by J. S. Scott
Every office was empty except for a desk, chair, or equipment storage for the planes and helicopters.
Until she reached a locked door.
“What’s in here?” she called to Tate, who still stood near the exit door.
He strode over and tried the door himself. “I don’t have a clue.”
“Judging from the exterior, it’s a pretty large space,” Lara mused.
Tate crouched again and pulled out his knife to expertly pop the lock.
“Sheesh. Don’t you guys have an alarm system here?” Lara asked curiously.
Tate shrugged as he pushed the door open. “What for? Like somebody is really going to come to the middle of the Rocky Mountains, who just happens to be a pilot, to steal a plane? And all of our employees have been with us for years. We trust them.”
Amazing. Where Lara came from, nobody trusted anybody. But she’d never lived in a small town before. And Rocky Springs was definitely remote. Their homes and the airstrip was a pretty good distance away from the actual resort.
She entered the room in front of Tate and stopped short; he bumped into her back. “Oh, God. What is all this?” Her eyes roamed around the enormous storage area.
Everything was crated, and there were too many crates to count. The gigantic storage room seemed crammed with stacked packing boxes.
“One way to find out,” Tate said grimly as he took out his knife to tear open one of the crates. “Fuck!” he rasped. The lid hit the cement floor with a loud clatter. “There’s enough C4 here to cause some major damage.”
Lara watched as Tate popped the lid on box after box, uncovering a huge collection of explosives, missiles, arms and equipment to assemble some major bombs. She blinked back tears as she pulled out her cell phone and sent a text.
Evidence found.
“It’s not possible. This is not fucking possible,” Tate raged as he continued to rip the tops off more crates.
“Tate, stop. Please.” Lara couldn’t stand to keep watching him, his torment almost tangible.
“Marcus didn’t do this. He wouldn’t do this.” Tate dropped another lid on the floor and turned to her. “He wouldn’t.”
The fierce protectiveness in his expression nearly tore Lara apart.
“I’m afraid he did and he has done it,” a masculine voice droned behind Lara.
She turned quickly, just in time to find herself staring down the barrel of several assault rifles, and at the face of Marcus Colter.
Marcus had the Colter trademark gray eyes, but they were currently emotionless, lifeless. He gave sharp orders in Arabic, mostly likely for both of them to be restrained. One thing she knew about Marcus Colter was that he was fluent in several languages, including Arabic. Her knowledge of the language was minimal, and she understood very little of what he said, but she could tell from his tone that he was issuing commands.
She and Tate were both restrained and disarmed in moments. Tate’s knife dropped to the floor, along with her own two weapons and Tate’s gun. They couldn’t make a move: several assault rifles were ready to lay them flat and bloody in less than a heartbeat.
It was a strange situation: all six foreign men and Marcus dressed in suits, looking as though they’d just come from a business meeting. Maybe they had—a meeting about the business of terrorism. How many men in custom suits actually brandished assault rifles?
“Why?” Tate ground out as one of the men bound his hands behind him with twine. “Why in the fuck would you do this? Look at me, dammit. Look me in the face, Marcus, and tell me why you’re doing this!”
Marcus didn’t comply. He continued to look at Lara with lifeless eyes as he moved close to them, waiting for the other men to move away before he spoke English quietly to her and Tate. He kept his voice low, obviously wanting the conversation to be only between him and his brother. “Money. Everything is all about money, Tate. I’ve found out there’s a fortune to be made in this business.”
“Bullshit. You don’t care about the money!” Tate exploded. “What about Dad?”
“He’s dead,” Marcus replied. “Life goes on.”
“You don’t give a shit about money. We all have so much we don’t know what to do with it now.”
“It’s never enough. Money is also power,” Marcus answered flatly as he nodded at Lara. “Who is this?”
Her hands now bound tightly behind her back, Lara glared at Marcus. “I’m your worst nightmare, Colter.”
Marcus moved close enough to touch her. “Ah…another soul who is out to save the world? Law enforcement of some kind, I assume.” He finally looked over at Tate.
“Don’t even fucking touch her,” Tate growled. “Let her go. She has nothing to do with this.”
Lara knew Marcus wouldn’t believe that for a minute after he’d seen how she was armed, and she wasn’t about to leave Tate here after what had been found, even if Marcus would let her go.
“I want her before she dies.” One of the men who held an assault rifle grunted in a heavy accent as the group came back to join Marcus again.
Just the thought of any one of these men touching her made her want to gag—and that included Marcus. She wanted to kill him just for the way he’d betrayed his family, much less his country.
One. Two. Three.
Lara counted the gun barrels that were aimed at her—three men with guns, four unarmed, including Marcus. And she and Tate had both been restrained. She liked to think she could handle anything as an agent, but her odds of surviving this situation were slim unless the Denver team of agents got inside the hangar pretty damn soon.
She watched as one of the unarmed men went and picked up Tate’s blade, opened the knife portion and quickly split her turtleneck from the neck to the hem.
“Touch her and I’ll fucking kill you,” Tate bellowed furiously. He moved forward to head-butt the man who ripped her clothing.
The guy with the knife recovered quickly and went for Tate. Lara screamed, and kicked out with her leg as the man rushed Tate with his own blade. She deflected him, but the knife caught Tate in the shoulder. Both of them had been divested of their outerwear when they’d been stripped of their weapons. Tate had very little protection from the blade in his thin T-shirt, and the stab wound was immediately opened and bleeding.
Marcus moved forward and grabbed the man who had assaulted Tate by the collar of his suit jacket. “Are we here to make an inspection of the latest shipment or not?”
The terrorist shrugged off Marcus’s grip and spoke sharply to the other two men who weren’t holding a weapon. He must have wanted them to check out the explosives, because the men entered the storage room.
“I’ll watch them, if you don’t mind. Our discovery is going to require a change of plans now,” Marcus commented blandly as he looked at the man who was obviously in charge of the other terrorists, the man who had gone for Tate.
Marcus didn’t wait for an answer before he followed the two men into the storage room that contained the explosives. He obviously didn’t care whether he got the leader’s agreement or not.
Lara moved closer to Tate, trying to see how bad the wound on his shoulder was. It bled so profusely that she couldn’t tell. He was losing blood, but his expression was one of fury rather than pain.
“Are you okay?” Tate whispered fiercely.
She nodded. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’ve survived a hell of a lot worse. Can you untie me? I’m working on the knots, but it will go faster if you can help.”
Lara was already trying to move slightly behind Tate while the men were occupied; the leader spoke rapidly to the men who held the assault weapons. She tried to turn discreetly to try to help Tate loosen his bound hands.
“Move away from him.” The leader with the knife was back in front of them again in a heartbeat.
Dammit!
Lara moved obediently, not wanting Tate to be punished any further for trying to rescue her. She should have been more prepared for this scenario, s
hould have watched for anyone to enter the hangar. But she’d made a tragic mistake: she’d gotten distracted emotionally. Her heart had broken as she watched Tate’s sense of betrayal play out in front of her.
The leader had a punishing grip on her arm, and as she jerked to pull away, he grasped her by the hair and dislodged the clip that held the unruly locks away from her face. She winced in pain as he tugged hard to bring her in front of him, and then pushed on her skull. “Down. You will suck me now. If you do anything that doesn’t feel good, your boyfriend is dead.”
Boyfriend? Did he not know that Tate was Marcus’s brother? She spoke very little Arabic, so she hadn’t been able to make out the rapid-fire conversation Marcus had with the terrorists. Although this man obviously spoke some English, she didn’t know about the others.
Nobody except me heard Marcus’s conversation with Tate. It’s weird that he didn’t identify Tate as his brother.
Lara went down to her knees as the bastard tugged hard on her hair and forced her head down with the other hand. She gagged just from the thought of putting this murderous asshole’s penis in her mouth. It was her nature to fight, but Tate’s life was at stake, and he was already wounded. She’d do whatever she had to do to stall for time, even if she’d rather put her skull in his balls with every ounce of strength she had right now.
He fumbled with the fly on his pants with one hand, while he held her steady with her hair wrapped around his other beefy paw.
“Lara, goddammit, no!” Tate howled. He moved to lift his leg to take down Lara’s tormenter.
He didn’t make it. All three of the other men were needed to yank Tate back before he could take the terror boss off his feet with a swift kick. Tate had been ready to execute the move, but was jerked back just before he could swing his leg.
Lara never saw the hand coming toward her face because her eyes were on Tate; the man in front of her landed a powerful blow to her cheek. Her eyes teared from the stinging pain, and she tilted toward the side. Unable to keep her balance with her hands tied, she collapsed on the concrete floor sideways, only to be yanked back to her knees seconds later by her hair. “You move again and she gets punished for it,” the leader grunted. He sent a warning, merciless glance at Tate.
Her head still whirled and her vision was blurry from the forceful blow her face had taken. Her skull had connected with the concrete when she’d fallen, which had further scrambled her brain. Lara stared at the erect penis in front of her face, almost glad her eyesight was fuzzy.
Don’t think about it. Just do it. If I throw up on him while he’s forcing me to suck him, he can’t blame me for that. I just need time. Just a little more time and I know the team stationed around the airport will get in. I have to keep Tate alive.
“I swear to God that I’ll cut your dick off and shove it down your throat if you don’t let go of her,” Tate growled.
“What the hell is going on out here?” Marcus’s voice sounded across the room.
Keep everybody happy just a little longer.
Her captor jerked on her hair again to bring her face to his groin, and Lara struggled not to heave.
Then, suddenly she was free, released in a hail of gunfire that had her hitting the floor on purpose this time. She turned her head, terrified to look at Tate, but she had to know whether he was still alive.
Tate was free, and not only was he alive, but he’d obviously grabbed one of the men’s guns and disarmed the other two. He held the weapon that had sent a hail of bullets straight into her attacker, the man lying dead on the floor not more than five feet away from her. He was panting and obviously furious, his eyes as hard as steel as he watched Marcus and the other two men fly out of the storage room. Both of the men at Marcus’s side hesitated and picked up the guns that they had taken away from her and Tate.
Two of the guns they had were her weapons, so Lara knew they were both completely loaded.
“FBI! Drop your guns! Now!” The screaming male voice came from the entrance door.
Thank God. The team was finally here and inside the hangar.
The man who had grabbed her Glock 23 raised it toward the booming voice, and gunfire rang ferociously in the cavernous building.
Tate sprinted and flung himself on top of her, knocking the wind out of her body as he surrounded her head with his arms. Lara was stunned when she realized that he was protecting her with his body, making certain she wasn’t hit by stray bullets.
The shooting stopped suddenly. The gunman with her Glock was dead on the floor. The other men raised their hands over their heads in surrender.
“Agent Bailey?” one of the agents called.
“Here,” she answered loudly. “Don’t shoot the guy on top of me. He’s one of the good guys and he’s injured. Please help him.” Her voice was desperate. Tate was covered in blood, and it was all his own.
“I’m good,” Tate told her in a low voice beside her ear. “You okay, baby?”
He was good, but he was far from healthy at the moment. Lara could hear the pain in his voice, but he wasn’t going to show it. “I’m all right,” she reassured him as he came to his feet and lifted her gently into a standing position and quickly untied her hands.
“You’re bleeding and the bastard hit you so hard he left a handprint on your face,” he answered, enraged. He touched a finger lightly to her cheek and he swiped away a little blood.
Lara looked over at the dead man. “He’s wearing a ring. I think it just caught my skin,” she said dismissively as she reached out to rip his T-shirt and get a look at his wound.
Tate had blood soaking his T-shirt, on his face, and large stains on his jeans. There were also a few puddles on the floor. “You’ve lost too much blood. You need help.” She put a hand firmly over the laceration that was right between his chest and collarbone, and put as much pressure as possible on the stab wound to stop the bleeding. She used her other hand to give her counter pressure on his back.
One of the team of agents ran over to them. “I think we have them all contained, Agent Bailey. There were seven total?”
“Yes. Including the dead guy on the floor. The use of deadly force was necessary,” Lara told the tall, dark-haired agent who looked to be in his early thirties in a sharp, businesslike voice. “This is Tate Colter. He’s Special Forces and he helped me out. He needs treatment. He was stabbed by one of the perps.”
“You need us to carry you out to the car, Mr. Colter?” the agent asked, suddenly realizing the amount of blood Tate had lost. “We’ll get you to the hospital.” The agent glanced at Lara. “You look like you need to get checked, too. Your face is a mess.”
Tate grunted. “Nobody carries me unless I’m dying or dead. Right now, I’m neither one of those things.” He put an arm protectively around Lara. “Let’s go.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m trying to hold pressure here,” she told him angrily as his protective hold dislodged her hands from holding tension on his wound.
“It’s fine. I want a doctor to look at your injuries. Let’s get to the car,” he growled as he steered her toward the entrance. The agent trailed right behind them.
Tate stopped suddenly near the door, his eyes murderous as he watched his brother approach, being led to the exit in handcuffs by a federal agent.
Lara’s breath hitched and time seemed to stop as the two brothers finally looked at each other. She could feel Tate’s whole body shudder as he slowly lowered his arm from around her shoulder and approached his brother.
Marcus looked as though he was barely affected by what was taking place, but his eyes were assessing as he watched Tate walk over to him.
Without a word, Tate drew his arm back and let his fist fly, punching his brother squarely in the face. The agent behind Marcus needed to steady him to keep Marcus on his feet.
“That’s for betraying your country and letting Lara get hurt—you selfish prick,” he said in a husky, menacing voice before he turned his back on Marcus and returned to Lara’s si
de to grab her hand.
Tears rolled down her face. Her heart squeezed inside her chest at the betrayal that Tate was suffering from at the moment. It wouldn’t end here. She knew that. Tate would be wounded more than physically from having his loyalty forsaken by his older brother.
She squeezed his hand in a show of support.
He pulled her forward and out of the hangar, never once looking back at Marcus as he got her into the car and the agent drove like a maniac toward the hospital.
Gabe Walker swung his big pickup truck into a vacant spot along the main road of Rocky Springs, his gut in knots over what he had to do.
He exited the truck and shook his head slowly as he plopped his black Stetson on his head. People jokingly referred to him as the billionaire cowboy, but he never took offense. He’d lived most of his childhood in Texas, born wealthy because he had a father who had made his fortune in oil. Like Blake, his dad had also had a cattle ranch. So Gabe guessed he was as much a cowboy as any other, even more than Blake, who many referred to as the cowboy senator because he had a cattle ranch.
He paused at the door and looked at the neat, fancy script written on the pristine window of the business:
Chloe Colter, DVM
He still had a hell of a time believing that little Chloe Colter was now a doctor, and a damn good vet from what he’d heard.
And not so little anymore.
Gabe could easily admit to himself that the woman got his dick hard. She had ever since she’d come back to town and he’d seen her again over a year ago, all grown up and filled out in all the right places. She was a beautiful woman, and she got riled up every time he was around. Okay…yeah…maybe she had reason to dislike him a little. But it wasn’t looking as if she was going to get over the incident they’d had any time soon.