Surrendered (Heart of a Warrior Series Book 3)

by Lynch, Kariss

  Nick tensed, his worry easing over Kaylan and his concern growing for the larger implications of not catching this guy.

  “Get ready. Get some shut-eye. And be ready to roll out at nineteen hundred hours.”

  Men stood slowly, massaging muscles as they grabbed gear and headed to bunks reserved for their short visit. Titus, Colt, and Jay turned around in their seats in front of Micah and Nick.

  “Well, what do you think?” Jay addressed the group, rubbing the two-day-old stubble growing on his jawline.

  “I think nothing good can come from working with Janus,” Micah answered.

  Nick nodded. “I’ve seen what she is capable of. There is nothing selfless in her. She will sell us out if it means saving herself. But she’ll be smart about it. We won’t know until the last minute.”

  “It seems to me that Jake has her under a tight enough leash.” Always the voice of reason, Titus calmed Nick’s nerves. “If we worry too much about her, we won’t do our part. X told me this is taking place on one of those fancy yachts anchored in the bay.”

  Nick snickered. Of course it was another yacht. But this time, he would make sure their prey didn’t escape.

  Or he would die trying.

  *

  The thowp of the blades roared in her ears as Jake gave her last-minute instructions over the mic. Back to Marseille. She couldn’t believe she was back. She knew exactly where to find Milo. He’d be at the bakery he loved to haunt on his way home from working at the docks. She also knew much more was at stake.

  “Anya, do you understand what I’m telling you? We need to make sure everyone gets on and stays on that yacht. And we need to make sure Milo does not tell Sasha that you are alive and free until we board. Do you understand?”

  Anya hated being talked to as a child. She had gathered and infiltrated many Western agencies over the years to collect info. She was anything but stupid.

  “I understand the severity of the situation much more than you do. It is my neck on the line if anything goes wrong. And do not call me Anya anymore. Call me Janus. It is what all my work associates know me as.”

  “We are not associates, Anya,” Jake responded as the bird landed and deposited her on the outskirts of Marseille. “We’ll be watching,” he shouted as the helicopter rose back into the sky.

  Janus tugged her coat tighter around her and took a step forward, basking in the freedom, if only temporary. She knew someone had eyes on her. Knew she would have to lose them at some point, but she quickly slipped out of captive mode. She was a highly trained operative, associated with one of the most dangerous arms dealers in the world. She’d survived the Iron Curtain and years under the authority of the man who killed her brother. All to bide her time. All to plot her revenge. Stupid Americans. This helped her and them. If all went well, Sasha would be dead by the end of the day and Janus would be on a plane to a beach somewhere under an alias she had never used with an account she’d stored money in for years, and whatever life she had left would be lived under the warmth of a coastal sun.

  She forced a confidence to her step that she hadn’t truly felt in months. Her mind switched into predator mode. Milo would be easy to convince. Sasha not so easy. She would need to play her part well. And she would need to be ready to pay.

  Anya Petrov would experience true freedom for the first time tonight. With the scent of bread and sweet rolls wafting on the breeze, she could almost taste it.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Silvery white light filtered through the darkness, casting an eerie glow beneath the water as Nick and his team sliced through Vieux Port in Marseille. Notre-Dame de la Garde stood on the top of the hill as a silent sentry, lit up like a lighthouse in the dead of the night. The gold Madonna and Child watched over the sleeping harbor as if taunting Nick and his team. Nick didn’t like the number of boats surrounding the yacht or the closeness of the shops. Keeping this quiet and under the radar became a greater challenge by the second.

  Nick’s head crested the waterline, and he bobbed in the gentle waves. Titus motioned ahead to the yacht where a single light glowed within the main cabin. Nick, Micah, Titus, Jay, and Colt prepared to board. Another small team waited on land, ready to step in if necessary, while the rest of the team waited with Zodiacs ready to extract any and all who came willingly.

  At Titus’s signal, Nick grabbed the railing and tugged his body over the side of the ship. His muscles burned as he slipped to the deck without a sound. A puddle grew beneath him as he reached for his weapon. Intel had confirmed five people on board—Sasha, his wife, Milo, a server hired for the night, and Boris. Titus motioned to Colt and Jay to follow him toward the main cabin while Micah and Nick stayed to clear the deck. Nick crept around the bow of the boat while Micah slipped to the stern. Nick remained alert for Boris, too aware that they were out in the open in what usually doubled as a busy harbor. They were looking for a killer and a way to silence him that didn’t draw attention. Impossible.

  Nick thrived on impossible. Their one saving grace remained the mutual desire of all parties involved to keep their covers intact and undiscovered. Any attention drawn to this boat could mean questions Sasha did not want to answer and could not answer without great cost.

  The squeak of a rubber sole scraping against the deck caused Nick to spin. Boris stood in front of him. Nick noticed the faintest twitch in his arms and tension in his shoulders. His black suit blended in with the night around him, highlighted only by the glow cast from the other boats moored nearby. The glint of silver flashed in his hand and Nick ducked as a knife whizzed past his face. A faint plop sounded as the metal struck the water’s surface. An ugly grin cracked his weathered skin. He was making it a game. What was with these men and their games? Nick knew he hadn’t thrown his only advantage. He had another knife, if not more than one, on him somewhere. He tensed, prepared for every twitch.

  “Stern is clear. Coming to you, Hawk.”

  “Preparing to breach the cabin. Stand by,” Titus replied.

  Nick didn’t dare respond. His breathing hitched as Boris produced two more knives and held them in both hands. Knives weren’t really Nick’s thing.

  “Let us dance, you and me,” he said in Russian. “The one left standing is worthy to live. The other . . .” He shrugged.

  Nick leveled his gun at the man, a silencer already in place. “And if I shoot?” he responded in perfect Russian.

  “Then we both attract attention we do not want.”

  Nick rose from his crouch. “You could just put down your knives. Come with me. You will get a better deal than if I kill you now.”

  “You Americans and your rules,” he chuckled. “If you were going to kill me, you would have done it by now.”

  “I think you sorely underestimate what I will do.” As he talked, a black shadow crept behind Boris. ” Just a few more feet and . . .

  Shouting erupted from the cabin, and Nick heard the muffled sound of a silencer and a scream. Boris pivoted as Micah pounced. The Russian swung his hand through the air. A rip appeared in the fabric of Micah’s suit and an ugly red gash spread across his chest and began to bleed as Micah backed up, his military-issue knife now firmly fixed in his right hand.

  Nick fired at Boris’s right arm. The man turned and tossed the dagger in his left. Nick hit the deck as it sailed past him and embedded in the wood of the deck. The man swung at Micah again. Micah lashed out, stabbing the man in the belly before flipping him, his arms firmly wrapped around the man’s windpipe. The man turned purple, his hands flailing as he tried to find a contact point with his remaining knife. Nick advanced, catching his hand. With a snap and muffled cry from Boris, the knife fell. Nick knew he’d just broken the assassin’s wrist. His cry turned to a gurgle as he slumped. Micah brought his body down to rest on the deck without a sound. His eyes rolled up in his head. They quickly bound and gagged him in case he woke up, and tied him slumped against the deck rail. They needed information from him.

  Nick assessed Micah�
��s chest. “Leave it. It’s a cut. Let’s go.”

  The two crept towards the cabin and slipped into the richly furnished room. The waiter lay crumpled in the corner, a single bullet wound in his chest. Mrs. Baryshev sat sobbing on the bed, closely flanked by Colt, his gun still held at the ready. Milo glowered in a chair, a red stain blotting the once ivory fabric from a wound in his arm. Every eye fixed on the center of the room where Sasha knelt, his hands linked behind his head.

  “Hawk, translate this crazy Russian,” Titus commanded, hate rippling in his eyes.

  “It isn’t good to harass my friends when you are the one on your knees,” Nick said in Russian, lowering his gun as he stood in front of the man who commanded Janus, who had set a tail on Kaylan and Natalie, who provided weapons to kill thousands and somehow still slept at night. How did God view men like this and not look at them with hatred? Nick’s blood boiled.

  “Nikolai Carmichael, we meet at last. Tell me, is it everything you had hoped for?”

  Nick didn’t want to chat with the man. He wanted him dead. But in American hands was better than nothing.

  “What do you want, Sasha?”

  “What every man wants. Money, power, freedom.”

  “Not every man wants that. I’m tired of your games. You’re coming with us.” Nick nodded to Titus. “Cuff him and let’s get out of here.”

  Micah slipped from the room to secure Boris before he regained consciousness while Jay searched the downed waiter. “He started shooting when we came in. I don’t think he was just hired for the night.”

  Titus wrestled Sasha’s hands behind his back as Colt and Jay pulled Milo and Mrs. Baryshev to their feet. “Stay silent,” Nick said in Russian to the trembling Russian woman. Tears streaked her face as her frantic gaze darted to her husband. She nodded as Colt led her from the room.

  Over the radio, Micah announced Boris had been secured on a Zodiac.

  “Three more coming to you,” Jay said. He yanked Milo’s arm. “Keep your mouth shut, or I’ll make sure you are absent a few teeth. Understand?”

  “Yes.” Hatred flashed from the young man’s eyes, as Nick studied him. Milo hadn’t been willing to go down in flames. He’d surrendered. There might be hope to flip him and use him as an asset after all. Jake would have his work cut out for him.

  Titus wrestled Sasha to his feet. The man sneered. “You know what will happen to Kaylan and Natalia should I disappear, Nikolai?” Nick’s blood chilled at the man’s smug grin. “Vlad has orders to terminate.” He spat every word. His eerie confidence even in custody raised a red flag in Nick’s head.

  As Titus went to tighten his hold, Sasha yanked his arm free, grabbed a small gun, and pointed it at Jay’s retreating back. Nick didn’t hesitate. He pulled the trigger. The bullet hit Sasha’s head, and he fell back.

  Jay whipped around, his gun at the ready, his breathing even as Nick and Titus both approached the Russian, ready for another fight. But the body did not move, and the eyes were vacant. “He must have had a gun stashed in a holster on his leg,” Titus said. They lowered their weapons as Titus shook his head. Nick stared into the eyes of the most-wanted arms dealer in the world. Blank. Nothing.

  The snake was dead.

  But had Nick just signed a death warrant for Kaylan and Natalie?

  *

  They arrived back at the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower as the sun began to peek its head over the Mediterranean. The adrenaline had faded, leaving Nick with a dull pounding between his eyes and a growing worry for Kaylan and Natalie. His feet hit the deck, and he ducked on instinct as the blades twisted above him. Micah winced next to him.

  “We need to get you to the doc.” Nick slapped him on the back. “You’re going to have a pretty nasty scar.”

  “Chicks dig scars.” He winced again, his hand resting on his stomach. “But seriously, it’s a good thing I just got my tetanus shot. Next time, I’ll let you deal with knife-wielding crazies all by yourself, and I’ll handle the fancy shooting.”

  “How nice of you.”

  Nick helped his teammates pass off a now catatonic Mrs. Baryshev and a sullen Milo. Nick had broken the news to Mrs. Baryshev once they’d cleared Vieux Port. She’d tried to jump overboard three times before they finally managed to sedate her.

  After paperwork and a hurried explanation in Russian to Mrs. Baryshev, Nick followed his team below deck to debrief. As they entered the room, Nick knew something was wrong. He scanned the activity. Maps, charts, computers, and hushed tones, and Jake in the middle of it.

  A sick feeling formed in Nick’s stomach as he scanned the room once and then again. He fought down panic. “Jake.”

  One look said it all.

  “How?”

  “She slipped her tail, ditched the tracking device we hid on her, and disappeared.”

  Fear ripped through Nick and after a long night, control slid to the background. He grabbed Jake’s collar and slammed him up against the wall. The room came alive with shouts. “I told you not to trust her! I told you not to use her! But you didn’t listen. And now look.”

  “That’s enough, Hawk. Get off of him.” Jay and Colt ripped Nick back, his arms firmly pinned. Titus stepped in front of him, his hand on Nick’s heaving chest. “Pull it together, Hawk.” He looked to Jake. “How can we help?”

  Jake straightened his now wrinkled shirt and slipped a button back in place. His gaze found Nick’s. “We’ll find her. But I need your help.”

  Nick fought for clarity. Colt and Jay maintained a firm grip on his arms and the pressure smacked him back to his senses. He took a steadying breath and straightened. He felt Colt and Jay’s eyes on him and knew the moment they trusted he was back in control. He needed coffee. He needed to call Kaylan. He needed this nightmare to end. Now.

  “I need someone to check in on Kaylan, keep an eye on her. And my . . . sister.” A few heads swung in his direction. He saw Titus temper his surprise. “I just found out a few months ago, but she’s Anya’s daughter, too. And Anya wanted to see her. I’m not sure if that was a ruse or the truth. But I need to know they are both safe. Anya has gone after Kaylan before, and Sasha intimated Vlad would put a hit on both Kaylan and Natalie if he didn’t check in after tonight’s meeting.”

  Jake fired orders to a couple of people in the room. “Someone get on the phone with Caden and make sure he has a protection detail watching the girls. Check the airport and all her known aliases.”

  “She’s smart, Jake.” Nick took a step towards his friend. That term was relative at the moment. Colt and Jay stepped with him, and Nick smirked. “I promise I’m not going to bite him.”

  “I’m not entirely confident in your assessment of your emotions right now, brah. But I’m tempted to let you.” Colt glared at Jake.

  “Remind me never to tick you guys off again.”

  Jay crossed his arms, danger written in his stance. “Someone should have warned you of that in the first place.”

  “It took years to find her,” Titus chimed in. “That woman knows how to blend in to her surroundings. She won’t use an alias you are aware of or any accounts you know of. And I highly doubt she will set foot anywhere near California now that she’s free and we got what we wanted.” He turned to Nick. “But either way, we need to get home.”

  Jake nodded, shame and pride fighting for prominence in his expression. “We’ll find her again, Hawk. We’ll put her away for good this time, if she doesn’t die on us first.”

  “What do you mean die on you?”

  Jake turned and studied a map laid out on a table. “She has cancer.” His gaze collided with Nick’s. “She doesn’t have long either way.”

  At Jake’s words Nick braced himself to feel something—disappointment, pity, regret—but a hollowness seeped in. She deserved it for all she’d done. And yet . . . no. Nick shook his head. She deserved it. The world would be better off if his mother were dead.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Anya Petrov tugged the navy silk scarf around
her head, tying it fashionably to avoid detection. Donned in an outfit better fitting her previous wardrobe, Anya stepped onto the private runway of her long-ago friend Sebastian. They’d met when she had masqueraded as a student at university ages past. Back when she was pregnant but not showing. Back when her heart ached so much from losing Thomas and Andrei that she wondered if she would survive.

  “Thalia, my beauty, so good to see you again.” She hadn’t heard that alias in years, but she’d learned to don each new name like a thicker layer of skin. It was no wonder after all these years, little affected her. At least little that she acknowledged.

  As Sebastian grasped her hands in his, she mustered a smile. “My old friend. The years have been kind.” She searched his face for the boy she’d once known. The boy who could talk French politics, European business, and dreamed of owning his own company one day. A dream he had turned into a reality judging from the mansion that adorned the distant horizon. “Thank you for offering your plane. I lost my son recently, and”—she held a hand to her heart, feigning emotion—“I just need some time.”

  “Of course, of course, ma chérie. Anything for an old friend.” He gestured to the plane. “It will take you as far as Iceland, where my pilot will stop and take care of some business for me. From there you will be on your own. I trust it will at least get you started on your journey.”

  “You are so kind.” She gripped his hand as he ushered her up the steps and into a small but nice private cabin.

  “It’s lovely.” My, how she had missed the finer things of life. She mustered energy to finish her ruse. She’d forgotten how exhausting this alias had once been.

  He kissed her on both cheeks. “Ah, the memories you arouse in me. We were young once.”

  “Such a long time ago.”

  “Ages gone by. C’est la vie.” He sighed. “Au revoir and bon voyage.” He waved at his pilot as he exited the plane.