He held up his hand and gave her a thumbs-up when she pressed her back tighter against the wall. After checking the ground for trip wires and the area around them for an unwanted company, Reid started to move. He headed for the door and stopped in front of it. Even debated taking the risk and opening it. Peek in, get a good look, and keep moving.
Too risky.
Another eight careful steps and he stood next to another window. This one provided a different angle, but the assessment wasn’t good. One body on the floor, unmoving and with what looked like hair matted with blood. Four guards, all standing around fully armed and watching the action.
That guy was in trouble. Tied to a chair with his head hanging down. Reid put the man in his mid-fifties. Stripped down to his hiking boots and dark pants and in mid-interrogation.
Reid took it all in. Memorized every detail down to the silver watch on his left wrist and a wedding band. A black man, trim, with dark hair graying around the edges. Reid feared he’d just found one member of the missing expedition.
His gaze shifted to the man on the floor. All he could make out was blondish hair and a bright green shirt, probably a color he chose to stick out and be easily found. Now there was a fucking terrible calculation.
Backing up, keeping his gaze on the men inside who could move at any moment while watching his silent steps, didn’t faze him. He’d learned from the best at the Farm, the CIA training facility in Virginia, but that was only the start of his baptism into the covert world.
Explosives, hand-to-hand combat, apprehension avoidance—it all came naturally to him. His former career as a paramilitary operations officer for the Special Operations Group, a department of the special-ops division of the CIA, took him overseas to infiltrate terrorist cells and nationalist groups in Germany and elsewhere. He spoke four languages fluently and could hold his own in three others.
Danger didn’t scare him. He thrived on it.
He reached the front of the truck he’d spied earlier and motioned for Cara to join him. She looked around, checked behind her—acted exactly how he’d teach her to act if he had the time.
Damn, everything about her impressed him.
Her boots crunched against the stones, but Reid doubted anyone inside could hear. As soon as she got close enough, he snagged her arm and brought her around to the back of the truck with him. Hunkered down and, balancing on the bumper, he described what he could of the men he’d seen.
“Are they dead?” Her voice shook as she asked the question.
Once they ventured down that road it would be hard for him to drag her focus back to the problem at hand. That wasn’t a knock against her. It was human nature, something else Reid had studied at length. “Tell me who you think they are.”
She gulped in deep breaths. “Cliff.”
“Which one? I need more information.”
“In the chair. Clifford T. Jackson. Born and raised in the south. Fought for social justice his whole life. Put himself through college by day and arranged protests at night.” She rubbed her hands together. “He’s an icon in and out of environmental sciences. He’s also the leader of the expedition. He’s spent a lifetime in the field, first with the Forest Service then teaching at MIT.”
“None of that is going to help him now.”
“He’s dead?”
“It looked like he was being questioned.”
“So, not yet.” She grabbed Reid’s arm and held him in a tight grip. “Stop them. Go in shooting. Throw a bomb. Do whatever you have to do.”
“Too many variables.” He couldn’t quite give her eye contact. The pleading in her voice already pulled at him. Looking at her would have him debating and taking risks. “The other man.”
“Simon Dexter.” She kept squeezing his arm. “There were four of us at the temporary camp.”
“We have one missing. Describe him . . . or her.”
“Glenn Cole. Really tall. Like, used-to-play-basketball tall.”
“No one in there fits that description.”
“You have to get Cliff.” She was practically on Reid’s lap now. “He’s a good person. He doesn’t deserve whatever is happening in there.”
Reid decided not to point out that this Simon guy didn’t deserve to be facedown in a pool of blood either. “Once I get a look at the rest of the players.”
She dropped her hands and backed away. Stood up, but kept her head ducked down. “We don’t have time for this.”
“I can do the math here, Cara. I could start shooting and have an entire army come up my ass.” His explanation did nothing to ease the flat line of her mouth or the fury in her eyes. “This group isn’t wearing the commando uniforms, but I see the same skills. Same weapons.”
“Are they tougher than you?”
He decided to ignore the snap in her voice. “No fucking way.”
Some of the tension left her shoulders. “Russian military?”
“Maybe.”
“Do you know and aren’t telling me because you’re afraid I’ll lose it?”
“I’ve never seen you lose it.” Not in panic. Alone in bed with him, she’d let go. In public, when working or concentrating on a task she wanted to get done, she maintained a laserlike focus. “It’s one of the many impressive things about you.”
“I’m surprised you still find anything you like.” She tilted her head to the side and eyed him up, almost like a challenge.
No way was he taking that bait. “I’m not responding to that.” He winced at the ripping sound of the Velcro as he undid the straps on his protective vest and handed it to her. “Here.”
She stared at his hand but didn’t make a move to take the vest. “What are doing?”
“You’re wearing this.” Before she could balk or list the top ten logical reasons why she didn’t need the protection, he slipped it over her head and adjusted it on her shoulders.
She tugged at it, trying to lift it back off again. “You need the vest.”
He rested his hands over hers. With one touch, she froze. Those dark eyes stared up at him and he had to shake his head, glance away. All those reminders about how she’d ripped him apart when she walked out disappeared from his brain. He tried to call them up—even one—and all he could think about was how good it felt to see her again. Be close to her again.
He’d clearly lost his fucking mind, which made no sense. Just like her focus never wavered, neither did his. He’d charged into battle more times than he cared to remember. Shot terrorists while they planted bombs. Retrieved kidnapped kids taken for ransom to fund more heinous acts. Stopped assassinations and threats that would have killed thousands.
Worse, he’d spent months undercover, sitting in a forest in Germany and watching weak men be indoctrinated into an ever-expanding hate group. Spending every minute fighting the urge to round up all the members and stick them in a hole somewhere. That mission had taken up the eighteen months prior to his joining the Alliance, and when it ended in a standoff and more deaths and arrests, he started doubting that he’d ever feel clean again.
He’d seen some awful shit. Starting with growing up in a series of homes, waiting for the next punch to come. Then he ran away to live in one dangerous hellhole after another. His career as a covert operative saved him but sent him on an equally problematic emotional path. Head down and eyes on the mission, he’d gone from day to day. No entanglements. Limited interaction with decent people.
Meeting Cara had made him rethink every promise he’d made to himself. Every vow about staying unattached and not dragging someone else into his life. With her, he wanted to try . . . and she’d walked away.
“No one is going to hit me.” He said it and meant it. Believing someone could put him in the defense position seemed like a one-way ticket out to Reid.
“What with you being so small and all.” She pulled the vest away from her chest. “You know you need this more than I do.”
“I’m fine.” Hell, he’d duct-tape the thing to her if he had to. Ju
st because she didn’t want him in her life didn’t stop him from wanting her safe.
She shot him a shaky smile. “Your confidence can’t stop bullets.”
That’s not the lesson life had taught him. “We’ll agree to disagree.”
8
SHOTS RANG out before Cara had time to pull the vest tight around her. In the vast open space in front of her, she couldn’t get a handle on the direction of the staccato sounds. She only saw a second of the stark landscape and the sky above before a hand touched the top of her head and pushed her to the ground.
Rounds of fire gave way to a constant volleying. Gravel crunched. Through it all she heard shouting and the thump of footsteps. Peeking up, she could see Reid’s stiff shoulders as he shifted around the truck, taking turns shooting and ducking back. Every time he pressed against the bumper, he shot her a quick look as if to make sure she hadn’t moved, then fired again.
The noises kept cycling: shots then the loud thud of what sounded like a body hitting the ground, then more shouting. She reached for her gun, thinking the least she could do was get off a few shots of her own. Parker could be anywhere and Reid would eventually run out of bullets. She knew from experience it was all a numbers and timing game now.
Her hands shook as she slipped the gun out and held it. Firing meant moving into the open, and that idea made every inch of her rebel. The panic rose inside her, from the tremble in her muscles to the loud pounding of her heart. Tension ramped up as energy pumped in her veins.
Just as she started the mental countdown to suck it up and go, Reid reached over and grabbed her arm. With a fierce shake of his head he stopped her. Her adrenaline rush fizzled. Sitting there sounded good to her. Not safer. There was no safe in this situation.
“Fuck this.” He mumbled the phrase as he dropped to his stomach. “Anyone comes near you who’s not me or Parker, you shoot.”
Before she could answer, he fired from his new vantage point under the car. Swearing and the sound of more falling followed right after.
Disable them. Smart. She debated waiting for a signal, a wave of men to storm in, but decided to join him on the ground instead. Just as she turned to lean down on her elbow, her head jerked back. A hand clenched her hair in a fist and pulled. Not subtle or a tug. No, this ripped out strands. She gasped as tears filled her eyes from the unexpected shock of pain.
Before she could punch or kick, an arm snaked around her neck and pulled her body back against a hard chest. She could hear the man’s heavy breathing. Smell the sweat on him.
“Stop.” The command shouted past her ear in a thick accent.
Reid flipped around until he lay on his side with his gun pointed right at the person behind her. She grabbed at the arm choking her, pulling and digging her fingernails into his dark shirt. Nothing forced him to ease up on the hold. If anything, it tightened. Then came a rough shake that had her head spinning.
She tried to focus on Reid but his attention stayed on the face hovering over her shoulder. Fury radiated off him. Every inch of him promised pain. For some reason, his anger soothed the edges of her terror. She inhaled, trying to calm the bouncing in her stomach.
“Gun down or she dies,” the attacker said in a thick accent.
There was no mistaking that threat. He practically spit it into her ear. One booming shot echoing from behind her. Next the footsteps would come . . . or they should have. She waited for the rest of the men to arrive, but no one else ran in. Just Reid and her and her attacker locked in showdown mode.
This amounted to a last-man-standing fight, one she doubted the man holding her had ever expected. Reid was not one to give up the high ground. He did not like to lose, and he’d told her more than once he never dropped his gun because that served as an invitation to die.
“Let her go.” Reid shifted as he sat up. Every muscle tightened until he looked ready to snap.
The move put him eye level with her. She tried to plant her feet, get better traction against the rocks on the ground, but her boots just slid. Anxiety pumped through her. The gun she’d held lay by her thigh. Using it on the man holding her could mean accidentally shooting herself in the head.
She needed some sign from Reid about what to do. Anything.
Through it all, he kept his gaze on the other man. Stared him down. “You have five seconds to let her go.”
The man barked out a harsh laugh. “Or?”
“You’re fucking dead.” Reid’s voice morphed from vibrating with fury to flat. Firm but almost emotionless.
That was a bad sign. Reid getting quiet meant he hovered on the verge of blowing. They’d been together back then long enough for her to recognize that.
She tucked one hand between the attacker’s arm and her throat, hoping to get a little breathing room. Preparing for whatever was to come. The man glared down at her just as a car roared to life in the distance. His grip eased. Not much, just a fraction.
Reid swooped in. One second she saw him sitting in front of her, almost bored, the next he was launching his body toward hers. She leaned to the side but the force of his impact drove her backward. Momentum sent them crashing into the mix of dirt and rocks.
Her shoulder took the brunt of the hit. The bounce shook her insides, but she didn’t blink out. She didn’t hesitate either. As soon as the attacker’s arm fell away, she bolted. Rolled in the only direction she could, which wedged her half under the truck.
Feeling around and lifting her hips as high as possible underneath the vehicle, she found her missing weapon. Not that it helped all that much. Reid and the attacker were locked in battle. Punches thrown. Grunting as one blow after another landed.
She saw the flash of a gun then something that looked like a knife. After one harsh jab, Reid bent the man’s arm back. She swore she heard bones crack. The man’s yell filled the air but he did not stop fighting. He wrapped his legs around Reid’s waist and tightened until Reid’s back contorted at an odd angle and his breath wheezed out of him.
That fast, the advantage switched again. Reid threw his body to one side, taking the two of them away from her. When they stopped moving, she saw him straddling the other guy’s chest. A gun wavered between them as they shoved and pushed. Reid yanked the other man’s hand and something snapped. The man’s arm fell useless to the side. Then Reid’s two hands held on to the man’s one and the barrel of the gun spun around.
Reid was going to kill him. Right there in the heat of the moment. Possibly before they could get answers. She had to stop him, or at least slow him down.
“Don’t!” Her order floated into the air without either of the men seeming to notice.
Reid punched the other man in the jaw once, then a second time. The guy’s head rocketed back but his hand stayed locked on the gun. Then Reid ripped the gun out of his fist as if the big blond bruiser weighed nothing.
Wriggling out from under the truck, she jumped to her feet and stomped her boot on the man’s outstretched but wounded hand under the weight of her heel. His body jackknifed and his howl cut through her. She winced, trying to block the wailing sound from her head.
Parker slipped around the corner then, gun aimed at the man on the ground. “That was interesting.”
Not the word she would use. “Are you kidding?”
Parker had the nerve to smile. “You were very impressive.”
“Where the hell were you?” Reid wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand as he shoved himself away from the downed attacker and stood up.
“Killing the guys you missed.” Parker’s smile faded a bit when he looked at her. “You okay?”
She nodded. Tried to answer, but the force of her breathing made forming sentences tough. A few more exhales and she got something half coherent out. “Did one of them get away?”
“A car took off from the other end of the complex. I couldn’t see who was inside and didn’t have my usual grenade launcher to stop them.”
Reid aimed the gun at the attack
er’s gut. “Where are the scientists?”
The man stared up at him with eyes glazed. Instead of answering, he spit a wad of blood in Reid’s direction, narrowly missing his boots.
Fear welled up in Cara. Every frame flashed through her mind, from the temporary campsite to now. Then her mind flipped back. “Cliff.”
She started to move, thinking to run toward the building where he’d been held captive, but her gaze snagged on Reid’s. He shook his head. “We all go. Together.”
Yes, that made sense. Much smarter and safer, but the need to race burned inside her. It took all of her willpower not to shove him aside and run ahead herself. But after so much shooting, she knew there would be bodies, and possibly more fighting, so she forced her legs to stay still.
“I think Cara should stay behind,” Parker said.
She recognized the tone. It might not be coming from Reid, but it had the same impact. The same goal: protecting her from something horrible. “What happened?”
He just shook his head.
“What is it?” Then the starkness in Parker’s eyes hit her. He might joke and talk about nonsense things, but that look spoke to a depth. To how often he saw death. “Oh, no.”
Reid exhaled as he kicked some rocks with the toe of his boot. “Shit.”
The hollowness of his tone confirmed her nightmare. “Not Cliff.”
So much had happened. All that fear and uncertainty. Her body went limp. That fast, Reid was beside her, taking the gun out of her hand and wrapping an arm around her. She settled into his warmth, welcomed the touch, before glancing up at him. “I need to see him.”
Reid hesitated for a second then nodded. He looked over at Parker then to the man curled into a ball on the ground and nursing his arm. “Bring him.”
“Lucky me,” Parker mumbled, agreeing, before grabbing the attacker under the arm and yanking his big form to his feet.
“If I do it, I might kill him,” Reid said.
She barely heard the byplay. Walking to the building felt like stumbling through a battlefield. Bodies littered the ground. Sprawled on their stomachs, blood pooling into the stones. As they passed each man, Reid would kick his weapon just out of easy grabbing reach and check for a pulse. Each time he stood back up again his expression grew more grim.
Under the Wire: Bad Boys Undercover Page 8