Dead Reckoning (25 page)

“I’ll be back Friday.”

She waved over her shoulder and let the door clang shut. No, Miller wasn’t anything like Reece. He hadn’t been there when Reece saved her. The Green Beret's interest wasn’t vested in keeping her alive.

On the edge of her bed, she bent and buried her face in her hands. It felt as if God was playing Russian roulette with her life. How many bullets were left? Which one would take her life? She’d already taken one to the heart. The bullet had Reece Jaxon's name carved in it.

Never had she felt this way about Khalid. The revelation burned. How could she know Khalid all her life, not have those feelings—that suffocating thrill—but know Reece less than two weeks and long to be tucked into the safety of his arms?

But I loved Khalid!
Tears trickled down her cheeks. She eased herself against the mattress, grateful for the release in her muscles as her body reclined. Through the screen door, she spotted the captain talking with Reece, who’d already rolled his bike from the shelter.

An ache squeezed her heart.
Please don’t leave.

Helmet on, Reece jabbed the key into the engine. The venomous roar punctured the quiet of the camp, drawing Shiloh to the door.
Please.

The engine revved. So did her heart.

Hand on the screen, Shiloh struggled not to push it open. Reece wouldn’t leave her, would he? He wasn’t like her father.

Reece glanced in her direction. He bobbed a single goodbye, let the engine rip, and disappeared down the road, swallowed by the elements.

She pushed herself back to the bed and lay listening to rain splat against the tarp. He’d withdrawn his kiss. Why? Scattered thoughts mingled with the rain. The way he’d protected her, yet pushed her to be better and smarter.

Captain Miller knocked and entered. “Storm's coming. Pretty rough one. We’ll be fine.”

Why didn’t that reassure her? “Thanks.” What about Reece? Would he wipe out on those gut-wrenching turns he loved so much?

“He’ll be okay.” The captain's gentle words drew her gaze. “And he’ll be back.”

“So he said.”

“Might want to put that blind down so your gear doesn’t get wet. Matter of fact—” He clomped to the window and secured the shade. When he turned, he tripped over the hooded sweatshirt, paused as if he knew whose it was, and then set it aside. “Well, stay dry.”

She eyed the hoodie. “Thanks.”

He hesitated at the door and looked back at her. Shiloh stood and folded her arms. “What is it, Captain?”

“Nothing.”

“You recognized the sweatshirt.”

A sheepish grin tugged at his lips. “I gave it to him one night when the temperature dipped,” he said. “I figured he threw it out.”

“We were being chased, and he put it on me so we could slip past our pursuers.” Embarrassed, Shiloh lifted it and ran the string between her fingers. “He told me to throw it away when I got to the hotel.”

“But you didn’t.”

Shiloh laid it on the bed and shrugged.

“Look, it's none of my business—”

“No, it's not.”

“Understood.” He headed to the door.

“Captain, I’m sorry.” She hung her head. “Please …” Though she might not want to hear what he had to say, she couldn’t be rude. “Say what's on your mind.”

Miller shifted. “Jaxon hasn’t always been the brightest bulb in the pack regarding women. He got hurt real bad once. I think—” He snorted and laughed. “No, I know he likes you. I’ve never seen him, well, I didn’t mean to snoop, but I came running when I heard you scream at the lake. I saw the two of you. Reece hasn’t ever lost control. Ever.”

“Lost control? Is that what you call it?”

“He stays locked in a tight box, protecting everyone—including himself. He's one of the CIA's best. He trains their operatives. Two years ago, he lost a girl in an op gone bad. I can see him trying to find his way where you’re concerned, but I think it scares him.”

Shiloh laughed. “Scared? Reece isn’t afraid of anything.”

Captain Miller's green eyes studied her. “Except you.”

Pounding rain hammered the Mercedes. Ali squinted through the tinted windows as the vehicle slid around a corner and the warehouse came into view. Roiling anxiety wiggled through his gut. He swallowed. This had to be taken care of before things spun out of control. The driver slowed the car as they drew closer; his phone rang.

Ali bent forward, straining to hear what his man mumbled into the phone over the din of the storm. “What did he say?”

“We’re clear.”

The car pulled into a tunnel. Silence devoured the interior, a startling difference after the driving rain. In black, two guards stalked toward the vehicle and opened the door. Uzis rested against their arms.

Ali climbed out. Dust seemed to cling to the air, thickened by the rain. A former factory with an open train tunnel, the building had ceilings that soared upward a hundred feet. Walls climbed three stories. Trusses hung open and rusted. He coughed and glanced at the two thugs. “Where are they?”

“This way,” the bigger of the two grumbled and led him through a doorway.

Ali found himself in a narrow hall that led to at least twenty offices. Straight ahead, the hall dumped into a smaller open area. Black film covered the windows lining both sides. Rain thumped against the glass.

In the center, ropes restrained a woman slumped over in a steel chair. Blond hair escaped the brown hood covering her face. With a wicked grin at Ali, one of her captors rammed his fist into her head. She groaned.

“Do not kill her,” Ali growled.

“She is not cooperating.”

Clothed only in a blouse that had been ripped to shreds, the woman had red burn marks that marred her arms and legs. Disgust swept through Ali. “You raped her?”

The man sneered. “I was told to break her.”

“You fool!” Ali whipped out his cell. “No doubt you have left DNA for the Americans to collect. And what good will this do if you are found and taken into custody? Do you really believe you could survive their interrogation methods?”

The sneer lost its gleam.

Turning away, Ali waited for the call to connect.

“What do you know?” a voice asked.

“Your fools are not effective.”

“Tell them to do whatever is necessary. I must know who that girl is and what she knows. She has contacts. I want names. We will make these American infidels pay.”

“We are endangering our operation. The longer she is here, the more chance they have to find us.”

“I do not care how long it takes. If you must move her, do so. Then kill her when you have what I need.”

Ali held his breath. This entire operation worsened with every day.

“Do you understand, Abdul? Do you understand what this means to your family and to our country?”

Treats. Always the way of his contact. “Yes.”

“Good. I would not hesitate to make an example of you.”

“That will not be necessary.”

“Then get what you need and kill her.”

Sheets of rain blurred his vision. Reece squinted low against the Ducati as he roared toward Mumbai. He activated the infrared vision on his helmet's visor and increased his speed, but not nearly as much as he wanted. He’d never get there if the rain didn’t let up. The mission had a short timetable, and the elements were fighting him. With every mile, his foul mood increased.

The oil-slick roads slowed him to a crawl at times. His back wheel slid to the side. The bike wobbled. Heart crashing, he accelerated in the hope of regaining control. Finally, the bike steadied out.

The call for the mission had come less than fifteen minutes after he’d nearly shattered protocol on his primary objective.
He hated the look in Shiloh's eyes as he left. He wanted to tell her why he was leaving, that it wasn’t her.

Shiloh's face flashed into his memory. He revved the engine and left her image behind. Refusing to be distracted, he mentally went over the Intel relay. An internal contact had notified the American embassy of a potential hit. Without intervention, they’d lose an asset. The dangers for covert operatives never went away. He glanced at the GPS. Less than ten miles out.

Father, protect me and give me wisdom.

Lightning knifed the sky, and bright white exploded through his field of vision. The helmet immediately compensated. He silently thanked the engineer who had designed the technology. Otherwise, he’d be smeared across the pavement.

Following the rail tracks would lead him to the last known location of the asset. Unfortunately, because of the remote site, Reece doubted he’d find anyone worth interrogating. He knew exactly what he’d find out here—grunts, pawns, and a lot of brutality. Tension wound a tight coil in his gut.

With each layer of this game peeled, the complexity grew. He’d had enough. Enough circles. Enough targets.

A couple of miles out, he downshifted and aimed for the small house in the middle of a field. Behind it sat a large steel building, like a garage turned workshop. Dodging puddles, he took care in not getting stuck. His visor gave him thermal readouts. One signature. He rolled to a stop ten meters from the door and waited.

A tall, lanky man emerged from the house. “’Bout time you showed up.” Heath Whitcomb, an operative he’d worked with on many missions, carried a sniper rifle.

Grinning, Reece climbed off his bike and walked it toward the house. He stowed it inside, shut the door, and jogged toward the shop. Sheltered from the rain, he still felt a chill seeping through his wet clothes. At the tailgate of a black Humvee,
they strapped smart armor onto their chests and wired themselves for the operation.

“Hop in.” Heath closed the rear hatch. The thick, reinforced windows thudded hard against the ten-inch hull.

As they tore out of the garage and down the jarring road, Reece checked his Glock. “What's the word?”

Heath shook his head. “Spotter just got there. Once he's set up, he’ll report.” His gloved hand squeezed the steering wheel.

“You have the extraction point?”

“Wired in just minutes—” Heath held up his hand and pressed it to a remote hanging around his neck. “Go ahead,” he whispered into the mic.

Field after boring field of grain and fruit orchards whizzed past. Low clouds danced along the horizon, rolling and tumbling. Thunder shook the vehicle.

“He's in place,” Heath said to Reece. “Seven tangos. Tree outside, one in a vehicle, three inside. Target's inside and bound.”

“Point of entry?”

“Best possible is the side. One door. In and out.”

“Worst?”

“Front—wide opening, bottlenecked hall leading to destination.”

Reece assimilated the intel. What were the chances they’d get the easy route? Would this be the last mission he worked with Heath? Or would they succeed and part ways until another hot spot erupted? He prayed it was the latter.

“Just play it smart.”

“Smart gets people killed.” Reece grabbed the paint crayon from his pocket and greased up, drawing long, black lines over his forehead and down his cheeks. He smeared the OD-green greasepaint over his face.

A block later, they turned into a building. Once they removed the weapons from the hold, they climbed two flights of stairs, then up a metal wall-mounted ladder to an opening in the ceiling. On the roof, they lay flat at the edge of the building next to Whitcomb's spotter.

“Two more vehicles just pulled up.” The man peered through his binoculars. “They’ve added five more to the game.”

Reece took the high-powered lenses and focused on the building across the tracks. He made out four tangos in a small room anchored between two large, open areas. In the area to the right, two stood with weapons aimed at the objective. He scanned the perimeter.

“We need to hit them hard and fast.”

“No time for quiet.” Heath tossed Reece the keys to the Hummer. “Pick us up at the cross-street one mile away.”

Back downstairs, Reece climbed behind the wheel of the armored SUV and stuffed his M4 next to him. He positioned the vehicle so he could rocket onto the street. The revving engine made him wish this thing handled like the Ducati, but he needed the reinforced steel and glass, or nobody would come out of this alive. Tires squalling, he held the Hummer in place. Finally, he let her rip.