by Lea Griffith
Ella’s victory was a small one, but it was a victory nonetheless. And maybe when Segorski didn’t get the end result he wanted, he’d come after Dresden. Do Ella’s dirty work for her.
But not until she’d found out the details of Dresden’s organization. Please, God, not until then, or everything she’d gone through over the last year would be in vain.
“Dresden promised me a bomb maker,” Segorski reminded Ella.
She turned and began striding away from the Russian.
“Bomb maker,” Segorski called out, snapping his fingers at his men to hurry up and get the product loaded into the briefcases, which contained metal cylinders to house the vials.
She didn’t stop. “Not my concern,” she said over her shoulder. Then she pushed open the door and stepped back out into the chilly day.
That feeling of being watched was gone now. Ella mourned it but continued to the Rover. She got in, drew in a deep breath, and started the vehicle.
She had to leave Sarajevo. Her heart raced, threatening to beat out of her chest. The heart that had been dead for months.
Jude was onto her now. There was too much risk with Jude involved.
She had to run.
Chapter 2
Silence greeted Jude as he picked the lock and made entry into the loft in the middle of Sarajevo proper. This particular building still held pockmarked evidence of the three-and-a-half-year siege of Sarajevo that had ended in 1996. Bosnian Serbs had surrounded the city and pounded it with tank artillery and small arms fire. The city had burned, and nearly 14,000 people had been killed during the conflict. Sarajevo had managed to recover, but some of the buildings remained sentinels to the war that had nearly decimated it.
The loft Jude had sought was on the third floor, and though the building looked battered on the outside, the loft had been transformed into a posh condominium with hardwood floors and floor-to-ceiling windows along the south side of the space. The interior was filled with all the accoutrements of a well-to-do tenant. A leather sofa, ebony end tables, and a large, heavy oak dining table with twelve chairs for entertaining dominated the two main rooms. Heavy, steel appliances appeared brand new and unused in the spacious kitchen.
Jude made his way through the condo, his gaze cataloging every surface, finding nothing intimate or personal in nature. This was a safe house for her. She’d purchased the property under an assumed identity, Alejna Hurtic. Age twenty-six, daughter of a farm worker, Alejna was known for her escort work and lovely, vivacious nature. She was considered a dark beauty, much sought after but rarely caught.
And she’d apparently managed to amass a fortune in her scintillatingly dubious profession because her digs represented a lot of money. Logically, Jude knew it was part and parcel of what they did in the world of black ops. Create an identity, assume it with as much or as little engagement as needed, and use every resource at your disposal to garner money for your activities. Off-grid was how black ops worked, and there was no better way to survive the game than to re-create yourself.
She had done well with this one. Had she in fact earned her money in the business Alejna supposedly excelled at? Jude’s mind went there, knowing it wasn’t true but unable to stop the wave of possessiveness that tightened his scalp and fisted his hands.
Goddamn her for driving him to this madness. Stalking her and now resorting to ambush. But she had yet to show, and he was worried he’d lost her again. He’d left that rise above Dresden’s compound knowing that hanging around and blowing the building sky-high wasn’t going to accomplish anything. Dresden only used manufacturing facilities and storehouses once before moving on. So Jude had immediately headed here.
A source of his—okay, Vivi Granger—had listed this city as having potential as Alejna’s, a.k.a. Ella’s, location. Vivi was the only one who had never stopped believing in Ella’s innocence. She’d reached out to Jude two weeks ago and agreed to feed him as much information as she could get. And she had. Ella had become a master at evasion, but Vivi was wicked with a computer and excelled at possibilities and pattern recognition. She could find anyone, or at least a link to them. She had access to Ella’s CIA workup and file, so she knew how Ella moved, how she thought.
Jude didn’t know how he felt about Ella’s ability to outmaneuver him. The conflict inside him was buried under the need to be in her space, breathing her in. Anger could wait, right? He just needed his hands on her for a moment to make sure she was alive.
But now darkness was falling, and with it, Jude’s hopes of catching El—her—off guard.
Damn, Dagan, get your shit together. Her name is Ella. You’ve held her. Loved her. You thought she died, but apparently it was all a lie. Don’t let her steal the last part of you by refusing to say her name.
He breathed in deeply, let the oxygen work its magic on his muscles. Slowly, he relaxed. And then a key inserted into the lock of the front door, and Jude froze in the shadows beside the enormous bank of windows.
There wasn’t a single sound after the almost silent snick of the door behind whoever had entered. No footfalls echoed over the oak flooring, no small sounds rode the air. There wasn’t even the soft shush-shushing noise of cloth over cloth as someone moved. But they were in the condo now. Jude could feel them.
A small trail of light nearly blinded him as a hall lamp flipped on. Then the last person he expected to see entered the living room area, and Jude tensed.
“I knew you’d find her, son,” the tall, silver-haired man said as he came fully into view.
Fuck me, Jude thought. “The Piper?” Endgame’s creator. Looked like shit was about to get interesting.
The man nodded, a sadness in the gesture that brought every survival instinct Jude possessed into full alert. The Piper sat down on the large leather couch and leaned back negligently, resting an ankle over his knee and remaining motionless. “You shouldn’t have looked for her, Dagan. Why couldn’t you just let this go?”
Confusion bombarded him. “Let what go?”
The Piper lifted a hand and gestured to the entire loft. “This.”
Jude knew then. Ella might have started out CIA, but she was Endgame all the way. She was working for the Piper. “I’m not following, sir.”
Another shake of his head and the Piper smiled, unhappiness again riding the bare twist of his lips. “You follow, son. You always follow. They don’t call you the Keeper for nothing, do they? She knew that about you and cursed herself every time she gave in to her emotions for you. She knew you wouldn’t let her go, and if anyone ever needed to be let go, it’s her.” Silence followed his words. Jude didn’t dare to breathe. Something big was going on here. He couldn’t get a grip on it though. “Dagan, I’m going to have to ask you to leave and go home.”
Jude bristled at the proprietary tone in the other man’s voice. “And if I don’t?”
“Son, I may have phrased it as a request, but it wasn’t.” The Piper’s voice was hard, implacable, and completely at odds with his nonthreatening persona. The man was every bit sixty years old, but his body was well maintained.
Noah Caine was the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff for the United States of America. He was the principal military adviser to the president and the secretary of defense. He’d graduated from Army Ranger School, Marine Corps Amphibious Warfare School, and U.S. Army War College on top of having a PhD in government and international relations from Tufts University’s Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy. The man had served at nearly every level in the military. He was a bad motherfucker. He’d also created a private entity to do the things America’s regular military couldn’t do. Endgame Ops was his brainchild, and it was his funding that kept them operating and doing the things they did to keep America safe.
Jude knew the man. Had eaten barbecue with him and the rest of the team at Port Royal. Had watched him take the heat for failed military incursions even when he’d advis
ed against them. Hell, Jude had watched a damn documentary prior to joining Endgame that had touted the man’s military achievements during Operation Iraqi Freedom.
And none of that mattered. Not the respect he held for Caine or his position, nothing. The fact that he was here, where Ella was supposed to be, enraged Jude. He didn’t want to kill an old man, but damn if he wouldn’t.
Jude palmed his KA-BAR neck knife and waited where he was. He knew this man’s background. Knew his training. Jude had the advantage of being younger and stronger, but when equals met, that advantage was always limited. Still, something about the Piper’s eerie stillness led Jude to believe he wasn’t anyone to screw around with, so he would wait this out.
When Jude continued to remain silent, the Piper drew in a rough breath and stood. The man’s body was motionless, his breathing even.
“I came here because you’re one of mine. I don’t like it when mine are hurt. But she’s one of mine too. And no one on this team has sacrificed as much as she has. Go home, Dagan, and if she survives, she’ll come home too.”
“What is she involved in? What do you have her doing, Piper?” Jude kept his voice even, but inside the fury rolled, a tidal wave that threatened to choke him.
The Piper shifted, and Jude noticed the man’s hand slip behind his back. “That’s not your mission, Dagan. I believe you need to check in with your team leader. It’s never good to go rogue.”
“Don’t,” Jude warned him.
“Yeah, don’t,” a woman said from behind the Piper. Her smoky voice, though soft and low, reverberated through Jude. She took the weapon the Piper had been reaching for and tossed it to the side.
The tension in the room shot through the stratosphere as Ella Banning stepped in from the kitchen, pressing a gun to the back of the Piper’s head. Jude hadn’t heard her. Had she been here the entire time? Goddamn, he was losing his edge. She had him so wrapped up in misery that he wasn’t even covering his own ass.
The Piper stood as still as stone, but a smile tracked slowly across his face. “There’s my girl.”
Jude tensed, unable to let his body relax or clear his mind as this went down. Normally he was ice cold. But the circumstances inside this condo at this moment wouldn’t allow him that. She wasn’t his girl. She was Jude’s. Or she used to be.
She had yet to look at him, but Jude’s gaze tracked over her features—across her high cheekbones, over her straight, slightly upturned nose, and down across her mouth, the mouth that had pleasured him and spoken of love and lies.
“You promised,” she whispered in the Piper’s ear, though loud enough for Jude to hear.
“I have promised a lot of people a lot of things, Ella. He can’t have you. There’s still too much to do,” the Piper returned, his voice deep and sad.
“I will do whatever needs to be done, but he is, and always will be, off-limits.” Her voice had hardened, a bitterness riding the dulcet tones that carried caution. And she still hadn’t looked at Jude.
“I’m wondering if I get a say in any of this?” he threw into the conversation.
Neither of them looked his way.
Jude sheathed his knife and pulled his 9mm Smith & Wesson M&P from its resting spot in his back waistband before thumbing off the safety. His skin tingled, a sure sign something wicked his way came.
“Someone’s at the door,” the Piper said suddenly.
Between one breath and the next, that same door was kicked in and a small canister bounced into the living room, smoke immediately pouring from it and infiltrating the condo. Jude squatted, finding Ella unerringly.
Finally, she looked at him, her gaze filled with fear and something he’d seen earlier outside Dresden’s stash house…love? Or was it hate? “Run,” she mouthed as she lowered her gun and allowed the Piper to begin pulling her to the inner recesses of the condo.
No way in hell was anyone getting to her. Not before him. “Get her out of here,” Jude shouted as automatic weapons fire began peppering the walls and windows above him.
The Piper said nothing, and Jude was left alone with an unknown number of assailants and an unknown situation. He lowered fully to the floor, trying to stay beneath the smoke.
They were silent, but under the smoke Jude counted four sets of feet, moving in a coordinated way that spoke of a concentrated effort to eliminate a target. He knew their moves. Had moved that way himself for years.
He rolled as one man breached the living room, raising his gun and firing a single shot, hitting the man in the forehead. The man fell like a rock.
More sporadic fire came Jude’s way, adrenaline kicking his senses into high gear. He could see them through the smoke now, darker shapes that seemed phantoms in the midst of a nightmare. He took down another one as he plastered himself to the wall and began inching toward the back of the condo. They were trying to locate him, their eyes covered by night-vision goggles that probably also allowed them to track heat signatures, unhampered by the smoke they’d thrown as a distraction.
He wouldn’t be able to avoid them much longer. He lined up his shot, but before he could squeeze the trigger, two shots rang out. Jude recognized the report—H&K VP9—Ella’s choice of handgun. The remaining two attackers fell, unmoving, clearly dead.
Her hand settled on his arm, and he looked down, the moment surreal and unbelievable. Her touch warmed him at the same time it settled something cold and vicious in his gut. His gaze rose and met hers, and where before there had been fear, now there was nothing. She was closed off to him.
“You never run when you should,” she bit out, loading another magazine into her weapon.
“You always run when you shouldn’t,” Jude responded, the lash of his voice scoring even him.
Her eyes narrowed, the only sign she was angry. “No time for idle chitchat, Dagan. There are more where those came from,” she said, gesturing toward the fallen men.
Then she disappeared into the back of the condo. Jude followed, one ear trained to detect any incoming threat, the rest of his attention on Ella. She scurried through a small door in the wall of what looked to be a bedroom, turning as she passed through to watch him.
He stopped for a split second, caught as he always was by her beauty.
“Hurry up, Dagan! For the love of God, hurry the hell up!” She turned away from him again and began hotfooting it through to what looked like a neighboring apartment. All he could think was that she’d never, ever, called him by his last name.
He squeezed his big frame through the tiny opening and took off after her. She was quick, always had been, but she wouldn’t elude him this time. He caught up to her as she came to yet another small opening and entered another apartment.
“Set this up pretty well, didn’t you?” he asked as he once again squeezed his body through the tiny hole in the wall.
“Gotta do what you gotta do,” she threw back at him as she stopped suddenly and turned to stare at him.
“What?” he asked, brushing dust off his face and checking his weapon. Men were following; he could hear them making entry into the other apartment. He didn’t know how many, and he had limited ammunition. Hell, he hadn’t come here for anything other than her.
“Keeper,” she whispered.
He cocked his head at her, wondering where the hell this was going. “Why?” He didn’t know if he was asking why she’d left him or why she was calling him Keeper.
She took a single step toward him, raising the hand not holding her weapon to his face. She ran a finger along his bottom lip. “Because I won’t ever allow anyone to hurt you. You’re the Keeper, but you’re mine.”
She moved so quickly he couldn’t track the action, then a sharp prick pierced his neck. “They’re coming. Don’t do this, Ella. You’re killing me.” He never would have made that admission before. He hated himself in that moment for making it now.
She
caught him as he fell, and then her soft voice was at his ear. “My love, I’m saving you. I’ll always have your six.”
Then she laid him gently on the floor and stepped over him. The last thing he saw past his drooping eyelids was her raising her weapon and firing.
Chapter 3
When her man slept, he slept like the dead. Ella smiled ruefully. Not that they’d ever done much sleeping. A sharp pang hit her heart. He wasn’t hers anymore, was he? She drew in a deep breath, hoping to find the calm center that had served her so well during the last year. Now wasn’t the time to deal with what she’d left behind. She had to keep him safe in the here and now so she could hopefully explain everything to him when the time was right.
She’d taken down the remaining four attackers, and then the Piper had helped her relocate Jude to another safe house on the outskirts of Sarajevo. This one belonged to a longtime Endgame associate, Adam Babic.
Ella had to make sure Jude was okay before she took off. Adam would handle Jude’s safety until he woke. The Piper was doing his best to find out who had sent the two teams of killers after her. Ella thought it could be any number of people, though she’d ruled out Segorski fairly quickly. He wanted her alive, and it was clear by the shock-and-awe method of attack that the teams had been there to eliminate their target, not capture.
An insidious thought crept in. Maybe they hadn’t come for her at all. Maybe the two teams of assassins had followed the Piper. Ella acknowledged the goose bumps breaking out on her skin. Fear was a fine emotion. It kept you sharp. But Ella hadn’t been born to this life like Jude had. She’d been trained, but being a soldier wasn’t in the fabric of her bones, and the fear was her friend and foe. She had to work to overcome it.
If they’d followed the Piper, that meant someone was onto him. He had suspected for a while that someone even higher up in the presidential administration than him had been gunning for him. They’d started by trying to take out Endgame. It wasn’t common knowledge that Noah Caine, a.k.a. the Piper, had created a private spec ops entity, but it wasn’t buried six feet deep either. On paper, they provided logistical support and security for private contractors rebuilding countries like Afghanistan and Iraq. It was unspoken but understood that they delved into the gray whenever they needed to. Whose feet had the Piper stepped on? Or was it just Dresden?