by Kris Norris
Where the hell were you?
Those words. Each one, a knife to his soul. Carving away another piece until he wasn’t sure there was anything left. That he’d ever be remotely close to whole, again. Because…
Ellis wasn’t lying.
The tone of her voice, the line of her jaw. The way she trembled, even as she fought to pull herself together. Rein it all in. And then, there were the tears. She wasn’t a crier. Sappy movies. If he did something romantic. When a soldier was lost. But never as a weapon. To manipulate. Seeing her cry, now… He didn’t know what to say. If there was anything he could say.
She snorted, tossing the balled-up note at him. “Now, who’s tiptoeing?” She rolled her shoulders, grimaced against the obvious pull of her stitches, but held her head high. “On second thought, forget it. I gave up believing in anything and anyone because there aren’t any happily ever afters. Love is a weakness. And only the strong survive.”
Ellis headed back to the counter, all but falling onto the stool. She grabbed her side, closed her eyes for a moment, then stiffened. He watched her push down the pain. Shoving it to some remote part of her brain that cataloged it then boxed it away. Pretended the wound on her side didn’t burn. That she wasn’t breathing rhythmically in an attempt to stay conscious. The way he’d done it a thousand times in the field.
Talk about a clusterfuck. This was wrong. All of it. Cornering her. Forcing her to talk when she was barely strong enough to stand. He’d known she was weak. Was hurting. And yet, he’d pushed because he couldn’t stand there one more minute not knowing. Wondering why it had all fallen apart. Why she’d stopped loving him when he couldn’t stop loving her. How the hell he was going to keep her safe when he felt so damn divided all the time—constantly alternating between wanting to protect her and crucify her. He needed his head fully in the game and, for that, he’d needed answers.
He’d been wrong. About everything. While a part of him wanted to hang onto the doubt, the pain he’d felt, he couldn’t. Not when the truth was staring him in the face.
He’d always wondered about the letter. Why it had seemed so out-of-character. But he hadn’t had the balls to go after her. Relive all that pain when she’d inevitably say the same words to his face. Other affairs had ended that way. It was easy to assume their relationship was just another statistic to add to the pile.
So, he’d let it slide. Buried himself in his work. Focused on his team. His career. And he’d allowed her to vanish, just like she’d claimed.
Colt closed his eyes. He couldn’t leave things like this. He’d promised to protect her—to keep her safe, regardless of the personal cost. Including his heart. The one beating triple time in his chest. Squeezing so hard he could barely breathe. And yet, in the space of five minutes, he’d alienated her. Sabotaged his plans because he didn’t want to face the fact she’d moved on when he was still stuck in the past—still in love with her.
He took a few steps closer, hating the way her shoulders tensed. How she braced herself, obviously preparing for the worst.
He swallowed, coughed, then blew out a harsh breath. “I…I don’t understand. Why did you hack the NCS? What did McCormick have on you?”
She snorted. “Long story, not that it matters.”
“Of course it fucking matters. Jesus, El—”
“Do you have anything stronger than coffee?” She held up an empty glass. “I could really use a drink.”
“Now’s not the time, I—”
“I understood why no one else thought twice. They were just friends. People I worked with. And my grandparents weren’t well. Were in a care facility. Probably didn’t even remember who I was. But you…” Her voice roughed. Sounded as if it was clogged in her throat. “It’s…humbling to discover you were never really special to anyone. That you never really mattered.”
“Shit. That’s not… I didn’t…”
Fuck. How could he possibly make this right?
She shook the glass. “Vodka? Whisky? Anything but tequila. That shit messes with my head.”
“Please, sweetheart. We need—”
His door opened and closed, shutting down the conversation as Colt turned toward the entrance. Six stalked across the room. Mouth grim. Eyes narrowed. He had on his tactical vest, weapon holstered on his thigh.
He made a circle with his hand—pointed at Colt’s room.
Colt hooked El’s elbow, helping her stand then catching up with the other man as he headed for the bedroom closet.
Six looked behind him, eyeing the closed door as he shook his head. “Black Suburban pulled up across the street. Windows were too tinted to see how many men were inside, but four got out. They moved like a unit. Stealth formation. Sticking to the shadows as best they could. Helmets. Vests. Assault rifles. Cell service is being jammed. I expect the power to be cut any—”
The lights winked out. Bled the room into black just as a series of explosions cut through the night, rattling the windows as sparks lit up the darkness.
Six grinned. “And those would be some of Rigs’ countermeasures. Hopefully they bought us a bit of time.”
“Shit.” Ellis was beside Colt, slipping on the hoodie he tossed her. The girl he’d been arguing with was gone, replaced by the new Ellis. CIA operative, and the woman he’d failed. “McCormick sent a damn wet squad. And now that their cover’s blown, they won’t waste any time staying in those shadows.”
Six nodded, though it was more of a blur moving amidst the darkness. “CIA? Because you are CIA, right?”
She took the pair of boots Colt handed over, leaning against the doorframe as she tugged them on, glancing at Six. “Unfortunately, I am. But my bet’s international. Faces that can’t be traced back if things go sideways.”
“Run or fight?”
“They’ll have night vision. Thermal. Though, with the rain, I doubt they’ll use drones.” She thanked Colt when he held up a Kevlar vest. She didn’t need to know he’d had Six pick it up after she’d stumbled into Colt’s arms the other night.
“Short wave?”
“Doubtful. Same with a Range-R detector. They won’t worry about trying to see through walls. They’re professionals. Cocky bastards from my experience. They’ll assume they can counter anything we might throw their way.”
“Right. We’ll run. Be prepared for additional forces outside. We’ll exit through the skylight. Reassess once we’re on the roof.”
Ellis inhaled. “I really hate limiting myself, but… Can we jump to adjoining buildings?”
She was taking the weapons Colt handed her—checking the chambers, cocking them, then securing them like any other teammate he’d ever worked with. As if she’d been part of his damn Delta squad. And it scared the shit out of him.
“It’s a hefty spread. But in a pinch…” Six moved in closer. “We ready? This building is higher than the others, and there’s a two-foot ledge around the perimeter. So, stay low until we can determine if there’re snipers.”
Then, he was moving. Colt gave the man a boost—held firm as Six opened the window then shimmied out. A second later, Six’s hand dangled down from the ledge, motioning to Ellis.
Between them, she was up and out in two seconds flat. Feet disappearing over the lip. A beep sounded on Colt’s watch. Front door alarm. Bastards were inside.
Six appeared, again. With a few steps and a leap, Six had Colt’s forearm, was pulling him up. Colt grabbed the other side, lifted himself over the edge. He scooted to the left as Six closed the window—moved to the right. The glass settled in place just as a beam of light illuminated Colt’s bedroom from below, the circle dancing across his bed.
Damn, the squad was moving fast. Another minute, and they’d be trying every window. Kicking out the skylight.
Six was already scanning the surrounding buildings, muttering to himself. “Tangoes, south side. Bastards are lower, but if we stand…”
Colt moved in beside him. “Crawl. The lip should keep us from showing up on thermal. And
we’ll just have to pray those assholes don’t figure out where we went too fast.”
Six struck off, staying low, gun at the ready. Body primed to react to any sudden change. Colt waved Ellis on, determined to keep her wedged between them. She followed quickly. Though, Colt noticed the stiffness in her movements. How she favored her right side. She was hurting. And not just a bit.
Colt fell in behind her, dividing his attention between the wall they were heading for and the area behind him—listening for the hum of a possible drone. Though, Ellis was probably right. The steady rain and fog would hamper the effectiveness. If anything, the assholes might use one to get a bead on their target’s location. Try to get ahead of them—cut them off. And Six hadn’t been joking. It was easily seven or eight feet between them and the adjoining warehouse. Not something Colt wanted to attempt unless necessary.
Noise, behind him. Not much. Just a soft scrape of glass over metal. Nearly lost in the rumble of distant thunder. Colt stopped, peered behind him just as Six inhaled.
He spun to face them, already pointing his gun. “Vent. Now.”
Colt lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Ellis then rolling them to the right—slipping behind an air conditioning vent as bullets pelted the metal casing, pinging off in every direction. Six returned fire, ducking in beside them as more shots whizzed past.
Ellis tapped Colt’s arm, gaining his attention. She made some signals with her hand—wanted them to split up. Flank the enemy. Fucking hard when they couldn’t stand—were stuck crawling across the damn roof.
Six shook his head, held up a container. Colt gave the guy an arch of his brow, but Six merely grinned, motioning to Ellis.
Colt grabbed her, locking her head against his chest. “Eyes and ears, sweetheart. Then, we fly.”
Ellis inhaled. “He wouldn’t…”
She tucked in hard against him as he curled over her. A soft whoosh, a click, then the world exploded. Lights. Smoke. A deafening shock wave.
Six popped up, laid down a bunch of cover fire, then they were moving inside the smoke. Springing to their feet then racing across the roof. Dodging vents as they ran toward the edge. Shouts carried on the breeze, the acrid smell of propellant heavy in the air. They had maybe ten seconds to reach the other side, start down the damn ladder before the bastards would begin recovering. Less if they’d trained and gained some resistance to the grenade’s effects.
Six had another canister in his hand—was tossing it over the edge as they zeroed in on the fire escape. The man didn’t slow, didn’t seem at all fazed when the second flashbang erupted on the pavement below them, illuminating the alleyway in a blinding light. He just kept moving, grabbing the rails then sliding down, his feet hugging the sides—not even touching the rungs.
Colt grabbed Ellis’ arm, tugged her against him. “Arms around my neck. And don’t fucking let go.”
She didn’t argue, plastering herself against him as he climbed over the edge. She released one hand to fire off a few rounds—send the couple of men who’d managed to stumble after them diving for cover—then she was holding tight. Flying with Colt down the ladder, friction burning a line across his palm.
But it didn’t matter. Didn’t slow him down. Ice could treat him later, if needed. Right now, they had to move.
Gunfire popped around them as they hit the pavement, Six shoving them against the side of the building as he countered—keeping a couple of bullets from catching Colt in the shoulder—Ellis in the head. His buddy grunted, cursed, then palmed Colt’s side and pushed.
Colt ran, sweeping the area with every step, his other hand grasping Ellis’. He was moving fast—probably faster than she could go, still recovering, than she should go—but she kept up. Managed to match his steps, sprint across the street, vault over a fence, then down an alley. Footsteps echoed behind them. Steady. Strong.
He kept running, taking a sharp right, then an equally sharp left. He wound through a parking ramp, jumping concrete barriers then over a railing. Six was bringing up the rear, keeping himself between the men chasing them and Ellis. Blocking her from a possible shot. Risking his life.
Was Six slowing down? Grunting? Breathing harder than usual? Or was it Ellis? Colt couldn’t tell for sure. He was too focused on weaving—on not trapping them in a dead-end alley or parking garage. Mentally calculating if that Suburban could reach them—cut them off.
Tires squealing a few streets over had him changing direction, again. Increasing his pace. Ellis fell behind—his grip dragging her along. Forcing her to match his strides. He knew he was pushing her. Probably opening up her damn wound, but Ice could fix that. Dead was permanent.
Rain pelted his face, soaking through his clothes as they raced through the darkness, each step marked by a splash of water on the pavement. They were nearing the end of their endurance. Even he couldn’t keep up the pace much longer, his fingers starting to tingle. He made one last adjustment—angling toward pier. He didn’t want to take them in, but he was out of options. They couldn’t fight. Not outnumbered and likely outgunned. With limited resources. And he doubted the bastards would follow—risk drowning in the icy water.
Headlights cut through the fog off to his right. Spaced wrong for a Suburban. Jeep. Most likely a Wrangler. It headed straight for them, swerved, executing a perfect one-eighty before the passenger door popped open.
Jericho jumped out, laying down impressive cover fire as she yelled for them to get in. Colt hit the vehicle still sprinting, pulling Ellis in behind him as he shuffled over to the far side, giving Six room to slide in beside them—slam the door.
Bullets hit the tailgate, cracking the rear windshield as Jericho climbed in. Cannon stomped on the gas, jerking them all back in the seat—peeling away amidst a billow of smoke. Ice’s truck fishtailed onto the road behind them, followed by Bridgette’s Jeep, both blocking any resistance from the rear.
They traveled for over a minute, constantly scanning the streets, but there was only the rain against the windshield. The slap of the wipers.
Colt relaxed a bit, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to regulate his breathing. Heavy pants filled the cab, his pulse still pounding through his head. He took a few deeper breaths then glanced at Ellis, cursing at the pale cast to her skin. The obvious pain creasing her eyes and mouth. “You okay? You hurt?”
“Think I might puke. Damn, you run fast.” She grabbed her stomach but held it together. “Everything hurts, but…I’ll live.”
He nodded, did a quick sweep only to snap his head back. His breath stalled in his chest, an icy chill crawling across his skin. Blood. Lots of it. On the hoodie he’d given her. Her pants. He forced himself to swallow, to choke it down.
“Damn it, Ellis. I thought you said you were okay?” How the hell had she gotten hit? He should have given her his vest. Blocked whatever shot had clipped her. Or had she reopened her wound? Was bleeding out, again? No, it was the wrong side…
“I am—”
“You’re bleeding.”
She frowned, looked down. Paled. “Oh my god. Six.”
Colt inhaled—focused on Six. He was whiter than Ellis, blood soaking his shirt up by his collar—dripping down his arm and off his fingers. Leaking out beneath the bottom of his vest. Bullet must have just missed the armor—caught him high in the shoulder.
“Fuck. Cannon. Pull over, now. Six is hit.”
“Belay that.” Six shook his head. “We’ll stop when we’re safe. I’ve got pressure on it.”
“Well, it’s not doing a damn thing, is it, because, you’re bleeding out.”
“Don’t be a drama queen. I’m…” He grunted, voice trailing off.
But Colt was already stripping down. Vest, sweater, tee. Balling up the shirt as Ellis leaned forward—switched places. Colt helped Six out of his vest then pressed the wad hard against the other man’s shoulder, cursing when Six’s eyes rolled back.
“Damn it, Cannon, he needs Ice. Now.”
Cannon looked at Colt in the r
earview, his gaze darting to Six. “Working on it.”
Jericho was on the phone, talking quietly. She pulled it away from her ear, met Colt’s gaze. “Ice says there’s a mobile clinic nearby. Only a few minutes. A buddy of his runs it—Dr. Coen Brady. Apparently, the guy just rolled into town. Was Special Forces for twenty years. Top notch. Brady’s expecting us. Ice said he’ll stay with Six while we continue to the safehouse. Meet up with us after.”
“Fuck that. We don’t leave people behind. What if those assholes want a round two?”
Cannon huffed. “None of us like it, but they’re not after Six. Or Ice. They want Ellis. Our tail’s been clear for five minutes, now. And that whole area is bound to be swarming with cops. Feds. They won’t risk another attempt with all the heat. I’ve got Rigs and Addison heading to the clinic. They’ll stand watch.”
Jericho twisted more in the seat to look at Colt. “Ice said Brady has some British Special Forces guy tagging along. Gibson. I didn’t get a last name. He’ll jump in if needed. And if they’re really worried shit’s about to go sideways, they can call me, and I’ll get the SOG team here. It’ll complicate things but…”
But it was their only option, other than a hospital. Which wasn’t going to happen. Not unless Six would die otherwise.
Colt clenched his jaw to keep from screaming. This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. “This Brady better be damn good.”
A hand on Colt’s arm. Sliding from the blood, but strong. Six chuckled. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine. Not the first time I’ve been shot. So, stop worrying and get Ellis somewhere safe. She’s our priority.”
Colt leaned over, getting up in Six’s face. “I swear, buddy. If you die on me, I’m going to fucking kill you.”
“You can try…”
Colt shook his head, stomach somewhere up by his throat. That icy feeling still beading his skin. He was done waiting in the wings—staying on the defensive. As soon as Ellis had caught her breath, she was going to start talking. And she wasn’t going to stop until Colt knew everything—including how to get her back.
