Countdown to Zero Hour

by Nico Rosso

  But there were tactical advantages to telling her. She could be ready. Safe.

  She moved her attention from her task at the stove and caught him staring at her. Her intensity deepened. This woman was not shy and didn’t look away.

  The thundering energy that had brought them clashing together last night resumed. Along with the hunger. He stepped toward her. She stood her ground.

  Questions played out on her face. Maybe the same ones within himself. Had she closed the door for good last night? Could they start over? Or pick up where they left off, like diving out the back of a C-130 wrapped in each other’s arms.

  He cleared his throat enough to talk and asked, “Any breakfast left?”

  The ordinary task of collecting a plate and food loosened her. She brought it to the island, and he joined her there.

  “Coffee?” She tipped her head at a half-full pot near the stove.

  “Hell, yeah.” Knowing the kitchen, he found a mug while she pulled the pot.

  The middle-aged maid glanced warily at him. She was shorter than Hayley, with dark hair pulled back into a tidy ponytail. She didn’t shrink with fear but was aware that this was no ordinary vacation home. What a terrible place for her to work, this house full of criminal foreigners. Art reinforced his plan that Automatik’s strike would happen when she wasn’t there.

  He nodded and said, “Hola,” to her.

  She smiled cautiously and returned the greeting.

  Art and Hayley came back together at the counter, where she poured the cup nearly full.

  To his surprise, she spoke pretty good Spanish. “This is Martha. From La Bota, a little more than twenty miles south of here.”

  “Hola, Martha.” He understood if she didn’t trust him and kept things as casual as possible. “Soy Art Diaz.”

  “Gracias,” she replied with less guarded eyes and returned to her work.

  Art sipped the coffee, turning his attention back to Hayley. “Good accent.” And she was a crafty field operator, even if she didn’t know it. Using Martha as her asset, she’d figured out where the nearest town was. He admired her subtle talents, hidden like a pocket pistol. A born survivor who kept surprising him.

  “I grew up in San Diego and have worked in kitchens for years. If I didn’t speak a little Spanish, I wouldn’t survive.”

  Maybe she was the undercover operative.

  “Any other skills I should know about?” He ate and knew he wouldn’t be satisfied.

  “You’d like to find out.” She sassed him easily, not hiding and slipping right past his guard. Making him want to tell her all about how hungry he was to learn everything about her.

  He put away more of his coffee.

  “Sleep?” she asked.

  Just a grunt was his answer, and a shake of his head. “You?”

  She pulled the end off one of his breakfast rolls and ate it. “I hate going to bed hungry.”

  A dark edge of regret cut into her flirtation. The uncertainty lingered in her eyes.

  “Rough night.” He almost put his hand on hers, hoping just a touch would communicate everything he was thinking and didn’t know how to say. But he kept his fingers around the mug. “Not all of it,” he amended.

  “Not at all,” she whispered.

  “And at least we didn’t need any stitches.” The lack of answers thickened the air too much. He tried to bring them back up. “Garin’s face is all taped up today.”

  “I saw.” She glanced over Art’s shoulder, but he knew there was no one there at the moment. “He looked pissed.”

  “He’s too busy licking his wounds from Vasily to make trouble.” The ticking time bomb continued. “But he will once he gets his strength back.”

  She took a long, shaky breath. In the kitchen, she ruled, but there were things bigger than dinner that could affect her. In very bad ways.

  Hayley was already a player in this deadly game, but she didn’t know the real rules. The tactical advantage of telling her was to transform a victim to an asset. The real reason was that he didn’t know how to lie to her anymore.

  “You need more shepherd’s purse for dinner tonight.” He shot a glance toward the kitchen’s back door.

  “I hadn’t thought of using it...” Her sentence trailed when she caught his gaze.

  He insisted. Gently.

  “Sure,” she said, somewhat louder. “I like the peppery bite it gives.”

  The guards in the house watched Art and Hayley leave through the kitchen door. He knew they thought they understood what was going to be discussed outdoors. Hayley probably thought so, too.

  * * *

  She’d believed she’d locked him out. He was a criminal, though. Of course he knew how to pick locks. But he hadn’t forced his way in. Anything she’d done to keep him away had been just for show. For him. For herself.

  When Art came into her kitchen that morning, she could’ve served him hot coffee and kept herself cool. She knew how to protect herself. Seeing him, though, brought back the rush of their moment in the stairway. His caution as he’d approached had reinforced how caring he was, despite his rough exterior. It wouldn’t have been right to let him in her room last night. The whole house had been watching. But the idea of keeping him out forever didn’t seem possible anymore.

  It was so easy to talk and flirt and test the tension that strung between them in the kitchen.

  Then his eyes got so deadly serious as he silently insisted they go outside.

  Another warning? Was he going to try to tell her again to keep away? Or did he have an underground hideaway beyond the wall where they could be together in peace?

  She followed him outside, feeling the looks from the other men until Art closed the door. Sunlight bathed her. There could be no secrets in the desert. Or they would have to be so dark that they hid in the crescent shadows beneath the rocks.

  They went through the motions of tracking down the shepherd’s purse. On his exterior, Art seemed as calm as ever. He strode easily, kicking up small puffs of dust, gaze moving over the house and territory around it. Something grave was on his mind. She was tuned to him by now and sensed deeper gears turning.

  He asked in Spanish, “How much do you understand?”

  “A little,” she answered in the same language. Seeing his surprised and impressed expression in the kitchen when she spoke Spanish had been a small victory she savored.

  A slow breeze stirred the hot air. Art moved farther away from the house, where they were exposed to view, but private and alone in the middle of the dirt yard.

  The growl of a car engine invaded the desert stillness. Every development at the compound was like a new opportunity for things to get terrible.

  Hayley didn’t waste time joining Art out in the yard and asking in English, “Another boss arriving?”

  He squinted toward the parking area and shook his head. “It’s Garin on the way out.”

  The black sedan kicked up dirt. Two armed guards rolled away the metal gate in the wall, letting the car pass. As soon as it was outside the compound, the engine screamed and the tires spun, spraying rocks before digging in and sending the car speeding into the wasteland. Garin must’ve stood on the gas to get it to go like that.

  Art’s gaze remained on the gate until the guards muscled it back into place. “Cool-off period after last night’s fight,” he said. “He must be headed into town.”

  “I doubt he’ll ever cool off.” She wished he was just running away but knew he’d be back and bringing the trouble with him.

  “This looks like a good one.” Art nodded toward a plant farther toward the wall and away from the front of the house. He was quick to it, and she hurried to catch up.

  They both crouched low over it.

  “But we’re not here to look at plants, are we
?” she whispered. Talking about what had happened the night before would blanch all the flavor from it. She didn’t want to discuss things like that with Art; she wanted to take advantage of the protected moments they had. Too much analysis would only strengthen the doubts that lingered. And after everything that had happened with Burton, she needed to live first and think later.

  Once she and Art were settled over the plant, he murmured serious words in Spanish while he pointed out leaves and stalks. Her brain revved high, trying to keep up, but translated only fragments.

  “...soldier...secret organization...this week...”

  She reached forward, stopping him with her hand clasping his wrist. Without looking up, he leaned closer to her. His presence shaded her from the sun, pulling her into his shadows.

  He whispered, quietly and directly, in English, “Keep your eyes on the plant.” His free hand separated a few of the leaves, as if examining them. “I’m undercover. A soldier on a secret team.”

  Her grip tightened on him. It took all her will not to stare at his face. But she’d already seen how serious his eyes had been in the kitchen. He told the dead truth. It resonated in his steady voice. And it shook her. Her foot dug into the hard earth, trying to find something stable. Or gain traction to run.

  He bent over a high stalk of the plant and pointed at it. “We’re here to take out or bring in the heads of the mob who are meeting at the house this week.”

  It was English, but she still had trouble understanding. She tried to take the Art she knew and put all this new information in him. Undercover soldier? She’d always seen more in him than just a crook’s bodyguard, but could this be the truth?

  “Secret team?” Her quaking voice felt far too loud, but it was a whisper.

  “Pull it up.” He exposed the edge of the plant’s roots.

  She tore it from the ground, keeping her other hand tight on Art’s arm.

  He helped her brush dirt from the roots as he spoke, as if he simply explained other parts of the plant. “I was recruited by Automatik when I was on the way out of the Marines. They knew I was multilingual, and with my combat experience, it made me a perfect fit for the mob. The team got to me before the goons reached out.”

  He dug through the hole the plant had left behind. “Automatik is all kinds of military. Global. Delta, SEAL, MI6, Spetsnaz. But the decisions come from the operators, not the brass. Special forces run by special forces.”

  “You can’t be fucking serious.” It was like a bad movie she tried to wrap her head around. Her brain spun in an attempt to tie together everything he was saying.

  “We’re doing good, supported by an intelligence network. Going after deep crime.” He brushed the dirt from his hand on his jeans and pulled a leaf off the plant she held. “Special forces is a career killer in mainstream military. I chose this so I can keep making a difference.”

  He bit off a piece of the leaf and held out the other half for her. She shook her head. Her body was so tight it was hard enough to breathe, let alone eat. Nodding, Art popped the rest of the leaf in his mouth and stood, taking her with him.

  Walking casually to the next plant farther from the house, he kept talking. “I’ve got a guy on the other side of the wall, conveying all my intel. Team is standing by beyond him, waiting for my call. We don’t move until all five bosses are here.”

  She dropped the plant from her hand next to the one in the ground. They stood over them, their backs to the house windows.

  “This can’t be real.” She tried to think back to any clues but couldn’t lock on to anything.

  “But making lunch and dinner for a bunch of Russian mobsters makes perfect sense?”

  She pulled her hand off his arm. “It didn’t. And it doesn’t.” Anger choked her, and she hissed, “But I wasn’t given a choice. By you.”

  “This is for show.” He ran his hand across her lower back and wrapped his arm around her. The men who were watching from the house would see a stolen intimate moment.

  She barely resisted the need to yank away from his grip. “Was it all for show?”

  “None of it.” His voice was a low growl. A vow. “But if I hadn’t gone along with what Rolan wanted and pulled you into this gig, then the whole operation would’ve been compromised.”

  “I was just part of the setup?” She shivered in the heat. “I’m collateral damage.”

  His hand tightened on her hip, and he moved her closer to him. This wasn’t for show. And his voice wasn’t for anyone but her. “You’re the master chef.” He turned toward her, revealing the unwavering light in his eyes. “Protecting you is priority.”

  She wanted to believe him. To believe that she was safe. “There are soldiers with guns out there?”

  He nodded. “And in here. With you.”

  “Last night?” All the events with Art were cast in a different light. The shadows remained, they were just in different places. The charge in her attraction to him hadn’t diminished. Knowing this new side of him chipped at her defenses, putting her on slippery footing.

  “I meant it.” His grip eased. “I understand if you don’t trust me.”

  “I didn’t trust you before.”

  A smile lightened his serious face. “I knew you were smart.”

  She fell back into his lively energy. “Why should you trust me?”

  “You’re safer knowing.” His eyes narrowed again, taking in the top edge of the wall. “Things can change real quick here, and now you’ll be prepared. But we don’t talk about it. Unless we’re absolutely alone. They find out, it’s over.” He then whispered a confession. “And I didn’t like you thinking I was a criminal.”

  Some of the ground leveled out beneath her. It was a hell of a twist to think of him as a secret soldier, but Art the man became much more real. She wasn’t just a piece of his operation. His need for her to see his truth struck her deep in her chest.

  “But that’s why I kissed you.” She waited until his gaze snapped to her face before flashing her own small smile. Anything to convince her she had a sliver of power in this newer, extra fucked-up scenario.

  He grinned with her. The Art she’d known wasn’t an act. The same man stood before her. A dark edge remained in his eyes. “I wish it wasn’t like this. But it is. And we’re going to get through it.”

  The reality threatened to suffocate her. She was in the middle of a secret war zone. “Convince me.”

  He turned to face her, both hands bracketing her hips. He dipped his face closer to hers. “I will die keeping you safe.”

  There was truth on his lips as he kissed her. Unafraid. Exposed. Confident.

  She kissed back, demanding, hard. Yes, they were being watched, and she was in a whirlwind of secrets, yet her heart beat harder and her nipples tightened as she held on to him. She punished him with a bite to his lip.

  “I get it.” He pulled away, their faces remaining close. The understanding in his eyes darkened to regret. “You’ve got to know, I never wanted this for you.”

  “You never wanted to kiss me?” She balled her fists in the lapels of his jacket and pressed her knuckles into his chest.

  “I’ve always wanted to kiss you.”

  He did again. His hunger fed hers. They opened for more, tasting and biting. Last night’s passion flooded back and hit the new revelations like gasoline on fire. She could burn in a second, twisted up with Art.

  Several encouraging whistles came from the house. She and Art pulled apart to see a group of men crowding the windows. They sounded like fans at a soccer match. Art sneered a mock grin and flashed them a rude hand gesture.

  She picked up the plant and uprooted the other. “Back to the game.”

  The swagger returned to his motion. It was a testament to his skill how quickly he reabsorbed himself into the world of the criminals. She’d h
ave to learn that dexterity. Fast.

  Yeah, she could strut, walking next to Art. The leering men thought they knew her, but she ruled in the kitchen with talents none of them could match. And she now had secrets no one could suspect. The secrets could kill her, but they also made her stronger. Art, an undercover soldier, had trusted her with his operation. The control had been shared, and she was honored, awed to now have his life in her hands. They had to rely on each other now. With Art, she had a fighting chance.

  Chapter Ten

  There was no shortage of sly, knowing looks from Rolan and Ilyin. Dernov didn’t seem to care about anything except the ice melting in his vodka as he hunched over his glass at the conference table.

  Art sat in the room with no windows, facing the three Orel Group bosses. At no point had anyone brought up Hayley or Art’s involvement with her, but it was clear that everyone knew what had gone on in the stairwell and out in the yard.

  But these sons of bitches had no clue what Art had actually told her when they’d been outside. The days where these men were free to hurt others, scheme money from abuse and destroy lives were numbered.

  Rolan had called the meeting, a preliminary to start the discussion before the other two bosses showed up. If they covered the setup, then there would be less time wasted when everyone was at the compound.

  Art knew there would be no time for talk once the house was full. He itched for action, yet kept his face calm. Part of his attention stretched downstairs, trying to reach Hayley. It would be impossible to hear anything in the kitchen from this distance, but he tried to stay as tuned as he could. She wore the burden of the secret now. In a way, she was undercover, though she didn’t have a specific objective other than surviving. Art would take care of the rest: tactical planning, prepping the house for the assault, calling in the team, firing the first shot. But how was she holding up under that weight? He knew she was strong, but this was a completely new frontier for her.