Special Forces: The Operator

by Cindy Dees

  Piper and Zane would be moving fast. They were both superfit, and several hundred stairs wouldn’t slow them down much. Rebel and Avi needed to get ahead of the pair and clear the stadium exit for them. To that end, Rebel veered right and raced to the stadium exit, bursting out into a grassy area dotted with tents for vendors selling Olympic souvenirs and soccer team paraphernalia.

  “I’m out,” she transmitted.

  A few seconds later, Avi replied, “I’m out, as well.” He would have gone out the next exit over, the same one Piper and Zane would use.

  “Here we come,” Zane bit out.

  “I’m in position at your eight o’clock,” Gunnar responded.

  “I’m on your four o’clock,” Gia added.

  The net was set around Piper and Zane. Rebel spotted them about four rows of tents over. They’d slowed to a walk upon exiting the stadium and were now walking quickly between the tents.

  The plan was to set surveillance on whoever followed the lovebirds, interfere just enough with the person for Piper and Zane to escape, and then follow the follower back to wherever his home base was. The hope was that he would lead them to Mahmoud Akhtar. In a perfect world.

  The man following Piper and Zane appeared to be around thirty years old, dark haired, and moving like an athlete. If she wasn’t mistaken, Rebel spotted him muttering under his breath. The guy was wired for sound? Interesting.

  “The catfish appears to be talking,” she muttered into her own throat microphone, hidden beneath the collar of her oxford shirt.

  “Look sharp for backups,” Gunnar responded.

  Rebel took her gaze off the catfish to scan all around for incoming hostiles. Any number of people were moving around out here, but none of them caught her attention especially.

  Without warning, her radio erupted. Gia grunted, “I’ve been jumped.”

  Tessa responded sharply, “I’m headed your way—”

  “Negative,” Gunnar cut across her. “Stay on the lovebirds.”

  No sooner had Rebel heard those words than an arm snaked around her throat and yanked her back against a hard body.

  No air! She had no air!

  Months of reflexive training kicked in and she bent forward hard and fast, flipping her attacker over her right shoulder. Unfortunately, he knew the countermove and managed to stay on his feet. But now he was beside her and not directly behind her.

  Still bent over awkwardly, she punched the guy’s groin with her fist. As hard as she could. He grunted and his arm loosened, but he didn’t let go. She punched his gonads again, this time using an uppercut with all of her strength behind it. He let go that time and stumbled back from her, also bent over now, swearing luridly in some language she didn’t know.

  Coughing, she sucked in air desperately, and the stars in front of her eyes cleared. She straightened, and just in time, for her attacker charged her headfirst, grasping her around the waist and driving her down to the ground.

  She didn’t mind being on the ground; she had a ton of jujitsu training that was all about grappling on the ground. To that end, she used her legs in a fast power move to flip both of them over and landed across the guy with all her weight.

  His arm around her waist loosened, probably more in surprise than from the impact, but she took advantage of the momentary loss of focus by her attacker to grab his arm and wrench it practically out of the socket.

  He cried out, and she pushed harder until she felt the joint dislocate. He screamed, then.

  A few men bolted out of nearby tents with the intent to help her probably, but she’d already pushed to her feet and was now kneeling on the guy’s neck.

  His face rapidly turned beet red and started to go purple before she eased up and let him take a few deep breaths.

  Without warning, she saw a shadow from behind rush toward her. Fast. She ducked but didn’t manage to avoid the blow entirely as something hard and heavy slammed into the back of her head.

  Pain exploded inside her skull. Blinding, white-hot pain.

  She fell forward onto her first attacker as it vaguely dawned on her that someone else had just jumped her from behind.

  An accomplice? Or maybe a well-meaning bystander who thought she was killing the first attacker?

  She rolled off the first guy, more by reflex than ability to form conscious thought, and jerked her feet up in the air just as a second man jumped her. Her feet caught him squarely in the solar plexus, and he made an oomphing noise as she drove the air out of his lungs.

  Kicking her legs upward with all the strength she could summon in her dazed state, she flung the second man away from her with her legs and rolled to the side as the first man swung his good arm down at her, hammer-like.

  His fist slammed the ground beside her head where her face had just been. Fumbling fast in her coat pocket for her folded field knife, she gripped it in her fist and swing it at the guy beside her, letting the weight of the metal in her hand add speed and momentum to the blow.

  The end of the knife handle smashed into the guy’s nose, and she felt the hot spray of blood on her wrist. He screamed again as she rolled away from him and groggily pushed to her hands and knees. Laboriously, she climbed to her feet as the second man also gained his feet in front of her.

  She pushed the button on her switchblade, snapping open the wicked sharp knife and wielding it menacingly in front of her. The second man met her gaze, apparently saw the grim promise of death in her eyes, and thought better of attacking her again. He stumbled backward, turned and fled into the gathering crowd.

  Darn it. She didn’t have enough air in her lungs or useful consciousness to give chase. Besides. She would rather question her first attacker about who in the hell he was.

  She turned to do just that and was in time to see him staggering away into the crowd, as well.

  Panting, she keyed her throat mike. “Two men...just jumped me... Secure the lovebirds.”

  Gunnar bit out a series of fast orders involving the team closing in around Piper and Zane, hustling them into a vehicle and getting them out of here.

  Rebel gathered herself to head toward the rendezvous point, but suddenly, the piercing pain in her skull came roaring back full force, and she only managed a shambling jog.

  A familiar voice swore colorfully in front of her. “What the hell happened to you, Rebel?”

  Avi. “I told you. I was jumped. By two men.”

  “I thought you meant they pushed you around a little, not that they tried to kill you. The back of your head is bleeding. You need medical attention, you brave idiot.”

  She felt the back of her head in surprise and felt a knot rising at the back of her skull. Her palm came away sticky with blood.

  Avi started to bend down and she said quickly, “Don’t even think about picking me up. I can make it back to the SUV under my own power.”

  “Stubborn female,” he muttered under his breath.

  “And don’t you ever forget it,” she retorted.

  “I see a couple of police officers headed this way,” Avi said low. “Do you want to stay and make a report to them?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Then we need to rock and roll,” he told her.

  “Roger. Let’s boogie,” she said more briskly than she felt. Except when she tried to jog after him, every step felt like a sledgehammer to her skull.

  Avi turned around, frowning, took one look at her wincing in pain and bit out, “Why didn’t you tell me you’re in so much pain?”

  “Because I’m stubborn?” she muttered.

  Ignoring her mumbled protests, he scooped her up in his arms and strode through the tents, using his long legs to full advantage to cover a lot of ground fast.

  Honestly, it felt nice to let someone else do the work for a change.

  “Don’t you fall asleep on me,” Avi warned
her. “You’ve probably got a concussion, and I want you to get checked out before you risk passing out.”

  As much as she might want to argue with him, her first aid training declared him to be correct. She sighed. “Fine.”

  Avi set her down gently in the passenger seat of the SUV he’d driven to the soccer stadium. He paused in the act of straightening to stare into her eyes and murmur, “I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you’re okay.”

  She smiled wanly. “Me, too.”

  He dropped a featherlight kiss on her forehead and then assumed a more businesslike tone of voice. “Let’s get you to a doctor.”

  One of the American team doctors declared her concussion to be minor and suggested rest and over-the-counter pain medication for a few days. Which was good news. She couldn’t exactly afford to stop cold in the middle of chasing down a dangerous team of terrorists.

  Avi tried to take her directly back to her room to rest, but she insisted on going with him to the Israeli headquarters to debrief with the rest of the Medusas.

  By the time the two of them arrived, Torsten and the others were perusing security film from the soccer stadium, trying to assess if the guy who’d followed Piper and Zane out of the stadium had accomplices in the stadium.

  One of Avi’s men, a guy named Zebediah, was already running facial recognition on an image of the guy in the stadium, in fact.

  Rebel spoke quietly, in deference to her splitting headache, “Is there any footage of the two men who jumped me?”

  Major Torsten glanced up at her. “We’re just starting to work on pulling that footage, now.”

  On cue, Gia called out from her laptop, “I’ve got it. I found the fight.”

  “Put it on the big screen,” Torsten ordered.

  Rebel grimaced as she watched herself get jumped, toss her attacker over her shoulder and then pummel the dude’s groin. It was weird watching the second man sneak up on her, clearly visible in the video from this bird’s-eye angle. She wanted to shout at her past self to look out. To at least duck the blow she knew was coming.

  The guy swung some sort of small truncheon at the back of her head, and she watched herself in slow motion, sensing the blow at the last second and ducking, deflecting the brunt of the impact upward from the back of her neck to her skull.

  As much as it had hurt, she’d been lucky not to take that hit on the unprotected back of her head. The bastard could have killed her if he’d connected solidly with that blow.

  Avi winced beside her as video showed her dropping to the ground and rolling, now fighting off two men at once.

  Gunnar commented, “Nice work getting your feet up into that guy’s gut.”

  Beneath the conference table, Avi’s hand gripped her knee tightly for a moment. Without moving his lips, he muttered for her ears only, “I’ll kill him for hurting you.”

  She glanced sidelong at Avi. “I broke one guy’s nose and threatened to slice open the second one. I think I made the point for myself.”

  Avi’s head turned and he stared openly at her. After a long moment, he began to nod slowly, almost as if to himself. “I think I finally get it. You really are a full-fledged Special Forces operative.”

  “Praise the Lord and pass the potatoes,” she responded. “It’s about time you took me seriously. I may not be your equal, but I can hold my own.”

  His gaze flashed over her shoulder to the screen on the wall. “I’d say you come pretty damned close to being my equal.”

  “I’m no better than any of my Medusa teammates. We’re all the real deal.”

  Abruptly, she realized everyone else had gone silent and was listening to her exchange with Avi.

  He shook his head in what looked like amazement. “What the hell have you created, Gun?”

  Gunnar interjected soberly, “I told you. An all-female Special Forces team. No more, no less.” He paused, then added sympathetically, “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Avi. Most male operators underestimate my ladies.”

  Avi laughed ruefully. “Color me a little slow on the uptake. I finally get it. The Medusas are the real deal.”

  Rebel exhaled in profound relief. Finally. Now, he understood who and what she was. But then, an alarming thought exploded painfully in her brain. What if he wasn’t attracted to her anymore? What if being able to defend herself against multiple attackers and behave just like him in a fight turned him off? Had part of his attraction to her been his need to protect her from harm? Did he want a weak, needy little woman like all the other men she’d ever dated?

  Oh no. Had she just ruined everything between them?

  Chapter 13

  Avi insisted on bringing Rebel back to his hotel room to rest after the briefing, and he called Gun to make sure she was removed from her next couple of regular Olympic security shifts. That taken care of, he made her lie down in bed, closed the blinds for her and ordered up a supersized chocolate milkshake for her from room service.

  “Really, Avi, you don’t have to spoil me like this.”

  He smiled down at her. “Ahh, but I like spoiling you. And you deserve it after fighting off two aggressors like that.”

  “You act as if that’s not part of my regular job.”

  He snorted. “It’s not. Even I don’t get jumped on a regular basis, and I live in a country chock-full of wannabe terrorists.”

  “I am a little tired,” she sighed.

  He sat down beside her and smoothed her hair off her forehead. “Close your eyes. Take a little nap. I’ll wake you up when your milkshake gets here.”

  He watched as her eyelids drifted closed, relishing the delicate beauty of her face, the clean symmetry of her facial bones, the curve of her cheek, the flawless satin of her skin. How had he ever missed how beautiful she was?

  He eased off the bed and moved over to the desk so she could sleep in peace. He pulled up the CCTV feeds of the Olympic Village and venues, cruising them for any sign of Mahmoud Akhtar or any of his men. They had four faces of his probable teammates, now—the one from the park yesterday, the guy who’d followed Piper and Zane out of the stadium, and the two men who’d jumped Rebel.

  Gia hadn’t seen the face of the guy who’d jumped her at the soccer game, and the closed circuit TV footage of the venue hadn’t captured a usable shot of Gia’s attacker. He’d fled when Gunnar had arrived to help Gia, and Gun hadn’t seen his face, either.

  Slowly, but surely, the Medusas were getting a handle on who they were chasing. But the investigation was still moving too slowly. Mahmoud and his team were, without question, planning something big. But what?

  If he were a terrorist, he would go for a big crowd. A venue where everyone was packed in like fish in a barrel. But which one? Every day, dozens of crowds gathered to watch various competitive events, not to mention attending festivals, concerts, medal ceremonies and a dozen other public parties. The summer Olympics were such a target-rich environment he didn’t even know where to begin narrowing down possible points of attack.

  He hated having to wait and react to Mahmoud’s next move. Ideally, he and the Medusas would get out in front of whatever the bastard had planned and stop it before anything bad happened. Ideally. Which was not where he and Rebel and her teammates were operating at the moment.

  Urgently, he scanned video footage until a quiet knock on the door announced the arrival of Rebel’s treat. He opened the door, took the tall glass full of chocolate goodness and turned toward the bed.

  Rebel was awake, watching him sleepily. At the moment, she looked like a kitten, curled comfortably on the pillows, warm and sleepy. Of course, he knew now that she was a kitten with sharp claws that she definitely knew how to use. And damned if he didn’t find her sexier than ever.

  He carried the milkshake over to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, loving how she snuggled up to him, wrapped around his back and smiled up at him.


  “Can I interest you in something sweet, cold and chocolate?” he asked.

  “That sounds like manna from heaven.”

  “It may not be that tasty, but it should make your head feel a little better.”

  She smiled and sat up, propping herself up with pillows at her back. She took the milkshake from him and took and long, appreciative sip. “Oh, that’s yummy.”

  “Would I serve you anything that doesn’t taste fantastic?” he responded.

  She smiled over the drink at him. “Not likely. You really do spoil me too much.”

  “There’s no such thing as spoiling a person too much.”

  She groaned. “Remind me never to put you in charge of disciplining your children.”

  His children? Maybe more like their children?

  The idea stopped him in his mental tracks. He’d never seriously thought about starting a family. He had plenty of time to get around to that. Except he was sliding down the back side of his thirties, and at some point, women of childbearing age would start to look like children to him and not appealing to marry and spend the remainder of his life with.

  Was he getting old?

  The thought horrified him.

  “You okay, there? You got a funny look on your face,” Rebel murmured.

  “Umm, yeah. Fine.” So not fine. Where had the time gone? One year had stacked upon the previous one until he was nearly twenty years into his career, no closer to having a place to call home, let alone anyone to call family.

  He had all his Spec Ops brothers, of course. But they wouldn’t warm his bed or eat breakfast with him in the morning—or make him laugh, or love him with open arms...

  Since when was he worried about all that stuff?

  He swore under his breath. Since when did men have biological clocks? Apparently, he had one, and furthermore, it was ticking. Loudly.

  He swore again. What was he supposed to do about that? It wasn’t like he was ready to drop to one knee and propose to Rebel here and now. She was just getting started on her career, and she lived thousands of miles away from him, for crying out loud.