by Dani Pettrey
Bullets ricocheted off the metal platform above.
Tanner moved quickly, the muscles in her slender arms toner than he’d realized. She was strong, hanging from the rails until she jumped three feet across an opening that led straight down to the pavement nine stories below.
A bullet pinged off the bar above Declan’s hand, and with a gigantic leap he followed Tanner across the divide. She covered him with fire as he landed on the shifting platform. He found purchase and grabbed Tanner by her arm. “Let’s go.”
Only two men were on the fire escape, which meant others were likely racing to meet them once they reached the ground. They needed to speed up their descent. Once within a safe distance from the ground, Declan tugged Tanner toward him, cradling her waist and holding her tight.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaping,” he said, his heart feeling as if it was jumping off far more than just the fire escape.
They landed on the pavement, the soles of Declan’s shoes making contact first, his knees slightly bent to cushion the jar of the jump. Not wanting to let go of Tanner, he forced himself to set her down. Her eyes met his and she blinked quickly.
“Your six!” she hollered.
Declan spun around in time to see two men rounding the backside of the building.
He scanned the alleyway. An SV650 Suzuki motorcycle sat parked fifty feet away.
He nodded in its direction, and they raced for it.
“You know how to drive one of these?” Tanner asked, having never seen straight-laced Declan on a motorcycle.
He hot-wired it while she covered them with fire, and within a matter of seconds they were speeding out of the north end of the alley and onto Pratt Street, horns blaring as Declan maneuvered his way into oncoming traffic.
It was all wrong. She’d gotten her friend killed and then just left her. Logically, it was what had to happen. Loath as she was to admit it, she knew Declan was right. If they’d stayed, they’d most likely be dead, but that was exactly why she’d left her past life—so she didn’t have to make choices like this.
She knew in her gut she never should have let Declan come along, regardless of what her new boss ordered. She should have walked away instead of compromising Mira’s safety. Declan had promised he wasn’t followed, promised Mira would be safe, and he was wrong. But ultimately, the guilt was hers to bear. She’d gotten her friend killed.
A black SUV came barreling behind them down the three-lane one-way road, and Declan rolled on the throttle, swerving masterfully between the cars stacked up at the red light. Tanner braced herself for the sudden stop, certain he wasn’t going to run it. And yet he did. Veering through cross traffic, again to the blaring of horns and several hollers, he weaved his way to the other side, the SUV swerving to the right and jumping onto the sidewalk to avoid oncoming traffic stopped at the light.
When they reached the next light, Declan yelled, “Hold on, this one’s gonna be tight!”
This one? She tightened her hold around his waist, careful not to put any pressure on his bleeding, glass-covered back.
He opened the throttle and nearly soared through the intersection, the engine roaring as he continued to weave his way through oncoming traffic.
With a screeching of tires, the SUV slammed to a stop. Tanner looked back to see the bald driver hollering something as he hit the steering wheel. There was no sidewalk for him to swerve onto this time. He blasted the horn, but nobody moved. She had no doubt, however, that as soon as the light changed and traffic loosened up, the SUV would be coming after them.
A couple of blocks later Declan’s knee hovered a mere inch above the ground as he banked hard left into an alley, making a superior turn. He straightened, gliding around obstacles blocking their path as if he’d designed the course, but moments later the SUV turned into the alleyway, tires squealing, ramming and knocking over the boxes and crates Declan had so masterfully weaved around.
“They’re still behind us!”
He banked hard left onto Fleet Street, his bike again nearly horizontal to the ground at a forty-degree angle to the pavement, his Docker-covered knee nearly breezing the asphalt.
The SUV followed, its wheel rims sparking off the brick of the building as it tore out of the nearly too narrow space.
“Time to lose them for good.” Declan revved the engine, shifted direction, and headed for the waterfront industrial area, making a right onto Boston Street and then another right a half a mile up onto the railroad path. He ran along the rocks beside the track as a train blistered past. Tanner’s hair whipped about her face as the train wheels clanged, reverberating in her ears and chest just barely over the motorcycle’s roar.
The rock path was too narrow for the SUV to fit. It had to wait for the train to pass, and thankfully it was a long one.
Two men climbed out and took off on foot behind them as the SUV reversed, no doubt searching for a parallel route.
Declan swerved right into an opening she feared even they wouldn’t make it through and came out into a marina industrial park.
He yelled at the guy stationed at the gate. “Hey, Bill, open the gate! We’ve got company coming.”
Bill opened the gate, and Declan sped through with a wave of thanks.
The gate slid shut behind them with a clang.
Declan pulled into a boat warehouse on their left and cut the engine. “We should be safe here. I’ll update backup and call local police to put an APB out on the SUV. Any chance you caught the license plate?”
“MCV-989.”
The beauty of Maryland. Front plates were required.
“Great job,” he said.
Great job? “Are you insane? We just got Mira killed!”
5
Declan followed Will Russel into his office, Tanner right behind him.
Will was the owner of the marina industrial park that sold, stored, and serviced boats. Will and Declan’s dad went way back—friends from a fishing gig when they were both young men starting out in the maritime business. Will had moved away from fishing and into selling boats, but after Dec’s dad retired last year, both men could still be found on the water each morning before dawn, ready to start their day with some fishing. Being on the water was their form of breathing. Just as his job had been his, until recently. Somehow thoughts of Tanner had crept into his mind, growing in intensity until he spent his days thinking of her—or the her he’d believed her to be.
“There’s a first-aid kit in the closet,” Will said. “Use the space as long as you need it.” He stepped out the door.
“Thanks, Will.”
Tanner stood with her back to Declan. He shut the door and stepped in front of her.
Tears streaked down her cheeks, her eyes puffy and red.
Without thinking, he pulled her into his embrace.
She pushed against his hold, but he didn’t release. She looked up defiantly, with pained anger clouding her beautiful eyes. “You got Mira killed, and I let it happen.”
“I’m sorry, Tanner, but we had no way of knowing—”
“I told you.” She pounded his chest. “I told you, and now she’s dead.” She stopped fighting his hold after a moment, sobs taking over, wracking her slender body.
He let her take her sorrow out on him. He deserved it. However it happened, Mira was dead because she’d talked to them. But . . . “No one followed us there. I’m sure of it.”
So how did they know?
She shook her head against his chest, finally leaning into him, letting him shoulder the weight of her grief. “So you’re saying it was just a coincidence?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Then what?” She swiped at her eyes in an attempt to stem her tears. Never had a woman’s tears cut so deep inside him. His heart was breaking for her, despite his disappointment over her hiding her past from him. There was no doubt Kate had run a background check when Tanner had shown up in their lives, so why hadn’t she told the gang?
He swallowed,
shaking off the thought. Now was not the time. Focus on Tanner—on what she needs. “They weren’t following us, so . . . they must have been watching Mira.” It was the only thing that made sense.
She looked up at him, and his heart melted. All he wanted to do was fix her pain. “No one knew where she lived except me and a few volunteers from my old job who helped move in furniture.”
“Maybe one of the volunteers worked for Ebeid.”
Her eyes widened. “What if you’re right? What if I led them there?”
He gently brushed a strand of hair from her cheeks. “You can’t blame yourself.”
Her shoulders drooped. “How can I not?”
“Because we both know Ebeid sent those men. They pulled the trigger. They killed her.”
“Because she talked to us.”
“And for that I’m so sorry.” He truly was. “But we were doing our job.”
“Believe me”—she swiped at her eyes again—“I know all about that.”
He arched a brow. “Your training?” He couldn’t wait to hear the truth about her past.
“I know I need to tell you, but I need a minute.” Her bottom lip quivered. “I just lost a good friend.”
He swallowed. “I’m sorry, Tanner. What can I do?”
“Just hold me,” she whispered, nuzzling back into his embrace.
He smoothed her hair as she rested her head on his chest. “There’s nothing I’d rather do,” he whispered in a moment of brutal honesty.
She gaped up at him, surprise flooding her face, but it couldn’t hold a candle to the shock that engulfed him as he cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand and lowered his mouth to hers.
Warmth radiated through him as she, defying all logic, kissed him back.
The exchange was soft . . . slow . . . tender, and all breath left his lungs until she jerked back, blinking up at him.
She shook her head as if shaking herself out of a fog. “What’s wrong with me?”
Definitely not the response he was hoping for, but given the circumstances . . .
“I just got my friend killed and I’m giving in to my feelings.”
He staggered back. “Your feelings?” She had feelings for him?
She took a deliberate step back, putting distance between them. “I shouldn’t . . . I can’t . . . Not now.”
He reined in his instinct to move closer and instead remained rooted in place, adrenaline burning his limbs.
She swiped a hand through her hair, shifting restlessly. “We need to get that glass out of your back and get back to Mira. We shouldn’t have left her alone.”
He nodded, still in shock. Tanner held feelings for him? He wasn’t the only one?
He cleared his throat, the taste of her strawberry lip gloss still on his lips. “I’ll make the necessary calls.” God would have to give him the focus to think straight. “We can take care of me later.”
“You have glass in your back.”
“I’ll be fine.”
She retrieved the first-aid kit from the closet. “Make your calls, and then I’m getting it out. I’ll work fast.”
“Fine, but on one condition,” he said.
She arched her brows.
“While you’re at it, you tell me who you really are.”
Tanner had known this day would come. She couldn’t hide from her past forever, couldn’t hide it from her friends any longer. Today was her day of reckoning. She prayed they didn’t feel differently about her afterward, but how could they not?
Declan started by calling the office and sending Tim Barrows and his team to Mira’s apartment. Then he called local police—who’d already sent a squad to the building after several neighbors reported gunfire—and lastly he called Parker to process the crime scene. By the time the two of them returned to Mira’s, everyone else would likely already be on-site.
When Declan finished his calls, Tanner sat behind him on a cold metal stool, took a deep breath, and focused her thoughts before clamping the first piece of glass with the tweezers. Her hand was finally steady after that kiss and the rush of emotions riddling through her. “This is going to sting.”
“I’ll be fine.”
She pulled the shard out, and he didn’t flinch. He wasn’t going to let her stall much longer, and in some way, it’d be a relief to get her secrets off her chest and see where things landed. She prayed they landed well. Declan and the entire gang had become her family over the last year. She couldn’t imagine losing them. Declan’s opinion in particular held far more weight than she’d expected.
“I’m from Israel,” she blurted out, seeing no way to be subtle at this point. Subtle had been lost the moment her ingrained defense response kicked in. The admission of her country of origin felt strange. She hadn’t spoken of it for so long, other than to the human resources division at the federal office where she now worked.
Declan, to her surprise, remained quiet and still, silently encouraging her to continue.
Taking another deep breath, she did. “My family—well, my parents and grandparents—still live there.”
“And you lived there until . . . ?” His tone was even, calm, despite the news she’d just dropped on him and the shards of glass she was pulling from his back. He was so steady. So strong.
“Until I was twenty and finished my mandatory service in the Israeli army.”
“So the skill set . . . ?”
“Mainly came from my time in the army.”
“Mainly?” he asked as she tweezed another sliver of glass from his right shoulder blade, trying to ignore the strength of the broad shoulder span she’d just been leaning on moments ago.
She exhaled, focusing on his question. “My father,” she said as she dropped the shard into the metal bowl she’d located, and it clanged on top the others.
She could almost sense his brows furrowing.
“Your father?” he asked, curiosity coloring his tone.
“He’s Mossad.” Basically Israeli CIA. Her father was an elite field agent. One of the top in the agency. “I’m his only child.” And unfortunately, a woman, as he liked to constantly remind her. “He began teaching me self-defense, combat, and shooting skills at a young age.” As far back as she could remember. “You must know how to defend yourself.”
“It was very important to him that I be self-sufficient, self-reliant.” And while she appreciated that, a little love and affection, a little nurturing would have been nice too, but her father appeared incapable of it, and her mother followed his lead.
“And you left because . . . ?”
She swallowed. “I wanted to come to school in the States.” She’d wanted a new life. “I had aunts and uncles and cousins living in Maryland, so I came to Towson University.” Carrying one suitcase on the plane, leaving her life and her domineering father behind. “I obtained my psychology degree and then went to work for the Global Justice Mission, then the Intercultural Resource Center, and now the Bureau.”
“To work for the Bureau you have to be an American citizen,” he said as she removed the last piece of glass from his back.
“I became an American citizen upon graduation from Towson. I knew even if I’d be traveling with my work with GJM, this was my home.” Now even more so since she’d met Declan and his friends.
“But your parents are still in Israel?” There was a deeper question there, since she’d already stated as much.
“Yes.”
He clearly wanted to ask more, and she knew precisely what he was getting at. Why had she left her homeland and her parents? What was the state of their relationship now? But he was kind enough, or just polite enough, to refrain from asking outright.
“Kate doesn’t miss this sort of thing in her background checks, and she’s not usually one to keep things quiet,” he said. Given the high-profile jobs they all had and the security surrounding them, background checks were routine.
“I asked her to keep it quiet.”
“She must have trusted you enough t
o do so.”
“She understood why I’d left that life behind.”
“Why did you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
He wanted to know the truth, the full truth, and after their kiss, she felt it only fair to tell him. If things were moving beyond friendship—or even if they weren’t—he deserved to know. In fact, it would be a great relief to finally stop carrying the secret.
“I left because I wanted to serve people in a different way, in a way that didn’t involve killing, but after today, I fear I am doomed to having death follow me.”
“Killing?” Surprise drenched his throaty voice.
“Because of my shooting skills, the army assigned me to sniper school.”
He turned, his eyes wide. “You were a sniper?”
“I know. Not me at all,” she said matter-of-factly. “Now take off your shirt.”
6
Declan’s brows shot up. “Excuse me?”
“I need to clean your wounds out, and most likely stitch a couple of the deeper ones. I can do it easier if your shirt is off.”
“Oh. Right. Of course.” He fumbled with his buttons but managed to get his shirt off and tossed it on the table.
She swallowed, trying not to gape. His torso was made for a gym poster. His rippling, sculpted muscles didn’t really come as a surprise, but the charcoal and cobalt howling wolf tattoo on his chest certainly did, along with a myriad of scars—a combination of bullet wounds and knife cuts and burns—all healed-over memories of injuries he’d endured on the job.
He retook the chair he’d been sitting in, his back to her, and she retook her seat, praying for focus.
Twenty minutes later they were back on the bike, Tanner’s arms wrapped around his waist as they made their way to Mira’s apartment.
Tanner, a sniper?
He struggled to picture the compassionate, loving woman he had come to admire serving as a sniper. It was a necessary job. Griffin had served as a sniper for the Baltimore Police Department SWAT team before transitioning into being a detective. Now Tanner’s occasional comments or hints of comradery with Griffin made sense. But it was no wonder she’d left that and eventually gone into helping combat sex trafficking with the Global Justice Mission. It gave her a chance to love on others and, on a soul level, that’s who she really was—the embodiment of compassion.