Rules of Engagement

by Bruce, Ann

  In bits and pieces, the haze drifted away, dissipated, allowing the memories to return. After Jake had gone on the supply run, there’d been a knock on the door. She’d answered it and found two genetically engineered goons who’d screamed Euro trash, despite the jeans, plaid shirts and hiking boots. One of them had smiled as he said her name. Before she was able to respond to the alarm that had sounded inside her head, hands had reached for her and she’d felt a pinprick on the side of her neck.

  Katarzyna tried rolling her shoulders. Whatever had been in the syringe hadn’t completely worn off yet. She still felt like she’d taken an extra large dose of Nyquil.

  Slowly, sounds filtered to her ears. She caught snatches of low voices speaking in a language she didn’t recognize. Not quite Russian, she decided. Ukrainian, perhaps?

  Definitely not someone she’d busted in the past, now out for a little vengeance. And it sure as hell hadn’t been random, not if they knew her name. But how—

  Fear suddenly made her pulse pound. It wasn’t about her. She was only the bait. Three bullets to the chest and Jake Duquesne was still alive. They’d come to rectify that.

  Katarzyna’s hands were suddenly like swimming pools. She curled her fingers, balling her hands into fists that felt too small.

  Jake was going to come for her. There was no question of that. And they would be waiting for him.

  * * * * *

  Jake slowly eased the unconscious man down to the ground, careful to keep the noise to no more than the barest whisper of cloth against the damp vegetation covering the ground. The second sentry, young and bored, had been easier than the first. As far as he could detect, there had been only the two walking the perimeter. His former lover was either getting sloppy or she didn’t consider him to be as dangerous as he’d once been. Either way, it was to his advantage and he wasn’t complaining.

  Worst case scenario, she was lulling him into a false sense of security.

  Jake searched the body, stripping it of weapons and transferring them to his own. He unbuckled the unconscious man’s belt, slid it through the belt loops with a sibilant hiss and used it to secure his hands.

  The two-way radio next to the body crackled and an accented voice asked Vilem to check in.

  Shit.

  Jake twisted off the volume on the hand-held. He couldn’t fake the voice since the only sound he’d heard from the guard had been a muffled grunt.

  Stealing along the generous shadows, Jake crept closer to the edge of the trees and the cabin that sat in the clearing beyond it. Baseball Cap had required a little more persuasion before giving up the location of his team’s temporary headquarters, since the broken wrist hadn’t been sufficiently convincing. The sprawling, two-story structure was larger and better appointed than Ella’s, but then, it had to sleep six. A large, dark SUV was parked to the side.

  The cabin was dark except for a spill of light coming from the back. Jake scanned the surrounding area, searching for points of entry. He would—

  The front door of the porch swung open. And his mouth and throat went dry. His heart slowed, each individual beat loud in his ears and hard in his chest.

  A tall man stood in the doorway, limned by the weak light from inside the cabin, Katarzyna held in front of him like a shield. Her body was limp, looking heavy and awkward, and her head slumped forward.

  The hollow sensation inside his chest was strange, especially paired with the lead ball in the pit of his stomach weighing him down. To stay upright, Jake had to brace a hand against a tree trunk. Then he saw her chest move and relief rushed through him.

  “Give yourself up,” called out the man hiding behind Katarzyna. Jake tore his eyes away from her—and caught the glint of light on polished metal. Katarzyna’s captor brought up his hand and pressed the muzzle of a semi-automatic to her temple. “You have to the count of five.”

  Fear threatened to overtake the fury boiling in him and Jake drove it back.

  “One.”

  His brain raced, trying to find a scenario that wouldn’t end up with both him and Katarzyna going down the mountain in black body bags, if they went down at all. Mother Nature had a way of keeping secrets.

  “Two.”

  Even if he gave himself up, they would kill her anyway.

  “Three.” The voice rose with tension.

  But would they make her suffer for associating with him first? More than she already had?

  “Four.”

  Could he prevent that?

  “F—”

  “Stop!”

  Jake stepped forward, breaking away from the cover of the trees, his hands up. He let the gun dangle from a finger, swing once, then drop to the ground. It landed with a dull thud.

  “Let her go,” he demanded, his tight voice carrying on the chilly air.

  “Now, now, Simon,” chided a female voice flavored with the slightest trace of a Eastern European accent. “Josef said nothing about releasing your little plaything.”

  A tall, slim woman with dark hair and pale skin stepped out from behind Katarzyna and her captor, followed by another buff, blond man who could’ve been Josef’s twin. Ilena Tkachuk usually preferred her men big, dumb and blond. Jake had been an exception.

  She affected a pensive look. “Or do you prefer to use your real name, Jacob Duquesne?”

  Strangely, finally seeing his enemy in the flesh settled a mantle of icy calm over him. She was beautiful and as deadly as a viper, just like he remembered her. He narrowed his eyes. Perhaps it was a trick of the light spilling from the open doorway, but she was the same and wasn’t the same. Her features were just a little off, the skin a little tighter, her lips a little less mobile. Plastic surgery. She hadn’t escaped their last encounter unscathed, after all.

  “You look well for a dead woman, Ilena.”

  She acknowledged his statement with a tip of her head and instructed, “Put your hands behind your head and take two steps forward.”

  Slowly, he laced his fingers behind the back of his head, moved forward and moonlight washed over him, making him too easy a target. “Better?”

  “Much.” Her lips stretched into a semblance of the smile she usually reserved for the bedroom. “I like the Southern accent. It’s very sexy.”

  “Why are you here?” he asked neutrally, like they were merely acquaintances bumping into each other on the street. “Indulging in vengeance is rather unprofessional of you.”

  Her eyes became slits. “I never let an insult go unanswered. The competition would see that as a weakness. I see that as a weakness. You blew up my home and left me for dead. That qualifies as an insult.” She smiled again, sending chills through him. “I plan to return the favor.” She flicked a careless glance at Katarzyna. “With interest.”

  Her voice softened to something even more dangerous, more female. “Although, watching you with her the last few days, she might be grateful. You were very rough with her…none of the charm, none of the finesse you showed with me.”

  They’d spied on him and Katarzyna. Jake had suspected as much, but a fog of red still hazed his vision. He momentarily forgot about his rule of not harassing the opposition. With a hint of contempt, he drawled, “You were a job.”

  The regal composure cracked as blood flushed the sharp features of her face. She whirled on Katarzyna and swung her hand hard across the other woman’s face. Katarzyna’s head snapped to one side as the crack of flesh on flesh resounded in the night, drowning any sound she might have made. Jake’s muscles bunched, but he restrained himself. If he reacted, Ilena would only strike Katarzyna again. Or worse.

  Ilena’s sudden outburst of violence seemed to calm her down, as if a valve had been opened and the pressure eased. When she turned back to him, she was the Ice Queen once more.

  “Since you’re here, I suppose three of my men are dead.”

  Jake simply shrugged, allowing her to believe what she would. Ilena always assumed everyone was as merciless as she. Her ruthlessness and willingness to use eve
rything at her disposal, including her body, had made her into one of the foremost illegal arms dealers in the world. Nearly a year ago, he’d been ordered to track down the person who’d managed to elude the other, more traditional authorities, American and international, and had allegiance to none. When he’d learned that his target was a woman, he’d adjusted his game plan accordingly. In the end, however, his game plan had been flawed and he’d ended up being propelled out a two-story window by three bullets that found his chest. He recalled a deafening explosion just before he’d hit the ground and had hoped that meant the end of Ilena Tkachuk. He’d never believed it, though. They’d never recovered her body. All in all, his last mission had been a spectacular failure. And now it was back to make him regret it.

  “Enough talk,” Ilena declared, as if he’d been chattering like a fucking magpie. She waved a hand at the guard who didn’t have Katarzyna as a shield and commanded, “Secure him.”

  Had he been Ilena, he would’ve ordered the guard to shoot. A double-tap to the head and it’d be done. But Ilena had a sadistic streak she liked to indulge. She was ruthless but still allowed the smaller things to sway her.

  The guard started down the porch steps. Jake’s eyes went to Katarzyna—and met hers.

  Blood, diluted with saliva, filled her mouth, the metallic taste of it slickly coating her tongue, and Katarzyna swallowed. The scratches on her cheek courtesy of Psycho Bitch’s absurdly long nails stung. However, she welcomed the pain and its head-clearing effects, even if it hurt to think of Jake sharing the intimacies with Psycho Bitch that he’d shared with her.

  Katarzyna fought the need to move to relieve the ache spreading across her shoulders. Josef, as Psycho Bitch had addressed him, had kept her hands handcuffed behind her back when he’d arrived to fetch her. He had, however, unknowingly loosened his hold on her as she had gradually taken more of her own weight. Josef had his attention focused on Jake, who was considered the more dangerous of the two of them.

  Katarzyna took a shallow breath—and prayed Jake had understood the silent message she’d tried to convey.

  Suddenly, she let her body go limp and fall through Josef’s hold and to the floor, landing hard on her knees. Josef jerked. Gunfire erupted, shattering the air. Katarzyna drove her shoulder into his groin and he folded over with a strangled shout.

  Above her, around her, pandemonium reigned. There were yells and screams and more gunfire.

  Paying the chaos no heed, Katarzyna deliberately fell to her side and lashed out a foot. She caught Psycho Bitch on the side of her knee and heard something snap.

  Then there was nothing but whimpers of pain interspersed with foreign curses. Katarzyna rolled onto her knees, the movement lacking in grace with her hands still secured behind her back, and looked around.

  Psycho Bitch was cupping her knee, silvery tears streaking down her face, pain and hatred in her eyes as she juggled her concentration between her injured joint and the woman who’d inflicted the damage. Josef was sprawled on the ground, his back against the cabin wall, a mess of blood and flesh and other human tissue where his face had once been.

  “Oh God.” The horrified whisper came from her. Despite years of homicide investigations, bile still rose to her throat and she was forced to whip her head away from the gruesome sight or lose the meager contents of her stomach.

  However, gross or not, she identified no immediate threat. Loosening her shoulders and arms, she slid her hands under her butt and folded legs. She rolled her shoulders and blew out a sigh of relief. Her hands were still cuffed, but at least they were in front of her now.

  She turned her attention to the clearing in front of the building. About twenty feet away, a body was spread out on the gravel, unmoving, a widening pool of something reflecting darkly in the moonlight underneath it. Psycho Bitch’s other guard. She looked beyond the dead body—and everything inside her lurched painfully to a halt. Jake was on the ground, rolling in agony.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God. Tears stung her eyes as Katarzyna sprang to her feet, scooped up Josef’s gun—because Psycho Bitch was hurt but still conscious—and flew to Jake. She dropped to her knees beside him, uncaring that small, helpless sounds were escaping her throat, and scanned his writhing body. She saw no blood, but the grimace on his face and the breathless gasps of pain were very real.

  She dropped the gun, pulled up his shirt with both hands and would have collapsed had she been standing. A choked sob, laced with relief, fell from her lips. She ran her hands over the padded Kevlar vest that covered Jake’s torso. She felt five punctures, two just over his heart. But no blood. Suddenly, almost frantic, she peeled apart the Velcro tabs and explored underneath the vest. Warmth, but no wetness.

  No longer writhing in pain from the impact of the bullets, he reached out a hand, found hers and squeezed. His voice raspy and his words choppy, he whispered, “I learn from my mistakes.”

  Her tears spilled over. She sat down on her heels, her legs folded underneath her, and pulled his head onto her lap.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  She nodded, still unable to speak. He was the one who’d been shot and he was comforting her. She swallowed and wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands.

  A howl of rage drew her gaze to the porch. Psycho Bitch was glaring at them with murder in her eyes, but that was all she was capable of doing.

  Katarzyna turned back to Jake. “You have lousy taste in women,” she murmured to him, faint amusement warring with the tears in her voice.

  He squeezed her hand again. “I learn from my mistakes.”

  Chapter Five

  Six Months Later

  On automatic pilot, Katarzyna unlocked the back door of her townhouse, stepped inside her kitchen and knew she wasn’t alone. She glanced at the white panel beside the door. Her security alarm was deactivated. Without hesitation, she snapped open the thumb break on her holster and drew her sidearm.

  In the dark, she moved to the swing door that led to the tiny dining room and living room. Crouching low, she eased the door open an inch, then another, then a few more until she could slip through the opening. From her low position, she swept the dining room and found it empty.

  A soft snick and light spilled from the living room onto the dining room floor.

  She hit the floor, rolled and came up with the Glock held in the standard two-handed grip, aimed at the figure in the living room. She faltered.

  “Please put the gun away. I’ve had my fill of being shot,” Jake Duquesne said from where he sat cozily ensconced in her armchair. Golden light from the lamp on the side table washed across the planes and angles of his face.

  Katarzyna felt as if she’d taken a fist to the stomach. She slowly straightened up, unable to tear her eyes away as she greedily drank in the sight of him. He looked tired and thinner than the last memory she had of him. Part of her wanted to run to him and throw herself in his arms.

  That, however, was before six months of utter silence from him and five months of her trying to keep his memory vague so she could function with some semblance of normality.

  That final night in the mountains, they’d waited for what seemed like forever for the authorities to arrive. They hadn’t been the local authorities because they’d arrived in black helicopters that had blended with the darkness and the agents had moved with impressive efficiency. Jake had handed her over to one of the men, who’d bundled her up, debriefed her, made her swear to secrecy and had taken her home. Not the cabin, but home, as in her townhouse in Somerset. She’d been transported to a small airstrip, loaded onto a private jet where her personal belongings had been waiting for her, flown into Somerset and driven to her residence. Her car had appeared in her garage a day later.

  In the following days she’d scanned print and online newspapers and watched the news, but not a word of the events that had been seared into her brain reached public attention. Somehow, some way, Jake and the organization that employed him had managed to keep a lid on the violence that had tak
en place in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

  Sometimes the need to share, to discuss, to unburden herself made Katarzyna feel like exploding. Those times she went to the gym and took out her frustrations and anger and hurt on either a punching bag or some unsuspecting sparring partner.

  And here was the man who’d caused it all, sitting calmly as you please in her home.

  Katarzyna slipped her finger from the trigger guard and returned the gun to the holster. “How did you get in?” she asked, her inner turmoil carefully hidden by her blank face. “I just had the alarm upgraded.”