Operation Zulu Redemption--Complete Season 1 (61 page)

“Stun gun,” Sam offered from the lounge area.

“Yes.” Houston blinked. “Yes, yes. The Squid is a genius—a stun gun. That’s why it died. It’s not because my technology is shoddy.”

Trace covered his mouth. He didn’t want to go there. Didn’t want to consider that option.

“Wait—wait. But that’s bad, right?” Houston swung another stupefied expression his way. “Because that means he shocked her. And that means he knows she was bugged.”

A direct violation of the agreement.

“Would he kill her?”

“Why stun her then kill her?” Sam said.

Trace grouped up what he had left of his nerves and shifted his focus to a recovery mission. “Rusty.”

“I’m on my way in,” Rusty said without hesitation.

“Noodle.”

“I have no joy,” she said.

“Stay eyes out. Keep me posted.”

“Roger, eyes out,” Nuala repeated.

Whatever had just gone down in that facility, Téya was in trouble. The Turk had her. The skilled, trained assassin who had targeted her for the last month had caught up with her. Played chess with her life. Now, was he calling checkmate?

Téya

Frankfurt, Germany

9 June – 2345 Hours

Téya blinked and found herself in a small, dimly lit room. Fire licked through her veins, through every tendril of her flesh. Every hair follicle. Confused, disoriented, she tried to remember how she’d gotten here. In a flash, she remembered the claws of the Taser grabbing her in the chest and pumping voltage through her body. Her heart had seized. Her lungs squeezed, forbidding a breath.

She dragged herself upright and looked around.

Nesim stood against the wall, arms folded and one leg crossed over the other at the ankle. As if this were a casual day and meeting.

“I knew you’d try to kill me,” she gritted, rubbing the spot on her chest that still tingled from the tiny charges. “Why not just put a sniper bullet through my gray matter? It would have saved us both some time.” She held her palm to her forehead, begging for a breath and heartbeat that didn’t hurt.

He came closer. “I was not trying to kill you,” he said as he reached for the black hood.

Téya shoved to her feet. Used her palm and struck upward, aiming for his nose.

Skilled and swift, he caught her hand. Jerked it behind her back then dropped to the floor, forcing her down. Her cheek hit hard. “Try that again, and I will kill you.”

“What do you want with me?”

“That is my concern. Your concern is compliance.” He released her and hopped up, standing over her.

Téya pulled her throbbing head and wounded pride off the floor.

Lowering his head, Nesim reached for the top of his hood again. He pulled it off and scrubbed his still-wet hair. Only then did she realize, he didn’t have Nesim’s jet-black hair.

He lifted his gaze.

Mentally, Téya threw herself backward, screaming. But a split-second defiance zipped through her. She went perfectly still. However, she could not fend off the terror clawing her courage. She tried to make sense of what she saw. The tattoo on his left cheekbone.

He said he hadn’t come to kill her. This time. Then…what? Was she to be a captive? His prisoner? Even as she locked gazes with him, she let herself take in her periphery. It sure looked like a cell. Gray cement walls. A lone bed.

He held out his hand, something small in his palm—the device she’d tucked in her ear before making the climb with him. “You were bugged, and that was expressly forbidden.”

Téya said nothing. She stared at him. Hard.

“You are smart not to tempt my anger further. I could’ve used this”—he showed her a Glock—“instead of the taser.”

“But killing me would’ve defeated the reason you brought me here.” She hoped it’d induce him to tell her what that reason was.

He almost seemed to smile, the star-crescent dancing. “Still, you do not remember.”

Téya frowned. What was she supposed to remember? “What, that you tried to kill me in Paris? Or are you talking about Greece?” She held up the brand.

“Come.” The almost light tenor of his voice and his amusement vanished. “On your feet.”

“What? I thought I was to be your prisoner.”

“Do you remember what Nesim told you about this place?” He stood at the door, gripping the handle.

She did not want to cooperate. But what choice did she have? She couldn’t fight him. He was stronger. Faster.

“You may believe me to be the biggest threat to your safety here, but you could not be more wrong.” He cocked his head toward the door. “Ready?”

“What are we doing here?”

Light flicked into the room. “Quiet,” he hissed at her, grabbing her arm.

Téya flinched at his tight hold. She was about to cry out when she saw two men in black tactical gear stalking down the hall ahead of them. Heavily armed. Intent on something. Had they discovered the fan where she and Nesim—The Turk—had entered?

The realization that she was with The Turk made her head spin. What if he planned to kill someone and frame her for it? It was the only thought that made sense. Why he’d drag her through this facility and not tell her where they were going.

Téya jerked back, planting a foot hard so she could break free of him.

The Turk, again, had lightning fast reflexes. Before her hand could even come up, he held her in a stranglehold from behind. “Stop!” he hissed as he manhandled her over into a shadowed alcove.

“Why? Why me? What do you want with me here?” she squeezed out, her pulse whooshing in her ears.

“There are cameras here. Security officers more than double the staff. Do you want to alert them to your presence?”

Téya considered that. Would it be so bad if she were caught? That would mean he was caught, too, right?

No, he’d escape. If he could outmaneuver her so easily, he’d be gone in a heartbeat.

“You want to know why? I will show you why,” he said, loosening his hold then nudging her into the corner, his forearm against her throat. “You must do exactly as I say, or the guards will see you. And they will not hesitate to give you that bullet you asked about earlier.” His eyes bored into her, but the tattoo was peculiarly distracting. “Clear?”

Téya swallowed around the pressure of his arm then nodded.

Slowly, he released her. “Come.” Again, he took her by the arm. Led her hurriedly down a series of doors and passages.

As they navigated the facility, Téya realized something. It was terrifying and yet reassuring at the same time—he knew where he was going. Which meant he didn’t need her to lead him in the back door.

What is going on?

They rounded a corner, and a single door stared back. It was marked S
ECURITY
. It was the same door she’d been herded into the night they’d caught her.

“Wait,” she hissed.

But the Turk rushed into the room. In the time it took her to shut the door, he had incapacitated the two security officers sitting at the monitors.

“What—”

“Quiet,” he hissed and leaned over the keyboard. He took control of a security camera. Made a few clicks. “Come.”

She hated the way he commanded her. The way he assumed she’d do what he said. She toyed with grabbing one of the weapons from the guards.

“Reiker,” he growled.

And something twisted sideways in Téya. A chill raced up her spine. She joined him at the desk, feeling unsettled. Unnerved. Her mind struggling to catch up with whatever had triggered the weird feeling.

“Look,” he said, one hand on the desk, the other pointing to the monitor.

“That’s Red Wing.”

Téya’s breath caught. “I thought it was an organization. Nesim said it belonged to Red Wing.”

“Red Wing is a man,
that
man.”

The man stood with his back to the camera, poised as he spoke with a group of guards. Several other guards ran in. Red Wing’s body language changed from composed to enraged. Arms flailing. Pointing.

“Why didn’t you just tell us where he was? Why bring me—”

Red Wing turned, exposing his face to the camera. To Téya.

Téya went ice cold. No. “Not possible,” she whispered, tears blurring her vision. Her heart went from dangerously slow to a rapid-fire beat that made it feel like it’d climb out of her chest. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. “He—that can’t be…he’s…he’s
dead
.

Téya glanced at The Turk, stunned and confused. Slowly, she swung her gaze back to the monitor. Every nerve ending buzzed. The man in the video was her stepfather. “How…?”

The Turk watched her in silence, holding her gaze but saying nothing.

“How is this possible? He died—six years ago.”

“His death was faked.”

Téya straightened, feeling as if a tidal wave of unbelievable information pummeled her. “Faked?” Mind ablaze with that revelation, her brain immediately leaped to—“My mom.”

The Turk’s expression didn’t change. “She died in that accident.”

“If he survived, then she—”

He took a step forward and squared his shoulders. “Your perceptions about the man who married your mother were borne of a cover story he fed your mother and you.”

“Cover story?” Téya felt as if a bucket of ice had been dumped down her back. “What are you—” She severed the question and her thought. Did he seriously expect her to believe anything he said? “You lure me in here, you deceive and lie to me—why would I believe you?”

Again, The Turk said nothing.

Téya’s heart still beat wildly, scrambling to iron out the truth. Sort the deluge of shattered facts about her life. “My sister…” Her mom married Georg Hostetler when Téya was only four. “All those years…”

The Turk took a step back. “We need to leave.”

Téya flinched, looking at him. His eyes weren’t brown as she’d thought. They had tinges of green and gold. And they were intense. And he wasn’t looking at her. She followed his gaze to a monitor that showed a throng of guards racing through the halls.

Alarms shrieked through the cement halls, screaming about their intrusion. Alerting everyone here and around the mountain.

A sharp hiss snapped her back to him. He stood out in the hall. When had he even opened the door? The dude was lightning fast. Téya bolted into the cement corridor after him. He moved fast, not waiting for her. Not checking on her. Téya told herself to stick close. She wouldn’t put it past him to leave her to the wolves.

What bothered her more was his skill in navigating the passages. He knew them. Knew them well.

Uncertainty poured through her as they banked right. Téya used the opposite wall to rebound and keep moving, propelling herself faster. She toyed with the idea of tackling him. Demanding information, an explanation. But those instincts were muddied by the out-of-left-field reappearance of her stepfather.

He’s here. I’m here. And I’m running
.

She would love to go back and hammer the answers out of him, the explanation of how he survived. But something about the way The Turk stared at her…left her sick to her stomach and uncertain those answers would provide closure.

No. Right now, she had to get out of here. And her ticket to escape just vanished into a room. A dart of panic threw her forward, narrowly catching the door before it slapped shut, dulling the blaring alarms. She rolled around to avoid getting hit by the door. Four steps in and she saw shadows flying toward her.

Hands up, she braced as the first attacker rushed her. She avoided his initial strike, but her ears rang with the meaty thuds and crack of punches and hits behind her. Fighting hand to hand was hard enough. In a room lit only by dim emergency lights, it was next to impossible.

She missed a block and the guy’s fist connected hard. Téya stumbled. He came at her. Rammed his boot into her side. Knocked her to the ground. She grunted and rolled to get back on her feet.

He pounced. Hands around her neck. Choking.

Flailing panic seared her mind. She gripped his wrists. Then the training Quade had thrown at her came rushing back. Téya dug her knee up under him. Oxygen deprivation thumped against her temples. She strained. Pushed. If she didn’t succeed, she’d die. Right here. Without answers. And Trace…

With a primal growl, Téya rotated her hip. Her knee went up under him. She used her other leg and swung it up around his neck. She arched her back and snapped her hips, effectively bringing him to the ground, his neck between her legs.

Something slid across the cement and bumped against her hand. But Téya focused on incapacitating the man.

“The gun!” someone hissed—The Turk.

Téya glanced down. Saw the Glock at her fingertips. She grabbed it by the barrel and rammed it over the guy’s temple. He went limp. Extricating herself quickly, she shoved her foot against his side. Held on to the gun. Scrambled to her feet.

“Here,” The Turk said. Robed in darkness and shadows, he waved to her.

She barely saw the motion before she sprang into action. Téya sprinted toward him. Out a door. When they rounded a corner, he slowed. Hesitated at a corner.

She saw then the damage of the fight on his face. His left eye was swelling shut. His lip was busted. A cut on his temple dribbled blood.

His lips quirked up, and the hint of a smile crinkled the edges of his other eye. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” he said through heavy breaths after a hard fight. He handed her something. “Here.”

She took it then frowned. “It’s a twig.”

The Turk huffed, turning it over, as if that made a difference. “It’s a rose.”

Téya held it up. “A twig.”

“You are seriously lacking in imagination.”

Was he losing it? Only then did the pain in her own lip and temple register. She reached toward the spot and regretted it. “Why are we stopping?”

He thrust his jaw toward the other hall. “C’mere.” He tugged her closer, so her back was pressed against his chest. Awareness flared through Téya, but she shut it out. At least, she tried. More well-muscled than she remembered, The Turk exuded power.

She chided herself, told herself to grow up. Pay attention.

“Shadow,” he breathed against her ear.