Heroes in Uniform: Soldiers, SEALs, Spies, Rangers and Cops: Sexy Hot Contemporary Alpha Heroes From NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Authors

by Sharon Hamilton

  “Nic—”

  “We move forward as planned.”

  He huffed. “Give me your tail numbers, your flight plan. I’ll have a jet escort you in. And I’ll be on the tarmac—”

  “Cash.”

  “Waiting for you, ready to—”

  “Cash!”

  “What?”

  “Ready to protect me? That’s not the point of any of this. He’ll know that we know. I’m not your girl right now, I’m your partner.”

  “Damn it, Nicola. You’re being so hardheaded right now, trying to go all Lone Ranger.” She waited, hoping something decent would come out of his trap that wouldn’t ruin their night. He sucked a breath. “No matter what you’re doing or where you are, nothing’s going to change my need to protect you. I’m that asshole, okay. It’s in my blood, in my brain. I’m fucking hardwired to step in front of you. To cover and protect you. So, Christ almighty, know that I’m trying.”

  “Make me understand that you know the difference between partnership and possessiveness.”

  Cash sounded clear and cutthroat. “You’re sitting with a flimsy-assed hotel door between you and someone who might hurt what’s mine. I’m an assassin. A contract killer. It might be for the good guys, but still, that’s me.” He took a breath. “Let’s not play and pretend that it hasn’t been ingrained into me to seek blood or to watch your ass. Trust me, Nic. Know that I’ve got your back.”

  She didn’t say anything, shocked at the growl in his voice.

  “Nicola… Few people in the world truly understand a phrase that gets tossed around as easy as that one does. Few people understand the responsibility that comes with that vow. I’ve got your back. I trust you to make the right move. But if something happens, I’m there, itchy trigger finger and all. You’re mine to protect and possess.”

  Processing his words… The seconds ticked by. “I’m yours?”

  “Was there some confusion about that?”

  “Well, no.” She bit her lip. “It’s just we haven’t really talked about anything. We’ve just sort of… slept together.”

  “God, Nic. This isn’t college. I don’t have time to write notes during English 101. Let me be clear. I don’t want you with anyone else. I’d think knocking your roomie out made that clear.”

  “But see, you didn’t say, ‘I don’t want to be with anyone else.’ You’ve been king of the players for a long time. A month stuck with me, and you’ll be raring for something new and improved.”

  “Hardly. And you’ve leapfrogged from us to the job to us. Like I said, I need you, sweet girl. I’ll be ready for you stateside. Don’t fall asleep. When you see him in the AM, be polite, be courteous, and have a plan to kill everyone in the room.”

  “Advice like that makes all the girls swoon.”

  “Only you, Nic. The only girl I want is you. Keep the safety off, and I’ll get eyes on you soon as I can. Put the phone on speaker. I’m with you all night long.”

  Garrison’s Creed: Chapter Twenty-Five

  Only an hour had passed since they’d left Istanbul’s modern airport. The trip had been more than productive. Nicola now knew that she shared a private charter—complete with a culinary genius and a stewardess who must’ve gone to the Emily Post School of Etiquette—with a double-crossing traitor. Seeing David strung up by her brethren at the CIA would be so damn satisfying.

  She knew some talented men who worked every day on their information-eliciting techniques. She hoped to God that David would hold out on his explanations so those men could have a go at him. That was if Cash didn’t kill him first. There was always that chance. David would be dead before he took a second step out of the jet and before anyone heard the gunshot. Cash’s .50 calibers were good like that. The bullet always beat the sound barrier.

  Eyeing the bastard, Nic worked to act as normal as possible. It was a chore considering that he was involved with the Gianori clan, but she kept her casual disdain alive. Without that, David would sense a problem. She didn’t watch him too closely. She didn’t nose about his personal items. She was simply ready for whatever came her way.

  Her phone vibrated. It’d been about an hour since she’d last checked in with Cash, and she wasn’t due to talk to Beth until after they landed. Pulling the phone free of her bag, she looked at the Caller ID. No numbers were programmed in, but she knew this one.

  “Hey, Jacks.”

  David looked up from his book, eyebrows high as if he hoped to see her receive bad news. Well, fuck you very much.

  “Nicola.” Jackson sounded agitated. “When are you coming home?”

  “I told you I had to work.”

  “I just thought you mentioned you were coming home last night. When I woke up, you weren’t home. I worried.”

  Honestly, if she’d landed last night, she wouldn’t have been home anyway. She would’ve been with Cash, preferably in bed, but that wasn’t worth discussing with Jackson in front of David.

  David smiled sickly, interrupting her daydream of Cash. “Everything all right?”

  Nic nodded and wished he didn’t look so damn excited all of a sudden. It made her stomach queasy. “Fine, David.”

  “Michael,” he hissed. “The stewardess might hear you.”

  “Fine, Michael.”

  “Nicola, are you there?” Jackson asked. “Who’s with you?”

  “Who’s that?” asked David.

  Too many men needed her attention. One was dangerous, the other annoying. Both needed to shut up.

  “David, it’s my roommate,” she said, ignoring his annoyance that she didn’t stick to the married-to-Michael act. “Jacks, I really have to go. We just left Istanbul, and it’ll be a while before we land. But don’t expect me home tonight.”

  Really, don’t expect her home ever. That wasn’t his concern, roommate or not.

  “Why not?” Jackson pushed.

  God, he was getting on her nerves. Time for a subject change. “I wanted to thank you for that project you worked on. Really good job.”

  Jackson needed a bone thrown his way, she could tell. Not wanting to go into any details in front of David, that was all she’d say. A good job and a thanks.

  “I only did it because you asked me to, Nicola. You honestly have to know that.”

  Christ. Jackson wouldn’t let anyone blow to pieces. It wasn’t his nature, but he was obviously still raw about the Cash-punch thing. David scowled at her, rummaging through his carry-on bag.

  She sighed. “Whatever the reason, thanks. I really have to go.”

  “We should talk when you get home. I need to make sure you’re okay. I don’t know that I like you working with Titan Group.”

  Was there something in the water? What else would cause perfectly normal men to lose perspective and act this damn overprotective?

  “Got it.” Her phone went dead. No white noise. Nothing. She looked at it and saw a full charge and great reception. “Jackson? Jacks?”

  David smiled, showing far too many teeth. “Must’ve lost your connection.”

  Bullshit.

  He’d found a listening device, or maybe he just wised up. Whatever the reason, David had turned on a cell frequency blocker, and she had no way to communicate with anyone outside the jet.

  Welcome to the game, David. I’ve been playing since you boarded the flight to Istanbul.

  * * *

  “Nic’ll be wheels down in—” Cash checked his watch “—thirty-three minutes. You think you fucks could hurry the hell up?”

  Watching Jared and Roman dillydally punched at his patience. They were a five minute drive from their rendezvous point, another five minutes to get into position and watch Nicola deplane with that piece of shit, double-dealing butler. The rest of that time made him vibrate with impatience.

  Cash was armed to the teeth. More than armed. He could outfit a third-world tribe with enough brass to create a serious change in the balance of power, and that was only what he had strapped to him. The Hummer’s trunk told a whole othe
r story.

  Jared looked him over, boots to collar, and grumbled. “You plan on redefining the word overkill? We’re backup. We’re not storming an Iranian missile silo.”

  Can never be too prepared, or some Boy Scout shit like that. He’d been to the site twice today, walked the perimeter, memorized every outbuilding, every hangar, nook, and cranny. If someone was there who shouldn’t be, if something moved that wasn’t supposed to, Cash might shoot first and ask questions later. He’d let Jared deal with the nuclear-fallout-sized headache and handle the question-and-answer portion of their day. That’s why boss man made the really big dollars: to fix whatever wrongs Cash was very ready to do.

  “Get your asses in the rig. Let’s go.” Cash ran through his mental checklist and jumped in. Rolling the window down, he circled his hand. “Now.”

  Shit. Giving orders to Jared was as smart as licking an electrical socket during a hurricane. Not the cleverest idea he’d had all day. No worries, though. He had some brilliant beauties ready to make up for it. First, his dead-dropped listening devices were stashed in either of the private hangars Nic’s jet could pull into. Second, he had a remote and a recorder running already. He’d hear everything in his earpiece, as would Jared and Roman, and it’d all be transmitted to Titan HQ, where Parker, their techie genius, would save it to hard drives or computers or whatever.

  Jared and Roman re-checked the last of their gear and joined him. Finally.

  They sped down the back road to the private airport where her plane was expected. It was easy to have the flight rerouted away from the public airport, even if it had a chartered section. Nothing like Jared’s rolodex of people who owed him favors. They were able to amend flight plans mid-journey. Their vehicle moved through security, passing without a single curious glance. They simply rolled up, and the gates rolled open. The officers manning the station even made it a point to look the other direction.

  With the stealthy efficiency of men trained in the art of camouflage, the three moved to their designated spot inside a hangar. Small windows allowed a view of the runway, the secondary hangar, and their position could survey all exits. A solid location, if there was one, to set up for a game of wait-and-watch.

  Cash’s trigger finger curled, relaxed, then repeated. Too bad waiting blew. The beat of his fingers kept pace with his nerves. Drumming wasn’t helping him, but he kept at it. Shit. He was a sniper. His bread and butter came from lying in wait. The only difference was that he waited for Nicola instead of a moving target. He thought of David. Well, not a target he could take out right now.

  “Calm your shit,” Jared growled at him. He’d been growling all day. “Roman’s holding his shit together. You can too.”

  Roman rolled his angry eyes. Cash knew his spotter better than anyone in the world. Roman was on the edge, a nasty word away from cutting everyone’s throat open with a butter knife.

  Ping. Ping. Ping.

  Jared lifted his chin. “What’s doing?”

  Cash studied the alarm reading. “Perimeter’s broken in Hangar B.”

  Roman spoke up and put his ear bud in. “I cleared it this morning with Cash. No personnel expected in for the day. Nothing’s scheduled.”

  Cash and Jared copied Roman, sliding their earpieces into place. Heavy footfalls clunked, echoing in their ears.

  Cash mouthed to the men across from him, “that’s a man’s step.” They nodded their agreement. A cell phone rang into their earpieces. A man’s voice. “Hello.”

  The tick, tick, tick of time passed as Cash counted seconds in his head. Who was in there?

  “No,” the baritone in their ear pieces continued. “No. You tell him that Emilio Gianori gave that order. My name will make him piss himself. And if he dares slink away from a direct order from me, you tell him to kiss his wife and children goodbye.”

  If they laid a finger on Nic, Cash would use them for target practice, working his way from the outside in. Feet and hands, knee caps and elbows. Balls to breastbone.

  Nicola needed to know what she was walking into. He’d been out of communication for an hour. Her burner phone wasn’t connecting no matter how many times he tried to call.

  Using hand signals, Jared told them both to sit tight, keep listening.

  Cash raised an inch, readying to… to do something. Jared pointed at him and slashed at his throat. It wouldn’t be a stretch for someone else to also bug this private airport. And considering they had Titan Group, the CIA, and the Gianori mob all in play right now, it was a reasonable assumption.

  Emilio Gianori’s cell phone rang again. Another hello. Another round of threats. The prick must suffer from a Napoleon complex and have an inch long dick for all the bitching and whining about his super-duper special outlaw powers.

  The mobster continued. “I don’t have time for this. I’ve wasted my day chasing after a fool, one airport to the next. Think before you speak. What do you mean the truck blew up without the man inside it?”

  Oh, fuck you! That prick stuffed C-4 into the undercarriage and hot seated his ride? He’d pay for that shit and for the freakin’ headache Cash got explaining— or rather not explaining— how his truck blew sky high and didn’t have a corresponding police report. Not even a blurb on the local news. All the patrons at the Granville had been more than happy to take some cold hard Benjamins to forget they saw anything. Amazing how much moolah Jared carried.

  Jared’s eyes steeled. A direct non-verbal order: don’t move. Well, don’t forget who was armed to the eyebrows and itching to brawl.

  Gianori couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Good for him. “What about the second package?”

  Cash’s mind spun. Second package? Did he hear that correctly? He bounced a questioning look to Roman, then Jared. They heard it too.

  Second package? What had they overlooked?

  “I confirmed the parents’ address. The address was correct. I was told it would be delivered by your lieutenant. What do I need? A fucking Fed Ex tracking number?”

  Parents?

  Goddamn.

  The world stilled. Roman paled. Anger vibrated at the cleft of his chin and worked its way to his eyes. Fury and wrath boiled in a clear, ready-for-blood stare. It had to be training that kept him in place, alert, and waiting for orders. That and an attitude problem trained deep into his soul. Cash wondered if Roman has the ability to feel fear when vengeance was such an easy emotion to replace it with.

  Cash’s mouth baked dry. His lips stung. The metallic taste of blood skimmed over his tongue. He realized he’d bitten his lip to keep from hollering a war cry. The cold tingle of apprehension shivered across his chest. Nic’s story about what sent her on the run and into witness protection, of the Gianori clan murdering the family members of one of their own, filtered through his brain.

  A bomb ticked right now, waiting to blow. His stomach roiled. The pattering beat of his heart quick-stepped, needing to protect the parents he was as close to as his own. But Roman. Roman looked deadly. Just when Nic was almost back, a threat over his parents was primed to… explode. Damn.

  “Go,” Jared ordered, pointing toward the other hangar. Roman moved on toward the closest exit, as silent as he was speedy.

  Cash followed on his six. If there was ever a time to squeeze intelligence out of a criminal, this was it. Reaching the hangar door, they slipped out and into the open outdoors between the two buildings.

  They looked around. Nothing suspicious. Out of the reach of potential listening devices, Roman pulled out his cell, hit a button, and pressed it to his ear.

  The waiting game, part two. No answer. Roman cursed, then slowly said, “Dad. Stop what you’re doing. Call me now. Do not get in your car. Do not check the mail. Don’t touch anything. Just call.”

  Immediacy and dread tinged his voice. Roman dialed again— no answer—and left the same message for his mother. His face pinched. His eyes shut, the creases in the corner aging him in a way Cash had never seen.

  “They’re fine,” Cash said, no
t sure what the hell else to offer.

  Roman gulped a swallow, opened his eyes, and focused on Cash. Agony speared Cash’s gut. His best friend squeezed his eyes shut for one more long second. “Let’s go.”

  “We need him alive, man. We need to know what he knows.”

  “You think I don’t fucking know that?” Roman spat back.

  “So question first, kill later.”

  Roman flashed a look that said something along the lines of, “maybe, we’ll see.”

  Cash fell into quick step behind him. They were lifelong partners. They knew all the moves. Roman moved one way, Cash another. They circled down and tightened in until Cash could see Roman opposite him, inside the hangar, readying for an attack.

  One man.

  Only one mobbed-up jerkoff, paced in the empty hangar. No body men. No armed protection. Gianori dialed into his voicemail, putting it on speakerphone, and picked at his fingernail. Freakin’ manicured piece of crap.

  Cash did another check and held up one finger. Roman did the same and nodded. They had a single target.

  Roman moved closer, going for the grab. Gianori listened to voicemails, not hearing Roman creep closer. Not that he could’ve if he’d listened. Roman crept as silently as a drift of deadly smoke.

  Ten yards. Five yards. Still, the mobster was oblivious, ignoring his surroundings. Not a great habit to have in the mob business.

  Ten feet. Five feet. Four, three, two.

  Roman paused. Oh, shit. He wouldn’t kill the bastard yet. Right?

  One.

  A tornado strike of muscle and fury. Roman clawed his hand over Gianori’s face and had him planted onto the tarmac floor before Gianori had time to yell.

  The barrel of Roman’s pistol pressed into the mobster’s temple. Don’t pull the trigger. Yet. Cash moved in fast, ready to pull his man off if need be. Alive. They needed Gianori alive.

  Pure white hot hatred spilled off Roman when he reared back. The pistol-whipping crack knocked Gianori out cold, landing him face-first on the concrete.

  “That’ll work,” Cash said. The whirring noise of a plane coming in for a landing pricked his ears. “Let’s roll.”