Dangerous Liaisons

by Tarah Scott

  She hadn’t said she was wanted for a crime. What did he know about her? “I told you I was sorry you got mixed up in this.” She started for the door. “Next time, mind your own business.” Cole started to follow, but stopped when she whirled. “Where are my shoes?”

  He circled the bed and pulled the sneakers from under the chair. He tossed them at her. Jesse caught them without taking her eyes off him. They stared at one another for a moment, then she sat down on a stool by the door, gripped the scalpel in her teeth, and slipped on the sneakers.

  Grabbing the knife, she rose. “Stay here.”

  Jesse pressed an ear against the door, and listened. Nothing. She grasped the doorknob and turned. The latch clicked free and she opened the door half an inch. Their examination room lay at the end of a hallway, with two doors on the left, and one farther down on the right. The hallway then made a sharp right turn. Jesse glanced at the bottom of the doors on the left and right. No shadows blocked the natural light that spilled beneath them.

  “Lancelot,” she called softly, patting her uninjured leg. The dog trotted to her side. “Come on, boy,” she whispered, “let’s see if you can sniff out any rats.” She sensed Cole’s approach and glanced back. “Stay put.”

  He mumbled something under his breath, but halted. Jesse sighed. Blue Team operatives generally worked alone. On occasion, teams were assembled for assignments outside the charter. She had commanded such a mission and the men hadn’t taken to a female leader. She could imagine how Cole must feel. He probably hadn’t imagined a woman like her existed, much less considered the possibility he’d take orders from one.

  Lancelot followed her as they approached the first door on the left. The dog remained calm. They neared the second door, and still no growls. The same with the last door on the right. She looked back at Cole and motioned for him to follow.

  He reached her side and bent his ear so close his breath washed over her cheek as she whispered, “Wait here. I’ll see what’s ahead.”

  He straightened and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and brows raised. Jesse grasped Lancelot’s collar and started forward. They reached the end of the hall. She stopped and peered around the edge of the wall. Straight ahead, half of the waiting room lay visible. She spotted the building’s main entrance. Where was the other exit? Jesse glanced at the dog. He remained impassive. She waved Cole forward. He tread lightly in those damned cowboy boots and came up alongside.

  “Don’t you think you’re overdoing this?” he whispered.

  “Where’s the other door?” she demanded.

  He motioned to the waiting room wall not visible from her position. “There’s an employee’s entrance in the secretary’s office.”

  “Can we enter the office through the waiting room?”

  He nodded.

  The employee’s entrance sounded better than the front door. “Let’s go.”

  They crept into the waiting room, then toward the secretary’s office. If they made it out the back, the men would follow. Would they come back for Rayburn? His would be a publicity-generating death. Maybe they wouldn’t take the risk. Or maybe he was already dead. She repressed a grimace when her empty stomach burned with stress.

  They made it through the waiting room and into the office.

  “I don’t think there’s anybody here,” Cole whispered.

  “They’re here,” Jesse replied. “When we open this door, where are we?”

  “There’s a small parking lot and a path connecting the office with the house.”

  Jesse released a frustrated breath. An open parking lot and back yard. “Stay here.”

  She started for the door, but got only three steps when Lancelot growled, then barked. Jesse lunged against the wall two feet from the door. Pain flashed up her leg.

  The door swung open, banging the wall inches from her shoulder. The muzzle of a Romanian Ratmil nine millimeter poked into the room.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jesse’s heart leaped into a furious rhythm. The weapon had a three round burst capability. Who the hell were they expecting? Then she realized: her.

  Cole dove into the waiting room and rolled from view as expertly as any professional. Lancelot lunged forward at the same time Jesse swung the door closed. The Shepherd skidded to a halt as she slammed the door on the shooter’s arm. The man held tight to the weapon and Jesse heaved her weight against the door. He grunted and yanked in an effort to free himself. Three shots zipped past her ear and through the waiting room wall. She winced. Her heart beat faster, irritating the dull pain spreading through her injured shoulder.

  Lancelot barked with breathless intensity. Jesse grabbed the gun muzzle, shoving as she kicked the door open. The shooter stumbled backwards. He crashed onto his back still gripping the nine-millimeter. Lancelot charged past and pounced on him, locking the man’s free arm in a canine grip. She rushed forward as the intruder leveled the nine millimeter on her. She kicked, catching the barrel’s edge. The gun twisted from his grip.

  Jesse glimpsed tall, thick junipers lining the concrete walkway to the right as she yanked Lancelot back. She dropped to a squat, ignoring the tearing of her stitched leg, and seized the man’s hair.

  She pressed the scalpel to his throat. “Who the hell are you?” His eyes widened. Jesse dug the knife in. Blood trickled down his neck. Leaning in closer, she said, “The dog wants you bad, and if you don’t tell me what—”

  Lancelot turned, his lip peeling back in a ferocious growl. He sprang over them and darted into the juniper bushes. Jesse bore down on the man’s chest with her knee, then chopped hard on his vegas nerve with the side of her hand. He went limp. She wrenched her attention to the thrashing, growling junipers.

  A man shrieked, then three rapid shots. Lancelot let out a loud yelp. Jesse leaped to her feet. Where the hell was Cole? She glanced at the open office door. Lancelot gave a high pierced cry, then the snarling and terror sounds of man and beast suddenly stopped. She dashed for the bushes, but skidded to a halt when the dog shot into the open. A man vaulted from the bushes and collided with her. She stabbed him with the knife, feeling the blade strike rib-bone.

  He fell back, but leveled his Ratmil at her. She ducked, lunged forward, and tackled him. She chopped the nerve bundle at the shoulder of his gun-arm. His arm went limp, but he still managed to grip the weapon. She straddled his waist, grappling for the gun. An instant later, Lancelot’s booming bark rang in her ear. The Shepherd snapped and caught her opponent’s sleeve in his teeth. The man swung his gun, landing a hard blow across Lancelot’s shoulder, but the dog held tight. Jesse blocked the next blow, using momentum to twist the man’s arm around and pin it to the ground beside his ear.

  A sudden jolt struck her back, and she toppled forward, breast-first across his face. The bastard had kneed her! His teeth grazed the soft flesh below her neck. She bolted upright and raised the scalpel to strike. Lancelot released him and backed up, growling. Movement in the corner of her eye jerked Jesse’s gaze to the right. A boot slammed into her temple.

  Black spots raced across her vision. Blurry movement registered again. She lashed out with a fist and contacted hard flesh. The man beneath her bucked, lifting her inches off his abdomen. Lancelot dove forward, nipping the man’s cheek. The man who had kicked her aimed at the dog.

  “No!” Jesse cried in unison with a masculine voice. Cole.

  The gun fired in a burst of three. Lancelot squealed and collapsed, blood seeping from his chest. Jesse lunged for the shooter and pummeled him with four punches before he hit the ground. The nine-millimeter skittered off into the grass. Cole rushed past and landed on the man she had left on the ground.

  “You killed the dog!” Jesse shouted at the killer. She snap-kicked his ribs and felt a satisfying crack of bone. He started to roll away. She grabbed his collar and yanked him off the ground. “You son-of-a-bitch!”

  His fist struck her ribs. Jesse lashed out with an elbow strike to his cheek. His head twisted right.
She grabbed his hair. “I told Lanton what I would do to the person who sent our men to be slaughtered.” Jesse cuffed him hard enough to pull his hair free of her grip. He landed on his back and looked up with dazed eyes. “He let that little girl die, too.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Cole rising from the other unmoving thug. Jesse circled Lancelot’s murderer as he blundered to his hands and knees. “Now he adds the dog to his list of sins. I hope the two million pays for all the trouble I’m going to give him.” She stopped before the thug’s sagging head. “Go tell that bastard I’m coming for him.” She swung her fist as if pitching a softball underhanded, and caught him under the jaw. The man fell back, limp.

  Jesse spun, dashed the few paces to Lancelot, and dropped to her knees at his side. She shoved her hands into his fur. His body felt warm—too warm.

  She slid her arms beneath him and started to rise. An iron grip closed over her shoulder. She sprang to her feet, punched blindly, but missed Cole as he jumped clear. Their gazes locked.

  “He’s dead,” Cole said in an even voice.

  Chapter Twelve

  Who was dead? Jesse flicked her eyes to the man she’d straddled. In her rage, she’d forgotten him. He lay flat on his back still breathing. Cole was talking about Lancelot. She dropped her gaze to his motionless body. Why was she so upset about a dog? Because Lancelot hadn’t done a damn thing. Neither had Maria or—

  “What do you know about Maria Hamilton?”

  Jesse wrenched her gaze back to Cole. “What?”

  Had he read her mind? She couldn’t think. Her mind whirled with the easy chase from Colombia—too easy, she suddenly realized. And the hole in the Bank of America vault where Amanda’s papers had been. It was almost as if…as if someone was saying we know about her and we’re closer than you think.

  “Maria Hamilton,” Cole insisted. “How do you know about her?”

  Jesse stared. His words, spoken in English, held no meaning.

  “What do you mean I told Lanton what I would do to the person who sent our men to be slaughtered?” Cole continued.

  “What?”

  His face tightened. “You said, I told Lanton what I would do to the person who sent our men to be slaughtered.”

  Jesse gave her head a hard shake. Cole spoke with a clarity which said he knew Lanton, knew about Senator Hamilton, knew about Maria. Jesse’s mind clicked over and she felt the freight train that had hit her when Lancelot fell make another run over her chest. She focused on Cole. He didn’t just happen to pass by the alley.

  “How do you know anything about Lanton or Maria?” she said. Cole’s mouth opened, but Jesse hissed, “You son-of-a-bitch.” They’d fooled her. All this time, she’d been concentrating on the men in the alleyway and—“You’re one of them.”

  For a second, he looked like she felt, then his expression cleared. “Listen,” he began, and stretched a hand toward her.

  Jesse grabbed his wrist, twisting it in a hold intended to tear hand from arm. Cole followed the momentum of the move with startling fluidity. His body twirled beneath her arm like a practiced dancer, and he grasped her wrist, exerting a vice grip she’d come across only once in her life; Hwuang Kano, her instructor.

  She did the only thing that could stop Hwuang; relaxed her body and dropped to the ground. Cole was forced to jump forward in order to maintain his hold. She’d gambled he wouldn’t be quick enough to break her wrist, and won. He surprised her by falling to his knees and releasing her wrist as he grabbed her waist. He swung a leg over and straddled her. Jesse slammed a fist into his jaw. The blow sent a wave of pain up her arm.

  Cole grabbed her wrists and shoved them down at her sides. “Shut up and listen!”

  Jesse jerked her knee up, hitting him square in the spine. His face contorted in pain. She yanked an arm free and swung back for another blow.

  “Don’t make me hurt you, Jesse!”

  She swung. Cole blocked with his forearm. Jesse felt like she’d hit steel and her funny bone at the same time. He grabbed her injured thigh and squeezed hard. Pain shot up her leg. She grabbed for his arm. Cole grasped her waist and flipped her onto her stomach. He had her arm behind her back before she could twitch. Her injured shoulder burned white hot. His muscled thighs clamped down on her ribs with an intensity that left her gasping for air.

  “I’ll kill you!” she ground out between breaths.

  His grip tightened. “You are hard headed,” he said in a raspy voice. “By now you should have figured out that won’t be as easy as you think.”

  Jesse took a painful breath. “It doesn’t have to be easy.”

  “I understand how you feel, Jesse—”

  She attempted one mighty buck to dislodge him. He yanked her arm several inches away from her body. The slightest movement would snap the bone. She stilled.

  Cole paused, his weight heavy on her. “I understand,” he said quietly.

  “Bastard!” Jesse gritted. “You don’t know a god damn thing.”

  “I do,” he replied quietly. “I was there.” He paused. “I led Operation Hangman. I’m Green Team Leader.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The freight train made another pass over Jesse’s chest. She had seen the bodies. No survivors. The Professor had confirmed their deaths. How could she accept the man sitting across from her in the booth in a tiny upper Westchester diner as the only man who had survived the mission—the leader, no less? She did feel like she was having a heart attack or, at the very least, a stroke.

  “Are you all right?” Cole asked, his brow furrowed in—what—concern for the woman who left him behind? Did they educate these guys at Julliard?

  Jesse dropped her gaze to the bowl of homemade chicken noodle soup in front of her and picked up the spoon. “I’m all right.”

  She ate a spoonful of the soup, then grimaced and pushed the bowl aside. There was no mistaking the tinny taste of cheap canned soup. These greasy diners loved to talk about home cookin’ but wouldn’t know a chicken breast from a chicken beak. Jesse signaled the passing waitress for a coffee refill.

  The waitress refilled her cup with more of their poison, her attention on Cole the whole time. He didn’t give her a second glance. Jesse felt sure if he had asked for a refill, the waitress would have grabbed the fresh pot. She left, and Jesse tried hiding the taste of the coffee with the two per cent milk impersonating as half and half inside the dented stainless steel creamer. She took a sip and winced. Even worse than the first cup.

  She rubbed her leg. The pain from the torn stitches had subsided, and the bandage they’d slapped on before leaving Rayburn’s place was holding up. She glanced down. No sign of blood on the chinos Cole had found at the doc’s. She looked up at him. Why hadn’t he killed her back there? He’d neutralized the guy she’d been beating when Lancelot got shot. Between Cole and the other guy, they could have knocked her senseless and dragged her anywhere they wanted. Hell, Cole could have snapped her arm, then her neck, when he had her on the ground.

  “How did you get out of Colombia?” she asked.

  Cole nodded like he knew she wasn’t buying. “Chiclayo is one of the smallest and most remote villages in the district. Intel reported fifteen huts, forty men.” He looked expectedly at her. She was, after all, intel.

  Jesse nodded. “I dropped into the jungle at 2100 hours the night before, and reported the all clear at 0300 the following morning. In and out. OIA didn’t want to give Perez time to move Maria. I never sighted her, but that wasn’t surprising. If they had brought her into the open, it probably would have been to move her.”

  “We moved in an hour before dawn,” Cole said.

  Despite her efforts at neutrality, Jesse’s heart lurched. A quick mental calculation placed Green Team inside the village half hour after the Colombians shot Martinez. Green Leader had had plenty of time to abort the mission. She could have warned Green Team, if she hadn’t stopped to call headquarters.

  “Robby and Benton took the north end of th
e village,” Cole went on. “That left me, Quinn, Salvador and Pete. Sal stuck with me, while Quinn hit the east, and Pete the west.” Cole paused, the muscles around his mouth tightening. “I’ve been on tougher missions. Came close to buying the farm a time or two. I’ve lost men, but never anything like this. Your recon gave the all clear, and we observed nothing suspicious. We went in, not expecting anything any trouble.”

  Jesse didn’t flinch from his gaze.

  The muscles in Cole’s cheeks flexed as he clamped his teeth together. “They must have gotten Robby and Benton first. No shots were fired, so the rest of us weren’t alerted.”

  Robby and Benton had to be the two men she’d seen murdered. A lump formed in her throat. She took a sip of the coffee, despite knowing it was awful.

  “The compound was fifty yards from our position,” Cole went on, “but the thick foliage made visibility, nil. I counted forty-two men in the village—two more than reported.

  Jesse nodded. She’d made the count from the hill afterward. Not a single Colombian mercenary lost.

  “They shot Quinn. All hell broke loose and we didn’t stand a chance. Someone cold cocked me.” Cole broke off. “I woke up on the ground alongside Sal, Quinn and Pete. I later saw Robby’s body. It looked like they used him for target practice.”

  Her stomach lurched at the memory of the Green Team member who had been assaulted with the AK47, and for a horrible moment Jesse was sure she would burst into tears.

  Then her mind froze. She’d seen the four bodies heaped together. Only they hadn’t all been dead as she’d assumed. Cole had been alive.

  “I didn’t quite walk away with my skin intact.” Cole said.

  He glanced around the diner and, as if in a dream, Jesse watched him roll up his left sleeve. Half a dozen cigarette burns dotted his forearm, with more disappearing beneath the bunched roll of his shirtsleeve. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the burns. He’d been alive and she’d left him there.