Hold on Tight (33 page)

He was too far into fight-or-flight mode to do anything else; he could smell the setup as surely as helo fuel. He’d done this dance too many times and it had never, ever looked like this before.

They went down hard, sliding into the co-pilot’s seat. The gun clattered from the suit’s hands and Cam stared into his eyes. It was the same man—always the same man, although he never spoke to Cam, had always pointed to the phone or the laptop where Cam would get his orders.

Cam wondered what this guy had done in his life to become Gabriel’s minion.

“We … talk …” the suit croaked while Cam kept his forearm across his throat. He wondered what his story would be—if he’d gain anything by letting the man speak his piece.

But the ache in his gut was swift and sudden as he remembered that he didn’t trust most people, especially strangers.

“I don’t talk to people who want to kill me.” As quickly and cleanly as possible, Cam shifted and put his hands on either side of the man’s head. A sharp twist to the right and the suit was gone, his eyes open, his stare as dead as he was.

But the fight wasn’t over yet.

Cam wouldn’t let the pilots take off with him inside, would rather free-fall out than be carried off, and they knew that—Cam had seen it in the brace of the co-pilot’s back the second he’d climbed on board—and as the man lunged, Cam was ready, even as the obviously well-trained man threw a nice left hook that caught Cam square on the jaw. The helo banked a hard left and Cam lost his footing for a second, hitting his head on a sharp piece of metal used to hold the hooks for the parachutes. The co-pilot also fell, and Cam was the quicker one up and at the ready, slamming his boot into the guy’s chest.

The man struggled, his hands around Cam’s ankle, but Cam’s footing was too strong. The co-pilot knew Cam was leaving alive and didn’t care who he took out in his wake.

“Who the hell sent you?” he asked, but neither man answered. “Where are you supposed to bring me?”

Again, nothing.

Cam didn’t know friends from enemies anymore in this game, the wilderness of mirrors that spooks and spies dealt with on a daily—and lifetime—basis. And as he stared between the man under his boot and the pilot, who held a gun in a shaky hand while he tried to wrestle the helo with the other, Cam told him, “My fight’s not with you.”

The man’s eyes held him for a second. Cam wondered if he’d been pressed into service as well or if he was flying this bastard bird of his own free will.

It didn’t matter—he didn’t have time to play savior now, not when he’d just committed suicide himself. “I’m out of here.”

He took his foot off the man’s chest, turned, and didn’t look back, wondered for a fleeting second if he’d get shot in the back, and then dropped out of the helo and onto the hard ground with a vicious slam. He curled in a ball as the bird rose, the wind buffeting him with a harsh hand as the stealth left him behind and headed back to report the incident to Gabriel.

As he stared after the helo, well after its lights disappeared, he wondered why they hell they hadn’t simply killed him on the ground when they’d had the chance—or while he was climbing up into the helo. When he was vulnerable.

What the hell did he know that made him worth something? What did Gabriel want from him?

After he’d wiped the blood off his hands and his face with snow, Cam hitched a ride with a trucker, got dropped off halfway up the mountain to Dylan’s house, and then ran the rest of the way, his bag slapping against his back, wind whipping his face—his heart beating so fast from stress and fear he was pretty damned sure it would rip from his chest.

Dylan opened the door as Cam pounded on it. He didn’t ask any questions, not even when Cam shoved him aside and slammed the door behind him to peer out the window.

He hadn’t been followed. He wouldn’t be—not tonight. Probably not tomorrow, but when he reported back into work, there could be consequences.

You’ve lived with the consequences for years—how much fucking worse could it be?

He felt empowered and freaked all at once.

“Did you crash?” Dylan asked finally.

Cam turned and spoke after he’d caught his breath. His hands were shaking. He’d never been like this on a mission before but this … this was personal. His life.

The words spilled out. “Gabriel sent a stealth bird—same kind, same suit waiting for me. He had a gun—there were restraints. I killed him and the helo took off with the dead guy and the pilots.”

“Breathe, man, breathe.” Dylan handed him a brandy; Cam gulped it down and then took another hit before he took the towel from him.

He stared at his friend. “They wanted intel from me—or else they could’ve killed me a thousand times over before I got on board. I’m done, Dylan. No way out.”

His friend didn’t say anything for a long moment, and then he got up and walked to a bookshelf. He pulled out a hardcover book and handed it to Cam. “Open to the back—the author.”

Cam did as Dylan asked, stared at the picture of a beautiful young woman named Skylar Slavin at the back of the thriller. “Are you setting me up with her? Because I don’t think I’m really dating material right now.”

“She’s Gabriel Creighton’s daughter, Cam. His only child. The only thing he cares about in this fucking world. Skylar Slavin’s the key to your future.”

Cam didn’t say anything, continuing to stare at the picture as the woman with the clear green eyes stared back at him. She wasn’t smiling; in fact, he’d have to say she looked slightly haunted.

But still, the woman had to have had a better life than him—had to have been loved and protected by her father. She was probably just like him, cold and cunning with a heart of steel.

“How long have you known about her?” Cam demanded. Dylan simply shrugged, that noncommittal kind he typically reserved for authority figures. Which was why he hadn’t lasted long in the military at all, but had somehow managed to get out with an honorable discharge and several medals of honor.

Fucking bastard.

“How long?” he asked again, this time with enough of an edge to his voice for Dylan to know this wasn’t the time to fuck around.

“Five months.”

“Five months? Five motherfucking months?” Nearly blind from rage, Cam leapt at his best friend in the world, ready to kill him as soon as he could wrap his hands around the man’s neck.

Dylan readied for him, but Cam was like a charging bull and knocked him to the ground hard. Dylan grunted as he attempted to roll Cam off him; when he couldn’t, he swung and punched Cam in the face a couple of times, opening the gash above his eye again.

“Fucking asshole,” Cam said through clenched teeth, the blood dripping into his eye and onto Dylan’s shirt. “You had something on Gabriel and you didn’t tell me?”

“Because you weren’t ready to hear it—to use it,” Dylan shouted, his breath coming in quick gasps because Cam was sitting on his chest, punching him anywhere he could.

He and Dylan were evenly matched, but not when Cam’s temper was riled with anything involving Gabriel Creighton. Then he ran on pure adrenaline, an anger machine.

“I found out after your last mission. It wouldn’t have changed the outcome. You always said … it was your fight. That I needed to … stay out of it. And … I did. For the most part. Jesus Christ, Cam—Gabriel was leaving you alone—and I didn’t want you to bring trouble on yourself you didn’t need.” Dylan took a stuttered breath while holding his rib cage. “I’m going to kill you if you broke my ribs.”

Cam leaned back on his elbows and tried to ignore the blood running from Dylan’s nose. It was running from Cam’s own mouth as well.

“Look, tonight, you made the move. There’s no turning back. If I told you about Gabriel’s kid earlier … I didn’t want you to do anything else that could weigh on your conscience. Didn’t want to give you a choice like that, didn’t want you to run off half-cocked and do something that really would land your ass in jail, for good this time.” Dylan fell back on the carpet heavily. “You weren’t ready until tonight. I know you, Cam. Now you’ve got no choice but to move forward out of hell.”

Cam let his head fall back and stared up at the high-beamed ceiling. Of course, Dylan was right, not that Cam would admit that to the man’s face, or in writing. Ever. Dylan liked to say that Cam had been born with an extra dose of conscience, while Dylan himself had skipped that line entirely when they were handing them out. Probably off getting laid somewhere, Dylan would say.

Dylan—the man who would never betray him, the one who knew him better than anyone.

“I’m sorry, man,” Cam breathed, his gaze still level with the ceiling instead of his friend’s face until he heard a crack and a small whimper—Dylan setting his own nose back in place. His friend would have two black eyes by morning. “So you want me to fuck with his family?”

“He fucked with yours, didn’t he?” Dylan’s eyes blazed. His friend was a fierce warrior and just as fiercely loyal when it came to Cam.

“I don’t have proof.” Cam’s jaw hurt from keeping it clenched, and both he and his friend knew that he had no way of getting any.

Gabriel Creighton had a lot of ways to kill a man. Cam’s father, just as many. But that Gabriel would kill Howie didn’t make sense. Pretending to help in the search for what happened to Howie kept Cam on the line just as effectively.

And still, the questions always lingered. He stared down at the photo on the book and Skylar stared back at him. “What the hell do I do, man—hold her hostage?”

“Yeah, for starters. Gabriel’s obviously kept her existence a secret for a reason, so tell him you’ll expose her as his daughter. Kidnap her. Seduce her and make her fall in love with you. Tell him you’ll kill her. And then be prepared to do that if it’s necessary.”

Cam stared at his friend. “Why the hell would I need to kill her?”

“If it comes down to you or her, it needs to be you. You have to be prepared to make any and every choice to take this all the way. Whatever gets the job done.”

Jesus, that made the already splitting pain starting in his head worsen. “What’s to stop him from throwing my ass in jail—or killing me?”

“He can’t, if he knows you and another person know about his daughter. Tell Gabriel that someone else knows who Skylar is. I’m your backup, your safety. Gabriel doesn’t know about me—he’ll only know that if you die, Skylar will never be safe. The two of you will come to a mutual agreement to live and let live.”

Dylan had been straddling the line for far too long, and yet Cam knew his friend was absolutely right. “I need a better plan. I need time.”

“You don’t have that. Once you threaten to expose her, it’s over. Besides, she’s kind of famous.”

Kind of, yes. He stared at her picture at the back of the book again and his stomach turned.

Like father, like daughter.

It was finally time. “How did you find out about this?”

Dylan sighed before he answered. Then: “I slept with someone. Broke into her files. And then she shot me, so I figured it was pretty damned important information.”

Jesus. Dylan cut it closer to the edge than ever. Never went by the same name twice; Cam wasn’t even sure what his real name was anymore. He’d met the man as Dylan Scott five years earlier—they’d served together in Delta for mere months before Dylan retired—and that’s the only name Cam would call him. Except
asshole
, and yeah, he’d called his friend that many times.

Dylan rattled off the name and address. “She’s on vacation for a week.” He paused. “Why don’t you let me take care of all this?”

It would be too easy to let Dylan do it, to take himself off the hook. He’d been passive in this situation for far too long, fighting to keep the street kid inside of him dead and buried, and his friend knew that better than anyone.

And still, Dylan was a good enough friend to make that offer.

“Thanks. But this is my fight. Always has been.” He despised Gabriel—would have no problem putting his hands around the man’s neck and squeezing tight, but slowly, so he could watch his struggle, the way Gabriel had been watching Cam struggle for years.

Payback would be fucking fantastic, to crush that bastard under his shoe, to watch everything he’d worked for crumble, like the soul-sucking little bitch he really was.

It was easy for Gabriel to sit back and fire orders, to have the ultimate power over Cam. Cam knew the man was nothing more than an empty, pathetic shell who took out his misery on other people. The world was full of sad little people like that, who reveled in what little power they had to make others feel as shitty as they did—but most people could only dream of getting revenge on their bosses.

Cam’s was a reality, and she was staring at him from the photograph.

Gabriel would always tell him,
You don’t get something for nothing
. Gabriel would finally learn the truth of those words at Cam’s hands.

And if the man didn’t comply, didn’t care enough about his flesh and blood, Cam would have to decide what he’d do next.