by Cynthia Eden
“I don’t want payment.” She wasn’t the first they’d saved. She wouldn’t be the last. His team was sent all over the world on missions. Often, they were sent in for extractions—when normal channels weren’t going to work and a rescue was vital. And sometimes, they were sent for kills. To take out targets that were imminent threats. They always worked outside of the law, and they never left evidence behind.
As far as the rest of the world was concerned, they were ghosts.
Actually, that was fucking true…considering that his team was composed of the dead.
Every single one of us died. Me, Maddox, Andreas…all of the other test subjects at the facility. We died, but they brought us back.
“Do you know who took you?” Maddox asked quietly.
Jett’s gaze cut to the front seat. Maddox wasn’t using headlights—the better to not attract the wrong kind of attention. They were on an old, graveled road, rushing back to town. To safety.
Maddox didn’t need the lights to spot trouble coming. Neither did Jett. The road around them was dead silent.
“I…I know,” Savannah said quietly.
This was new. And it was the development that their handler had hoped would happen.
“He was—the leader was Patrick Zane. I, um, I knew him. He was the one who came to take my finger.” She gave a long, tired sigh. “A few days ago, we were out together…at a bar in one of the casinos near the beach. He must have slipped something in my drink because when I woke up, I was in that room, tied to the chair.” Her words came quickly. Her fear pulsed just beneath the surface as she said once more, “I knew him.” A pause. “We’d been friends. We’d been dating.”
Fucking sonofabitch.
“And he was still going to hurt me.” She pulled her hand away from Jett. “I thought I could trust him. I thought I’d found someone safe.”
Maddox was silent, and Jett didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to say. It pissed him off that she’d been hurt. Made him want to destroy something—or someone. Too bad the fire had beat him to the punch.
“He was the one on the stairs,” she said after a moment. “He was the one I stabbed.”
***
Andreas stared at the flames. Bright orange and gold, stretching into the dark night. The house had erupted, and when the fire exploded, the glass from the windows had shot in all directions. Maddox knew how to place his detonators.
No one appeared from the wreckage. The men outside had been taken care of—knocked out, tied up, and left for the collection crew who’d eventually be coming for them, once Andreas was gone. And all traces of his team were gone.
The blast would burn hot and fast. He’d stay until it sputtered out, making sure that it didn’t spread anywhere else. Nothing was close to the old house, and there was no wind that night. The fire should die away, it should—
He heard the faint roar of an engine.
What in the hell? His head whipped to the right. A motorcycle shot out of an old shack, what he’d thought was just a storage building. It erupted into the night and surged right past him.
Then…
Another. Going just as fast. Only Andreas was leaping forward, roaring his fury because no way, no damn way should anyone have gotten out of that house. Not unless…
Sonofabitch! An escape tunnel. He should have considered that. They all should have considered it. These guys were professionals. They would have had a way to cover their asses, and a tunnel that led from the house to the shack—to the place where their motorcycles were stored…
Smart. Fucking smarter than he’d anticipated.
The second bike was close enough that he might be able to leap up and knock the driver off the cycle. With a burst of speed, Andreas attacked—
Only the bastard driving the bike just lifted his gun and fired right at Andreas. One hit to the chest. Bullet proof vest will cover me. Andreas didn’t slow down—
The second bullet hit him in the neck.
Fuck.
Andreas felt the blood burst from his neck. He fell on the ground, his hand flying up to his neck in a futile effort to stop the blood flow. It was pumping out too fast and too hard. This shit wasn’t good. He knew he was dying. He knew it.
But before the whole world bled away, he sent out a desperate call on the psychic link he shared with his team members.
Two men…got away. The warm blood poured down his neck, his chest. And I’m dead…
***
Two men…got away. The message blasted through Jett’s mind. And I’m dead…
“Fucking hell,” Maddox growled from the front seat. Jett knew he’d just gotten the message from Andreas, too. “Change of plans.” He slammed on the brakes.
Savannah lurched forward, but the seatbelt grabbed her and heaved her back.
Maddox spun to face them. “I’ll go back for Andreas. Stay with him until he…” Maddox didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. Until Andreas comes back. Because unless he’d taken a shot to the head, Andreas would be coming back. There was pretty much only one way to keep a Lazarus soldier down.
They were rather zombie-like that way.
“Get her to a doc. Get her checked out, and then keep her safe.” Maddox was the team leader, and the guy always loved to blast his orders. But Jett didn’t need to be told these things. He could figure shit out for himself.
“I’ll stay with her until I hear back from you,” Jett said flatly. Two men had escaped? That shouldn’t have happened. No damn way. He wasn’t about to risk Savannah. He’d guard her until those SOBs were caught.
With Lazarus on the job, it shouldn’t take long.
Maddox nodded once, grimly. Then he was gone. He jumped out of the SUV and raced into the dark.
“Uh…” Savannah coughed. “Did he just run away? I mean, I—”
“He had to go back for a team member.” Jett jumped out of the SUV. Hurried to the driver’s seat.
Savannah hopped from the back and climbed into the passenger seat. As she slammed her door, she turned to him, frowning, “On foot?”
He couldn’t tell her just how fast Lazarus super soldiers were. “He’s good at recon.”
He turned the key. Shot them forward.
“This other team member…” Worry whispered through her words. “Is he okay?”
No, he was dead. Hopefully, though, that was just a temporary condition. “Two men got away from the house.” Might as well tell her that part.
“How do you know?” Then he felt her hand on his cheek. Her silken fingertips. “Are you wearing a radio? One of those super tiny devices in an ear? All spy-like and covert?” Her voice dropped. “Are you a spy or something?”
“I’m something.” His hands tightened on the wheel.
Her fingers slid away from him. Why the hell did he miss her touch?
“Those two who got away…they won’t come after me.” Her words weren’t a question, but they also weren’t very steady. “They’ll run, won’t they?” Ah, now that was a question. A rather hopeful one.
“If they’re smart.” If they had any sense, they’d run as far and as fast as they could.
“You didn’t tell me if your other team member is okay.”
Lie. It was the only way. Though he hated to do it. “He’s fine.” He would be, maybe. Jett had tried contacting Andreas again, but only got darkness. Shit. It wasn’t the first time a team member had been killed on a mission. Jett had been taken out before, too. But it didn’t make things any easier.
How many times could you really cheat death?
They were almost back to the old highway. When they’d planned the retrieval, they’d originally intended to drop her off at a nearby hospital. With those two guys on the loose, there wouldn’t be any dropping off now, but Jett would damn well get her checked out. He’d stay at her side. Every single moment.
“Um, where, exactly, are we?”
“About an hour outside of Biloxi.”
“I should call my family. Let them know—
”
“You can’t call them. Not until I have a secure line for you to use.” The SUV hopped onto the highway. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with, and my priority is just you. Your safety has to come first. These bastards have gotten away with attacks before, and I have to make sure that they don’t come after you again.”
The road stretched before them. Long. Dark. Winding.
“Is my…my family is safe, right?”
They should be. “You’re the target.”
“You said ‘before’—that the men who took me had gotten away with attacks before.” She pulled in a deep breath. “I wasn’t the first victim?”
Hell. “No.”
“How many other victims?” Jett could hear the strain in her voice. “How many times has Patrick done this?”
“You’re victim number six.”
Her breath expelled in a gasp. “Those others—they all went home, didn’t they?”
He didn’t speak.
“Jett?”
“No, baby, none of the others ever made it home.” He risked a fast glance at her. “But you will. I swear it. Just trust me, and I’ll keep you safe.”
Chapter Three
“I need a doctor, now.” Jett’s booming voice filled the small ER.
And his shout got immediate action. A nurse leapt up from behind the check-in desk, and she rushed forward. Of course, the security guard was rushing forward, too. Probably because Jett looked so dangerous.
He wore all black, and his dark hair was heavy and thick. He was covered in ash, and Savannah realized that they both smelled like smoke.
He’d taken off his bullet proof vest at some point—she’d seen it in the back of the SUV, and now he stood there, glaring at everyone.
“Sir, what are your injuries?” The nurse’s eyes were sweeping over him.
And over Savannah. Because Jett was currently holding Savannah in his arms. Even though she’d insisted that she could walk. Her legs were fine.
“Her injuries. Her injuries are what matter,” Jett gritted as he carried Savannah to a nearby gurney. “I think she has a concussion. She’s also got lacerations on her wrists and ankles.”
She had scratches. Not deep lacerations. Savannah started to correct him but—
More nurses and some orderlies were rushing from the back of the ER. She and Jett were the only patients in the place. Must have been a slow night.
“We’ll take her back,” the nurse assured him. Her gaze was still mostly on Jett, and Savannah understood. In the light, she could see him clearly and he was…
Sexy.
In a hot, dangerous way. In a good way. In a way she’d really be appreciating if she weren’t currently in the middle of a nightmare.
“You’re injured!” The blonde nurse suddenly called out as she put her hand on Jett’s arm.
Savannah saw the blood there—and she remembered the bullets that had been flying on the stairs. The way Jett had fallen like a stone, utterly terrifying her because she’d thought he was dead.
But…
He’d said he was fine.
“You were shot?” Savannah gasped.
Jett’s dark eyes instantly flew to her. He stepped closer to the gurney. “Barely a graze.” He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I’m already healing.”
How could he be already healing? No one just magically started healing from a gunshot wound.
“I’ll take care of you,” the nurse assured Jett. “You come this way—”
He gave a hard, negative shake of his head. “No, I’m staying with her.”
“But—your injury! And there’s paperwork—”
“I’m staying with my wife.” His voice was low and lethal, but he leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to Savannah’s cheek. “Once she’s safe, once I know she’s okay, then I’ll handle the paperwork.”
Savannah didn’t think that was usually the way things worked.
“But I need to know her allergies!”
The others were wheeling Savannah back. Jett stayed at her side.
“Penicillin,” Jett threw back.
Savannah stiffened. How did he know that?
“And latex,” he added. “Otherwise, she’s good.”
Savannah blinked up at her “husband” in confusion. How did he know those things?
The ER treatment room doors swung open. A young doctor with close-cropped hair and glasses smiled at her. She didn’t smile back. Her heart was racing, and she found herself grabbing tight to Jett’s hand.
Someone shined a light in her eyes.
Someone else took her blood pressure.
Someone else barked, “What happened to her? How did she get these injuries?”
“Check her out first,” Jett growled. “Then we’ll explain everything.”
She looked down at her wrists. In the glaring light, the bruises appeared extra dark. The scratches were long, red. Her two wrists matched exactly. So did her ankles. And to her, it seemed pretty obvious that she’d gotten those injuries because she’d been tied up.
The team checking her out suddenly went quiet, and she knew they’d reached the same conclusion. The doctor nodded to a petite, dark-haired nurse. The nurse slipped away.
Probably to go call the cops.
“My head hurts,” Savannah murmured.
All eyes flew to her.
“Could you please check my head?” Because it was the only injury that worried her. “And can you do it…fast?” As in…before the cops arrived. Before the whole scene went straight-up crazy.
“Sir, you’ll need to step outside,” the doctor told Jett in a firm, authoritative voice.
Jett still held one of her hands. His head turned, and he stared at the doctor. Smiled and said, “Not fucking happening.”
The doctor swallowed. Started to sweat a bit.
“My wife,” Jett prompted. A lethal edge of command entered his voice as he snapped, “Now.”
The doctor jumped—and he got busy checking out her head.
***
“You have a mild concussion,” Dr. Francis Harris explained to Savannah after way too much poking and prodding. “You’ll need to take it easy and avoid strenuous activities for the next twenty-four hours. If your vision becomes blurred or if you have trouble speaking, you should immediately come back to the ER.”
She flexed her wrists. They’d been bandaged up. So had her ankles. She now wore a too-thin, paper hospital gown.
The doctor patted her hand. “You’re going to be—”
Jett growled.
The doctor snatched his fingers away from her. “You’ll be just fine, ma’am.” A nervous glance at Jett. “Just fine.”
“Thank you,” Jett murmured. “You can go now.”
The doctor blinked. He probably wasn’t used to being dismissed. He probably also wasn’t used to a woman appearing at—well, the clock said it was nearly 3 a.m.—with rope burns on her wrists and ankles.
The doctor hurriedly backed away. They weren’t in a private room, but were just in the open area of the small ER’s exam space. There were about six beds in that area, and she was the only occupant.
“The cops are waiting outside those doors,” Jett murmured as he moved closer to the bed. “They’ll want to question you and me. Now that the doc is done, they’ll be coming in here any moment.”
“What do I tell them? Do I tell them about Patrick? About—”
He scooped her into his arms again. “We’re not telling them a damn thing.”
“But—”
“Money will be sent to the hospital. They’ll be compensated for your care.” He was hurrying her toward a green door. Was it an exit door? “We’re getting the hell out of here because I’m not going to let the cops separate us.”
He kicked open the door without even slowing his steps. Behind them, though, she heard a voice call out, “Stop! You can’t go in there! Wait!”
He didn’t stop. He did go in there—into what turned out to be
a narrow hallway, not the exit. He rushed down the hallway. It twisted to the left, to the right, and then they hurried through another doorway. This one led them back to the ER’s waiting room. Actually, it spit them out right next to the check-in desk.
Cops were there, but the cops were heading for the swinging double doors that would take them back to the exam room. Their backs were turned to Jett and Savannah. Maybe she and Jett would be able to make it out without even being seen—
Then the blonde nurse erupted from the exam room. The double doors shot outward. “He’s taking her away!” She pointed toward Jett and Savannah.
So much for their sneaky get-away.
Jett cursed. And then he ran. Really, really fast. So fast that everything seemed to pass Savannah in a blur.
Wait, is this the blurred vision that the doc talked about?
In the next instant, she was in the passenger seat of the SUV. Buckled up. Jett had jumped into the driver’s seat. Cops ran out of the hospital. A security guard rushed in front of the SUV and tried to block their escape.
Jett just swerved around the security guard. He left the cops in his wake, blasting out of that parking lot with a squeal of his tires.
She glanced back. “They’re going to follow us.” Her heart was about to burst right out of her chest.
“They’re going to lose us,” he replied with utter confidence.
She realized he wasn’t using headlights. And that he seemed to know exactly where he was going. He drove fast and hard, pulling a total Vin Diesel, and in moments, there was nothing behind them but darkness.
“Wh-what if they got the tag number?”
“It’s a stolen tag. Won’t do them any good. They won’t find you.”
Goosebumps rose on her arms. Was that what the good guy was supposed to say? That he was using a stolen tag? That the cops wouldn’t find her?
Was a good guy supposed to rush her out of a hospital and not stop to answer the questions that the cops had?
Cops were…they were safe. They were the ones you were supposed to turn to when things got crazy. Or when you’d been, you know, kidnapped.