John had been right when he’d told her that killing for revenge was completely different than killing on the job or in self-defense and that it would destroy her spirit. It definitely would have had he not been there to save her from herself. As it was, it had already destroyed her future and chance for happiness with the man she loved.
She pulled into the alley behind the three-story office building near the beach that she’d scoped out earlier, the one with the palm tree that had crashed through the lobby during the hurricane and now stood vacant. She’d been there earlier and had been impressed to find that the building still had power and a strong Wi-Fi signal—the two requirements she needed to make her plan a success.
“I’m not getting out of this car. You can just kill me here.”
Sighing, she got out and popped the trunk, then unfolded the wheelchair she’d stolen. She rolled the wheelchair to the passenger’s side and opened his door. “I’m not going to kill you unless you try to escape or hurt me.”
“Then what’s your plan?”
She zapped him again with the stun gun. He slumped forward into his seat belt. It took a bit of effort to transfer his limp form into the wheelchair, but adrenaline and purpose spurred her to make fast work of the task because nothing would be worse than a bystander catching sight of them, getting suspicious and calling the cops. The sooner they were in the building, the better.
She used a bungee cord to strap his torso to the chair, grabbed her computer bag, stun gun and pistol, then opened the broken glass lobby door and pushed him through.
By the time he’d come to again, she’d settled them on the third level in a corner office with a view of the ocean. She left the explosives wrapped around him. It’d been a tough choice about what to do with his broken arm. In the end, she thought a little extra pain might encourage him to talk and so removed the soft cast from his right arm.
She zapped him one last time, then got busy setting the stage.
Her heart was pounding with trepidation as she set up her laptop’s webcam and tapped into the building’s Wi-Fi. It felt like a bad dream, what she was doing. It scared her so badly to think about spending the rest of her life behind bars. How had it come to this? How was it that a little girl from Phoenix had grown into a monster—a dangerous criminal with a thirst for vengeance who was incapable of sustaining genuine connections with the people in her life?
It’d been months since she’d talked to her parents, or Ryan and Diego. And the only time she’d truly felt alive and happy had been the two days and night she’d spent in John’s arms during the hurricane. Loneliness settled over her like a heavy quilt, dragging her down, suffocating her. She’d thought she wanted to strike out on her own in the underworld of black market ops, and lo and behold, here she was. Alone with nothing but the man who’d tried to kill her and her regrets.
She walked to the edge of the empty windowpanes that had broken during the storm and stared at the ocean. The world was beautiful. It was beautiful and thrilling and complicated—and she’d squandered not one, but two chances to experience it in all its glories.
She stretched her arm, palm out, and let the breeze wash over her skin.
“I love you, John.”
Behind her, she heard Rory stir. Showtime.
She shook out her arms, cracked her neck to the side and took a deep breath. No more dark thoughts and feeling sorry for herself. She had a man’s will to break and a confession to make. Most importantly, she had a man’s innocence to prove to the world. For the first time in a long time, she recognized that she was in complete control of her life and her future.
She triple-checked the broadcast signals, then clicked on the webcam and hit Record. She’d decided against going to a live feed too soon lest ICE or the police find them before she’d extracted a confession out of Rory, but she was definitely going to document every minute of their chess game.
Rory’s breathing changed from deep and steady to sharp and shallow. Then he groaned. “Where are we?”
She whirled and faced Rory, who was watching her through half-lidded eyes that seemed dulled with pain. A sheen of sweat covered his skin and made his shirt damp under his arms.
“The last room you’ll ever see unless you tell the truth.”
He let out a wheezy laugh. “That’s the best threat you got?”
“No. I’m just getting warmed up.” She grabbed her knife and flicked it open.
Let the justice begin.
* * *
John stood on the side of the road, trying not to berate himself too harshly for how little distance he’d put between himself and Alicia before he’d had to stop and make sure she got the plane off the ground okay.
Less than a mile down the road, he leaned against the motorcycle, waiting and watching the sky to see Harry’s plane take off, Alicia as the pilot.
An hour passed, then another. After a while, he stopped berating himself altogether and instead passed the time deliberating about where in the world he should go next. Every so often, he wondered why he couldn’t find it in himself to make a decision and drive to the coast to hire a private charter boat to Venezuela or Brazil. And he definitely didn’t understand why he couldn’t make himself stop caring about Alicia’s fate.
As numb as he was, given all the wrongs that had been done to him, he couldn’t help but remember the raw quality in Alicia’s voice when she’d demanded to know why he hadn’t fought for her after the shooting. Why, when she’d needed him most, he’d been so caught up in his own righteous indignation and insecurities that he’d let her drive him away for good with a handful of harsh words.
This made two times now that he’d thrown up his hands and left her without even being willing to engage in a fight about the problems they had. Two times he’d let pride take the lead. Yes, righteousness was on his side both times. He’d been manipulated, framed and treated like a tool. So, then, why did walking away again feel like the worst choice he’d ever made?
He knew the answer to that. Because walking away without giving Alicia a chance to defend herself or her actions was dishonorable. It went against his core beliefs of loyalty and integrity. The devil on his shoulder said so what? What good was honor and integrity in this world? Those tenets had ruined his career and his relationships with his best friend and his woman.
True. But since when did he embrace the idea that righteousness trumped honor? He knew better than that. Even if it was only him and his Maker who knew the truth about John’s honor, that was enough. When everything else about his life was ruined or lost, nobody could take that away from him except himself.
With a curse under his breath, he straddled the bike and returned to the airport. The guy at the front desk told him Alicia had already left, not in the plane, but in a taxi. He drove to the hangar, anyway, and found the plane still there. Alicia and her computer bag were gone. The sound of rustling papers blowing in the wind caught his attention. In the corner of the hangar, a phone book sat open.
Intrigued, he walked to it. It was open to the Gs, which didn’t mean much, considering the way the wind was whipping them around. He lifted the phone receiver and hit the redial button.
A woman answered, her greeting in French telling him it was a hospital. Odd. But what if...
On a whim, he said, “Yes, hello. I’m looking for a man who was injured during the hurricane while at sea. An American about six foot one, hazel eyes, balding. He had a wounded left leg and a tattoo of a skull on his right forearm.”
“Ah. Monsieur Morris. Good news. He was discharged. His wife took him home about twenty minutes ago.”
Morris? Either that was a fake name Rory gave or John was way off on this hunch, though the skull tattoo made that unlikely. “Monsieur Morris’s wife, was she blonde and thin? Beautiful?”
“Oui. Are the Morrises friends of yours?”
He hung up. Good God. Alicia had done it. She found Rory. Now what did John do? She could be anywhere. She could have already killed him. Maybe he should leave her to it. Maybe his instinct to walk away and wash his hands of his past had been spot-on.
He found the police scanner in the motorcycle’s under-seat storage and turned it on.
Post-hurricane salvage was going slowly. There were three missing persons still on the island with many more on Dominica, the island that had been hardest hit.
He was still processing that Alicia had found Rory when a dispatcher came over the police scanner requesting a patrol car to an office building on Rue Jean Jaures in Sainte-Luce because the third-floor office’s alarm had been tripped. The woman who called in also reported seeing a woman roll a man in a wheelchair into the building. The police confirmed with the dispatcher that they’d send someone to check it out.
The police would be the least of Alicia’s problems, though. Because Logan’s team had to have heard that report, too. Alicia had ten, maybe fifteen minutes tops, before she either got herself killed or arrested.
John had asked himself a lot of questions in the past two hours, but they all fled his mind as a new one emerged: Could he walk away and let the woman he loved get captured?
Hell, no.
Because that wasn’t the kind of man he was. He was the man who risked everything for the people he loved. He was steadfast and loyal and trusting—and nothing or no one could change that part of him. He wouldn’t let it. Stripped of everything else, all he had in this world was his integrity and love for the people who were important to him.
That’s when John decided that no matter what had happened, no matter what Alicia was guilty of doing to him, he would not stand by and watch her die. This wasn’t about being a patsy or taking the fall for others, as so often seemed his lot in life. This was about love and honor.
It was time to risk everything for Alicia. Again. And for as many times as it took in his lifetime to keep her safe and free.
He swung onto the motorcycle and cranked the engine over.
The way he saw it, he only had a matter of minutes to save her before the cavalry showed up, guns blazing, prepared to neutralize their targets using whatever means necessary.
He rocketed out of the airport and onto the highway, swerving around cars, racing against the clock, against Logan McCaffrey, the U.S. Navy and all the other forces trying to shut Alicia down. It didn’t matter to him any longer what happened to Rory. He had only one mission in life from here on out and that was holding fast to the people and values that defined him, starting with his Phoenix.
He performed a drive by of the whitewashed office building that was unremarkable in every way, save for the tree that had crashed through the glass-walled lobby. The parking lot and surrounding streets were quiet. He parked the bike several blocks away, then doubled back on foot, weaving through alleyways with the police scanner in hand, listening for any updates.
A block away from the office building, he froze, then dived into the open gate of a residence’s backyard, out of view of an assembling crowd of federal agents decked out in SWAT gear. He didn’t chance looking again, but flattened against the wall and listened.
Someone mentioned Alicia by name. How they were so sure it was her remained unclear, but it didn’t take him long to figure out that they knew Rory was with her. They thought John was, too. And they were prepared to extract them all from the office using any means necessary. A man with a voice remarkably similar to Logan’s even threw out the idea of razing the building. Another, who seemed eerily gleeful about the operation, suggested that if either Rory, John or Alicia shot first, they’d have the legal right to do just that. And that if either Alicia or Rory aimed a gun in their direction, they had permission to shoot to kill.
He sensed movement behind him and pivoted, pulling his gun.
Behind the three assault rifles pointed at him stood Diego, Ryan and a petite, blonde woman John didn’t recognize but who seemed to know her way around an M5. All of them were decked out in gaudy tourist garb.
“Don’t make a move, or I swear to God, John, I’m going to unload this weapon on you—and I’m not crazy about getting shrapnel on this shirt Vanessa bought me, even though it’s the ugliest damn thing I’ve ever seen.” Diego. The leader of their black ops crew and an all-around wiseass. He looked the same as he ever did—a lean, mean Puerto Rican from New Jersey who was ready for battle. To his credit, the button-down black Hawaiian shirt with red hibiscus flowers on it was truly obnoxious.
John lowered his gun. “What the hell are you doing here and why are you guys ready to shoot me?”
“We’re here because Ryan and Avery heard word on the wire that Alicia got herself in a real mess,” Diego said, holding his aim at John. “We came to see what we could do.”
Relief flooded him. He had no idea who this Avery lady was, but as long as they could help him save Alicia, that hardly mattered. He nodded and holstered his gun.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see you guys. Alicia’s got herself in so much trouble, I’m not sure I can save her this time. But I have to try. Which doesn’t explain why you’re all still aiming guns at my chest. Unless...” His shoulders dropped, along with what felt like a hunk of lead in his stomach. “You all still believe I’m guilty.”
Of course they did. He raised his eyes to the sky and cursed. Unbelievable.
“Hey, now. How do we know you’re not here because you’re trying to help Rory escape?” Ryan said. “How do we know you’re not the one who broke him out of prison in the first place?”
Ryan stood a few inches taller than Diego and possessed a quiet strength that John had always admired. He’d expected Ryan to be the first on their black ops team to realize John was innocent and forgive him, but he’d been as consumed with hate and bitterness toward John for his alleged crimes as Diego and Alicia, the group’s original three musketeers.
He briefly considered getting into it with Diego and Ryan about his innocence, even though he knew, unequivocally, that there was no way he’d ever regain their respect. “There was a time I would’ve tried to prove to you that I’m innocent, but now? Now, I don’t give a give a damn what you think of me. All that matters is getting to Alicia in time, so can you stop giving me the evil eye and help me figure out a plan?”
Diego narrowed his gaze at John. “What’s going on with you and Alicia? What’s this really about?”
So, then, they’d never known. Only Rory had figured out that he and Alicia were having an affair.
“I love her, okay? I’ve loved her since the minute I first laid eyes on her, and not even your guns or the fact that you have me outnumbered are going to stop me from breaking into that office and helping her escape ICE authorities—who, by the way, are right around the corner planning to neutralize her using whatever means necessary, even a kill shot. So if you want to fight me, that’s fine. I’ll brawl with you, but we’re going to have to make it quick because I have a woman to save. My woman.”
He could see the shock in their eyes. Whatever. He didn’t have time for shock. Debating about the best way to sneak around the agents in the alley and get into the building, he turned away from his former comrades.
A hand on his shoulder stopped him. Eyes wide, Diego walked around to face him, lowering his gun. “Your woman? Alicia? She’s like our little sister.”
“Not to me. You never knew about us because we didn’t want you to. We thought you’d say it was unprofessional, but yeah, me and Alicia.” He looked past Diego to Ryan and the woman he assumed was Avery. “I love her and I’m going after her in about ten seconds, so either start shooting at me or get out of my way.”
The woman nodded and lowered her rifle. “My name is Avery M
eadows. I believe you, John. What can we do to help? I brought all my best gadgets.” She flipped open the side of her bright pink jacket with Martinique splashed across the chest in rhinestones to reveal rows of canisters, rope and other odds and ends. “I think a diversion might be in order to get our ICE friends out of our way.”
Ryan’s eyes shifted her way. “Jumping to conclusions a little, aren’t you, babe?”
Babe? Really? Then again, she was sporting a huge diamond ring and Alicia had mentioned that Ryan was engaged, so Avery must be his fiancée. Diego wore a wedding band and had mentioned Vanessa’s name, so did that mean Vanessa hadn’t died in the RioBank explosion—and that she and Diego had gotten married? John shook his head. God, how long had he been out of the loop? All of a sudden, his years in black ops felt like lifetimes ago.
“I believe you, too,” Diego said. “And I think Avery’s onto something with that diversion idea. Let’s get—”
They heard then saw a black helicopter, hovering over the office building’s parking lot.
“That didn’t take long,” Ryan said.
What sounded like a semitruck rumbled nearby. John looked over the fence and saw two armored trucks stop in front of the back entrance of the building near a rusty red compact car.
John pushed back against a wave of panic. “They’re surrounding her.”
“You know what that means?” Ryan said.
Diego rubbed his hands together. “It’s time to make some noise.”
Chapter 16
Alicia stood before Rory and clamped an arm around his broken wrist.
Rory groaned and shifted in his restraints. “Christ, that smarts.” He chuckled through his nose. “I guess you don’t care that much if the break doesn’t heal properly?”
“Not so much. Karma can be a real bitch that way.”
His brows flicked up. “So this is where I’m going to die, huh?”
“That’s up to you.”
“Sure, it is. I feel good to have made it this far. At least there’s a window with a view up here. I didn’t have that at the prison.”
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