Too Hot to Hold (16 page)

Fuck
.

“You don’t look happy to see me again, Kaylee. Then again, the man you’re traveling with isn’t one of my favorite people either.” The man who’d called himself Agent Simms still had a large bruise across his throat and another on his cheek and Nick wanted nothing more than to put his own hand around that neck again.

He didn’t need to turn around to know that Ferone was behind them—the click of a rifle at the ready was enough of a hello.

“Where’s your badge now?” Nick kept his voice calm, didn’t attempt to bring up his weapon. Instead, he held Kaylee tight against his side with an arm around her waist—
shit
, she was shaking—and shifted them slightly so he could see both men surrounding them.

Simms sneered, his teeth nearly bared. “Don’t worry about that—all I need is Aaron’s bankbook and after that you two can rest in peace.”

And then he turned to Sarah, “You get out of here now. You saw nothing.”

Sarah nodded and backed up, following the man’s directions. Nick ran through two possible plans in his mind—both of which consisted of literally pushing Kaylee to the ground and out of the way, but before he could react, Sarah brought the butt of her rifle down hard against the back of Simms’s head.

Nick immediately slammed Agent Ferone hard, in the gut, used his elbow to angle Ferone’s gun in the air. It went off, the shot ringing through the chaos outside the airport, and Sarah was yelling, “Get in the car!”

They all heard the screech of tires and turned to see a vehicle careen around the corner heading directly toward them.

“Soldiers,” Nick told Kaylee, and yeah, if it was a choice between soldiers and Sarah, he knew who he’d rather be with.

Simms was up, though, moved toward Nick even as the soldiers came closer in their own car.

Nick didn’t hesitate, pushed Kaylee into the backseat and turned to slam Simms to the ground with a well-placed foot to the man’s knee. It was fighting dirty, but Nick wasn’t in the mood for fair play—not when he and Kaylee were in the crosshairs.

When Simms didn’t get up immediately, Nick followed Kaylee into the backseat, closing the door even as Sarah peeled the car away from the tarmac and toward a strip of red road.

“Those men knew you,” Sarah said.

“I didn’t know they’d follow me here,” Kaylee told her.

Sarah glanced in the rearview mirror. “They’re not following us now—only the soldiers.”

Nick had already grabbed one of the automatic rifles from the back of the ancient Land Rover as Sarah sped along the back paths like she owned them.

“I can lose them, but it’s not going to be pretty.” Sarah looked over her shoulder. “Don’t shoot first.”

“Like that would matter,” Nick muttered.

“You’re going to have to trust me, considering I just saved your damned life,” Sarah answered him. “You should’ve killed those men.”

Yes, he probably should have, but killing possible FBI agents wasn’t on his list of career goals. Because when this was all over, he’d like a career to go back to.

“How did they know we’d be here? How did they beat us here?” Kaylee asked him as she watched the soldiers out the back window.

He had no fucking idea—although his guess was that the agents were CIA, not FBI. In his experience, the CIA was more likely to take care of a problem by getting rid of it. “Get down, Kaylee.”

“We’ve got more company,” Sarah called.

Nick turned to see two more cars join the first and put a hand on Kaylee’s shoulder. “Get down, stay down and hold on. And cover your ears.”

She nodded, even as she lowered herself to the floor. He ducked when bullets hit the car, heard her cry out and then watched as she covered her ears as he’d asked.

Sarah was somehow driving and shooting, and damn, it was like being in the car with Jake, but at least he was used to it—ended up balanced on the seat and went out the sunroof, alternately ducking and shooting for the tires. A risky fucking proposition, but better than sticking his head out the back.

After a few wild minutes—which included the sound of glass breaking and Sarah yelling to him and bullets flying—things calmed. Not Sarah’s driving, however, as the car zigged and zagged and he hung on until a sickening slam shoved Kaylee against the door hard.

He dropped down onto the seat, dragged her up into his arms to steady them both until the car made a sudden, sharp right turn that yanked at his neck.

And just as suddenly as the sounds of gunfire had started, they stopped, the silence in the car punctuated only by the tinkling sounds of African drum and percussion music playing on the radio and Sarah’s own soft mutterings.

Kaylee felt like rubber, as if she’d lived a thousand lives in those fifteen minutes of car chase, and she resisted the urge to look down at herself and check for wounds as the ride straightened out but continued pace.

She did, however, check Nick. His forehead had a small gash that bled, but otherwise, he seemed in one piece. Breathing.

She noted that he was doing the same thing to her—checking her over, assessing her, feeling for a pulse even as the car continued to careen at a speed that forced her to hold on to him tightly.

“I’m okay,” she told him.

He nodded, touched her cheek for a brief second and then looked toward the front seat as Sarah asked calmly, “Would one of you like to explain what that was all about? Because if you’re going to put me in harm’s way, I’d like to be prepared.”

Kaylee wanted to ask Sarah how much more prepared she could be, since the woman hadn’t blinked in the face of danger. She was one hell of a cool customer, although with growing up in this environment, Kaylee supposed she had to be. Kaylee had always assumed that the stories her colleagues told about working with the photographer-slash-guide had been exaggerated—fish stories, so to speak, with each man and woman trying to show how much they were willing to put their own lives on the line for a story.

But the quiet confidence… the way she’d taken that man down back at the airport. Kaylee wondered what Sarah Cameron’s deal was, and then reminded herself that she had enough of a story of her own to unravel. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I should have warned you that I didn’t know what I was walking into when I came here.”

“Those men followed you from the States?” Sarah asked, and Nick nodded in confirmation. “We’ve lost them for now, but if they’re hell-bent on finding you two, we’re going to need a much better plan. They mentioned money.”

“Yes. I was bringing money to my ex-husband. He might’ve been kidnapped.”

“Might have been?”

“I don’t know if he’s really alive,” Kaylee admitted. “I don’t know what’s going on anymore.”

Sarah kept her eyes on the road. While the airport had been loud and dusty, where Sarah drove them was scenic—almost serene. It was beautiful, with lush green surrounding them on both sides, even as it was cut by a swath of unpaved road that contained craters the size of cars. So much beauty and so much danger in one place.

“You’re not carrying cash, are you?” Sarah asked.

“Just enough to get us past the border guards if we’re stopped,” Nick told her.

“We’ll have to stake out the area first. When are you expected?” Sarah asked, and none of this seemed out of the ordinary to her.

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Then we’ll have to get there first. We’ve got the weather on our side for the next twenty-four hours. After that, I can’t promise we can move fast,” Sarah told them. “We’ll have to drive in the dark. It’s risky—parts of this country are under curfew and night’s the worst time for travel, but I should be able to cover enough ground to get us there between ten and eleven. Minimal stops.”

“I can switch off driving with you,” Nick told her.

“If we come upon those men again, do you need me to kill them?” Sarah asked Nick. “I’m assuming you’re American military. I’m assuming that killing American agents wouldn’t be good for your career.”

“I wouldn’t put that on you,” Nick told her quietly.

“If you’d prefer to work with a male guide—”

“No, that’s not it. You saved our asses. I don’t discriminate when it comes to that,” he told her.

“Nick, do you really think…” Kaylee trailed off, not sure how much to say in front of Sarah.

“Yeah, I think they’ll keep trying,” he said. “We’ll be cutting it damned close.”

Kaylee turned around to stare at the road behind them. It was all clear, and much easier to deal with right now than the road that lay ahead.

13

Chris Waldron didn’t show himself until four hours into the flight, when they were well over water and there was no way to get him the hell off, except by parachute. Which he probably wouldn’t mind at all.

“Glad I didn’t miss wheels-up, Agent Michaels” was all he said when he strolled down the aisle, ducking slightly to avoid smacking his head on the ceiling.

Jamie had underestimated him—stupidly, perhaps. But in her defense, typically, most military men wanted nothing whatsoever to do with the feds or any kind of investigation. “You are not authorized to be on either this plane or this mission.”

“I’m willing to bet you’re not either. This isn’t an FBI plane,” he countered.

It wasn’t—she’d paid money for a private charter to Kisangani … and she didn’t want to know how he’d found that out. She opened her mouth to protest but in the end the need to go find her sister was stronger. She wouldn’t let him—or anyone else—screw this up for her.

In this case, she let her weapon do the talking and she pulled and held her gun steadily on him. “You’re going to back off, Chief Petty Officer Waldron. You’re going to sit down and shut up, and you’re going to deplane at the very first opportunity.”

“And if I don’t you’re going to kill me?”

She didn’t answer.

“Put the fucking gun down, Jamie.”

She didn’t—he was faster, much faster than she was with a weapon. Just because his wasn’t drawn right now didn’t mean anything—he still had a better chance of taking her out. “You’re interfering with my investigation.”

“I’m starting to lose my patience, and that doesn’t happen all that often. Lower your weapon and tell me what the hell’s going on.”

“You’re unauthorized. I want you to sit down and let me restrain you properly.”

He laughed. It was a low snort at first, turned to fullblown laughter fast, his head thrown back as if it was the best joke he’d ever heard.

It was enough to distract her.

Within seconds, despite her years of training, Chris was behind her, his arm slung across her chest in a diagonal hold, her arm with the gun forced down to the floor. “If you looked in my file,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear, “you would know that I’m a very dangerous man. A man you’d want next to you in a combat situation, if your life needs saving. A man you wouldn’t want next to you if you’re not on my side.”

With that warning delivered, he yanked the gun out of her hand and held her there, her back pressed to his chest—it was like being trapped against a solid brick wall. An angry one.

Calm, Jamie, just stay calm
. “I don’t have the clearance to look in your file. Nor the desire.” A total lie, since she’d found the necessary clearance to get a basic rundown on the man’s skills after their first meeting.

“I don’t give a shit about that. I want to know what you know about Aaron Smith. Because Nick’s in big trouble and there’s no way you’re holding me back from this.”

“I understand worrying about your teammate—”

Chris cut her off. “Nick’s more than a teammate. He’s my brother.”

“I know, the brotherhood of the SEALs—”

“I mean, he’s my brother. As in, raised in the same family,” he clarified.

His brother. God, she wished he hadn’t said that. “When we land, you’re free to go where you’d like.”

“Make no mistake about it, I’m going with you.” He released her. “Over the years, my team and I have made friends with a lot of people. We help each other when it’s necessary.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

“I’m willing to give it anyway.” He held his gaze steady, as if searching her face for any signs that she would give up her intel.

“What if I don’t tell you? What if I can’t?”

“Then it’s going to be a hell of a ride into the motherland.”

She turned from him, wished there was someplace else to go to move away from his gaze. The little voice inside of her told her to trust him—the same voice that had always told her to never, ever trust anyone fully, and she didn’t understand what kind of magic Chris had in him to do that to her.

She sat and bowed her head in her hands, elbows on the small table where she’d been studying the map of Ubundu earlier, trying to figure out the best routes to get to the warehouse—the last known rumored address of the GOST group, which she’d gotten from searching through confidential files.

I would know if my sister was dead—I would feel it
.

Jamie just had to get there in time to warn Sophie, to pull her away from this group and face the consequences later. There was no other choice.

“Why are you so sad, Jamie?”

Chris’s voice was like a long caress across the back of her neck. For a second, she’d forgotten she wasn’t alone. Unconsciously, she put her own palm there and attempted to rub some of the tension away.

She hadn’t heard him walk toward her, but suddenly his own hand eased over hers and she let it. His palm was rough, calloused—hands that worked for a living, and it felt wonderful against her smooth skin, hot to her cool.

She should’ve shoved him away, stood up, demanded that he stop—stop touching her, stop being so nice … stop everything.

But she didn’t. “I’m not sad—my head hurts.” Half truth, half lie.

“Migraine.”

“Yes. I get them sometimes.”

“What do you take?”

“Nothing.”

“So what, you just will them away?”

“Something like that.” She shouldn’t be doing this, letting his hands roam on her. She needed to focus, to figure out her plan once the plane landed.

But his hands, so good—she could sleep right now. Sleep with her head against his chest. “You’re good at that. Good hands.”

“Runs in my family on my momma’s side.”

“She was a sniper like you?”

“She was a midwife when I was growing up.”

“Do you deliver babies too?”

“Sometimes. I’m also the team’s corpsman.”

“Sniper and a corpsman. Seems like an odd combination. Do you feel the need to bring people back from the dead or something?”

His hands jerked away from her, fast, like he’d received an electric shock from her body.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, turned to him. His discomfort was more than evident, if only for a few seconds before it faded.

“Nothing. I just don’t like talking about my job.”

She wondered if that was a superstition common among snipers or if it was only Chris’s, and she didn’t question him further. Her own hand was palm down on her right thigh, covering the healed wounds. She often did that—touched them as if they were some kind of strange talisman. A reminder of where she’d been and where she was going—what she had to do to survive. So yes, she understood superstition.

There was still so much time left before the flight landed, and already her body felt heavy from under-use. The past few days had taken their toll on her emotionally and she was a bundle of nerves. Frayed at the edges. And about to get into more trouble than she’d ever been in.

She could lose her job for this, but for the first time in her life, she didn’t care. His touch had, at least, cleared her head. “Does your offer of help still stand?”

“Yes.” Chris was in front of her, on his knees, his palms over hers. “It’s you and me—Jamie and Chris. Fuck the agent shit, tell me.”

“I don’t even know you.”

“You know my brother’s in trouble.”

Yes, she knew.

And by letting him in, she was breaking all the rules and risking his life in the bargain. “I have to know how far you’re willing to go.”

“For my family? All the way, Jamie.”

She nodded, had suspected as much, but needed to hear that confirmation. “I’m looking for a group called
GOST
. It was started by a few high-ranking government officials—senators and congressmen, although their names haven’t ever been revealed—with the help of the FBI and CIA. And for a while, GOST served a necessary purpose.” She glanced toward the cockpit door. “It was created to get around Executive Order 11905.”

“Prohibition on Assassination,” Chris said slowly. “‘No employee of the United States Government shall engage in, or conspire to engage in, political assassination.’”

“Right. It was an experiment,” Jamie continued quietly. “A group of supersecret and highly trained men and women to do the kinds of jobs nobody wanted to know about and everybody wanted done. The dirty work. The kind of work that keeps the economy and our world safe. But things went wrong.”

“I imagine they would. How were they recruited?”

“Mostly they were culled from the military—which they went to from Witness Protection. GOST threatened them … with their own safety.”

“That wouldn’t be enough to force me into something.” His voice was low and steady. Calm, even, but his body still vibrated with that invisible energy, more so now than before.

“It wasn’t,” she agreed. “So the CIA came up with something different to keep them. Threatening their loved ones.”

“That would do it. Motherfucker.”

“Chris, if anyone knew I was telling you this—”

“They won’t,” he interrupted. “How the hell do you know about it? Are you part of the team that created them?”

“No, I had no part in it. I’d heard the rumors about it for years—and when I began to dig, I found things I didn’t want to. And you’re right, this whole investigation is unofficial.”

“How the hell did you get involved in all of this?” Her voice was hoarse when she spoke, like she’d been choking back tears. “I have reason to believe they recruited my sister.”

He grasped her hand and swore under his breath. She liked that Chris was holding her hand. Comfort flooded her. “Sophie was in the Air Force, a pilot. There was an accident—a crash—and after that, she wasn’t herself. The Air Force cleared her of any blame, but still, she resigned her commission. And then she was approached by the CIA—she told me it was her second chance.”

“How long has it been since you’ve heard from her?”

“She’s been missing for almost nine months. The CIA said she stopped showing up for training—no one could find her and no one could help me. No one wanted to help me. They said she was a grown woman and she’d probably gone off on her own. But while I was searching for her, I began researching others who’d been in Witness Protection who’ve disappeared without a trace—fallen off the ends of the earth,” she told him.

“Isn’t that the point of Witness Protection?”

“Even the marshals, their only contact points, don’t know where they went.” She didn’t tell him that her foster father was a U.S. marshal and he’d reluctantly shown her the database in the interest of helping Sophie. “I saw the reports. They were released from the program and allowed to join the military. And then they disappeared. Some were discharged, like Sophie. And some just never showed up for work again,” she explained.

“You think they were the ones recruited for GOST?”

“It’s a perfect plan—sick, but perfect. They couldn’t go against GOST and risk being exposed to the people who’d wanted them dead to begin with—the people who’d forced them to go into hiding in the first place. Comply or die.”

“Your sister was in Witness Protection before she was commissioned?” he asked.

“From the time she was twelve,” she said, braced for his next question about her own Witness Protection status, but he didn’t ask.

That was good—she wasn’t ready to tell.

Instead, he got up off his knees. “We’ve got to figure out how fucked my brother and your sister are.”

She could barely look him in the eye when she delivered her next words, the ones she’d been dreading saying out loud. “Based on the intel I’ve got, it might be too late for both of them.” She’d spent more time around computers than humans, knew how to get what she needed. When it was her against the computers, she could always win. “I found a CIA directive from a man named John Caspar to Agents Simms and Ferone—an order to eradicate GOST and its members ASAP. Africa was the test ground. If things went the way they planned—if their operatives did what they were supposed to—they were going to train a new group and take it global. Obviously, it hadn’t gone well.”

“Who is this John Caspar guy?”

“That’s the problem—he doesn’t exist. I’ve been trying to get a handle on him for months. He’s virtually untraceable. And since I can’t get a picture or address or even a job description, I can’t follow him on foot.” She sighed, pushed some stray hairs off her face.

“How does this tie to Nick?”

“Your brother did some work for a mercenary named Bobby Juniper, aka Clutch.”

Chris nodded slowly. “You think Clutch is part of that group.”

“He fits the profile.”

“Nick was trying to make contact with Clutch before he left but couldn’t. He left him messages. The location that he and Kaylee were headed toward. They’re about five hours ahead of us—landing in Ubundu.”

“You have coordinate points? From who?”

“Look, this is going to sound crazy… but based on what you’re telling me, maybe not so much. Kaylee Smith’s husband was an Army Ranger—the Army claimed he was KIA and then, a couple of weeks ago, Aaron called her. And then some FBI agents came to her and said he’d gone AWOL. And then Aaron called again, told her to go to Africa. Gave her coordinate points.”