Avenged (Hostage Rescue Team Series) (Volume 5) (25 page)

Ted Kostas was propped up in his bed, his steel gray gaze so like his daughter’s locked on Nate like a heat-seeking missile. Nate crossed to the side of the bed and held out his hand. “Mr. Kostas. I’m—”

“I know who you are.” The man gripped his hand, his hold surprisingly strong for someone recovering from a second near fatal heart attack. Nate read the intensity in the other man’s eyes, a fear bordering on desperation. “You saved my little girl’s life.”

In Afghanistan, he meant, confirming Nate’s theory. He resisted the urge to look away, maintained his grip on the other man’s hand. “I just did what I was trained to do.” The answer was automatic. It probably sounded cold, even though he didn’t mean it to. Taya’s rescue had been both the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him. His hell and salvation, all wrapped up into one.

The older man’s grip tightened. “You keep her safe through all of this.” A father’s plea.

Even though Nate couldn’t remember his father and had never had any kind of father-figure relationship until he joined the military, he could see how hard it was for this man, lying helpless in this hospital bed while depending on total strangers to guard someone who meant the most to him in the entire world.

Nate knew exactly how he felt.

Man, he hated lying right to the guy’s face, but what was he supposed to do, tell him WITSEC was about to take over Taya’s security, a day after he’d nearly died? He might go into cardiac arrest again, right in front of his daughter.

“I will,” Nate told him, looking him dead in the eye as he returned the pressure. Inside, he hated what was going to happen in the morning.

Taya’s father gave a satisfied nod and released Nate’s hand. He seemed to slump then, as though the short encounter had exhausted him, and let out a weary sigh. Nate stepped back and looked at Taya, who gave him a soft, warm smile that turned his heart over. How the hell was he supposed to walk away from her in a few hours?

“I’ll wait outside,” he told her before stepping out into the hall. There was an ache in his chest, a heaviness that wouldn’t go away.

He’d give her another couple minutes to visit and say goodbye. Not as much time as she deserved with her father, but as much as he could offer before taking her to the airport.

They had one last night together before she’d be taken away from him. And he was already dreading the moment when he told her what would happen in the morning.

Ayman winced as he shifted on the vanity in the tiny, cluttered bathroom, angling his body to get a better look at the damage in the mirror. He used a damp facecloth to wash the cuts on his chest, courtesy of broken glass and one bullet graze. A fraction of an inch in any direction, and it would have gone straight into his chest.

Two were deep enough that they kept seeping blood, so he stuck bandages on them and cleaned up the mess he’d made in the sink. His entire right ribcage was one massive bruise from slamming repeatedly against the passenger side door every time Darwish had taken a sharp left turn. They’d barely evaded police in Raleigh, had nearly been spotted when the second driver had ferried them into Virginia in the back of a cube van.

Twice more they’d been dropped off at a waiting point and picked up by new drivers, each from The Brethren’s network. Each time Ayman had been prepared for the worst, for one of them to turn on them or turn them in or for the police to discover them. He’d made up his mind to fight to the end, ready to take on whoever he had to with the pistol and rifle at his disposal.

Even if it meant killing Darwish to survive.

“Ayman. Hurry up,” Darwish said impatiently from the kitchen of the house their latest driver was renting.

“Just give me a minute,” he snapped, the stress and pain already eating at him. He didn’t know their exact location, except that they were somewhere in southern Virginia. A rural area with lots of trees around and plenty of space between properties.

When he was dressed once more he found Darwish at the kitchen table, a plate of rice and meat before him. “Eat,” he said, shoveling in a mouthful as he indicated another serving on the table. “We have to leave soon. Next driver will be here in a few minutes.”

Not bothering with a response, Ayman took the seat across from him and ate what was on the plate he’d been given. He barely tasted the food, hungry though he was, too keyed up to do more than chew and swallow. His throat was dry. It took two swallows to get the first bite down. When it hit the bottom of his stomach, for a moment he feared it would come right back up.

Darwish eyed him. “You need to stop thinking about him. He was dead weight and we’re better off this way.”

Shooting him a glare, Ayman forced himself to take another bite. He was thinking about Jaleel, yes, but he was also thinking about the man who’d run after Jaleel. For that Fed or whoever he was to react the way he had, the man must have been more than suspicious. Ayman would bet the FBI knew far more about their plans than they realized.

Just then their host, Hamid, walked into the kitchen. Ayman didn’t know the middle-aged man, but even he could tell something was wrong.

Darwish lowered his fork and frowned at the man. “What?”

Hamid looked back and forth between them. “I just spoke with Mahmoud,” he said, referring to the leader of The Brethren. Ayman set his fork down, his appetite gone. “The FBI is onto us.”

Darwish’s gaze sharpened, his brows lowering in a menacing expression. “What do you mean?”

Hamid licked his lips, darted a glance at Ayman that set off a warning buzz in his brain. “Someone reported you and Jaleel to them, told them you were involved with The Brethren. Your father.”

Ayman felt Darwish’s gaze cut to him, felt the lethal stare burning into him, and a cold sweat broke out along his spine. “It doesn’t matter, he knows nothing. Unless one of you or Mahmoud has betrayed us, then we go ahead with our plan.”

“I would
never
betray us,” Hamid said in an insulted voice. “How dare you even suggest such a thing?”

“How dare you defend your traitorous father after this,” Darwish growled, rising from his chair and leaning forward, the threat implicit in his hard stare. Ayman braced himself, curled his hand around the handle of his fork, ready to use it as a weapon. He’d ram it into Darwish’s jugular and twist it, rip him wide open if he so much as twitched.

Darwish must have sensed his intent because his gaze flickered down to the fork, then back up. His posture eased. He straightened slowly, never looking away, an almost taunting light in his eyes.

“Stop,” Hamid ordered, waiting until Ayman looked back at him before continuing. “Mahmoud has decreed that your father pay for his sins.”

Ayman felt himself blanch. “Leave him out of this. We no longer have contact. He is dead to me as I am to him. If you go after him, the Feds will be watching now that he’s turned on me. Don’t be stupid.”

Hamid shook his head. “I was ordered to tell you that he will pay. And if you abandon your duty now, your entire family will pay as well.”

Fury and helplessness surged through him. His nostrils flared, his breathing growing shallow as the rage built. “They have nothing to do with this. Nothing to do with me. Leave them alone.”

A car engine sounded outside. Hamid rushed to the window, drew the drapes aside a fraction to see out back. “It’s him. You have to go.” He made a shooing motion at them with his hands, his nervousness clear. “Go, before you get us all caught.”

Ayman stood slowly, feeling far older than his nineteen years, every muscle protesting as he got to his feet. The wounds in his chest throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the deep, desolate ache beneath his ribs. Was it worth it? Was the path he’d chosen worth these sacrifices? He might have just sentenced his family to death. His parents, his sisters…

His conviction wavered and for a moment he considered running, but then realized it was impossible. He ruthlessly shut his mind to the regret bombarding him. Darwish and Hamid would watch him even more closely now. Even if he wanted to go to the Feds, he’d never be able to make so much as a phone call in private now. He was well and truly trapped.

“Move,” Darwish snarled at him, the malice in his eyes so cold it burned.

Ayman followed him out the back door on leaden feet, exhaustion pulling at him. He climbed into the back of the waiting van, tried not to flinch when the rear doors slammed shut, sealing him inside the coffin-like interior with Darwish. The man he was committed to working with to carry out the coming attack.

The man who would now gladly kill him as he had Jaleel, the moment this operation was over.

****

Taya was quiet on the drive from the airport in Virginia to the safe house, lost in her own thoughts.

“We’ll make sure we find a way for you to contact your brother, check in and see how your dad’s doing,” Nathan said to her as he drove along the highway.

“Thanks.” She couldn’t shake the melancholy mood. “It’s just hard, leaving him like that.” Knowing it might be the last time.

“He’s through the worst now. He’ll just need to rest up and take it easy this time as he recovers.”

“They’re not going to send him home right away this time. Kev’s trying to see if they can put him in a rehab facility for a couple weeks.”

“Probably a good idea.”

With her dad’s stubbornness, yes. “I’m glad he got to meet you. He’s been curious about you ever since I got back from Afghanistan.”

Nathan glanced over at her. “Hope I made him feel a little better about all this.”

“You did.” And her, too. Watching him treat her father with such respect and care had filled her heart with warmth. She was curious though. He knew so much about her and there were still things she didn’t know about him. Not the details, anyway. “What about your family? You never talk about them.”

“My team’s my family.”

“No contact at all with your biological family though?”

He shook his head, changed lanes as he followed the vehicle Tuck was driving. Cruz and Vance were tailing them. The sun was high but the tinted windows helped make her feel more secure.

“My dad took off when I was a few months old, so I don’t even remember him. Apparently he was a low-level dealer. My mom and half-sister… They’ve got problems. Big problems.” When she stayed silent he seemed to weigh his words before continuing. “My childhood wasn’t pretty, Taya. I grew up in a ratty old trailer park in a poor area of town. There were lots of drugs, booze, different guys staying over every week. I wasn’t abused, exactly, but there was a fair amount of neglect, emotional and otherwise.”

It made Taya’s heart ache to imagine him growing up that way, not feeling loved and nurtured by those who were supposed to love him unconditionally. She’d been very lucky to have that, never doubting her parents’ love.

He gave a slight shrug, but she sensed the tension in him as he continued. “My mom’s an expert at playing the system, milking every penny out of all the government programs out there, and my half-sister’s turned out exactly the same way. The truth is, they’re both addicts and couldn’t hold down a job anyway. They drink, get high and cash their welfare checks. I wasn’t going to be like that. Leaving was the best decision I ever made.”

Taya could see his past embarrassed him, even though it shouldn’t. “They’re behavior isn’t a reflection on you.”

“Not anymore, no, but when I lived there it sure as hell was. I hated it. Hated being looked at and treated like the worst kind of white trash.” His jaw flexed. “That kind of poverty stains a person’s soul. It’s a hopeless, apathetic kind of poverty, made worse because the people living it just don’t give a shit.” He shook his head. “Even when you leave the stain’s still there. It just fades over time, is all.”

“Just like grief and trauma,” she murmured, understanding more than he realized.

He shot her a sideways glance, clearly surprised, then nodded. “Yeah. Just like those.”

At
those
, she was an expert. And so was he. One more thing they had in common. As well as the will to overcome those very same obstacles.

She reached across the console for his hand, laced her fingers through his. His hand was so big and strong compared to hers but he always treated her with such care. “I’m glad you got out. And I’m glad you’ve got good people around you now.”

He seemed to relax at that, and a small smile curved his mouth. “My teammates are the best.”

Taya smiled back. “I bet they all say the same thing about you.”

“Doubt it. But I hope they think so. I’m kinda still earning my stripes with the squad,” he said, a sardonic edge to his voice.

She suspected he was wrong about that. He probably still felt the need to prove himself, even though he’d earned his spot by making the team in the first place. “They’re lucky to have you.”

He glanced over at her, surprise clear in his eyes before he focused back on the road. “I’m lucky to have them.”

Tuck turned into a tidy, residential neighborhood. Nathan followed him to a two-story brick house in a middle-class subdivision and pulled into the garage. “Guess this is us,” he murmured. When the garage door was lowered Nathan came around to open her door for her.

In the modern kitchen with cherry cabinets and black granite counters they met Tuck, Cruz and Vance, sitting around the island as they went over the security plan. The layout of the house and neighborhood. Entry and exit points. Various exfil plans. Taya stayed quiet, memorizing most of what they decided.

“So that’s basically it for now,” Tuck said, then shared a pointed look with Nathan that made Taya’s heart constrict. They were keeping something from her. Something big.

“What is it?” she asked.

In unison, Tuck and the others stood. “We’ll let you two talk for a while,” he said, and led the way out of the kitchen, Cruz and Vance following him.

When they’d gone she focused on Nathan. He was standing at the far end of the island, both hands on the granite top, his face serious. He held her gaze and she saw the torment in his eyes. “There’s been a change in plans for tomorrow,” he said.