The Titan Series 1-3 Boxed Set

by Cristin Harber - The Titan Series 1-3 Boxed Set

  “I hacked into Sugar’s e-mail and—”

  “Great.” She would have both their butts for hacking her e-mails.

  Parker shrugged. “Most everything from GSI were invoices—”

  “She works with them?” Of course she works with them. He wasn’t her sole client. Actually, he was a newer client. Jared scrubbed a hand over his chin. How much Titan business would it take for her to drop GSI? He had other branches of Titan that she didn’t know existed, and they all needed weapons. Why does it matter?

  “She works with everyone worth a damn.” Parker opened the folder. “Here are the details on the job. GSI had a contract with Uncle Sam to arm and train Afghanistan outpost police. But there were red flags that made it to Washington—missing guns and moolah.”

  “Get to the part I care about, Parker.”

  “Reports were inconsistent. Military Blackhawk UH-60 did a flyby and reported what looked like Taliban fighters and Afghani OP police training together. Washington folks complained. GSI jumped to investigate. Cue their internal affairs. Sugar’s on suspension with ATF for—”

  “Yeah, I know what for,” Jared growled. He didn’t need reminding. She had ousted herself as an undercover agent to protect his ass and watch out for his team member. Sugar saved Nicola and Cash a lot of worry, and him from a giant headache. He couldn’t forget that kind of honor and allegiance.

  Parker shifted on his feet. “Kip sought Sugar out after hearing she was on indefinite desk duty. The guy thinks he’s smooth, but looks like she was itching for something to do. The rest is in here.” Flicking the folder, he paused, then laid it on the desk.

  Jared snatched it, then paged through. It held nothing interesting. “Tell Brock I expect an approval of our return within an hour.”

  “GSI already has the job. They went back and asked for it. Something about trying to save face since we had to go in and save their man.”

  Jared slammed his hands on his desktop. “Excuse me?”

  “They already—”

  “Find me Kip Pearson’s location. Now.” He would hunt the bastard down and find out what wasn’t on paper. All the training in the world wouldn’t keep Jared Westin calm and collected, but it would help him interrogate the piece of shit who’d left his partner behind.

  “One more thing.”

  He didn’t have the patience to read the entire file. “What?”

  “Turn the page. There’s a fifty-page report from Washington explaining why we only knew to pick up one hostage.”

  Jared thumbed through the thick wad of paper. “Short version.”

  “Before Kip was captured, he transmitted a status report that said Sugar pursued a lead solo and was killed by a car bomb. No one would have thought twice about a fatality like that, but I guess some bureaucrat double-checked. No one wants to see a US contractor die in a bomb. But, more importantly, no politician wants to hear about a female civilian dying like that. Analysts checked several sources and came up empty. There was no car bomb.”

  “What? Washington read the transmission wrong? Or…” Too many possibilities came to mind. “Or GSI had no intention of Sugar leaving Afghanistan alive.”

  Parker nodded. “They’ve always been sketchy.”

  “You’re telling me.” He rubbed his temples, deciphering fact from bullshit. He’d known GSI far too long to trust them. “Let’s assume the red flags were correct. GSI had the contract to train Afghani police, but were also training Taliban. Uncle Sam requested their internal affairs to follow up with an independent observer like Sugar…” Jared cracked his knuckles, thinking of the ways he wanted to take down GSI. “Fuckin’ traitors.”

  Parker nodded. “Here’s the kicker. No one’s picked up on it. They had no reason to look for it, but Kip’s transmitted message was on a timed delay. He sent it before Sugar landed in Afghanistan.”

  Anger pounded in his chest. Blood thumped in his neck. A roar started deep within in his lungs. “She was set up.”

  “Looks like.”

  “GSI’s gonna kill her.” He took a deep breath. He excelled in these situations. Shut off emotions. Factor in problems. Execute solutions. Save Sugar, and rain hell along the way. “Time to suit up.” Jared bounced a look to Parker, expecting to hear the hold-up list again.

  “Everyone’s on it.” Parker paused as if he had to explain. “You said to suit up twenty minutes ago.”

  “Fine. Out.” Well, shit. He’d been so wrapped up in vibing talk and Brock’s crap about a contract that he’d assumed his team wasn’t on board. He shouldn’t have assumed. He was distracted to the point of forgetting how loyal his team was to him. To Sugar. To the detriment of any order or contract.

  Parker walked out the door, leaving Jared with the report and his thoughts. His team seemed to know how high the stakes were for him. Hell, they knew even before he did. An ache in his chest punctuated that realization.

  Jared skimmed the report Parker had left on his desk—Sugar’s e-mails. She would kill him for reading her private messages. Then again, she would have to be alive to do that. A live Sugar was better for all involved.

  He skipped past pages and stopped. His name appeared in an e-mail to someone he didn’t know. By the looks of it, the message was to a girlfriend she worked with.

  Thanks for helping with GUNS while I’m gone. I couldn’t do this without you, and right now, I need the distraction. This job couldn’t come at a better time… Damn, I don’t know what it is about him.

  The last time he’d seen Sugar, the situation had been tense. But to run across the world? He scowled at the paper and kept reading.

  When he’s not being a dick, I want to kick him to get a reaction. When he is… it gets my blood going. Seriously, how grade school is that? So my decision is made. I won’t be tempted. I won’t be interested. It’s my new motto. Hell, my battle cry. Stay away from Jared Westin.

  Jared tore the page out of the folder. Parker hadn’t pointed it out, but he had to have seen it. Why else would it have been included? Parker wouldn’t see it again, but Jared needed to. He smoothed it out and stared at it.

  This was unacceptable. Walking into a mountainside firing line to avoid him was completely, categorically unacceptable. And a battle cry of avoidance? His chest felt tight. His fists clenched. Sugar. What he wouldn’t do to get his hands on her and say—

  And say what? Jared looked at his dog, who looked back, head cocked and wrinkles furrowed. She offered no answers.

  He folded the paper, then shoved it into his back pocket. He would make her explain herself after he figured out why he cared.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Words Sugar didn’t understand floated closer as the night drew darker. Another day in this hole was another day she wouldn’t lose hope. She hadn’t found a way out yet. But a plan was formulating. If only she had more energy to corral her scattered thoughts.

  Her captors were coming for her. She knew it. She felt it. And when they did, she would summon what was left of her waning strength and fight to survive.

  A campfire roared in the distance. Dinner and drinks sounded well on their way to being done. Asal had come by with food she’d obviously snuck away with, and the calories might’ve been what kept Sugar from delirium.

  Again, the little girl showed up, knocking on Sugar’s enclosure. Her little face was streaked with tears. Sugar’s heart pounded harder. She had a soft spot for neglected kids, and Asal took the cake on that title. She’d never met a less fortunate child who survived in circumstances Sugar couldn’t fathom. Sugar’s childhood had been so-so. But that was due to her self-absorbed parents and had nothing to do with surviving the elements and avoiding grenade launchers.

  Even with all that weighing down on the kid, Asal still smiled. Until that night. That night, she was crying, and heaven help whoever had made Asal cry. If Sugar could hurt them, too, it would make this cold day a little better.

  She pointed to Asal’s eyes and cheeks. “Why were you crying?”

  A
sal said something Sugar didn’t understand, then pressed her hands to her chest. “Husband.”

  Her throat cracked as a prickle cascaded down her spine. “Your husband?”

  The girl nodded, rubbed her face, and stopped, seeming to search for words Sugar might understand. “I go to him soon.”

  “You haven’t met him?”

  Asal didn’t look as though she understood.

  Sugar tried again. “Your husband. Is he here?”

  “No.” Her tiny face shook.

  “How old are you?”

  Asal held up fingers, making an effort to count, then shrugged. She finally held up eight fingers, but shook her head.

  “How old is your husband?”

  She looked around and pointed at men older than Sugar was. The air crushed out of her lungs as if this godforsaken mountain had caved in. The baby in front of her, with the sweet and innocent face, pained her.

  “Do you have a mom and dad? Family?”

  She nodded. “Uncles.”

  “Are you scared?” Sugar asked.

  Asal nodded.

  God, I’ll kill them all. “Go hide. I will help you.”

  The girl didn’t move, but the drunken voices had come closer. The men who held her captive drank and gestured. This was about to get ugly.

  “Asal. Go. Now.”

  The little girl looked at the men, then at Sugar. “Hurt you.”

  The English was halting, but the sentiment was dead on. The men were coming for some fun, and Sugar didn’t want Asal around for the show. “Go.” She tried to push her away from the cell door. “Now, Asal. Run away.”

  Asal stared at the men and tilted her head. “Uncle.”

  Shit, that’s her uncle? Well, Uncle was about to have a fight on his hands. Sugar had no plans to be the evening’s entertainment.

  “Go.”

  Asal stuck her finger in the cell, wiggled it, then pushed something to her. It fell, and the little girl ran away. Sugar looked down—a rusted, bent blade. US military issued. Broken handle. It was more than enough of a weapon.

  She looked up, and Asal was gone. Thank God, because that bent blade was in for some see-saw action if Sugar could help it.

  Two men staggered to the door of her cage. They stank of desert booze and highland sweat, of dirt and mountain living. Her stomach retched. The gleam in their eyes issued their threats. But their drunken squabbling gave her time to get ready.

  She couldn’t stand in the makeshift cell, but she could fight. Tucking the knife into the waist of her pants, she rose to a kneeling position, ready to be pinned down or dragged out. The lock scraped, and the door opened wide.

  Each man took an arm. Dragged out it was. She could scream, but she didn’t see any reason to waste the energy. Get me to a place I can stand.

  Once in the clear, she powered up, moving her weight from one man into the other. Their drunken asses stumbled, but that wasn’t enough for her to get away. Sugar lunged into one of them; the other fell on top of her.

  Fight. Kill. Survive.

  Labored breaths heaved through her nostrils. Her stomach threatened to spill the remnants of the stale bread. The men laughed, and a slap rang clear through her brain.

  The stars spanned seconds, too long to regain her focus, and her face was slammed into the rocky ground. Pain sprayed through her nerve endings. Stars spun again. One arm tore from the socket and was pushed above her head.

  Sugar focused on her training, on how to endure. She wrapped the pain in a box and punted it out of the game. She reached into her waistband and found the blade. It scraped into her palm as she grasped it, but she ignored the bite of pain. She slashed the blade sideways, connecting through the thick burlap clothes until she heard a man’s yell. A small victory.

  He released her hand. The second man dove onto her, but she rolled. Her elbow cracked him in the temple, stunning him and allowing her enough time to find her feet. Her breaths came fast in the frozen air. Adrenaline was her partner, treating her far better than that GSI jerk had.

  She jumped up. The world spun round like a toy top. The dark mountain and inky sky blurred. The fire in the distance became her focal point, and she blinked hard.

  Both her attackers came at her, their hands up and their faces angry. They hurled threats she couldn’t understand. But she comprehended.

  An explosion ripped through the air behind them. Rapid blips of gunfire lit the distance. Gas bombs catapulted, flipping and zigzagging into the tents.

  The timing couldn’t have been better. Someone needed to tear this place down, and she needed the distraction. The men forgot about their conquest-in-waiting and ran back toward camp.

  Asal.

  Sugar rotated a glance over her horizon for the little girl, but she came up empty. A fire bomb boomed, and she needed cover. Running toward a rocky ledge, Sugar snagged an automatic rifle propped against a boulder. She swiped as much ammo on the fly as she could carry, then climbed into the thick mountain brush. Thorns scraped her skin but didn’t slow her down.

  Behind her back, artillery detonated. Her captors hadn’t been ready for an offensive strike. Sugar turned from her perch on a sturdy inlet. Was this a rival tribe attack? Was this military? She couldn’t tell through the smoke.

  Men scattered, fleeing the main camp, and one by one, the tents were ransacked and brought down. Cries of pain accompanied screams of defiance. The offense was on a search-and-destroy mission. Like a tiny town swallowing itself, the area was consumed.

  Then all was quiet.

  Objective met?

  What was that? she wondered. As long as they didn’t bother her, Sugar didn’t care. And where was Asal? Sugar would find that blade-gifting girl and get her the hell out of this mountainous crapshoot. That kiddo isn’t marrying some sick fuck. No way.

  Through the billowing clouds in the fire-lit night, Sugar couldn’t see much. Somewhere, a goat bleated, and someone shuffled through tents. Must’ve been a rival tribe attack. There was looting. As long as Asal was safe, they could hunt and gather all night long.

  A branch cracked. The hair on her arms stood up, as if on lookout. Her breath stilled, her mind listening, hoping to hear nothing.

  Nothing. Not a peep. Too quiet. But wasn’t that what she wanted?

  Someone was near. A shiver of awareness said so. Or was that paranoia? Dehydration could do that. Men threatening to rape her could do that.

  Trust your instinct.

  She closed her eyes and forced her senses to attention. Smoke burned in her nostrils and coated her tongue. The harsh wind bit her cheeks and… carried footsteps. Closer. Close enough that she had to move.

  Sugar crouched, then crawled down the narrowing rock path, which became a brush-covered ledge. Loose stones slipped away, cascading off the side of her foothold. Not good. Shadows danced far below the sharp drop-off. She positioned forward, aiming the AR-15 for whatever came her way. As long as it wasn’t a little girl, it was dying.

  Another crack. Branches scraped beside her. Above her?

  She couldn’t get a bearing on the source. The camp activity echoed against the mountain. It was too distracting, and she was too panicked. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and blood pounded in her throat.

  Another gust of wind carried the sound of shifting fabric. Her skin prickled. A solid force dropped on top of her, knocking her rifle from her reach, holding her to the ground. A hand wrapped over her mouth, twisting her body against her attacker’s.

  Her stolen breath was knocked away. Instinct took over the fight. Her knee went up, and her fists punched, then clawed. Eyes. Groin. If she could hit either, her chances increased. All she sensed was strength and power. That wasn’t going to take her down. She would fight until she died.

  No! Not die. Survive. She centered, assessed, and jerked back her head, connecting with a jawbone.

  A grunt of pain followed. A minute win. She turned and—

  “Sugar.”

  The harsh whisper stopped her, stunni
ng her, and she began trembling the instant she registered the deep timbre.

  “Stop.”

  She pinched her eyes closed. This was a delusion or a nightmare. But her body stilled as pinpricks of awareness popped, and her mind galloped after logic.

  Strong hands turned her and forced her eyes open. Tactical gear. Night vision goggles. Blood dripping off his chin.

  She didn’t need to see his face. The confirmation was innate. Instinctive. Jared Westin had found her. Saved her. Another round of shivers spiked down her spine.

  “We gotta go.” He stood, pulling her up and wrapping her to his chest, then backed down the incline.

  Her shock wore away. Heated embarrassment took its place. She had run away from him, only to have him come across the globe, guns ablaze. Only goddamn Jared Westin could pull a stunt like this, the prick.

  Ignoring the all-consuming need to cling to his chest and sob her thanks, she pushed back from his hold, but her head spun. “I can walk.” Maybe.

  Adrenaline made her strong. Emotions and dehydration made her irrationally determined. He didn’t let go, just kept moving them down the side of the mountain, toward the decimated tent village.

  Where is Asal? “Jared, stop.”

  He ignored her. She became dead weight. That didn’t stop him, though. He lifted her with one arm and kept on.

  “Wait.” She struggled against his body-armored chest. “Wait. There’s someone else.”

  That put on the brakes. He pulled them against the rocks and took off his goggles. “There were three of you?”

  He looked pissed. Welcome to the club, buddy.

  “No—”

  “GSI? POW? What?”

  “Her name is—”

  “Her?” His eyes darted over her shoulder, watchful and protective. “Not here to sort out the local bullshit.”

  Of course the her would be a local, because women didn’t come here. Fury built in her chest. He grabbed her to move on, but Sugar rocked against his grip, struggling to free herself. “A girl. A child. Put me down, goddamn you.”