Key’d had a tough time coming back to the bayou. Seeing their parents’ house had been more cathartic than either of them could’ve thought. Saying good-bye to their respective careers and delving into the shadowed world of black ops, and so far reporting to no one, was something both he and Key had been trained for. More than that, they wanted it.
Key was on a much-needed vacation and Jem was glad Avery had pushed the issue. Disturbing him was something Jem was unwilling to do.
He was several months–plus out of the last mental institution the CIA had sent him to in order to distance themselves from yet another situation Jem had created due to his overzealous, uncontrolled nature.
At least that’s what he’d read when he’d broken into the shrink’s files.
Jem had been labeled everything from manic to schizo, and the latter was only because he’d told one doc he’d heard the voice of God telling him to jump from roof to roof on two city buildings and then drop twenty feet.
“I caught the guy I was chasing and I didn’t get hurt,” had been his defense. Granted, he’d also been operating inside the U.S., where he wasn’t allowed to—“not legally if you want to get technical,” he’d continued, and yeah, they’d wanted to get technical.
The shrink had simply shaken her head and written shit on her legal pad. And so it went.
And when the plane finally touched down, ending his trip down psycho memory lane, he was fucking grateful. They’d landed on time and he grabbed his go bag from under the seat in front of him and headed to the front of the plane before other people got out of their seats.
The flight attendant who’d slipped him her number earlier didn’t say a word, just smiled and wagged her finger at him. Once into the main terminal, he ambled along in order to make sure he was alone. He didn’t have any weapons on him except the ceramic knife in his boot, a pen and his own hands, which were more than enough.
He hadn’t noticed anyone tailing him in New Orleans and there was nothing suspicious on the plane. He pulled out his phone, slid by the what the fuck is up with you? message from Key and had just gone to check in with Gunner instead when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
Someone was on his tail. He’d bet his life on it.
He pretended to make a call while slipping the SIM card out of his phone, just in case he was captured. He was going to find out who this asshole was, one way or the other.
He pushed out the door and walked through the crowds gathering with their luggage, waiting for taxis. He crossed the street, broke from the crowds and headed to the farthest long-term parking lot there was.
“I’ll meet you by the car,” he said into the phone, loud enough for his tail to pick up on.
He heard one set of footsteps behind him, then two. And there was a female coming toward him, checking her phone. Clueless.
Or maybe just playing at it, because something was off with this one. She was exuding confidence, but it wasn’t working for Jem. He prided himself on reading people—less of a gut instinct and more of a spiritual thing. When he started talking about auras, most guys in the CIA rolled their eyes at him, but hell, he’d gotten most of their asses out of scrapes that way.
He’d lost partners because he tended to take things too far, had little disregard for his own life, although he’d never let any of them take the risks he did.
Guess you understand Gunner a lot better than most.
To test his theory he grabbed the tall blonde in the short skirt around the waist as she went by him. Suspended in the air against his side, she yelped and hit him.
And then pulled a gun out and aimed it at his forehead.
When he laughed, it threw her. The fucking crazy always did. He grabbed her wrist and repointed the gun as she struggled to regain control, aimed and shot the two men coming up fast behind him. And kept shooting until he’d emptied the clip. Thankfully, she’d thought ahead and used a silencer, but even so, shit echoed in this underground part of the garage.
“How’s that for a one-two punch, sweetheart?” he asked before slamming her wrist against the nearest concrete barrier, breaking the bone and forcing her to drop the gun. No reason to give her any chance of reloading.
She elbowed him in the throat.
“Son of a bitch.” He dropped her down, grabbed her in a headlock, because if she wanted to be equal opportunity, he would treat her like an equal. “Doll-face, you gonna tell me who sent you to kill me?”
“Fuck you.”
“Is that a no? Because I can be really fucking persuasive.” He dragged her toward a supply closet. “We’re gonna have us a strip search, just in case.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Don’t get modest. Besides, I like my women willing. This is all on the up-and-up.”
In the closet, his hand slid up her shirt, into the front of her blouse, and bingo, he found her phone. “It’s a good spot for it.”
He checked the last several numbers. “Any of these Landon?”
“Please. I have a kid.”
“This isn’t a great job for parenting.”
“He made me.”
Jem noted the track-marked scars on her arms. She was painfully thin too, and this close up, she looked worn and pale, and older than she probably was. “Who’s he?”
“He didn’t tell me. Said you’d know.”
“What’s he got on you?”
She eyed him warily. “Enough.”
“What the hell am I supposed to do with you?”
She pointed to her thigh, said hoarsely, “You’re supposed to die.”
He yanked her skirt up, saw the bomb taped securely to her thigh. She and the men were all part of a fucking distraction and he’d fallen for it. There were ten seconds left.
“Your kid—”
“Better off without me. Go.” She shoved him away and he ran, slammed the door behind him, hit the dirt behind cars as the explosion blew the closet open.
He’d done a lot of things in his life and had pretty much zero regrets at the time, because how could you regret shit that at the time you ultimately wanted?
Had the woman been innocent? No. Was her kid better off without her? Probably. But Jem would be damned if he’d let himself get played like that.
He went for the first car with the door open and hot-wired it, because no one was going to notice a stolen vehicle in this fucking mess. But they would notice a man who looked like he’d been through the explosion.
He dialed as he drove, one hand on the wheel, away from the incoming sirens. “Gunner, fuck—”
“Landon has Avery.”
“Fuck. He just tried to kill me. I’m on my way, but brother, I think your place was made a long time ago.”
• • •
Gunner went to the store to grab some fresh food like he’d promised, leaving Avery home to relax in the steam shower. She got restless after ten minutes, although her muscles felt like butter. She wrapped herself in a big flannel shirt of Gunner’s, not bothering with anything else.
It was beautiful here. For a little while, she was content to forget what was out there waiting for them. She just wanted to be. Since her mom had been killed, it had been a whirlwind. And she’d found a lot more good than bad since; she’d discovered her father, got to talk to him before he died. Got to be a part of saving him. And she found a brother. It hadn’t taken long at all for her and Dare to grow close. She couldn’t imagine her life without him now.
As she stared out at the expanse of lands, she thought about options. They’d already dodged two big bullets, had lost Darius, saved Grace. And now they’d gotten Gunner back.
She’d come so close to losing him, to losing herself. Lived a lifetime before hitting twenty-five. And she was thinking of committing a lifetime—a real one—toward more of the same. And asking the people she loved to come along
for the ride.
It had seemed like such a simple and straightforward decision five months ago, when they’d been in the thick of it and come out the other side. But she’d just been in the thick of it again, come out a little worse for wear but with the man she knew she loved.
Tucked inside her suitcase were some of Adele’s journals. There were too many to carry, and she’d left them in storage when she’d gone on the search for Gunner. The three volumes she had with her had been read and reread what felt like a hundred times over the past months. Grace had been the one to give them to her, and they gave a unique perspective on being a woman in this kind of job, this kind of life.
It can be done, but it’s never going to be easy for the men you work with, or the men who love you. Accept that as something that will never, ever change and you’ll be fine.
And if Avery couldn’t accept that? Couldn’t let the men in her life constantly worry about her—and Grace too?
She rubbed her arms as she pondered, the flannel soft under her palms. It smelled like Gunner.
What could they do? Work at the tattoo shop? Open a restaurant? Never nine-to-five jobs for any of them.
They were built for this, just as Landon had told Gunner. What they did with that was up to them.
So much risk and potential loss. And that could happen no matter what. She didn’t want to live her life in fear, couldn’t let that rule her.
She couldn’t figure out if her mother would be disappointed in her or proud. Didn’t want to think about that for too long, so instead, she pulled her phone out of the front pocket of the shirt, where she’d slipped it earlier. She didn’t hesitate this time, like all those other times when she’d ended up not letting the call go though and ended up texting instead, the nightly check-in they’d all agreed on. A code that they’d prearranged to change weekly.
This time, she let the call go through.
Grace picked up on the second ring. “Avery! What’s wrong?”
Grace’s tone was equal parts genuine happiness and genuine suspicion
“You’re as suspicious as Dare. I just missed you. Figured I should be able to break my own rules about calling to say hi, or else what’s the fun of being able to make them in the first place? And nothing’s wrong.”
“There’s something, Avery.”
“Is that a premonition?”
“I don’t need premonitions with you. I know that tone of voice. Talk to me.”
Avery did. “I was reading Adele’s journals.”
“What volumes are you on?”
“S8’s still viable.”
“Right,” Grace murmured. “Okay, so . . .”
“Do you think she’s right, that this is going to be harder on us? Make it harder on the men?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Yeah, me too. It’s making me rethink this for the first time, and I don’t think that would’ve been Adele’s intent in the first place.”
Grace was silent for a moment and then said, “Why do you want to be a part of S8? If you can answer that, you can probably answer your own question.”
“At first, it was a way to honor Darius and Adele too. And then it became about more than that. It was like this was where I’m supposed to be, and this is what I’m supposed to be doing. A sense of destiny.”
Grace would definitely understand that. Gunner did as well. But destiny could take you down the wrong path, get you in trouble, which is what she told Grace.
“I don’t think making a decision with your heart is ever wrong,” Grace said firmly. “There are always going to be things you didn’t do. But that’s what it is—a different path. Different, not right, and so it shouldn’t be a regret.”
“How’d you get so smart?”
“Born that way,” Grace told her. “I think we’re all meant to do good. Together, we can.”
And just like that, Avery’s decision clicked firmly back into place. “How’re you enjoying your vacation?”
“Dare’s already getting into trouble—he boarded a speedboat and almost got arrested,” she said wryly. “Any more vacation and we’re going to need a bail bondsman on the payroll.”
“I’ve got contacts everywhere,” she said. They hung up, and she was smiling. Lighter.
Gunner had told her earlier that the decision was hers. And she’d made it, again, and it was definitely the right one.
She’d read the next three journals as soon as she could get her hands on them. Even though she knew how Adele’s story ended, she still wanted to know the journey. That was the most important part.
Still grinning, she stared out at the lake. Heard the door open behind her and said, “That was quick.”
“Glad you think so.”
She barely had time to register that it wasn’t Gunner’s voice before she felt the pinprick of a needle in her neck. She faded fast, grabbed for the deck’s railing as she started to fall to the floor.
She tried to fight, but her limbs weren’t working right. She wasn’t completely out of it, but she knew whatever she’d been given had immobilized her badly. She couldn’t even scream.
She was aware of being carried, put into a car, and she tried to count to figure out how many miles she was being taken, but she went in and out of consciousness and her mind wasn’t cooperating when she was awake.
Her eyes opened what seemed like hours later. She was staring at a ceiling, her head propped on a pillow on a bed, with a mirror above her. She was still in the flannel shirt, but it had risen and she was partially exposed. Her legs had been tied, and so were her arms, but she couldn’t feel them.
“I wouldn’t bother struggling. You’ve been immobilized.” A man stood in the doorway. “Nice to meet you, Avery.”
“Wish I could say the same.” Her words slurred. Her head throbbed, a screaming pain, which seemed to be a side effect of the drug. She was virtually paralyzed and it was terrifying. She couldn’t move, no matter how hard she tried. It was like being stuck in quicksand and her mind was still sharp enough to process everything. And panic.
“You’re not what I thought you’d be,” he told her as he moved closer, pushed open the flannel shirt. She lay naked in front of him, refusing to cry.
“You’re Landon. Exactly . . . like I thought.”
Drew Landon was maybe midforties. A good-looking man, although she could never give him that compliment, knowing what she did about his past.
“I hope you didn’t think you were well hidden at James’s house. Once he came back on the grid, finding properties associated with him wasn’t difficult. Of course, the tracker planted on his phone made things easy enough as well.”
“What do you want?”
“I want James, without the distraction of your group. You’ve gained quite the reputation after just one job. But really, you’re the biggest problem. Women always are.” His finger traced her lips, which she felt, then dipped lower. She glanced up at the mirror and saw his fingers were playing along her tattoo and she vowed not to look up again. Better not to know. “I think if I eliminate you—”
“He’ll kill you,” she tried.
“He might want to. But after Josie, you’d think he’d learn. But he didn’t. He’ll come back to me, the way he always does. I gave him a place to live, a purpose. You don’t forget that for a piece of ass.”
Something wasn’t adding up here, but she had too many competing thoughts to figure it out. Add to that the crushing weight of fear and she had to force herself to keep her breathing even, not to panic.
He leaned over her and added, “By the way, I left an audio link behind so James can hear everything that’s happening. So make sure you make some noise for him.”
Tears ran down her cheeks. She hated that she couldn’t wipe them away. The only thing she could do was spit directly into his face when he got close.
> Her satisfaction at that was short-lived, when he pulled out a short but wicked-looking blade and tapped it against her breast.
She bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out. Stared into his eyes instead of watching the knife. “I will make you pay for this, Landon.”
“Sweetheart, you’re the one who’s already paying.”
She squeezed her eyes shut so she wouldn’t look up by mistake. When she opened them because she’d heard him stop moving, he was staring down at her. And then he brought the knife back up into her line of vision.
It was bloody.
He was carving her up and she couldn’t feel a thing.
• • •
The farmers’ market was a fifteen-minute ride from his house. Gunner rolled the window down, turned the radio up and for the first time in months, he felt lighter.
There was still a lot of work to do, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and her name was Avery. And he couldn’t wait to get back to her.
Leaving her wasn’t his first choice, but she looked so damned comfortable, resting in the sauna. Besides, he knew he was Landon’s real target, would always be until he took the proper steps.
For the moment, he shoved those thoughts down hard, parked and went into the open-air market with his cap pulled down low but no glasses. He’d still manage to blend into the crowd from the majority of the people there.
But there were people he couldn’t hide from. And those same people would never be invisible to him either. It was a spook’s instinct, an eerie feeling, like looking across a crowd where everyone else except the dangerous ones were frozen.
It took ten minutes for him to gather the food he needed. It was on that ninth minute when he spotted the guy in the Mariners hat—and that guy spotted him at the same time. They made eye contact as if they were the only ones there.
Could be nothing, another spook recognizing his own kind, another spy who discovered a newcomer to his territory. But if it wasn’t . . .
He disappeared behind a large display, phone in front of him in case the guy came around the corner, and he dialed Avery. Got her voice mail.
Unbreakable_A Section 8 Novel Page 13