Operation Christmas Contraband, Super Agent Romantic Suspense Series, Book 6

by Misty Evans

  Lawson must have responded. Con grinned. “Roger that, Pegasus.”

  The men on the dock continued to fire while still hiding, and they’d traveled far enough Julia could take her eyes off them. She touched Conrad’s neck, her fingers coming away wet with warm, sticky blood.

  Her heart, already hyper with adrenaline, sledgehammered against her ribs. Everything in her went icy cold. Grappling for her tote on the floor under her feet, she yanked out her bikini top. She felt for one of the padded cups and placed it against Con’s neck.

  He flinched. “What the hell are you doing?”

  They hit a wave and for a second were airborne. Julia gripped his shoulder for support. “You’re bleeding.”

  “Sit down before you fall overboard.”

  He tried to brush her off, but she wrapped one of the straps around his neck and tied it “Shut up and let me take care of you.”

  Ramon appeared in her line of sight. “Julia?”

  “Not now.”

  Marguerite grabbed her arm and yelled. “Julia!”

  She cranked her head around to look at the woman. “What?”

  Both Ramon and Marguerite pointed to a spot behind them and Julia’s heart did its sledgehammer routine once more. A vessel, bigger than their speedboat and just as fast, was running low across the water and gaining on them.

  “Pursuers!” She counted the silhouettes she could see against the fading lights of the dock. “At least three. Closing in fast!” The outline of a machine gun emerged. “Get down!”

  Just as she threw herself on top of Marguerite and Ramon, Conrad jerked sharply to one side, sending up a huge tail of water in their wake. Julia shifted, grabbed onto Ramon. The man lurched, tripping over the Virgin Mary statue that had rolled out of her bag. His arms went up as he went down, yanking her off balance.

  The boat tipped too far to Julia’s left and the next thing she knew, she hit the water. Hard.

  The shock made her gulp. Bad idea. Salty liquid flooded her mouth and she coughed, sucking up more in the process and choking.

  Although she couldn’t see them—hell, she couldn’t see anything—she was vaguely aware of the others hitting as well and doing the same thing. Limbs flailing and searching for purchase, the struggle against drowning overtaking the fear of flying bullets.

  Con. Where was he? Damn man. All she’d wanted was a simple Christmas. Go see her brother, Eric, in upstate New York and enjoy the holiday with his family. Instead, Con offered her a couple days in the Caribbean with the promise they’d visit him for New Year’s instead.

  Liar. He was always, always, working. She should have known he wasn’t just avoiding the family holiday gig. Should have known he’d volunteered for a mission.

  And now they were ass-deep in trouble. At least he was at home in the water. She, on the other hand, never felt comfortable in anything larger than a pool.

  How bad was he hurt? As her thoughts raced willy-nilly and her lungs threatened to explode, she fought against the panic surging in her veins. Straightening her body, she propelled herself upward.

  At least she hoped it was the right direction.

  Everything was too dark. Her equilibrium was off. There was nothing but water and more water. Pressure in her lungs.

  Where was the damn surface? Her heartbeat roared in her ears. She kicked hard, cutting her hands through the waves. Everything inside her chest screamed with hot intensity.

  Wham. The top of her head hit a hard, immovable force. The speedboat?

  A sharp pain ran from her crown down the back of her neck. Pinpricks of light danced at the edge of her vision. Her feet and hands went numb.

  Air! Air! Air!

  She bobbed, the fight draining out of her. Pain in her head, an elephant on her chest. Her head knocked into the boat again. She must be underneath it. Raising her unfeeling hands, she shoved, and when that didn’t work, she tried to find something to hang onto. Her fingers brushed metal. A cleat?

  She had to breathe and she had to do it right frickin’ now. Her mouth defied her mental command to stay shut, the demand from her lungs too overpowering.

  She gulped. Choked. Gaged. Swallowed, her lungs even more confused when they couldn’t process the liquid air. What little vision she had gave over to the pinpricks and she felt herself sinking.

  Down, down, down.

  She was done.

  I love you, Con. God, he was going to be pissed if he made it out alive and she didn’t. He’d never forgive himself.

  In one last desperate attempt to save herself, Julia gave a feeble kick of her feet.

  Yes, there. A light.

  And also the muffled, but very real sounds of a gunfight.

  Hell.

  She had no choice. She had to have air. Needed to check on the others. Needed to make sure Conrad was all right.

  Her legs tried to kick again, but she was out of gas. She started to float back down…

  A hand grabbed her by the back of the neck. Another tugged on her shirt. Suddenly, she was moving at what felt like the speed of light. A second later, her head broke the surface.

  This time when her mouth opened, she drank air. There was enough liquid in her lungs she vomited a gush of the salty stuff.

  Conrad’s face appeared in her vision. Bullets zinged overhead and hit around them, but she didn’t care. She tried to say something, but her throat wouldn’t work. His brows formed a dark line over his eyes and he hugged her close. His body was just as wet as hers, and yet he radiated heat and security. She burrowed into him.

  The next thing she knew, he flipped her around so she was looking at a combat-ready raiding craft like SEALs used with a set of men in gear in it.

  Team Pegasus.

  The boat was inflatable and looked flimsy, but it was holding four team members, three of which were firing mean-looking semi-automatic weapons, and another holding out a hand toward her. Lawson’s second-in-command, John Quick. Behind him, Ramon and Marguerite huddled together.

  Thank god they were safe.

  Safe being relative when people were shooting at you.

  Julia’s limb wouldn’t rise. She was too weak, still coughing, and everything felt numb.

  The distinctive sound of a larger weapon firing overhead caused her to flinch. Con gave a giant push and she exited the water and tumbled into John’s hands.

  He hauled her aboard, turned to extend a hand toward Con. Just as Conrad’s upper body cleared the boat, whatever weapon Vaughn had fired hit home. An explosion rocked the area, their pursuers going up in a ball of flames.

  Conrad dragged himself the rest of the way on, a grin splitting his face as he watched the fireworks.

  Vaughn’s showed a similar expression as he exchanged a look with him. “They were starting to piss me off, sir,” Lawson drawled, lowering the missile launcher from his shoulder.

  Con laughed, sluicing water from his face. “Me, too, Lt. Commander. Nice work.”

  The two clapped their hands around each other’s forearms in some kind of SEAL handshake Julia didn’t understand and Lawson helped Conrad stand. He glanced at her and gave her a thumbs-up. “Ready to go home?”

  If his hand hadn’t been shaking so hard, belying his cocky-ass grin, she would have shoved him overboard.

  Ten

  Six hours later

  Julia tried to unlock her apartment, exhaustion weighing down her limbs and causing her fingers to fumble the key. She’d showered and slept on the submarine that transported them to Florida after John Quick had given her a shot of antibiotics and pronounced her okay.

  On the plane from Tampa to Virginia, she’d rested another hour, then endured a more detailed physical by a CIA-approved doctor and a debriefing—on Christmas, no less—by her former boss, Deputy Director Michael Stone, and her FBI boss as well. Michael was none too pleased with the fireworks show, but like always, Conrad had smooth-talked his way out of trouble.

  Julia was pretty sure she was still in hot water, but it was a holiday
after all. The ass-chewing would begin next week.

  The sun was on the horizon as the black sedan Michael had procured dropped them in front of her place. Theirs…at least until she kicked the Great Conrad Flynn out on his jean-clad ass.

  Truth was, she’d kind of, sort of enjoyed the whole trip. Not the near drowning, but…

  The spying, the chase, the subterfuge. Using all her skills, as well as her wits, to bring Ramon and Marguerite to the States. Possibly circumventing a plague, saving lives.

  Being a spy was in her blood. It gave her a rush she’d been missing since she’d joined the Bureau to hunt fugitives.

  She stabbed at the lock again and the damn key slipped through her fingers and fell to the stoop. A heavy sigh escaped her. This was so not how she’d planned to start Christmas morning. Bonus, Michael expected them this evening for a holiday get-together. Normally, she would’ve welcomed spending time with the gang, but tonight? All she wanted was her cozy pajamas and more sleep.

  Con’s hands gently gripped her upper arms and eased her to the side. He picked up the key and unlocked the door. He wasn’t one for apologies, so she was going to have to make him pay. Big time.

  Operation Make-up with Julia commences now.

  Swinging the door open, he stepped back and motioned her in with a giant flourish of his arm. She avoided meeting his eyes, but she still noticed his sly grin. He was pleased with himself.

  Seriously?

  Truth be told, she was a teeny bit, too. He’d given Ramon and Marguerite—as well as their unborn child—a wonderful gift. A new life in a free country.

  Not to mention Con had rescued her from drowning, which she wouldn’t have been involved in if she hadn’t screwed up his mission. She had to take some responsibility for her role in how things went down.

  As she stepped across the threshold, the scent of fresh pine hit her nose.

  Her luggage had been left behind. Her tote, lost in the waters of the Caribbean. The only things she had were the clothes on her back and the jacket she wore over them. It was Conrad’s.

  Head up and heart flip-flopping between wanting to kill him and hug him, Julia stomped through the living room and into the kitchen, shrugging off the coat and dropping it on the floor. Then she stopped, turned on her heel, and retraced her steps.

  A huge spruce tree, complete with lights and ornaments, stood in the far corner. Elaborately wrapped packages sat tucked underneath.

  Conrad made his way to the couch, picked up a mug from the coffee table with what appeared to be steaming cocoa, complete with tiny marshmallows in it, and admired the tree with that cocky grin still on his face.

  The smell of cocoa drifted to her. She couldn’t resist the draw of it. The coffee at CIA headquarters had been undrinkable.

  Grabbing the other cup—thank you, Universe, it was still hot and perfectly chocolate-y—she cocked her chin at the elephant in the room. “What is that?”

  Con scrutinized her. “Surely you’ve seen one before. It’s called a Christmas tree.”

  Smartass. “How did it get here?”

  “Santa’s elves. You know those little guys with the pointed ears?”

  “Tell me you didn’t call Zara and make her do all of this.”

  He sipped. “Are you kidding? She’d rather shoot off my balls for taking Vaughn from her right now than help me with a surprise for you.”

  Zara was a woman to be admired. “So, Katie did it.”

  “She loves me.” Conrad shrugged at the fact his secretary thought he walked on water and spoiled him rotten. “What can I say? She digs Christmas and all this holiday shit. She was thrilled to do it.”

  “You are giving her a nice holiday bonus, right? A big, fat one. A raise, too.”

  He winked. “I’ve got her covered. She is, as we speak, packing for a trip to see her grandkids, all expenses paid.”

  The cocoa was good. She wanted a shower and her softest pajamas to crawl into. Then breakfast and a good eight hours of shut eye.

  She wanted to know what was in the boxes under the tree.

  “They’re all for you.” Con set down his cup and rose. He took her hand, drew her to the couch, and picked up a sheet of paper from the table. “But first this.”

  He sat next to her. It was a flight plan leaving Ronald Reagan National Airport that evening.

  Julia’s heart warmed ever so slightly. “We’re going to see my brother?”

  “That’s what you wanted, right? To spend the holiday with Eric and his kids? But I changed your mind so I could get Ramon. I figured the least I can do in return is get you to New York later. Titus is loaning us his plane and a pilot. The only catch is…”

  Her smile faltered. “What?”

  “This shindig with Stone and whatever the big surprise is for Brigit. I can tell him to suck it, if you want.”

  “You’d love to do that. I was barely listening when he mentioned it earlier. What kind of surprise, I wonder? He’s already given her the engagement ring. Do you think…” She clapped her hands. “He’s going to marry her!”

  He shrugged. “Said he had something for us as well.”

  Her brows dipped. “Like a present?”

  “Weird, right? Stone isn’t a Christmas kind of guy. He claims we’ll both love it.” He made a sheepish face. “He also said he’ll fire my ass if we don’t show.”

  What in the world? Michael had accomplished some crazy stuff in his life; she couldn’t imagine what he was planning today. “Guess we’ll find out when we get there. I hope he’s not retiring and moving to London with Brigit.”

  Con’s face lit up. His relationship with Michael had always been challenging. “Now that would be something I could get behind.”

  Eleven

  Everything was going exactly as planned.

  With smug satisfaction, Michael watched Brigit cruise the kitchen and living room, welcoming friends, Pongo at her side. Holiday music played, he made sure everyone had a drink, and more gifts found their way under the tree.

  Zara, hand on her pregnant belly, thanked him for getting Lawson home in time, and assured him Flynn and Julia were on the way.

  “I thought that kid might make it for Christmas,” he teased.

  She made a face and headed for one of the chairs he’d added to the living room seating. “Me, too. Feel like I’m going to burst.”

  Lawson helped guide her as she sat and slid a footstool under her swollen feet.

  Michael chatted with the others as they began to drift in, some carrying plates filled with appetizers. He checked his watch. Truman and the surprise were due in ten minutes.

  Counting guests as he mingled, he was happy to see how many had showed. Even Titus, the head honcho, and his wife were there, bubbling with cheer.

  All the while, Michael’s attention kept being drawn to Brigit. She’d become one of them, and loved having big gatherings—something she’d missed growing up. Any time he could put a smile on her face, it filled him with joy.

  Damn, he really was getting into the season.

  Conrad’s friend, and sometimes snitch, Ace, tried sneaking past Michael in the hall. Michael grabbed the red Santa hat from his head. “I don’t remember inviting you.”

  “It’s cool man, dig? Brigit’s got a better heart than you. She laid out the red carpet for us.”

  His girlfriend, Cari, sidled up, beer in hand, twinkling light earrings flashing red and green. “Brigit is awesome. Nice. Decent. She likes us.”

  A dig to insinuate he didn’t. They weren’t wrong. “You stole my Seinfeld collection,” he reminded them, “the last time you were here.”

  “Borrowed,” Ace corrected, his lips splitting in a grin. “Ace don’t steal from nobody, dig?”

  “Did you bring the set back?”

  Cari rolled her eyes. “We will.”

  “When?”

  The two exchanged a glance and Michael knew he was never going to see those CDs again.

  “Soon,” Ace assured him, as Michael
tossed the hat at him and continued on.

  Flynn and Julia came through the back door, bringing in cold air. A cheer went up from several people, Flynn being the life of every party. On their heels, Smitty and Anya arrived.

  Snowflakes dotted their heads and Julia hugged Brigit, then him. “Traffic was terrible. Sorry we’re late.”

  “We’re so glad you made it,” Brigit said. “There’s punch and hot chocolate if you’d like.”

  He did the usual, taking all their coats and checking his phone for messages as he put them upstairs on the bed. Nothing from Truman. Hopefully, he and the surprise would be on time.

  Flynn caught him on the landing. “What’s with you and the surprises tonight?”

  The spy didn’t like them, and the very fact he hadn’t figured out Michael’s plans made him extremely happy. “Just enjoy the celebration. You’ll find out soon enough. Meet me in my office after I give Brigit hers.”

  The festivities were in full swing when the text he’d been waiting on finally came. In the drive, it read.

  On my go, he typed in response.

  When he looked up, Flynn was staring at him, eyes narrowed.

  It took a minute to round everyone up and squeeze them into the living room, the crowd falling into a hush as he took Brigit and led her to the tree. “I have a surprise for you.”

  She smiled, all red lips and a spark in her eyes, letting him know she was remembering their previous day’s activities in his office. “You do?”

  Nodding, he entered go into his phone and hit send. “Close your eyes.”

  Her smile growing bigger, the lights of the tree dancing in her gaze, she glanced around at their company. All eyes were on them, most returning her smile.

  Doing as he instructed, she closed her eyes and inhaled. “Okay, bring it on.”

  He heard the rear door open and close and Pongo barked, rushing from the room to greet their new visitors. A moment later, three men appeared, each nodding at Michael and the guests.

  Those who knew Truman offered silent greetings. The MI-5 agent returned them, grinning from ear to ear.