When they pulled back the paper targets, she pressed her lips together and rocked back onto her heels. “You’re cheating.”
He shook his head and held back a grin. “Yet you’re winning. How could that be?”
“You’re losing on purpose.”
Her accusation, although accurate, took him by surprise. No one had ever accused him of playing down his abilities. “Why would I do that?”
“I have no idea.”
“You make no sense.” He reloaded, hoping to pull her attention away from the paper targets.
She ignored his ploy and snatched up his prior four target sheets of paper. “Each time you shoot, you pick a direction. North, south, east, west. The patterns on your target sheets are almost identical, except in a different quadrant. No one shoots with that much accuracy without a heck of a lot of skill.”
“You’re accusing me of being a perfectly bad shot.” Perhaps he should have randomized the patterns more.
“I’m accusing you of hiding your skill level.” She left the Sig unloaded on the table and faced him with the penetrating stare every beat cop perfected in their first year on the job.
Lying didn’t work with her. If she could dissect Owen’s playbook, she could analyze Macknight’s as well, so he opened up. “I’m team leader. Owen’s the sniper. He needs to be the best shot, especially in the eyes of the guards. More confidence, better accuracy.”
“You let everyone think you’re an average shot?”
“Not when I’m testing. I’m above-average on the range for that.”
She stepped away from the table. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does to me.” He placed his weapon down. “Show-offs turn self-centered, and the need to prove superiority places others at risk.”
She erased the distance between them, touching her hand to his arm. “Like a boy showing off in a sailboat?” She wasn’t showering him with sympathy, it was more a simple statement of fact, with an awareness of his pain wrapped inside.
“Something like that.” The urge to unload decades worth of self-loathing hit him like a tsunami, drowning him in regret. He allowed her touch to keep him grounded.
She looked into his eyes, never letting him go. She didn’t forgive him, didn’t blame him, just acknowledged. The wound in his heart still ached, but less so. It was all he’d ever wanted. Someone to understand. This beautiful woman who appeared at one of the worst times in his life, somehow made everything more manageable.
He placed an arm around her waist and held her while he caught his breath. Her body softened into his. He wanted so much to lean down and kiss her, to absorb every bit of the power she contained over him, the lightness inside her. Yet her strength contained its own darkness. It wouldn’t benefit her at all to add his own burdens to her shoulders. This moment of connection was as good as it could get.
“You’re too chicken to shoot anymore?” he asked her, shaking off his vulnerability and stepping out of her sphere. Ian was watching them in the tower and weakness of any kind would undermine his ability to lead.
“Where’s the challenge?” she asked, stretching out her back.
“You’re that competitive?”
“Damn right. If you’re throwing the matches, then I’m not playing,” she responded with all the conviction of a true player.
They left the gun range and walked a bit past several apple trees and a holly hedgerow that blocked the guardhouse from the view of the cottage to keep the impression of a bucolic hideaway.
“You are definitely Ross’s daughter.”
“Thanks.” She continued walking, but the mention of her father dampened the mood.
“You should be proud of him. He understands espionage better than anyone I know. I learned a lot from him.”
She opened her mouth and closed it again, then glanced past the surrounding fields. “I wish I knew all of his secrets.”
“I bet you understand him more than most people.”
She shrugged. “He helped me through my toughest times, and taught me how to assess situations.”
“You seem to have a solid ability to deal with stress, which is half the battle in law enforcement.” Although no one understood their limits more than when standing in the middle of a life or death situation.
“I’m not sure. Moving to SWAT is a big step up. Not much happened in my town. I mostly dealt with drugs, theft, and speeding. One murder. I usually arrived after the crime was over.” She opened her mouth to continue but seemed to think better of it.
“You never shot anyone?” he asked, too impatient to wait for the conversation to veer near the subject and too curious to refrain from asking. Whether she’d ever chosen to play God, judge, jury, or executioner would say a lot about her emotional stability. Causing a death changes someone. Causing multiple deaths damns them.
“I almost did, but I waited for my partner to handle it.”
“What shot?”
“A drug-addicted father had his own son at gunpoint. My partner hesitated. The father didn’t.” Her voice cracked, remorse thick in her tone.
“How old was the boy?”
“Elliott was twelve.” She took a deep breath. “He was blocking my shot of his father, but my partner had a perfect angle. I wanted to shoot so bad. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t save him. I prefer to handle things on my own now.”
“You would have taken the shot?”
“Yes,” she said, but her posture contradicted her.
“That decision had to be unbearable for him as well. Killing a father in front of his child would psychologically destroy the child. What if he could have saved them both?” Macknight hated killing when some other option was available, but in his line of work, those options were harder and harder to find.
“I know that now. Split second decisions leave impossible choices.”
His phone rang, breaking the somber atmosphere. He couldn’t rest for a moment without work kicking him in the ass. “Macknight.”
“Pack your things. You’re ungrounded.” Derek was in dictator mode. “We might have found Ross. Leave Emma at Windfield under Dawson’s management. I need both you and Owen back in London now. Early reports say Ross is at the Black Crow.”
The name spiked the adrenaline in his system from tepid to boiling. The Black Crow was one of Russia’s most extreme incarceration facilities. People almost never left once they were imprisoned there.
“We’ll be there tonight.” A little more time with Emma.
She seemed to absorb every word he said. Their eyes met, holding each other, a lifeline to something he needed, even if he didn’t have a clue what it was about her that held on to his spirit more than anyone ever had.
Derek broke the enchantment. “Two hours. At your flat. And as an added inspiration, we know who set the bomb.”
Macknight froze. He needed the name. He needed to avenge Lucy’s death. “Who?”
“Maslov.”
Shit.
Maslov was the GRU’s best demolition man. He destroyed anything of risk to the Russian government. Macknight had missed his opportunity to kill the maggot a few years back in Prague, taking out an innocent soldier who had no skin in the game instead. Regret flooded his thoughts. He should have killed Maslov when he’d had the chance.
“Fine. Do me a favor. The perimeter seems compromised in a few locations. Can we get a team out here to secure it up in the next few hours?”
“I’ll have Dawson’s team on it.”
“They need some retraining. I’ve found a few problems.” He explained what he’d seen.
“I’ll make some calls,” Derek responded before hanging up.
Macknight strolled back to Emma, who’s attention never left him during the call.
“That must have been one important phone call. You looked like someone had punched you in the gut.” A lock of her long hair lifted in a light breeze and caught a spark of sunlight. This was a person who had never crossed to the darkest regions of h
ell. Her simple mindset regarding life-and-death matters were about to become tangled. No matter how certain she was of her partner’s failure when he chose not to kill the father to save the child, she would never forgive Macknight for succeeding in the same scenario. Kill Ross to save Emma.
“I have to leave,” he said. An emotion that rarely touched him dominated his senses. Guilt.
“Now?” She swallowed hard, her eyes deciphering his intentions.
“I have another assignment. You’ll be safe here.” He had his doubts about Dawson’s lax inspections, but overall, she’d be fine. There’d never been a problem at Windfield. “As soon as I’m free, I’ll return.”
“How long will you be gone?” she asked, her expression falling further.
“Most of our assignments last a few weeks, but some finish in days.”
“Oh.”
Completely invading her personal space, he wrapped his arms around her—a wishful claiming. “I’d stay if it weren’t so important.” He meant it, too. A few more hours with her might lift his head out of the darkness he’d been in.
Emma rested her head on his shoulder and stared up at him. “Grace and Owen seem like good company.”
He kissed the top of her head, inhaling her scent so he’d have something of her to remember during his travels. For the reality was that once Ross was dead, there’d be nothing bringing him back to her. “Owen’s leaving with me, but Grace’s the best company of all of us and will make sure you eat like a queen. You can trust her.”
Grace could also help her adapt to her new existence, one that contained no father. But her history would be intact, and she could carry on with her life in the States.
“I’ll be fine.” Emma trusted him enough to remain in his arms. Her physical presence pulled his loyalty in different directions. “I hope you find my father.”
“Probably not on this trip,” he lied.
She tightened her arms around him and caught him in a million emotions. Letting her go meant giving her up for good. Not her precisely, since she’d never been his to begin with, but the idea of her, the hope that a future with someone like her would be possible. She understood him at a level not even Lucy could claim. She saw through his mask and wasn’t put off by the man underneath. She would be, though, when his job forced him to take another life, one that meant much more to her than him.
“Take care of yourself,” he said.
She glanced up at him with a feigned smile. “You take care of yourself, too.”
Neither one let go. They remained locked together until Owen called out from the cottage and broke them apart.
“Go. I’ll see you soon.” Her arms fell away from him.
“Sure.” He sent her off to the cottage and headed to the guardhouse to meet with Toby and Ian. If Dawson was a roadblock, these guys were the way around. They’d had his back for years. Although Dawson was their commanding officer, they often went behind him to do Macknight a favor or two. In this case, he wanted extra protection for Emma.
“Get the perimeter solid again, and don’t take your eyes off Emma.”
“That’s the kind of assignment I like. Girl watching.” Ian tapped his fingers together.
Toby laughed. “Having Emma here is better than the Russian billionaire we had last month.”
His words sucker-punched Macknight. Although he hadn’t been assigned to the Russian, everyone in the service knew what had happened to him. Death by poison a week after leaving Windfield. “I need a better outcome than that assignment.”
Toby shrugged. “That was a crappy day for everyone. We keep them safe, and the second they’re gone, someone locates them.”
“We’ll do better,” Ian replied. He’d called Macknight after the event, devastated. It had been a huge blow to the whole operation to lose such a high-profile asset.
“We can’t guarantee outcomes, but in this case, make an extra effort to guard her with your lives.” Macknight patted him on the back. “She’s that important.”
He left for London with Owen after ensuring that the perimeter of the compound had been secured, and Emma was comfortable in the cottage. The prospect of days spent in Russia rather than keeping an eye on her didn’t sit right. Not that she needed his help. Especially with the team there. They were the best, and Emma wasn’t so helpless, either.
Owen sat in Macknight’s car. “Did you make up with Emma before you left?”
“We have an understanding.”
“Good thing, because you acted like a stupid prat toward her.”
“Nothing I haven’t done in the past.” He turned onto the M40 and backtracked a bit in case someone picked up their tail.
“You’re too close. It’s only been a few days since you lost Lucy, and as much as you claim you didn’t love the woman, you did in your own constipated way. Give your heart a chance to heal. I’ve never seen you in such a mess. Stay focused on one task at a time. Trying to kill the father and love the daughter is an impossible mess.”
“You’re way off course. I never said anything about love, not that your opinion of that sort of thing matters. You bandy the word around like it’s an outfit you change every day.” He tried to shake the picture of Emma from his thoughts, but she lingered, staring at him with those complicated eyes. “I’m focused on Ross. He dies, Emma walks away a free person.”
“Do me a favor,” Owen said.
“Anything.”
“Don’t get carried away with your relationship with her. She doesn’t need to be sucked into your black hole. She has enough to deal with.”
Did Owen really think he was such a cod as to lose his career over a woman he didn’t really know? “I promise I’ll keep my head when it comes to her. Besides, chances are she’ll return home as soon as I eliminate her father.”
Owen laughed. “That’s the stuff of fairy tales.”
They opened the door to their London home hours after the sun went down and after Derek had expected them.
The flat had been the best perk of joining MI6. The huge kitchen contained everything needed for formal four-course dinners fit for the city elite, yet they kept their meals fairly simple. When Macknight entered the foyer, he could smell the lingering scent of pizza and beer. Whenever Owen stayed at the flat alone, he lived like a university student.
A large, open living space decorated around four Andy Warhol prints and a black leather sectional had a contemporary, yet comfortable feel. Everything in the flat was oversized and roomy.
The flat also provided zero privacy. Owen had grabbed the largest bedroom the day they’d all arrived. Apparently, he required more closet space than the rest of them. Macknight had claimed the second largest room simply because he moved quicker than Lucy.
Lucy had been easygoing about her living quarters, since her room contained a fantastic view of Holland Park. It had been her influence that made the flat a home, with fresh flowers, colorful pillows, and a soft throw over the back of the couch. Without her, the colors had begun to fade.
Derek greeted them with someone who looked like the black version of him, right down to the thousand-dollar navy suit and the chiseled bone structure. Derek invading his and Owen’s space didn’t bode well for the assignment. The new guy was a stranger, but from the way he sat in the chair, he was more bureaucrat than field operative.
“You’re late. I wanted you to have time to meet your new number three. Jack Wynn.” Derek held a glass of red wine, probably one of Macknight’s bottles.
Jack Wynn drank something clear, probably water.
“Jack? Nice to meet you. I’m Macknight and my partner Owen.” They all shook hands. “What’s your specialty?”
“Computers. Communications. I can also handle myself in the field.”
Owen grabbed a few beers from the refrigerator and tossed one to Macknight. They waited for Derek to explain why he was trespassing.
Derek pointed to Jack. “Your team’s mission requires proper backup. That’s Jack. With Emma Ross safe at Win
dfield, we have to neutralize Ross before he caves.”
“You know Russian?” Owen asked Jack.
He nodded. “My accent isn’t native, so I can’t blend in, but I’m a damn good monitor.”
“Not good enough,” Macknight replied. “Not if you’re on the ground with us. No offense, but a tall black man dressed like the CEO of a bank is not going to blend into the crowd in some remote Russian prison outpost.” If he was solely on communication lines, he could work from London.
“Derek told me you needed a systems expert. That’s me.” His words flowed out of him, too posh to ever go undercover in some of the dodgier areas of London.
Owen sat next to him. “As much as we respect Derek, he doesn’t always know what we need in the field. What makes you useful to us?”
Jack took a drink and then answered. “I found a way to break into some back channels of the Russian government’s communication system. I’ll be able to hear about issues as they happen. I can also drive just about any vehicle, land or water, and fly a helicopter. That should help you with your transportation issues.” Jack didn’t defend himself, just stated a list of qualifications. “If you don’t think I can help, I’ll gladly take the year sabbatical I requested. My last team was caught inside Yemen. They’re all dead but me. So if you can’t use me, no bother. Heading back to the front lines is not something I volunteered for.”
Derek bounced up, a scowl on his face. “You’re not leaving. They need you, you need them, and I need someone on the ground that can handle things while I’m shackled to my desk.”
Macknight glanced at Owen, who shrugged. Without more information, he didn’t know whether to trust Jack. Something was going on between Derek and him, and that was either a risk for the team or a benefit. “How do you two know each other exactly?’
Derek sat down again. “Eton.”
Owen burst out in laughter. “Ah. The privileged helping the privileged. Jack, if you’re not willing to get into the mix, you’re of no use to us. We haven’t had a ground communications officer before. Could be useful, could be a massive screwup.”
London Calling Page 10
