A Shot Worth Taking (Bad Karma Special Ops Book 3)

by Tracy Brody

  Twenty-One

  The arrival of the local FBI agents squared things away with the police. The ambulance was cleared to leave with Rozanski, and Alpha team was allowed in to help establish a perimeter.

  Lundgren hauled the handcuffed surviving target across the lawn to the van. “Meet Fariq Shah. He graduated from the University of New Mexico two years ago.”

  Lundgren’s ominous tone gave Tony goosebumps. I don’t speak English, my ass. He sized him up.

  “He’s got a graduate degree in nuclear engineering. How ’bout that?”

  The man shrunk into himself, unable to vanish from the angry stares fixed on him.

  “I want a lawyer.” His accent was pretty understandable for someone who didn’t speak English. He also sounded like the unidentified voice on the call with Hakim and al-Shehri.

  “No problem. Once that bomb is disabled—or detonated—we’ll get on that.”

  Under Lundgren’s saccharine smile, Shah shook, and his glance darted to the back of the van.

  “The police have the perimeter established and the area cordoned. Time to take a look.” The NEST explosive ordnance disposal (EOD) expert set his tools on the floor of the van. “Ideally, with this much time, we’d move it to a remote location. However, with three flats and its current parking spot, this van’s not going anywhere right now.”

  Tony looked him in the eye. Refusing to squirm, he owned up to his actions. He’d take any heat that came from it later. Right now, he wanted these guys to do their job and disarm the damn thing.

  “No bomb suit? He’s got brass kahunas,” Dominguez stated.

  Tony rolled his eyes. “It’s nuclear. Suit won’t protect him.” Or us.

  “We should step back.”

  “Better be one helluva step.” Tony held his ground, putting his trust in these guys. After a closer examination, they’d determine whether it could be moved or if they needed to evacuate the surrounding area—creating mass panic—to disarm it here.

  The EOD tech snapped pictures. He handed his partner the camera, then proceeded to open the timer casing. “We’ll double-check before we make a—Oh, fuck!” His hands jerked back. He lost his balance and landed on his ass.

  “What is it?” The tech’s partner moved closer.

  “The timer reset.”

  The tech’s partner blocked the view inside, but his urgent tone had the same effect as touching a live wire.

  “We have twenty-two minutes.”

  They’d gone from nearly two days to twenty-two fucking minutes to defuse the bomb? Just like that? Tony thought these guys knew what the hell they were doing. It wasn’t supposed to go down like this.

  Okay. Calm down. Not their fault. Twenty-two minutes. Could they clear the area in that time? The street, maybe …

  Lundgren forced the prisoner’s face into the back of the van.

  “You added a tripwire on the timer. You do anything else different than the specs?”

  Shah shook his head.

  Tony looked to see if the guy pissed himself. Wouldn’t be the first time that happened when Lundgren was incensed.

  Lundgren’s head swiveled from the van to take in the neighboring houses—some brave, or curious, residents started to emerge. “Alpha team, get as many people to evacuate as you can. Don’t use the word nuclear.” He dropped his voice. “Tell them not to pack. To leave now!” He checked his watch. “Mack, back our van up to the house. Bravo team, grab every bit of potential evidence. Bodies, too. I want everything and you loaded up and out of here in nine minutes. No exceptions. Go.”

  The team raced to secure anything in the house that might lead to additional terror cells, plots, another bomb, or something that would point them to al-Shehri. In under seven minutes, other than furniture, most everything the occupants possessed—electronics, notebooks, mail, flash drives, backpacks, books, even toiletries—had been shoved into trash cans, laundry baskets, random boxes, or wrapped in blankets and stowed in the van.

  Tony helped Mack grab the ends of the last body bag. They loaded it on top of the other bodies and slammed the doors shut with a minute to spare.

  Tension hung in the stagnant air around the group while the EOD techs compared the printed specs with the actual device in the back of the van.

  “Load up!” Lundgren commanded the men.

  “After you, Chief.” Tony planted himself at Lundgren’s side.

  Lundgren cocked his head at the challenge. “I have—”

  “You have a wife and kid,” Tony talked over him.

  “We don’t have time for this. Mack! You’re driving this out. I want the rest of you in our vehicles and—”

  “While you decide, I’m going to work because we have nine minutes and seven seconds left. Six. Five. Four,” the EOD tech said.

  “I get the picture. Just get started,” Lundgren snapped. He fixed his hypnotic do-as-I-say stare on Tony. “You need to go.”

  “I need to stay.”

  “It won’t bring her back.”

  “I—” He couldn’t finish. The emotions hit him, nearly dropping him to his knees. Angela risked her life to stop this bomb. He couldn’t drive away. He planted his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. They’d have to manhandle him into a vehicle. Good luck with that.

  Lundgren growled. He gave a resigned jerk of his head to the team, already loaded in their vehicles. Tires squealed and left rubber on the road peeling out to deliver everything to the FBI.

  “You know this is insubordination.” Lundgren didn’t look at him.

  “Can you hold off on the court-martial until they defuse it?”

  “I guess so.” Lundgren turned to Shah and got so far in his face that the man nearly collapsed backward. “What do you know about a second bomb?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Somehow, I don’t believe you.” Lundgren’s voice cooled the sultry night air.

  In the moonlight, the guy’s face lightened a few shades. Hell, Lundgren’s tone gave Tony chills, too.

  “I was to complete this. That was all.”

  “Where is al-Shehri?” Lundgren’s tone turned lethal.

  Fear shone in Shah’s eyes. He shook his head with his jaw clenched. Tony wasn’t sure if he feared Lundgren, the bomb, or al-Shehri more. All equally lethal, which could explain Shah refusing to say anything as Lundgren and a SEAL flanked him, neither speaking another word aloud while the minutes ticked by.

  A running litany of confession for his sins ran through Tony’s mind. Fortunately, he could go straight to the source rather than try to find a priest to confess to. It gave him more time.

  “Which wire do I cut?” the EOD asked the prisoner.

  “The blue.” It took a second for Shah to reply. His gaze flickered up before dropping to the pavement, then his eyes closed. His arms twitched.

  Tony closed his eyes, too. And forgive me for not—

  “Done.” The EOD tech eased out of the van. Sweat dripped off his face.

  “But, I … I …” the prisoner stuttered.

  “I didn’t expect you to tell me the truth.” He flashed a cocky smile from Shah to the SEAL holding onto him.

  Tony concurred. Eternity in an American jail or complete the jihad? Shah had no motivation to help them out.

  He breathed easier than he had in days as the EOD tech swaggered away. Lundgren grinned, though Tony didn’t feel the same sense of satisfaction.

  Thanks, Ang. It didn’t feel like a win even though they’d saved countless lives tonight because of her sacrifice.

  Twenty-Two

  The team’s flight touched down at Simmons Army Airfield at Fort Bragg mid-afternoon. Despite getting a couple hours of sleep on the plane, Tony still felt bone-weary. He was emotionally spent. Once they stopped the bomb, he thought it would stamp out most of the anger—only an emptiness persisted.

  Colonel Mahinis waited for the team off the tarmac. While the men unloaded their bags and gear, Lundgren strode over to talk to the colonel. The team conve
rged minutes later.

  “Well done, men. Though I’d appreciate you not cutting it so close next time.” A smile broke out over the colonel’s usually serious face.

  “I’d prefer not having a ‘next time’ on something like this,” Mack chimed in. He scanned the airfield, probably hoping to see his wife, Kristie.

  Tony’s heartbeat echoed in the cavity in his chest. It’d sure as hell be nice to have someone to come home to after a mission like this.

  “I hear you. Let’s debrief after you stow your gear so you can enjoy your day off tomorrow.” The battle-hardened veteran gave a nod of dismissal. “Vincenti.” The colonel stopped his departure.

  “Sir?”

  “I got a call from Special Agent Calomiris in the New York field office. He asked if I’d pass details about Special Agent Hoffman on to you.” The colonel extended a folded sheet of paper.

  Tony stared at the paper. His blood froze in his veins, and his limbs became blocks of ice. His windpipe constricted to the point that he couldn’t speak. He wanted to take her flowers, not send them to her funeral. Who would be there to mourn her? In slow motion, he reached for the paper.

  “If you want to take a couple of days, I checked, you’ve got two months of leave accrued.”

  He nodded numbly. “Yes, sir. When is the service?”

  “‘Service?’ That’s the hospital information.” The colonel pointed to the paper, his brow creased in confusion.

  “Hospital? But Jarrod said she …” His hands shook as he unfolded, then read the words on the paper. Disbelieving laughter erupted. “Thank you, God.”

  “Must have been bad. Calomiris said she wasn’t conscious yet. Anyway, take all the time you need, and give her my thanks. The rest of the team can handle the debrief. Dismissed.”

  Tony clutched the piece of paper like it was a winning Powerball ticket—or a gift from God. He wanted to be on the next plane to New York City. After all the stress the past few days, he could probably fly there on his own.

  Cruising off the elevator at New York Presbyterian Hospital, Tony only slowed enough to look at the directional plaque on the wall for the ICU desk.

  “Can I help you?” A blonde nurse in pink scrubs glanced up from an iPad screen when he leaned over the counter.

  “I’m … I’m looking for Angela Hoffman.”

  “Hoffman. We don’t have any patients by that name in this unit,” the nurse said.

  “Can you see if she was transferred?” He fought the panic that raced through him. He’d left post to go home, book a flight, shower, and pack, then he raced like a madman to the Raleigh airport, making it through security and to the gate minutes before they closed the door. It hadn’t occurred to him to call the hospital—hadn’t thought it necessary.

  They moved her to another room because they’d upgraded her condition. That’s it. He refused to let the grim reaper’s shadow overtake the euphoria of learning Angela survived.

  “We haven’t had anyone in critical care by that name. Maybe she was in a different unit.” She tapped on the keyboard. “No, I don’t see—”

  “Are you sure? She was shot twice. In the shoulder and the abdomen.” He motioned, rattling off details. His voice grew louder, his words more urgent. The nurse’s head whipped from side to side, her eyes wide, heightening his sense of alarm.

  A woman wearing a white lab coat over her scrubs, her raven hair in a low bun, hurried over. “Sir, you need to calm down.”

  Calm down? He hadn’t gotten started yet.

  “Come with me,” the doctor instructed in an authoritative tone. Her direct stare said more than her words, compelling him to comply. She led him a few steps away. “Who told you this person was here?” Dr. Sarah Saba was stitched on her jacket.

  “Um, Special Agent Calomiris. He’s with the—”

  “Yes. I know,” she interrupted. With a quick nod of her head, she walked away from the desk; he followed.

  Dr. Saba pushed open the door to Room 4585 without knocking. His heart skipped a beat. The surge of relief from his core to his limbs left him dizzy. He moved past the doctor to the side of the bed, where he reached out to stroke Angela’s cheek with the back of his fingers. She didn’t stir.

  “Special Agent in Charge Barnsley requested that we list her under an alias for her protection—and not advertise that she’s with the FBI. We have her listed as Elizabeth Sutcliff. So, you might not want to go around shouting her real name.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t know.” That made sense with al-Shehri still out there and his money-launderer dead. “How … how is she?”

  The doctor cocked her head. “Stable now. She went down twice. Fortunately, she had the best medic in the city respond. Course, I might be biased.”

  He picked up on her pride. “Husband or boyfriend?”

  “My brother. And she had a kick-ass trauma surgeon …”

  “You?”

  “If I say so myself.” Her chin jutted up.

  “Thanks.” He gave her an appreciative nod. Emotion made his throat tight.

  Her gaze dropped to his left hand. “Are you family?”

  “Uh, not exactly. The only family she has is her dad. I think he lives in Germany.” Had the Bureau let him know? Would he come? The idea of having no one else here for her hit him hard.

  Dr. Saba hesitated, studying him before she spoke. “She lost a lot of blood, and I removed nearly a third of the right lobe of her liver to stop the bleeding. However, she can function without it, and the liver can regenerate. She’s going to need time to recuperate, but she should make a full recovery. We’ve been keeping her heavily sedated to control the pain while she’s healing.”

  He squeezed Angela’s limp hand.

  I’ll be here for you. You aren’t alone.

  Twenty-Three

  Pain radiated through Angela’s body. Apparently, she was not in heaven. It was so dark she couldn’t see anything, but she could hear. Background noise. A rhythmic beeping of machinery. The smooth, sexy voice of Jake pierced through the fog enshrouding her brain. No, not Jake. Tony—Tony Vincenti—mmm … Though some woman was talking. The damn woman drowned out his voice.

  “Come on. Open your eyes, Elizabeth. You can do it.”

  Angela willed her eyes to open to see who the woman was talking to, but her world stayed dark.

  Maybe she was in purgatory. She couldn’t see Tony, couldn’t make out what he was saying. What if they were both here and never able to be together? Never touch or kiss. That would be her definition of hell. She wanted to revert to the floating sensation, the one without the physical pain. But what if Tony were here? Was he dead, too?

  “The bomb?” she forced the words out. At least she thought she did.

  Again, the woman spoke, then Tony’s voice. He sounded far away, and she couldn’t understand what he said before she slipped back into the soothing weightlessness.

  When Angela moved, Tony’s head jerked up. He leaned forward to caress her hand. “Come on, Ang. Time to wake up.”

  Her eyelids fluttered open, then closed, and she murmured something.

  His name.

  It sent a bolt of electricity through him. “Yeah. I’m here.”

  This time her eyes opened and her head turned toward him. As she focused on his face, a dreamy smile altered her features. Then her eyes shot wide open and scanned the room. “The bomb?”

  Unlike earlier in the day, this time when Angela asked, she had the clarity of mind to be sure the room was clear first. A good sign, though he’d covered when she asked the nurse on the last shift before drifting back into unconsciousness. “We found it in time. Everything’s good.”

  She sank into the pillow behind her, still fighting the lull of drug-induced sleep. “Where?”

  “You were right. We found one at their safe house outside Van Nuys. Near the studio. We couldn’t have done it without you.” He didn’t tell her that he thought she’d given her life for that information or how freaking close they’d been. “Al-Sh
ehri? Please tell me you got him.”

  “No. Nothing.” The man was like a magician’s assistant—disappearing into thin air.

  “Dammit.”

  He gave her a moment to deal with the frustration.

  “What day is it?”

  “The fourth. They kept you sedated for a few days.”

  The fingers on her left hand moved as if counting. Her mouth tightened, and he guessed she realized al-Shehri could be anywhere by now.

  “Why are you here? Was Grochowski afraid I’d talk while drugged up or …?”

  “No. I, uh …” Great. What should he tell her? He couldn’t man up and go for soul-baring honesty. Not yet. “We have a date. Remember?”

  “Yeah, but …” She attempted a smile. “How long have you been here?”

  “I got in yesterday afternoon.”

  “I’m afraid it’s going to be a while before I’m up for—a date.” Her fingers tickled his palm.

  Oh, man. Even lying in a bed, pale and so weak she couldn’t hold her head up, her subtle innuendo gave him a hard-on. “I can wait. I’m a patient man. Get some sleep,” he suggested.

  “I think I’ve slept enough,” she mumbled.

  “You need to heal. I’m not going anywhere.” He brushed her hair back from her face and lightly kissed her forehead.

  Jeez. Didn’t the nurse just leave? Tony squinted against the light that streamed into the room. The door closed quickly this time. He bit his tongue. He shouldn’t harass the nurses checking on Angela to manage her pain. Only the person who moved into the room this time was male and wore a ball cap.

  Tony dug his elbow into the corner of the recliner and pushed himself upright. The figure jerked back, then froze.

  “Vincenti? What the hell are you doing here?” Jarrod Carswell kept his voice low and stepped further into the room.

  “Better question is, what are you doing here? What the hell time is it?” It had to be well after midnight. Tony stroked a hand over his jaw rather than go for Carswell’s throat after the text message that misled him to think Angela died.