In addition to Lucas and West, a guy with a mysterious past and sharpshooter skills, Ford chose Reid Armstrong. One look at his file convinced Ford that Reid belonged outside the rigid structure of most intelligence agencies. He’d infiltrated terrorist cells as easily as sneaking into a movie. Add in the fluency in more languages than Ford knew existed and the guy proved the perfect addition.
“Let’s cut through the bureaucratic bullshit. We know what’s going on.” The “we” meant Bravo. There was Alliance and then there was his team. Ford relied only on the latter.
“Right.” West leaned against the row of gray lockers. “Purposely bad intel.”
“On one hand we have an auction. On the other a kid who walked out of a government facility holding deadly crap in a tube and no one tried to stop him. That can only mean inside job and we all know it.” No other explanation made sense so Ford refused to dwell on them. Let the admin types run through options and follow protocol. He was hired to get shit done.
“And the need for better screening in those jobs.” Reid mumbled the comment.
“You think Ward or Harlan is a problem?” Lucas stood at the end of the aisle keeping watch. As the youngest member of the team, that often turned out to be his role—making sure none of the rest of them got shot or stabbed. Getting garroted was also out. “Is that why we’re meeting in here instead of the conference room?”
“No.” Ford really only trusted Ward. They had a past, and the man had proven to be rock solid more than once. “Though, admittedly, I’m not so sure about Harlan.”
Lucas stopped pacing and watching. “Because he’s British?”
Straddling the bench, Reid sat down facing Ford. “Because he’s a condescending ass.”
“Well, there’s that.” West delivered the comment in a dry tone, which was starting to be his normal tone.
The talking it through partially worked for Ford. He knew the guys needed to blow off steam and sometimes that meant verbal battles or going back and forth. If they had more time, he’d encourage it, but they needed to get prepped and ready to fly. That meant he had to explain to Shay one more time why he’d drop out of her life for at least a day.
Lying and deceit came with the job. He’d been trained in subterfuge and subjected to random screenings and lie detector tests while in the CIA. He now counted beating the machines and skirting the truth among his skills. When he tracked terrorists or killers or hung out with assassins and mercenaries, that was fine. But Shay deserved better.
He walked in out of the darkness with the slime of his work still clinging to him and she hit him like a burst of light. With long wavy brown hair and big blue eyes, Shay would qualify as pretty by any standard. She had this wide smile and smokin’ hot body. All of it worked for him.
But there was something else. Something that reeled him in and had guilt kicking in his gut. He wasn’t one to be lured by a sweet face, and he’d had perfect bodies and skilled mouths in his bed before. His job had him facing off on a regular basis against trained female operatives who exchanged sex for information or used it to survive. He understood and accepted how the game was played, but nothing had prepared him for Shay.
The simple things about her comforted him. Him, the same guy who never sought out comfort or security in his life. She brushed her hair while sneaking peeks at him over her shoulder and his insides went wild. She would make him dinner and shake her hips, so slight, as she stirred something in a pot, and he all but ripped the kitchen towel out of her hand.
Hell, he caught her changing a lightbulb and got hard. It was as if she represented everything solid and good, all the things he fought for but eluded him in his personal life.
And he’d spent every single minute since he knew her lying to her.
He pushed away thoughts of her and how open she was in bed and how giving she was even as he limited his time with her, and focused on how to get through the next few days without walking into a toxic cloud. “We need to treat all intel with skepticism from now on. Believe none of it. Plan for the opposite. We get a lead or intercept chatter, we doubt it. Go in thinking we’re going to be fucked from behind and prepare two or three extraction options.”
Reid swore under his breath. “It’s like I’m back in the CIA.”
“Except there are people we can trust.” Ford gestured to all of them. “Us. Bravo.”
West nodded. “Damn right.”
Lucas kept up his steady scan of the room. “Do we tell Ward?”
“Not yet.” Ford trusted Ward with his life but sometimes you needed to slip around the rules. Like now. “We’re not putting him in the position of having to keep our secrets from everyone else in Alliance.”
“I have a feeling we’re about to do something stupid that could get us thrown in jail.” Reid held up his hands as if in surrender. “Hey, I’m in. I’m just saying I see it coming.”
Jail would be a positive outcome compared to some of the other options, but Ford let that drop.
“At some point we’re going after this kid Trent Creighton, right?” Reid looked around the group. “He’s on the run and a novice. I’d like to think even with being fed bad intel we could track down that little piece of shit and take him out.”
“I could feed one of those toxic vials to him.” West shrugged in the way only West could when talking about killing someone. “Hard to sell it when you’re dead.”
“I like where your heads are.” Keeping them on task would be the trick. Ford knew he could unleash them and the combined firepower in the room would put an end to most problems, but they had to sweep up all the pieces, and right now he wasn’t sure what those where.
The day likely would come when he had to put a bullet in Trent, and soon, but not today. Not before they collected more information and knew all the players. And if the kid coughed up the intel, he might get to live. He owed Shay that much. More, actually, but the least he could do after screwing her was not cut down her relatives in front of her.
Trent was a stupid kid, but the person running the auction ranked as the most dangerous under Alliance’s watch because if he couldn’t get the toxin from Trent, he’d look elsewhere, and that meant the danger would lurk and grow until he got caught or killed.
“Under all of this we have the prick who provided the bad intel and got innocent collaterals killed in Hampstead.” The person Ford tagged in his head as the inside man and vowed to wipe off the planet. A potential mole who would die ugly and slow at Bravo’s hands.
West raised a hand. “I get to put a bullet in that guy.”
“Only one?” Lucas asked.
“Sure.” West mumbled under his breath. “After I cut him into pieces.”
Ford wanted a front row seat to that. “That will teach him to try to set a match to your ass.”
“So, the plan is?” Reid asked.
Looking around, Ford knew he had their attention. They were engaged and ready. They’d follow his lead and throw their bodies in front of the toxin, if necessary. And it could come down to that, but right now he needed to sneak them out of the country. “We have a lot of blind spots in this thing, but we can collect our own intel. Do it right and get out clean.”
“Let me guess,” Lucas said. “You know a guy.”
“An old asset in France. He won’t be happy to see me but we can convince him to talk.” Ford shrugged. “That’s what guns and hitting are for.”
West nodded. “Sounds like we need our passports.”
Since they all possessed multiple sets of those, Ford knew that wouldn’t be a problem. “We plan the op on the plane and fill Ward in when we get there. Well, after we have the asset and he’s giving up intel.”
“Dad is not going to be happy with this plan.” But Reid smiled as he said it.
Adrenaline bounced around the room, pinging off every surface. The tension, the possibility of shu
tting this down before it became a nightmare, sent a shot of energy moving through all of them. All but Lucas, who frowned. “I’m in but I wonder if we should take a run at the people closest to Creighton first and apply a little pressure until someone gives him up.”
“I have a few minutes to spare.” West pushed off from the bank of lockers and twisted the lock on the one closest to him. “I like the idea of finding Trent and killing the little fucker.”
“We need to attack this from both ends,” Ford said. The middle, the side . . . he was willing to do whatever worked. And he had the resources to get them all where they needed to be. “I have a plane ready to go tomorrow morning.”
Reid’s eyes narrowed. “You know the most interesting people.”
Ford noticed none of them said no. They didn’t balk at undermining Alliance command. He talked about shitting all over their office and bosses and taking off to chase a possibility, and they signed up on his word. That was the kind of loyalty and trust he never got in the CIA. Something that made Bravo team and Alliance worth fighting for, even with the bullshit and stuff with Harlan.
“A pilot who owes me a favor.” Ford had known that unsanctioned run into Libya to hunt down that missing seaman would pay off one day.
“Is this friend of yours bringing bail money?” Reid asked.
“As if we’d qualify for bail.” Ford tried to make it sound like a joke but truth was, no. One screw-up, one word to the wrong person, and they’d be dead.
It was almost four o’clock in the afternoon when Ford walked into Shay’s apartment. One firm knock, then the keys jingled in the lock before she could get up from the kitchen table. Seeing him walk in—was that a beer ad on his shirt?—had her brain misfiring.
His biceps bunched under the edge of his tee. Between the scruff around his chin, big smile, and dark brooding good looks, she felt something gurgle in her throat. It was as if she were treading water and getting tugged under. She’d talked about having someone steal her breath before. With Ford she lived the sensation.
While she loved seeing him, she had no idea why she was right now. He worked long hours and four o’clock qualified more as lunch than his quitting time. With one leg crossed over the other and her foot bouncing against the floor, she stared him down. She held her pen in a death grip to keep from fidgeting and flinging it around.
The more still he stood there, leaning in the doorway, the more nervous she became. Energy rolled through her, all jumbled and making her twitchy. Maybe if he’d stop staring back. “Ford?”
“That’s hot.”
She followed his gaze to her hands. The edge of her checkbook dug into her palm from where she clenched it. With her elbows balanced on the table, she tried to ease the tension in her shoulders and relax, though that rarely worked with him around. “What?”
This time he gestured with his chin. “You. Right there.”
She lifted her hand and pointed the bottom of the pen in his general direction. “I’m writing a check.”
“Exactly.”
“You should see me vacuum.” She wanted to laugh but no sound came out. His effect on her scared her sometimes.
“Are you trying to break my concentration?”
“I don’t even know what you’re doing here at this time of the day.” Standing, leaning, generally making her insides jump and jiggle.
“Staring.”
She noticed that, too. “Okay . . . why?”
“All that traveling, all those times I leave . . .” His voice trailed off as he pushed away from the door and came toward her. “I want to remember your face.”
That sounded like a goodbye or a break. Like something she did not want and would fight to fend off. “Are you telling me you’re leaving again?”
He kept walking until he stood next to her chair. “Just for twenty-four hours.”
Just. “Honestly, Ford. Who needs this type of nonstop computer service?”
He made a face. “Uh, everyone?”
She was starting to curse her e-mail. Everything about computers ticked her off right now. She associated technology with him and that led to thinking about him leaving . . . again.
Her friends joked about her making him up. Never one to pick a guy she dated over lifetime friends, she’d inadvertently done just that. He came in and out with little notice and no set schedule. She’d moved plans around and canceled a dinner here and there. Every invitation included Ford, but he never tagged along.
She bit back her disappointment and growing anger. They didn’t have a dating understanding and she’d gone into this not wanting more of a fling. Those days were long gone. She was the one changing the rules, but damn it, they needed to be changed. Not tonight, but soon.
She blew out a long breath, one packed with a you-are-right-on-edge drop of frustration. “Where are you going this time?”
“Omaha.”
Not exactly a boondoggle. For a second she thought about tagging along, but Omaha? Nah. “That doesn’t sound very fun.”
He leaned against the table and ignored the creak of the wood under his weight. “So, we should go out tonight.”
Her leg slid and her foot hit the floor with a thud. “Out?”
“On a date.”
He could have used any word right there. Date, refrigerator, apple, and she would have had the same response. Dry-throat shock. “Really?”
He eyed her up as he pushed off from the table and moved in closer. Kind of like she’d lost her mind. “You’ve heard of the concept, I’m sure.”
Yeah, but not from him. They mostly stayed in. Not that she complained about the sex or the cuddling on the couch while they watched the disaster movies he always seemed to find with the remote. Well, not much. Getting coffee or grabbing a burger—hell, even going for a short walk around the block with him—sounded good, but he’d never shown any interest.
She’d understood. He traveled all the time. Wanting to be home and stay there made sense. Still, she yearned for something bigger. Only a few weeks had passed but she craved a deeper connection.
“As in leave the building.” He hesitated between each word. “We go outside and see people and—Oompf.” He rubbed his stomach. “What’s with the hitting?”
He was probably trying to be funny with that tone. She was too busy trying to catch up to appreciate any amusement. “You usually want to stay in.”
“Oh, we’ll come back and then stay in until morning. Count on that.” That sly smile telegraphed exactly what he had planned for later, all of it likely while naked. “But you deserve a normal date.”
The shock hadn’t faded. She didn’t want to question, but still . . . “What brought this on?”
“A reality check.”
She understood all those words but not in this context. Leaning in, she put her hand on his thigh. “I don’t know what that means.”
Capturing her hand in both of his, he lifted and placed a kiss on the dead center of her palm. “Sign your name so the electric company doesn’t get pissy, then we’ll get dressed and go out for an early dinner.”
She wanted to repeat the word “out” one more time just to be sure, but refrained. The clouds started to clear from her head . . . sort of. “You’re paying.”
With her fingers slipped through his, he glanced at the register in front of her. “I can see your checkbook balance and I’m thinking you should.”
She definitely heard the joking in his voice that time. Even without it, she’d never believe her twelve hundred dollar balance beat his, so she played along. “How badly did you want to get to those after-dinner activities?”
He flashed her a sexy smile. “Like I said, dinner is my treat.”
“Smart man.”
5
DRESSED IN street clothes but armed for attack, Ford and his team spread out as t
hey walked down the narrow street in Paris’s Marais district. Art galleries and shops filled the hip historic area. The famous Pompidou Centre, a modern building with brightly colored tubes and metal railings that scaled seven stories and stuck out among the older architecture, sat a short distance away. People milled and café seats were filled.
Basically, it was the worst place to conduct an interrogation, but Ford didn’t have a choice.
As agreed, they were going in blind and without backup. No tech and no support from Ward or the Warehouse. If anyone but Bravo team tried this op it would be doomed to failure. Ford knew his guys could handle it, get in and out without anyone in the neighborhood knowing they were there.
Without a word they broke off. Lucas slipped into an alley and circled around the back of the building over the tea store. Reid stayed out front. West and Ford went in.
The outer door to the apartments above was unlocked. They stepped into a small alcove lined with mailboxes and a locked door right in front of them. Ford pressed the buttons beside every apartment number except the one without a name. A few people said hello, then the door buzzed. The click came next.
West reached for the handle. “I could have broken the lock.”
“This was faster.” There was something about human nature where people let strangers in during the day but not at night. As if criminals stuck to a darkness-only schedule. Ford shook his head as they passed through the inner door and headed up the stairs to the fourth floor. “The people in this building could save some money by not paying for security that doesn’t actually secure anything.”
“People are fucked up.”
Amen to that. “That could be the Bravo team motto.”
They reached the floor and headed down the hallway to 4G. With each in position on either side of the doorway, Ford nodded.
West yawned.
Ford couldn’t help but stare. “Am I boring you?”
“Not yet.”
Playing Dirty Page 4