Special Ops Exclusive (5 page)

And all three had failed to hit the intended target? Either those protesters had the crappiest aim on the planet, or...

Or the SWAT team
hadn’t
been the intended target.

Rebecca.

As the alarming thought sliced into his head, Nick glanced at the bartender and said, “Is there a back door I can leave out of?”

The man nodded, his shocked gaze still glued to the screen. He absently pointed to the corridor leading to the restrooms. “Emergency exit, back there.”

With a nod of gratitude, Nick hurried to the corridor. He’d all but forgotten about the trigger-happy mercenaries who were currently pursuing him; all he could focus on was Rebecca. Her cry of horror. Her shaky pleas for her cameraman to open his eyes and look at her.

The hospital. He had to get to the hospital ASAP. His inner alarms were ringing, his instincts screaming for him to get to Rebecca—and fast.

She was in danger. Whatever went down just now, it had been no accident. Someone had intentionally tried to blow up Rebecca and her crew. Nick knew it with a certainty that ran bone-deep.

And he got the feeling that it was all his fault.

* * *

Numb. Rebecca was utterly numb. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Each time she tried to snap herself out of it, the image of Jesse going up in flames assaulted her mind and nausea scampered up her throat. The odor of burned flesh still permeated her clothes, her hair, her nostrils. The look of terror and agony in Jesse’s eyes was one she would never forget.

People were talking to her. Yelling at her. She could hear their voices, but they sounded so very far away, like they were coming from the other end of a long tunnel. It wasn’t until she felt the sting of pain on her arm that she registered what was happening—the emergency room nurses were forcibly pulling her away from Jesse’s gurney.

“You can’t go in there with him, Ms. Parker,” one of the nurses snapped. “Please, let us handle it.”

She nodded weakly and stepped back, her gaze glued to Jesse’s face.

Or what used to be his face.

Sickness churned in her belly and she swallowed hard, trying to keep the nausea at bay. She’d encountered some gory visuals in her career, but this...this...

Rebecca tore her eyes off her friend’s charred, blackened flesh. Sorrow tightened her throat as the reality of the situation sank in.

Jesse wasn’t going to make it.

Nobody could possibly survive the severity of these burns.

“Fourth-degree burns,” she heard a male voice bark.

Shifting her head, she spotted a doctor in green scrubs rushing alongside the gurney, which was being rolled toward a pair of double doors bearing a restricted-access sign. The medical workers flocking Jesse disappeared through the swinging doors, but not before Rebecca heard the words
hypovolemic shock
being tossed out.

That didn’t sound good.

God, none of this was good.

She still couldn’t believe it. One second she’d been delivering a routine report into Jesse’s camera, the next she was watching her cameraman engulfed by flames.

And then another explosion. The explosion that rocked the van.

Dave’s screams of pain as he burned to death.

Rebecca gagged, choking on bile. She glimpsed a sign for the ladies’ washroom at the end of the hall and dashed toward it, throwing herself into the first available stall and flying to her knees. She threw up, her eyes watering, her throat burning.

She didn’t know how long she huddled over that toilet, but her insides felt raw and achy by the time she unsteadily rose to her feet. She left the stall and approached the sink where she rinsed out her mouth, then studied her ravaged appearance in the mirror.

Soot smudged her face, and she had a tiny nick on her left cheek from the pebble that had dug into her skin when she’d hit the pavement. Her white T-shirt was singed, streaked with black and gray—and red.... Blood. A quick investigation revealed that she had a minor scrape on her left hip.

Drawing in a shaky breath, she bent over the sink again and washed the ash off her face, but the smell of smoke continued to linger in the air.

That bone-numbing paralysis followed her out of the bathroom. She couldn’t seem to focus on a single thought. She knew she needed to find a doctor and ask about Jesse. She needed to call the network. She needed to contact Harry.

But she was so unbelievably
numb.

She stood in the fluorescent-lit corridor and sagged against the white wall, then slid into a sitting position and wrapped her arms around her knees. Five minutes or five hours—she could’ve been down there on the floor for either amount of time for how out of it she was.

“Ms. Parker?”

She lifted her head at the sound of the subdued male voice and found the doctor who’d been treating Jesse looming over her.

Rebecca took one look at his face and let out a soft moan. “Oh, God.”

“I’m sorry,” he said gently. “Mr. Williams’s burns were simply too severe. We were dealing with burns on more than twenty-five percent of the total body surface area and I’m afraid that...”

She tuned him out.

Because really, what was the point in listening anymore?

Jesse was dead. Dave was dead.

When you spent ten months of the year on assignment, you didn’t have much time for socializing, and these past five years, Jesse and Dave had been her only friends. The two men, both in their mid-forties, had taken Rebecca under their wing, treated her like the little sister they’d never had, shown her unfailing support and provided her with endless hours of laughter.

And now they were both gone.

“Ms. Parker?” the doctor prompted.

She absently met his gaze. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I was saying that the release of the body can be arranged with the coroner.”

Tears stung her eyes. “Right. Okay.”

With a sympathetic look, the doctor conveyed his apologies again, then walked away.

Wiping her eyes, Rebecca got to her feet, knowing she had to get it together. She would grieve later. Right now, she needed to be strong.

“Rebecca Parker?”

She turned around and saw two unfamiliar men in black suits approaching. The taller of the two flashed a gold badge, then offered a rueful smile. “Detective Raoul Flores,” he introduced. “This is my partner, Dante Valleti. We’re with the Mala P.D.”

Valleti, a stocky man with a shaved head, shot her a grave look. “We’re sorry to bother you in your time of grief, but we need to get a statement from you regarding the events that transpired.”

She stifled a sigh. “Does it have to be now?”

“I’m afraid so,” Flores said briskly. “It’s imperative that we question you while the details are still fresh in your mind—”

Fresh in her mind? She almost burst into hysterical laughter. God! Like she would ever forget seeing Jesse devoured by flames.

“—if we want to find the culprits responsible for the bombing.”

“Why don’t we do this in the commissary rather than the station?” Valleti suggested in a kind tone. “If you’d be more comfortable with that.”

She finally nodded. “Fine. But let’s make it fast. I have to contact Jesse’s family and...” Her throat squeezed. “I...have things to take care of.”

“We understand,” Flores said, his dark eyes flickering with sympathy.

And annoyance. She definitely didn’t miss the tiny spark of annoyance in the detective’s eyes.

Rebecca’s lips tightened as she followed the two men toward the elevator. The last thing she wanted to do was drink a cup of coffee and describe how she’d just watched her friends die before her eyes, and these policemen were insensitive jerks for making her do this. The only reason she’d agreed was because she wanted the people responsible to be punished for what they’d done to Jesse and Dave.

As the elevator doors opened, the trio stepped into the car. Valleti punched the button for the lobby, causing Rebecca to knit her eyebrows together in a frown. “The cafeteria is on the second floor,” she told the detective.

He ignored her.

Suppressing an angry retort, she reached out and tried to press the right button, only to freeze when something hard suddenly jabbed her tailbone.

A gun.

“Detective” Raoul Flores had pulled a gun and was now pressing the muzzle into Rebecca’s lower back.

As fear pummeled into her, Flores’s low warning hung in the elevator car. “One more move and I put a bullet in your spine, sweetheart.”

Chapter 6

N
ick came to a screeching stop at the curb in front of the hospital entrance, ignoring the no-parking signs and the frowns from the scrubs-wearing, cigarette-holding hospital workers loitering at the nearby smoking area. He’d tuned into the radio on the drive over, and although there had been no further updates about Rebecca or her cameraman, that feeling of urgency refused to leave him.

Rebecca had nearly died—the morning after she’d met with him. It was too big a coincidence to ignore, and when you factored in the hit squad that had ambushed Nick at the hotel earlier, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that his location had been compromised.

Shutting off the engine, he threw open the driver’s door and jumped out of the tan-colored sedan, but he’d barely taken three steps when his gaze collided with a startling scene.

Rebecca had just walked through the automatic doors at the entrance. She was flanked by two men in dark suits—one of whom happened to be the mercenary that had popped out of Nick’s hotel room less than an hour ago.

Rebecca’s green eyes widened in recognition when she spotted Nick across the narrow roadway. “Nick!” she shouted, the fear and panic on her face unmistakable.

The mercenaries on either side of her immediately swiveled their heads in Nick’s direction, and a second later, two guns were aimed at him.

Yet again, the sheer boldness of these bastards amazed him. They had no qualms about opening fire—in public—and Nick found himself diving behind the sedan for cover as the mercenaries started shooting.

Screams erupted from the smoking section near the curb. Nick ignored the din and drew his weapon. Sitting on the asphalt, he flattened his back against the passenger-side door, took a deep breath, then risked a glance at the shooters.

Metallic pings echoed in the air as a spray of bullets embedded into the side of the sedan. The men were using silencers. So was Nick, and his next shot came out as a sharp hiss. He hit one of the mercenaries square in the chest, and satisfaction ignited in his gut as he watched the man go down.

More horrified shouts cut the air. It was ten o’clock in the morning, too bright and sunny for a goddamn shoot-out outside a hospital. A swift peek around the front bumper revealed the remaining mercenary dragging Rebecca toward the police cruiser parked near the E.R. entrance. Nick didn’t know how the mercs had managed to get their hands on a cop car, but these men sure as hell weren’t police officers.

“Rebecca!” Nick yelled from his position behind the car. “Get down!”

Rather than obey, the stubborn woman did the exact opposite—she suddenly lunged at the man who was glued to her side, disarming him with a nifty little kickboxing move that would’ve made Nick grin if he wasn’t so frickin’ furious.

Both Rebecca and the merc dived after the falling weapon, but the redhead reached it first. She pointed the gun at her almost-abductor and bounced to her feet, tossing Nick a frantic glance over her shoulder.

The questioning look in her eyes told him she was debating whether to shoot the mercenary, but Nick quickly vetoed that idea by shouting, “Get in the car! I’ll cover you.”

After a beat of hesitation, Rebecca spun on her heels and raced toward the sedan while Nick kept his gun trained on the mercenary. The stocky man was staggering to his feet, his eyes alight with rage as he watched his prey escape.

Nick would’ve liked to put a bullet in the son of a bitch’s head, but the wail of sirens and the shocked faces of the crowd beginning to form stopped him from being stupid. This was a disaster. One merc dead, the other now fleeing the scene, his heavy footsteps thudding on the pavement.

Rebecca slid into the passenger seat and slammed the door, prompting Nick to move. Keeping his head down, he dashed to the driver’s side and jumped into the car. Seconds later, he’d started the engine and was hightailing it out of there.

No media. He clung to the thought as he sped away in a squeal of tires. There had been no cameras or reporters outside the hospital, so at least he didn’t have to worry about his pretty mug appearing on any television screens. But those people on the curb had seen his face—what if one of them had recognized him as Nick Barrett?

His gaze moved to the silent, ashen-faced redhead beside him. No, Rebecca was the more recognizable of the two of them. If anyone had been recognized, it was her.

“Are you okay?” he asked tersely, keeping his eyes on the road ahead.

She didn’t answer.

From the corner of his eye, Nick saw that her hands were still wrapped around the mercenary’s .45 HK. Steady hands. Jeez, the woman had nerves of steel. She wasn’t trembling, her breathing was steady, her eyes alert.

Only that white-as-snow complexion revealed her fear.

“Rebecca.” He sharpened his tone. “Are you all right?”

She blinked. Shook her head a couple of times. Then she turned to meet his concerned gaze. “What the heck is going on?” she blurted out. “Who were those men? What did they want from me?”

“They were mercenaries. A private hit squad.”

Her face went another shade paler. “Hit squad? They were sent here to kill me?”

“Most likely.”

Those green eyes blazed at his nonchalant response. “Why? Why would they want to kill me?”

“Because you talked to me,” he said simply.

Her breath hitched.

Nick drove through an intersection and executed a hard left, speeding through the narrow streets of Mala.

“I told you this would happen,” he went on, his tone harsher than he intended. “You spoke to someone about me, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” There was no guilt in her voice, no remorse on her face, but she looked shaken as hell.

“Who?”

“My producer, Harry Drexler.” She let out a wobbly breath. “I asked him to dig around, find out why the sec def’s son would be in Cortega.”

Nick cursed under his breath. “He probably triggered a hundred alarms when he started asking questions.”

Not to mention broadcasted Nick’s location to the people who were hunting him.

Wonderful. Now it was even more imperative that he meet with Salazar and get the hell out of Cortega.

“I’m sorry,” Rebecca said quietly. “You told me to forget I ever saw you, and I didn’t listen, but you’ve got to understand, this is my job—”

“This is your
life,
” he cut in. “I told you that getting involved in this would put you in danger, but you just couldn’t let it go, could you?”

“Involved in
what?
” she said angrily. “Maybe if you’d offered a few more details last night, I would have been able to drop it the way you asked—no, the way you
demanded.
But what the heck did you expect would happen when you dangled that gee-dee carrot under my nose? I’m a journalist! I don’t stop asking questions, I don’t stop digging, not until I have the whole story, and I refuse to apologize for being dedicated to my job!”

He sped through another intersection before turning to glare at her. “How clearer could I have been? I told you your life would be at risk if you told anyone about me.”

“My life is always at risk,” she retorted, her jaw tighter than a drum. “It was at risk when I got shot at by those rebels in Johannesburg. It was at risk when I covered the civil war in Congo and when I visited a warlord’s prison in Nigeria and when—”

“I get the point.”

“Do you? Because I don’t think you understand what I
do
for a living.” Her tone grew surly. “I don’t walk away from a story. Period.”

“Well, how’s that working out for you right now?” he said sarcastically.

Rebecca fell silent, but he could feel the anger vibrating from that petite body of hers. Angry. She was frickin’
angry
at him. After he’d just saved her life.

She saved herself, buddy boy.

Fine, so she’d displayed some impressive skills when she’d kicked that gun out of her captor’s hands, but if Nick hadn’t taken down the merc’s colleague, Rebecca wouldn’t have had the opportunity to act. The woman ought to be showing him some gratitude instead of stewing there as if he’d wronged her.

Nick turned into the parking lot of a small plaza and drove to the alley in the back where he parked next to a black SUV.

“What are we doing?” Rebecca asked warily.

“Ditching the car.”

“You’re just going to abandon your car in this alley?” She sounded bewildered.

“This isn’t my car.”

“Then whose is it? Did you steal it?”

“Do you always ask so many questions?” he said irritably.

“I’m a
journalist.
Why do you keep forgetting that?”

Nick reached for the door handle. “Get out of the car, Rebecca.”

They hopped out, and he quickly ushered her to the SUV and opened the passenger door for her. A suspicious cloud floated across her face. “Did you steal this one, too?”

He sighed. “No, this one is mine. I stashed it here before I went to the hospital. Now get in before I push you in.”

To his dismay, amusement danced in her green eyes. “You’re so bossy. I kinda like it. Sometimes.”

He decided not to touch that remark. In fact, he was having a difficult time making sense of
anything
this woman said and did. Rebecca Parker was fearless. Terrifyingly fearless. She should’ve been far more shaken up over everything that had happened, yet she seemed unfazed by it all.

Or so he thought; it wasn’t until they were in the SUV and on the move again that Rebecca’s composed front finally began showing signs of cracking.

“I need to know what’s going on.” Her voice wavered. “Jesse...my cameraman...he’s
dead.
”

The chord of sorrow in her voice made his chest ache. “Ah, Rebecca, I’m sorry.”

“Fourth-degree burns.” Now she sounded angry again. “He’s dead, Nick. Jesse’s dead and Dave is dead, and
I
almost died, and I don’t think it was part of the riot. I don’t think it was an accident.”

“Neither do I.”

His hands slid over the steering wheel as he pulled onto the on-ramp of Mala’s sole freeway. The road was littered with potholes, the pavement uneven, but it sure beat the narrow maze of streets that made up the city’s core.

“Where are we going?” Rebecca asked as the SUV picked up speed.

“North. I’ve got a place where we can lie low until we figure out our next move. It’s about an hour’s drive.”

“An hour, huh?”

He felt her sharp gaze burning a hole into the side of his face. Stifling a tired sigh, he gave her a sidelong gaze and said, “What?”

“Are you kidding me?” She shook her head in disbelief. “We’ve got an hour’s drive ahead of us. So start talking, Nick! Tell me what the fu—
fudge
is going on, darn it!”

Rebecca couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this frustrated. It didn’t help that the man beside her was more tight-lipped than a mob boss. Would it kill Nick to offer some insight on this messed-up situation? Two men had nearly abducted her in broad daylight. With the intent of
killing
her, if they truly were members of a hit squad like Nick claimed.

Leftover adrenaline traveled in her veins, making her feel light-headed. She suddenly became aware that she was still holding that hit man’s gun, and she quickly opened the glove compartment and shoved the weapon inside.

Next to her, Nick still hadn’t uttered a word.

“Start. Talking,” she ordered through gritted teeth.

He let out a heavy breath. “It’s a long story.”

“And gee, we have an
hour
for you to tell it. So, for the love of God, tell me what’s going on. Why do people want to kill you?”

Nick went quiet for a beat. “What do you know about the Meridian virus?”

The question succeeded in startling her. “Wait, this is about the Meridian virus?” When he nodded, she furrowed her brow in confusion. “Okay. Well, I know a lot about it. A terrorist group—some splinter faction of the ULF—released it in the water supply of Dixie, New York, two weeks ago, killing a thousand people. The group threatened to release the virus in a major city if America didn’t remove its influence from San Marquez.”

“Right,” Nick said with a nod. “What else?”

Because she’d reported on the virus crisis directly outside the small town of Dixie, Rebecca had no shortage of details. “The ULF cell claimed that the virus was engineered in the United States, and that our government authorized the testing of it in San Marquez. They said we killed hundreds of their villagers.”

“We did.”

Nick’s matter-of-fact response sent her eyebrows soaring. “Are you serious?” she demanded.

He turned his head to meet her surprised gaze, nodded, then focused on the stretch of highway up ahead. “The first test site was Corazón. It’s a remote village in the western region of San Marquez. My unit and I were sent there to extract an American doctor who was supposedly being held hostage by the ULF rebels, but when we got there, the doctor was already dead. So were all the villagers.”

“They were killed by the virus?”

“Yes, but we didn’t know it at the time. My unit showed up to find Hector Cruz and his fellow rebels burning all the bodies.”

Rebecca blanched. Before she could stop it, the image of Jesse on fire flashed into her head, and her mind cruelly conjured up the acrid stench of smoke and flesh. It was so real she could swear she was smelling it in the SUV, and she had to take a deep calming breath before she fell apart again.

“What happened afterward?” she asked, trying to focus on Nick’s story.

“Cruz got away, and we were recalled back to the States for debriefing. We were all operating under the assumption that Cruz and his men had killed the Corazón villagers.” Nick’s profile hardened. “But then my teammates starting dying. One accidental death after the other. It became obvious that someone was trying to eliminate us, but we didn’t know why. When there were only three of us left, we decided to skip town and hide out until we could figure out why we were being hunted.”

She wrinkled her brow. “And you tied it to the Meridian virus?”

He nodded again. “The Corazón villagers died from the virus. We think someone in the government wanted to shut us up, get us out of the way in case we gave too much thought to what we saw in that village.”