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

by Tracy Brody

  “Nice of you to join us, Sergeant Vincenti,” Lundgren remarked.

  “Sorry, Chief.” Excuses were for sissies.

  “Why don’t you help out Porter?”

  He didn’t question Lundgren’s order, though the odds were definitely in his and Porter’s favor. He’d only taken a few steps into the ring when Lundgren tossed a blue training knife to Grant, evening up the odds.

  Tony turned from his approach to Dominguez to face Grant. The sex helped somewhat, but his need to release more frustration had his adrenaline revving at the starting line. Let the dance begin.

  He let Grant move close enough to attempt a strike. A hop-step back had him clear of Grant’s reach. His own counter strike missed as well. In his peripheral vision, he kept watch on Dominguez and Porter. Grant made a bold charge, forcing him back two steps.

  Suddenly, Tony was flat on his back, looking at the sky, his legs draped over another body when Grant plunged the collapsible knife blade into his chest.

  Shit.

  Someone—it sounded like Shuler and Mack—chuckled while Rozanski crawled free.

  Grant extended his hand, and Tony reluctantly grasped his wrist for the assist up.

  “Your enemy won’t announce he’s sending more guys into the fight. Gotta maintain situational awareness,” Lundgren said with the men echoing the oft-heard phrase.

  Tony dropped his head to stare at his boots. He couldn’t afford to be distracted like this on a mission.

  “Shuler. Your turn. With Liu.”

  “Any updates from the FBI?” Rozanski asked Tony when they stepped to the perimeter of the ring.

  “Ang got a call this morning that Vasquez wired out nearly half a million dollars yesterday.”

  “That makes for some expensive booty,” Dominguez said.

  Tony wanted to knock the smirk off Dominguez’s face, but he reined it in. “Only the money went to an account in Singapore.”

  “Oh, man. Isn’t Singapore like the new Cayman Islands of banking secrecy?” Rozanski said.

  “That’s what Carswell called it when we were working on that assignment with the intel leaks to North Korea,” Mack chimed in.

  “Yeah. It’s looking like it could be a dead end.” Instead of the team helping to put Austin Cooper out of business—permanently—they could be sitting on the sidelines doing nothing. And his future with Angela could evaporate when she did.

  “Speaking of Carswell, what was the deal with him and Angela.”

  Tony glared at Dominguez. Was he trying to goad him?

  “I noticed him watching her, too,” Rozanski said in Dominguez’s defense. “And he snapped a few pictures of her before the paramedics took her out of Hakim’s. It was creepy.”

  Rozanski’s statement gave Tony a this-is-gonna-be-bad-shit feeling.

  “I thought the two of them had a thing going the way—”

  No, you don’t… Tony lunged for Dominguez before the asshole could diss on Angela.

  Rozanski managed to catch Tony’s arm, throwing him off course. Dominguez leaped back so that Tony’s right hand only swiped at him.

  In a flash, Porter pulled Dominguez away. Rozanski planted himself between the men.

  “Chill! Look at me. It’s not worth it.” Rozanski used his wiry strength to hold Tony back long enough to make him think rather than act on pure emotion.

  “Break it up,” Lundgren ordered in the authoritative voice that made Tony cringe. “Keep it in the ring. Vincenti. Dominguez. You two earned everyone a five-mile run.”

  “Me? I didn’t do nothing. All I was saying—”

  “Seven miles,” Lundgren cut off Dominguez.

  Porter threw up a hand in front of Dominguez’s mouth, effectively silencing him for the moment. “You should try thinking before you go ‘saying’ sometimes.”

  Tony stepped back, rolled his neck, and shook out his shoulders. He nodded to Rozanski, who lowered his arms.

  “What are y’all waiting for? Me to make it ten miles?” Lundgren barked.

  Tony jogged toward the trails through the woods without waiting for anyone. The routine seven-mile run didn’t qualify as punishment for shoving Dominguez, but if he was subjected to more chatter or insinuations about Carswell with Angela—well, better to pound the ground than Dominguez’s face.

  Stampeding through the woods, he used the change in scenery to come at the problem of someone learning Angela’s identity and location from a different angle. What changed that they’d found her after all these years?

  Five miles in, he gave up. It was that or bang his head against a tree, except that wouldn’t give him workable ideas. Just like he was freaking stymied on how to make Angela feel safe enough to stay. He had to give her a reason to stay. A purpose, until she admitted he—or more accurately, them together—was enough of a reason.

  Forty

  Tony steered his Harley to the vacant spot near where Angela had parked his SUV under the shade of a Bradford pear tree. Heat shimmered off the parking lot’s blacktop surface. He hung his helmet over the handlebar, then strode to the restaurant entrance.

  She parked far from the front door, a reminder that each day she regained more strength. That she was another step closer to independence. Energy hummed through him. This had to work.

  Inside, his gaze shot to his usual booth in the back-left corner. Angela sat in his preferred booth, in his spot, giving her a sweeping view of the room. Another reminder of how compatible they were—even if she stole his seat.

  She watched him, her face projecting her curiosity about the request to meet him for lunch. He prayed the idea he’d finally gotten during his run led somewhere.

  “Tony!”

  He turned in the direction of the enthusiastic voice before thinking.

  Oh, shit. The brunette waitress skirted a table, targeted right on him. He hadn’t recognized the voice, but he recognized the face. What the hell was her name?

  “Hey. I haven’t seen you since that night at Jumpy’s.” Her eyes moved from his chest to his face and sent heat rushing up his neck—not in a good way.

  “I’ve been out of town.” Tish? Andrea? Jessica? Heather? Why couldn’t the servers wear nametags?

  “I hoped you’d call me.” Her voice dropped low.

  Three more steps and he would have been in the booth. With Angela. Who could now overhear every word coming out of the brunette’s mouth. Shit. He needed to shut her up. “Yeah, well, I’m, uh, involved with someone.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not married, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Then you should call me. We can have a good time again.”

  Seriously? He needed to man up and shut her down—without being an ass, or more of one—in front of Ang. “Uh, I’m looking for something more serious.”

  “Oh, I’m serious.”

  “Excuse me.” He turned away and stepped over to the booth, not that this could get any worse. He slid onto the bench beside Angela—where he didn’t have to face her. “I’m sorry about that.” A sickening sensation churned in his gut.

  “I can understand why she wouldn’t want to give up without trying.” Angela nudged him with her shoulder. “Look, we all have a past we can’t change. No matter how much we may want to.”

  He had no clue what to say. True, she had a past with Jarrod he didn’t want to think about. She might not seem bothered now, but how many more women from his past were going to be thrust in her face if she stayed here? Would she trust that he’d stay faithful? He dared to meet her eyes.

  She scooted closer. The kiss she pressed to his cheek helped ease his self-recrimination. Her face lingered. He kissed her back, wishing he could kiss away the reality of his past flaunted in her face.

  “Ahem.”

  Shit! His one-night stand—Holly! That was her name. Wasn’t it?—cleared her throat.

  Water sloshed onto the table when she set two glasses down. “Are you ready to order, or do you two need another minute to look
at the menu?”

  Every molecule in his body fired off warning shots. So, yes, it could get worse. He could deal with spit in his food—he eyed the water glass—but if another woman who knew him that way walked up …

  “I’ll have the club salad. Oh, I asked our waitress, but if you could bring some sliced lemon, I’d appreciate it.” Angela handed over the menu, impervious to the attempt to get under her skin.

  Tony ordered, then turned his shoulders to face Ang, blocking out Holly and everyone else. If it weren’t too late to salvage things, he’d better charge ahead.

  “It’s been years since you worked for Vasquez. What changed that had someone looking to cash in? Do you think you could have been identified in New York?”

  “I’ve been trying to figure that out. I was constantly on the watch there. Nothing stood out. Even if someone recognized me as Raquel Decaino, there I was Sabine Deschamps. I can’t see them making the connection to me and D.C. It had to be something before New York.”

  “But how—”

  “Here you go.” A bowl with a few lemon slices rattled onto the tabletop. Holly made eye contact with him.

  Holy shit. Holly had unbuttoned one, if not two, buttons to expose her pushed-up cleavage and a peek of black lace. Why did I think coming here would be a good idea? He should have waited until tonight when they had privacy at home.

  “Thank you.” Angela flashed a clearly fake smile, her voice full of sweetness and sunshine. She dismissed Holly by reaching for the bowl.

  “How would they know the timing of you being out of town?” Though Holly walked away, he kept his voice low.

  “Maybe they didn’t.”

  “The folks in the Bureau’s D.C. office knew you were gone. How many of them knew about the contract?” he persisted, though she rolled her eyes.

  “Three. Four if you count the former Assistant Director. But none of them would be involved in—”

  “You can’t rule them out.”

  “They’re law enforcement. They wouldn’t risk their reputations and careers.”

  “Half a million dollars is a lot of temptation.” There were plenty of people he’d encountered who would kill for way less depending on the cause.

  “Maybe to some people. With someone I know—it’d have to be personal. I don’t buy into it. They’ve got no reason.”

  “Then who made the connection? How?” Tony had to do something to conquer this helpless feeling. Usually, Intel did the grunt work and found the target. Not this time. Only he wasn’t coming close to doing the job, either.

  Even though Angela had been through it dozens of times in her own mind, she patiently answered the questions Tony threw out while he wolfed down his sandwich.

  She knew Kathryn, had dinner with her, her husband, and two sons on more than one occasion. While criminals and terrorists wouldn’t want Kathryn setting her sights on them, she was an honest, upstanding individual who wouldn’t consider setting up a hit.

  With less than two years of service remaining to collect his pension, Harkins, the current assistant director, wouldn’t risk turning on his own people. There might be a notation in her personal file, but access to it was restricted, ruling out other personnel.

  She tried to recall anything that stood out as suspicious or out of the ordinary her last few months in D.C. She took a bite of salad to buy herself more time. Maybe it wasn’t someone in D.C. But who? How?

  In the background, the flirty waitress talked to the original server for their table. The women’s heads were close together, and both snuck glances in Tony’s direction. Good thing she wasn’t the jealous type since the waitress had the subtlety of a wrecking ball.

  A twinge of sympathy for Tony accompanied her admiration for how he handled the awkward situation. He polished off the last of his sandwich and turned to their waitress, who immediately noticed his focus on her. She strutted over.

  “Can I get you anything else?” She aimed a sultry smile at Tony.

  Underneath the table, Angela’s feet flexed, but she kept her hands relaxed.

  “I need the check, and do you need a to-go box, babe?”

  “Please.” Angela glanced up in time to see the flash of disdain on the server’s face. Sorry, honey, not handing him over to you even if I’m gone soon. “In a hurry to leave?” she asked him once the woman sauntered off, hips swaying, despite Tony not watching.

  “Can’t be late twice in one day.” He winked.

  “Sorry.” Shocks of electricity fired through her at the memory of this morning’s ardent sex.

  “No, you’re not,” he returned with a snorted chuckle. “And I’m not, either. Though after that, you—” He broke off as the server closed in on them.

  “Here you go. Nice to see you again. Come back soon.” The waitress set the check at Tony’s elbow, then slid the Styrofoam container toward Angela.

  Angela scooped the remaining salad into the box.

  Tony didn’t wait. He stood and pulled out his wallet. “You can keep the change—and your number.” He handed over both the money and the green ticket with a phone number written on it. “I’m flattered, Holly, but like I said, I’m involved. And even if I wasn’t, I’m a changed man.”

  “It’s Molly.” Finally, she balked at Tony’s refusal to play her game. Her mouth tightened, and her blue eyes narrowed. “Changed my ass,” she grumbled, drawing the attention of guests at several nearby tables as she spun on her heel and walked away.

  Angela edged out of the booth, then slid her hand into Tony’s and nudged him to move.

  “It hasn’t been a month,” Molly tossed over her shoulder.

  Tony’s head jerked, and his jaw jutted forward, but he kept his head held high, shoulders back as they wove through the tables to exit.

  Once outside, he held the door for the couple shuffling up the sidewalk. The white-haired woman’s age-spotted hand gripped her companion’s arm, and she used a cane to assist the slight dragging of her left leg.

  “Thank you.” She beamed at Tony, though only the right side of her mouth turned up.

  He watched the couple pass by. The expression on his face warmed Angela’s heart.

  His gaze shifted to scrutinize her after the couple went inside.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” He released the door, then guided her with a hand on her back.

  Though he didn’t say what was on his mind, his face reflected sadness. Longing. She’d bet he was envisioning his future.

  How long had the couple been together? Fifty years? Sixty? Or maybe they’d only been together a few years. Maybe they’d found each other late in life.

  Maybe one day, she wouldn’t have to examine every face and situation for danger.

  In ten or fifteen years, she could look Tony up. Only by then, he’d be married. Have a couple of kids. Be on a second career. Have a dog. She couldn’t expect him to wait for her. Life wasn’t fair.

  She could always get a dog for protection and company. Better for safety than turning into a cat lady with a dozen standoffish felines.

  The silent trek across the parking lot ended at his SUV. Neither opened the vehicle’s door.

  “I love you. We are going to figure this out.” He pulled her into his arms, rocking slightly and stroking her back.

  As if the heat and humidity weren’t enough to make her melt into a puddle, his words made her insides quiver and her heart stop. Though she opened her mouth, her vocal cords suffered from sudden paralysis. Yeah, she loved him, too, but why did he have to say it? Not when she couldn’t stay. Dammit. She’d accept her own heartbreak. She didn’t want to drive a stake through his heart, as well.

  He turned up her face to meet his. The kiss was tender, gentle, and totally consuming.

  “Meet me in the garage when I get home. Wearing your leather jacket.”

  “We going for another ride?”

  “Kinda. If you’re willing to give it a try.”

  A try …? Oh! “Oh. And should I we
ar anything besides the jacket?”

  “Your black lace thong would be good.”

  Tempted to back him up against the SUV right there in the parking lot, she took a half step out of his arms. He opened the door for her to get in.

  “Text me when you’re leaving for home.”

  Putting on his helmet, he shot her a libidinous grin. She checked the dashboard clock. Four hours until he got home. What am I supposed to do for four hours?

  He roared off on the Harley before she could compose herself enough to insert the key in the ignition.

  Why did he have to keep turning her world inside out, upside down, and spun around until she was dizzy?

  Navigating down the boulevard, she played with new options for her future. She had enough money and convertible assets saved and stashed to live comfortably in Central America or the Caribbean under a new name. There she could buy a house or even a boat. Living with Tony on a sailboat, traveling to different exotic locations, definitely had appeal. They could offer day sails and snorkeling or scuba trips to tourists.

  It was an alluring fantasy.

  Only that life would cut Tony off from his family. They were too close for her to ask him to give that up. She couldn’t ask him to give up his career, either. In a few years, he’d have in twenty years of service to retire from the Army with a full pension if he wanted. Though she didn’t see him leaving then. Or being ready to spend his days lounging on a boat—even with her.

  No. She needed to stick with the plan. Find a Bureau office where she’d feel safe enough. Create a new name. Since Angie Vincent would be too obvious, maybe Angie Davidson. Or Dalton. Tony’s cover identity from their original assignment was less obvious than Vincent. Still, it would make her think about Tony every time she heard or said it. Not that she wanted to forget him—ever.

  Forty-One

  After last night’s adventures, Tony parked in the garage, lingering a moment in the event Angela appeared for a repeat performance.