Delta_Ricochet

by Cristin Harber

  A luxury sedan rolled down the street as if Colin’s words had jinxed their luck. “Dammit, you’re going to get us arrested.” Neither hid their weapon from plain site, and she wasn’t going to be the one to start. “What, you two are un-arrest-able?”

  “In a way,” Deacon laughed.

  “God, you’re a dick.” But Colin didn’t lower his gun.

  The fancy car pulled into the driveway across the street, not bothering to open the garage. What luck.

  Colin and Deacon growled their pointless conversation of death threats and accusations, nearly ignoring her by now as Adelia watched a woman get out of her car and casually unloaded a bag from the backseat, seemingly unaware of the two lone wolfs ready to duel thirty yards away. She narrowed her gaze as the woman crouched in her dark jeans and flat boots, boot much like hers, and fussed inside an oversized bag.

  A late-model Ford Bronco with out-of-state plates turned down the street and drove by. It went several houses down and then turn into a driveway, pulling out and parking along the sidewalk facing the direction it came.

  Her pulse picked up with the sweet kick of adrenaline.

  The side conversation next to her devolved into accusations about South America and fake deaths, CIA spies and general name calling, and she couldn’t figure out if this was some military op, deep-cover style of therapy, or if these two were going to shoot each other dead simultaneously.

  But… she didn’t care. The air tickled with tension. The woman across the street hadn’t gone inside her house yet, and maybe Adelia was paranoid but— no. “Colin.” A rocket-powered grenade launcher was cradled in the woman’s arms as its shopping bag cover fell away. “Colin.” Her subconscious picked a side. “Colin!”

  Deacon and Colin turned, simultaneously snapping, “What!”

  What was that? Choreographed? Their bitching must’ve been black ops therapy, but she wasn’t sticking around to die. Adelia ran as hard and fast as she could.

  Their ‘oh fuck’s trailed as the grenade launcher watched long enough to see that Adelia was hauling ass before she let that baby blast.

  The grenade whined and hit. The reverb rolled Adelia, tripping her half in the road, half draped over the curb. Her gun clattered from her hand, and she realized her duffel bag was by the house.

  But the house! Flames jumped from the hole, and ears aching, she wiped at her eyes. Where was Colin? And what the hell kind of military strategy was that?

  It wasn’t. She pushed up, knowing everything there was to know about Mayhem when they didn’t know what to do. Blow shit up.

  Movement caught out of the corner of her eyes. Colin and Deacon were on the ground, the far side of the yard, beating the hell out of each other like they were in high school. What the hell was going on?

  She locked eyes with the woman from the driveway then the Bronco raced down the street. The passenger door flew open for the grenade-launching woman to jump in. She hung out the window and laughed. “Your brother says never to make him call us again.”

  Then car keys skittered in front of Adelia as the Bronco door shut and peeled wheels.

  Javier called Mayhem? For what… what the hell was that? A hit on a safe house? Delta’s safe house! She was halfway off her knees when her peripheral vision caught Deacon and Colin. Their attention was back on her, and they raced her way. “Shit.”

  She grabbed the keys and—

  “Go, go, go,” Colin shouted.

  Or was that ‘no, no, no’? Adelia didn’t care anymore. The ladies behind Mayhem handed her a distraction and a getaway vehicle.

  Adelia hauled ass toward the car and threw herself into the driver’s seat, her hands hurriedly slapped for a place to insert the key.

  It was like a knob. Simply a circle that said start. “Well, what the hell. Start!” She pressed the button while jamming the brake, and the engine roared to life. “Hell, yes!”

  Adelia blindly pushed a paddle shifter for reverse, and not making it all the way into the street, half way circled through the grass, rumbling over the curb, and bounced down onto the street before she smacked the shifter again and sat upright, pressing her foot to the floorboard as the gas pedal made this baby burn rubber.

  “Yes! Yes,” she cried while gripping the steering wheel and trying to contain a fishtail.

  Her heartbeat galloped, and the adrenaline high was a spike like she had never known. She wanted to call Javier, wanted to talk to Colin. Adelia needed her connections—then realized how alone she was again.

  Turn after turn, she worked her way out of the neighborhood and into the city. She had nowhere to go, no one to trust, and no idea what to do next. Minutes ticked by, and her full fuel tank slowly started to show how aimlessly her time had been spent.

  Finally, Adelia stopped at a gas station and put the car in park. She let her fingers trace the detail work with the stitching and thick fabrics mixed with rich leathers. She played with the roof that opened and closed and listened to more radio stations with different music than she knew existed, wondering how small her world was and how much smaller it would’ve been if she had never left the tiny village in which she had been born.

  The glove box had a manual that was thicker than most textbooks she had in high school. The car could send a text message for her. It could read her emails aloud. It had games, and if she gave it a credit card, and if she was in the right state, it would even gamble for her, play the lotto. If she had kids, they could watch movies. Her butt could be warmed in the winter, and the car started remotely. She could even program it to say good morning to her. There were multiple options for greetings.

  But what she wanted to do was show this to Colin, joke about it with him, laugh, and hold his hand. She wanted to see his smile and watch his blue, blue eyes. It didn’t have to be this car. If they had left her the Bronco, she would want the same thing. The trimmings and trappings of luxury items weren’t much if she didn’t have him to share them with.

  Adelia turned the car off with the touch of a button and went inside to use the restroom. Her fingers were crossed that it would be clean, and her stomach growled loud enough that she hoped it would be busy enough that sliding a granola bar in her hoodie sleeve would be possible.

  The automatic doors slid open as she walked in, and not that it probably mattered, but she kept her head down when she saw the security camera. It wasn’t that she cared about the cashier or a problem with shoplifting, but she didn’t know how well the people who were looking for her could tap into technology. She had watched enough TV to know that facial recognition through video cameras was possible, at least on TV shows.

  Crossing her fingers worked, and the bathrooms were clean. There was enough foot traffic and distractions that she was also able to grab a granola bar. Magazines lined the racks as she headed out on one side. On the other side was a stack of daily papers.

  Gloria Astor’s smug face covered most of them. Adelia couldn’t walk by without sneering. But it was the headline that killed her. Humanitarian of the decade. “The decade isn’t even over.” Disgust ripped through her as she picked up the closest national paper.

  If the headline wasn’t enough to make her sick, the copy made bile slosh in her stomach. It was as though the Astor family PR machine had gone into overdrive. Praise upon praise was lauded on Gloria for all she had done for human rights, especially for young women.

  Adelia wanted to scream. It wasn’t just a farce; it was a lie, more than a lie, a slap in the face of everyone who actually was doing excellent work. And she was accepting an award for her efforts…tonight.

  Suddenly, Adelia wasn’t lonely or hungry or missing her man. She was a woman who had one last job in her before all the plays that were already in motion—Mayhem or Titan or whoever this Deacon fellow was—fell into place.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Colin glared at the beautiful sky marred by black billowing smoke clouds. If there was ever a chance of getting a promotion, it was gone. Not because of how he’d han
dled anything up until this point, but because he and Deacon had gone to blows.

  Not the smartest move when recovering from surgery but lately, he hadn’t made the smartest decisions.

  Like letting Deacon live. Though it wasn’t like Colin could shoot him unprovoked. The pressure building in his chest was too much to take. There was so much bad history that Deacon had been responsible for in his life, and now that he was angling for his girlfriend, Colin had snapped and cold-clocked the fucker.

  Damn it felt good. Until he remembered that he had a hole in his side and was only a few days out from surgery. Then it hurt like he couldn’t believe. But the throbbing pain that had almost taken on a life of its own wasn’t his problem. Colin had taken his eyes off the prize, and that was keeping Adelia safe. All because Deacon, who had once been a confirmed kill by the CIA, who likely had a star on the wall, was very much not dead.

  Deacon’s deep laughter rumbled. “Think I needed that.”

  “Fuck you.” Colin’s side had its own pulse, and he focused on breathing to calm his heartrate.

  “Ah, give it a break man.”

  Finally, his pain levelled off, and he tore his gaze from the smoky sky. “That’s neat some trick.”

  Deacon stroked his chin. “I’m like Houdini.”

  “If Houdini was an asshole that everyone wants dead.” Colin couldn’t imagine how or why this was happening, but he did know they needed to move boots. He walked off the grass and Deacon fell in stride with him as they both tucked their weapons away. “Where the hell have you been for the past two years?”

  “I’m in the private sector now.” Deacon wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Surprised the all-powerful Delta team hadn’t been briefed.”

  Colin scowled. “Why am I not surprised?”

  Sirens blasted in the distance. One of the perks of this neighborhood was that the traffic flow was easy to control. It also meant that they could hear the cops long before they arrived. He wondered how many neighbors had watched from their showdown the safety of their houses, and what Titan HQ would have to do to clean it up. Colin pinched the bridge of his nose. Forget a promotion. He might be demoted to Bacon’s intern.

  “Whose side are you on?” Colin asked.

  “Payroll would be a better question.”

  He ground his back molars. “You’re working for Mayhem?”

  “I work for everyone if the price is right.”

  “Those fucking assholes.” There wasn’t a reason to let Deacon live. Yet, Colin didn’t have a reason to murder the man, and now they were walking down the street like best buds sharing best practices and there wasn’t a burning house behind them. “What do you want with Adelia?”

  “I want to know what she knows.”

  “Know? Adelia?” Colin snorted. “Mayhem wants her dead. I’m surprised you didn’t take her out, no small talk.”

  “Well,” Deacon mumbled. “I like to switch it up sometimes.”

  “Aren’t you the creative bastard?”

  “Keeps me fresh on my toes.”

  “Yeah, I bet.”

  “You can’t figure what to make of me right now, can you?” Deacon snickered. “Don’t blame you.”

  They slowed along their sidewalk escape, two standout peas in a suburban manicured pod. The fire and ambulance sirens they’d heard in the distance now raced down the well-maintained street—and Colin stopped, his side throbbing. “Did you shoot me, asshole?”

  Deacon laughed. “Think you’d be alive if I put my cross-hairs on you?”

  Fair enough. Adelia didn’t believe Mayhem shot him, and she’d offered a decent argument. Deacon denied shooting him, and he was the kind of jackass who would own his shots. Who else was there?

  “What are you muttering about? Or are your pain meds wearing off?”

  His eyes narrowed but he pushed to catch up again. “What the hell is going on?”

  The ex-agent’s laugh boomed. “Now we’re partners?”

  Another round of cop cars raced down the block. Mayhem had to use a grenade launcher, didn’t they? He grimaced as they turned the corner, hoping he seemed more annoyed than in pain. Maybe his glue, not stitches, needed a little TLC, or maybe he was in a bad mood because a grenade just hit the safe house. When Jared got word about that… Colin didn’t want to be in the room. Boss Man was going to lose his shit over a house exploding on a job that wasn’t a job that involved a guy everyone hated who was dead! “You know everything there is to know?”

  Deacon harrumphed. “More than you.”

  “You don’t know shit.” Sweat tickled Colin’s back. He wanted in his car. The need to sit down and catch his breath was kicking his ass almost as much as it was blinding him with pain. How long did recovery take?

  “You didn’t know I was alive.” Deacon scoffed. “Let’s assume I’m two steps ahead of you.”

  Let’s assume you’re a first-class dick. But Colin bit his tongue—literally—hoping to pull the pain from his side to anywhere else in his body.

  A sign of relief graced them. “There’s my car.”

  “Good.” Deacon grumbled. “For a minute, I thought I’d have to carry your lame ass.”

  “Don’t shoot me next time, and we won’t have this problem.” Colin gritted his teeth.

  “You’ve got to work on your interrogation methods if you hope to get anything out of me.”

  “Screw off.” He approached the driver’s door as Deacon rounded the passenger door. “What? Am I giving you a ride somewhere?”

  Deacon laid his elbows on the top of the car. “Why’s Delta running you around, alone?”

  “They aren’t. I took leave.” He unlocked the doors, leaving off the fact that Titan Group had hooked him up with gadgets, guns, a medical team, and a safe house which was now on fire.

  Deacon’s deep laugh boomed. “Let me get this straight.”

  Colin didn’t care about his ability to regurgitate facts, but his eyebrows lifted when Deacon got in the passenger seat. “Sure, get in. We’re all friends here.”

  He gave Colin a middle finger before shutting himself inside.

  If Colin had a thousand opportunities to list the day’s events, he never would have strung together the sentence ‘Deacon Lanes flipped me off after a grenade failed to kill us.’ Not even if he had a million opportunities. Colin got into the driver’s seat, shaking his head.

  “Not a bad ride,” Deacon said. “All right. You’re rogue, and Adelia is hiding from Mayhem.”

  “Good summary.” He turned the car over.

  “Yet, you’re not sure what I’m up to?” Deacon snorted.

  “Other than annoying the crap out of me…”

  “Man, it should not have taken me so long to come back to work in the US.” Deacon slapped his leg and another police car drove by. “Where we going? Let’s go.”

  “I’ve been trying to figure out whether or not I’m going to shoot you.” Colin cocked his head. “Why am I going to give you a lift?”

  “Because I don’t work for Mayhem, and there’s a damn good chance I’m the reason they want her dead.”

  It was like the most-hated dead spy from the CIA knew how to up his hateful quotient.

  “I thought you’d have something to say about that,” Deacon pushed.

  “Don’t speak. Not another damn word.”

  Deacon’s lips curled with the pleasure of a sadist. “I work for Richard Delano.”

  Colin almost told him to shut it, but the name rang a bell. “Astor’s head of security?”

  He nodded. “And Delta is under contract for Astor.”

  Colin wouldn’t confirm anything to Deacon. “Why would Delano hire you?”

  “Why would he shoot you?” Deacon lobbed back.

  “Me?” He was the target? “What are you talking about?”

  “Use that brain, Colin. You come from good stock, great training—”

  Colin wrapped his hand to Deacon’s carotid artery faster than the bastard could drop his sm
art-ass lines. “Never.” He squeezed. “Talk about my parents.” Then he released. “Understand?”

  Deacon smirked and gave his neck a quick rub. “Not a bad move, but that doesn’t change anything.”

  Colin swore under his breath. “Why shoot me? No one knows me.”

  “You are a walking, talking bodyguard if I ever saw one.”

  Deacon wanted to talk to Adelia. If Richard did too? They’d take him out to expose Adelia.

  “Now he’s starting to see things in a different light,” Deacon said. “She should’ve listened to me.”

  Colin’s blood ran cold. He didn’t understand “About what?”

  “Start driving to New York.”

  “The fuck I will.” He didn’t move.

  “Delta’s protecting Gloria Astor.”

  “I know.” And Colin guessed that Deacon knew from Richard.

  “Adelia’s the threat.”

  Colin’s mind stumbled through everything that Adelia had tried to tell him, that he’d batted away, and the size of the Astor empire. “What are you talking about? Gloria Astor’s threat was direct and local.”

  “It was direct but not local.”

  “The threat was local—” Because that was what Gloria believed. Any number of factors could have influenced why she believed that, starting with as simple as someone said they were somewhere they weren’t.

  “Delta team will do whatever it takes to keep their asset alive.” Deacon paused to let the truth that Colin knew well sink in. “You may just be realizing an ugly truth, but they won’t know.”

  He could warn them—about what? He knew nothing. And even when someone who knew what might be—or was—real, he was skeptical. Even his subconscious found itself twisted in uncertainty.

  “There’s nothing you can do to stop her,” Deacon said in a low rumble. “Whatever her story is, you know more than I do.”

  Adelia had been triggered. He could get to her before she did something that she might regret. That would cause Delta to react—or Astor’s personal security. Colin wasn’t aware of their team. He was off the job. Essentially, he knew nothing.

  Colin swallowed his doubt and lifted his chin. “Jared and my boss will handle it. I read them in already. It’s covered.”