He grunted. “Doesn’t sound like it to me.” The moron should’ve married you long ago. “Who is this jerk? He got a name?”
She traced the curve of his bottom lip with her fingertip, whispering what he suspected but hadn’t dared hope to believe. “I wanted to tell you before, but I was afraid to after I lied about Ryder. I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me. The man I love is—you. I’ve loved you since the first kiss you stole in the sandbox, Taylor. I don’t know how not to love you.”
Me? You love me?
He pulled her back to his mouth, his heart thumping like the whole damned Marine Corps band on steroids. That one word. Love.
God, he could count on one hand the times he’d heard it in his life, the times it was meant for him. Truly meant. And here she’d offered it like it was her special secret, her gift to him.
His eyes filled like a damned sissy’s and he didn’t care. She’d done it now, breached the wall, more like blasted it to smithereens with the one tender word that meant the world. This was all he’d craved since—forever.
He wrapped his bandaged arms around her, no longer willing to catch and release. His tears and breath and tongue mingled with hers, and he couldn’t bear to let her go. Never again.
Her soft murmurs stoked his passion higher and hotter. With every touch of his fingers knotted in her hair, his lips on hers, Taylor claimed this wonderful woman. Every last piece of his shredded soul went into that kiss. He needed her. No. He wanted her. The smoldering ember he’d held at bay flamed bright and hot, burning everything else away. Only Gracie remained.
She eased away from his lips, her fingers flat to his chest. “Taylor? Are you okay?”
Define okay. How do you tell someone she’d breathed life into your soul, that you’d never be the same again?
He pressed his forehead to hers, their noses touching like they were little kids again, his heart jackhammering. “I remember you, Gracie. That photo of us in the sandbox? I don’t remember it. Only this.”
Trembling like a fool, he cupped her face in his palms, the pads of his thumbs on her cheeks. He’d fought alongside fierce warriors before, but this one had chosen him all those years ago. He kissed her waiting lips with the reverence of a four-year-old child saying his first prayer. In humility. And awe.
“I love you, Gracie,” he murmured against her mouth. “I think I always have. I’ll never be able to tell you how much, but I do.”
Her eyes brimmed. “But I know. My heart hasn’t sung like this is years. You were angry when you first opened your eyes in my home. You didn’t know me, but all I saw was my dearest friend come back to me. The only man I’ve ever loved.”
He pressed his lips to the center of her forehead. “I know exactly who you are, Gracie. You’re mine.”
Alex stood at the side door to the Quantico brig with Izza and Steven. He’d changed into The TEAM uniform of the day. Camouflaged cargo pants. Black polo. Bad attitude.
The fresh smell of pines filled the air. Another aircraft lumbered overhead on its way to the Marine Corps Air Facility just north of the brig, surrounded on three sides by a wide grass yard and a twenty-foot high chain link fence. The fourth side opened to a small parking lot that expanded into a larger lot just up the paved road. To the east, south and west—the deep woods of Virginia, the perfect concealment for a sniper.
Alex stared, analyzed and planned. Before the day ended, he might have to kill a friend in order to fulfill his bargain with the devil. What a lousy trade, a scumbag the likes of Webster for a grieving father.
His cell phone buzzed inside his inner suit jacket pocket. Just in time. He needed the diversion. The caller ID declared Harley. Maybe he had good news. God knew they needed some.
“Stewart.”
“Hey, Boss. You’re right. We found Taylor’s truck at White Hawk’s. There’s blood on the bench seat, so yeah, he’s hurt. Haven’t located him, but we did find some other crap in a house north of White Hawk’s. Wouldn’t even have looked there until we spotted the dog. He led us to some scary shit. There’s a hospital bed in one of the rooms and it’s covered in blood. Some of it’s fairly fresh. Leather restraints on the bedrails. They’re bloody, too.”
Sonofabitch. Not Taylor. Alex squeezed the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb, wishing he could release some of the pressure inside his brain, but damn. He couldn’t shoot Webster. “What else?”
“Gabe’s out searching the grounds, but something’s not right. I thought torture when I first saw the blood, but it doesn’t fit with the rest of the place. There’s fresh flowers on the dresser. A crucifix on the wall. Clean clothes that look to be Taylor’s size. I think someone’s been taking care of him, maybe someone he knows. Found a photo album chock full of pictures of him. You should see it. Except for the bed, the place looks kind of, I don’t know. Homey. I don’t guess a psycho killer would own a good dog like this one.”
Leave it to Harley to rely on a dog to determine the nature of a man’s soul. Maybe he was right. They hadn’t found a body, and Peter would never hurt his family.
“Join me at Quantico. Be here in an hour.”
“We’ll be there in forty,” Harley replied, and Alex had no doubt he’d do it. That damned red Jeep he insisted on driving like a bat out of hell might just be the death of him.
Alex hung up without further chat and turned to face Izza and Steven. “Don’t let that reporter out of your sight. Keep him indoors and away from windows. Sit on him if you have to.”
“Yes, Boss,” they replied in unison.
Alex faced east. His nostrils twitched, scenting the slight breeze like a predator for its prey. He was only human, a hard fact he rarely admitted. Olfactory sensory detection was not his specialty. Far-sightedness maybe, but for this operation, he’d need the experts.
“What’s next?” Izza asked.
“I’m bringing in the dogs.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Are you sure he’s out here, Boss?” Junior Agent Zack Lennox asked over his Bluetooth earpiece.
“White Hawk’s either out here or he’s inside.” Alex glanced back at the facility behind him. “Doubt Commander Ryan would allow that.”
While Izza and Steven guarded Webster inside, Alex had set up a TEAM command post at the rear of the brig outside the containment wire. Quantico’s Commander Ryan had offered a dozen security guards to assist. They’d set up their own mobile command alongside The TEAM’s two vehicles, but until they knew White Hawk’s whereabouts, it was a game of wait and see.
For now, Alex and Zack patrolled the outer perimeter of the fence. Alone. With gas masks instead of the dogs. Harley and Mark had been sent on a humanitarian mission. Make that a distressed canine mission because Peter proved to be quite the crafty bastard. He’d pulled an old black ops trick out of his gear bag, or quiver, or whatever the hell he was using to keep one step ahead of the game.
Alex should’ve known. Special Ops guys used the dirty trick during the Vietnam War. They’d cut open Counter Strike smoke grenades, grind the compressed tear-gas pellets into powder and used it to dust their tracks through the jungle to throw off any NVA patrols with dogs.
Once Whisper and Smoke caught a good snout full of CS, the advantage was blown. A dog can’t hunt when it’s rolling on the ground, sneezing, whining, and slobbering. Damn the old jarhead.
CS messed up a good dog’s nose, but it also messed up Harley’s soft heart. He was either inside showering with the dogs to neutralize the effects of the dust or on his way to the vet, no doubt crying right along with the dogs. Good man, Harley, but one hundred and ten percent sap.
Izza’s voice came over their ear buds. “Hey, Boss. What the hell’s going on? Did you know Ryan’s running an ORI today?”
“An Operational Readiness Inspection in the brig? Now?” Zack asked. “Are these guys complete idiots?”
“They’re what?” Alex asked, trying to hear Izza over Zack.
“Yeah. There’s a Sergeant Roth here telling Stev
en and me to stand down while they run a mock prisoner transfer. We’re—” Scuffling ensued on the other end of the line.
“Izza? Steven? Copy?”
“Sorry, Boss.” Her voice came back on the line as aggravated as Alex’s. “Dumb ass want us to leave our cell and—Stop pushing, you bastard.”
“No. Stay put until you hear back from me. You hear?”
“Copy that, but damn. These guys are ignorant.”
“I’ll be right back with you.” Alex rang up the Quantico commander.
Gabe called out, “We’ve got movement. Four. Your two o’clock.”
Sure enough, four men in black uniforms advanced toward The TEAM’s position. Not dressed in military uniforms, but they moved like trained operators, cautiously but steadily toward his team. All armed, compact rifles snug against their chest.
“Don’t shoot,” Alex ordered, keeping his eye on the intruders while he confronted Ryan. “Request permission to not participate in the ORI, sir.”
“What the hell are you talking about? What ORI?”
Zip. Ping. Splat. Those bastards fired. Something. Flashbangs? Zack and Gabe crouched. Damn. This was nothing but a diversionary tactic.
“Sir. You’ve got hostiles inside and outside your brig,” Alex informed Ryan.
“Permission to return fire,” Zack muttered, his rifle already on target. “I can give these guys something to think about.”
“No. Fall back,” Alex ordered. By then, Ryan’s men had advanced, returning fire every step of the way. “We need to get back inside. Now. White Hawk’s going after Webster.”
Alex and his men retreated to the side door. Let Ryan’s men deal with these guys. He had two agents and a reporter to protect inside and a bogus ORI. What the hell was going on? Peter didn’t work like this. No way. Better question. Who wanted Webster more than Peter?
Sirens wailed as security clamped down within the brig. By the time Alex reached Webster’s cell, Izza and Steven were flat to the floor on their faces.
Webster was gone.
“I.D., ma’am,” the uniformed female sentry at the Quantico West Gate ordered.
Gracie leaned back while Taylor handed over his I.D. He’d stayed at bachelor housing when he’d first come home from overseas. Registered his weapons with the Provost Marshall, too. Standard procedure.
The guard snapped to with a crisp salute when she recognized his rank. He returned the salute. Staff Sergeant beat out Lance Corporal any day.
Stepping back, she waved Gracie through the gate and onto the largest USMC Base in the world.
“Hook into Russell Road,” Taylor instructed, pointing the direction she needed to take. “The brig’s south of the airfield. Near the Potomac.”
Gracie complied. Watching the green trees pass while she drove by almost made the day normal. Almost. She parked down the road from the brig. Only when Gracie unlocked the trunk did Taylor notice the quiver of arrows and the unstrung bow alongside his rifle and gear bag.
“Oh, no. You’re not coming with me,” he stated firmly while checking his rifle under cover of the trunk lid.
She pulled the strap of the quiver over her arm, the bow already in hand. “Yes, I am.”
He grabbed her shoulders, turning her to face him. This was a development he hadn’t anticipated and he wasn’t strong enough to fight her. She needed to stand down and let him do his job. “No, you’re not. This is no place for—”
“For who? For a woman? If that’s what you’re going to say, forget it. You’ll need help and—”
“Gracie. Get back in the car and wait for me.”
She stared him down. “Taylor White Hawk Armstrong. In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve been with you all of your life. I’m not sitting back now. I can go with you or I will follow behind you. Either way, you are where I belong. Get it through your hard head once and for all. I love you. Your choice. Are you going to lead or shall I?”
Damn it. Once again, he was toe to toe with this overconfident woman who thought she could take him. She didn’t bat an eye. Her calm assurance told him plenty. She knew how to handle that bow. Oh, yeah, and she hadn’t backed down. Damn. I can’t win.
He huffed out a big sigh. “You any good with that thing?”
She nodded her chin at his rifle, her eyes twinkling. “You any good with that?”
“Good enough.”
With that compromise reached whether he liked it or not, he holstered his pistol and slung his weapons bag over his shoulder. The hole in his chest jolted, but he shrugged it off. Pain he could live with, but not losing his grandfather or Alex. Shutting the trunk, he crossed the road with Gracie at his side, and together, they faded into the trees.
Neither spoke. Taylor checked behind him once to see if she was still there, her step so quiet he couldn’t hear her. She smiled in acknowledgement, an arrow already snug in her bow. There she was, a lovely Indian princess following him. Ready to fight beside him. Maybe die for him.
Gracie looked the part, only now she was more than a fairytale. She was a warrior that same as him. The sight pinched his heart. Deadly things happened in skirmishes and battles. How could he keep her safe and still do his job?
“Wait,” she whispered, nodding to her right, signaling she’d heard something.
Taylor glanced over his left shoulder. Really? Already?
She nodded again. “This way. Let’s go.”
He balked. They were barely undercover, maybe eighteen yards into the trees at the most. Not even near the brig. There was no way his grandfather would be lying in wait this close to the road, not as smart as he was. Whose side was she on? Was she leading him toward or away from the action?
Trust didn’t come easy. Too many had failed him. Even the White Hawk men.
Gracie must’ve seen his hesitation and, of course, she smiled, her eyes lit with an emotion he’d only seen once before. Love. He couldn’t deny her, not and risk losing her. Within three steps, he was at her side and listening intently, his pistol drawn and ready. She might be right. Peter could be there instead of nearer the brig where Taylor would’ve expected. It could happen.
“Listen. Do you hear that?”
He stood stock still, every muscle taut with, his nerves alert. A quiet click-click-click sounded in the trees to their right. Not the rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker, and not the chip-chip-chip of a woodborer. Just the steady click-click-click—of what had to be a zip tie slowly tightening.
Taylor allowed a moment of satisfaction. Damn. She was not only smoking hot. She was good. He took a stealthy step toward the noise. Gracie, too.
The noise stopped.
They proceeded without so much as a dried leaf crackling underfoot until she tapped his arm and pointed up. There sat Luke in the low branches of a large oak, maybe ten yards to their right. He faced the opposite direction with his rifle across his knee, watching the ground below.
Taylor put a finger to his lips. They advanced as still as the forest around them. Whatever Luke watched from his sniper hide, it lay just beyond a cluster of green, leafy shrubs.
Closer. Closer.
This portion of Quantico lay beyond the confines of the brig. No one would think to look for Peter here. He might have already murdered Mary’s last assailant.
An alarm screeched from the facility. Taylor sucked in a breath and held it.
Damn. I’m going to war against my grandfather.
Chapter Twenty-Four
A security guard returned with the key and a medic. Took him long enough. Izza and Steven hadn’t stirred, but Alex couldn’t get to his people fast enough.
“It appears they’ve been drugged,” the medic stated after a cursory exam. “Both have very low heart rates and blood pressure. We’ll need to transport them as quickly as possible.”
No shit.
“How could anyone get past your security?” Alex demanded, his Irish up and ready to knock someone on their ass.
“You might want to check with him.” The medic nodded
toward a sergeant marching straight toward Alex.
“Mr. Stewart?” the sergeant barked.
“I’m Stewart,” Alex barked right back at him.
“Commander Ryan requests your presence. This way.”
Ryan met Alex in the yard with a grim nod to Zack and Gabe. “Are these your men?”
“Yes. Junior Agents Zack Lennox and Gabe Cartwright.”
“Then who the hell are these guys?” Ryan pointed to four men seated on the ground with their hands cuffed behind them, their feet shackled. Military security police stood with the prisoners. Various confiscated weapons, four gas masks and an assortment of knives and grenades lay in careful arrangement on the ground beyond the men.
“Never seen them before today.”
“They say they work for you.”
“They’re lying. They don’t.”
“What the hell’s going on, Stewart? I offer up my brig for your simple security detail and this is what happens?”
Alex nodded toward the prisoners now shuffling into the rear door of the brig under armed guard. “Sounds like you’ve got a security breach. My men are accounted for. Are yours?”
Ryan shot a volley right back. “I’m sure as hell going to find out. What now?”
His chief of security had just walked into his irate commander’s frag zone. “Sir, we’ve apprehended two more men inside. They also claim they work for Mr. Stewart.”
Ryan turned to Alex. “They better damned well be your agents.”
“Let’s find out.”
It didn’t take long to get to the next imposters. Alex charged past the guards and grabbed the closest liar by the front of his shirt. “Who the hell are you? Who sent you?”
The guy leaned back, his hands cuffed behind his back, a cold glint in his eye. “Now you’re interested? Too late, Stewart. Get your hands off my fatigues. Back off.”
Alex narrowed his eyes. Fatigues? Not utilities? This guy wants me to think he was a Marine. Bet me.
“Where’d you go to basic?”
The jerk sneered. “Lejeune. I’m just as good as you, Gunny.”
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