Under Fire (36 page)

Then she’d used her body and talk of sex games to distract him from learning the truth. Rage boiled so deep in his belly he wanted to storm out the door and put his hands around her neck.

The bitch had played him.

But she’d also overestimated herself and she’d underestimated him. Sure, his career here was finished once the incriminating data was decoded. He’d accepted that possibility from the start and made contingency plans. He was smarter than them in the end. He would survive and come out on top.

Sylvia Cramer was the one who’d lost this game. It may have been years since he’d seen combat, but he hadn’t forgotten how to coolly, effectively eliminate his enemies.

And then make a clean escape.

Sylvia had certainly delivered a top-notch ride.

Liam adjusted his headset attached to the main feed in the CV-22 that had been sent to escort them from the Everglades back to Patrick Air Force Base. He was losing himself in routine, doing his damndest not to think about how his fight with Rachel had split him wide open inside. Damn it, he couldn’t even look at her sitting across from him, but he felt her eyes on him, her hurt and her anger radiating.

He focused on work the way he’d done in the past to get through the pain of a breakup. Gauging by the ache in his chest, that plan wasn’t going as well for him this time.

He just prayed clearing up the mess in his professional life would go better than how he’d handled his personal life. He and his guys hadn’t been able to decode enough of the chip to decipher more than that it dealt with satellite coordinates.

Leaking data on where U.S. satellites were focusing intelligence gathering could compromise entire undercover ops years in the works. Lives were at risk. As for who was responsible? Sylvia must have figured that out or she never would have called them back in. He’d requested that as few as possible know about them coming in, and she’d agreed. Only her immediate staff. She’d been clear she didn’t even intend to risk telling the senior ranking officers. Which he’d been relieved to hear. The last thing they needed was General Sullivan micromanaging the hell out of every move. If so, it could be months before they made it back in. She’d simply
hmmm
ed in response.

And beyond that, she wouldn’t talk, not over phone lines.

Would he ever be privy to those answers she’d uncovered? After all he, Rachel, and the rest of them had been through, he sure as hell hoped he would get some closure, rather than being given one of those stares that said this was a need-to-know-only deal—meaning he didn’t get to hear squat.

Either way, they would be landing within minutes.

He stared across at Brandon Harris, pale and strapped into the red webbed seat between Rachel and the doggy-sitter. The young lieutenant held himself stock-still in the belly of the cargo hold, his hand gripping the collar of his dog.

Would the already-fragile Harris be able to hold up under the stress of the ensuing investigation? At least Sylvia had assured them she knew who was responsible and would make sure the responsible parties were taken into custody.

And if they were too late to keep the top-secret intelligence out of enemy hands? At least the powers that be would know what information had been compromised and could work at protecting those exposed.

Liam let his head fall back as he lost himself in the familiarity of the moment, the steel cavern with cables and wires like fiber-optic veins feeding the beast.

The CV-22 engines vibrated the craft, powering them closer to Patrick Air Force Base. The tilt-rotor aircraft had been waiting for them the minute their airboats docked. Waiting in the parking lot, no less. The CV-22 could take off and land like a helicopter. Then once in flight, the rotors shifted forward so the special-ops craft flew like a plane, far exceeding the speed of any chopper.

Voices from the pilots up front and the passengers in back mingled together over the airwaves. All but his and Rachel’s. He didn’t feel her eyes on him now, but he didn’t expect she’d given up. He would have to hold strong.

The way she’d stood him down had been a surprise. He’d expected… hell, he didn’t know what. But she’d charged into him just like she had the alligator.

She’d been incredible both times. He was so proud of how she’d taken the shot, saved his ass. And he was pissed at himself for putting her in that position. Just as he should have known better than to start a relationship with her in the first place.

Damn it, whether she believed him or not, he was doing this for her.

He just wanted to get this flight, this mission, this week with the security gig for the summit over with. Move on rather than hanging out in limbo, tormented every freaking second of the day with closing the book on this chapter of his life.

At least everyone else seemed pumped. Excited about the success so far. And the dog-sitter chick—Catriona—was having a blast learning how the headset worked.

“So,” she said, testing the speak button, “why do you guys have so many nicknames? Like why do you sometimes call Wade ‘Brick’?”

Rocha raised his hand. “I got this one. I’m called Brick because I’m thickheaded. And my last name, Rocha, means rock in Portuguese, so it all kinda fits. Cuervo over there got his because it just fits with his name Jose, and it just so happens, in his early days in the air force, he had a particularly memorable evening thanks to a bottle of tequila.”

And wasn’t there a sad irony in that? An alcoholic forever being stuck with a booze name.

Rocha continued. “Data, back at base, is a computer and math genius. He’s one of our younger team members and used to be called Fang, which is what we name every fresh-faced kid who joins us. It means, uh, ‘frick, another new guy.’ But not actually ‘frick.’”

Laughter rumbled over the airwaves. Rachel’s eyebrows went up as she rested her hand on the boxer puppy’s head.

Liam shrugged and looked away from the wide brown eyes—on the woman and the dog. “The name Fang goes to the next new guy, and the old Fang gets an official name. Our Fang while we were in Alaska became Data once the latest PJ joined the team.”

Rachel snagged his eyes and held, giving no ground. “So you were once Fang.”

“Back in the dark ages, yes.” His knees ached almost as bad as his chest.

Rocha filled the stretch of silence. “Now we call him Walker, as in Walker, Texas Ranger. Because he used to be a ranger, but it was an Army Ranger. You should hear his Chuck Norris impression. Priceless.”

“But so good”—Cuervo leaned forward as casually as somebody telling a frickin’ fireside tale—“you might actually think he’s really Chuck Norris in disguise. Seriously, Major McCabe is so awesome he can make fire by rubbing two ice cubes together.”

Rocha nodded. “When you open up a can of whup ass, Major McCabe jumps out.”

Sunny held up her hands. “True story, I hear the bogeyman checks his closet at night for Liam McCabe.”

Laughing, Catriona said, “Wait, wait, how about this one. Major McCabe can make onions cry—” She squeaked to a stop as the aircraft jerked slightly in flight.

The CV-22’s engines slowed, the whine increasing to a roar as the rotors tilted upward. Humor faded like the air in rapid decompression as they landed.

The CV-22 settled without so much as a jolt, and the pilot called the all clear to begin unstrapping, which, thank God, brought an end to the Chuck Norris jokes.

Yeah, great. He was already a damn legend. Life as he knew it would be over after this final mission wrapped up.

His gaze shot back to Rachel and he wondered how it could have been for them if they’d met and connected ten years ago, back when he was at the top of his game. If they’d had time to build a foundation together.

If he even knew how to do that.

The back ramp lowered, the gaping hole revealing the runway. Familiar stretches of pale concrete and stark utilitarian outbuildings glowed with the orangey haze of the setting sun. Only the sea air and an occasional palm tree differentiated it from other landing strips.

A small greeting party waited in a roped-off area, led by General Ted Sullivan along with Captain Bernard from the OSI. Wind rippled the captain’s uniform as he stood flanked by a half dozen security cops toting M16s. As if that weren’t enough firepower, four Humvees were parked behind them, each equipped with a turret with a SAW—squad automatic weapon—mounted on top. Given Sylvia’s assurance things were being kept low-key, Liam did
not
have a good feeling about this.

His battle-honed instincts went on alert. They were either being highly protected—or were about to be taken into custody.

***

“Divide and conquer,” Rachel said, bracing a hand on the dash of the Humvee as General Sullivan sped down the flight line, dusk closing in like a fading camera shot.

The second they all stepped off the back ramp of the cargo aircraft, they’d been split up for questioning. Although she didn’t understand why she and Brandon were placed with the general. She would have thought they would be separated in order to compare their stories. But no one had second-guessed the senior ranking officer when he’d issued the order for loading up. At least someone had had enough sense to send the dogs with Catriona.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Ms. Flores.”

“Dividing us into smaller groups for questioning, divide and conquer… Okay, it’s a cliché, but I’m a little nervous here, sir.” All this time, had Liam been cracking jokes to cover nerves or help others over theirs? She wished he was with her now so she could ask. Hell, she just wished he was here with her. Period.

In spite of the assurance via email from Special Agent Cramer, Rachel had a seriously creeped-out feeling, much the same as when she’d driven onto base a few days ago. She scanned the lines of parked aircraft, checking the rearview mirror. Brandon sat in the back alone. In the distance, the other Humvees drove in the opposite direction, Liam tucked away inside one of them. “Why aren’t we following them?”

“Because we’re going somewhere else. Information will be relayed to you on a need-to-know basis, and right now, you don’t need to know shit.”

His final word snapped her upright in her seat. Her instincts shouted something was wrong here. Way wrong.

She glanced up at the rearview mirror again at Brandon in the back. He looked as confused as she felt. And then his body tensed. His eyes narrowed. And she realized he was about to act.

The general’s left arm whipped around in a flash so fast Rachel barely had time to register the black gun in his hand. He reached over his right shoulder and—

Pop. Pop.

General Sullivan shot Brandon.

Rachel screamed. Panic and shock crackled through her body, threatening to immobilize her. She shook off the fear and scrambled over the backseat. She had to get to Brandon.

One look at him and it was all she could do not to scream again. Blood bloomed across the front of his shirt. He lay slumped in the backseat, already pale. Panting, he clutched his stomach. She reached out—

The general grabbed her by her waistband and slammed her back in place. Her head banged against the door. Stars snapped in front of her eyes and nausea welled at the acrid scent of gunfire and blood.

She sucked in deep breaths, willing the world to steady again. “What in God’s name are you doing?”

General Sullivan jabbed a gun into her side and snarled, “Don’t even think about running. This is a restricted area where deadly force is authorized. The guards will shoot you on sight.”

“I just want to get back there to help him.”

“Not gonna happen, ma’am.”

Ma’am? His show of manners in the face of such horror jarred her. She slumped back in the passenger seat and watched as the general rolled down the window and waved at a security vehicle heading toward them. The cops must have recognized him, because they pulled a U-turn and headed back up the parking ramp.

That easy? He was driving wherever he wanted? Shooting people?

But why? Panic popped through her like those bullets that had torn through Brandon’s flesh. Gut-wrenching guilt piled on top of her fear. He was bleeding to death, and it was all her fault for encouraging him to spill his story. And now she was grateful deep inside her that Liam wasn’t here, because if more of those bullets had torn through him… She bit her trembling lip until she tasted blood.

The general steered through the entry control point and turned in the opposite direction of the security patrol. He headed toward some dark airplanes with large propellers. He swerved the Humvee sharply and Brandon groaned from the back.

Sullivan popped another shot over the seat into Brandon.

Her ears rang, but the vehicle was silent. Dead silent.

As much as she wanted to squeeze her eyes shut and cry, she forced herself to look in the rearview mirror, to assess whatever she could about Brandon in case she was given even a split second’s chance to help.

The latest shot had torn into his shoulder. His left shoulder. Near his heart. His eyes were closed and, dear Lord, she couldn’t tell if he was still breathing or not.

The general slid the Humvee into park between two large generators. Her whole body trembled with rage and injustice and grief over Brandon’s murder until it exploded from her.