Rules in Rescue

by Nichole Severn

  No matter how hard she’d fought to keep him at arm’s length, no matter how many times she’d tried to convince herself he’d leave when duty called, her Ranger had worked his way back into her heart. She’d fallen in love with him again. Probably had never fallen out of it in the first place. And hell, she wanted nothing more than to feel his massive arms around her right now. At least then she’d feel safe. Secure. And not alone. “The only difference is I would’ve trusted my partner.”

  Bennett didn’t have a chance to answer.

  “Over here.” Her fingers grazed over a door frame in the darkness. She slid her palm across the freezing metal. Knocking once, she set her ear against the steel. There was nothing on the other side as far as she could tell. Hopefully no one waiting to put a handful of bullets in their chests. Maybe they were going to escape this nightmare after all. She ran her hands along the metal. What kind of door didn’t have a doorknob? “Okay, maybe not.”

  “Let me see.” Heavy footsteps approached from behind. Bennett’s hands collided with hers as he inspected the door by feel, and she drew back. He launched his shoulder into the steel. Once. Twice.

  It wouldn’t budge. A rough exhale feathered against her chilled skin and she ran her hands up and down her arms for warmth. If Jamie Mascaro planned on leaving them in here to freeze to death, she had a good start. “Is it still considered a door if there’s no way to open it?”

  Glennon faced the rest of the space. “There has to be another way out of here. Isn’t it against code to only have one exit?”

  “Do you honestly believe Mascaro is concerned with the building code?” Bennett’s voice shook, whether from the drugs or the dropping temperatures, she didn’t know. Either way, they didn’t have much time. Jamie Mascaro was going to kill her and Bennett, or else the warehouse would. “I ran with Nicholas and his crew for over a year. I know every property he acquired to store the stolen weapons. This isn’t one of them.”

  “I don’t think knowing the property would make any difference against a team of armed infantrymen.” Movement from under the lit doorway rocketed her pulse into dangerous territory. A weapon. She patted herself down then rushed toward one of the trucks a few feet away. They needed something to fight off Mascaro and her operatives.

  Glennon pulled herself up the single step to the passenger-side door. There. The broken shifter. She wrenched the door open, the hinges screaming in protest. Bringing a metal pipe to a gunfight wasn’t the best idea, but it was the only shot they had. She traced a path back to the spot they’d been bound, then to the door.

  Bennett took up the other side. Waiting.

  The door opened. Yellow light spilled across the floor, outlining two distinct shadows.

  Glennon swung as hard as she could. Metal connected with bone, the crunch sickening and loud. The soldier hit the ground as another rushed forward. Bennett collided with the operative, taking him to the ground. Two more surged through the door, both armed with assault rifles, and took aim.

  She tossed the pipe and backed away from the door, hands raised in surrender. Fear thickened in her veins. This was it. These men were going to kill her. She’d never get the chance to tell Anthony why she’d left Anchorage in the first place. Never see her son again. Her throat tightened as she fought to breathe evenly. This couldn’t be it. Not yet. He deserved to know she loved him.

  The echo of heels on cement grew louder. Then stopped. Overhead lighting highlighted Jamie Mascaro’s thin lips and stone-cold expression. The skintight black leather dress accentuated the woman’s curves, but it was the hatred in her expression that raised the hairs on the back of Glennon’s neck.

  “Bring them with us as collateral.” Mascaro closed in, studying Glennon’s features from forehead to chin before turning away. “We’ve got company.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Grim Reaper wasn’t supposed to fall in love, but that rule had gone out the window a long time ago. Jamie Mascaro could beat him, take his life or break his soul, but he’d be damned if he let her take Glennon.

  He crouched along the shoreline of Tina Lake, the MK 17 SCAR assault rifle from his trunk resting across his thighs. Abandoned vehicles, semi-trailers, mountains of dirt and greenery all held potential for an ambush. Too many possibilities. At this time of night, the entire area had been vacated. Perfect for a militarized criminal organization to operate undetected. Gravel—the same color Vincent had matched to their shooter from Helen Chase’s home—slid through his fingers easily. No movement. But that didn’t mean they weren’t alone. Four warehouses, any of which could hold two Military Police investigators.

  And time was running out.

  “I counted five operatives at the exchange, all armed with M4s, plus the leader, but I’m not taking any chances.” And with his son handed off into Vincent’s care after the team had met him on location, he could focus on getting Glennon back. Standing, Anthony brushed dirt off his hand along his pants, his Kevlar vest pressing on his shoulders. He faced off with Elizabeth Dawson and Elliot Dunham, their features and choice of weapons highlighted by construction spotlights surrounding the area.

  A former NSA consultant and a con artist. Not soldiers, but just as reliable and just as dangerous under the right circumstances. And these were the right circumstances. “We’ll search this first building then move on to the next until we find Jamie Mascaro’s hideout. Liz, you’re at the north entrance.” He pointed straight ahead. “Elliot, at the east. I’ll take the south. Your earpieces have GPS if you’re taken. Meet back here in five to search the next building. We good?”

  He tapped the small earbud in his left ear. Both teammates cringed from the sound.

  “Good.” Elizabeth unholstered her weapon from beneath her black leather jacket, both hands tight on the grip.

  “I’m thinking I should’ve brought a bigger gun.” Elliot raised one hand. “Can I switch with you?”

  “How about I ignore your GPS if you’re taken? Let’s move. Mascaro won’t keep our targets alive long.” If she hadn’t tied up the loose ends already. No. He couldn’t think like that. The second he gave in to that line of thinking, there was no telling what he might do. Or who he might kill. Anthony kept low and moved fast to the south end of the first warehouse, gravel crunching under his boots.

  “Do you think he’ll really ignore my GPS if I’m kidnapped?” Elliot’s whispers died as he and Elizabeth moved around the east side of the building.

  Setting one shoulder into the door, Anthony pressed his ear to the steel. Nothing. The breeze rustled the weeds lining the lake a few hundred yards away, a couple red foxes wrestling along the shore. But no sound of movement from behind the door, as far as he could tell.

  He tested the lock then hiked the rifle into his shoulder. His instincts screamed in warning. Who left a warehouse like this unlocked in the middle of the night? Maneuvering in front of the entrance, Anthony wrenched the door open and slapped his hand into position on the rifle. The answer came easily enough: a criminal mastermind who expected company.

  Darkness consumed him as he heel-toed it into the building. His heart beat steadily in his chest, the rest of his senses on high alert. He didn’t need to see in the dark to find Glennon. This was what he’d trained for, what he’d been hired for. This was what he did best. Steel reverberated underneath him as he stepped onto an overhead walkway. He scanned the space below with what little light reached across the warehouse floor. Oil barrels, haul trucks, a couple forklifts. Alaska was known for its oil exports. This place had obviously been one of the six oil refinery storage warehouses in the state.

  He moved down the center walkway. His thigh holster ricocheted off one of the handrails, the ping of metal loud in his ears. Anthony tightened his hold on the rifle’s grip. So much for the element of surprise.

  The walkway sparked as gunfire erupted off to his right.

  He hit the walkway hard. The
raised metal edges cut into his cheek, but didn’t distract from the shooter below. Shoving to his feet, Anthony swung his rifle over the handrail and down toward the shooter. One pull of the trigger. Two. The rifle kicked back into his shoulder. He released the breath he’d been holding. No return fire. Either he’d hit the soldier or the shooter had started searching for a better shot.

  Keeping aim, he moved across the walkway, deeper into the warehouse. Adrenaline rushed through his veins. Light from an open door spilled across the cement floor. And there, right at the edge of darkness, was a pair of boots. He tapped his earpiece, moving to the other side of the warehouse. “I’ve got one down. Report.”

  “Two down for me,” Elizabeth said. “Looks like we’re in the right place after all.”

  “Oh, man. You guys got to shoot people already?” Elliot’s heavy breathing crackled over the line. “I’ve got nothing but offices on this side of the building. And they’re all empty so far.”

  “That makes three. We’re missing at least two more, plus Jamie Mascaro.” Anthony took the stairs two at a time. Swinging the rifle across the large space, he kicked at the downed operative’s boots. He’d been shot all right. Two bullets. One to the soldier’s vest, the other to his throat. He wasn’t getting up anytime soon. “The warehouse is clear.”

  “The offices are clear,” Elliot said in his ear.

  “I’m clear here, too,” Elizabeth said. “There’s no one else here.”

  “Mascaro wouldn’t have left three men behind for nothing. We’re missing something.” Anthony searched the rest of the space. Dark spots interrupted the muted gray color of the cement floor about ten feet away. His footsteps echoed off the oil barrels as he followed the pattern to the west side of the building, toward the lake. Could be oil. Could be... He locked onto the wide roll-top door. Blood. He tapped the earpiece. “Oil warehouses like this would need access to the water to load barrels onto ships for distribution.” He pulled his shoulders back. “They’re on the docks.”

  Sliding his finger along the trigger, Anthony took a single step toward the door. Something crunched under his boot. Four distinct zip ties littered the floor. Fury burned through him. Two for Glennon and two for Bennett? He kicked them out of the way. They’d been broken. Maybe she and her partner had gotten loose? Didn’t explain the blood, but at least that line of thought interrupted the rage threatening to rip him apart from the inside. He took a deep, cleansing breath. Glennon had always been the one to bring him back from the edge when he’d come home from tour, and he prayed like hell she could do it when this was over.

  “I want everyone on the west side of the building in thirty seconds.”

  “Copy that,” Elizabeth said. “On my way.”

  Elliot reported in next. “You got it, man.”

  He kicked the padlock that secured the roll-top door out of the way, pulling at the chains along the wall, forgoing the element of surprise. A rush of Alaskan air raised the goose bumps at the back of his neck—clean, crisp. With a hint of rose. He held on to that scent with everything he had. Glennon. She was close. He stepped out into the open. “I’m coming, sweetheart.”

  Pain splintered across the right side of his head. He jerked away from the hit, swinging the rifle toward his assailant. A kick to the chest knocked Anthony to the ground, his head hitting hard, and the gun slid across the asphalt. Vision blurred, he fought to focus. Damn it. Groping for his nearest weapon, Anthony shoved to his feet, blade in hand. One target. He ran full-force, swinging his arm out wide.

  His attacker ducked under his arm then came around and wrapped both arms under his shoulders and around his neck. Pressure built in his chest the longer the soldier cut off his air, grip tight over his trachea. Rookie move. His head pounded in rhythm with his heartbeat, the stitches in his thigh and rib cage protesting, but all it took was one shift in weight and Anthony heaved his assailant into the ground. He slammed his elbow back into the attacker’s face. Once. Twice. Blood splattered against his long-sleeved shirt. The rifle was close, but by the time he got to it, the soldier would have the advantage. Not going to happen.

  The unsheathing of a blade forced Anthony to roll. Rock and ice cut into him as he returned to his feet. He wrenched backward at a swing of his opponent’s blade. Blocking the second swing, he caught the attacker’s wrist and nearly snapped the damn thing in two. Metal on asphalt rang in his ears a split second before a scream broke the steady lapping of water nearby.

  Hiking the bastard into him, he growled, “Where is she?”

  Two spotlights blazed to life over the docks, spilling light across the wide-open expanse of gravel.

  “We’ve been expecting you, Sergeant Major Harris.” Jamie Mascaro stood in front of a dumpster centered between two docks, high heels sinking into the dirt. “Time to finish this.”

  Shoving the heel of his boot into the soldier’s knee, he took the fighter out of commission. Another scream penetrated his haze of rage. He released his hold as he turned to face the newest threat. His opponent collapsed. He wasn’t even sorry for the lifelong pain and discomfort the man would have to endure.

  Elizabeth and Elliot rounded from the east side of the building, weapons up, waiting on his order.

  “I couldn’t agree more.” He took two steps forward. “Give me what I came for and you might make it out of here alive.”

  “You’re not exactly in a position to make demands, Ranger.” Jamie Mascaro snapped her fingers. A second set of spotlights flickered, illuminating the last two soldiers positioned at the end of each dock. One guarding Bennett, the other with Glennon. They were alive. Relief spread a burning sensation across Anthony’s chest, but not for long. Each was tied to a chair on the end of the separate docks. Gagged, vulnerable, the military investigators fought to get free.

  The setup was simple. If he went for one, Mascaro would order the opposite soldier to push the other into the lake. Would let them drown. “Tell me, Anthony, what’s more important to you. Love?” Jamie Mascaro swung her arm out, toward Glennon. “Or duty?”

  * * *

  THERE WAS NO WAY Anthony could save them both in time.

  Glennon glanced at the soldier watching over her, the one with blood dried across his face from a pipe to the nose. She fought back a smile. The one who’d put his hands on her son. Tasked with making sure she didn’t get loose again, he’d zip-tied her wrists behind her back this time, but he’d been in a rush. Enough of a rush that she’d been able to work her knuckles against each other in an attempt to snap the plastic. The flood of relief at seeing Anthony drained her. How could it not? There was no way both she and Bennett would get out of this alive. It was one or the other. Use Bennett to take down Jamie Mascaro and the rest of her operation or save Glennon. And if the teammates he’d recruited as backup interfered? Mascaro was sure to get rid of both her and Bennett simultaneously.

  That had been the beauty of her plan.

  But... Her gaze cut to the sidearm strapped to her guard’s leg. There was more than one way to break a zip tie. Curling her fingers into her palms, she closed her eyes. She hadn’t died in that warehouse. She wasn’t going to die out here on the dock.

  “What’s it going to be, Ranger? Use Sergeant Spencer to bring me and my operation to justice or save the woman you love?” Jamie Mascaro wagged her red-tipped index finger from side to side. “Ticktock, ticktock.”

  Anthony curled his fingers into a fist. Even from this distance, Glennon noted the hard shift in his expression and her heart pumped a frenzied beat in her chest. Air rushed from her lungs and the gag in her mouth warmed. She recognized that look. Anthony Harris no longer stared out through the dark blue eyes she hadn’t been able to get out of her mind the last five years. He’d been replaced by the man who’d had to shoot his way out of Afghanistan to survive, the man who blamed himself for his team’s deaths.

  The man who’d slowly taken pieces of the Rang
er she’d loved every time he’d come home from tour. She couldn’t lose another piece of him. She wouldn’t.

  “Who said anything about justice?” Anthony fanned his grip over his firearm.

  A shiver chased down her spine, the chair protesting with the slight shake of her body. But the creak of wood wasn’t enough to draw her guard’s attention. She needed something more—anything—before it was too late.

  “Time’s up.” Jamie Mascaro angled her head over her shoulder. Toward Glennon.

  Planting her knuckles against each other, Glennon forced them together with everything she had. Pain bolted into her wrists and forearms, but she ignored it. The zip tie snapped and she reached for the soldier’s sidearm. She wrapped her fingers around the grip but wasn’t fast enough.

  A rough hand clamped on top of hers a split second before agony exploded across the right side of her head. She hit the dock hard, splinters working their way under her fingers. A predatory growl ripped through the haze closing in on her. Her vision blurred. Gunfire echoed off the lake. The operative fisted a chunk of her hair, wrenching Glennon to her feet. She grabbed at his hand to relieve the spread of pain, her jaw locked against the groan working up her throat.

  A bullet clipped her attacker’s shoulder and he spun fast, taking her to the ground with him.

  A splash of water reached her ears.

  Dread sank like a stone in her stomach. Bennett. The soldier assigned to guard him had pushed him into the water and had started firing on Anthony and his team. She rammed the heel of her hand into her guard’s bullet wound as hard as she could, but the grip in her hair refused to let up. Raising her hands, she slammed her forearms into his. His hold dropped and she ducked as the soldier reached to secure her again. She planted her hands against his chest and shoved him only mere inches. She went for the gun in his thigh holster again, barely unholstering the Glock before he kicked it out of her hand. It hit the dock, out of reach. She dove for the weapon as two more gunshots cut through the silence from the other dock. Her fingertips skimmed the metal as her guard pulled her back to him by her boot.