Mark (In the Company of Snipers Book 2) (15 page)

“He said we never forget the people we’ve lost, but we have to keep on living. Jon’s gone, but I want to keep living, Mark.” She rose up on her toes. He met her halfway and kissed her gently, stealing her breath with that soft contact. The house was full of people, but all she felt was his lips on hers, and his hands anchored at her waist. She circled her arms around his neck, happy with whatever he had in mind.

Someone’s cell phone rang.

“Darn,” he growled when she broke the kiss. “I was enjoying that.”

“Me, too,” she admitted happily.

They joined the others in the kitchen. Libby snuggled with her back to Mark, his arm draped casually around her neck. For all she had been through, the day couldn’t have a better ending. Mark was going to stay with her. Somehow, they would find a way to be together. Nothing could upset the calm in her heart. Nothing.

Alex turned all business when he hung up his phone. “Listen up. Mother tracked Castor. He’s headed north with a dozen accomplices. Looks like our Russian friends have been busy. They’re driving some heavy rigs.”

Kelsey had come to his side after the phone call, her arm around his waist. He looked down into her face. “Sorry, sweetheart. We fly out to tonight.”

Libby caught the tender look in his eye. These two older people were very much in love. It showed. They shared a bond that seemed to answer questions still unasked. It happened in the intimate twinkle in his eye. Alex had just poured love all over his wife, and she had silently returned it in the light of her smile and a pat of her hand on his chest.

“At least I’ll have Mark and Libby for company,” Kelsey answered. “We’ll be okay.”

Libby blushed. She wanted the same with – wait.
Mark? But he already looks at me like that.
She leaned against him to test her conclusion. Instantly he pulled her close, his hand at her waist and his hips bumping her backside.

“Change of plans.” Alex nodded at Mark. “Get your gear. Roy and Murphy will stay with the ladies. You’re coming with me.”

No! Libby cringed. What?

Alex frowned. “Have you had any sleep lately?”

“A couple days ago.” Mark shrugged, tightening his hold on Libby.

“Well, you can sleep on the flight. It’s a couple hours, but it’s better than nothing. We leave in an hour. And Mark.”

“Yes, Boss?”

“I’ve got an extra shaving kit in the bathroom. First drawer by the sink.” Alex glanced down the hallway. “Get that dirt off your face.”

Libby heard Mark’s quiet grunt. Without another word, he pulled her down the hall with him. Just as well. She needed some time with this guy if he was leaving.

Darn that Alex.

“You’re boss has a lot of nerve,” Libby grumbled.

“He does.” Mark pulled the extra shave kit out of the drawer and turned on the hot water tap.

The bathroom was much larger than Libby expected. A sunken tub stood out like a masterpiece beneath the frosted window, and surrounded by black tiled floor and walls like it was. An elegant vanity and matching chair, a glassed-in shower stall, and a commode completed the setting. Kelsey had decorated with seashells and peach-colored candles around the tub. Black towels were folded and ready for use at the edge of the tub. It was a very romantic setting, not that Libby would need it now that Mark was leaving.

Darn that Alex.

She made herself comfortable at the vanity, still mentally cussing. First Alex used Mark like some kind of a chew toy for his dogs, and then he ruined her plans for time alone with her friend, who she hadn’t seen in a very long time. How messed up was that? Who does this guy think he is, anyway? Just because Mark works for him does not mean—

Mark stripped his shirt over his head.

Oh, my heck.

Her animosity toward Alex fled.

Libby’s heart stopped. She’d never been alone with Mark like this before, not with him half-naked, incredibly sexy and—

Oh, my heck. He’s ripped.

He focused on his reflection in the mirror. She focused on him.

Standing with his legs spread, he leaned over the sink and applied shaving cream. Camouflaged pants hung loosely off narrow hips, leaving the black waistband of his briefs exposed and a very nicely sculpted portion of his abdomen, too. She knew the proper term for those very handsome muscle groups, the rectus abdominus—the paired muscles running vertically on each side of his abdomen. Every student nurse knew the biology of how the tendinous intersections separated the rectus abdominus into what was popularly called a six-pack, or an eight-pack, or an –
oh, my gosh.

She licked her lips. A thin line of hair trailed between those perfectly aligned muscles, past his navel to where those same muscles narrowed to a V. And beyond.

Libby wiggled, all at once aware of another ache in her body.

When he lifted his razor to take that first swipe, the muscles on his back rippled alongside his spine. A set of two dog tags hung off a simple beaded chain around his neck. Strong shoulders led to equally sculpted biceps and forearms. This man worked out. It showed.

Gradually, he scrapped his chin clean. The chiseled corner of his jaw appeared. When he tilted his head back, Libby watched the razor skim up and over his Adam’s apple. She caught herself wanting to taste that handsome neck, to run her tongue over that freshly shaved chin. Her fingers itched to bury themselves in his dark hair, and to lace around his ears as she pulled him into her body, and—

“You’re cute.” He winked at her in the mirror.

She blushed. He’d caught her mimicking his actions. Every time he’d moved his lips to the left to shave, so did she. To the right, she had followed suit. She scrunched her shoulders and smiled, afraid her very carnal intentions showed.

With one last swipe up his neck, he rinsed the razor and set it on the edge of the sink. She was off the chair and in his arms before he could reach for the towel.

“I like this.” She stroked his clean-shaven face with both hands, her body stretched sensually against his. “I like this a lot.”

His smoky gaze spiked another surge of heat through her. Placing her hands on his wet face, she kissed him while he held her tight. This was no little kiss of impulse though. She meant it with every ounce of strength and desire she had. He smelled of shaving cream. His lips, warm and gentle against hers, melted her sorrow away, and a few inhibitions, too.

He took half a step back to steady his balance. “Hey,” he breathed hotly into her face. “I think there’s some people waiting for us.”

“I have something to tell you,” she said before she changed her mind. The hole in her soul demanded filling.

He leaned back to look into her eyes. “I’m listening.”

She took a deep breath and bared her soul in a hurried rush. “It broke my heart when you left Spencer last time. I didn’t want you to go.”

His tender smile was all the encouragement she needed.

“And I ....” She drew in another breath.
Do I tell him? Do I say the words? Dare I? Is it too soon?

Before she could finish, he picked her up, turned around, and deposited her on the counter by the sink. Now she was sitting, her dress hiked up in a very un-lady like fashion, and her pantyhose exposed to her hips. He looked down at her, his eyes hooded and darker than she had ever seen before. Her heart thudded when he placed a hand on each of her knees and stepped between them, effectively pushing her dress up higher and her legs further apart.

She gulped.
Yes. It’s time.

“Still listening,” he growled.

“I love you, Mark,” she whispered breathlessly. “I know it’s too early. I know I should wait for a year … for awhile. I can’t. I don’t want you to leave me. I love you so much.”

Well, if that didn’t sound needy, nothing did. She cringed. All she needed was a box of stationary to make it complete.
Ugh.

His eyes lit up at her words. “Now it’s my turn.”

Gently, his hands moved up her thighs, over the wrinkled hem of her dress, claiming every inch of her along the way. By the time his fingers cupped her backside, she had turned into a quivering mass of desire. He had to have been able to hear the blood pounding in her veins. His eyes arrowed straight to her heart before his words did.

“I’ve always loved you, Libby.” His deep voice rumbled over her.

Zing.
The gentle tapping she had felt on her shoulder a year ago was nothing compared to the noisy
YES
she heard now.
This is the one. Pay attention.

He did not hesitate or ask permission this time when his lips covered hers, crushing her mouth in passion. Libby poured her heart into that kiss, and Mark matched her breath by ragged breath. She had never tasted anything sweeter. The door to her heart was kicked open.
He wants me. He’s always loved me.

Her heart soared through the ceiling and clear up to the stars. There was no way to get enough. She wanted every part of him, and she didn’t care if they were in someone else’s bathroom.

Fire surged up from her legs, clenching her belly with need. Feverishly, she worked the snap and zipper to his pants, afraid she might spontaneously combust if she waited another second. Her dress hiked up higher, and one thing she knew for sure. All her spandex had to go!

“Libby.” He clutched her against his bare chest, wrapping her so tightly she couldn’t continue undressing him, but that was okay, too. She was happy to be plastered against this man. It gave her a moment to relish the sensations storming her starving heart. Judging by the hammering going on inside his chest, he wanted the same thing. She wiggled against him, planting nibbles and kisses on the skin she could reach.

Ah! He tastes good.

Mark straightened with an audible groan, exactly what she expected to hear. The sheer mass of his body added more fuel to the fire. Her feminine libido turned into a determined beast. She wanted him. Now. On the floor. Over the counter. In the tub. It was all good. Better. Best!

When her fingers dove under the waistband of his briefs, he caught her wrist and held her tight. With one hand splayed between her shoulder blades, he pulled her tightly against him again and imprisoned her. She arched against him, her hips nearly off the counter.

“I’m not going to take you in here.” He shuddered, still working to catch his breath.

Not now? Not me?
She groaned, her physical need painfully urgent.

“I love you too much.” His hot breath scorched her neck as her brain kicked back into logic mode. “You deserve more.”

She stilled.
No I don’t. Don’t make me wait.
As ready as she was, it was hard to slow the freight train of her desire. She took several slow breaths, listening to his heart pound exactly like hers.
Maybe I can change your mind.

He tipped her face up until they were looking into each other’s eyes. The man gazing down at her was the same honorable Mark. Even now, he had taken a step back and blew out a measured breath. She licked her lips again, hoping he wasn’t in any more control than she was. He tugged her dress over her legs again and smoothed the wrinkles.

She caught his hands, knowing exactly what he was doing. He was putting her back together, keeping her presentable, and breathing hard, but definitely not stealing her virtue.

Darn it anyway.

“No,” she whined.

“We will have our first time together.” He leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. “I promise you that. I am coming back soon and—”

Her heart stopped. She’d heard those words before.

“No. Really, Libby.” He peered worriedly into her face as if he had read her mind. “This op shouldn’t take more than a day or two. Murphy and Roy will keep you safe. We’ll get these cartel guys, and I’m coming back for you. I promise.”

She stared at him, her heart barely calmed from throwing herself at him. Here she was doing it all over again, putting her faith on the line for a man who was going off to battle. This time felt different. The man was Mark. He wasn’t telling her what he thought she wanted to hear. He meant it. Didn’t he?

“You promise?” There was that needy tone again.
What is wrong with me?

“I promise, Libby,” he whispered earnestly, fumbling in his pants pocket. “Here. Keep these for me while I’m gone.”

She took the keys he offered. One looked like a door key, the other a car key.

“Your keys?” she smirked.

His eyes widened in shock as he pinched the car key between his thumb and index finger. “They’re not just keys. This is the key to my ‘69 Camaro.”

He looked so endearing. The way he had emphasized Camaro made it sound like he’d entrusted her with his child.

“So, where is it?” She stilled her wanton side and let him think he had won. For now.

His eyes widened again, this time in a smile. He pinched the other key. “It’s locked up nice and safe behind garage door number 18C at my apartment. Maybe Roy and Murphy can take you over there while I’m gone. Go ahead. Drive it. You’d like it.”

“What color is it?”

“Black. Of course.”

How could she resist? His eyes were filled with a boyish charm that only added more fuel to her desire. There was no deceit on his handsome face, only the wide-open smile of a man in love.

“And here.” He pulled his dog tags over his head. In two seconds flat, he’d slid the keys onto the same chain and secured it around her neck. “Now you have everything I own,” he said quietly.

“I do?”

He nodded, his forehead pressed to hers. “My home. My car. And my heart.”

“They what? When? Stupid fools!”

Mark caught the drift of tension when Alex stepped away to take a call. They’d barely flown into Chicago’s O’Hare Airport. He hadn’t realized they were headed to Wisconsin until they’d left the Stewart residence. Apparently, Alex hadn’t wanted to alarm Libby.

Crowds of passengers stormed the baggage carousel. He watched for their weapons cases and ammo cases. Flying with firearms always meant extra restrictions and preparation, but he took no chances. The sooner this gear was out of the public’s reach the better off he’d feel. If only he knew what his boss was ranting about.

“We need to get to Spencer. Now.” Alex stuffed his cell phone into his pocket, grim and focused as he jerked his overnight case off the carousel, grabbed his rifle case and turned toward the exit. “Castor and his friends blew through the safe house.”

“What are you saying?” Mark stepped to his boss’s side.

“I mean they blew it up. Damned FBI only had two agents there. Both are dead. Zack thinks one of Libby’s sisters might’ve been killed, too.”

God, no.
Fear clutched Mark’s throat. “Are Jon’s parents okay?”

“You know as much as I do,” Alex snapped.

“But how could this happen?”

“Because the damned Bureau is so buried in political bullshit, they can’t do anything right. Nothing like this would’ve happened if you guys had been there.” Alex cursed all the way to the tarmac and their next ride, a private jet that would get them into the airport at Eau Claire. From there, it was less than an hour to Spencer.

Mark couldn’t think. This turn of events was going to kill Libby. Zack had to be wrong.

“You see why I needed you here?” Alex fumed as they flew northward. “I need my best snipers.”

The Gulfstream ate up the miles. Before long they’d secured a rental vehicle, a roomy Yukon that would hold all their gear. Mark expected a war zone when they screeched up the long gravel driveway to the Clifton farm. It was strangely quiet. Alex’s cell phone rang. Mark listened to Zack’s loud voice in Alex’s ear.

“Boss, you gonna get your dumb ass in here or you gonna hang around for midnight target practice?”

Mark stopped in his tracks. Zack just called the boss what? But Alex did not react like Mark expected. Instead, they ran for the open front door. Zack slammed it shut behind them There were no lights inside the farmhouse, just the dim shape of Libby’s father, Jerry, crouched at the open window, his rifle in hand.

“Sit rep,” Alex demanded when he cleared the doorway.

“Nothing in sight. The Russians took out both FBI helicopters just outside of town. We saw the explosions from the upstairs windows. We know they’re coming and they’ve got rocket launchers. Get ready.” Zack took position at the other open window. “It sure feels like I’m back in Iraq all of a sudden. You heard from Mother yet?”

“Not yet,” Alex snapped. “She can’t get a decent answer from the FBI anyway.”

“Weren’t they the ones who told us a couple dozen Russians entered the states?” Zack asked.

“They’re also the ones who lost ‘em.” Alex muttered while he strapped his thigh holster on. “Let’s do this right. You guys know what to do.”

“You find your girlfriend already?” Zack asked Mark.

“Yeah,” Mark nodded, thankful Libby was far away from this warzone. He pulled his custom made, bolt action, .308-caliber rifle from its travel case and loaded the pockets of his cargo pants with ammo. Zack and Alex sported the same weapon, standard issue for every member of The TEAM. Individual handguns might be allowed, but not tactical rifles. “She’s safe in Alexandria.”

“That my baby girl?” Jerry asked. The fear in his eye confirmed it. He’d lost a daughter tonight.

“Yes, sir,” Mark answered gently.

“Well, good.” Jerry turned back to the window. “Least she’s safe.”

The cell phone on Alex’s belt rang. He turned the speakerphone on so everyone could hear Mother.

“Boss, we’ve got you on satellite feed. You’ve got two bogeys headed your way, more behind the barn. Also watching two smoking vehicles down the road from your position. FBI said they would send agents to assist. If that’s who was in that car, you can assume you will no longer receive that support.”

“Got it.” He clipped the phone back onto his belt. “You heard the lady. FBI support is gone. Zack, eyes on the front. Jerry, take the road. Mark and I are going to intercept.”

Anger flashed in his eye. “Where the hell is Libby’s mother?”

“In the fruit cellar. Where do you think?” Jerry barked. “I’m not losing my wife, too.”

“Can she shoot?”

“Course she can shoot.”

“Then get her a gun. We need everyone we’ve got.”

“This is my house, and that’s my wife, you—”

“Jerry!” Rosemary appeared at the doorway with a double-barrel shotgun across her arms, her blond hair braided at the back of her head. She had heard the exchange. Red-eyed and angry, she might have been shaken up by the news of her daughters, but she was not incapacitated.

“It’s good to see you again,” she said when she faced Mark. Clifton determination glittered in her eye. Man, she looked like Libby.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, hating the useless words.

Jerry scowled and turned away, but she nodded, fighting tears. “There’ll be time for crying later,” she said in a stronger voice than Mark expected. “Now let’s give these Russians something to remember Spencer by.”

“Libby’s safe.” He offered the only comfort he had.

Rosemary gulped. “I know. I stopped worrying about her the second Alex called and said he’d sent you to find her.”

The evidence was stacking up. There might be hope for Alex after all.

Zack interrupted, waving Rosemary over to where he knelt by the window. “Get on over here, Mrs. Clifton. You can help me cover the front. You got enough shells?”

He’d barely finished speaking when the swoosh-bang of a rocket-propelled grenade hit the concrete front porch steps, blasting against the stone foundation, but not entering the home. Zack pulled her into his side, shielding her with his body as the windows shattered over their heads. Glass sprayed everywhere. Mark and Alex crouched behind the furniture to avoid getting hit. Flames licked the wooden porch, casting an eerie orange glow through the windows.

When Mark looked up again, Jerry and Rosemary both had their rifles pointed out the broken windows.

“Damn terrorists,” Zack muttered, peering through his scope across the lawn.

“How many?” Alex asked.

Jerry’s gun roared.

“Was two.” Zack raised his eyebrows at his new shooting partners. He took a steadying breath, aimed, and—

BLAM. Rosemary got off a shot.

Zack glanced over his shoulder at Alex. “Now there’s none. I think we got it covered in here. You two be careful.”

Jerry looked up from his firing position to Mark. “You give ‘em hell for me, will you son?”

“Yes, sir, I intend to.” Mark turned away to do exactly that.

Quietly, he shouldered his rifle and followed Alex out the backdoor, across the back lawn, and past the rear of Jerry’s two-car garage. They crept alongside the greenhouse until they could duck in between the barbed wire fencing that surrounded the cornfield that ran north of the house and the barn.

Concealment was easy in the densely tasseled stalks in the dark. In another week, Jerry would be harvesting the crop as silage for his dairy herd. Tonight it was pure camouflage with enough room between the rows that a man could easily maneuver through it. The fire at the house masked what little noise they were making in the field.

“We stop them right here.” Alex dropped to the ground once the front of the house came into view.

Mark grimaced. What a sad sight to see the tidy front porch with its comfy wicker furniture now turned to smoking shambles. It hadn’t been too long ago when he had sat there enjoying an evening with the Cliftons. Now this.

He dropped alongside his boss to take a solid position. Two men in fatigues were dragging the bodies of the men Jerry and Rosemary had shot back toward the barn. Nine more men in military style uniforms crept closer to the house with two RPG launchers and a couple small wooden crates.

“They’re going to shell the house,” Alex muttered.

“Not tonight,” Mark breathed.

“You got any tracer rounds?”

“Always.”

Mark rolled to his side, traded the standard rounds in the detachable box magazine for tracers and resumed a firing position. If he hit true, one hot round would light these jokers up. Back on his belly, he took careful aim. A soldier normally used tracers to assist with course corrections while firing on his enemy. The pyrotechnic charge in the base of a tracer burned white-hot, making the bullets visible to the naked eye, day or night. The problem with that scenario was it also revealed the location of the shooter, so a sniper deep undercover did not normally use tracers. Tonight was an exception to that rule.

“You need a spotter?” Alex asked quietly.

“No, sir, ah, I mean, Boss. Not at this distance.” Mark steadied his weapon and quieted his nerves. This was his God-given talent. He didn’t need a spotter for what came natural. The night sky sparkled with stars. He drew on that celestial solitude and the knowledge of a certain young woman waiting for him in Virginia as he centered his mind.

“I’ll take the four at the rear,” Alex whispered.

Mark drew in a final calming breath. Held it. Sighted one of the wooden crates. Fired. The ordnance in the crates reacted perfectly to the tracer round, exploding upwards and out, taking a few bad guys with it. He fired again. Within seconds, six Russians lay dead. Another thrashed, injured and cursing. Two fled to safety behind the barn.

“Leave him.” Alex nodded toward the injured man. “Let’s move.”

Good call. Mark was all for that. Helping the enemy could wait ‘til the battle was over.

They pushed out of the dirt and paralleled the fleeing men. Russian central seemed to be behind Jerry’s red dairy barn. Bingo. Three heavy trucks were parked against the stone foundation, tailgates down, and boxes and weapons haphazardly placed on the ground. Propane lanterns cast an eerie bluish glow over another dozen men milling around the trucks. The sound of angry argument made its way to where Alex and Mark crouched watching.

“You seeing this?” Mark made himself comfortable in the soft dirt, his feet spread out behind him, his belly to the ground, and his rifle set to engage. He squinted into his scope, surprised he was facing an army in the middle of dairy country. “I count fourteen on their feet, two on the ground, another one in the truck.”

“Right. Seventeen.” Alex focused through his rangefinder. “More crates, too. Looks like RPG’s are these guys’ weapon of choice.”

“Yep. Got ‘em. Same as last time.” Mark glanced at Alex. “RPG-7s again. What the hell is going on? These are Russian made grenades. These guys didn’t come for a couple bricks of opium, Boss. This is a well-equipped army.”

“Won’t matter. Hit the warheads,” Alex muttered. “One shot and they’re history.”

“Then let’s make history.” Mark sighted in the crates at the rear of the truck. It was an easy shot until one of the Russians stood up with a launcher on his shoulder.

Mark held his breath. The man stood the full-length of the barn away from him, but someone else had caught Mark’s attention. RPG guy stood listening to the man inside the truck.

Truck Guy appeared to be furiously working something on his lap, barely looking up as he talked with RPG Guy and shook his head.

RPG Guy yelled something in Russian.

Truck Guy shook an adamant, ‘No.’

“Do you see that guy in the truck, Boss? Can you see what he’s doing?”

Alex peered through his rangefinder. He lay to the side of Mark, and hopefully, he could see through the open truck door to see what Truck Guy was really doing. “My hell. He’s on a laptop. He’s their Mother.”

“Or he’s listening to someone just like her.”

Mark and Alex looked at each other at the same time.

“They’ve got eyes and ears on us,” Alex hissed.

“Won’t be the first time.” Mark zeroed in on the box of ordnance. Live by the RPG; die by the RPG. It was time for a personal payback for Faith.

Alex fed him a second-by-second play. “The guy is angry with RPG man. He’s shaking his head. We’re made. Grenades and gunfire headed our way.”

“Ah huh,” Mark replied softly. Made or not, he was taking this shot. He had one chance only. Of all those crates on the ground, he had to hit the one full of warheads.

RPG Guy jerked the launcher onto his shoulder while the rest of the troops turned to the cornfield and hunkered down or crouched to fire. All hell broke loose. Mark heard the whir of bullets hitting too close and personal in the furrow around him. Alex fired again and again without a single word, laying down cover and giving Mark time. Men fell.

Mark whispered as he squeezed the trigger. “This is for Faith.”

With a single crack of thunder, his shot interrupted the Russian assault. Blistering fire and smoke enveloped RPG Guy, along with Truck Guy and several others standing too close to the kill zone. The men not hurt in the explosion flattened into the ground to protect themselves from flying debris.

An ammo dump style fireworks show with live rounds of killer bees zinged into and over the Russian troops. The warheads exploded in a deafening roar throwing more burning wreckage into the air. Men scrambled for safety, but as soon as they recovered their wits, they turned and began firing on Mark and Alex once more.

“Reminds me of my last job,” Mark muttered as he loaded another magazine. Live rounds still flashed. Nonetheless, between him, Alex, and the fire, the Russians were no longer a force to be reckoned with. All were on the ground.

Alex rolled to his back and rang Mother, the cell phone pressed between both hands to conceal the glow of the screen. “Tell me what you’re seeing,” he whispered. A second of silence ensued. “Good. Keep track of them.”

He snapped the phone shut and pointed east to the field of oats behind the barn. “Two fleeing on foot that way. Let’s go back to the house. We can finish this later.”