by Lea Griffith
She exploded at the thought, insides tightening, hips in the air, body exposed as he rode her through it. He whispered words of encouragement, but all she could focus on was his breath at her ear and the tone of his voice. His words meant nothing when he was showing her everything with his body.
Remi wanted to touch him, watch his face as he moved inside her body. He stilled and she lifted her head, turning her face to the side where he dove in for a kiss that involved more than lips.
He was trying to take all of her.
“Come with me.” A seductive call and her body responded yet again, the force of his thrusts heavier as he sought succor within her depths. Her body clenched on his, the demand there for her as well.
He may take everything she had, but she’d claim her own piece of him in return. Her body would settle for nothing less. Her soul screamed at her to take it all. Her heart she refused to listen to.
His stiffened over her, heat bathing her insides and triggering another set of tremors that had her keening as release swept through her once more. She went boneless, and his weight settled heavily on her.
She relished his warmth as it seeped into her, filling all the cold places. So much he’d given her in comparison to what she had to offer in return. Wetness leaked onto her cheeks, and she angrily swiped at the tears that sought to fall.
“You cry, but I don’t want that here,” he said. “This is about pleasure. There is no room for pain. Let me show you.”
Her heart turned over and laid still, a beaten thing in her chest. She was afraid in that moment. Afraid she’d become someone different with this man. But it was too much to think on just then as he turned her over and pressed kisses all over her body, turned up the simmering heat to levels she’d never realized possible.
And before the night was over, she’d given him something of her she’d not known even existed. Gretchen.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A small smile played about Remi’s lips as she dressed in the darkness. She’d woken to an empty room, Rand having left her sometime in the night. He’d taken the heat with him, but he’d left a fire in her soul. Some new feeling had invaded her mind, and it was decidedly unsettling. So much so that she refused to name it.
Still the smile persisted, and as she lowered herself to the floor to meditate, she couldn’t erase it. It was now after five in the morning. The sky was lightening. As the sun crept up above the eastern horizon, its rays prickled her skin, reminding her. She let the memories flow into her heart and spread their venom to her entire body. It was painful, but in it was her purpose.
Today they would travel. She’d be a step closer to Joseph. Closer to doling out retribution. For long minutes, she settled herself internally, bringing to the forefront of her brain her reasons for having begun this journey that would lead her back to Arequipa. Oh, she’d always returned there for assignments but this was a different homecoming. She had killing on her mind, of course, but it was now tempered with hope.
She checked the panic that threatened to overtake her at the thought of the future. She’d only ever known the path she’d walked the last twenty-three years. She pulled her bag from under the bed and reached for the SAT phone.
The man answered in two rings. “Yeah?”
“Nous quittons aujourd'hui. Attendez-vous à nous demain,” she said softly.
“Bullet, you know I don’t speak French. English, please.” There was a thread of humor in the Southwestern flavor of his voice. Odd that.
“We leave today. Expect us tomorrow. You’ve gotten everything I requested?”
“I did. You should come in silent. I have a bad feeling about this. José said the private air field is alive with tourists. You understand? I don’t want you to get lost in the shuffle.”
“Merci,” she whispered. “Have you seen the others?”
“No.”
His answer was what she was hoping for. They had many more steps to take before Joseph could be sent to his final resting place. This was just the beginning.
“Any sign of the boy?” Please let him answer no.
“No. I thought he was with Blade?” His words were harsh, his confusion a shockwave.
“He’s been taken. And Jesuit breathes no more.”
A harsh inhalation spoke louder than words. Jesuit had been Grant Fielding’s favorite young one. “Goddamn him.”
“He has, but for now the members are doing as we hoped. I’ll be there in less than a day. Be ready.”
“Well now, darlin’, you know I’m always ready. What’s this I hear about the Director of the CIA taking a bullet to the brain?” Sly man that Grant was, even if he couldn’t be everywhere at once.
“It wasn’t me. It was Minton. You should be careful, if he suspects—” She let her words hang between them.
Static cut into the phone connection, and his next words were eclipsed.
“We’re coming,” she repeated and disconnected.
“Who was that?” Rand’s cold voice brushed over her skin.
She rose to her feet and replaced her phone in her bag. “My contact,” she answered, avoiding his gaze.
“He knows we’re leaving now?” There was an edge to his voice she didn’t understand.
“Yes. I simply needed to give him a time frame. We’re dealing with someone who plays both sides, Mr. Beckett. But for all his double-dealing, he is a good man.” She raised her eyes to his.
“Do you trust him?”
“As far as I can throw him.”
“Well then, I guess that will have to be good enough, won’t it?” He mocked her somewhat. She accepted it and picked up her rifle.
“I would imagine, since you are in such an odd situation, the word of a killer will have to be just that,” she quipped as she headed toward the door.
He stiffened, outrage highlighting the lines of his big body in the early morning light.
Gone was the man who’d pressed that body into hers all night. Here stood the man who’d placed her in the water pit. She mourned the loss, but that’s how it was. And, as always, Remi would continue on.
So much for hope.
He followed her out of the room and down the stairs. Dmitry, Adam, Ken, and another man she recognized as having been with Rand in Seattle, stood by the door. None of them save Ken even glanced at her. He stared holes in her head.
“Let’s move,” Rand said, and they filed out.
Remi breathed in deeply, knowing things were moving as they should be, but knowing too she was a different person from the one who’d begun this mission.
She let those thoughts go and focused solely on her reason for living. She focused on Joseph and all else fell away.
They’d been in the air for an hour, and he’d spent most of it watching her. She was a different woman from the one who’d wrapped her body around his all night long. She was the same one who’d put a bullet in Donnie Parker’s head less than a month ago in Seattle. Remi, she’d called herself. He tasted the name on his tongue, but it didn’t move him. It didn’t matter anyway because now she was Bullet.
He would do well to remember that. He’d gone over the plans with the men headed to Arequipa with them. His fingers tap-tap-tapped his knees as nervous energy shot through him. He’d not be able to sleep until they landed in Cusco and crossed the mountains to Arequipa.
She’d divulged little about her “contact” other than he was former CIA with a shit-load of desire to take down The Collective. Personal reasons, she’d said, and he’d left it at that. Didn’t every fucking person gunning for Joseph have a personal reason?
Yeah.
He settled in, determined to spend the next sixteen hours, including refueling stops, finalizing contingency plans. This was perhaps the biggest operation he’d ever undertaken simply because of the personal element. He had twenty-five men with him. And Bullet.
She’d cautioned him to patience, but he was chomping at the bit to have Joseph’s throat under his hand. He was wired; she slept.
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His heart thumped hard as he watched her tucked into the seat across from him, sleeping deeply, chest rising and falling evenly. She’d requested combat boots and clothing, all black. He’d delivered. As he’d only ever really seen her naked, in sweats and now in combat wear, he wondered what she’d look like dressed up.
She’d fucking take his breath. He knew it like he knew she’d wormed her way inside him. He winced and ran a hand down his face.
“You should rest.”
His eyes found hers, their bright blue hue eerie in the semi-darkness of the cabin. They were flying Trident Corp’s private jet directly into Cusco. The jet was listed under a fictitious name but anyone looking hard enough would know who it belonged to. Rand wasn’t going for invisible—that was impossible. He was going for surprise. To dare to attack Joseph on his turf? Insanity to Joseph probably, sound thinking to Rand. They were banking on striking quick and hard.
“I should, but I can’t.”
She sat up straight and cocked her head. “You need to prepare yourself for possible disappointment, Mr. Beckett. Joseph could even now be fleeing Arequipa. It’s my hope his pride forces him to stay and fight. He is unpredictable in everything but his quest for power.”
Anger swept through him. “There’s something you aren’t telling me.”
Color tinged her cheeks, and in the response, was honesty. She shrugged. “I have told you all I will tell you.”
He relaxed against the seat. She was pushing his buttons, and whether intentional or not, he wouldn’t rise to the lure. She had purposefully involved him in this. He had no doubts she had initially set out to use him as bait, but she’d given him something over the last three weeks. He wondered if she even realized she’d done it.
He smiled then, the band around his chest easing. “There was a time you wouldn’t even give me your name, yet here we are, Gretchen.”
Her eyes flared and she inhaled sharply. Oh, she was angry. As much as she pushed his buttons, he did the same to her. He smiled on the inside.
She looked around the cabin, discomfort drawing down her mouth and dulling her gaze. Ken, Dmitry, and Adam were all near the front of the plane doing their own version of contingency preparation. They’d worked together enough times to know how the others operated under pressure. He wasn’t worried about the other men with them. Raines and his gang were top-notch. He’d tried several times to get the man to sign on with Trident, but he always politely refused. He was a contract player all the way, but had his own agendas.
“I’ve pissed you off, yeah?” He wanted to chuckle as she glanced at him and raised an auburn brow. “I seem to excel at that. The truth is you’ve only ever given me exactly what you wanted. Maybe it’s time for me to let you in on a little secret, Bullet.”
Her pupils widened, and her face tensed. She licked her lips and sat up straighter, putting her hands in her lap and feet firmly on the floor. “Do tell.”
Her tone whispered down his spine, set him on alert. The things he knew about her were heavily outweighed by what he didn’t. But she called to him in a way no one ever had. He had to trust his fucking gut on this one.
“I knew from the beginning, when that bullet in Seattle didn’t push my brain through the back of my head, you were coming to me. I don’t know why you keyed on me. Contrary to your belief, you owe me nothing. But Bullet? If you never hear another thing I say, hear me now: no matter what happens in Arequipa, you deserve to know happiness. You deserve life.” He took a deep breath.
She looked away, out the window of the plane, refusing to meet his gaze. It spoke volumes.
“What are your plans when this is all said and done?”
The corner of her mouth tilted up, and a pang swept through him. “I have no plans, Mr. Beckett.”
“You think there’s the possibility you won’t live through this?” He rejected it. Surely God wouldn’t be so cruel as to use her for death and then refuse her life.
“I have always known there would be a price to pay. Each life I’ve taken anchors my soul to this world. Plans, Mr. Beckett, are irrelevant unless you have a goal. I have only one goal—eliminate Joseph Bombardier.” Voice dull, gaze flat, she was emotionless.
Rand knew better. He’d felt her fire, tasted her heat. Underneath the pain and bitterness she refused to acknowledge, there was a woman he’d touched, a woman he craved.
“I think we all share that goal. But in the after, surely you’ve thought about what you’ll do?”
She shook her head. “I will try to survive. Have you any idea of the people who are probably even now searching for me? Mothers, brothers, sisters, and fathers—I’ve killed people, Mr. Beckett. It’s been my life’s work. Just because I seek to destroy those who made me doesn’t mean it wipes the slate clean. I will never be safe to be around. I will always be looking over my shoulder.” She shrugged now, the line of her neck taut as she glanced back out the window.
He had nothing to say to that. God knew he’d been searching for his family’s killer. It made sense that, even though the people she’d killed were killers themselves, they’d had people who’d loved them and would want to avenge them.
She laughed, and the mocking sound grated on his nerves. She seemed so hollow inside, as if nothing fazed her. But he’d drank her sighs and licked her moans. She felt. He knew it in the marrow of his bones.
“Will the rest of First Team be there?”
She glanced at him dismissively and purposefully settled deeper into the seat as she shut her eyes.
“So it begins, yeah?” Anger wrapped around his brain and threatened to overwhelm him. How fucking dare she try to hide from him?
“What’s that, Mr. Beckett?” she asked in a low tone without opening her eyes.
“The end.”
Her eyes flew open, the blue that normally shone like diamonds, lifeless. “That’s all there’s ever been for me. So yes, now the end begins.”
Rand unbuckled his belt and moved away from her. He was afraid if he sat there any longer, he’d try to shake some sense into her. Or take her in his arms and fuck her into acknowledging what had transpired between them was real. He took a seat two rows up from her and closed his eyes, praying for sleep.
“Adam finally managed to dig up some information on your Gretchen Dearborn,” Ken’s voice cut through Rand’s temporary quiet. Ken took the seat beside him.
Rand remained silent.
“We think she’s the daughter of Alain and Lucie Dearborn. Alain was the Ambassador to the U.S. and the Director of Military Intelligence for France until he, his wife, and their youngest daughter were killed when gunmen stormed their summer home in Cote de Argent. It was a bloody scene apparently—they were assassinated along with the entire contingency of his armed guards. He was replaced by Deputy Director Jean-Luc Charbonneau, who is still the DMI.”
Rand finally glanced at his friend and lifted an eyebrow.
Ken sighed but continued. “There are no pictures readily available of any of the family, but according to friends, the oldest child was never found. In fact, there was barely an outcry to find her. No one seemed to care that a child was missing. An interesting fact about Alain Dearborn,” Ken trailed off, raised an eyebrow.
“This isn’t goddamn Jeopardy, Ken. What the fuck are you trying to tell me?” Rand questioned between clenched teeth.
“He was one of the best snipers ever rated in the French military.” Ken dropped his bomb and let the fuse burn down before he said, “Sound familiar?”
“All except the part about the entire contingency of armed guards being killed along with the family,” Bullet’s discordant voice broke the silence between the two men.
Her pain was an icicle in his heart. She tried so hard, but he knew her now.
“How’s it wrong, Bullet?” Rand whispered, aware that every man in the plane had their ears tuned to their conversation.
She breathed deeply, pulling the air in through her nostrils and blowing out fast. That he heard her
doing it told him more than any tone of her voice could have. “There was one who lived that day, and he transported me to Joseph Bombardier. Jean-Luc Charbonneau, my father’s best friend and closest advisor. He was the one, you see, that set up my family’s assassination. He wanted something my father would have never given up.”
Rand sat forward, her agony at remembering nails in his ears. He lifted his hands, intent on covering them, until he realized what he was doing and grabbed his knees instead.
“What did he want, Bullet?” He used the name intentionally now, hoping to draw her from these memories and have her focus on the deed at hand.
“My mother. He loved my mother, and she apparently loved him. From everything I’ve been able to discover, my sister was the result of a liaison between Lucie Dearborn and Jean-Luc Charbonneau. The sanctity of my parent’s marriage mattered little to Charbonneau, and when he approached The Collective about an alliance, Joseph jumped on board, only he had his own plans. Joseph wanted killers, and who better to have in his stable than the daughter of the best sniper in French military history?” Her voice was gravel mixed with tears. It tore Rand into tiny pieces and left him sure he was bleeding.
“Stop, Bullet. You don’t have to go any further,” Rand bit out.
“Oh? Well, why stop now? Your men have done such excellent research. I tell you what, if I live through this, I’ll show you pictures of the massacre, how would you like that? Joseph gifted me with them for my sixth birthday. What grand presents my creator likes to give.” She’d stood at some point during her tirade.
Rand turned and found her beside him, red hair fire around her shoulders, face pale, but eyes burning with the fever of her rage.
“I’m sure you’d enjoy the pictures of my family as they lay bleeding out on the beach. Oh, it was painful I’m sure, for Charbonneau to realize he’d dealt with the devil. My mother and sister were to be spared, though to be honest, my sister was probably never a concern for either of them. But Joseph, as he will always do, found a way to get everything he wanted. My father dead because he refused to align with The Collective, firm control over Charbonneau, oh, and the most important thing—a little girl he could feed a daily diet of hate and pain, raise her up to be a good and proper killer.” She leaned up into his face, eyes brittle now, cheeks bright red.