“I’m headed out tomorrow.”
“You know?”
“Yes.”
She saw the sorrow in his eyes, and it confirmed her suspicions as well. After all those years working together, how could he have betrayed Declan? Betrayed her?
She took a breath, and they said his name together.
“How’d you figure it out?” Declan asked.
“As hard as it was to come to terms with, it was the only thing that made sense.”
“I’m sorry. I know how you feel about him.”
“You’ve known him even longer. It’ll be harder on you.” And then, even though she knew he had no choice, she had to add, “He won’t be taken alive.”
“I know that. But I have to do this, Sabrina. You know that…right?”
“Yes.”
“When I get back, we’re going to have a long, serious talk.”
“Just make sure you come back to me.”
“No worries about that. I’ve got too much to live for to let this end badly.”
He stood, leaned down, and kissed her mouth, lingering, sipping, moving gently, slowly savoring.
“Promise me, Declan. Swear to me you will come back.”
Leaning over the bed, he whispered softly, “And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve. And fare-thee-weel, a while. And I will come again, my Luve, Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile.”
And with Robert Burns’s beautiful words lingering in the air, he walked out the door.
Declan made it out of the hospital before he exploded. Damn them all. What they had done to her was unforgivable. He didn’t care what the man had meant to him, and he no longer gave a damn about the hellish torture he’d been put through. The bastard would, however, pay for what he had done to Sabrina.
She had been beaten, her bones broken, her beautiful skin marred and scarred. And to add insult to serious injury, she’d saved his ass. Throwing herself over his body and taking a bullet for him. The bullet had narrowly missed her spine. It’d been a through-and-through but had nipped one of her lungs. He’d thought they were going to lose her on the way to the hospital. He’d kept his hand over her chest to stop the bleeding, pleading and shouting at her until he was hoarse. Screaming at her to live.
He would kill them all. He didn’t care who they were, how much money they had, or how much power they had behind them. He would fucking kill them all.
McCall met him in the hospital parking lot. The man was wearing that grim, resolute expression that Declan had gotten used to and totally identified with. He owed McCall and LCR the world. Without them, Sabrina would have died.
“You’re going after him?” McCall asked.
“Yeah.”
“Want some backup?”
“No. Thank you for everything. You’ve done more than I could ever repay. But I’ve got what I need.”
“He won’t come quietly.”
“I know that. He won’t have to.”
“Do you know who else was involved?”
“Not yet. I intend to before it’s over.”
“She’ll never forgive you if you don’t come back.”
“And I’ll never forgive myself for what I’ve put her through.”
“I’d say the best way you can make it up to her is to come back in one piece.”
“That’s the plan.” And then because there were no guarantees and it had to be said, he added, “Take care of her for me.”
“She’s part of the family. She’ll be taken care of.”
Nodding his thanks, he went to the edge of the parking lot where a black SUV with tinted windows waited for him. He got into the backseat, nodded once, and the driver sped down the highway.
This was his destiny. Whether it ended in hours, or he was blessed with another chance with Sabrina, Declan would not shirk this duty. The man had betrayed his country, the Agency, and his friends. He had to pay.
Juarez, Mexico
The bar looked even seedier than the last time he’d been here. Built in the 1960s, it had supposedly been a refuge to some of the most-notorious criminals in Mexico. Declan figured most of that was made up to appeal to a certain clientele. And Lupe’s Cantina definitely drew in some of the slimiest worms. It’d been one of his favorite places to pick up intel or throw back a few after a successful mission.
Declan stood at the doorway and took in the familiar fragrances of grease, spice, beer, and a few other smells he’d just as soon do without. Lupe still ran the place with an iron fist, although when he spotted her in the corner, sipping a beer, that fist looked a little more wrinkled and her face older and sourer.
Place was half-empty this time of day. A few men stood around a worn-out pool table shooting balls with a desultory languidness. Three others sat at the bar, all turned halfway, as if expecting trouble anytime. Since most everyone here either had a record or was running from someone, turning your back was a good way to get a knife in it. However, Declan had no doubt these men had another agenda. The bastard wouldn’t have come alone.
Declan zeroed in on the man sitting at a table with his back to the wall. Finding him hadn’t been a problem. How many nights had they ended up at Lupe’s to play pool…chug down some beers, and blow off steam? What the hell had happened to make him turn his back on everything he had vowed to uphold and protect?
“Figured you’d be here sooner or later.”
Jerking his head over to the bar, Declan said, “Some of yours?”
“No. Too sleazy. I came alone.”
And he was full of shit.
Declan pulled out a chair at the table and sat where he could see both the men at the bar and the front door. When a worn-out-looking waitress headed his way, he shook his head to let her know he wouldn’t need a drink.
“Believe it or not, I’m glad you survived...both times.”
One last glance around the bar, then he targeted the man he’d once called friend. “Why, Jackson?”
“Why does a man do anything? Money.”
“That wasn’t the way you used to feel.”
“You mean when I was new and stupid. Thought making a difference in the world really counted. That was a long time ago, my friend.”
Declan could see it in his eyes. Disillusionment, anger.
“Why not just quit and go into the private sector earlier? You had a lot of marketable skills.”
“Yeah. And when I finally took that last bullet that would put me down for good, just what would I have? I decided I wanted a life before it ended.”
“And selling out your friends was the kind of life you wanted?”
“I’m used to doing things I don’t particularly like to do.” He eased back into his chair as if he were just hanging out with an old friend. “Mind telling me how you figured it out?”
“I didn’t for a long time. I never would have let you get within a mile of Sabrina if I had.”
“Then how’d I tip you off? I was so damn careful.”
“A few things. When you wouldn’t wake up in the hospital, the doctors ran some blood tests.”
“I figured with the knock-out drug I took, they’d just let me sleep. That I’d wake up, and no one would ever know.” His mouth tilted in a rueful grin. “I’ll have to remember that for next time.”
Declan didn’t bother to tell him there would never be a next time.
“But that can’t be all. I mean, that alone wasn’t enough, was it?”
“You said Albert remembered your nephew Stuart’s name. You don’t have any family, including a nephew. There is a Stuart Sands, however, who has deposited a million-plus dollars into his bank account over the last two years. Of course, that Stuart Sands with that Social Security number died over forty years ago at the age of three.”
“Shit. I knew that’d come back and bite me in the ass.” Jackson’s face held both wonder and admiration. “But that had to take some serious research to dig that info out.”
“I have a serious researcher.” Thank you, Angela Delvecchio.
Apparently, more upset about making such an obvious mistake than being a traitor, he shook his head and muttered, “Damn rookie mistake. Should’ve known better.”
“And then there’s the text.”
The cocky glint was back in his eyes. “Which one?”
Declan refused to be baited. “The one to me that looked like it came from Sabrina. I knew that note bothered me for some reason, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why. Then I remembered I once mentioned to you that Sabrina liked to sign her notes to me with SS. I’d never told anyone else that.”
“Can’t believe you didn’t catch that before.”
“Yeah. Stupid of me, trusting my friend and all.”
Jackson lifted a shoulder. “You always did take things too personal.”
“Why’d you rescue me? Or should I say, fake rescue me?”
“We couldn’t get you to talk, no matter what we did. I figured the only way was to bring Sabrina to you. Problem was, we couldn’t find her.”
“And you knew I’d be able to find her.”
“Yeah. If only to try to kill her.”
“If you couldn’t get me to talk, why not have me killed and go after Albert or even Jason Starling?”
Jackson snorted his disgust. “Starling doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. And Albert? Hell, the old fool probably wouldn’t have lived to tell us anything useful. Besides, the moneyman insisted it had to be you. Had a score to settle.”
That confirmed Declan’s theory. He had pissed someone off. And that someone had wanted revenge.
“Then why make me hate Sabrina first? Seems risky that I wouldn’t find her and kill her immediately.”
“I knew, no matter what you believed she did, you wouldn’t be able to go through with it. You loved her too much. But I knew you would find her, and that’s what we needed.”
“Then why the hell make me hate her?”
“Truth is, I really thought we could break you without getting Sabrina involved. I know we went through extensive training, but shit, man, you were a tough nut to crack. The money people were getting tired of no results. I had to do something.”
“So you watched while they tortured and almost killed Sabrina, tortured me, all because of money?”
An ugly gleam glinted in his eyes. “Get this, Declan. Not everybody likes to live like a pauper. I saved thousands of lives in my time with the Agency, and what did I get when I left? A measly stipend I can’t touch until I’m in my fifties and a phone call from the president—one I can’t even tell anyone about because I’m sworn to secrecy. I deserved more.”
“You knew that going in. Things like that didn’t used to matter to you.”
“Yeah, well, they matter to me now. The whole system sucks. Politicians sit on their fat asses and make millions in secret liaisons or book deals. I saved lives and get squat. It’s not fair.”
“And what happened to Sabrina? You think that’s fair?”
“She wasn’t supposed to get hurt in that blast. She was only supposed to witness it so she would believe you were dead.”
“What about the people who died in the building? What was their crime?”
“I made sure the place was empty except for the owner, his wife, mother-in-law. Made sure as few people as possible were hurt.” He lifted a careless shoulder. “Innocent civilians get killed all the time in war, and nobody blinks an eye.”
“This wasn’t a war,” Declan ground out.
“It was my war.”
Arguing with a narcissistic sociopath was pointless. “The guy who resembled me. Who was he?”
Amused satisfaction gleamed in Jackson’s eyes. “A desperate, out-of-work actor. Schmuck thought he was auditioning for a television pilot. Guy had no family, so it was easy enough to have him just disappear.”
“And the DNA results showing it was me?”
“My people have deep pockets.”
“Who else was involved at the Agency?”
“It was just me.”
Stupid to ask a liar a question and expect the truth. But he’d deal with that later. “You wanted us to think it was Albert who sold us out.”
“That seemed like a good plan. Took everything I had not to laugh out loud when Albert showed up at the meeting. Not sure who looked the most horrified, you or Sabrina.”
“So you used Sabrina, had her tortured, almost killed her.”
“Not my fault. You’re the reason Sabrina had to get involved. If you’d just told us what we wanted to know, she wouldn’t have had to go through the torture.”
“No, of course not. None of this is your fault, is it, Jackson?”
“If you think I wanted Sabrina tortured, you would be wrong. She didn’t deserve what happened to her. If you’d only done what you were supposed to do.”
“Sorry I couldn’t accommodate you by selling out my country and my fellow agents.”
“You may have the American flag up your butt. I’m smarter. I look out for number one these days.”
Declan had thought this job would be more difficult. Jackson was making it incredibly easy.
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’m taking you back home and letting someone else deal with you.”
“I’m not going back.”
Even though he had known that would be the answer, he had hoped for a different one. He gave him one more chance. “Go back willingly or go back in a box. Your choice.”
“You think I didn’t plan for this? That I didn’t know you’d figure it out? How stupid do you think I am?”
“I don’t think you want me to answer that question.” He leaned forward and spoke in a deadly voice few still-living men had ever heard. “You think I didn’t plan for this, too?”
Jackson shoved the table forward, catching Declan in the chest. In one swift move, Declan pushed the table back toward Jackson and pulled the gun from his ankle holster. Squeezing the trigger, he got off a shot before Jackson disappeared into a back room.
The three men at the bar whirled as one and started shooting. Declan dropped to the floor and rolled. He shot toward the men, heard a grunt of pain. Before the other two could move on him, bullets started flying as reinforcements poured through the door.
Knowing his fellow EDJE agents had things well in hand, Declan headed out to find Jackson. Blood drops left a trail, letting him know he’d at least winged the man.
The dimly lit hallway stank of urine and fast, rough sex. Declan had three doors to choose from. One led to a bathroom, one to a storage room, the other to an alleyway.
Speaking into the mic on his watch, he said, “I’m headed into the alley. Just in case I’m wrong, check the bathroom and storage room.”
“Roger that,” came an abrupt reply.
Declan pushed open the door and then stepped back. Bullets pinged, and holes appeared in the door. He threw himself outside, shooting as he dove for cover behind a large garbage bin. Springing back to his feet, Declan saw a surprised and pained expression on Jackson’s face. Bloody hands clutched his belly as he slid down the wall and landed in filth.
Seeing death in the other man’s face gave Declan no satisfaction. “Tell me who the moneyman is, Jackson. At least let me make him pay.”
“Ronan. Darius Ronan. Tell Sabrina…sorry.” His eyes glazing, Jackson gave one last, rattling breath and then slumped into death.
Chapter Thirty-four
Paris, France
Would he come? Should she have made her note more clear? Like maybe given directions or a street address?
Sabrina sat on the bench outside the small church where three years ago today, she and Declan had exchanged wedding vows.
She knew he was all right, at least physically. Other than that, she had no details.
Would he understand the message she’d left him? Was Come to the place where our forever began too vague? No, of course not. Declan would know what she meant. And the platinum wedding band she’d left on the note had been bette
r than a road map.
Question was, would he come with the intent to move forward with her or tell her again it was over?
She knew he loved her. And she had never stopped loving him. But sometimes love wasn’t enough. Could they get beyond their jobs, their need to make a difference in the world, and be a happily married couple?
Could they have a normal marriage? Admittedly, most married couples didn’t have people constantly trying to kill them, arrange assassinations of evil dictators, or willingly go into the most dangerous places in the world. But lots of people put their lives on the line on a daily basis. A lot of them were married and some happily. Why couldn’t she and Declan do it, too?
As she waited, hoping against hope that he would appear, she thought about everything they’d been through and what he meant to her. No matter the outcome of this meeting, she owed Declan a wealth of gratitude. He’d given her so much. Love, acceptance, understanding. He was the only man to teach her that sex could be pleasurable. That physical desire was normal and healthy. That she could have that kind of relationship after what she had been through was a testament not only to his patience but to his love for her.
“I can’t decide if I should spank you for leaving the hospital too soon, traveling thousands of miles when you should still be in bed, or kiss you because you are undoubtedly the most beautiful creature on the planet.”
At the first sound of that gravelly, rich voice, she turned. He looked wonderful. Even though he had an air of sadness about him, she saw the glint of peace in his eyes.
He moved toward her, and she scooted over to make room on the bench. He sat beside her, lifted her uninjured hand, and carried it to his mouth. “How are you feeling?”
“Not all that bad. Stitches itch a little. My ribs only ache when I take too deep a breath. My wrist really doesn’t hurt.”
He gently touched her nose with his fingertip. “And this?”
She winced slightly. “Still a little sore.”
“And the rest of you?”
Out of all the injuries she had sustained, she knew the beatings had probably hurt Declan the most. In her time at the Agency, she’d sustained broken bones and bullet wounds. And having endured torture training, she had known what to expect. But for Declan, there had been no training on how to handle his wife being tortured. Maybe that was something EDJE should add to their training schedule.
Running On Empty: An LCR Elite Novel Page 31