Rules in Rescue

by Nichole Severn

The house had been abandoned long before she’d gotten there, but Bennett’s GPS hadn’t lied. He’d been there for close to an entire day before his phone had been turned off. Or died. Which didn’t make sense. They’d been assigned by the provost marshal general to investigate a stolen shipment of military hardware out of JBER here in Anchorage. Guns, ammunition, rocket launchers. At no point in their investigation had an abandoned house located downtown come into the equation. Bennett shouldn’t have been there.

  “One-word answers aren’t going to help me keep you alive.” The rough edge to Anthony’s voice added to the weight in her stomach.

  Relief flooded through her, however fleeting. She shouldn’t have called him, but after two days of no leads and running into dead ends, she’d run out of options. Going to the police, even involving the army in her partner’s disappearance, could put her son in danger. Because while she didn’t know exactly what’d happened to Bennett, her gut said he hadn’t walked away. In the end, Anthony was the only person she could trust not to get himself killed and to protect her in the process. “Does that mean you’ve decided to help me?”

  Anthony pressed a button hidden beneath the driver’s sun visor and swung the SUV down into an underground parking garage. The building wasn’t familiar. At least, she didn’t recognize it. Several SUVs, exactly like his, lined the parking stalls. No other personnel were visible in the cement fortress. No security guards. No employees. The place was empty.

  “We’re here,” he said.

  She caught sight of four cameras mounted to the ceiling, all with small red lights beneath the lenses. That, coupled with the Batcave entrance, gave her an idea of where they’d ended up.

  Blackhawk Security. His new employer.

  Anthony shouldered his way out of the vehicle and rounded back to open her door for her, weapon in hand. Always the gentleman, always prepared for the worst.

  “I’ve got to say, I never imagined you working in the private sector.” He certainly hadn’t been willing to change careers when they’d been a couple.

  She slid out of the SUV, but fell into him when another round of pain shot across her shoulder. With one hand on his chest to keep from face-planting on the cement, she tried to ignore the seductive heat snaking through her. Being shot at, taking a bullet—that she could handle. It’d been part of her job since the day she’d been promoted to special agent within CID. But being this close to him, his clean, masculine scent resurrecting countless nights spent wrapped in each other’s arms... Glennon added another foot of space between them.

  No. Despite her need for Anthony’s help, that was as far as it’d go between them. Nothing more. She pulled away. Her voice wavered as she forced her gaze from his. Or was it from the blood loss? “What finally made you decide to leave the wars behind?”

  “We need to take a look at that wound.” He slammed the door closed behind her and headed for the single elevator on the north side of the parking garage. Studying their surroundings, he adjusted his vest. Ready for anything.

  A rush of warmth crawled into her neck and face as she kept on his heels. The elevator doors closed behind them, her stomach dropping as they ascended to the top floor. Whether it was from the change in elevation or being caged in a small container with the one man she thought she’d never see again, she didn’t know. Didn’t matter. She had a job to do and the bullet tearing through her left shoulder should’ve kept reminding her of that.

  With a muted ding, the elevator doors parted and they stepped onto a darkened floor. It was after hours. Most Blackhawk Security personnel had obviously gone home for the day, but Anthony led her to a single lit room at the end of the hall.

  A breathtaking view of the Chugach Mountain range took up the entire east side of the floor, and her insides ached. This had been her home for most of her life. She’d loved it. The wildlife, the snow, the sunsets and beautiful lakes. Leaving this city—she glanced at Anthony—leaving him had been one of the hardest decisions she’d ever made. Even if it had been the only option at the time.

  “I’ve already called in the rest of the team.” Anthony diverted her to a hallway to his left, bypassing an occupied conference room, and motioned her inside the first door. “But I’m going to check out that wound first.”

  “Like I said back at the scene, I’m fine.” She’d taken a bullet before. And lived. But he didn’t need to know the details of that particular investigation. “I came to you to keep me alive, and so far, you’ve done a bang-up job. Now, let me do mine.”

  She made her way back to their original route and swung the floor-to-ceiling oak door open with her uninjured arm. The large conference room was dominated by men and women she assumed made up the founding core of Blackhawk Security. One stood immediately, striding toward her with his hand extended. He was muscular, although not quite as big as Anthony. Dark hair and a five-o’clock shadow were eclipsed by his sharp sea-blue eyes. “Sullivan Bishop, CEO of Blackhawk Security. You must be Ms. Chase. We’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Sergeant Chase.” Probably nothing good, considering how things had ended between her and Anthony. She wrapped her blood-free hand around Sullivan’s calloused grip. “But as much as I love the chitchat, I don’t have a lot time. My partner is missing and the longer I’m here, the less likely I’ll find him alive. So I need Anthony to help in the recovery. I’ll pay whatever fee you set. There’s just one condition—you can’t involve the authorities or the army.”

  “All right. Then let’s get to the point, Sergeant.” Sullivan threw Anthony an amused smile before dropping her hand and folding his arms across his chest. His stance screamed military—wide legs, impossible to push over if she tried. A SEAL, if she had to guess. She could tell by the haircut. “Who put that bullet in your shoulder and why?”

  Anthony threaded his fingers around her uninjured arm, hiking her into his side. “She needs to get this wound checked before we get into this.”

  Hadn’t they already covered this?

  “I have no idea.” Stinging pain worked through her as she wrenched out of his hold to take a seat. As much as she appreciated his concern, they didn’t have time for this. Flashes of the night’s events were fresh in her mind and she needed to remember every detail. Talking it through was the only way to do that. The shooter could be anywhere by now.

  Collapsing back into one of the leather chairs, she exhaled hard, checking her wound. No major damage. She’d live, but she’d need a good cleaning, and stitches front and back. “But I’m positive it has to do with my partner’s disappearance. I tracked Sergeant Spencer’s phone GPS to that location. Obviously someone doesn’t want me following in his footsteps.”

  Anthony took a seat two chairs down, her awareness of him at an all-time high.

  “Could it have been your partner who pulled that trigger?” Another member of the team leaned forward in his chair, fingers laced on the dark reflective wood. His expression seemed to light up at the idea.

  She’d done research on the people in this room before dialing Anthony’s number. Sullivan Bishop: CEO. Elizabeth Dawson: network security. Kate Monroe: profiler. Vincent Kalani: forensics. She’d had to know what kind of support—if any—she’d have access to during her off-the-books investigation. But something about Elliot Dunham, Blackhawk Security’s con-artist-turned-private-investigator, made her hope the firm had a whole lot of hazard insurance to keep him on their payroll. “It’s not him. I know Bennett. He’d never take a shot at me.”

  “It’s amazing what some people will do to keep their secrets safe.” Elliot smiled. “And going to the police is a bad idea because...?”

  All eyes landed on her, a physical pressure holding Glennon in her chair. “The fewer people involved, the better.”

  She had her own secrets. Granted they wouldn’t stay buried forever, but she wasn’t about to reveal them right here, right now. And not to these people. She glanced toward
her ex-fiancé, every muscle in her body strung tight. A rush of dizziness crashed through her and she checked her stained shirt. Too much blood loss. Damn it. Maybe she should’ve listened to him after all. She couldn’t go on like this much longer.

  Gripping the table hard, Glennon tried to breathe through the darkness closing around the edges of her vision. “On second thought, I think I’ll take you up on that patch job now.”

  Chapter Two

  Memories could only get a man so far.

  Having Glennon here, his hands on her skin, resurrected those irrational feelings he thought he’d buried a long time ago. He wiped the excess blood from her wound, doing everything in his power not to crowd her as he worked. That was the thing about Glennon. She urged him to get closer, pulling him in with her scent, the brightness in her gaze and her smile. But she’d made herself perfectly clear when she’d tugged her arm out of his hold in the conference room. Calling him tonight had been strictly business.

  “How bad is it?” A hiss escaped from between her teeth as he inspected the wound for shrapnel, but she turned her head away to hide her reaction. Exhaustion wreaked havoc under her eyes, but she wouldn’t admit she needed sleep. Wouldn’t admit she needed anything. Always insisted on taking care of herself. Which made her asking for his help in the middle of the night...suspicious.

  “Could’ve been worse. Looks like a through-and-through. Just the one piece of shrapnel.” He’d seen plenty of bullet wounds on tour. Not for the faint of heart, but she held her own.

  Anthony discarded the sliver of metal and bloody gauze into the biohazard bin then reached for the needle and thread he’d already prepped. Crude, but she’d asked for a fast patch job. No anesthetic. No doctor consult.

  “Good.” Glennon tugged at her T-shirt and sports bra to give him better access. All that perfect, creamy skin exposed only for him. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Pinching the wound with sanitized hands, he sutured the sides closed. The rise and fall of her lean shoulders set his heart rate at an easy rhythm. As much as he’d wanted to hunt down that shooter on his own to make the bastard pay for putting a bullet in her, relief spread through him. She was alive. That was all that mattered. She’d asked him to protect her, and he’d done his job. But pulling bullet fragments from her shoulder wouldn’t be the end of it. Not in the least.

  Silence descended in a physical pressure against his chest. He’d imagined this day, the one where he’d be face-to-face with her again. He’d demand a reason for her leaving, try to explain why he’d gone on yet another tour. The conversations had played through his head on a near constant loop since the day he’d come home to the empty house they’d shared. But none of his fantasies had included a bullet in her shoulder or Glennon centered in a sniper’s crosshairs. He swallowed back violent ideas of revenge sprinting through his head. He had to focus on something else. Anything else but her. “How old is your son?”

  The idea she’d been with other men since leaving—had had a child with one of them—tightened the muscles down his spine. It shouldn’t have. They hadn’t been together in five years. So why did the thought of her moving on make him tighten his grip around the needle?

  Her rough exhale cooled the overheated skin down his forearm. “I think it’d be better for both of us if we stick to talking about Bennett’s disappearance, don’t you?”

  “All right.” Anthony tied off the suture and used the scissors from the first-aid kit to clip it short. He taped a piece of gauze over her wound to keep the stitches dry then disinfected and packed up the medical supplies. The patch job disappeared as she maneuvered her clothing back into place.

  Focus on her missing partner? No problem. Compartmentalization had become one of his best skills. He exhaled to rid his system of her intoxicating scent, the one that kept pulling him in closer. “Our forensics guy, Vincent, pulled the bullet from the windshield of the SUV, but we won’t know where it came from for a few more hours. You can grab a change of clothes from Elizabeth and crash in one of the empty offices until then.”

  “No.” Glennon shook her head as she hiked her jacket over her shoulder, wincing. “I’ll take the change of clothes, but I’m going back to that house as soon as possible.”

  He faced her. Go back? Was she insane? Before he knew it, he was in front of her, forcing her to look up at him. An icy feeling crashed through him. He’d almost lost her back at that house. Now she wanted to put her life in danger a second time in less than two hours? His six-foot-four-inch frame towered over her but Glennon held her ground. “Because one bullet wound wasn’t enough? Are you going for a shot in the head this time?”

  “I came here to find my partner and that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” she said. “Sergeant Spencer’s GPS put him in that house for over twenty-four hours. And since I didn’t have a chance to search the place properly before someone tried to shoot me, I’m going back. You can either come with me to make sure it doesn’t happen again or give me a set of car keys. Your choice.”

  “You could’ve died back there, Glennon.” Right in front of him, no less. And that wasn’t an option. He’d seen enough death in combat to last him two lifetimes. He wasn’t going for three. Her natural warmth worked through his T-shirt, raising his awareness of how close he’d gotten to her. Or maybe it was the flat-out fear of her taking another bullet that put him on edge. “You’re not stepping out of this building without protection.”

  “Good. Then we have a deal. Now let’s get to work.” She stepped away from him, slowly this time, but the pressure in his lungs refused to let up. That seemed to happen a lot since she’d come back into his life a few hours ago.

  Despite the size of the medical suite, Glennon took her original seat beside him. She extracted her phone from her jacket pocket and handed it to him. “Bennett sent me a message right before he disappeared.”

  “‘I found proof.’” Anthony noted the edge of the photo behind the message, a boy with buzzed blond hair and the hint of a wide smile, but nothing more. Had to be her son. Maybe four years old. “What did he mean by that?”

  “I don’t know. He won’t answer my calls and hasn’t been seen since for me to ask him.” She took the phone and shut off the screen. “I called in a favor from a friend stationed on base and downloaded the GPS data from Bennett’s phone. His last reported location was that house.”

  “Family? Friends? Girlfriend? Kids?” Despite his gut instincts, her partner’s disappearance might not have anything to with the assignment that’d brought them to Anchorage at all. Could’ve been a breakdown, a piece of Sergeant Spencer’s past his partner or the army knew nothing about. Elliot Dunham’s earlier observation soured on his tongue. This whole disappearing act might’ve been set up by Bennett himself, a way to get him out of trouble. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen enlisted soldiers leave their post.

  “No. He didn’t have anyone as far as I know, but he hasn’t been acting like himself since we got here. Closed off. Showing up late to work if he shows up at all.” Glennon shook her head as she leaned back in the chair. “Unfortunately, our assignments don’t really let us keep in contact with many people outside of work.”

  That meant Sergeant Spencer had no one to come looking for him. Except Glennon.

  “I’m out of leads.” Disappointment clouded her normally bright gaze. “I’m worried he’s gotten in over his head with something.”

  “You want to go back to that house to find the shooter who put a bullet in you.” Not a question. He could read her intentions in the way she rubbed at the hole in her shoulder. The plan made sense. Despite the fact that the idea of her stepping foot in that house hiked his pulse higher, it was their best lead to finding her partner.

  Then again, Anthony wanted—no, needed—to hunt down the bastard who’d ambushed them, too. One way or another, he’d even the score.

  “I don’t think someone taking shots a
t me tonight was a coincidence, and I don’t think you do, either.” She had that right, but chances of the shooter staying behind after they’d high-tailed it out of there were slim.

  “I know things—” she laced her fingers together and set her elbows against her knees “—didn’t end well... But I’m hoping we can move past this awkwardness—or whatever it is—between us. I can only imagine how much you hate me for leaving, but I appreciate your help.” A half-smile pulled at one corner of her mouth. “Truce?”

  “I don’t hate you, Glennon. Trust me, I’ve tried.” The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to think about their meaning. But it was the truth. Anthony leaned back in the office chair, his shoulder holster and Beretta within reach on the countertop. “Tell me about the work you two have been doing. Is there a chance someone—a suspect—might be looking for payback from one of your investigations?”

  “Bennett and I have been partners for over three years. We’ve worked a lot of investigations together. If one of those is the starting-off point, I couldn’t tell you which one.” Glennon wiped her palms down the legs of her blood-spotted jeans. “And I’ve been through them all. Several times. Nothing has stuck out.”

  “Then tell me about your current investigation,” he said.

  “For the past year we’ve been looking into dozens of individual thefts of military weapons off army bases around the country. Most recently, a shipment of hardware has disappeared right here out of Anchorage. Usually, within a couple weeks, the weapons turn up on the black market or in the hands of our enemies, but not this time. Not a single weapon registered as stolen has turned up, which made us think whoever took them might be sticking around.”

  Glennon swiped the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip, running one hand through her hair before sitting forward again. “So, about two months ago, Bennett had the idea of mapping the locations of each theft, and checking those locations against enlisted soldiers stationed there at the same time. Only one name kept coming up. Staff Sergeant Nicholas Mascaro. It was a huge win for the army. After Bennett and I turned in our report and handed over all the evidence we’d collected, Nicholas Mascaro was court-martialed and convicted.”