Exchange of Fire (2 page)

Two Weeks Later—Puebla, Mexico

Wraith sat in the humid two-bedroom apartment her team dubbed Command Central, frozen by the vision complete with soundtrack of horrified screams quickly replacing the sound of the bullet ejecting from her rifle. The fourteen-year-old’s face morphed from terror to shock as she crumpled to the floor. Wraith flinched and jolted herself out of the nightmare. She dashed away the tracks of tears lining her cheeks and stroked the pendant hanging from the chain of her necklace. The interlocking spiral of the three dragon heads symbolized strength, courage, and wisdom. Everything she and her team believed in, which is why they all wore matching necklaces.

Feeling a modicum of calm, she watched a fly buzz between a tarnished lamp and the window.
Bang.
The fly smashed its body against the glass, then back to the lamp for another circuit.
Bang. Bang.
Stupid thing just didn’t learn it couldn’t escape by bashing its head against the pane.

“Buddy, you need a plan,” she said softly. “No one’s going to let you out unless you make it happen yourself.”

The front door opened, and Wraith tore her gaze away from the fly’s hopeless plight to catch Romeo’s eyes. He shut the door with a definitive click and reengaged the locks. She used one of the many subscription plea cards to mark her place in the magazine on her lap and rolled it up. Grasping her empty water bottle, she followed her teammate into the kitchen.

Romeo yanked his sweat-soaked shirt over his head and dropped it on the rung of the cheap chair. The broad expanse of his bare back stretched as he leaned his body into the wide open refrigerator and sighed.

Even though her teammate’s too-fine physique did nothing for her libido, she rested her hip against the sink and appreciated the view. “Since you’re in there, can you grab me another water?”

Romeo stayed put another few seconds before straightening with two bottles in his hands. “Damn, it’s humid out there. I can actually feel the moisture clogging my lungs each time I take a breath.”

“You’re such a weakling. It may be humid, but overall, this has to be the most pleasant climate known to man. I don’t think it’s even made it to seventy-five degrees yet.”

“True, but I survive best in the cold, baby. You know that.” He downed a whole bottle, then opened the one she had assumed was hers. “Cappy and Talon still out scouting?”

“Yeah. You’re the first back. Magician’s still resting in our room.”

The plastic crinkled under Romeo’s tightening hand. His pupils flashed, and a blip of fury crossed over his godlike face, then disappeared as if it never happened.

Wraith waited him out, watching him chug the second bottle and toss it in the trash with the other.

He drew in a deep breath and speared her with his light brown eyes. “And you? How’re you doing? Because I know you sure as hell ain’t sleeping.”

Wraith shrugged. “What do you want me to say? That little girl’s last moment still haunts me. The look on her face as my bullet took her life is something I’ll never forget.”

Romeo moved into her space and rubbed his hands on her upper arms. “No. I wouldn’t expect you to forget, but you have to forgive yourself, Wraith. We got Sanchez.”

No thanks to me.
The compassion overtaking his features physically hurt her. He asked for the impossible. She could never forgive herself. That little girl had needed a savior, not the grim reaper. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. Damn it. She refused to break down; not when she was so close to her endgame. Wraith cleared her throat and blinked the tears into submission. “How was your venture out today?”

Romeo held her gaze a moment longer before he stepped back with a heavy sigh, dropping his arms. “It was successful.”

Wraith’s heart leapt.

“I wish you’d let me in.” Romeo swiped his fingers through his damp wavy brown hair. “Whatever you’re up to, I can help. Especially when it involves aging explosives.”

Wraith shook her head, her stomach tightening. “No. I know you’re our blow-shit-up expert, but you swore you wouldn’t ask any questions or interfere.”

Frustration filled his face. “Damn it, Wraith. What do you expect me to do? Hand you that large of a supply with a blank smile?”

“Yes. I’ve had training.” She crossed her arms. “I know what I’m doing. If I had the connections, I’d have done this myself.”

The muscle in Romeo’s jaw ticked.

Wraith stepped forward and poked him in his muscular chest. “Remember, you promised. I’m asking you to back off and keep your oath. Not a word to anyone—that includes the rest of the team. This whole conversation never happened. You were only out surveying the area where our intel states Sanchez’s brother, Carlos, is supposed to meet a new slave-supplier. Got it?”

His brown eyes searched hers.

She kept her face carefully blank.

“Urban myth, Wraith.
You
remember that.”

Not blank enough, I guess.
Wraith lifted her chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Romeo’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, yes you do. Just because no one’s successfully retired from SweetBriar Group in the last five years doesn’t mean you have to do something drastic. It’s an urban myth. You’ve got other choices.”

Wraith stayed silent. She had first met the other members of the team five years ago, after being recruited out of the FBI training program to work for SBG. The instant bond she had formed with the others helped get her through the rigorous training and sniper school with an environmental company that was really a front for a mercenary-style agency. With SBG’s freedom to maneuver around the red tape, the government became their biggest client. They even had the unofficial slogan of “Black Ops Without the Red Tape.” How pompous was that?

But urban myth or not, she didn’t trust SBG and wasn’t taking any chances.

He tapped a finger against his hip.

Don’t push. Please, don’t push.

Romeo’s fierce expression cleared and he opened his arms, enfolding her into a large hug. She closed her eyes and breathed in his familiar scent. Damn him for making this so hard.
This man was closer than a brother to her, a part of a team who were as much an extension of her as her right arm. To be without even one of them was hard to imagine, but they shouldn’t have to live with her pain, her failure anymore. She no longer had faith in her abilities and refused to jeopardize their safety on the next mission.

He placed a light kiss on top of her head, then whispered, “Love you, Wraith. You’re family to me.”

She painfully swallowed a lump in her throat.
Oh, God. Don’t lose it now. Stay strong!

Romeo stepped back, his expression all business, as if he hadn’t ripped her heart out and served it on a guilt platter.

“I’ve got the stuff you wanted stashed,” he announced abruptly. Then proceeded to describe in detail where to find everything and even refreshed her memory on how the explosives successfully worked. The entire time, she kept threatening her eyes and throat with violence if they didn’t stop clogging. Criminy, she was going to miss this man.

“Can you tell everyone I went out to clear my head and scout the area for the best shot?” Wraith rushed to say. She needed to get out of here before she changed her mind. “I’m taking my rifle with me and will already be in position when you guys show up.” She made it to the edge of the kitchen, then turned. “Go ahead and report whatever you see like normal tonight.”

“As you wish.”

She tightened her grip on the magazine and walked out.

***

Wraith picked up her spotting scope, needing to see more of the scene than her narrowed focus through the rifle would show. The sickly yellow bulbs in the warehouse before her weren’t worth the energy they sucked. Two men stood in the center of the empty room looking jaundiced under the light with a smattering of bodyguards poised loosely on either side.

“Carlos and the prospective supplier are still chatting,” Wraith reported into her throat mic. “One is texting while the other appears to be scrolling through his phone.”

“Check,”
Cappy responded into her earpiece.
“Magician, any more intel on the supplier yet?”

Wraith’s heart constricted at the thought of her teammate locked securely in the van a few blocks away. Magician had yet to describe what she’d gone through, but her condition after the rescue . . . To say it wasn’t pretty would be a major understatement. But she refused to stay behind in Command Central.

“Uh, Cappy,”
Romeo’s tinny voice answered instead.
“We’ve got a situation.”

“Report,”
Cappy commanded.

“I’ve found IEDs spread throughout the foundations of all the surrounding buildings.”

“Stable?”

“Negative. Whoever rigged these had only adequate training, and the explosives they used are old.”

“Detonator?”
Cappy continued.

“Cell phone.”

“Fuck,”
Talon summed up the mood.

“Everyone, abort,”
Cappy announced.
“Switch to plan B. We’ll follow them when they leave and abduct them on safer ground. Move to your new positions.”

“Check,”
Wraith responded along with the others, then peered back through the scope. Steady, discreet movement on the ground confirmed the team’s retreat as ordered. She counted to two hundred in her head, then took a deep breath, choking on the sob lodged in her throat.
It’s better this way. They’ll be able to pass SBG’s interrogation truthfully.

She blew the air out as tears slid down her cheeks and activated her throat mic.
“Cappy, I’ve been made.”

“Wraith, get out of there now!”
her Commanding Officer shouted in her ear.

“Wraith, no!” “Get out!”
Romeo and Talon yelled at once.

She closed her eyes as the roar of the explosion deafened her eardrums and the concussion slammed her into the rooftop.

Five Months Later—Ridge Creek, North Carolina

Ding. Ding. Ding.
The yellow light on top of the Skee-Ball machine twirled, illuminating its celebration throughout the dimly lit room.

“I believe that’s my third perfect score, Zach,” Sandra Walsh crowed to the college-age kid beside her. “So what’s it going to be, mister?”

The small crowd of employees gathered behind them in Gradwick Adventure Center cheered and laughed, egging their coworker on to challenge his boss to another game.

They must like seeing their friend lose.
Sandra loved the easy camaraderie the staff had with one another.

The building was already closed for the night, but that didn’t stop the staff from hanging in the large arcade section to watch their match.

Zach grinned, his white teeth orthodontic-straight. “I concede.” He held his hands up in surrender to the guffaws of the peanut gallery. “What are my choices again?”

“Either covering Todd’s shift tomorrow night or—”

“Or covering Todd’s shift tomorrow night,” a deep male voice drawled from just behind her.

Sandra’s heart ratcheted up a notch at the familiar, sexy Carolina intonation. Casper Grady. Delicious owner of the entertainment center and her direct boss. Her pulse thumped at his sudden arrival, and she had to catch her lips before they broke into a sappy grin—like all the other women who were in his presence. She casually turned and feasted her eyes on six feet, three inches of pure masculine male with short sun-kissed hair. His biceps bulged at his crossed-arms pose, and his feet were spread to support his strong physique.
Marines: It does a body good.

Stop that!

“You’re being too soft on Zach, offering him a choice,” Grady said.

“Hey,” Zach exclaimed. “How was I supposed to know Sandra had freakishly good aim?”

“Really?” Grady laughed, dropping his arms.

Goose bumps raced along her skin at the easygoing sound.
Shit. I’m in trouble.

“You didn’t learn that lesson from Todd, who lost to her two weeks ago and had to help us with inventory?” Grady asked, moving until the sleeve of his green polo with the company logo brushed her shoulder—the very sleeve that hugged against his muscles. “Or from Marcie, who tried to get out of restocking the merchandise counter last week?”

Zach’s face reddened. “I thought they were flukes.”

Sandra glanced at the Skee-Ball machines. “I’m thinking it wouldn’t have mattered.” Her score was four hundred fifty, while his was only two-forty. “Maybe you should’ve asked for a different game.”

“Jeez, dude,” Zach’s best friend called. “That was pitiful. You need to get out from behind the prize counter and upstairs to the laser tag floor. A solid match should help restore your manhood.”

“Working a Friday and now a Saturday night,” Zach grumbled, shaking his head. “Gena’s not going to like me canceling on her again.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you accepted Sandra’s challenge,” Grady replied. Sandra could almost feel the vibrations from his voice dancing along her body. His arm grazed against hers, sending electric jolts soaring through her system as he positioned his hands on his hips. Every time they were in the same room, he somehow managed to physically touch her without ever appearing to purposely physically touch her. Player skill set? Most definitely, but she couldn’t seem to work up any anger over it. She secretly liked every accidental bump they had.

Warning bells clanged in the back of her mind.
It’s time to move on
chanted over and over in her brain, sapping the carefree joy of the moment. Her heart rebelled with,
I don’t want to go. Wraith doesn’t exist here. I finally found a home.

Dead operatives who assassinate their victims don’t get a home. They get a life on the run,
her mind countered.
She had to squash the urge to give her conscience the finger.

The first six weeks after she had escaped Mexico she had lived in constant fear of discovery. Always questioning every move she made, even when she
knew
she had done everything she could to cover her tracks. Once she landed the job at Gradwick, she almost couldn’t handle it. Her conscience kept plaguing her with the question: Why should she get to live a carefree life when the little girl she killed would never have the opportunity? But over time she had learned to loosen up and embrace the gift of a second chance at happiness.

A heavy weight draped across her shoulders, ripping her from the tormented argument happening more and more frequently lately. Her ear bobbed against Grady’s meaty chest as he pulled her toward him, shaking her. “Hey, Earth to Sandra. You going to accept or stand there gazing at the line of car racing consoles?”

“Accept?”

The crowd of employees laughed.

“Told you she wasn’t listening,” Zach boasted, his good-natured attitude back in place.

Grady squeezed her arm. A whiff of his cologne, musky and rugged, wafted her way, and she couldn’t help inhaling the scent. It definitely captured the essence of him and reinforced one of the many reasons why she hadn’t left the small town in the Blue Ridge Mountains behind.
Idiot.

“Not listening, tuning you all out,” she gamely replied. “Whatever works.”

Grady snorted and dropped his arm. She missed the warmth at its sudden absence. “Let me recap our obviously non-riveting conversation.” He shifted to face her. “Zach brought up a good point about your dead-to-rights aim.”

Her stomach started to sink. “Oh?”

“I haven’t seen that kind of accuracy since I left the Marines.”

The organ plummeted to her knees and she waved a damp hand. “A little bit of skill and a whole lot of luck.”

His gorgeous face simulated a serious expression, but the pair of crystal-blue eyes twinkling down at her belied his solemn tone. “You aren’t by any chance a secret champion bowler, are you? You holding out on us?”

She choked on the lump of bile that had shot back down her throat, laughing in a high, false tone to cover her pounding heart. Relief poured through her at the unexpected direction of his question. She thought for sure she had given something away.

“Bowler?” Zach’s best friend bellowed. “Nah, it’d be cooler if she was a secret agent in hiding.”

Sandra blinked. The lights from all the games surrounding them blurred, and the purple and black splashes in the carpet seemed to meld together.
Fuckety fuck fuck.

“You play too many video games, man,” a different voice called from the group, soliciting another round of laughter.

The group traded insults and jokes about the absurdity of Sandra being a secret agent bowler until somehow they ramped up the profession to a secret agent sniper. Damn television and movies warping their young minds. What the hell did she do now? Spots dotted her vision, and the sounds from the machines drilled into her ears.

“A female sniper? Get serious,” some deep voice rebutted derisively.

“I’ll have you know,” Grady waded in on the discussion, “that some of the best snipers are women.”

God, this man is perfect.
She’d known a few Marines in her old life who were pompous assholes, spouting how women only belonged in administrative jobs, leaving the real fighting to the men. To hear this former Marine state a woman could be better than a man in a male-dominated field with no ego whatsoever made her heart thump for a different reason and helped dispel her fear of discovery.

She lifted her gaze off the floor and found Grady’s head cocked, watching her.

“No answer to the charge of being a champion bowler secret agent sniper, eh?” he asked, the twinkle still gleaming in his eyes. He clapped a palm onto her shoulder and gave a little push. She reluctantly allowed him to guide her across the expansive room, around several rows of games to the line of machines against the wall she had managed to avoid the past few months. Blue, black, green, and red guns were lined up in their various holsters, waiting for eager customers to face off against whatever computer-generated foes sprung up on the screen.

At the sight, the dampness in her palms reared to life and her pulse beat a double-time cadence. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from the plastic Berettas, rifles, shotguns, and semiautomatic hybrids.

Grady motioned to the machine in the middle of the row. “I want to see if your aim translates just as well to this type of game.”

Sandra’s eyes strayed to the black-and-red Silent Scope console, its black sniper rifle perched like a taunting bastard on its base. She shuddered at the memories trying to commandeer her brain. With supreme effort she forced herself to look away and buried the image of the little girl’s chest blooming with the same colors.

Her eyes roved over her surroundings out of habit and didn’t miss that every single employee had followed them over here. Figures. She forced a small laugh and stepped out of his reach. “No, thanks. I’m beat for the night, and besides, we still have to finish closing the center.”

“One game won’t take that long. Do I need to formally challenge you to a shooting match at Lethal Enforcers II?”

A hush fell over the murmuring crowd, and every eye focused on her.

Shit. It wasn’t like she could admit she’d vowed to never pick up a gun again. That would invite too many questions she couldn’t answer.
Come on, think.
Channel your new persona, Sandra, not Wraith.

“Nah,” she finally answered, shrugging to cover the trembling in her body. “Shooting games are too violent. I prefer Skee-Ball or the driving games.”

“Uh-huh,” Grady answered, his full lips turned down at the corners.

“I really should go, Grady,” Sandra said, taking a step back. “I’ve got a ton of paperwork to finish before I leave, and the employees need to complete their checklists before they go.”

As if choreographed, the crowd dispersed, heading back to their sections throughout the humongous building. Just like she’d hoped they would.

She maneuvered around Grady, praying he’d get the hint she was done discussing video games and possible links to her past. In the round mirror mounted at the ceiling, she caught him watching her leave. Thankfully, just as he moved to follow her, one of the young girls who worked in the central eatery intercepted him. Sandra could have hugged the girl for her perfect timing on the distraction.

Ominous warning bells clattered in her head again, while statements like
You gotta move on
warred loudly with
But that means I’ll never see him again
. Sandra rubbed her forehead. Maybe on her day off tomorrow she’d figure out what the hell to do.