Chapter Eleven
Jane was asleep in his arms. Warm. Soft. Everything he’d ever imagined when he’d let his mind go down that path. Hope. Unquenched desire. And more. But the sun climbing over the Chugach Mountains claimed his attention. Sullivan dropped his nose to the crown of her head and breathed deep. Last night had been perfect in every regard, but, unfortunately, they were out of time.
He reached for his phone on the nightstand and swiped his thumb across the screen. A knot of tension chased back the peace running through his veins. The latest surveillance from Anthony and Elliot revealed Menas and his mercenaries gearing up in an abandoned construction site just outside the city. Sullivan knew the area but flicked through the brief’s attached photos and the official report of Menas’s history anyway. After skipping bail for the assault of three women in college, the seasoned hunter had realized he could make a living off doing what he did best: inflicting pain. Anthony’s report started with a few jobs Menas had picked up working security for a Seattle company under an assumed name, then sped through the mercenary’s climb to the private sector. From there, the money got better, the guns got bigger and Menas had put together his own team of mercenaries.
Right now, he had a team of three remaining, including himself, all highly armed with military-grade weapons and gear. Then again, the chopper landing in the middle of Seward Highway had already given Sullivan a clue. He dropped the phone to the sheets as Jane shifted in his arms, careful not to wake her. He’d had run-ins with mercs before, but not a single one of them had access to the kind of gear Menas had strapped to his hunting party. Despite not having anything to do with the military, Menas must have some kind of inside connection. Because stealing that grade of weapons and ammunition took a lot of bullets and skills that Sullivan would’ve heard of before now.
Something else must be going on here. Maybe Jane had been right back in the hospital. The statute of limitations to prosecute Menas for sexual assault had run out in the state of Washington several months ago, which meant the mercenary had no reason to come after her now.
Unless Menas and his team were only doing something that they’d been hired to do.
“How long do we have before we have to get out of bed?” The huskiness in Jane’s sleep-filled voice raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Along with other things. Her fingers trailed across his chest, resurrecting overused nerve endings and sending a shiver across his chest. There was nothing like her touch. No one had brought his body to the brink over and over again like she had.
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, raptured with those hazel eyes staring up at him. Checking his phone again, he hit the silence button and rolled into her. “We have about fifteen minutes before Elliot walks through the front door.”
“Mmm.” Jane pressed her lips to his. The kiss was oddly sweet and full of promises he’d die trying to keep. He’d never been the sweet type. But promises? He intended to live up to every single one of them. For her. She maneuvered on top of him, chest to chest, the wrinkled sheets bunching over the small of her back. Soft skin surrounded him from almost every angle, and Sullivan wouldn’t budge an inch. Dropping her chin to his sternum, she smiled. “Tell me he doesn’t have a key and we can stretch those fifteen minutes out as long as possible.”
For the first time in longer than Sullivan could remember, he laughed openly. Wrapping the top of his foot around hers, Sullivan flipped her onto her back and tossed his phone to the floor. He intended to bury himself in her warmth all over again, kissing her with everything he had left. “He most certainly does not have a key.”
“Good,” she said.
Fifteen minutes later, pounding on the front door pulled Sullivan from heaven. He shoved his legs through his jeans and laced his feet into his boots, closing the door behind him as Jane dressed. His heartbeat returned to a steady rhythm the more he distanced himself from her. Damn, that woman could do things to him with a single look, but last night and this morning? She’d turned his brain to mush and him into a grinning idiot.
“Right on time, Elliot.” Unfortunately. Sullivan ripped open the front door, every cell in his body running cold.
Elliot wasn’t standing on his porch.
A solid kick to the stomach knocked Sullivan to the floor, but he rebounded fast as adrenaline dumped into his blood. He lunged for the Glock in the shoulder holster hanging off one of the dining table chairs. Two pricks of pain embedded into the muscles along his bare back, then fired with white-hot electricity. Soft clicking reached his ears as the Taser wiped out his central nervous system. His body spasmed, curling his toes in his boots and his fingers into his palms. Jaw clenched, Sullivan fought in vain to reach the gun as current after current of electricity washed over him. The spasms rolled him onto his back, but he failed to dislodge the Taser’s probes.
Christopher Menas stalked through the door, two members of his team on his tail, weapons up and fingers on triggers. A cruel smile split open the slash Jane had cut into the mercenary’s cheekbone, and Sullivan couldn’t help but smile back. Must’ve hurt like hell. They fanned out into the living room. Searching. “Check the bedroom. She’s in here somewhere.”
Jane was smart. She would’ve heard the commotion and gone out the bedroom window as fast as possible. Seconds ticked by. One of Menas’s teammates kicked in the bedroom door when he couldn’t open it manually, but the resulting silence said there was no sign of Jane. Sullivan kept his attention on the lead mercenary, the uncontrollable spasms lessening. She’d gotten out of the cabin. Relief flooded through him, but it wasn’t over. He’d give her the time she needed to escape. Even if she had to leave him behind.
Menas’s expression hardened as he focused those dark eyes back onto Sullivan. The mercenary lunged, wrapping a strong hand around his throat, and brought Sullivan to his feet. The probes ripped from his skin as Menas discarded the Taser and replaced the weapon in his hand with the M16 slung over his shoulder. One pull of the trigger, and the best medical examiner in the world would have a difficult time identifying Sullivan’s insides. “Where is she?”
“You know something? I’m glad you’re armed this time.” Sullivan knocked Menas’s hand away from his throat and threw a punch right into that gash on his face. The merc doubled over; Menas’s trigger finger was too twitchy. Bullets sprayed across the floor, up the far wall and straight through one of his men, who hit the floor. Sullivan kicked the M16 away, but a fist to the right side of his face forced his vision to go dark for a split second.
Another kick to the torso threw him out the open front door and down the two short stairs on the porch. Blistering cold spread across his bare chest as he hit the snow.
Menas charged full force and caught Sullivan around the ribs, hiking him up and over his shoulder.
Sullivan threw two elbows to the spine. Three. Menas dropped him. Clutching the mercenary’s jacket, Sullivan pushed the bastard backward, aiming punches for Menas’s kidneys along the way. Sullivan blocked the first attempt to knock him out, but not the second. He stumbled back, out of breath, as Menas took a second to compose himself. Snow kicked up around him, but he barely felt the temperatures now as anticipation pumped hard through his veins. The teammate Menas hadn’t killed watched on from the porch, weapon aimed to finish the job in case his superior lost the fight. Because this was between him and Christopher Menas.
Menas rolled his fists in a circular motion as though he’d done a few rounds of illegal bare-knuckle boxing before becoming a gun for hire. Wouldn’t surprise Sullivan. The mercenary came at him with a straight blow to the head, which Sullivan blocked with his forearm, spinning his attacker ninety degrees and shooting an elbow straight into the back of Menas’s knee. The mercenary’s screams filled the small clearing as Menas shifted most of his weight to the opposite leg.
Time to end this.
“I warned you not to come after her, Menas.” Sullivan clutched the mercen
ary’s jacket, lining him up as he pulled back his elbow for one last hit. Jane wanted her stalker turned over to the authorities, but there was no stopping men like Christopher Menas. He leaned over his attacker. “You should’ve listened.”
“My man over there will shoot you the second my heart stops beating. Then he’ll go after Jane.” The mercenary stared up at him. A line of blood dripped from his bottom lip but didn’t stop him from pulling his mouth up into another crooked smile. “Is that what you want?”
Sullivan glanced toward the assault rifle targeted at him. “Doesn’t matter what I want anymore. You went after Jane and tried to kill me in the process. No one is going to remember your name when you’re dead.”
A glint of sunlight flashed off the blade cutting toward him. Menas moved fast, faster than Sullivan thought possible after the energy they’d both expended, and sliced through muscle along his side. Searing pain spread across the left side of Sullivan’s body. Blood seeped down into the waistband of his jeans and stained the bright white snow around him.
Repositioning the blade in his hand, Menas hiked himself higher in order to stab down at him. Sullivan crossed his forearms, barely holding back the blade’s tip from his face. Menas was strong, but Sullivan was stronger.
He threw a knee into the mercenary’s midsection and watched as the blade landed in a snowbank a few feet away. “Any other surprises you want to try before I break your neck?”
Sullivan’s breath heaved in and out of his lungs. He was losing too much blood to keep this up for long, but Menas wasn’t recovering as quickly either.
“This isn’t over with me, you know.” Menas bent at the waist, holding his side. Most likely a few broken ribs. Maybe Sullivan was lucky enough one of them had punctured a lung. “I’m not the only one he hired.”
Sullivan’s heart stuttered. “What did you just say?”
The mercenary lunged again, and Sullivan widened his stance for the hit.
A single gunshot exploded in the small clearing.
Both Menas and Sullivan turned toward the shooter across the property, as Menas’s teammate swung his assault rifle toward Jane.
“Get away from him, Christopher.” She held Sullivan’s favorite Glock straight up in the air, but, closing a few feet of space between them, she aimed straight for Menas. “This is between you and me.”
* * *
HER WORDS SOUNDED a whole lot more confident than Jane felt. She held the gun steady, relying on the countless hours she’d forced herself to brush up on her skills at the range. Her heart drummed too fast in her chest. Muscle memory kicked in after a few heartbeats, but these were mercenaries she was dealing with. Not some muscled jock of an ex-boyfriend who hadn’t been able to get over the past. He’d turned himself into a professional killer.
“Jane, what are you doing? Get out of here.” Sullivan doubled over. Blood dripped from between his fingers on his left side. He was injured. Damn it. What had Christopher done to him? Her protector didn’t stay down long. He raised that intense gaze to her, expression stone-like, the muscles in his jaw frozen. “Get out of here. Now.”
He was too stubborn and too strong.
But Jane wasn’t going anywhere.
“Once again, the army is coming to bail the navy out of trouble.” Not a time to make jokes, but her gut instincts were telling her all she needed to do here was stall. Elliot was on his way. Wasn’t that what Sullivan had said earlier? She only hoped the private investigator had thought to bring backup.
“No,” she continued. “I’m getting you out of this mess. Once and for all.” She focused on Christopher. Sullivan had done his job. He’d found her stalker and she could take care of the rest. “Attempted murder. Stalking in the second degree. I could keep going. You have a lifetime of prison ahead of you, Christopher.”
“Janey.” Christopher limped two steps toward her, hands in the air as though he was about to surrender. Jane knew better. The last thing on the mercenary’s mind was giving up. He took one more step. “We both know you’re not going to shoot me. You’re a lawyer, remember? Not a killer.”
Jane dropped the gun a few inches and pulled the trigger. The bullet disappeared into the snow at Christopher’s feet. “I might be a lawyer, but I still know how to use a gun.” She directed him to the right. “Now, have your friend join you over there by Sullivan and drop your weapons.”
Christopher’s smile burned straight through her soul. Pure evil. “Janey—”
“Do it!” She fired another round near his right foot. Her hand tingled from the kickback, but Jane was prepared to fire a lot more shots if he forced her.
“Guess we’ve got to do what the lady says.” Shrugging at his teammate, the mercenary tossed his remaining guns and blades into the snow at his feet and maneuvered closer to Sullivan. The second mercenary followed suit, losing his gun in the snow. “What now, sweetheart? Going to wait until the cavalry shows up? Because I’ve got bad news for you, Janey. This will all be over before they can even get here.”
Where the small muscles in her face slackened, she noted all of the wonderful muscle in Sullivan’s body went rock hard, even from this distance. His eyes widened. “Jane!”
Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, picking her up off her feet. Jane threw her head back, hitting solid bone, but whoever had her wasn’t going to let a broken nose stop him. Sullivan lunged for her, but Christopher landed a hit to the gash in his side, and the SEAL went down. Sullivan’s groan echoed all around her. She struggled inside the suffocating grip squeezing the oxygen from her body, her arms and legs fighting her brain’s commands. Her vision blurred, and the gun fell from her hand.
“I’m a killer, Jane, and I’ve been doing this a long time now. I learn from my mistakes,” Christopher said. Both mercenaries collected their weapons. Christopher planted a boot along Sullivan’s spine, pressing his bare chest into the snow-covered ground, and widened his arms straight out to his sides. “You chose an ex–navy SEAL to protect you. I chose to bring a hell of a lot more men.” He brushed the snow from his handgun and pressed a muddy boot into the side of Sullivan’s head, taking aim. “And now, because of you, he’s going to die.”
“No!” Jane rocketed her elbow back into her attacker’s stomach and then straight into his face when his grip lightened. She grabbed the fallen Glock at her feet and pumped her legs, the air in her lungs freezing. The mercenary at Christopher’s side ran to head her off. The distance between them closed fast. She wasn’t strong enough to take him alone, but Jane had run out of options. Sullivan wasn’t going to die because of her. Not ever.
A sniper shot echoed from beyond the tree line, then ripped through the oncoming mercenary’s collarbone. Jane watched as his face contorted into painful surprise and he dropped to his knees. In her next breath, he fell face-first into the snow, as another bullet took care of the contract killer rushing up behind her.
“Too late, Janey.” Christopher squeezed the trigger. Sullivan’s body jerked as the mercenary crouched low, desperation to survive bright in his dark eyes.
“Sullivan!” He’d been hit. Jane lunged. Her left shoulder slammed into Christopher, and she pushed as hard as she could to get him off his feet. The world spun as they rolled together through the snow. Once. Twice.
Christopher dug his fingernails into her arms, keeping her close, controlling her movements. She fought to dislodge the gun from his thigh holster, but couldn’t get her arms free. He pinned her to the ground and smiled. He had her right where he wanted her, and her stomach revolted. “Just like old times, Janey. Remember?”
“Get your hands off her.” Christopher’s weight disappeared as Sullivan ripped him back. The mercenary stumbled but straightened fast. Blood dripped down Sullivan’s side and from the bullet wound in his opposite shoulder. No normal man could survive that much damage and still have the strength to fight a contract killer.
&nbs
p; But Sullivan Bishop was no ordinary man.
He swung, connecting with Christopher’s face, his kidneys, his spine. The mercenary kept trying to block the hits, but Sullivan didn’t let up, like a boxer who knew it’d be his last fight. Christopher wobbled on his feet, mouth hanging open, one eye swelling shut.
Jane stood, collecting her discarded Glock from the snow. Blood rushed to her head, but she stumbled after them as they neared the tree line. Those sniper shots that’d taken out Christopher’s team said the Blackhawk Security team was close. If Sullivan knocked the mercenary out long enough to restrain him, Elliot or Anthony could haul him in while Jane got Sullivan to the hospital. His strength wouldn’t last forever. Already, his punches weren’t having the same effect, and Christopher realized it.
And then Christopher produced something in his hand. The mercenary ran forward, shoving a blade up and under Sullivan’s rib cage.
“No!” She ran hard as Christopher dropped Sullivan to the ground. No. This wasn’t happening. “Sullivan.” Her senses sharpened. Jane was already raising the gun. Her finger was on the trigger as Christopher limped toward her, Sullivan’s blood on his hands. And she fired, hitting the vulnerable flesh just below his Kevlar vest.
The mercenary froze in his tracks, mouth still open.
She fired again and again and again. Blistering cold worked to freeze the tears streaking down her cheeks, but Jane emptied the magazine until the gun merely clicked in her hand.
Christopher collapsed into the snow. Dead.
Her shoulders dropped. Rushing past his worthless body, she fell at Sullivan’s side. He stared straight up into the sky. “No, no, no, no. Sullivan, come on. Stay with me.”
“You did it, Jane.” His voice strained, something wet and guttural choking his words.
Rules in Blackmail Page 13