Bullet to the Heart (15 page)

Or maybe he was just refusing to name it. He tossed the heavy snifter into the sink and went to the workout room. Ken hadn’t called from Shanghai and a part of Rand was worried. Adam had gone on a location job. Location jobs included but were not limited to, finding lost persons. Sometimes the people didn’t want to be found. Sometimes they were being held against their will. This job had come in from a mother in Canada who hadn’t heard from her daughter in three months. The daughter was an exchange student living in one of the outer provinces of Shanghai, China, and while it wasn’t unusual to go so long without phone contact, the daughter hadn’t written or emailed in three months.

And that was unusual. Adam was a master at location jobs. His mind worked in ways that allowed him to see patterns most folks couldn’t. He’d signed on with Trident Corp shortly after decommissioning from his Ranger unit. Rand was glad to have him. For him to have requested help ate at Rand, though. Adam was so efficient it just didn’t make sense he was having difficulty, unless there was trouble.

He pulled out his SAT phone as he punched in the code for the workout room. He called Ken as he switched lights on, and then came to a dead stop.

She was there, in the punching bag room, hitting and kicking the shit out of a freestanding heavy bag. She was a masterpiece of motion and fluidity. Her muscles bunched and released as sweat plastered heavy hanks of hair to her skin. In nothing but a sports bra and shorts, she fucking took his breath.

From a distance he heard someone calling his name and remembered he’d called Ken.

“Goddamn it, Rand, what do you want?”

Rand cleared his throat. “Is everything okay?”

“We’re working on it. Look, Adam has a shadow, and we both think it’s Collective.”

“I have no new information. Pull back home and lead them to us,” Rand said.

“We haven’t found the girl yet,” Ken breathed out roughly. “Once we do, we’ll wrap this up, and I’ll head your way.”

“You have leads?”

“A shit ton, man. But no evidence that she was ever even here. It’s just weird shit all the way around. If we have to, we’ll head back, but I think this shadow is female.” Ken’s voice held a tone Rand didn’t recognize.

“Not another one?”

It was widely known that The Collective was a mercenary for hire entity. But there’d only been hints of women working for Joseph, never all-out proof. Until the one he was presently watching beat a heavy bag to death in his workout room put a bullet into the head of one of his men.

“I think he has many, but this one is dead silent.”

“Be careful. I didn’t know Bullet was there until the shot, and you know my neck always itches in the crosshairs.” He was only half paying attention to how Ken responded. The movements of Bullet’s body drew his gaze and refused to let go.

So different from Lily, so much what he’d had no idea he even wanted.

“Yeah, okay, Ken. Get back to me as soon as you can.” Rand hung up, not waiting to hear what Ken’s response was.

She stopped suddenly and looked up, eyes bright with a feverish light, nose flaring as she drew in breath. The glass separated them, but in that moment, he could feel her satin skin and smell her fragrance in the air.

He wanted. He needed. And the desire was more than just . . . he shook his head at the thought’s path. Nuh-uh, not going there.

He could barely wrap his mind around the fact that his cock wanted inside her, much less swim into deeper emotions.

She walked out of the room, taking the circuitous route to the door. He watched her, unable to tear his eyes away. Something in her demeanor made his heart squeeze tightly. His fists echoed the sentiment. Every muscle begged to be unleashed on her, but for ill or pleasure, he just didn’t know.

It pissed him off that he wanted her, but his body strained toward her every chance it got. Hell, even his sleep was interrupted by thoughts of her. He didn’t even know her real name. She reached for the doorknob, and the words were pulled from him.

“What’s your name?”

She sighed, and her shoulders drooped. Then her spine straightened, and she opened the door. “We’ve had this discussion.” She sighed loudly. “It’s Bullet, Mr. Beckett. You’d do well to remember it.”

She walked out, and the door snicked softly closed behind her.

Goddamn.

Remi spent the next week avoiding Rand as much as possible. She saw him every day when he walked her silently to the range and back, but they took their meals separately and she never encountered him in the weight room.

He didn’t speak to her and she returned the favor, staying quiet even when he stared holes in her head. She had no frame of reference for Mr. Rand Beckett. Zero, zilch, zip, nada, and she wasn’t about to screw up any of her plans for a man who hated her guts. You know, when he wasn’t kissing her to within an inch of her life.

Yes, she’d promised him The Collective. And she would deliver on that promise, it just wouldn’t be the way he was anticipating. The past week had only further cemented her desire to destroy Joseph. Thoughts of what could have been haunted her sleep. Dreams of Rand finished what those thoughts began.

So, all in all, it had been a week for her body to heal. Her shoulder was moving full range now. The night she’d beaten the heavy bag to ease her frustrations had irritated it, but she’d taken care over the last days to let it heal and strengthen the muscles. Dmitry kept her stocked with supplements. She wondered if Rand knew about that.

Dmitry, with his tragic blue eyes and model face, was a surprise. Never any judgment on his features, he came, delivered food and pills, and then left without any questions. And she knew he had them.

She needed to do some pistol work today, and her hands itched for her Walther. She sighed aloud. It wasn’t to be. Her favorite rifle and handgun were buried on this very property, and she wouldn’t be able to retrieve them until she left.

Rand’s weapons didn’t have the feel hers did. She’d been through hell with hers. They were a part of her, an extension of everything she was and would be.

She didn’t have free ranging mobility in the house. She was restricted to her bedroom, the kitchen, and the workout room. She’d entered the weapons room once on her own and the code had been changed the next time, barring her entrance. She’d been pissed but completely understood.

When you had a killer under your roof, restrictions were necessary.

She glanced at the calendar Dmitry had supplied her with. She had two weeks. Time was ticking down. Rand would expect more information soon; his need for knowledge wouldn’t be waylaid much longer. She needed to give him as much as she dared anyway. It was time he knew what he was dealing with.

She finished her midday workout, showered, and headed for the kitchen. He wasn’t there, so she went looking. She found him in the library. She’d noticed over a week ago that, while the rooms weren’t furnished completely, the library was loaded with books. She’d looked them over and found none to her liking, but she’d not thought men would read romance books.

She was right.

“I need to speak with you,” she said as she walked to the desk where he sat.

Rand threw down a pen and looked up at her, one raven brow quirked but face otherwise blank. As her Walther made her hands itch, so too did the planes of his face. He leaned back and gestured for her to sit.

She shook her head. Sometimes the need to pace overrode her ability to sit still. This was one of those times. “The Collective members will be meeting soon.”

He inclined his head, but said nothing. She sighed. “Do you know who the members are?” Impatience threaded her tone, and it couldn’t be helped. She was fighting a deep-seated need to remain silent. Conditioned from the time she was five to remain silent about Joseph and his vaunted Collective, she found overriding every nuance of those brainwashed checks impossible.

Joseph had never counted on her and her sisters being anything but sheep easily led and controlled. He’d always likened himself to a shepherd. She felt her lips twist into what she knew was a mockery of a smile. He had no idea what he’d wrought.

“I know some, but not all. You’re willing to share now? Tell me what brought on the change of heart?” His tone was dry, but underneath, it was honed steel with a razor’s edge.

She glanced at him, anger forcing her to get a handle on her breathing. Why this man? Why now? That he could push her buttons so easily was . . . well, hell, it was just bad. She took refuge in the truth and sought to remind him what he must have somehow forgotten over the last week.

“I owe you,” she replied in a low voice.

“Really?” he drawled.

She avoided that question and went back to the first one he’d asked. “I am willing to share but only so far,” she informed him, tone slicing into haughty now.

He spread his hands and grunted. “Oh, well, then, by all means...share away.”

“Joseph Bombardier is the leader of The Collective. He took over in nineteen eighty-two, killing the previous head of the conglomerate in a brutal takeover. He not only cut off the previous leader’s head, he murdered that leader’s wife and three sons in front of his face before doing so. Shortly after, there was a culling of members.”

She took a deep breath and continued. “Not everyone cared for Joseph’s take charge attitude or for the direction he wanted to head. There was money to be made from oil, and that had been their primary motivation before the takeover. But Joseph had seen something the others had not. He’d seen that the Cold War would end soon, and borders would be porous. Not only could he rule oil, he could diversify, spread out into drugs and human trafficking.”

She rubbed her palms on her legs, the very physical reaction of her defection from Joseph’s conditioning noticeable. It couldn’t be helped. She had to get this out. She began to pace.

“And he became a master at them all, but there were countries with leaders in their governments that didn’t want to play by Joseph’s rules, so he controlled them the only way he knew how. Might is right, after all.” She stopped pacing, glanced at him and started right back in.

“He assassinated the ones who were his most vocal detractors and leveraged those he was fearful of killing. He did all this with impunity. Eventually, many in those governments decided to join The Collective. Oh, they did it all quietly, and it was only the most powerful Joseph allowed in, but there they were, powerful, invincible.”

“Are you going to give me names, or will I have to guess?” His voice was dead, but his question pissed her off.

She stopped pacing and noticed his intensity. He was focused solely on her, and she felt a thrill at the absolute attention. Ruthlessly, she smothered it.

“There’s no need to be an asshole, Mr. Beckett,” Remi said with a sneer, walking closer to the desk and leaning over it. “Do you think this is some game I’m playing? Maybe you think that Trident Corporation is big enough, bad enough, to take down The Collective. That your desire for revenge alone will topple them over and destroy them.”

“I don’t think it,” he said through clenched teeth. “I fucking know it.”

He stood then and leaned over the desk from his side. This brought them to within inches of one another.

His smell was sandalwood and mint, male and aggression. His jaw flexed, the muscle delineated there twitching. Her tongue played against the back of her teeth as heat spiraled inside her. She licked her lips, and his eyes widened just enough she knew he’d noticed.

“I think that you need to re-evaluate, Mr. Beckett. Joseph Bombardier is a master at killing. And his reach is much farther than you know. You’ll start a war you cannot win unless you hit him in just the right way.”

His gaze never left hers, and she was drawn in, sucked down in the vortex of him.

“You give me nothing except exultations of how great he is at killing. Give me
something
, goddamn it!”

She straightened, unable to bear the pain in his voice. Joseph had taken something from so many people, but Remi had never felt their pain as she felt Rand Beckett’s. Why him?

She clenched her fists. “I know how to hit him, but you must understand, Mr. Beckett, that when you do this, you will be forced to eliminate them all. Bombardier is only the head. Cut off the head and the body will continue to live until another replaces him. You must eliminate them all. Are you prepared to do that? Take the body first and leave the head for last?”

She could literally feel his control fraying. What she was giving him was tantamount to a tease, but she had to know the measure of this man before she divulged anything else. Ultimately, her goal, hers and her sisters’, was the one thing that would ensure safety for so many. If Rand rushed in and destroyed Joseph, The Collective would continue to breed and thrive. Child rapists, human traffickers, and drug smugglers would continue to operate with impunity in some of the world’s greatest countries. Remi couldn’t stop all the bad, but she could do her fair share to stop a damn good portion of it.

And she’d free herself, Blade, Bone, and Arrow in the process.

“I will do whatever it takes to destroy them all,” he responded. In his voice was the heat of hell, blazing and full of fury.

A chill danced over her skin, and she barely restrained a shudder. Like someone walking over her grave, she was immersed in foreboding yet would allow nothing to sway her decision to include him.

Looking back, she wondered if that had always been a desire of hers. Yes, she’d wanted him to have his revenge on Joseph, but something in his picture had called to her, and now here she was. Maybe she was losing her mind.

“Then we should start to prepare because they will all meet in less than three weeks, Mr. Beckett.” She breathed out slowly and turned to walk out the door. “I’ve left a file right there on your desk. It has names, addresses, associations, and a diagram of the entire Collective. Dossiers are included but encrypted. It is by no means everything, but it’s a good start as you evaluate your
ennemi
,
non
?”

She turned away and walked to the door. She’d let that last slip. Remi tried to keep it to herself, but in this moment of revelation the language of her mother was an illusion of safety.