by Elle Kennedy
So why the hell was she here to see Morgan?
“Sorry, baby,” she returned dryly. “You’re not my type.” She glanced around, her shrewd eyes taking in the enormous ranch-style house in front of her, the high fence surrounding the property, and the long stretch of flat, barren land in the distance. “Nice digs you’ve got here, Jim. Very… open. What happened to the place in the mountains?”
Morgan shrugged. “Too easy to be ambushed. Here, I can see an enemy coming from miles away.” He shot her a stony look.
Noelle laughed, the sound melodic and unusually warm, and then those eyes went all business. “Are you going to invite me in?”
“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”
After a long pause, she released a sigh. “I need your help.”
Morgan laughed.
Her lips instantly tightened. “You think I enjoy asking, you son of a bitch? If there were any other option I’d take it. As it stands, I need you. So, are you going to invite me in?”
Still chuckling, Morgan took a step back and gestured to the open doorway behind them. “By all means, baby, come in. I cannot wait to hear this.”
The other men were sitting out on the back terrace when Kane drifted onto the patio. He wondered what was going on in Morgan’s study at the moment. Before disappearing with the sexy assassin, Morgan had told Kane to go outside and wait with the others. Kane shook his head, absently crossing the dusty tiles toward the table.
“Lloyd says we’ve got a visitor.” Luke Dubois spoke up as he lifted a bottle of beer to his lips. A cigarette dangled from his other hand, the smoke curling in Kane’s direction. The long-haired brown mutt lying by Luke’s feet raised his head sharply at Kane’s approach, then flopped back down, deciding that Kane was no threat. He had to wonder what the dog would do if he was a threat. Probably tear his throat out. A German shepherd and collie mix, Bear was enormous, and more skittish than an untamed horse. The mutt seemed to relax only when Luke was around.
“Oh, we sure as hell do,” Kane replied with a grin. “Though I’m not sure visitor is the right word.”
The sun was high in the sky, without a cloud in sight, and beads of sweat began to form at Kane’s temples as he sank into the chair across from Luke. Man, he was sick of this heat. He’d grown up in Michigan, and in Michigan the month of November meant bitter-cold wind and shitloads of snow. Here in Tijuana, it meant baking in a sauna all day long. He supposed he could always find a place of his own, somewhere cooler, like some of the other guys who worked for Morgan, but fuck, what kind of life would he lead? Holden was married, so he had a woman to come home to when they finished a gig. Sullivan had always preferred his lazy nomad lifestyle. And Trevor was still in mourning. The guy’s condo in Aspen gave him plenty of space to deal with his loss.
But Kane had no woman and no reason to be alone. Hell, he couldn’t stand his own company sometimes. Too many messed-up thoughts in his head, too much anger that always found a way out whenever he was alone. Here, at the compound, he had distractions. He could shoot the shit with Ethan Hayes and Luke, get drunk on fine Mexican rum, and when the anger found a way to the surface, all he had to do was head to the gym with D, where they could beat the crap out of each other.
He glanced at D, who stood by the railing, elbows resting on the sleek metal while his black eyes fixed on something in the distance.
“Pay attention, D,” he called. “You’re going to want to hear this.”
D turned his broad shoulders. The snake tattoo that circled his neck rippled as he cocked his head with interest. Out of all the men in Morgan’s service, Derek “D” Pratt was the most terrifying. Not just because he had ink all over that lean, muscular body. No, it was the eyes. Black as coal, hard as ice. He’d been with Delta for a while, then worked for a mysterious black ops agency nobody had ever heard of. Tough as nails, lethal as ever, and definitely a man you wanted by your side in a fight.
“So who is it? Feds?” Luke drawled over the rim of his beer bottle.
“CIA?” Ethan spoke up with typical boyish curiosity.
Ethan was the youngest of the team, a former marine who’d been orphaned as a teenager and tended to look at Morgan as a father figure. No matter how hard he tried, Kane couldn’t view Ethan as anything but a kid. But the kid was good at his job, and Kane knew that despite his clean-cut, preppy good looks and gratingly polite personality, Ethan always had his back in the field. Same went for Luke, their resident Cajun bad boy. Luke could drink Kane under the table, and he hooked up with more women than Kane could keep track of, but like Ethan, he was a damn good soldier. Morgan had succeeded in putting together a team that functioned like a well-oiled machine—that was for sure.
Kane shook his head. “Guess again.”
“The queen of fucking England?” D said in that gravelly rasp of his.
“Try the queen of assassins.”
There was a stunned silence.
Luke raked his fingers through his dark hair. Kane could swear the man’s hands were trembling. Look at that. Luke Dubois, smart-ass Lothario, scared speechless.
“Noelle?” Luke finally breathed, looking so impressed that Kane had to laugh.
“You’re shitting us,” D said. Those black eyes shifted uneasily. “Right?”
“Nope. She just drove up in a sexy little Mercedes.”
“Why the hell didn’t you get us?” Luke demanded.
“I was too absorbed. She and Morgan—they know each other. Fuck, I think they know each other.”
Luke laughed. “No way.”
“I’m serious, man. Sparks flying all over the place.”
Before the others could press for more details, footsteps sounded from behind. Kane received a jolt of extreme satisfaction when he heard all three men hiss out their breath. He twisted his head just as Noelle, in all her leather-clad glory and shiny yellow hair, stepped onto the patio. Morgan appeared behind her, his back ramrod straight, like someone had shoved a poker up his ass. Didn’t look happy, their boss.
The dog wasn’t happy either. At Noelle’s entrance, Bear got on all fours, pulled his lips over his teeth and snarled at the woman—maybe Luke’s constant bragging about his dog’s enemy radar wasn’t total bullshit.
The enemy in question was completely unfazed. With a scowl, Noelle jabbed a manicured finger in the dog’s direction and said, “Sit.”
Bear sat. Just like that.
Kane wasn’t sure if he was impressed or scared shitless.
“This your team?” Noelle asked in that husky, femme fatale voice as she turned away from the dog and coolly appraised the four men on the terrace.
Kane found that he couldn’t hold her gaze for long. Her blue eyes were too astute, too eerie, as if she were looking right into his damn soul. Ethan and Luke also broke eye contact after a few seconds. But not D. Oh no, D eyed her right back, his black gaze as cool and calculated as her blue one. She seemed surprised by it, and oddly approving. Nodding, she glanced to Morgan for an answer.
“Part of the team,” he said. “The others don’t live on the compound.”
“But these four do.” She studied them once more, and her pouty lips curved slightly. “I bet you boys have barrels of fun here, don’t you?”
Morgan made an irritated sound. “Sit the fuck down, Noelle. I told you, I won’t agree to do this until I hear what my men think about it.”
“So commanding, aren’t you, Jim? I see power still gets you off.”
“Just take a fucking seat.”
“Very well.” She offered a faint smile. “I’ve pushed your buttons enough today, haven’t I?” Moving with the grace of a lioness, she pulled out one of the chairs and lowered her body into it.
Morgan moved toward the table, choosing a chair as far away as possible from the blonde. “Here’s the deal. The package is being held at Luis Blanco’s compound. She”—he gestured to Noelle—“wants us to extract it.”
“Not it. Her,” Noelle cut in, steel in her voice.
“God, Jim, still so fucking professional. You’re not extracting a package. You’re rescuing one of my girls.”
Morgan glared at her. “You want to run this meeting, baby? Because I warn you, my men don’t follow anyone’s orders but mine.”
She fell silent, but the frown never left her face.
“So, an extraction from Blanco’s compound,” Morgan repeated. He glanced around the table. “What do you think?”
Kane resisted a laugh. What did he think? Uh, not much to think about there, except hell, no. Luis Blanco was untouchable. Along with trafficking arms and drugs, the guy ruled the South American sex trade. The DEA hadn’t had much luck in gathering evidence against Blanco. The bureau continually came up empty-handed too. The man was too smart and too calculating to allow himself to get caught. He was as shady as they came, and the current suspicions that he was smuggling Asian minors into South America and pimping them out weren’t all that far-fetched. It would be just his style, in fact.
“What was the package doing tangling with Blanco?” Luke asked, sounding as unenthused as Kane felt.
“She was doing her job,” Noelle answered in a frosty tone. “Blanco was her target.”
“Who contracted her?” D inquired sharply.
“Let’s just say the Colombian government is growing tired of Blanco,” Noelle said vaguely. “They think he’s giving the country a bad rep. My girl went in to remedy that.”
Kane had to laugh. “She actually thought she could kill him?”
A pair of blue eyes pinned him down with a deadly glare. “What’s your name?”
He gulped. “Kane.”
“Well, Kane, not only was she perfectly capable of killing him—she had plenty of opportunities to do so. She infiltrated his organization two months ago. She gained his trust. Hell, she probably even got the bastard to fall in love with her.”
“Then why didn’t she off him?” he returned.
Noelle frowned. “I have no idea. Last time she checked in, I got the feeling she was stalling. I ordered her to do the job, and then she went off the radar. That’s why I came to you,” she added, her frown deepening as she glanced at Morgan. “The people who hired us are getting impatient, but me… Well, frankly, I’m just worried.”
“How long since the last check-in?” Ethan asked without meeting Noelle’s eyes. Not surprising. Ethan was shy enough as it was—put him next to a sexy assassin and he turned into a terrified bunny rabbit.
“Two days.” Noelle let out a heavy sigh. “I tapped a source who told me Blanco’s holding a woman in that makeshift jail of his. It’s gotta be her.”
“Some agent you’ve got there,” D rasped, leaning against the railing and stretching his long, tattooed arms.
Noelle’s head jerked toward him. “She’s the second-best assassin in the world.”
D raised one black eyebrow. “And the first?”
“Me, of course.”
Kane watched with interest as the two locked gazes, and he could have sworn he heard the air begin to crackle. The lethal glint in Noelle’s eyes rivaled the deadly glimmer in D’s. Strange, but he got the feeling they were two peas in a pod. Dressed head to toe in black; cold, expressionless faces. Sexual tension streaked between them, and still they held the gaze.
Finally Morgan cleared his throat. “The woman in the jail—you sure it’s your girl?”
Turning away from D, Noelle nodded. “Description matched Abby.”
Morgan’s blue eyes suddenly narrowed. “Wait a second—Abby Sinclair? Why the hell didn’t you mention it was her?”
Kane glanced at Luke, then D, to see if either of them knew who this Sinclair chick was, or why Morgan had reacted to her name. Both men shrugged as if to say, “Fucked if I know.”
“Would it have made a difference?” Noelle asked coolly.
“Jeremy was a friend. Of course it would’ve made a difference.”
Kane’s head was swimming with bewilderment. Abby. Jeremy. Who the hell were these people?
“Then you’ll do it?” Noelle said, relief all over her angelic face.
Morgan swore under his breath, then turned to the men. “I’m gonna be straight here. Blanco’s compound will be a bitch to get into. Getting the package out will be an even bigger bitch. This ain’t gonna be easy.”
Kane studied his boss. “You’re going to try anyway.”
Morgan nodded.
“And if we say no, you’ll still do it. Alone.”
Another nod.
Holy cow. What was going on? Morgan never took on suicide missions. And it was obvious he felt serious animosity toward the blond bombshell sitting at the table. So why was he agreeing to breach Luis Blanco’s compound? Obviously, even after eight years of working together, Kane still knew shit-all about his boss.
But he did know there was no way in hell he’d let Morgan do this alone. Suicide mission or not, Morgan wasn’t a man you said no to. He was the man you stood by until the bitter end.
“Okay, count me in,” Kane murmured.
Luke nodded, while Ethan said, “Ditto.”
Morgan glanced at D. “What about you?”
“I go where you go, boss.”
Something that resembled relief flashed across Morgan’s face. With a sigh, he got to his feet. “I’ll call the others.”
“Morgan,” Noelle said.
He stopped at the terrace door, waiting for her to continue.
She leveled him with a dark look. “What’s this going to cost me?”
Without answering, he left the terrace.
“Shit,” Noelle muttered under her breath.
Kane’s gaze drifted back to the blonde. At the moment, she didn’t look like the most lethal woman in the world. She looked worried. Almost scared.
Before he could stop himself, he met her eyes and quietly asked, “Who is Abby Sinclair?”
Noelle slowly rose from the chair, her blond hair falling down her back like a silky curtain. At first he thought she wouldn’t respond, but halfway to the door she stopped, that lithe body turning, those sexy blue eyes reaching his. “She’s one of mine,” Noelle said before stalking away.
Twelve more days.
Abby leaned against the cold stone wall of the cell, bringing her knees up so she could wrap her arms around them. Her wrist throbbed from the motion, and acid crept up her throat, threatening to gag her, choke her. She touched her chest and felt the welts, realizing the guards hadn’t put her clothes back on this time. She was naked. Her entire body hurt, a dull, constant ache that pumped in her blood and sent tremors through her muscles. It was fine. She was fine. She only had to endure it for twelve more days. Not long at all. A lifetime.
Poor Noelle. Abby bit her lip, thinking about her boss. Only two people had ever given a damn about her. Jeremy was one. Noelle was the other. The woman had recruited Abby after Jeremy’s death, taken her into her home, trained her, made her indestructible. The two women had forged a bond over the years. They’d both endured seriously shitty childhoods, and both had dragged themselves out of the gutter and given the finger to everyone who’d hurt them. But Noelle’s experiences had inspired a craving for power. There was never enough power to be had, according to the dangerous blonde.
Abby—well, she wanted revenge. That was why she’d allowed herself to be captured by Blanco, deliberately blowing her cover. She could have killed the son of a bitch a hundred times over in the past two months. It had been so very easy finagling her way into his life. She’d researched him to no end before taking the assignment. He preferred redheads, so she became one. He liked meek little pussycats, so she became one. She allowed him to woo her. She moved into this empty, sterile compound. Hadn’t fucked him, though. It had been a pleasant surprise, learning the mighty Luis Blanco couldn’t get it up. Arm candy, that’s all he wanted, and that she gave him.
She hated deep cover, but with this gig there hadn’t been a choice. Half a dozen bodyguards surrounded Blanco day and night. When he left the estate, he an
d his men made sure a sniper couldn’t get a clear shot, so straight-up bullet-in-the-brain had been out. His servants tasted his food before he ate it, so poison was a no-go. After she moved in, she decided a pill-induced heart attack might be the way to go, but then she’d gotten derailed.
If she came out of this alive, she was in for a long lecture from her boss. Hell, she’d probably get canned. But who cared? All it took was the memory of those girls in the bunker, those naked, bleeding, dirty girls, and the overwhelming need for revenge trumped everything else. Noelle, her job, her own freaking safety.
She was going to free those girls, even if she died trying.
Abby sat up, fighting the dizziness that came with the action. She blinked, cleared her head, and examined the cell for anything she might be able to use to defend herself. Although she could handle the beatings, the notion of sexual violation made her blood run cold. Using sex as a weapon was one thing. It was done on her terms, a tool she used when it was the only way to carry out her mission. But being sexually victimized? No fucking way. She’d been there, done that.
Blanco had told Devlin not to touch her. How sweet. He wanted to save her body for the scumbag who would purchase her at the auction.
But Devlin… Abby had seen the lust in his eyes during their last visit. And the fury, when she’d spat in his face. Rape was definitely on the bastard’s agenda. So far, even the beatings were tame, compared to what she knew he must be craving to do to her. A broken wrist and some bruises weren’t the end of the world. Devlin did enough to inflict pain, but not enough to kill or mutilate her. No, that wouldn’t go over well with the perverts who attended the auction. Twelve more days of beatings—she could handle that. But even a second of rape? Never again.
No potential weapons in the cell. She would need to rely on her own skills to overpower Devlin, a difficult task considering one wrist felt broken and her entire body ached from the whipping.
You’re stronger than you think, Abby.
Jeremy’s voice again, accompanied by a memory of the drills and exercises her adoptive father had forced her to undergo. He’d maintained that every teenage girl should know how to defend herself. As a grown woman, she knew he’d been right. Because really, who knew when you might find yourself bloody and beaten in a sociopath’s Colombian prison?