Every Last Breath

by Juno Rushdan

  Sanborn waited until the door closed behind Cole. “Great job getting us in to the auction. You’re free to wash your hands of this now. Castle can take point.”

  Acid burned up her throat. She’d roped Cole into this, nearly gotten him killed for real. She wasn’t going to leave him hanging. Sure as hell wasn’t giving Sanborn’s protégé her mission.

  “This is mine.” She filtered angry desperation from her voice, keeping her face stoic, not letting him see how much she needed this. “You can’t take this away from me.”

  She was battle-tested, capable of shooting, stabbing, and breaking necks with the best of them. Busted her butt proving herself, volunteered for assignments that didn’t require a pretty face, took bullets and beatings, and endured unspeakable things to be one of Sanborn’s elite.

  “This mission is perfect for me. It’s exactly what you trained me to do. I’m qualified—”

  “You’re more than qualified. I’d prefer to send you to the auction over Castle.” The smooth gravel of his voice coupled with his soft gaze lightened her anxiety by ten pounds.

  His stamp of approval and getting the job done were all she had. Even if what she wanted most was sitting in the conference room.

  “A security detail will look at Castle or Reaper and tap four men to cover them,” Sanborn said. “With you, they’ll just see that face of yours. Won’t suspect you’re capable of putting down four of them. You’re my secret weapon.” He flashed a smile brimming with pride. “I asked a lot of you emotionally, and you delivered. If you want to pass, it’s fine.”

  “I can handle this.” Working with Cole would test her, a new trial by fire, but she’d figure it out. Get the job done.

  Sanborn gave a warm nod. “Glad to hear it.”

  Yes.

  “Considering your personal history with Cole, it’s best if Castle is on this too.”

  Damn it. Maddox plastered on her best professional smile. “Castle is a hardcore operator. Excellent in the field, but—”

  Emily “Doc” Duvall strolled up to their huddle in a hurry. Her long, fluid skirt swished about her ankles and her hair flowed back as if there was an invisible wind machine on her. “Oh, I’m glad I’m not late for the briefing. Willow headed to the conference room fifteen minutes ago, but I was still preparing,” she said, bright and cheery, always like an interminable ray of sunshine.

  Maddox smothered a sigh.

  “You’re right on time.” Sanborn slipped his hands into his pockets with an uncharacteristic zippy little rock back on his heels. “As our resident expert on bioweapons, I would’ve waited for you.”

  “Sir.” Daniel Cutter approached them.

  Sanborn shifted his gaze and totally missed the killer smile Doc threw at him right before she strode into the conference room.

  For months, Maddox had caught the flirty little looks Doc tossed at Sanborn. And for months, the best spy on the planet had been oblivious.

  “I heard the op has taken an unexpected turn. I thought you might want an extra analyst on this.” Good ole Cutter, always eager to volunteer. Gung ho on steroids due to his time as a Marine Corps analyst strapped to Force Recon.

  “As a matter of fact, I want you and Amanda to sit in on the briefing,” Sanborn said.

  Cutter gave a curt nod and hightailed it toward the analysis section.

  Sanborn’s attention swung back to her. “Castle stays.” The grit in his tone was coarse. Final. “Part of your backup, with Reece and Reaper, who are already in the conference room. That’s your team.” He flashed his best pro smile, smoother and brighter than hers by far. “If you still want it.”

  She pulled on her good-soldier expression. “Of course, I want it.” At least she’d have her battle brothers. For Reece, you support your friends and keep your word, or you’re not worth your weight in salt. And Gideon was the guy you wanted at your six, never in your face. Both were rock solid, would have her back. They were family in an unfailing way she didn’t have with Castle.

  “Castle knows you in a way the rest of us don’t,” Sanborn said. “I’ve lost officers who’ve gotten emotional on a mission before. I won’t lose you down a rabbit hole. Are we clear?”

  Sanborn didn’t have the faintest idea the havoc he was about to wreak, assigning her brother as her babysitter. “It won’t work. Castle and Cole can’t—”

  Yelling erupted inside the conference room. They exchanged glances and rushed into the room just as Castle flung his chair behind him into the wall and charged around the conference table.

  Planted in a wide stance, Cole stood, gaze locked, razor-sharp and lethal. He gripped his helmet like it was a bowling ball, ready to swing.

  They’d always rubbed each other wrong, but it’d never escalated to violence.

  Fists cocked at his sides, Castle was a mountain in motion. “If you think you’re going to waltz back in, fuck my sister, and piss all over her life again, you’re mistaken.”

  Her stomach lurched. She’d never seen this fiercely protective side of her brother. Reminded her of her father, in the best and worst ways. Cole didn’t know what she’d gone through after he left, about the baby she’d lost or how the emptiness had broken her. She never wanted him to know. But Castle had a front-row seat to her misery.

  Gideon and Reece jumped in front of her brother to stop him, wrangling him by the arms to hold him back.

  Doc sat stunned and wide-eyed. Willow Harper hunkered in her seat, clutching a notepad to her chest.

  Maddox glanced around to find Sanborn standing behind her, looking cool and collected. Meeting her gaze, he shot her one of those go-handle-it looks. This was her team, but she fired a this-isn’t-my-mess-to-clean-up look right back. Sanborn had lit the fuse to this shit bomb.

  “If you can’t lead them in here, what are you going to do in the field?” Sanborn asked.

  “I’m going to knock that arrogant look right off your damn face, Reznikov.” Growling, Castle drove forward, not letting anything, not even four hundred pounds of resisting muscle, stop him from crossing the room.

  * * *

  A big guy could be taken like any other, but fired up, Castle appeared to be a worthy opponent. He’d make Cole work for a win.

  Maybe Castle had a right to be angry. Despite his damned good reasons, Cole had left Maddox behind to deal with grief brutal enough to send her to a private psych facility. And he’d been drowning in his own crap at the same time, impotent to check on her.

  Letting his shoulders drop, Cole lifted his chin and prepared to take one hit. One.

  Castle yanked free of Frick, or was it Frack—fuck it, Reece’s arm, and a ruthless fist slammed into Cole’s cheek. Pain bloomed. The salty taste of blood hit his tongue.

  “I owed you one.” Cole ducked, sidestepping the next blow. “I won’t give you another.”

  Snarling, Castle lunged. Cole blocked the fist with his helmet and gave Castle a swift kick to the shin. He swung the helmet to the back of the knee. Castle dropped but recovered with quicksilver speed.

  Fuck, all he’d done was poke the ogre. Last thing Cole wanted was to use real force.

  As Castle grabbed Cole by the jacket, Maddox jumped in between them. A part of Cole wanted the beatdown he probably deserved, but he wasn’t equipped to lose.

  Maddox shielded him with arms outstretched. “What are you doing?”

  “You’re going to let him back in, aren’t you?” Castle clenched his jaw, chest heaving.

  She stood rigid, eyes hard. “We have a mission and lives to save. We need his help.”

  Of course, she was protecting the asset. Cole straightened, drawing everything inside tight. He was such a dumbass to think for one second that he was anything more than a means to an end.

  “Communication is the first step in building an effective partnership.” Sanborn strode to the head of the black gl
ass-top table. “As of right now, you’re one team. There is one fight. Retrieving a bioterror weapon before it can be used. Take a seat.”

  Guarded, in slow motion, everyone sat. The tension in the room was thicker than a setting slab of wet concrete.

  Maddox clutched Cole’s forearm. “Are you okay? You took a pretty hard blow.”

  Castle expelled a heavy sigh, reeling in everyone’s attention. He shook his head, mouth twisted like he was chewing on words made of jagged metal.

  “I’m fine.” Cole pulled his arm away.

  Sanborn sat and typed something on a touch screen on the smart table. “Cole, several NDAs should be on the screen in front of you. Read and sign while we go through the briefing. If you have questions, don’t hesitate to interrupt. This is Willow Harper.” He gestured to a petite young woman. “One of our analysts. She’ll give us an update.”

  Just then, a man and woman entered.

  “This is the rest of our analysis section. Amanda Woodrow is our lead analyst.”

  A lean, lanky, attractive woman sat beside him and said, “Lead just means I get to handle the boring admin stuff like performance reports.”

  Cole noticed a small white clump matted to her chestnut locks. “You’ve got something in your hair.”

  She pulled it out and brushed it from her hands. “Part of Jaxi-bear’s breakfast. Oatmeal.”

  “That’s Daniel Cutter.” Sanborn nodded to the one in need of a shave and sporting a rumpled suit. The young guy had a rugged build and looked like he should be out riding a wave or a bucking bull rather than sitting in the conference room.

  “Happy to take any of those admin duties off your hands, Amanda,” Cutter said.

  The woman sighed as if she’d heard and rejected the offer many times before.

  “Proceed, Willow.” Sanborn gestured with his raised mug.

  She cleared her throat and tapped the black glass-top table, bringing up a digital built-in screen. The brunette had a sexy librarian vibe with her tight bun, pencil skirt, silk blouse, and pearls. “The coordinates from the invitation are to Sparrows Point Shipyard in Maryland. It’s a forty-minute drive from Ilya Reznikov’s compound, which leads me to believe this isn’t the final location where the auction will take place but a pickup point.”

  Cole paid attention as he went through the digital paperwork and signed. Apparently, this place was called the Gray Box and even its name was classified. Posh setup they had here. Although the federal ESIGN Act made an electronic signature legally binding, most places still used paper.

  “Considering the other bidders live all over the world,” the analyst said, spouting information like water from a spigot on full blast, “I think everyone was given a specific meeting location within easy reach. I suspect whoever shows up for the auction will be transported to an alternate site from there.”

  A satellite image popped up in front of everyone—a patch of bare land surrounded by small roads, adjacent to I-695 and the Patapsco River. “This is the shipyard. It’s been closed for some time. No structures to provide coverage for the backup team.”

  “I’ve called in drone support, so we can monitor the situation at a distance,” Sanborn said. “Cole, you already know Castle. You’ve met John Reece.” He threw a nod at the guy with the dark hair and face partially hidden by a trucker hat that read Drinks Well with Others.

  “And Gideon Stone, also known as Reaper around here.” Sanborn lifted his mug toward the one with all-American, apple-pie looks. “He’ll pilot the helo for the backup team. This”—he smiled at a strawberry blond, who had the aura of a flower child—“is our resident CDC scientist and part-time medic, Emily Duvall, but everyone calls her Doc.”

  “Sorry to meet you under such circumstances,” Doc said, blue eyes radiating warmth.

  “Any idea how we’ll be transported from the pickup site?” Maddox asked.

  “It’s anyone’s guess.” Harper shrugged. “The river runs into the Atlantic. Air, ground, and water transport are all viable. Oh, and a video was posted on the darknet this afternoon. The biological weapon we’re dealing with is ten times worse than we suspected, but Doc will explain.”

  “Simpler if you guys watched first.” Doc tapped a few buttons on the table, changing everyone’s individual screen.

  A video played, showing a male, midtwenties, restrained to a metal-framed bed and hooked up to an IV. Filthy room. Paint-chipped walls. Somewhere abandoned. No audio. A person wearing a hazmat space suit held up a French newspaper, Le Monde, dated one week ago.

  The camera zoomed in on a small canister beside the young man. A timer counted down for ten seconds. The container opened, dispersing a fine mist throughout the entire room.

  The video jumped to four hours later. Large red pimples speckled the man’s face and arms. One day after initial onset, a rugged landscape of red blisters and bubbling pustules covered the guy’s body. Three days later, black blood ran from his nostrils and ears. The man was dead five days after exposure, the body incinerated with a flamethrower.

  Cole’s blood turned to ice and he suppressed the urge to heave. He’d seen a lot in his life but nothing so vile. Aside from shifting her gaze from the screen, Maddox appeared unfazed, but he knew better. His hand was on her back, rubbing in small circles, before he had the sense to stop himself. Just couldn’t help it.

  Not even Superman had the misfortune of being attracted to his kryptonite.

  “This is proof of product, sent before the auction,” Doc said.

  Maddox’s brows drew together. “The timeline on the video doesn’t match how the virus is supposed to work. It should take two weeks for symptoms of smallpox to first appear. Not four hours. Much less death in five days.”

  While Maddox shared her concerns, holding the attention of everyone at the table, Doc fiddled with her coppery-blond hair, brushing it back from a shoulder. Sanborn’s gaze zeroed in on her from the quick, little gesture and held for the tiniest beat too long as he rubbed a knuckle across his lips.

  The look was subtle, but the spark of interest was unmistakable. No one else seemed to catch it, probably because it didn’t last. An instant later, he was engrossed in his coffee.

  “You’re right. This bioweapon has been altered.” Doc brought up a chart depicting differences between the strains. Cutesy charms dangled from a bracelet that complemented her bohemian top.

  Everyone focused on their screens, except Sanborn, who stared at Doc. There was no lechery in his eyes. Cole recognized the loneliness and longing. Sanborn looked like a kid staring in a shop window at one of the shiny, unobtainable toys on display.

  Although there appeared to be a fifteen- to twenty-year age gap between him and Doc, Sanborn was fit and most women would probably find him appealing, but Cole sensed a look but don’t touch energy from him.

  “We’re calling it smallpox-M,” Doc said. “The M is for magnified mutation in this terror-borne strain. It’s a biosafety level 4 virus that attacks and cripples the immune system within hours, causing the accelerated onset of symptoms. This hot agent is extremely contagious and, from what I can tell, far deadlier than anything we’ve encountered.”

  “How does it spread?” Cole asked.

  “It’s airborne—a cough or a sneeze is enough.”

  Sanborn threaded his fingers. “Fatality rate?”

  “Natural smallpox has a fatality rate of thirty percent. I can’t be certain with this since I don’t have a sample to study. But based on the video of the victim, who was young and appeared healthy, and the severity of the symptoms that overwhelmed his immune system like a viral blitzkrieg, I’m estimating that this mutated version will have a much higher fatality rate.” She blew out a long breath. “Possibly ninety percent.”

  There was a sudden heaviness in the air.

  “There’s no known vaccine or cure,” Doc said. “Those few who survive will
be horribly disfigured from the scars left by the lesions. This has potentially devastating consequences. Worldwide.”

  Fan-freaking-tastic. The M might as well have stood for monstrous, elevating the stakes and risks. What else should he have expected—he was on vacation in the middle of a heat wave.

  “Thank you, Doc.” Sanborn turned to Harper and gave a nod.

  She tapped a button. Pictures of two men he didn’t recognize came up on his screen.

  “Blackburn and Callahan were killed in the last twenty-four hours,” Harper said, fiddling incessantly with a pen.

  Sanborn leaned forward. “I believe Blackburn’s murder might’ve triggered the seller to move up the auction.”

  “As far as we know,” Harper said, “Ilya Reznikov in Maryland, Kassar, whose whereabouts are unknown, and Reinhart in Germany are still alive.”

  “Ilya was attacked this morning.” Maddox gently touched his injured shoulder. “Cole was shot saving him. Doc can give you stitches. For the flesh wound.” Dropping her hand, she gave him a side-eye that had him both clenching his jaw and squirming in his seat.

  “Well, you did the world a favor.” Reece rocked back in his chair, wearing a sarcastic grin. “A real solid, saving an arms trafficker responsible for countless deaths.”

  The comment hit worse than a sucker punch because it was true, but instinct had made Cole lunge for his brother. “Well, that arms trafficker got you this.” He whipped out the auction invitation and tossed it on the table. “And since all you people care about is the mission, I’d say I did everyone in this room a real solid.”

  The words hadn’t been aimed at Maddox, but her gaze fell as she tensed.

  “Golly gee, thanks.” Reece handed the invitation to Harper.

  “Around here, we do care about the mission.” Gideon rested his forearms on the table. “If you have a problem with that, Castle would be happy to resolve it with you in the break room. And if he needs any assistance, I’d be pleased to help.”

  Castle’s jaw tightened, veins in his temples throbbing as though he itched to get back to duking it out street-fight style.