Delta: Retribution (3 page)

Trace sighted the rickety jungle boat a dozen yards ahead. Timing was everything, and the Delta team was on point. On land, maybe lounging in a tree, Ryder waited.

In his ear, Titan team leader Brock counted down their plays, as the boat drifted with the lazy current. “Trace: three, two, one.”

With “Go” buzzing in his earpiece, Trace lifted his hands out of the water and caught his enemy, who was dead, thanks to Ryder’s shot. He dragged the man under, submerging the body in two seconds without so much as a splash, then quietly popped back up for the second hit as the swamp boat floated by.

His hands shot up silently a hair of a second after Ryder’s bullet hit his target above the water’s surface. With eyes barely above water, he grabbed the dead man, submerged his body, then pulled himself over the edge of the boat.

“Clear,” Ryder said.

“Move…” Brock’s strategy was going smoothly. They’d take out the two on the boat, take their place, infiltrate the jungle compound, and rescue their high-value target. “Now.”

One short breath later, the guys pulled over and stayed down. Trace posted in the bow, taking the place of the first man they took out. Luke took his place in the aft, guiding the boat toward the dock. Colin and Javier stayed down and out of the line of sight. The boat drifted, docked, and moved to the outside of the house, surrounded by the river and jungle. Their foursome split, hitting their assigned spots.

“Eyes on three tangoes,” Trace whispered.

Luke, Colin, and Javier gave their count. In total, they could see five armed guards on the exterior and no one through the windows. They were going in blind, and wasn’t that a rush. Adrenaline fueled and honed Trace’s readiness, making the tips of his fingers pulse.

“Sniper: go.” Brock’s voice stayed in their ears. “I repeat: Sniper, we’re a go.”

Ryder took out the targets after Roman, a spotter from Titan’s main team, called their marks.

“Breach team, go,” Brock called into his earpiece.

Trace slipped through the back door. Luke moved through a window. Colin and Javier mimicked the action on the side entrance.

Pushing against the wall, Trace scanned the room, subdued the enemy in front of him, and bounded up the stairs, knowing that his boys would cover him when he came back down with the HVT.

He scanned a few rooms. Not what he expected. They were set up like science labs. What kind of high-value target was the woman? He assumed she was an intelligence operative because the details on the woman were generic at best. But based on what he saw, maybe she was a scientist? A teacher?

Trace cleared one room, then the next. Empty.

“Nothing here,” he grumbled.

Team members in the house gave the same responses.

Roman’s voice crackled in his earpiece. Then static.

“Repeat,” Brock ordered.

Once again a crackle, then more clearly, Roman came through. “We’ve got movement. One hundred yards away, tunnel exit. HVT is with ’em.”

Shit
. Trace bounded down the stairs. Colin and Luke were behind him, Javier coming broadside. Roman gave directions as the team ran forward. They had no other guidelines than that. Thick brush became nearly impassable. Leaves slapped his face as Trace ran through the jungle, following Roman’s guidance.

Brock called, “If you have shots, you have a go.”

“We’re flying blind here.” Luke’s voice sounded in his earpiece.

“One more second,” Ryder whispered. Two shots fired. “Girl’s alone. Trace, to your left, twenty feet.”

And Trace was there in a second, searching for a screaming woman or for any sign of life. He jumped over a downed tree and pushed through a thorn bush.

There.
He caught sight of a feminine shoulder almost hidden behind the tree. The HVT. He went wide, trying not to scare her. She faced the other way as he approached, her head rotating as if searching for incoming assault. Her hair was back in a ponytail, and she stood over two dead men, thanks to Ryder’s shots. She held what had to be one of her captor’s automatic weapons. It was pulled up, ready to fire.

“Behind you,” he said calmly. Last thing he needed was her to take someone out with an accidental trigger finger.

She swerved, the long barrel of the automatic weapon pointed at his face. Her finger was on the trigger. “Go away. Leave me alone.”

He put his hands up. “I’m one of the good guys.”

“Prove it.”

It was almost pitch black out, and the canopy of trees overhead didn’t allow for too much moonlight. But even in those circumstances, he could tell that she was more pissed than scared. And there was something familiar about that voice. Maybe even that attitude.

He tried again. “We’re your extraction team. Put your weapon down; we’re bringing you home.”

She dropped the barrel an inch in the dark. “Convince me you’re a good guy or walk away.” She jerked the gun at him. “Or I’ll shoot you. Your choice.”

His eyes narrowed, annoyance picking at his already uneasy attitude. He didn’t have time for this.

Brock gave orders in his ear. “Acquire the target alive by any means necessary. Confirm.”

Well, their team leader didn’t have a high-powered rifle pointed at his face. “Give me a minute, boss.”

“One minute and counting.”

Great. He turned his attention back to the HVT. “Easy there, girl. I’m American. We’re bringing you back to the US.” He slowly dropped his weapon, letting it sling over his chest. “See, a gesture of good faith. You’re the only one pointing a gun at anyone. I really don’t want to be shot today. Hurts like a bitch.”

Though a point-blank shot by her gun would kill him.

She laughed, and it tickled a memory. What the hell was happening?

“That doesn’t prove anything.” She moved the barrel of the gun away from the center of his chest but not by much. “Back away from me.”

“Or what? You’re going to kill me.” He inched forward. “I’m on a seven-person team of shadows that have you surrounded. I go down, one of them gets you, and they won’t be nice about it.” Surrounded by almost inhabitable rain forest, he had to laugh. “Even if I wasn’t your ticket out of here, what, you’re going to walk to the nearest village?”

She didn’t answer.

Enough
. He ducked, lunged, grabbed the assault rifle, and spun her around. They crushed onto the tree that hadn’t hidden her from him, and he whispered into her ear. “My name is Trace. I’m taking you home. Trust me, listen to me, and we both live. Got it?”

Nothing. She didn’t struggle. Didn’t say a word. She wore a thin tank top, no bra, maybe some camo pants. Something familiar, again, grazed the back of his mind.

“You hear me?” He wouldn’t step away from her until they had an agreement. “Nod or speak. No time for a standoff.”

“Trace?” Her voice was hesitant and his reaction definite.

That voice, he knew it. From what part of the world? Or which female op? He couldn’t remember. He didn’t know anyone named Marlena McCloud. He would’ve remembered a name like that. When he first heard it, the name stuck with him, as though it were too soft to be that of an operative or too fluffy to be in intelligence.

She turned her head. Even though the black jungle night hid all details, a sudden, very clear realization settled over him.
What. The. Hell.
“Mallory?”

“Something like that.” She dropped her head then shrugged out of his hold. He could barely make out her features, but there was no mistaking that voice—just as soft as the name McCloud.

Brock barked in his ear, “Rendezvous. Now.”

Handing her back her rifle, he couldn’t put two and two together. “You know how to use this?”

Because the Mallory he knew didn’t know how to use an assault weapon. She was a pretty girl barely legal enough to be at a bar, an American who had had a couple of beers. She was giggles and gumdrops and nothing that would know how to fire one those babies.

The woman snagged the gun. “Please get me the hell out of here.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Marlena’s heart slammed in her chest. The Trace in front of her was the same Trace that she’d been in bed with for a first-name-only good time. Her one-night stand was coming back to haunt her, and it did so in the shape of a jungle-slaying white knight. One-night stands happened, but
this
didn’t. How could they find each other on two different continents, neither of which she was sure they both lived on full-time?

Nervous energy pulsed through her while she tried to focus on the killers who lurked somewhere in the jungle, not the distraction-worthy, gun-wielding savior pulling her quickly through a wall of vegetation.

Trace raised his fist, and they stopped short, making her slam into his back. It was a solid wall of cut muscle covered by a bulletproof vest and a small arsenal strapped to his body. The way he acted, he clearly was in communication with someone, though who it was, she had no idea.

An animal screeched near her. She jumped, clinging to Trace, arms wrapping around his thick torso. He turned his head, glancing at her in the dark. She couldn’t see his face, even that close up, but could feel the stare.

“This is going to be awkward, huh?” His low voice was muffled by the thick jungle that surrounded them. Birds squawked. Something that sounded much larger and…
hungry
growled in the near distance.

She tried to replace cold fear with fake strength. That was what had allowed her to survive her abduction. Hell, it was probably the cause of her one-night stand. She took a deep breath and lied. “I don’t do awkward, don’t worry about it.”

He laughed. “I don’t recall there wasn’t a lot you wouldn’t do.”

Instant heat flooded her neck and cheeks, but she tried to channel über-confidence. “You’ve got jokes.” She gave him a quick jab with her elbow. It made him chuckle until his hand cupped her shoulders and shoved her down into the warm dirt.

In the distance, bullets rang out. Her body jumped with each crack of fire. The jungle acoustics screwed with her. Which way were they coming from? Who did Trace work for, anyway? This was way too much trust to be levied in a guy just because she’d slept with him. Bark peeled off the trees around them, splinters floating down from bullets.

Trace kneeled over her, tugging her close and blocking her body. The familiar scent of him reminded her of their night together. He watched the black abyss, gun pointed toward attackers she couldn’t see. He wasn’t gentle with her. Then again, they hadn’t been gentle with each other last time they’d been together, and she’d enjoyed the hell out of it.

More gunfire. Why on earth was she thinking about that right then?
God.

Despite the oppressive heat, shivers ran down her back. Her memory betrayed rational thought and replayed flashes of his broad chest over her and him driving into her, hands gripping her tight, teeth raking her skin, and her nipples, and much lower. She pulled a quick breath.

“You okay down there?”

As her eyes became more accustomed to the dark, she saw his chin tilt toward her. He had absolutely no idea what had gone through her head. Good—that’d be embarrassing. But he’d been fun, and the night she’d had with him had been her one wild reprieve in an otherwise obsessively private last year.
Stop! Thinking!
About him in bed. Though, at least Brian wasn’t commentating in her head, at the moment.

“Hey, whatever your name is, you doing okay?”

It would’ve sounded mean if there hadn’t been a smile in his voice. And amusement right then would’ve been crazy, given that they were surrounded by people trying to kill each other—trying to kill
them
—but she felt safe with him, and he didn’t seem that bothered by the whole situation.

Leave it to her to run into her meaningless sex partner when he was saving her life. Of course. “Yup. Doing great.”

“Good, ’cause we’re on the move again.” When he stood them up, he towered over her. “Let’s go, Cinderella.”

He pulled her through thickets and under branches. Bugs tickled her skin. Sweat dampened her clothes, making them stick to her. He was soaking wet, but she had no idea why. It wasn’t from their effort.

They came to a stop, and he lowered himself into a squat, pulling her with him. “Why Mallory if you’re Marlena?”

Surprised it took that long for him to ask, she tried to think of the best answer and not to gasp from her run. Panting like that wasn’t sexy—not that it mattered—and moving through the jungle wasn’t as easy as it looked in the movies.

“Not explaining the name?” he asked.

She closed her eyes.
Oh, just trying not to sound like an out-of-shape oaf
. “Mallory, Marlena. I did that for all the reasons you were sent to find me.” And in all her out-of-breath glory, her foot caught on a root, and she hit the ground. “Shit. Sorry.”

In a second, he had her up and in his arms. She was close enough to feel his even breath. His camo-painted face stared down at her, and she was locked in their crazy moment until he broke the stare. “I’m not trying to manhandle you. But this’ll be faster.”