Midnight Captive (3 page)

“You’re late.” He emerged from the shadows, his dark
eyes, dark hair, and dark stubble making it hard to see him clearly.

“Sorry. Had to take a detour.”

They didn’t shake hands. Didn’t hug or exchange smiles. Rafe Meriden wasn’t that kind of man. He always got right down to business without wasting time on pleasantries.

“The negotiator is still in contact with the gunmen,” he said briskly. “He’s taking the calls from inside one of the police cars parked in front of the bank.”

“Has the Emergency Response Unit made any moves?” she asked.

“None. No activity inside either. I overheard one of the gardai say the shots that were heard earlier were warning shots. Gunmen fired at the ceiling when they stormed the bank to get people’s attention. It’s been quiet since then.” He paused. “You saw the girl’s video?”

“Yes,” she said grimly.

Rafe frowned. “You’re certain your guy’s in there?”

Her guy. Hardly. If the cops didn’t shoot Sean, she’d do it herself.

“Yeah, he’s there.” She bent down and unzipped the canvas bag she’d brought from England, rummaging around until she found the case containing her comms. She took out two earpieces, popped one in her ear, and handed the other to Rafe.

The transmitters were motion activated, so she moved her hand over the tiny device to trigger the mic. “Paige, you read?”

“Loud and clear,” came her friend’s voice.

“Did you get the locations of the snipers?”

“Two across the street from the bank, one in the rear.”

“Be more specific,” Rafe demanded. “Where’s the third?”

“He’s on the roof of an apartment building. If the back door is twelve o’clock, our sniper is at six.”

Rafe and Bailey turned their heads inconspicuously toward the buildings to the east of them.

“Brick building,” Paige said. “Second flat from the top has Christmas lights strung on the balcony.”

Bailey glimpsed the blinking red and blue lights. “Got it. Thanks. I’ll get back to you.” She turned to Rafe. “You said there’s a dozen Garda officers in the back?”

He nodded. “What are you thinking?”

“We need to take out that rear sniper, for one.” Chewing on her bottom lip, she pulled up the blueprints on her phone and studied the screen. “There’s a ventilation grate five feet from the back door. I need to get to it without the guards spotting me.”

Rafe whistled under his breath. “You’re a crazy bitch, Bailey.”

“Do you think you can incapacitate the sniper and take his place?” she said slowly.

“Yes.” Rafe narrowed his eyes. “But then what?”

She bit the inside of her cheek, her brain rapidly sorting through details and variables. “You’ll have to create a distraction. Get the Garda’s eyes off the back door just long enough for me to infiltrate the bank.”

“I can do that. I’ve got an associate on standby.”

She didn’t bother asking who this “associate” was. Rafe was even more secretive than she was, and she had
a lot
of secrets.

“Can we trust him?”

“He’ll do whatever I ask.” Rafe paused. “What happens when you get inside?”

“I’ll have to improvise, I guess. But let’s cross one bridge at a time. We need that sniper removed from the equation first.”

Rafe went quiet for a beat. Then he sighed. “You sure this man of yours is worth the hassle?”

Nope. She wasn’t sure at all.

But she’d already come this far, and there was no backing out now.

Turtle Creek, Costa Rica

Liam Macgregor stared at his phone, unable to fathom what he was seeing. Maybe Bailey had gone insane. Or maybe she’d popped some hallucinogens and was tripping balls right now.

Except . . . well, fuck. Bailey wouldn’t make something like that up. And although she had a pretty kick-ass sense of humor, she didn’t joke around when it came to Sean Reilly. The only time Liam had ever seen hostility in Bailey’s normally laid-back demeanor was when she was discussing the man.

He rose from one of the brown leather couches in the compound’s massive, chalet-style living room and switched on the flat-screen television. It took no time at all to verify Bailey’s story. All he had to do was turn the channel to CNN, and there it was. Hostage situation unfolding at Dublin National Bank.

There was no mention of Sean Reilly, though. According to the newscaster, the gunmen were still unidentified, all six of them, but Liam would never dream of questioning Bailey or undermining her instincts. The woman was
a former CIA operative and a professional assassin. She’d had more training and battle experience than Liam, and she was capable of things that, in all honesty, scared him shitless.

If Bailey said Sean was in the bank, then Sean was in the bank.

The question was . . .
why
?

What kind of fucked-up craziness had Sean gotten himself into?

Cursing under his breath, Liam strode through the heavy oak doors and hurried up one of the twin staircases in the front parlor. The house where Liam and several of his team members resided was huge, offering endless hallways and bedroom suites, and that was just the top three floors. The basement housed a sixteen-seat theater, a fully equipped gym, a sprawling game room, and an indoor target range.

Despite its frills, the house was more secure than a military base. The hundred-acre property was surrounded by a twelve-foot electric fence and contained a top-notch security system monitored by two former Delta operatives. Running underneath the property were tunnels with escape points leading to both the jungle bordering the compound to the east and the mountains to the west, and every building was rigged with C-4 in the event that the place was breached.

Liam would consider it overkill, if not for the fact that a private mercenary squad had ambushed the team’s former compound a couple of years back. Besides, with the number of people living there, precautions needed to be taken.

He raced up the stairs to the second floor, which consisted of suites belonging to Morgan and Noelle, Kane and Abby, and now Morgan’s daughter, Cate. The sarcastic teenager referred to the third floor as Frat Row, since
that was where Liam and the other unattached men stayed.

He rapped his knuckles on Morgan’s door, but the knock went unanswered. Crap. Where the hell was the boss?

Liam was just moving away from the door when a head popped out of a doorway at the opposite end of the hall.

“Hey!” Abby Sinclair said brightly, looking overjoyed to see him.

He hid his amusement. Almost seven months pregnant and officially sidelined from all jobs for the foreseeable future, Abby had been climbing the walls for weeks now. He knew the lethal operative was bored to tears, and it didn’t help that her husband was still working ops, leaving her alone for days or weeks at a time.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” she asked.

He didn’t miss the pleading note in her voice, which was pretty fucking shocking, considering Abby usually wasn’t very social. But since she’d been benched, Abby was willing—no, she was
eager
—to hang out with anyone who crossed her path. Apparently she was driving their security man nuts by wandering into his domain on a daily basis and trying to take over his surveillance duties.

“Can’t,” he said regretfully. “I need to track down Morgan. Do you know where he is?”

“No clue.” Her honey yellow eyes narrowed. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he lied. “Just need to talk to him about this bodyguard gig we’ve got lined up.”

Abby’s expression told him that she didn’t buy the story, but she didn’t grill him further. “Great. Whatever,” she grumbled, then disappeared into the bedroom.

He didn’t feel at all guilty for lying to her. Kane had ordered everyone at the compound to keep Abby’s
stress levels at a minimum, which meant not involving her in anything that was potentially dangerous. Like the fact that Sean Reilly was robbing a fuckin’ bank.

Liam headed back to the staircase, his foot landing on the top step just as Ash entered the parlor.

“Where’s the boss?” he demanded as he descended the stairs.

The dark-haired rookie grinned. “Gun range. He’s giving Cate a lesson.”

“’Kay. Thanks.” Liam started to brush past the younger man, but Ash grasped his arm, the humor in his green eyes fading as he caught the look on Liam’s face.

“What’s wrong—”

Liam shrugged the kid’s hand off him. “Let me talk to Morgan and then I’ll fill you in.”

He hurried down the corridor toward the kitchen, his bare feet slapping the hardwood floor. The steel door outside the kitchen opened onto a concrete staircase leading to the basement, and he took the steps two at a time, cursing at the ice-cold floor beneath his feet. Noelle must have turned up the air-conditioning again. Ever since she’d moved in, she’d been running the place like she owned it. Though he supposed she did, now that she was married to the boss.

Never in a million years would Liam have thought he’d be living under the same roof as the terrifying woman known as the queen of assassins, but life was funny that way.

The walls in the basement were nearly soundproof, but he heard the muffled pops of gunfire as he marched toward the target range. When he walked in, he saw Cate and Noelle at the front of the cavernous room. The younger girl held a nine-millimeter semiautomatic with both hands, aiming it at the target thirty feet away. She fired, then groaned in exasperation.

“Stop going for the head,” Noelle said sharply, frowning at the eighteen-year-old girl. “I already told you, head shots require a level of precision you haven’t mastered yet.”

Cate threw back a challenge. “How am I supposed to master it if I don’t
practice
?”

“We’re focusing on the chest this week.”

“I can hit any part of the chest you tell me to!” Cate protested, blowing a strand of dark blond hair off her forehead. “You know I can. Let me try another head shot.”

“Fine.” Noelle folded her arms over her tight red tank top. “Go right ahead.”

Cate studied the target in concentration, then raised her weapon and squeezed the trigger. The shot reverberated through the huge empty room, the bullet connecting with the white space four inches from the target’s head.

“Fuck!” Cate burst out.

“Language,” a male voice snapped.

Liam glanced over and spotted Morgan leaning against the cinder-block wall, arms crossed as he reprimanded his daughter.

His daughter. Jeez. Liam still had a hard time wrapping his head around it, even though he’d seen Cate almost every day since Morgan had brought her to the compound.

Still, if someone had told him two months ago that deadly supersoldier Jim Morgan would be raising a teenage daughter, he would’ve laughed them out of town. But DNA didn’t lie, and although Morgan hadn’t even been certain that Cate existed before he’d finally tracked her down in Paris over the summer, the man had stepped into the daddy role with ease and confidence that boggled Liam’s frickin’ mind.

“Don’t lecture me about language.
You
swear like a sailor,” Cate grumbled at her father, accusation shining in her blue eyes. The same dark shade of blue as Morgan’s. And her tone contained the same note of authority. It was damn eerie seeing them together sometimes.

“That doesn’t mean I want my kid to have a filthy mouth,” Morgan shot back. “It’s unladylike.”

Cate and Noelle both snorted.

“I have no interest in being a
lady
,” Cate informed him.

Rather than answer his daughter, and without looking in Liam’s direction, Morgan said, “What’s up, Boston?”

Liam wasn’t surprised that Morgan had known he was lurking in the doorway. The man possessed superhero senses. He could smell danger from miles away, and he always knew when he wasn’t alone in a room.

Without wasting any time, Liam marched over to his boss. “Reilly’s in the process of robbing a bank.”

Cate’s loud gasp echoed in the room, but neither Morgan nor Noelle looked particularly astounded by the revelation, which made Liam’s shoulders stiffen.

“You knew about this?” he demanded.

Morgan shrugged. “One of Noelle’s informants called about an hour ago to give us a heads-up.”

“And you didn’t think to tell the rest of the team?”

“What’s the point? The situation will have resolved itself by the time any of you even get to Dublin.”

Liam gaped at the other man. Morgan’s blasé response was grating as fuck, and far more callous than he’d expected. Sean might have abandoned the team right before a critical op, but that didn’t mean he deserved to be shunned for it.

“You
know
Sean,” Liam said flatly. “He’s not a criminal, goddamn it. Obviously he needs our help.”

“It’s not my concern,” Morgan answered with a shrug.
Then he cocked his head at the two females standing nearby, as if to say,
They’re all I care about.
“Reilly left. He’s no longer my responsibility.”

Liam’s jaw fell open again. “Bullshit. He’s still one of us.”

“No, he’s not. He made that pretty fu—cover your ears, Cate—pretty
fucking
clear when he skipped town.”

Morgan’s anger was palpable, and Liam supposed he understood it to some extent. When he’d first joined the team, Morgan had made it clear that there were only two rules—show up, and watch one another’s backs. Reilly had disregarded both when he’d left them in the lurch and fled to Dublin in the dead of night.

“Relax, Macgregor,” Noelle spoke up. Her tone wasn’t gentle, but blunt. “Sean has good reasons for everything he does. I wouldn’t worry about him.”

“He’s holding up a bank!” Liam raised his voice, unable to contain his disbelief. When Noelle remained unfazed, it triggered a spark of suspicion. “Do you know why he’s doing this?”

She gave a little shrug, causing her long blond braid to cascade over her shoulder. “Rumor has it he’s fallen back in with his old mentor.”

“And who the hell would that be?”

Noelle spared a look at Cate, then exchanged one with Morgan, who nodded.

“Eamon O’Hare,” she told Liam. “He’s the leader of an IRA splinter group—the Irish Dagger. Sean and Oliver used to work for him when they were younger.”

“The IRA?” Liam echoed, once again agape. “That’s bullshit. No fucking way is Sean involved with them again.”

“How come you don’t lecture
him
about his language?” Cate said irritably, shooting a glare at her father. “And why aren’t you helping Sean?”

“Because he’s not my daughter,” Morgan muttered.
“And stay out of it, sweetheart. This doesn’t concern you.”

Liam raked a hand through his hair, fighting hard to tamp down his rising anger. Morgan and Noelle might not care about Reilly, but he sure as hell did. He wasn’t about to watch Sean die in an armed robbery, or stand by while the IRA fucked with him.

“I’m putting in a request for time off,” he said stiffly.

Morgan met his eyes. “Request denied.”

“Tough shit. I’m taking it anyway. And I want D with me.”

Aggravation hardened Morgan’s features. “You’re pushing your luck, Boston.”

“You can spare us both,” he insisted. “Kane and Trevor are taking care of the extraction in Bolivia. Castle and his team are handling the Johannesburg job. D and I aren’t leaving for that security gig until next month—there’s no reason why we can’t go to Dublin.”

“Yes, there
is
a reason. Because I fucking said no.”

Cate joined the conversation again, her cloudy expression darkening as she stared at her father. “You’re really not going to help him? What the hell is the matter with you?”

“Watch your tone,” Morgan snapped, but when her expression went stricken, he softened his. “Sean is a grown man, sweetheart. He makes his own choices, and he chose to leave the team. Which means he’s no longer one of mine.”

“That’s
bullshit
.” Her blue eyes blazed. “You like him, and he
is
one of yours. And even if he wasn’t, you
owe
him.”

A frown marred Morgan’s lips. “How do you figure that?”

“Because he helped you get me out of France.”

Cate’s smug reminder hung in the air, drawing a chuckle from Noelle and a triumphant smile from Liam.

Damn, he liked the girl. Liked her a helluva lot. And there was nothing better than watching her face off with Morgan. Cate was as strong and stubborn as her father, a force to be reckoned with, and she was only eighteen. It was scary to think how unstoppable she’d be once she got a little older.

He studied Morgan’s face. Saw the man’s brain working, the reluctance and anger chipping away as Cate’s words sunk in. Sean had been an invaluable asset during that mission in Paris. He’d worked alongside Morgan and the rest of the men to rescue Cate from the controlling clutches of her grandfather, a dangerous arms dealer who’d blamed Morgan for destroying his daughter’s life. Not only had Cate’s grandfather put a hit out on Morgan, but he’d turned her into a prisoner in her own home.

And Sean had played a large role in Morgan’s reunion with the girl.

“Fine. You win.” Morgan scowled at Liam. “You and D can go to Dublin. Ash, too.”

The last-second addition put a deep groove in Cate’s forehead. “Why does Ash have to go?”

“Because they’ll need backup,” Morgan said firmly. He arched a brow. “Would you rather everyone stay here?”

She bit her lip. “No, they need to help Sean,” she murmured, but she still looked upset, and Liam knew her concern was solely on Ash’s behalf.

Cate had been spending a lot of time with the rookie since she’d moved to the compound. Liam didn’t think there was anything romantic between them—Morgan would straight-up murder Ash if he touched the girl—but there was no denying the two of them had formed a bond. They were ridiculously protective of each other, though whenever Liam teased Ash about it, the guy just shrugged and gave his standard response—“She’s a sweet kid.”