In the Arms of a Stranger (Entangled Ignite) (25 page)

“Wade wasn’t supposed to make it home. I’d told Boyle to make it clean—take Wade and JP out at the same time he dealt with our last op. But Boyle missed them both, so he came home and told Wade he wanted to talk about the old days.” Brooks shook his head. “Stupid strategy. He thought he could force Wade to tell him what he had on us. Wade was always tougher and a better operative than Boyle. He got away.”

Oh, God. Wade.

“Where did you find the note?” Brooks asked.

She didn’t want to answer, but it made no difference now. “In the house. In a picture frame.”

Brooks shook his head. “Hell.”

She had to force her next words past the constriction in her throat. “You killed a good man, and you’re letting Boyle threaten my family.” Anger and fear threaded their way through her at the thought of Cole, so afraid. “You have betrayed your country.”

“Such indignation,” he said, a mixture of humor and disbelief in his tone. “You really had no idea what Wade did for a living, did you?”

She refused to answer, and Brooks laughed. Then, as the silence grew oppressive, as she tried to stop her careening imagination, she realized she
should
have known.

Maybe she had known all along. At least subconsciously.

Why else hadn’t she pressed Wade about what he did? Why else had she been so easily dissuaded from asking the tough questions? Had she somehow feared the answers?

And JP. She’d seen him, witnessed firsthand what he could do, in the house in Ocean Springs. But she hadn’t asked him, either. Had rationalized it away by the circumstances.
It was us or them
. She’d even ignored what Brooks had said when he’d searched for JP.
JP was capable of anything
. She should have guessed when he said he’d been in Delta Force. Yet she’d blithely ignored all the evidence staring her in the face.

And gone right ahead and fallen in love with a stranger. With the wrong man.

Again
.

But JP had said it himself.
Someone has to do it.
And if her country’s government and military didn’t denounce his trade, but in fact had hired him to do exactly what he did, how could she fault him for it? How many innocent lives had he saved by doing his job well?

Now she just prayed he was as good at it as Brooks said he was. That he made no mistakes. That her baby and her brother were safe in his hands. Because of his deadly skill.

She had nothing else to hold on to.

…

The kill zone Frank Boyle had set up left JP few, if any, options. Cole and his uncle were handcuffed together inside the chain-link fence of the electrical substation. Steve squinted against the bright lights that bathed the small building. Transformers and wires were everywhere. All it would take to set it off was one spark. There were safety features against fire, breakers that would cut the power, but the danger still existed. Even if Boyle missed his human targets, a bullet ricocheting off any part of the substation, or one that cut a wire, could cause lethal sparking or a deadly electrical surge.

JP chambered the single bullet and, through the scope, began a methodical and deliberate search for Boyle.

Nothing
. He wasn’t anywhere JP could see.

“Can’t find me, can you?” came a mocking tone from behind him, to the right. “Just take Wade’s proof down to the fence.”

If he walked out of the woods, they’d all be sitting ducks. Even if he could find Boyle, he only had the one shot, and that with an unsighted, untested rifle.

JP said nothing. He needed one more auditory connection, one more chance to pinpoint Boyle.

Years of training, of practice, took over. He waited. Listened. His breathing slowed, his heart rate settled.

A shot rang out. Dirt flew up in an arc in front of the substation fence. Steve pulled Cole close to his body and turned his back to the shot, protecting the child as well as he could. But JP knew any bullet that hit Steve would hit Cole, too.

But that single shot was all he’d needed. He now knew Boyle’s position.

“I’m coming out,” he shouted.

…

Three shots. Or had it been four? They’d come so fast Abby hadn’t thought to count. Now there was an echoing silence. And unbearable dread.

“It appears I overestimated JP,” Brooks said, sounding annoyed.

Startled, she stared at him.

“I only gave him one bullet.”

It took a few moments for her to understand. Then it came to her in one crashing blow. JP had only one. But there’d been
three
shots.

Cole. Steve. JP
.

Ice griped her heart, shut down her breathing. She lost her focus on the night, on Brooks. Despair overtook her, black, cold, unmoving, and deep. Overwhelming.

Someone was shaking her, throwing her off balance.

“Get it together, Abby. Walk!”

Brooks
.

But her legs would not work. Blocking out the inky nightmare, she stumbled forward.

Trust me
.

JP’s words, spoken with conviction.

Do what you have to do. Stay alive
.

“Get in the vehicle,” Brooks said, his words coming from a dark tunnel.

I’ll get them back. I promise
.

She staggered to the car, her entire body protesting what her mind couldn’t grasp.

Please, God, please
.

“Move!” Brooks shouted. “You’re nothing more than insurance at this point. Move!”

Do what you have to do.

Stay alive
.

She reached for the driver’s door handle. Brooks jerked her around to face him. She fell back against the car.

“Pull yourself together. You’ll get us killed driving in your condition!”

Trust me
.

Somehow she got in, slammed the door, then drove through the night, tears blurring her vision, the car rocking back and forth as she careened off the dirt road onto the highway.

Time passed in blackness.
She couldn’t do this
. Couldn’t face it.

The bright lights of the electrical substation came into view.

“Turn here,” Brooks said, pointing the little red light at her cheek. She was beyond caring.

She turned the SUV onto the long, winding drive. Brooks scooted closer, stuck his foot next to hers, and jammed on the brakes. The car lurched to a stop.

“Get out,” Brooks ordered.

Numb, clinging only to JP’s whispered words, she fumbled for the door handle. The little red beam of light flashed across her window as she tumbled out.

Then Brooks was there, grabbing her, jerking her forward, ahead of him. She stumbled on the uneven ground, then something hard jabbed into her ribs on her right side. Brooks’s gun.

Trust me.

Do what you have to do. Stay alive.

I’ll get them back. I promise
.

She closed her mind to everything except getting one foot in front of the other. She wouldn’t think beyond that, beyond doing what JP wanted, trusting what he’d said.

The substation lights threw a bright white glow well past the clearing.

There was no one in sight. Alive or dead.

“Boyle!” Brooks shouted, his breath hot against Abby’s neck. “Blackmon didn’t have what you’re looking for. I do. It’s in a safe place. Come out. Let’s talk!”

Abby’s gaze darted from the metal and wires of the electrical station to the trees, to the shadows beyond.

Brooks jerked her around in a circle, always keeping her in front of him.

“Boyle!” he shouted again.

A shot rang out.

Brooks spun around, keeping a brutal grip on her shoulder. “If I don’t walk away alive, the proof gets mailed to Langley. Don’t be a fool! We can leave the country this time. Call your wife, tell her to catch that flight!”

Whatever glimmer of hope Abby had held was fading fast. There was no way—

Another shot pierced the night. She couldn’t tell where it came from, what the shot had hit. But it seemed close.

Cole. Steve. JP
. She gave a muted cry.

Brooks pulled her closer, holding her tight around her stomach. He put his head next to hers. He was afraid Frank Boyle would kill him.

Why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t he killed him, and her, too?

“Don’t be stupid, Boyle. I don’t have it with me! This is our chance. This is what we’ve worked for!”

Brooks jammed his gun viciously into her lower ribs and squeezed her even tighter, his arm a viselike hold around her middle.

Then, in the distance, she thought she heard a sound. A siren?

Brooks was breathing hard. He pulled her back, spun in the opposite direction. Her feet slid on loose sand. She looked down. And gasped.

Blood!

Droplets gleamed in the bright substation lights. Trailing off into the woods to their right.

Cole. Steve. Oh, God.

Trust me
.

“JP,” Abby whispered.

“Shut up!” Brooks hissed.

She had to do something. She couldn’t just stand there.

A sound came from their left. Brooks turned. She clawed at his hand, jammed her foot down on his instep.

For a single instant, she was free. It took her too long to realize it, to turn, to run.

Damn!

But immediately, she heard the shot, heard the impact.

She whirled and looked at Brooks, saw him reel backward.
Crack!
Another shot. The gun flew from his hand. One side of him was deep in shadow. On his visible shoulder, a black spot bloomed against the light color of his shirt.

He fell back, the oddest look on his face. Peering down at the gun that lay a few feet from him, he leaned forward, as if to reach for it, but didn’t move either arm.

That was when she saw blood on the other side, too. He’d been shot in both shoulders.

She dove for the gun, grabbed it, and ran into the woods.

Her back against a tree, her entire body shaking, she hid as best she could.

Ron
. It had to be. But why hadn’t he shot her, too?

The sirens drew closer.

She heard something move behind her. No! She froze, her heart stalling. Should she run…or shoot? She turned, aiming the gun into the black void beyond the reach of the substation lights, knowing she had little chance of hitting Ron.

“Abby. Sweetheart, it’s me,” came a voice from the darkness.

JP’s voice
. She’d recognize it anywhere. Tears sprang to her eyes.

“I’m going to walk up beside you. Cole and your brother are safe. Boyle’s down. Wounded. He can’t get to us.”

Did she dare believe him? What if Ron was holding a gun on him? What if—?

“Steve and Cole called the highway patrol. Hear the sirens?”

Oh, thank God!
They really were all alive! She started to leave the protection of the tree, but stopped herself.

“Trust me.”

An assassin.
A killer
. How could she trust him?

But no. Those ugly words had nothing to do with either JP or Wade. She dredged up the little she knew about the Rangers, about Delta Force. Special operations.

Not
an assassin. He was a sniper. He and Wade had been snipers. There was a big difference.

Someone had to do it
. That was who he was, what he did. The man who did what had to be done, for his country, for freedom.

She
did
trust him. He wouldn’t have told her Ron was no longer a threat unless it was true. JP would always protect her, even if it meant Ron would kill him. Because he was an honorable man. Just as Wade had been.

She looked around and saw him in the shifting patches of light from the substation that filtered through the long shadows of the trees.

“JP?” She moved toward him, the gun lowered.

He smiled. A wonderful, welcoming smile. “You okay?”

She finally reached him, touched his face with her free hand, and nodded, trying to say something. Anything. But all she managed was, “JP,” before she wrapped him in her arms.

He hugged her back. One-armed. And sucked in a short breath.

Backing up slightly, she looked at his left arm, which he held at his side. Blood covered the whole upper part, his denim shirt shiny and black.

“You’re hurt!”

“It’s not that bad. I can still get away.”

She didn’t hear that right. “The highway patrol can call an ambulance—”

“Sweetheart, I have to go before they get here, before they begin searching for me.”

“Wait. You can’t go now. It’s over! You—”

“Abby, it’ll be my word against Brooks’s and Ron’s, if he lives. Wade’s original note is gone.”

“But the photos—”

“I’m sure Brooks checked the phone and destroyed the pictures. I never had a chance to send them to Ethridge. And besides, they won’t be admissible in any kind of trial. No chain of evidence linking the note to Wade. Anyone could have written them, including me. There’s no way I can clear myself.”

“But—”

“Brooks’s standing order to all operatives is to shoot me on sight. Until the case is cleared and the order rescinded, that’s what’s going to happen. I have to go.” He pulled out of her arms. “Get hold of Ethridge. Tell him everything. He may be able to clear Wade so you can tell Cole his father was a hero.”

“I have no doubt Wade was a hero. But what about—”

“Tell Cole he did a good job taking care of his uncle in the woods. Don’t worry, he’ll be okay, Abby. Steve told him it was all just a game we were playing. He has no idea it was real.”

“Good.” Relief poured through her. Steve always was so smart about their boys. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t trusted him completely to take care of Cole. She would from now on. “That’s good, but JP—”

“Abby, I’ve got to go now.” He started to turn away.

“Wait! Listen to me,” she said, holding his good arm, desperate to stop him. “We have the receipt Wade sent to the Picketts. Surely the CIA can decipher it.” Was he even listening? “Steve and Cole can explain what happened. They’ll believe them. I’ll tell them, too.”

“You’re my partner’s widow.” He said it as if there were nothing more between them. “Of course you’d say that.”