by Jo Davis
You had to love irony.
Robert Dietz sat quietly on the metal bench in his barren white cell, legs crossed and hands clasped in his lap, the picture of the perfect gentleman.
Why shouldn’t he be calm and polite toward his guards? It wasn’t as if he’d be here much longer. No, this was and always had been strictly business. He harbored no real animosity toward anyone at SHADO.
Except for Michael Ross. Him, he’d gladly consign to hell.
If only poor Maggie’s untimely death had kept Ross from the helm a while longer, SHADO would’ve been firmly under Robert’s control by now. A near-invincible force of surveillance experts, combat veterans, and assassins—his to direct to his causes at will.
For that loss alone, he’d triple Ross’s suffering.
A pained grunt and the sound of footsteps running toward him along the corridor broke into his thoughts. He stood and moved to the cell door, the anticipation of probable danger singing in his blood. He hadn’t been behind a desk so long that he’d forgotten how to fight when necessary. He’d require all of that experience now, and then some.
Avery Hanson appeared at his cell door, shouldering an Uzi submachine gun and fumbling with a ring of keys. “Shift change. Took out the new guards and the security camera just like you told me,” he panted, young face pinched in anxiety.
“Well done. We have perhaps forty-five seconds to a minute before someone comes to check on the glitch. Surprise is our best advantage on the way out, so we have to move.”
“Yes, sir.” With a twist of the key, Hanson unlocked the door, and the wall of bars slid sideways automatically. Reaching into the back of his fatigues, he removed a Glock and slapped it into Dietz’s waiting palm.
“Tio?” Dietz barked at the younger man.
“On the roof. He slipped onto the compound with the fake ID I made for him and commandeered the helicopter, just like you ordered.”
“Excellent. Let’s go.”
Ross would shit brass monkeys when he got wind of this, in mere moments. Even though Ross had to know there was a mole in SHADO, he would never expect a direct assault from the inside. The idea made him smile.
At this hour there were few operatives in the building; it was the lull before the morning bustle, which was precisely why he’d chosen this time. Casualties were unavoidable, such as the two guards on his cell block that Hanson had dispatched, but would be kept to a minimum. He wasn’t, after all, a vicious man—simply a practical one. Waste not was his belief.
He and Hanson made their way cautiously down the corridor, passing the other cells, all vacant. He supposed that as their sole guest he should feel special.
The first guard lay prone at the end of the corridor. Dietz stepped over his bulk, noting a curious lack of blood. He directed a sharp look at Hanson as they continued on. “Did you kill him?”
“I incapacitated him. He’s out for a while.”
Killing a man who posed an imminent threat was not wasteful. It was one thing to act in an expedient manner, quite another to act in cowardice wearing the guise of mercy. Dietz wondered which described Hanson’s reluctance to permanently remove the guard as a threat. That was the chance one took when trying to mold someone so young and inexperienced. He’d have to address the issue with the man later.
They stepped over a second guard, also unconscious, he presumed. At the elevator, Hanson swiped his electronic card to gain access, and they rode up in tense silence. The true test was yet to come—he’d leave either in the helicopter or in a body bag. But one way or the other, he was leaving.
As a security measure, the elevator from the basement jail ascended only to the first floor. From there, they’d negotiate a couple of corridors to reach the elevator that would take them to the helipad on the roof. Perhaps luck would remain on their side and they would get away cleanly.
As if the thought had conjured them, a handful of agents jogged around the corner at the end of the hallway, weapons drawn. Spitting a curse, Dietz raised his arm and fired several shots at the group, scattering them. The agents took cover in open doorways and returned fire, bullets slamming into the wall as he dove to one side.
The bastards, firmly entrenched and blocking the route to the elevator, had him and Hanson pinned. Unless he did something fast, this was going to end badly.
He ducked through the open doorway next to him and looked into a woman’s shocked face dominated by huge blue eyes, and grinned.
“Hello, dear,” he said, leveling the gun at her heaving chest. “Let’s go for a stroll, shall we?”
Emma stared into Dietz’s smug face, unable to comprehend for a second, but catching on fast. The sound of guns that had drawn her from the office, not to mention the one in his hand, told most of the story. “How the hell did you escape?”
He advanced quickly, moving to stand behind her and shoving the muzzle into her right temple. “We’ll have plenty of time to chat on our helicopter ride. Let’s go.”
She held fast even as a chill swept through to her bones. “If you kill me, you won’t make it out alive, and I’m not planning to cooperate. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Yes, you are. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to negotiate a hostage to take your place. Are you the sort of woman who would send a man in your stead? Can you live with the death of a fellow agent on your conscience?”
“Robert Dietz, throw out your weapon and come out with your hands up!” an agent shouted from the hallway.
The disgraced leader whispered in her ear. “Well?”
Loathing for this worm filled her, and a sinking sense of helplessness. She would never allow one of her comrades to be hurt if she could prevent it, and he knew it. “I guess I’m going for a ride,” she hissed.
“Good girl.”
The praise, a twisted version of the same words Blaze had spoken, sickened her. Coming from his lips, it sounded perverse.
“Hold your fire!” he yelled, then urged her forward. “Move.”
She did as she was told, heart pounding wildly in her chest. He guided them into the corridor using her as a shield, and she was greeted by the horrible sight of a young agent lying on his back. Avery Hanson. His body was riddle with bullets, blood spreading across the tile, eyes staring heavenward. From his position, opposite the agents’, it appeared he’d been with Dietz. She’d never have believed this man would be a traitor.
And now he was dead because of his choices.
“Lower your weapons and give us a clear path to the roof, or I’ll splatter her brains all over the place,” Dietz said to the closest agent. “Make sure everyone knows.”
The agent complied, carefully reaching for his cell phone. Tears stung Emma’s eyes as she continued forward, hardly aware of anything except how surreal this felt. Two minutes ago, she’d been safely ensconced in her office, nervous about the upcoming mission. And yes, excited. She had to admit that now, since she might not get the chance later.
Would Dietz kill her as soon as they lifted off? Or would he keep her around for a while? She didn’t want to die, but some things were worse than quick death. Anyone who betrayed his country by selling out to terrorists could do terrible things to a lone woman under his control.
Blaze.
More than anything, she wished for his protective embrace and scent wrapped around her. His cocky attitude and quirky personality. She’d wasted seven months when they could’ve been together, and now ...
Dietz shoved her into the waiting elevator, and the doors slid closed, creating an ominous silence. Much like a tomb.
As the car ascended she steeled herself for whatever was to come.
“Congrats on the promotion, man.”
Bastian Chevalier, crouched over a stack of boxes in his new office, straightened and turned toward Blaze, green eyes twinkling in amusement. “I’m not sure ‘congratulations’ is the right word, but thanks. Come in.”
Skirting a pile of debris, he nodded. “Overwhelmed already?”
�
��You could say that. I’ve already had five calls from the White House and one from a pissed-off four-star general, all regarding the stolen weapon.”
“Ouch. Sucks to be you.”
“Today, yes. Tomorrow? I hold out some hope.” The other man pushed a hand through his blond hair with a sigh.
“Anything I can do to help?” Blaze didn’t know Bastian very well, but he’d always liked the guy and wondered why the hell Dietz had gotten the CEO’s job over him in the first place.
“I wish. Unfortunately, my system only makes sense to me—and maybe Michael, since he knows me better than anyone.”
Is that so? Interesting, especially since he’d never seen them exchange more than the few cordial words necessary to run day-today operations. “How long have you two known each other?”
“Years. Before he and Maggie . . .” His gaze shifted to the floor, but not before Blaze caught a flash of profound sadness in his eyes, quickly covered. The other man pushed at his rolled-up sleeves and dug into another box. “Anyway, a long time. How about you? You’ve been at SHADO for three or four years, right?”
“Just two.”
“Former military?”
“FBI.”
“Huh. Had you figured for a Navy SEAL or Green Beret. A real Rambo type.”
“I get that a lot.”
The other man chuckled. “I’ll bet. You give off some serious ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibes, and you do it while smiling. Disturbing, Kelly.”
“Which is why I didn’t last as a Fed.” Blaze grinned. Bastian was an okay guy, friendly and funny. “Too much personality, and most of it is warped.”
Bastian laughed and started to reply, but the chirping of his cell phone cut off their banter. Removing it from his belt, he flipped it open. “Chevalier.” A pause. His eyes widened. “Fuck me! I’ll be right there.”
Blaze tensed, instantly alert as the other man snapped the phone shut and grabbed his gun from the holster on his hip. “What’s wrong?”
“Dietz fucking escaped! He’s heading for the roof and he’s got a hostage,” he shouted, pushing past Blaze.
“Shit! How’d the bastard get loose? Who’s the hostage?” Yanking his own gun from his holster, he sprinted after Bastian.
“Don’t know yet. Goddammit!”
They ran full out, legs pumping, taking the stairs at the end of the hall. Waiting for the service elevator to return would burn precious seconds. Blaze raced up the stairs after Bastian, the rush of adrenaline powerful enough to keep him high into the middle of next week.
But that feeling was nothing compared to the terror that awaited him when they burst out onto the roof to join several other agents, weapons drawn.
Dietz. Clasping Emma’s back against his front. Using her as a shield.
The muzzle of a gun jammed into her temple.
“Emma!” His scream was lost in the thunderous noise of the waiting helicopter. Dietz shoved her inside and dove in after as the skids lifted off the ground. “No!”
He ran, heedless of placing himself in the line of fire, of the barely audible shouts at his back. Too far. The distance was too damned far, and he wasn’t going to make it. But that didn’t stop him from launching himself at the closest skid as it rose and turned.
His body twisted as he arched through the air, arm stretching. His fingers grazed the metal and missed, and he fell hard. Lost his gun. Skidded across the rough gravelly surface of the roof, slammed to a stop against the hard barrier of the short wall—the only divider between him and falling several stories to his death.
He hardly cared. The only thing that mattered was the helicopter escaping with America’s number one enemy.
And with his woman.
Leaping to his feet, he lunged, only to be held back by several pairs of hands. “Motherfucker! I’ll kill you!” He fought them all as they sought to calm him.
“Agent Kelly, stand down!”
“Sir, stop! You’re too close to the edge!”
“Blaze, listen to me,” Michael said in his ear, voice calm. “The helicopter has a tracking device on board. We’ll find Dietz, and Emma, too.”
That softly spoken promise filtered through his rage to the rational part of his brain. For several long moments he stood still, breathing hard. Finally he nodded and shook off the hands holding him, which seemed to let go reluctantly.
“You’re damned right we will. And you’d better pray you get to Dietz first, because if I do . . . there won’t be anything left of the son of a bitch to take to trial.”
Retrieving his gun, he spun and strode away. Wisely, no one tried to stop him.
Five
Emma hated riding in a helicopter. On the handful of occasions she’d had to climb aboard, it had been on scheduled SHADO business. She’d been able to calm herself beforehand, find her center.
“I need a sack or something,” she informed her captor as the wretched aircraft banked sharply to the south.
“Excuse me?” He gave her a haughty look, face still flushed from the narrow escape.
“A sack. Now.” She panted, trying to stave off the nausea, his weapon the last thing on her mind. After all, if this thing crashed, the stupid gun wouldn’t be a factor any longer.
“What for?”
“I’m going to be sick, asshole.”
“No, you’re not,” he replied in a reasonable tone. Almost conversational.
“Yeah? Why not?”
“Because if you do, you will move beyond merely ceasing to be useful to being a disgusting waste of space. And it’s a long, long way down. Do we understand each other?”
Her blood froze. He might’ve been commenting on what to eat for dinner, he showed so little emotion. She had no doubt whatsoever that he’d push her out.
“Yes,” she croaked. Don’t get sick. Please.
The threat of learning to fly without feathers did the trick, taking her mind off her stomach. Determined to keep herself distracted, she studied Dietz’s profile. The man appeared so normal, unassuming. He was physically attractive in an “everyman” sort of way, with sandy hair and strong features. He was nobody’s idea of an archvillain who wanted to assist terrorists in blowing up the world.
You had Lex Luthor, the Joker, and the Green Goblin.
And then you had this guy—Corporate Psycho Ken.
He met her stare, one brow lifting. “Something on your mind, Agent Foster?”
Her name on his lips gave her a nasty start. She hadn’t thought Dietz the type of man to take much note of the worker bees, beyond making certain they did their job. Obviously she was wrong. Errors in judgment like that one could get her killed.
“Yes. Since I may not get another chance, I’d like to know what motivates an intelligent, successful man like you, a man who had it all, to do this. Why betray your country?”
“Why else? Money, Agent Foster. Tens of millions, mine for the pillaging. I have the means and the contacts, so why not?”
He’d kill her this instant if he knew she’d read the file on those contacts, much less the assignment she’d agreed to undertake. She pushed the thought aside and concentrated on the nuances of his speech, his expression.
For a split second, something very much like remorse resonated in his words, flashed in his eyes. A killer with a conscience? Well, most bad guys were human at the core. Weren’t they?
“I think there’s more to your reasons than money,” she said, taking a stab in the dark. “Something more personal.”
His laugh was cold. “Do tell. I’d love to hear your theory on the intricate workings of the criminal mind. Should be quite informative.”
“I’m not an expert on what makes you guys tick. That’s your field,” she said pointedly. “It just seems like there are any number of ways—easier ways—to illegally earn a vast fortune. Ways that, while distasteful and even morally degrading, don’t involve betraying the American people and compromising their safety to the point of annihilation. Am I wrong?”
“No
, you’re correct in your generalization.” His grudging admiration, and something more heated that shone in his eyes, gave her the shivers. And not in a good way.
“Then my thinking is that something of this magnitude has roots in vengeance as much as money. Not against the country per se but the individuals being hurt by your act.”
“You’re a very smart lady,” he said softly. Reaching out, he stroked one finger down her cheek. “How smart, I wonder?”
“What do you mean?” She barely kept herself from flinching away from his touch. Something told her that would be the worst mistake she could make.
“I wonder if you can apply your intelligence to this new situation and cut your losses. No doubt you’ve realized the probability of my letting you live is pathetically low as it stands, unless you give me an excellent reason to keep you around. Now that we’re clear on this, perhaps you’ll seriously consider the wisdom of joining my team.”
She revised her earlier opinion. He was unlike most criminals in every way save one—his monumental ego. He truly believed she was so malleable and afraid that she’d readily betray the American people to save her own skin.
She was frightened, no doubt about it. But she was made of stronger stuff than this worm had reckoned, and she’d play his game as long as she must, no matter how reprehensible. She’d hold out until she was rescued or killed, preferably the former.
“I don’t know. It depends,” she said evenly.
“On what?”
“Do you have dental benefits?”
He stared at her a moment before laughing, and this time the sound was several degrees warmer than before. “I like you, Agent Foster.”
“Emma.” She allowed him a small smile. Little did he know she was thinking of how he’d squeal when Blaze ripped his balls off and force-fed them to him.
“Wonderful . . . Emma. That attitude will get you far in my organization. Possibly even save your hide.”