Strike Force

by Beth Rhodes

  She left through the back door with her bag on her back and turned to the old barn. If she was going back, there was only one way to do it. Full Feur, full Bălan. No apologies for how she was raised. No faking it.

  The barn door squeaked when she pulled on it, and she propped it open to the right and stepped into the dim interior.

  And stopped.

  Malcolm stood there, the rays of light shining through the old wooden slats of the door and touching his black combat boots. Her helmet rested in his arm against his hip. His hair was pulled back, one ornery strand falling onto his forehead and temple.

  “There you are,” she said as her heart pounded again. This time for a very different reason.

  “Something told me you’d take the bike.”

  She lifted her brow. “Very know-y of you, Malcolm.”

  He shrugged one shoulder in a way that said, “I know you,” and she planted herself in front of him, glad she wasn’t going to have to leave without saying goodbye. “Tracking device on the bike?”

  He blushed, as if caught in the act. “Of course.” He stood back, eyeing her up and down. “You ready?” he asked, back to studying her face before he knelt in front of her. Her heart pounded before she felt his hands on her boots, fiddling with her shoelaces and tightening them.

  When he looked up, she swallowed an ache. “Easy-peasy,” she answered. “Find Uncle Bert. Find the girls. Report. And Rescue.”

  Malcolm put his hands at her waist, stood, and discovered her Kel-Tec P-32. “Looking for trouble?”

  “Just playing the part. Would be a fool to go in empty-handed, don’t you think?”

  “He’ll take it.”

  “Maybe.”

  Malcolm stared at her.

  “Okay, probably. But, depending on the length of time, I could earn it back. I’m very good at being conniving and convincing.”

  “So you are.” Regret lingered in his voice.

  She grinned. “Are you getting all sentimental?”

  “Fuck no,” he answered, and pulled her close. She didn’t mind clinging to him. They’d finally made it past a line.

  They were going to make it.

  And then she was going to jump his bones and hold on to him for the rest of her life, whether he liked it or not…in a completely fine and good way, of course. His embrace lifted her from the ground, and he kissed her neck, up and up to her ear. She turned her face to him and found his mouth, his soft lips showing her she was his.

  A tear streaked down her face and she broke the kiss. “I have to go.”

  “Be careful,” he whispered as he pressed a hand over her heart. She placed her hand on top of his. She would take his heart with her, whether he knew it or not. But it wasn’t stealing.

  It was a trade, because in its place, she would leave behind her own.

  ***

  The old estate outside of Portland look particularly malicious as she parked her motorcycle under the drive’s porte-cochere. Lights were on, but the late afternoon rain had left a thick fog in its wake. She shivered under her jacket as she braced the bike on the kickstand.

  Despite the tracking devices and listening devices and even her sidearm, she was like a mouse on a mission in a fricking cat store. The familiar prickle at her neck, like she was being watched, set her nerves on edge. She knew, before knocking, that Vladimir was waiting.

  Burly Guy answered the door, his eyes going wide. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to get my uncle.” She lifted her brow in true Romanian hauteur. “I will see Vladimir Dimitru now.”

  He looked behind her, searching for the trap, but saw nothing and narrowed his eyes. “Come in, but don’t move.”

  She knew where every camera was located.

  “Marie Bălan Feur.”

  The voice sent a tremor down her spine as she turned. “Dimitru.”

  “Please, call me Vladimir.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Gregory tells me you’re here for your uncle.” He came close, looking to intimidate her, she imagined. “Shouldn’t you be in jail?”

  She crooked her neck to look up at him. “They couldn’t hold me,” she answered.

  That seemed to stop him. “What makes you think I have him?”

  Ignoring his question, she took a nonchalant glance around, as if curious. “I have something you want. And I’m willing to help you get more.”

  “I only want one thing. The—”

  “The Romanian government recently agreed to allow the national treasure to travel to New York. Did you know?”

  Dimitru paused and nodded. He was listening again, which was the point.

  “The pieces will travel by courier from Boston to New York City in one week.”

  She saw the stirring of interest in his gaze. “Has my security company gone rogue? Or is the little Bălan butterfly gypsy taking off on her own?”

  “I was raised to be a thief. It’s all I know.” She shrugged. “I grew up on the stories of the old country. Look,” she continued, straightening her spine, adding all of her Romanian pride to her short stature, “I would kill to have what you’ve got in your gallery alone. I’m willing to share, because I think together, we can both have what we want. You have means…I have the skill.”

  His gaze warmed as it skimmed her body from head to toe.

  And there was the lecherous douche she knew and hated.

  He moved into her space, making her heart race as he towered over her so she was forced to look almost straight up to see his face. “We could make a good pair.” His glance at her lips turned her stomach.

  “Hey, don’t get any ideas. This is business.” Marie put a hand up to his chest, stopping him. “Gold. That’s all.”

  “It was meant to be, you know.”

  “What?”

  “A Bălan would eventually mate with a Dimitru.”

  She almost laughed. “We’re humans, not animals. Besides, from what I hear, someone already tried, and your family was offended enough to end it.”

  “There was always a set time—fate.”

  At the soft tone of his voice, her guard went up. His eyes had lost the calculation and gone dreamy. Well, damn. He believed all the bullshit legends about marriage and prosperity.

  She swallowed. They’d taken his overzealous behavior the night of dinner as a clue to his slimeball-ness. They hadn’t anticipated maybe he was completely unhinged. He toyed with her hair, setting her teeth on edge, and then tugged her closer. “But you came back. I knew you would come back.”

  Marie snapped her fingers in his face. “I came back for my uncle…and for our mutual monetary benefit. Nothing more.”

  The calculation returned. “But there is so much more.” He leaned in. “Didn’t you know? Together, we hold the answer to the greatest power in Dacian history.”

  The air stilled around her. She hadn’t heard that word in a long time. Long, long time. “The Roman-Dacia? Early witchcraft? Like, the myths of power to rule the world? No,” she replied firmly. “Those ideas disappeared in the fifth century. What I know is we can be richer than we’ve ever dreamed. That’s what I know. Everything else is hocus-pocus bullshit. Now, you’ll take me to my uncle first. Then we can set up a plan for this heist, which will make us all richer than the devil.”

  She whirled away, but he grabbed her arm. “I want the armband,” he said.

  “My uncle first.” She tugged her arm free. “The armband is somewhere safe until I have my uncle and we come to an agreement.”

  It didn’t even hurt to say it. Not a smidge of pain, no regret. She was learning something this year, and that was to let go. All those years, stealing moments in little trinkets, stupid acts of betrayal.

  And then Malcolm.

  Why him? What about him had changed her heart?

  He was the first person to frown on her abilities.

  Uncle Bert had never discouraged her.

  Malcolm hadn’t only discouraged her. He’d turned his back
on her.

  And he made her want to not steal.

  “Sentiment will make you weak, my dear.”

  “I’ll have my uncle first. Then you can have your armband. It will be our first step to trusting one another in this bigger venture.”

  He threw his head back in laughter. “We come from different angles, but our goal is the same.” Vladimir glanced behind her and nodded.

  She tensed as Burly Guy approached, and she stepped back.

  “Just a precaution, my dear,” Vladimir said as he turned to pick up a phone on the table along the wall. He pressed a button and spoke quietly.

  “Stand feet apart, arms out,” the second man said, and then patted her down. Hands to shoulders, and down her sides, hips, and legs. He was impartial and professional, and she was grateful.

  When she looked up again, Dimitru was watching. “Remove the belt,” he said slowly. “The phone.” He scanned her from head to toe. “The earrings.”

  She bit back the refusal. She’d worn her mother’s old dangly copper earrings—for comfort, as a distraction, to play the part. They are merely objects, she reminded herself, admonishing the sentiment he’d only a second ago warned her would make her weak. She slipped them off, and her hand shook as she placed them in Burly Guy’s palm. “When you discover they are clean, I want them back,” she added with a scowl.

  Dimitru tilted his head, a creepy light in his eyes. A shiver ran up her spine, and then he laughed. “Put them in the security room, Gregory.” He held out an arm to her, as if to escort her, and she took it, albeit reluctantly. “You must be hungry and tired after our little ordeal the other night, and your subsequent run-in with the police. Come.” His accent thickened. “I will bring you to your uncle and then we will retire to the dining room for an evening meal.”

  She gave him a curt nod.

  He hadn’t noticed the earring with the bug.

  Her connection to her team hadn’t been destroyed. Yet.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Shit,” Malcolm muttered, turning the dial on the receiver board in front of him. The spot they’d picked to set the van had been bogged down by yesterday’s storm, so they were a good hundred meters farther away than anticipated.

  But Malcolm was hearing enough to be very, very fucking unhappy about what Marie had stepped into. As if Dimitru had known she would come back. He couldn’t shake the feeling they were mere puppets.

  Maybe Dimitru had one of those crystal balls the gypsies were known for.

  He thought about the gold on the East Coast. He’d done a quick internet search after she mentioned it. It was real. How long had she been thinking about it? How long had it even been on her radar?

  “Where does this lead?” Marie’s voice came through the earpiece again.

  Dimitru replied, but his voice was too muffled to distinguish.

  “Uncle Bert.” Alarm rang through her words. “What have you done?”

  “I’ve done what I can for him. I have a nurse on staff who is watching him.” Dimitru’s voice came through more clearly now.

  “Bad shape?” She was angry, and Malcolm ached a little at the panic he heard. “He needs a doctor.”

  “He needs a niece who isn’t a lying thief.”

  Malcolm’s heart beat a little harder. Hearing every word meant Dimitru was close. Too close, most likely.

  “She’ll be fine,” Hawk said from behind him. The man might be blind, but he didn’t miss anything.

  “I don’t like to be sitting here, doing nothing.”

  “She needs to know you’re here. It’s only been an hour. Give her time. She’ll get what we need. It’s what she does.”

  Malcolm ran a hand through his hair and stood—sort of. He braced his hands on the computer platform, gripped it, and rolled his shoulders. He touched his feet next, and then, with first one hand and then the other, pulled each elbow over his head and stretched the muscles in the back of his arms. Fucking van. The small space was likely to drive him mad.

  He sat abruptly.

  He could sit.

  He could handle the discomfort like he’d handled a lot of uncomfortable shit in his life.

  This was Marie.

  “Let me take him. I can get him looked at.”

  “No. No hospitals—”

  “Not a hospital. A friend who…is used to our eccentric ways. Someone who will care for the bullet wounds but not report them. I promise.”

  Hawk sat up straighter and reached out to put a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder.

  How? Malcolm had no idea. Fucking miracles? Maybe Hawk was faking it. The thought had crossed his mind over the last few years as they’d all dealt with his loss.

  “Please,” she said. “There’s no risk to you if you bring my friend in. We live in a world of secrecy.”

  “Don’t give too much away,” Malcolm muttered. “Be patient.”

  “We have not come to trust yet.” Dimitru’s voice was hard and cold. “Besides, who will you bring in? John from Hawk Elite?”

  “No—” Her denial was struck short by a resounding slap.

  “Don’t lie.”

  “I’m not.” Her breath came out ragged. “Uncle Bert has a friend, up the coast—”

  Another smack had every muscle in Malcolm’s body tense with the need to fuck this entire operation.

  Dimitru sniffed. “The armband, my dear.”

  “Hey, Uncle Bert.”

  Silence. How bad off was her uncle?

  “What are you doing?” Vladimir said sharply.

  “The armband isn’t here. If he survives the night, we will partner for Lot 26 and the national treasure. And then we go for the armband where it is hidden…and safe.”

  “Fuck.” Malcolm’s heart fell. “She doesn’t have it? I gave it to her with a tracking device in it,” he whispered. God, she was too courageous. She had more morality than her reputation indicated.

  He clicked through several screens until the one with the armband pulled up.

  His eyes slowly closed. “On the coast,” he confirmed for Hawk. “Fucking coast. She left it under the house.”

  There was another lengthy silence.

  “Gregory, bring in Dr. Bantwal. Albert will survive the night. And then we will partner.”

  “Stand down,” Hawk advised when Malcolm rose and leaned over the desk in the back of the van. “She did it. She got in.”

  Malcolm gripped the edge of the computer console. Nothing was making him feel better yet. So he focused on the facts. Marie is incredibly smart. She is strong. She is conniving and sneaky. He almost laughed. Those were the very things he’d berated her over for the past year.

  “She’s talking.”

  “Uncle Bert,” she said quietly, a mournful sound, like one he hadn’t heard in a long time. “There’s so much blood. A wound under his shoulder is still seeping blood. There’s—”

  “Shh, niece,” Uncle Albert said, his voice barely coming through the earpiece. “I will make it through the night. I promise you.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Malcolm ripped the headphones from his ears and gripped the plastic. He couldn’t listen anymore.

  “She’s got company,” Hawk said, as he flipped a switch so the transmission came through the speakers.

  “Come. Albert is in good hands,” Dimitru said. “You and I have business.”

  Malcolm sat back down as the tension through the transmitter faded. He took a deep breath.

  “She’s going to be fine,” Hawk reassured him again.

  “Yeah,” Malcolm said, knowing it but hating it. “I wish she’d get a chance to do what she needs to do.”

  “Give her time.”

  “Fuck time.”

  Hawk’s silence spoke volumes.

  “Sorry,” Malcolm said.

  “That’s a first.”

  He chuckled. “Don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

  Neither of them had to say it. Malcolm knew.

  Marie.

&nb
sp; ***

  Marie picked up Uncle Bert’s hand. “I love you, Uncle Bert.”

  He didn’t answer, as he’d slipped back into sleep. She leaned over him and kissed his cheek. The door opened behind her, and she stood.

  Gregory—Burly Guy—came first, followed by a short Indian man who wore a stethoscope around his neck. The doctor’s gaze flitted from her to Dimitru. This was not a happy man, but he was all she had. When he found Uncle Bert, he lost the nervous air about him and went into business mode. He set his bag down and opened it to pull out a large syringe and a vial of medicine.

  “What are you giving him?”

  “Antibiotics,” he answered as he lifted the bandage under Bert’s shoulder. He hummed in disapproval. “Water and towels.” He looked at Gregory when he said it, as if they often worked together. Greg nodded and left the room.

  Marie got a funny feeling these two had secrets they could divulge. Dimitru’s secrets. Secrets about why a man like Dimitru would need a doctor on staff in the first place…like women brought into this country.

  Her heart twisted at the thought of the women who’d come through these walls, possibly injured and sick.

  “He has cancer,” she told the doctor. “He’s under the care of a doctor in Cannon Beach. He’s…not well.”

  “I will see he does not die on my watch. Yes?” The doctor looked directly at her, and there was fatigue as well as sympathy in his eyes.

  She nodded, resigned to leave her uncle. “Thank you.”

  Dimitru took her arm in a firm grip. “Come. We will eat.”

  “I’d like to stay with my uncle, at least until he’s doing better.”

  Dimitru rolled his eyes and then glanced at the phone in his hand. “Very well. I will show you to your room. There I have a store of clothing from other female guests. You can utilize what you need.”

  She wasn’t fooled by his affability. She had no doubt her every move would be monitored. “Thank you. I would love a change of clothes.”

  She followed him out into the dark hallway and then down to the east wing. They passed doors, lots of them. The entire wing, rooms. Dorms. Prison cells?

  They turned a corner and entered a more brightly lit area of the house. The walls had paper, and the shiny finish of the hardwood floors gave this area of his home a feel of wealth that the other wing, with its stone walls and dim lighting, didn’t have.