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

  “And I never fucked you. Either of you, so I wouldn’t know,” Nicola spat.

  “Like I said, that will change tonight. Willing or not.”

  The driver stopped the sedan in front of an abandoned building, smaller than the first ones they’d passed. She studied it. The door had new locks and hinges that gleamed in summer’s early evening light. Three car doors opened, and the men got out. David and Antilla walked a few steps away, and the driver trained a subcompact machine gun on her. This driver was a real winner.

  “Give me your purse,” the driver said.

  Of course she’d lose the purse. It was Louis Vuitton. She always lost the good stuff.

  David’s bag was on the floorboard.

  The driver motioned with his baby machine gun. “Now get out.”

  He wouldn’t shoot her yet, right? “No.”

  She stomped her feet like a child readying for a terrible two throw down.

  “Listen, lady, out.”

  Stomp. Kick. Stomp, stomp. “No!”

  Grabbing at her, the driver pulled her from the backseat, but not before she tried to do serious damage to David’s bag. The jammer had to be in there. It wouldn’t have worked in the plane if had it been in their luggage. Hoping to hell she did enough damage to the sensitive piece of equipment, Nicola relented and finished exiting on her own.

  “Can you just search my purse and give it back to me? I’ve got gum and lip gloss that I need.”

  David shrugged. “Christ, yes. Search her stupid bag. Take anything with a bullet or blade. Just stop whining. How are you so stupid?”

  Moron, the better question was: how was he this dumb?

  Nicola picked up her purse, grabbed the lip gloss listening device, and smoothed on a fresh layer of Berry Cherry shine. She powdered her nose, slipping on a geographical tracking tag that dissolved immediately on contact with her skin. “Thank you.”

  “Whatever.” David seemed frustrated. Maybe not just at her.

  “Trouble between criminals?” she asked.

  “Destroy her phone,” Antilla, or Javier, or whoever he was demanded.

  “No problem.” She handed it to the driver, knowing it was her burner phone. If she had a fighting chance of Cash hearing or locating them, it had nothing to do with her phone.

  “We’re not transmitting out here anyway,” David offered. “I set up a portable jammer after she ineffectually planted a listening device on me.”

  A listening device? As in one? That was good news.

  She was fifteen minutes shy of a check-in with Beth. Someone would wonder about her whereabouts, and Cash was out there somewhere, as her backup. No way he’d leave her hanging, though no doubt he was sweating their loss of communication.

  She had a few minutes until they realized the jammer was out. If one of their phones rang, the jig was up. No time like the present to go after the dirt. “Antilla.”

  “Javier.”

  “Whatever. Seen one twin, seen them all. Same person, right? I had no idea you were so good with bombs. Your daddy taught you that in your gun running education?”

  He laughed, harsh and sarcastic. “Nicola. I delegate. You should know that about me. You did spend months by my side, though it should have been between my knees.”

  She ignored that and pointed to David. “You delegated to this guy? I’ve learned a lot about him recently. You should really pick better team members.”

  “Shut up,” David snapped.

  “Seriously. I can tell you that one bomb didn’t do shit, because I spoke to the man whose truck blew. And my parents? Trust me, if you went after my parents, someone’s already on it. Two dud bombs. And to top that off, you did a piss poor job of entering the local arms market. I’m telling you, Antilla, I didn’t expect you to pull the door-to-door salesman routine after your network was disrupted. I expected you to run off to South America or the Middle East to reassure your best clients. Virginia good ole boys seem so beneath you.”

  “Shut up!” David yelled.

  “What are you speaking of? Of course, I’m reorganizing after this CIA disaster.”

  “You’re not moving product?”

  “No. To local Americans? Not at all.”

  Wait a minute. Smooth didn’t sell the ammo. David’s face wore a splash of dread. “It couldn’t be this simple.”

  “Shut up!” David yelled again. “Stupid woman can’t keep her mouth shut.”

  Antilla glanced at David but spoke to Nic. “What do you mean simple?”

  “I saw Smooth ammo. Only days ago. Your emblem, .50 cal, tracer, incendiary tipped. It was purchased by some yahoos in somewheresville, Virginia. I had thought,” she pointed at Antilla, then moved her finger toward David, “…but, I wouldn’t put it past this smarmy dude—”

  David smacked her silent. The sting roared from cheek to chest, fireworks exploding behind her eyelids. God, that hurt.

  Nicola blinked fast, tears welling, then looked down. Her feet were planted on the weed-pocked parking lot. She was still standing. Small accomplishments were amazing at times like this. The stars faded from her watering eyes just in time to focus on Antilla. Rage boiled across his face.

  “No. No. No.” David lifted his hands. “It wasn’t me. I told you I worked with the Gianori—”

  “The Gianori mob doesn’t need my ammunition or arms. I do not sell to them. They do not move my product.” Antilla took a step toward David, who shrank into himself. “Tell me again about the Gianori mob.”

  “Sorry. S-orr-y.” David’s voice shook. “I meant to say that I hired them to build and plant the bombs.”

  “And why would they do that for you, David? Give me a logical reason why,” Antilla growled. “Now.”

  “Because…”

  “Because they also wanted Nicola. Am I correct? You mentioned she could be leverage for another project. The Gianori mob wants her? You had no intention of leaving her with me?”

  “I, uh… I figured if you finished with her, they could have a go at her. Both of you wanted retribution. Offing her family would do that…” David’s teeth chattered as he stammered in rhetorical circles.

  “Am I stupid, David?”

  “No, sir.”

  “But you played games with me?”

  “Not games. But I thought you’d appreciate the Gianoris taking out her family. You always say bloodshed requires equal or more blood. Her parents for your brother.”

  “And you stole from me?”

  “I didn’t. It wasn’t much. Throwaways. Please. Please, let me explain.”

  “But above all, you thought you could deceive me?” Antilla laughed loudly and evilly. He looked at the driver. “Shoot him.”

  David fumbled for his concealed, wetting himself and moaning more explanations. A single pop and David coughed up blood. That throat shot would take several seconds to finish him off. Nicola watched blood gurgle and sputter as his hands tried to close off the wound.

  Seconds later, it was over. David’s crimson-lacquered fingers remained near his neck.

  “Check her for concealeds,” Antilla directed the driver, who was quickly proving to be very adept at several things: chauffeuring, bleed outs, and pat downs. Her ankle-holstered .38 was removed as well as the knife tucked into the back of her pants. “And get her inside.”

  The driver manhandled her through the door. If Cash’d seen that subcompact at her back and the unfriendly shove, there was a solid chance the driver was going to die tonight.

  Despite David’s murder, Nic wasn’t as nervous as before. The fear was gone. She was stone-cold ready to work. Her backup was a sniper extraordinaire, and somehow, he’d get eyes on them. Hopefully, he’d heard everything.

  Antilla walked to a far corner to make a phone call and started talking. Sweet Jesus, she’d knocked out the phone jammer, and Antilla was too preoccupied to worry about it. The driver walked outside, most likely to remove David.

  Nicola bent her chin as close to her collarbone as possible and whispe
red, “Cash, can you hear me?”

  She held her breath. A noise clattered on the metal roof. An acorn or a tree branch. Something. Something that Cash shot long range. A smile melted across her face that she faked as a yawn, just in case.

  “Hi,” she whispered again and waited. “Second bomb. My parents’ house.”

  A dull bang echoed through the empty room. Definitely Cash. He’d take care of her family. God, she loved him.

  “Fucking squirrels,” the driver murmured, pulling David into a corner. “What are we doing with her?”

  “We wait. I need to handle my inventory problem. Tie her to something. I don’t care. And then find me dinner. Try to have it still hot when you return. And none of that American fast food crap.”

  The driver snagged a rickety folding chair and pushed her into it, zip-tying her arms together around a metal piece.

  All right, Smooth. Just you and me now. Let’s do this.

  Garrison’s Creed: Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Whatever Nicola had done to fix their jammer problem had worked. Their earpieces squealed, and both Cash and Jared grabbed at them. There was perfect clarity that’d make Verizon jealous. Talk about a listen and learn session. Cash prayed to the techie gods that Parker also had access to this feedback at headquarters.

  “There were twins? Smooth’s still alive. Fuck me.” Cash whistled, lying prone on a warehouse roof. A warm breeze swirled around them, bringing with it the gasoline and plastic smells of an abandoned factory.

  He looked through Miss Betty’s scope and caressed her perfectly molded trigger.

  “Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.” Jared growled slowly next to him and rolled onto his back, laying the binoculars to his side and texting into his secure phone. “Talk about a huge hole in intelligence. How did the CIA not know there were two of them?”

  “Not even a rumor. You know gun runners talk. Nothing.” He followed through the eye of his scope, still listening. Nicola was pushing the conversation, narrowing in on a crack between her captors.

  “You hearing this?”

  Jared grunted. “David’s going to get himself—”

  They didn’t need earpieces to hear the single blast of close range fire power.

  “There goes Operation The-Butler-Did-It.” Jared paused. “Don’t take out Smooth yet. No telling what the other man will do with that automatic at her back.”

  Cash nodded. Endangering Nic’s life wasn’t worth a clean shot now. Smooth would die shortly. How and when were still to be determined, but it might as well have been etched in stone. He’d make sure both Smooth twins were hanging with an angel of death. By his hands. And Cash would ensure David was never awarded a nameless star on the inner hallways of Langley.

  Jared rolled back in place, spotting and surveying for Cash. Both men watched Nicola take a push from the butt of a gun. A growl rumbled low from Cash’s chest.

  “Keep it together.”

  He was together. Never more confident in his girl, and never more ready to pull the trigger if she needed it. Though she was in the warehouse now, he could feel her, sense her. He didn’t need to see her to know she was mentally the one in control this moment. After all, she’d just played Antilla’s emo-card and was now one captor less. Two was better than three, even if David had been the weakest link.

  “Cash, can you hear me?” her voice whispered into his ear.

  The sweet question stirred his soul. Concentrating for all he was worth, he took a moment to feel the quick fire of pride flow through his chest.

  With a deep breath and intense focus on an old tree leaning over the metal-topped building, Cash aimed. The silencer did its job: a muffled shot, but nothing that would register as gunfire in the warehouse.

  A small branch landed on the metal roof.

  “Hi.”

  The word melted through him, earpiece to his toes. He smiled, loving that word. Hi.

  She continued, “Second bomb. My parents’ house.”

  On it already. Giving her another confirmation that he was there for her, Cash slid another round forward, cradled Miss Betty to him and bam. More tree debris landed on the roof.

  How about that shot, baby?

  The fuzzy feelings drained away as he listened to a man grunting around her, moving something metal.

  Cash pulled back from Betty. “How we going to get her out of there?”

  “Are you sure she wants us to get her out of there? This probably isn’t her first time tied up.”

  Fresh fury pulsed in his veins. “Jared, I will kill you.”

  “What? Calm your trigger finger. I meant in the captive sense. Not whatever your perverted mind came up with.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Jared laughed. “We’ve had direct orders to kill Smooth, so we’re not only in backup mode, but we have to trust our girl to either kill them or ask for help. She knows we’re here. She said, “hi,” not “help.” We’re five hundred yards away and can get there quick. If Smooth was going to kill her, he’d have done it by now.”

  Voices buzzed in their earpieces. Jared and Cash paused, listening.

  Don’t touch me. Untie me first, you prick. Smooth laughed. The sound of Nicola struggling stopped Cash’s heart.

  “I’m getting closer. If she wants help, she can look over her shoulder and nod.” Cash was on his feet, ready to shimmy down the building. “Don’t lose that gun. I have a sentimental attachment to it.”

  Pushing from one covered spot to the next, he was at the warehouse door lightning fast. He pulled the transmitter’s earpiece out, keeping Jared in his other ear. The real deal was happening on the other side of that door. He wouldn’t need the transmitter.

  Cash slid through the door. It squeaked, but Antilla and Nic didn’t notice as Smooth cut through her zip ties with a pocket knife. At once, she popped to her feet, striking him in the throat.

  God, Cash loved a good throat punch. That one was spectacular. Still, the protector in him needed to run to their tangle, throw her to safety, and shred Antilla Smooth into flesh and bone with his bare hands.

  Acting as backup fucking sucked. She held her own, which was good and bad. It didn’t matter though, no clean shots at this angle anyway.

  Cash crept closer. The urge to annihilate Smooth beat loudly in his ears, speeding his pulse and competing with Nicola’s concern that he didn’t trust her to do the job.

  If this was Roman, would he step in? Christ, man, he couldn’t answer that. Could he? Would he jump in now for Roman?

  No… fuck, no, he wouldn’t.

  Not yet.

  Smooth rebounded, grabbing her arm. She countered, striking. Good girl. Nicola moved fast. Faster than when they sparred. She didn’t run from the son of a bitch. She speared toward him, nailing him in the groin, giving cheap shots and calculated moves equal play time. Nicola was good, but she needed to end this.

  Smooth went down on his knee, her follow up could—

  Damn it. A hand wrapped around her ankle. She flipped through the air. Smooth was on her. They spun, growled, and grunted. Curses and war cries echoed around the empty warehouse.

  Antilla slammed her against the wall. Her head lolled to the side, but righted. Her eyes locked on Cash’s. A fucking smile danced across her face, mouthing, “hi.”

  She was insane. He loved a crazy woman. Cash took a step forward into the open. Smooth didn’t see him, but Nic did.

  “No,” she growled, looking bull’s-eye at him.

  His heart thundered behind his ribs, beating so hard they would be bruised. Nicola was good, but Antilla was larger, stronger. Cash had no choice. He ran toward their fighting bodies and hooked a forearm around Antilla’s neck. Nicola fell, driven away by the men’s momentum.

  Watching, she stood, ready for more, but at a standstill. Antilla struggled, shifted sideways, and elbowed his gut, which only strengthened Cash’s resolve. One more shot at escape with a weakening foot stomp, and Antilla was fading for the final countdown.

  Nicola ran forwar
d, screaming. “No!”

  What the hell?

  She couldn’t possibly want him to stop. Her arms grabbed Cash. Fighting through the men’s weight, and their fight, she forced partially between him and Antilla. Slivers of a second passed and, ready to end this, Cash twisted the bastard’s neck. Nicola pushed under his arm, then pulled back. Smooth dropped in a dead man’s pile.

  Behind him, a crash and a whoosh. A different man’s cry spun Cash around, grabbing for his sidearm.

  He was too late.

  Nicola was bent over, hands pressed on her knees, head down. Beyond her, the driver lay with a tactical knife centered in his chest.

  Cash’s hand flew to his waist. His knife was gone. She hadn’t pushed between him and Smooth, she’d gone for his weapons, grabbing his blade. And thrown it with perfect accuracy.

  He looked at Nicola, then at the dead man with a subcompact machine gun in hand.

  Holy hell, she’d saved his life.

  He’d saved hers.

  “Nic, baby.” He was on her in a flash, scooping her to his chest, not giving a fuck who heard. “Sweet girl. My sweet girl.”

  Jared grumbled in his ear. “Cut the mushy bullsh—”

  Cash pulled his earpiece out. He might not be able to cut the audio transmission, but he sure as shit wouldn’t have Jared as the voice of God in his head.

  Nicola didn’t cry. She didn’t whimper or scream, just caught her breath after doing her job and watching his ass.

  “There’s a second bomb. At my parents’.” Her words came out heavy as she recovered from her brawl with a man a hundred pounds heavier than her.

  “We knew already. Roman’s with them. Brock and Rocco have the device. Everything’s cool.”