The face of a steadfast man.
He’d trusted her. Completely. Fed right into her hands. Just as every target had. When she’d tried to kiss him, his reaction had been utterly unexpected.
Then again, so had hers. A funnel of hot fire zapped down her chest, straight into her belly. It’d startled her. Then he’d reacted so…angrily. Not with the physical response she’d typically elicited from men. He shoved her away. As if she were dirty. Contaminated.
Not a revelation to her, but to see it on his face, to experience his rejection, stung. Why, she had no idea. She wasn’t interested in him. Not like that. Not in a relationship. They never worked, not in her profession. Besides, she and Griffin had no vested interest in each other beyond the mission. Which was good—she didn’t want him to end up like Tina.
Thus the reason she’d betrayed him, not said anything when Andrez Bjorne handed her the water bottles. It was better for him to be drugged than dead. I am so sorry, Griffin.
“You impress me yet again, Kazimiera.”
Kazi pushed up onto the edge of the seat, blocking Griffin from Andrez’s view, and lowered her chin. “I work alone. You know that. It’s better this way.” She brushed the hair from her face, hoping he didn’t see the tremor in her hand. “What’s the gig?”
“Naturally, you cannot expect us to expose our resources and methods to Americans just because one of their operatives got sloppy.”
“Sloppy?” Kazi bit her tongue on the error. She shouldn’t care. Or show that she might.
Andrez leaned forward. The dome light glistened on his slicked-back hair. “Kazimiera, what is this? Taking sides?”
“Wouldn’t you like to think that?”
He sniggered. “Indeed.” Straightening, he released the buttons on his jacket. “Relax.” Andrez propped his elbows on his knees. With the heavily tinted windows and dull illumination, the interior shaded the already-dark circles under his eyes. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
The inevitable “but” to that statement lurked in the darkened interior.
He said nothing.
Neither did she.
Andrez clapped and dropped back against the seat. “I’d forgotten how delicious you are, darling. So uptight, so ready to chop someone’s head off. Too bad Carrick isn’t here to see you fawning over a man.”
Kazi’s heart caught. “He’s not here?”
Andrez’s smirk told her the answer. She allowed herself some mental room to breathe a little easier.
“Does he need to be, pet? Is there a reason he should be concerned that loaning you his assets, his people, will come back to haunt him?”
Kazi worked a colossal effort at tempering her frustration. Andrez had one intention with showing up at the airport, a menial task typically assigned to the underlings who could be discarded at the slightest whim. “Get on with it. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have a message.”
He nodded. “Be aware, Kazimiera: he knows. Carrick is monitoring your every move. He is curious about your involvement with these men.” Again, he leaned into the light, and this time she was convinced he did it intentionally to backlight his muddy brown eyes. “He finds it…amusing that you did not clear this with him.”
In other words, Carrick wasn’t pleased, but he was going to let the offense slide—as long as she cooperated. Which meant he had a plan. He wanted something. He always wanted something. Would she never be free of his grasp?
“Noted.” She kept her tone even and her words neutral. A small miracle. “I’m waiting.”
Andrez pursed his lips, then rubbed his hands. “The Americans have requested delivery of their citizen immediately, making all sorts of grandiose agreements and pleadings. That, of course, concerned the spooks and MI6, which in turn alerted Carrick Burgess.”
Translated, someone in MI6 fed information to Burgess.
“When and where?”
Andrez smirked.
The car slowed. Kazi’s pulse sped.
“It’s nearly teatime. It’d be terribly impolite to discuss unpleasantries before a drink,” he said as the door opened.
Kazi wanted to curse as the enormous warehouse loomed over them. It’d been a virtual prison for her—mentally—for the last ten years.
Having exited, Bjorne extended a hand. “Come along, Kazimiera.”
She glanced down at Griffin, heart in he
r throat. What would they do to him? What would he do or say to her when he came to?
“Don’t worry about the black man. We’ll take good care of him.”
Good care—right into the Thames? She narrowed her eyes at Andrez. Threatening him would only heighten his suspicion and increase the risk of Griffin returning to America in a box. She stretched her leg and stepped into the bitter cold of London’s February. A thick fog curled around the buildings and added to the preternatural feeling.
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and took a step forward.
She took one backward. Staring at the doors that once hung on a German castle, Kazi mustered all the courage she had left. But going in there…it almost certainly meant no going back. Never being free. She had to force herself to take comfort in the fact Carrick wasn’t here. He was off gallivanting, spewing money and making power grabs. Pressing some poor puck beneath his finger.
“If you don’t want to tarnish Carrick’s reputation,” she said, “you’ll make sure that man in the car is not injured.”
Andrez arched an eyebrow at her. “Are we making demands? Have you forgotten what he’s done for you, how much you owe him, love?”
Pulse thrumming, she worked to steady her nerves. “These men are Americans. He should remember he wants allies there, not enemies. Besides, that man in there is incredibly trained.”
With a laugh, he said, “So incredibly trained we took him out with a doped bottle of water?”
That’s my fault—he trusted me. But she had to focus on her point, on pushing the attention of Andrez and Carrick away from the men they were saving. “Carrick has long wanted a foot across the water.”
Andrez’s head tilted back as he seemed to consider her words.
“It is to his benefit to make this happen.”
“It is not for you to say what benefits Mr. Burgess.” He turned to the driver, who stood at the boot of the car. “The Revelry.”
Kazi’s fear bottomed out. They were going to put Griffin in a suite on the upper level of the club called The Revelry. Andrez gripped her upper arm and led Kazi into the Bread & Butter as if she were a petulant child. Inside, music pounded as they moved along the main wall. He used a key card and accessed a hidden door that slid into the wall. With a thrust, he pushed her ahead. Behind them the door hissed shut, and the deafening music muted.
Kazi walked, knowing full well they were headed into what those on the inside of Burgess’s vast network called the Underground. Here, there were passages that led to more passages that led to government buildings, the rooftop, secret rooms, and bunkers. She’d even heard a rumor once that Carrick had vanished into a room and turned up on a boat miles from here. He had more tunnels than the Eurostar.
“How’s it to be back with the family?” Andrez’s snicker bounced along the cement passage as they headed to the rear lair via elevator and a set of stairs.
“Just grand,” Kazi mumbled. She could handle Andrez. The guy was a mouthpiece, not much more, for Carrick. And by family, he meant the Underground. The shackle on her life that freeing Lambert’s men would obliterate.
That is, as long as she pulled off the mission. As long as Carrick’s interest in her involvement with Lambert and his team didn’t go beyond just that.
Andrez led her to a door that led to an underground facility.
Unusual. “Where exactly are we going?”
“I’ve got a team set up below.”
They were going to let her finish the mission. Alone. Her mind whirled. She hadn’t expected them to cooperate so freely. How had Golding or Lambert pulled this off? Nobody worked Carrick this easily.
“We’ve replicated everything from the uniforms to the vehicles, right down to a couple of American agents we’ve brought in to help us.”
As they veered down another hall, Kazi stopped short. “No, no Americans.”
He raked an eye up and down her. “Why not?”
He didn’t need the reasons. “No Americans.” Especially since he’d pulled all this cloak-and-dagger stuff with her.
“Very well. Have your way.”
She stepped into an underground parking garage where two black SUVs waited. The six armed and suited men stood looking more like thugs with their bulging biceps and attitudes than American operatives.
“Sloan and Gray,” Andrez said as they crossed to the other side. “We won’t need your services after all. Talk with Smithers for compensation of your time.”
The two men cast a long, hard glare at Kazi before departing without a word. By their reeking attitudes, she’d made the right decision. She shifted to Andrez, watching over his shoulder as the two exited. Once the door closed, she turned to the others. “Play it safe and cool. Security Services is expecting the exchange, so we let them expect it. And we fulfill it.” She met each man’s gaze. “Understood?”
A young man with black hair scowled and looked at Andrez. “Who’s this?”
The guy had a mouth on him. She could handle that as long as he realized she was in charge now. “Who I am doesn’t matter. What we do, does. Are we clear?”
Andrez stepped forward. “Let’s be crystal, gentlemen. The lady here is your boss. You do the job, you do it well. Any problems will be reported directly to Mr. Burgess.”
They grunted their understanding.
“Good. Let’s move.” A jerk on her arm swung Kazi around. She found herself facing Andrez.
“Let’s be clear, Kazimiera,” he said with a sickening sneer. “Get it done, get back here. Then he’ll decide if you can have your black friend back.”
“Who?” She didn’t mean to play dumb, but she prayed to God that warning wasn’t what she thought it meant.
Andrez backed away. “Carrick will be waiting.”
CHAPTER 20
Somewhere in Miranda, Venezuela
Fire trailed down his leg and thigh as Range hauled himself through the narrow window. Glass shattered under the impact of bullets and peppered him. Shouts chased him into the thick night.
While his legs were dangling over the sill, hands pawed at his ankles.
He kicked free.
And dropped. Hard. Packed dirt collided with his shoulder. He scrambled to his feet and spun around. He lunged forward—and fell on the dusty road. Range pushed up and started for the trees but fell again. Only as he got up once more did he feel the warmth sliding down his leg. Glancing down, he saw the tear in his jeans. The dark stain. Shot?
Rocks crunched and popped, pulling his attention to the front of the hotel. Six or seven shapes swarmed under the yellow lamplight.
Clamping a hand over his leg enabled him to limp-run for cover. Heavy footfalls warned of the authorities right on his heels. Range pushed himself harder. Farther. Down the street. Toward the line of trees that bled into one massive green field along the mountains. Though darkness shrouded the trees, he knew they were there. He’d memorized their location in case he needed to escape.
“Stop him,” they yelled in their native tongue. Six years as a Coastie in Sector San Juan demanded he learn the language.
Shots fired. Dirt exploded around him.
But he kept going, grunting, panting.
Something snagged his pack. Panic swirled through him. He swung around and used the momentum to barrel into the man with his fist. The guard stumbled back. Range let another hard right fly. The uniformed man went down.
Range hobbled around, registering several more guards within a yard of him. He plunged onward through the night, his pulse and thoughts erratic. How had everything gone wrong? What choice did he have but to flee into the mountains? He wasn’t a mountain man though. Not like Canyon, who used to disappear for weeks at a time, return home with a Grizzly Adams beard and looking more at peace and refreshed than before he left. The thought of spending weeks in the bush tightened against clear thought. There had to be another way.
God, help me! I can’t do this.
Ahead, something shifted under the moonlight. He squinted
, trying to make the form coalesce into something recognizable. A wet leaf? A tree? He couldn’t…
Who cared? He had to get to safety.
A dozen more feet.
Behind, the pounding of boots closed in. He could hear grunts, smell the sweat of the jungle and stink of beer on them. The nauseating odor pushed him.
A weight crashed down on him. Realizing they were on him, Range punched. Thrashed. But went down. They pinned his arms. Grabbed his hair, spitting and shouting at him in Venezuelan Spanish.
“Get off me,” he gritted out as dirt puffed in his eyes and mouth.
Writhing, Range tried to free himself. There’s no hope. Cornered by more than a dozen rebel guards, caught in a hotel room with the bodies of two men, and trapped in a foreign country when nobody back home even knew he was gone—
I’m as good as dead.
They hauled him to his feet. “Okay,” Range said in a huffed breath, his leg burning. He tried to clamp his hand over it again, but they yanked his hands back. “Wait. Por favor. I can explain…” Oh yeah. That would go over real well.
The small crowd parted as a shouting officer stormed toward them. Range waited to see his life flash before him. His panic was palpable, his regret deep—but what about Canyon? If he died…who would find him? Range swallowed, realizing Lambert was right. He didn’t want his brother dead.
The man to his left tripped, spun, and landed on the ground. Face up, he stared at the moon.
A weight slammed into Range’s back, shoving him forward. He looked back and found the guard from behind sliding off him and crumpling into a heap on the ground. What on earth…?
“He’s dead,” one man whispered.
Startled, Range looked at the fallen guard to his left. A dark stain blossomed over the man’s chest. Range pivoted, his pulse thrumming. The guard behind had two over his heart. Who was shooting them? He hunched, looking around as the guards and soldiers did the same. He’d been warned the area was a hotbed for guerillas vying for domination. Insane in a country that generally held its own against the power-hungry militants.
Firethorn (Discarded Heroes) Page 20
