by Juno Rushdan
“Lifers don’t just quit,” Reece said. “And distinguished lifers aren’t honorably discharged right after re-upping. There’s more to the story. A lot more.”
Maddox rolled her shoulders, trying to relieve the tension in her muscles. “Harper, reach out to the Albanian Army under the guise of Homeland Security and try to find out why he left.”
Harper nodded and sat, strumming her fingers on the desk. Sanborn flicked a glance at her hand.
Catching the look, she cleared her throat and started playing with her necklace. “That’s all I have.”
“From the deep web video, I estimate that if the bioweapon is released out in the open,” Doc said, “say on the street, depending on the wind speed and direction, it would infect those within a one-hundred- to two-hundred-yard radius. If this was deployed in the air system of a contained air-conditioned environment such as a mall, there’s no telling how many could be infected. If the weapon sold had a larger payload than what we saw on the video, that changes things again.”
Doc brought up a startling pictograph on the monitor, showing potential branches of infection based on exposure and contact.
“We know this new strain takes five days to kill a person,” Doc said, “and in the initial four hours before someone knows they’re sick, they’ll infect everyone they encounter. The old vaccine immunities will be irrelevant. The worst-case scenario is if it’s deployed in an international airport. It could spread to any city in the world within a day and we’d have a pandemic within weeks. I’m talking a potentially species-threatening event.”
“Goodness.” Cutter leaned back in his chair, horror stamped on his face.
“We’re not going to let that happen,” Gideon said, cool and detached, chewing on gum.
Castle scooted his chair back, rested his elbows on his knees, popping his knuckles. He’d broken that hand once—either on a SEAL mission or, more likely, a drunken fight. “We’re going to find him and shut him down.”
“Get your after-action reports done,” Sanborn said. “Then get some rest.”
Almost everyone got up, gathering their things to leave. Reece and Gideon exchanged a prolonged look. “I’ll talk to her,” Gideon said. Reece nodded and left.
Gideon gestured to the hall, and Maddox followed him.
“What’s up?”
He cleared his throat. “The background check Cole ran.” His gaze shifted away from her. “Dug up Privé. Clinic in Canada.”
Her breath locked, but her mind spun.
“The Agency never found it,” he said, still not looking at her. “The Gray Box never found it.”
Thanks to her father pulling strings to have it buried. Although apparently not deep enough.
“It’s your business. Changes nothing. Yeah?” He put a hand on her shoulder, meeting her eyes.
Ice-cold. As usual. Thank God, there wasn’t a flicker of pity.
She nodded.
He gave her shoulder a squeeze, planted a peck on her cheek, and headed toward the black ops section.
She stood frozen for a moment, humbled.
They’d fought and bled together, would die to protect one another, partied hard to release the pressure from work, and got each other through real-world crap. Right after his wife died, Gideon had crashed on her sofa for a month. Maddox had helped him pack up his wife’s things, been there to listen, even at three in the morning. And Reece’s divorce had wrecked him in a profound way. He’d sold most of his stuff, and what he couldn’t sell, he’d burned. He’d moved into a camper at an RV park and shut down some part of himself she still hoped to reach. They picked up the pieces together, made the toughest times bearable.
But for Gideon and Reece not to report knowledge of something that could result in the revocation of her security clearance and, at worst, theirs too for withholding such information went so much deeper than her battle brothers looking out for her. They were violating an oath they’d taken, for her sake.
Maddox ducked into the conference room. Cole lingered, looking at her. She sat and forced herself not to get drawn in by the electric intensity he radiated. Or the magnetic appeal of those dark eyes and the jagged scar that didn’t make him less beautiful but more.
“We wouldn’t have gotten into the auction without you.” She kept her tone formal. “You went above and beyond.”
That was framing things lightly. She’d endangered his life twice, in asking him to see his brother and again at the auction. The biggest threat to him was her. She couldn’t let anything happen to him because of this operation.
“I appreciate everything you’ve done. You deserve a medal. Really.”
So much more needed to be said, so many questions begged for answers. What had he been doing for nine years? How could he be so cruel to let her think he was dead?
But it’d all have to wait.
“Maddox.” Cole grasped her hands, held her captive with those eyes. “We need to talk.”
“This isn’t the time or the place.” Her tongue was thick and heavy. She freed her fingers and balled her hands in her lap, fighting a shiver at the loss of heat from his palms.
“You need to rest. Even your boss ordered you to sleep. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
He put a hand on her leg, and her thighs clenched. The hot gleam in his eyes was a warning. To be fully vested in the mission, she had to be divested of him. For a little while. He was a distraction, dulling her edge. His presence was a constant reminder that she was a woman, who’d once fallen. Madly. Deeply. Completely.
Loving him, wanting him, her anger over being abandoned by him tinted every thought and emotion in his presence. Like beet juice on fingers, clothes, teeth. Leaving a troublesome stain.
And that had almost gotten them killed today. Trying for a do-over with him while tackling this mission was suicide at best. Worst case, a species-threatening event.
She’d been greedy once, and everything had ended in disaster. She couldn’t have it all. Not then. Not now. This time, she had to make the sacrifice. “Do you remember the video of the guy who died slowly, painfully?”
His gaze fell. “Of course.”
“I’m responsible for this mission. I lost the bioweapon. If we don’t find Novak—”
“I get it.” He raked a hand through his hair, free and flowing past his collar. “But there’s nothing more you can do tonight.”
She had the Novak case file to go through. A chance to get inside his head. The Ghost and his son posed a serious threat on American soil. Her personal drama couldn’t be a factor.
“Let’s go to your place.” He slid his hand up her thigh. “We’ll talk—or not talk—and rest.”
Doubtful the four-letter word they’d indulge in would be either talk or rest.
The chemistry between them crackled in the air, on her skin, like an effervescent tongue licking up her spine. He was probably still wired after the yacht, wanted to wind down in another way. Not that she blamed him. Stress coiled tighter than an overwound watch spring in her muscles and she ached for release. But the job came first.
Rubbing her stinging eyes, she shook her head. Her throat went painfully dry. “Look, I know I owe you for helping us, but this isn’t the right time. You can sleep at my place, since we haven’t fixed your Russian problem yet. I can crash at Gideon’s or at Reece’s. We’ll settle up after I’m done with this mission, if you’re still around.”
Cole getting his closure had to wait. He’d delayed the conversation nine years already. A few more days to be free of her wouldn’t kill them.
Chapter 18
Gray Box Headquarters, Northern Virginia
Friday, 12:30 a.m. EDT
Settle up?” As though there were a bill between them she could possibly pay. “You don’t owe me for helping you.” Rising, he grabbed his helmet.
After almost being p
ut in the grave by sniper fire and nearly losing Maddox—to bullets, at the hands of Novak, and to a bomb, all in one day—he didn’t know what to do with the avalanche of emotion threatening to blanket him. A restless energy vibrated in him, an anxious fear that closure and severing the ties that bound them might be a pipe dream.
And for a man who feared very little, he didn’t want to delve any deeper.
What he wanted, needed more than sleep and food, was to be close to her, skin to skin, grateful they were both breathing. It wasn’t about sex, releasing the pent-up storm. Not entirely anyway.
He needed to hold Maddox, feel her heart beating steady against his chest. He missed the ecstasy of intimacy. A connection beyond the physical through the flesh, a sense of peace, of absolution that he’d only found with her.
A respite from this shitstorm would do them both good.
While she stood, ready to be rid of him.
She squared her shoulders, the glacial wall redrawn. “We have unresolved stuff, outstanding issues,” she said as if talking about a damn business transaction.
“That we do.” He pressed up on her, backing her against the table, making the nature of one part of his business clear.
Her hands flew to his chest, keeping their bodies from colliding.
“I need to see this thing with the bioweapon, with Novak, through to the end,” he said, making the second part of his business equally clear.
Tracking down Novak and his son was going to be dangerous. They were predators, deadly beasts like Cole. If they put their hands on her, hurt her, killed her—
Stiffening, she skirted around him. “Thank you for helping us. For risking your life. I know it wasn’t easy for you, and I appreciate it, but your role in this is done.”
Her professional dismissal bit him to the bone. She was trying to heave him to the curb yet again. “You may be done using me, yanking my chain like I’m a junkyard dog, but I’ll let you know when I’m finished with you.”
Her eyes stayed guarded, her posture defensive. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He didn’t have the faintest clue, but he’d be damned if he’d let her talk to him like that. He wanted to sink his teeth into her, bite back, and it’d sounded good. “Means I don’t need you for a safe place to sleep, but I’ll see you soon.”
* * *
As Cole strode out of the conference room, Maddox’s heart sank.
Part of her wanted him to stay, to fight harder, but it was best he left. Every time he drew close, much less touched her, she reverted to a young girl—hopelessly in love, far too eager to worship at the altar of his body like a fanatic disciple.
She was different. Stronger. She had to be, had to shake this off. Catching Novak was all she had the strength to handle, so she sat and opened the file again. Time to dig into his military record.
Gaining acceptance into the Albanian Special Forces program was a painstaking, grueling twelve-week process. Evaluations tested navigation and marksmanship. Marches with sixty-pound rucksacks for physical endurance. Psychological testing to see who wouldn’t crack under torture. They cycled through twenty-four-hour nonstop periods of physical drills and tasks. And that was just to get accepted into the program.
Afterward, candidates underwent a rigorous fourteen-week training process, learning survival skills, honing their sharpshooter and hand-to-hand combat techniques. As a final test, candidates were left in a remote area of the country without food, water, or gear. To graduate, they had seventy-two hours to evade capture by a team sent to hunt them and return to base undetected.
Jeez. Everyone on Maddox’s team had survival and evasion training to varying degrees, but she’d never tracked someone with this type of specialized skill set. And time wasn’t on her side.
Words blurred on the page. She had to pack it in.
She stood, her bones leaden with exhaustion. A dark emptiness chipped away at her, abrading her gut. What if she couldn’t get into Novak’s head? What if he slipped through their fingers again?
Doubt was static whirring in her mind. She needed sleep. After solid rest, she could tackle anything. She knocked out her after-action report, omitting details that’d indicate they had a mole, locked Novak’s classified file in her desk, and took the unclassified version with her.
Turning to take the elevator, she spotted Harper coming out of the restroom, headed to the analysis section.
“Hey, Harper.”
The analyst stopped, smoothing back the hair of her tight bun. “What do you need, Maddox?”
“It’s pretty late. Why don’t you go home and sleep?”
Not that she appeared to need any. Harper looked flawless and alert without a hint of makeup. She wasn’t classically beautiful but had a captivating face and enviable stamina that defied her fragile frame.
“I went home earlier for a break, and just now, I got to thinking,” she said without making eye contact in her odd-bird way, “about Novak and his son and it hit me. I can run my facial recognition program through the city’s video surveillance system.”
“That’d be helpful. How many cameras are we talking about?”
“Couple of thousand scanning streets, sidewalks, parks, rooftops. Another thousand in the Metro, and I can tap into some private security cameras scattered throughout the area as well.”
“How soon to get it running?”
“I came back to get started writing the algorithm.” Harper’s fingers wiggled wildly, tapping the side of her leg. “I’ll plug into the public and private feeds available and get real-time video analytics I could cross-link.”
“If you find something, make sure you contact me first.”
Harper usually worked behind the scenes on missions, but Sanborn was using her more and more these days as an analytical point person for operations. On those occasions, she tended to walk information to Sanborn before notifying the tactical team leader, against protocol. A protocol Sanborn didn’t enforce with her.
He made lots of allowances where she was concerned. Harper kept her distance from everyone, especially operatives. It was as though she was only comfortable interacting with Sanborn.
“You don’t want me to go to the DGB first?” With her bright eyes widening, she had the innocent look of a porcelain doll.
“No. I need you to follow protocol. This mission could succeed or fail based on how long it takes Tactical to receive relevant information. Updating the DGB is my job. Okay?”
The reasoning was sound, unquestionable, yet Harper stared at the wall as she hesitated.
She needed a nudge.
“I know you wouldn’t want to do anything to hinder our efforts or inadvertently tank this op.”
Whether a traitor or an introvert, there was only one logical response. “Okay,” Harper said.
“And work on this task alone.” Whoever the leak might be, they were a single point of failure. Reducing layers would increase transparency.
Harper nodded.
Maddox took the elevator up to the main level. She glanced at her smartwatch. Almost 3:00 a.m. Her stomach growled. She’d kill for a juicy burger loaded with cheese and bacon, but she’d nuke something lean and mean, then crash. She pushed through the heavy door, walking outside into the chorus of cicadas.
Mother Nature had the humidity cranked way too high for this hour. Six cars remained dispersed throughout the quiet parking lot, Knox’s truck blanketed in darkness at the far end. Stretching her neck, Maddox rolled the bunched knots in her shoulders as she walked. The small, shady lot was a far cry from Langley’s color-coded, amusement-park-sized one.
She hit the unlock button on the key fob. The headlights popped on, casting their familiar spray of light, and she stopped dead in her tracks.
Cole lay on the hood of the truck, arms folded, head resting on the windshield. Her heart flipped over in her chest. N
o way he’d spent two hours waiting for her.
Tenacious beyond belief. And sexier than sin.
Unreal.
The glow from the lights outlined the sweet rolling curves of his wiry physique. Long legs, tight torso, broad shoulders. Seeing him in action on the yacht, laced with lethal power, had filled her with awe in the moment. The recollection now stirred a slow burn of desire more potent than a double-shot of whiskey. Top-shelf.
Once, years ago, he’d taken on three punks who’d made the mistake of trying to mug them. He’d put them in the hospital. One in intensive care.
A born fighter.
Half of her wanted to knock his delicious body off the truck’s hood, send him packing. The other half wanted to do dirty things to said delicious body.
“I hoped you’d be long gone,” she said.
As she crossed in front of the headlights to the driver’s door, he tossed something to her without looking. She caught it.
A white paper bag from her favorite twenty-four-hour burger joint. Her insides softened, and she salivated, even if her heart cringed at potential clogged arteries.
“Fries are cold, but the fully loaded burger should hit the spot.”
The man could still read her mind after all this time, and it annoyed her worse than a nest of riled hornets. “For all you know, I’m a vegetarian these days.”
He roared with laughter, so rough it grated her skin. Swinging his long legs over the side of the truck, he sat up, clutching his stomach, choking on that gut-deep laugh as if what she’d said had been the most preposterous thing in the world.
It kind of was—she’d never give up meat, but he didn’t know that. After he’d disappeared, her whole life had changed. She’d changed.
He patted his chest, amusement dying to a sultry chuckle, nettling her to roll her eyes. “That’ll be the day”—he squeezed out another chortle—“when you don’t want a good piece of meat in your mouth.”