She froze, surprised he was looking to her for a plan, but recovered fast. “First thing, we need to stop Jesse. He’s not going to help anyone if he gets himself taken hostage or killed.”
Seth nodded. “We better move, then. He’s already got a hell of a head start on us.”
…
The hotel’s main building had once been a plantation house. With its wide galleries on each floor and steeply pitched red roof, it looked like it had been plucked from Louisiana and dropped in the Caribbean. Each of the many outbuildings and cabanas had been designed to reflect that same Old World Creole charm, but the main L-shaped building stood out as an architectural jewel among the palms.
And right now, it was as quiet as a tomb.
Jesse slowed to a walk as he neared the edge of the property, then stopped altogether and dropped behind a dune on the beach. From his position, he could see part of the long arm of the building, and the tip of the shorter side of the L, where the lobby overlooked the beach. In the middle sat the pool and the fire pits, all dark.
Jesus, what was he doing? Charging in without weapons, intel, or a plan was nothing short of suicide.
He noticed movement on one of the terraces. Squinting, he could barely make out three figures moving from room to room. More shadows joined them on the terrace, streaming out of the French doors in each room. Friendlies or not? Were the three initial shadows taking hostages or staging a silent rescue? He had no way of knowing and wished like hell he had some NVGs.
He sensed movement behind him, and every muscle in his body bunched, preparing for a fight—until the familiar scent of berries reached his nose on the salted ocean breeze.
Lanie.
She’d caught up to him. Dammit. Now not only was his son in danger, but he’d led her right into the line of fire, too. He didn’t move, didn’t even glance in her direction until she flattened out on the sand beside him.
“You should’ve stayed with Claire,” he said under his breath.
“Claire’s safe. You’re not,” she shot back in a whisper. “And I brought back up.”
As she said it, two other bodies joined them behind the dune: Seth on his left, and Ian on Lanie’s right. Great. A sniper without a rifle, who was so damaged he struggled to function most days, and a psychopathic bomb tech.
Some back up.
Okay, that wasn’t an entirely fair assessment. Of Seth, at least. Ian absolutely was a pyscho, and there was no help for him. But Seth? He was a good man and a world-class sniper. Jesse just couldn’t shake his initial reservations about the guy—but he was also self-aware enough to realize those lingering doubts were more a reflection of his own weaknesses than Seth’s.
He liked Seth and the rest of the team—even Ian to some extent. In fact, he liked them all too much, far more than he’d wanted to care about any of them when he first started with HORNET. He couldn’t separate himself from these guys like he’d been able to do in Delta Force—and God knew he’d tried. As a medic, he’d always had to keep a clinical eye on things, part of him afraid that if he got too close to the guys he treated, he’d be unable to do his job when the situation called for a level head. If something happened to Seth because his PTSD got the best of him during this op, would he be able to save the sniper’s life? Or any of their lives, if the situation called for it? He honestly didn’t know and the doubt was eating him alive. What if he wasn’t good enough anymore and one of these men—his friends—died because of it? What if Lanie died because of it? Or Connor?
His hands broke out into a cold sweat. He turned just enough to see Lanie’s profile. “I’m sorry I lost my head. You were right. We should pull back, come up with a plan. Goin’ in like this is gonna get someone killed.”
“Yeah, well, we’re here now,” she said tightly, still not meeting his gaze. She lifted a small pair of field glasses to her eyes. “And going on the offensive isn’t an entirely bad idea. If we’re lucky, they’re still trying to sort out the confusion and wrangle hostages. We have the element of surprise. Besides, I called Tuc, told him what was going on, and he said there’s a room full of arms in one of the hallways off the lobby. We’ll need that firepower if we have any chance at saving our guys. So what’s the plan, cowboy?”
Jesse felt his jaw hit the ground. He tried to find a reply but all he could think was, Dayam, girl. And, shit, she’d been right about something else, too. He’d severely misused her skills during the training mission out of some misguided urge to protect her.
When he didn’t respond, she sent him a sidelong glance. “Tell me you have a plan.”
He hadn’t, but with the new intel, one was starting to form. “Part of a plan.”
She sighed softly, shook her head, and lifted the binoculars again. “I can’t tell for sure, but I think those people on the second floor terrace are our guys. Looks like they’re getting as many guests out as possible. We should clear the closest outbuildings.” She indicated to the two buildings closest to the lobby. “We don’t want to give them any more hostages than they already have.”
“One of those is the fitness club,” Ian said. “I was there earlier. This late, it’s probably empty.”
“The other’s a restaurant,” Seth added. “Phoebe and I had a reservation for tomorrow night.”
“That’s a lucky break,” Jesse said. “There’s somethin’ like fifty buildings on this property. If they have the manpower to clear them all, we’re fucked, but I’m thinkin’ not. I’m thinkin’ they’re gonna focus all of their attention on the lobby and the rooms in the attached wings, so that’s where you need to focus, too. If Lanie’s right and those are our guys out there, you should go help them clear out the hostages.”
Lanie scowled. “And what about you?”
“My only priority right now is Connor. I’m goin’ to the fourth floor.”
Chapter Thirteen
1:29 a.m.
Trinity Sands Resort
Lobby
The man that had lived as mild-mannered Paul Jones for the past two years swore as he strode into the lobby.
No. Not Paul. Not anymore.
His real name was Jerome Briggs and he hated that he had to remind himself of it. He’d chosen the most innocuous name he could think of when he took on this mission and at the beginning, he’d thought it fun, like a superhero living under a secret identity while he waited for the scientists to do their thing. He’d enjoyed duping that twit Tiffany into thinking he loved her.
But now it was all going to hell.
Briggs stared in disbelief at the mess his men had made. “What the fuck happened?”
This was supposed to have been easy. Have Tiffany find out what building Claire was staying in, and voilà, they’d have both women and their damn research. Instead, one of his guys was dead, cooling in a pool of his own blood.
So was Tiffany. Not dead. A least, not yet, but with the amount of blood on the floor under her, he didn’t give her long. He ignored the little pull in the vicinity of his heart as she reached out a shaking, blood-covered hand toward him. Reminded himself he didn’t actually love her.
He’d been acting. She was a job. Nothing else.
He strode past her and the line of hotel employees two of his men were holding hostage. There were also two hotel guards with guns also pointed at the hostages, and Briggs raised an eyebrow at them before turning to his second-in-command.
Melvin “Mel” Kennion was usually a solid operator. The old man was past his prime, but he was sturdy, dependable, if not a little old fashioned and stuck in his ways. Briggs had trusted him with harder missions than this in the past, so what went wrong here?
Kennion straightened away from the reception desk, where he had been leaning with one hand over his chest. He was sweating, his face almost as red as his beard. “Claire had a bodyguard.”
“Impossible. None of our intel suggested she’s the kind of person to hire a bodyguard.”
“Our intel was wrong. Big blond guy. Looked liked a beach bum. D
eadly as hell with a knife. He made us right away and dropped Vargas so fast I didn’t realize it until we were down one man.”
Yeah. Kennion was definitely past his prime. In his younger days, he would’ve reacted quicker. Maybe it was time to petition for a new second-in-command. Hell, maybe a new team if one guy thwarted four of his supposedly best men with a fucking knife.
Briggs jerked his chin in the direction of the guards. “What about those guys?”
Kennion coughed, then straightened with a wince. “I offered them money. They took the offer and killed the other two guards on duty.”
Briggs pulled his gun and fired two shots, one into each guard’s head. The hostages screamed and panicked, but his guys got them under control again fast. “I don’t trust bought loyalty.” He turned back to Kennion. “Is Claire still somewhere in this building?”
“Believe so. The blond man’s still here, and if he’s her bodyguard, he’s not letting her out of his sight. He keeps popping up, trying to distract us. Think he’s trying to get to her.” He tilted his head toward Tiffany. “Think he was hired to protect them both?”
Briggs thought of the phone call he’d taken earlier in the day, the one telling him to back off. He swore softly. “I don’t think he was hired. We’re just dealing with a bonafide hero.” He aimed his gun at the hostages, who all cowered back, and grabbed his phone with his free hand. “I’ll call in reinforcements and make sure the boss has our asses covered for this. Lock this place down tight. Explosives on any door we can’t physically cover. We’re going room to room until we find Dr. Oliver. If anyone resists, shoot them.”
Chapter Fourteen
Jesse felt naked without a weapon, and he imagined the others did, too. Still, the four of them moved toward the hotel as a unit, fast and quiet, sticking to the shadows.
This was such a bad idea. Any leader worth his salt would turn his team around and take the time to come up with a more cohesive plan that wouldn’t get everyone killed. But as much as his brain said that was the right move, his heart kept dragging him forward. He kept picturing Connor—not as he was now, but as a newborn with chubby cheeks and a shock of thick tawny hair. He remembered the awe, the fear, and the overwhelming wave of love when Connor was first placed in his arms. He’d promised that tiny human he’d always take care of him, but somewhere along the way, he’d lost sight of that simple promise. He’d keep it now, though. If it was the last thing he did, Connor would safely walk away from this night.
Lanie held up a fist, indicating they should stop, and they all dropped to crouches behind the foliage ringing a children’s playground. “Do you hear that?”
Jesse focused his senses outward, and…yes. He heard it. Beyond the gentle creaking of the empty swings swaying in the breeze was a faint rumble of an outboard motor coming closer. “I’d wager that’s not our reinforcements.”
Lanie shook her head. “Tuc said it’d be hours before he’d have men here. He’d have called if that ETA changed.”
Jesse gazed up at the hotel. They’d backtracked on the beach to come at the building on an angle, out of view of the panoramic windows in the lobby. What he could see of the fourth floor was dark. Connor was probably still sleeping, unaware of the danger he was in. “Then we need to move faster.” He broke cover and sprinted across the open playground. Behind him, Lanie and one of the guys were both cursing him out, but the time for stealth was gone. He still had no plan for how to get inside. Figured he’d take a page out of Jean-Luc’s book and make it up as he went.
By the time he reached the main building, he found a group of sleepy and confused guests huddled around like a bunch of spooked cattle. Someone in the back of the group called his name.
Danny.
His heart doubled-timed as he changed directions to meet the FBI agent. He found Danny and Marcus playing cattle-dogs to the guests’ cattle. “Where’s Connor?” he asked first thing.
Both Danny and Marcus looked grim.
Marcus set a hand on his shoulder. “We can’t get up to the fourth floor without detection. There’s no terrace.”
Jesse scanned the group. “That’s how you got these people out?”
Danny jerked his chin upward, and Jesse shifted to look up. On the third floor terrace, Gabe, Quinn, and Harvard were lowering people to the second floor, from where they could then take a wide stone staircase to the ground.
But the math didn’t add up. It took two people to lower one, so no matter how it worked out, one of the guys would get left behind. “Why aren’t you up there with them?”
“Our room’s on the second floor.”
“So how are they gettin’ down?”
Marcus scowled. “I pointed that out to them.”
“And?”
“They’d ‘find a way.’”
Uh-huh. That sounded like Gabe and Quinn. And he was gonna be right there with them when they did. He pointed back the way he’d come. “Lanie, Seth, and Ian are by the playground. We have incomin’ Tangos. Get these people someplace safe.” With that, he left them and took the steps two at a time to the second floor. Once he was below Gabe and Quinn, he whistled softly through his teeth to get their attention.
Harvard’s head popped out over the railing. “Jesse?”
“Lift me up.” He motioned with both hands to make sure he was understood.
“No fucking way,” Quinn hissed, his shaved head appearing next to Harvard’s. A second later, they lowered another woman. Jesse caught her, and pointed her to the stairs, then refocused on the guys. “You’ll work faster with another set of hands.”
All he got in response was another set of feet headed in his direction. This time belonging to a thin man with salt-and-pepper hair and a pock-scarred face. Again, he helped the man down and pointed him toward the stairs.
Fuck this. There was no time to convince them of his plan.
Jesse gauged the distance to the third floor. He was tall enough that if he climbed up on the rail, he should be able to stretch and grab the bottom of the railing above. Once he did, they’d have no choice but to pull him up.
He hauled himself up on the railing, and heard Quinn cursing a blue streak overhead.
Gabe’s face appeared next. There seemed to be more lines of strain in it than there had been earlier in the evening. “Warrick, don’t. That’s an order.”
“Sorry, boss. I’m gettin’ to my son.” He straightened slowly, suddenly grateful for a childhood spent playing in haylofts and climbing trees. His boots were steady on the rail.
Two muscular arms reached toward him. Gabe and Quinn. He had a split second to wish Gabe had let Harvard do it—Gabe shouldn’t be straining himself—but then he focused. He clasped their arms in a snug grip and used his feet to push up.
And all hell broke lose below him. Gunshots. Screams. People scattered, even as Marcus and Danny tried to keep them calm. He glanced down and saw men in ski masks rounding up the crowd. Overheard, there was a grunt of pain and the dull thunk of a body hitting the floor. He looked up again. Two unmasked Tangos had coldcocked Harvard and now held their weapons on Gabe and Quinn.
“Drop him,” they ordered.
Gabe gazed down at him, and his grip tightened. “I’m not letting you fall, Jesse. They’ll have to shoot me.”
Jesus Christ, no. Sickness surged into Jesse’s throat as he glanced back and forth between the gunmen and his friends. They were not going to die because of him. He looked down at the ground. The fall was survivable. Probably. But he’d probably break a bone or two or seven.
The gunmen were still ordering Gabe and Quinn to release him, but they were fast losing their patience. It was only a matter of time until one or both pulled the trigger. Another glance at the ground and his heart kicked with panic. Okay, not a good idea. He closed his eyes, sucked in a breath and blew it out slowly. Then he met Gabe’s gaze.
“Save Connor.”
“Jesse—”
He released his hands. Both Gabe and Quinn hung on, but their
grips slipped on his sweat-dampened skin. He used his legs to swing his body, forcing them to let go, and hopefully giving himself enough momentum to hit one of the nearby palm trees instead of plummeting straight to the ground. At least then he’d have a chance of walking away.
Quinn lost his grip first, but Gabe held on, his knuckles whitening, Jesse’s skin burning under his palm with each swing.
“Let me go.”
“Not a fucking chance,” Gabe repeated Quinn’s earlier words. But then he didn’t have a choice because one of the Tangos finally pulled the trigger.
Jesse fell.
Chapter Fifteen
Briggs swore as the first pops of gunfire echoed outside. This team was useless. Were they trying to wake up the whole resort? He had the local authorities contained for now, but there were too many buildings on the property, too many guests, and he didn’t have enough men to control them all. He needed the rest of the resort to go on slumbering without a clue. The phones on the reception desk started ringing.
“Shit.” He motioned to Kennion, who was looking sallower by the minute. “Watch them. Anyone moves, shoot them.”
Kennion sighed and straightened away from the desk. Raised his gun, though his heart didn’t seem to be in it.
This whole situation was going to shit. Briggs had to regain control.
The hostages cringed away from him as he strode toward them. He grabbed the receptionist by the arm and dragged her upright. Mascara ran in soupy lines down her brown cheeks and her full, red-painted lips trembled. She said something in a rambling string of French. He didn’t have to understand the language to know she was begging for her life.
He dragged her over behind the desk. Turning her toward him, he used the edge his shirt to wipe her face off, then pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Answer the phones. Tell them everything is fine, but they should stay in their rooms. If you give them any hint that something is wrong, I’ll kill you. Nod if you understand.”
Code of Honor (HORNET) Page 10