HOT Valor (Hostile Operations Team - Book 11)

by Lynn Raye Harris

  Comstock had moved on to other things, content to let others worry about Mendez. Alex had the phone number of the burner memorized, but he hadn’t tried to call Mendez yet. It wasn’t safe to do so.

  Another twenty minutes and Alex managed to escape the command center. He went to Alpha Squad’s section and shut the door behind him. The men turned. Their expressions were grave and serious. Kid kept his eyes on his computer screen.

  “Got anything?” Alex asked.

  “No calls. No communication. The chatter is that he’s gone rogue.”

  “Guess he has.”

  “What the fuck is going on in there with Comstock?” Garrett “Iceman” Spencer demanded. It was a measure of the stress in the room that he didn’t add sir at the end of that highly insubordinate question.

  Alex decided not to sugarcoat it. “We’re standing the teams down. No more missions. We’re being investigated. And I’m still your deputy commander, Sergeant Spencer.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll call Grace, sir,” Ice said, reaching for his phone.

  “Don’t,” Alex said, his voice clipped. Ice glared but didn’t lift the phone to his ear. Ice was married to the president’s daughter. It was both a handy thing and a logistical nightmare at the same time. This badass Special Operator had a Secret Service detail whenever he wasn’t on duty. The fact he still managed to go on ops was a source of constant amazement to Alex, but somehow Mendez had worked that one out. And maybe that was the thing that had put the entire HOT operation in danger. “This thing is bigger than all of us right now. There’s something going on, and we need to tread very carefully.”

  Anger crossed several faces at once.

  “Sir, all due respect, but we owe him more than caution. We owe him everything we’ve got,” Richie said.

  “I agree with that assessment, soldier. But we have to do it right.”

  “My father-in-law—”

  “No,” Alex said. “The order came from the top, Ice. This thing goes deep, and our enemies have had too much time to prepare. You know that. President Campbell had no choice but to agree to this investigation. He might have expected it to go quickly and for Viper to be cleared immediately. Whatever the case, he agreed to it. If you say anything—we don’t know what kind of damage that could do. Who it could tip off. It’s better if we keep this thing close to our vest right now.”

  “I agree,” Kid piped up. All eyes swung to him. “I’m looking on the dark web for information—there’s a lot here, not all of it accurate I’m sure. But someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to frame the colonel. There are emails, chatter, sources that point to him as the architect of some pretty bad shit. And then there’s Delta Squad. Everything about them says they were in Moscow.”

  “It’s not true,” Victoria Brandon growled. “Not any of it.” Her husband grasped her hand and squeezed.

  “No, it’s not,” Alex said. “We all know it. But we have to get to the bottom of this without outside help. It’s us, the SEALs, and Echo. That’s all. We can’t risk more people getting involved.”

  “What about Black and his Bandits, sir?”

  “Black is key to this operation. We need him.” Alex didn’t know Ian Black all that well, but Mendez trusted him. And Black had been the one to warn Mendez in the first place. Not to mention, Alex trusted him a helluva lot more than he did CIA agent Samantha Spencer.

  Sam was a good agent, but she was—in his opinion—too concerned about her own career to be much help. The way she’d forced Mendez to go along with her plans for Miranda Lockwood still left a bad taste in Alex’s mouth. Especially after the way it had affected Cowboy, the SEAL who’d been helping Miranda escape a bad situation. Alex didn’t know a lot about Mendez’s personal life, but he was pretty sure the colonel had stopped seeing Sam over that incident. Mendez had been pissed beyond belief when that situation went down.

  No, Sam wasn’t to be trusted. Ironically, a disavowed agent was. Though Mendez didn’t think Black was disavowed at all, which was part of the reason he kept working with the man. And Black had always delivered. Alex couldn’t fault him there.

  “Have you heard from him, sir?” Kev “Big Mac” MacDonald asked. “Black, I mean.”

  “No. But I expect he’ll be in touch.”

  “I hate waiting!” It was Chase “Fiddler” Daniels who’d spoken. “Bet those fucking Russians are involved somehow.”

  Fiddler knew what it was like to have the Russians after him. A little over a year ago, he’d been on the run from Grigori Androv, a Russian crime boss who’d been dating the woman Fiddler ended up marrying. Androv had tried to sell Sophie to a drug lord before he was caught. And then he’d gotten himself killed when a hit man visited his Washington DC hotel room and blew his brains out.

  They still didn’t know who’d done it, though both Alex and Mendez suspected it was an inside job. Sergei Turov had taken over the organization and been far more trouble than Androv had ever thought about being.

  Even after Double Dee shot Turov last year, the man had survived and gone home to Russia to continue running his empire. They hadn’t heard anything out of him in months now, but Alex wouldn’t be surprised if Turov was a part of this. He was more than the head of a technology company. He was a mafia boss with ties that went far and deep.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Alex said. “But we have nothing to go on. Yet.”

  “Give me time,” Kid said. “If they’re involved, I’ll find it.”

  Alex frowned as worry crawled its way up his spine. Delta Squad was still missing and Comstock didn’t seem willing to do a damned thing about it. “That will come out in the investigation, I’m sure,” he’d said.

  As if Mendez had personally erased the team from the face of the earth after sending them on an illegal mission. Every time he thought about it, Alex’s gut tightened. Delta was out there somewhere. Every man and woman in this room wanted to find them and bring them home alive.

  “Time is the one thing we don’t have.”

  Mendez hadn’t meant to tell her that she tormented him. But she did. Her presence was an aching reminder of the woman he’d loved. Her scent drove him crazy. He wanted to haul her into his arms and kiss her. He wanted to find out if she was telling him the truth once and for all.

  He hadn’t forgotten that Valentina had a scar on her thigh where she’d been slashed with a knife. It was long and thin, running diagonally across the top of her left leg. It had been ten years old when he’d known her. If Kat had the scar, then it was over thirty years old now. It would be faded, of course. But it would still be there.

  “Show me your legs,” he said, and she gasped.

  “What? No. You are crazy.” She balled up the po’boy wrapper and stuffed it into the bag. She’d only eaten half of it.

  “If you have nothing to hide, show me.”

  She bristled. “I will do no such thing. You have no right to ask it. What next? Shall I strip down to nothing and let you ogle my naked body in order to satisfy your curiosity? Or perhaps you’d like to fuck me and pretend I am Valentina.”

  Anger and guilt flared. Yeah, he did want to fuck her. He burned with the need to do so. He wouldn’t, but he wanted to.

  “We could solve the issue of who you are if you’d show me what I want to see. You know what it is.”

  She shot up from the couch and carried the bag over to the trash, tossing it in. When she turned around again, her blue eyes sparked. “Of course I know. Valentina was slashed when we were in the orphanage. It left a scar.”

  “So why won’t you show me your leg?”

  “Because I have told you who I am. Ian has told you too. I’m not pulling my pants down so you can ogle my body for your own satisfaction. Valentina’s scar was practically to her bikini line. My sister may have bared everything for you, but I will not. Not today anyway.”

  He could press her or he could let it go. He chose to let it go. For now. There would be other opportunities if they were going to be working together fo
r the foreseeable future. He was a patient man.

  But he would find out the truth. One way or another.

  “So what’s the plan?” he asked even though he’d already heard it from Ian.

  She blinked, clearly stunned that he was letting it go. And then she got that determined look that Valentina always used to get. The look that said she would move mountains to get what she wanted.

  “We wait for Ian to assemble a strike team. Then we go after Turov.”

  He snorted, folding his arms over his chest. “Not good at waiting, doll.”

  “I know that, but we have to.”

  He cocked his head. “How do you know? We’ve only just met.”

  She frowned, her gaze darting away. And then her jaw hardened and her eyes shot daggers at him. Daring him. “I told you that you were in danger and you stormed out anyway. I’d say you are not good at waiting for much of anything.”

  He couldn’t stop his eyes from caressing her curves on the way down. Back up again. “I can wait for some things. Anticipation intensifies the experience.”

  A red stain bloomed in her pale cheeks. She looked like she wanted to kill him. “Are you flirting with me?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  She shook her head so hard her black hair swung from side to side. It wasn’t the lush, sexy red hair of Valentina—but it suited her.

  “Nyet. It is distracting. Besides, you were Valentina’s lover. You cannot be mine.”

  “You sure about that?” He didn’t know why he was pressing her except that she got beneath his skin like a splinter and wouldn’t let up. She was an itch he wanted to scratch.

  And he didn’t trust her an inch, which was why he was so intent on confusing and overwhelming her. Keep her off center and she wouldn’t see what was coming if he had to eliminate her.

  He hoped he didn’t. His chest squeezed at the thought. But if she was working for the Russians in the end, he wouldn’t hesitate to destroy her if he had to.

  Pray to God he didn’t have to.

  She sauntered over to the couch and plopped down on it. “Yes, I am certain. It would be weird.”

  Now that was an interesting answer. “Weird? Why?”

  “Because I am not she, but you would pretend I was.”

  Yeah, he probably would. “Relax, Kat. I’m not actually interested. Just seeing how far you’re willing to go.”

  She snorted. “Go? I will go as far as I have to—but neither of us will let it get to that stage. You aren’t interested in a woman who isn’t Valentina, and I’m not interested in my sister’s discards.”

  That remark pissed him off. “Discards? Interesting way to put it. I was unaware that anything besides her disappearance put an end to what we had.”

  Kat shrugged, but she wouldn’t look at him. “She may have mentioned reservations. It was so long ago I do not remember.”

  Ice settled in his veins. “Nice try. I don’t believe you.”

  “So what is new about that?” she snapped.

  He didn’t get a chance to reply. The window shattered. Cotton sprayed into the air as a bullet slammed into the couch behind Kat’s head.

  Chapter 9

  Mark DeWitt stalked to the limo waiting outside the White House and threw himself inside. His chief of staff got in beside him and the door closed with a solid thunk. The car slid away from the curb. Mark took out his secure phone and then tossed it on the seat in disgust.

  Everything was going wrong. The president was angry. John Mendez was nowhere to be found. Sergei Turov was threatening to expose their relationship if Mendez and the Hostile Operations Team weren’t eliminated. The motherfuckers were on hiatus, which was the most Mark could manage at the moment. Turov had an almost pathological obsession with stopping them—and that was okay with Mark because it fit his plan perfectly.

  Except, without Mendez—without all the careful evidence he’d been seeding—he couldn’t get a confession of wrongdoing. Not that he expected Mendez would confess easily—but he would confess in the end, if only to spare his people from also enduring trials and convictions that would ruin them.

  Colonel Mendez was the sort of man to take the fall for others if it spared them pain. Which made him perfect for this project since he would also take the fall for the president—or so everyone would believe, which would make President Campbell look guilty as hell.

  “Have you spoken to our friend?” he asked his chief.

  It was too dangerous for Mark to take Turov’s calls these days, so they always communicated through an intermediary. Apparently, being vice president of the United States came with more scrutiny than a teenager watching a porno.

  Which meant that getting things done was more frustrating than Mark had ever imagined. But he’d been playing the long game and he could wait even longer. His ultimate goal was the presidency and all the power that came with it. He would get there. He had a plan.

  “I’ve heard from him. He is… concerned.” Gabe seemed uneasy. Mark didn’t doubt that he was. Talking to Sergei Turov was like talking to Satan himself these days. The cool and efficient second-in-command had taken over the organization after Grigori Androv was eliminated last year. And he had not been easy to deal with since. Gone were the days when Sergei had been the one taking orders. These days he tended to call the shots. It galled, but Mark would take care of that when he was president.

  “We’re all concerned,” he said.

  Mark had plans. Big plans. But until he found John Mendez and put him behind bars—where he would conveniently commit suicide at some point in the future—he couldn’t enact those plans.

  For the past several years, Mendez and HOT had been a thorn in his side. Every deal Mark made, whether for arms and ammunition or for information and allies, the Hostile Operations Team arrived like the goddamn cavalry and fucked it all up. He was sick of it. And he just flat out didn’t like the colonel. The man was arrogant. He’d put a damned HOT squad into the Tidal Basin in front of God and everyone and gotten away with it. Mark had lost a lot of money on the deal to kidnap Dr. Grace Campbell and force her to reveal her supervirus formula. The amount of money he’d have made selling a vaccine to counteract the virus—it still pissed him off when he thought about it.

  “He says he’ll send his own people to take care of the problem if we don’t,” Gabe said carefully.

  A mix of emotions punched through Mark at that news. Rage. Frustration. Fear. Goddammit, he had a plan!

  “Jesus.” Mark slapped the leather seat and gritted his teeth. “We can’t sit back and let our friend do what he wants. We have to take control of this thing or everything we’ve worked for will fail.”

  Again.

  Mark drummed his fingers against the leather, thinking. “It’s time we called the mercenary.”

  Gabe made a noise.

  Mark fixed him with a stare. “Problem?”

  “No, sir. It’s just that Black is dangerous, sir. Especially now.”

  Meaning how carefully they were watched now that Mark was the vice president.

  “I don’t think we have a choice,” Mark said. “Call him. I want to see him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Kat’s heart was about to burst from her chest. One second she’d been staring at Johnny and lying her ass off about how she’d once felt, and the next the couch had exploded behind her. Now she lay on the floor with Johnny’s big body pressing her into the cushions of the tumbled couch, his solid weight inundating her with memories she’d tried to repress.

  “We have to go,” he said. “Now.”

  He pushed to a crouch and dragged her with him. There’d been no other shots fired, but that didn’t mean someone wasn’t out there. Watching. Waiting.

  Where had they fired from? A roof, probably. Worse, how had they found this place?

  She crab-walked to the corner where she’d set her backpack and grabbed it. She’d been staying here for a couple of weeks now and she had belongings, but she was going to have to le
ave them. Not the first time. Probably not the last.

  Kat pulled her Glock from the holster and racked the slide. Johnny motioned to one of the intact windows on the same wall. “Hold a pillow up there. See if he fires.”

  She hesitated for half a second, then decided now wasn’t the time to argue over who was in charge. There’d be time for that later. She hoped. “What are you going to do?”

  “Look for movement.”

  Dangerous. He had to time it right or he’d be the one to take the bullet if the sniper changed his shot. “Be careful.”

  “Yeah. Now get a pillow and hold it up when I tell you.”

  She reached for one of the pillows littering the floor and waited for his signal. He moved toward the disintegrated window. Glass crunched beneath his knees. She prayed he didn’t slice himself to ribbons. That wouldn’t be helpful at all.

  He lifted himself beside the casing and shot her a look. “Now.”

  Kat arced the pillow across the window. Whoever was out there would need to think it was a person moving. She dropped it—and the window shattered as a bullet slammed into it. These windows were older, not double-paned, and they didn’t react well to projectiles. She scrambled away, hands over her head as glass rained down on her.

  Johnny returned fire, getting off several rounds in rapid succession. When he emptied the magazine, he produced another one and shoved it into the weapon. She would have been impressed, but she expected nothing less from him.

  He threw her a hot look, one laced with determination and fury. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They scrambled for a window on the opposite wall, throwing it open and dropping down onto the gallery. This one didn’t have a staircase down to the street, but thankfully there were no spikes preventing them from swinging over and shimmying down the railing. Some of the galleries had long spikes that pointed upward, supposedly to prevent randy men from getting to the owners’ virginal daughters back in the day. She was thankful this gallery wasn’t one of those.