Fragmented

by Stephanie Tyler

  He’d gambled and lost big before, and he’d had little doubt it would happen again sometime in his life, but none of his chances had seemed as all-important and all-encompassing as this one with S8. Being hired by Clarke to bag and bring Jem, kicking and screaming and probably in a straitjacket, back to the CIA was such an opportunity. Clarke made the move, in conjunction with the military and the FBI, hoping that they’d follow suit and roust Dare, Key and Gunner back into the military and absorb Avery and Grace into the FBI. Drea’s future was still uncertain.

  S8 was being set up to go down like dominoes. Maybe Clarke thought he was setting Ethan up as well, but he was so very wrong. But Ethan was very good at playing the game, and he remained calm, placid, even as Clarke turned from the window gazing and demanded, “What the fuck’s in this for you? Why would you agree to bring Jem back to the agency?”

  “Why does that matter?” Ethan swiveled in the chair. “What should is the fact that I’m no longer interested in doing that particular job.”

  Clarke glared at him. “Then what does interest you?”

  “Section 8—very much so. What are you going to do with Jem? We both know you can’t control him. Based on what I’ve seen, you shouldn’t bother trying.”

  “But you will.”

  “No. I’ll work with Jem, with all of them, the way they work best.”

  “And run after them, cleaning up their mess?”

  “Right now the only mess is your agency getting its nose out of joint because you can’t work as effectively as they can. I know a good opportunity when I see it. I’m out, and we both know that means less red tape and more progress. I’ve got the money to back it up, and pretty soon I’ll have the team as well. All I need’s some goodwill.”

  “Fuck your goodwill, Ethan,” Clarke grumbled. But he picked up the phone and walked into the next room of his office, lowering his voice. He hadn’t asked Ethan to leave, so all this was progress.

  That Ethan had retired young from Homeland Security, after moving there from the DEA, didn’t surprise many of his superiors. His family came from considerable wealth—old money, as they said—and he had the backing to do whatever he wished. He’d looked at the various agencies as more of a jumping-off point, a way to learn the system … and an opportunity to figure out methods to circumvent it while achieving the same goals—getting rid of human scum, such as terrorists or traffickers.

  He’d watched several men start their own private contracting firms, but he didn’t want to be involved in anything on that grand a scale. Smaller teams lead to a tight bubble of trust, and S8 seemed to know that instinctively.

  Of course, he knew their history—most men at the DEA and ICE and the other agencies knew the legend, and they were too well aware of the new group of operatives who were taking out human traffickers left and right.

  On one hand, no one cared who took the scum out, as long as no innocents were harmed. In most cases, the other agencies got the entirety of the praise, especially since S8 left the kidnap victims in their capable hands. S8 wasn’t into that portion of the work—they wanted to do the violence, wanted to make sure the traffickers didn’t live to see another day. S8 made sure the traffickers’ entire base of operations was destroyed—a victory for the CIA/DEA/ATF/FBI and local law enforcement to revel in.

  S8 wanted no money. No praise or recognition. What they did want was to be left alone.

  S8 also knew that wasn’t possible. Not for very long.

  Ethan was pretty certain he could convince Clarke. Getting S8 on board? Well, that was a whole different story.

  Chapter Twenty

  After they’d checked into a hotel sometime in the middle of the night—calling ahead several hours to secure rooms and ensure that all of them wouldn’t have to walk through the lobby—they were settled into a suite. They would use the double beds and the pullout couches, because who knew what kind of bulletins were rolling through about a team traveling together.

  Avery and Grace checked in together for the rest of them. Now Jem sat next to Drea on the couch as they planned their next move.

  Or tried to.

  “So, what’s next?” she’d been the one to ask, a bit hesitantly.

  “We find out who’s hunting S8 and why,” Jem offered. “But hell, that’s nothing new.” And when the rest of the team nodded in agreement, Jem added seriously, “Oh, and we take out the OA, because I’m tired of this bullshit.”

  “Right. Just like that.” Her voice was hoarse.

  “Just like that, Drea. Then the FBI will have no real evidence against you. We’ll make sure of it,” he promised.

  “I think there might be easier ways to handle this than taking out an entire MC,” Dare suggested.

  “Right. We take out Danny, there’s retaliation. We can’t have a one percenter club after us. We’ve got shit to do,” Gunner drawled.

  “Maybe we can barter,” Avery said.

  “What’re you thinking, love?” Gunner asked.

  “I’m not sure. Let me talk with Drea for a bit. But … it might be simpler than we think,” she said.

  “Does this mean I don’t get to take people out?” Jem asked.

  “Let’s try to keep the body count low in the States, okay? Plenty of traffickers out there to practice on,” Avery reminded him, which mollified him somewhat.

  “Fine. So, what’s the deal?” Because mollified was one thing, but he was goddamned suspicious. “And none of this talking-to-Drea-alone bullshit.”

  “Ah, Jem.” Avery glanced over to Dare and nodded.

  “There have been some … developments,” Dare started. Jem didn’t like his tone of voice at all. Drea must not have either, because she curled against him and waited. “We think we know why all this happened with the FBI closing in. Various agencies, including the CIA, have been trying to get in contact with Jem. We figured they wanted a piece of his ass, and not in a good way …” As he trailed off, Jem snorted.

  “Finally, I managed to get the FBI and the CIA to work together. A fucking miracle. And if they wanted my ass, the CIA should’ve caught a look at me in that pink robe,” Jem commented.

  “Maybe they will—because the agency wants you back. In service. And they don’t care who brings you in as long as you’re brought in.”

  Jem looked at Dare in disbelief. “They fucking fired me. They can’t just haul me back into service whenever they feel like it.”

  “They can if they’re holding a lot of shit over your head,” Key said reasonably.

  Jem turned to his brother, demanding, “Whose side are you on?”

  “You’re not the only one who’s getting a call back.” Key’s face was set in grim lines.

  Jem’s mind reeled, more than usual, because how the hell could this be happening? All of them were well out of service. Key had been dishonorably discharged. Gunner had disappeared. And Dare was as fucked up as the rest of them.

  But it was no mystery why they’d be wanted back in the fold—they were damn good at what they did. As good as the original Section 8 had been. Having a team like them on the CIA’s side was the equivalent of having a loaded gun in their pocket at all times. But they’d already decided long ago that they would never be anyone’s patsies. Not the government’s, and not some rich guy’s toy, the way the original S8 had been with Rip at the helm. And when he relayed that to the group, reminding them, Dare shared, “Becoming some rich guy’s toy might be the only way out of this.”

  Apparently, there’d been a guy who’d approached Avery about six months ago, a former DEA agent named Ethan who was retired and wanted to train men and women like those in Section 8. But having a team that was already trained and up and running at his disposal, to lease out to governments at will, was what he was after, he’d explained to Avery by Skype session. Ethan wanted a team that would trust him, the same way he could trust them. He would, in return, keep the CIA and other agencies from calling them back to duty.

  “Ethan can go fuck himself,” Key said
fiercely. “Why the hell have you been holding on to this information and not sharing?”

  Dare and Avery didn’t answer, and even Grace looked upset. Gunner was furious, adding, “This is total bullshit. Now we’re all being called back?”

  “Oh, sure, no one cared this much when it was just me,” Jem grumbled.

  “It includes Avery … to the NYPD, in conjunction with the killing of two men,” Dare said quietly. “Grace is wanted for questioning too.”

  Jem shook his head. “I really hope you guys didn’t call him about this recent incident.”

  “I wouldn’t make that call until we all agreed. But I’m also pretty sure he knows.” Avery looked as troubled as Jem felt. “Look, I just told Dare this morning. I was the only one who knew, because I didn’t believe that this would happen so soon. But we all knew it would. I don’t like that we have to make a decision with our backs against the wall. But we need to keep ourselves safe if we want to keep working the way we’ve been working. It’s hard to do when we have to hide in between missions, from both traffickers and terrorists, not to mention the law. Right now we’re vulnerable to any kind of arrest. If he took us over, we wouldn’t be.”

  “And what’s our other option?” Gunner asked.

  “We leave. We disappear. We take the money that we’ve already got, and we run,” Gunner said. “Become respectable citizens with new names.”

  They were silent for a long while, all no doubt trying to imagine themselves sitting on an island doing absolutely nothing for the rest of their lives. Hell, Jem couldn’t even get through a single day of vacation without getting into trouble. This was a losing battle.

  Jem spoke first. “I need some time to think about this.”

  “We have twenty-four hours before the government starts putting out warrants for us.” Avery held out the phone. “They just called me ten minutes ago and they’re giving us twenty-four hours—that’s how serious this is.”

  Gunner turned to Drea. “This isn’t my place to say it, but I’m going to—and shut up, Jem. Drea, you’ve gotta decide if you’re coming in with us for good. I’m sure the man who wants to buy us as a team would take you on, help you train and if nothing else keep you on as our doctor. But your old life, your hospital practices, any hope of ever holding a private practice legally would be gone. You can’t take this decision lightly.”

  Drea drew in a deep breath, then, still holding tight to Jem’s hand, told them all, “I’m not going with you.”

  *

  There was stunned silence after her announcement. Drea steeled herself.

  Jem stared at her, shaking his head. “I’d go back to work for the CIA, Drea, if it meant they’d clear you of all the shit and you can go back to practicing medicine the way you wanted to. Any way you wanted to. And I’ll make sure that I’m the only one who has to go back.”

  “That’s like selling yourself into some kind of slavery,” Drea told him fiercely. “And I won’t let that happen.”

  Jem stood. “I don’t want you sacrificing yourself for me. You’ve already done enough.”

  “So you’re going to turn around and do the same thing?” she asked.

  “She’s right, Jem,” Key agreed. “At best, the CIA will kill you. And hell, if they don’t, we both know they’ll run you into the ground without a care. It’ll happen to me, Gunner and Dare with the military.”

  Drea stared at Jem. “Don’t even think about it. I’d be ‘free’ and you’d be … God knows where. If it’s a choice of having to give up medical practice or having to give you up, I’ll give up the medical practice to stay with you.”

  “You shouldn’t have to give up anything.”

  “Life isn’t perfect. I learned that long before medical school. But you and me together … we are pretty perfect. Not everybody gets that. I won’t give that up—you can’t make me. If I leave, then you guys don’t have to say yes to Ethan’s offer,” she reasoned. And she sounded reasonable, so it didn’t matter that she felt as if she was dying, that it was getting harder to breathe.

  “Drea, stop.”

  “I won’t let you go down for me.”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  “I think that what he’s trying to say,” Grace broke in smoothly, “is that the choice isn’t only yours. We make decisions together, and since we want you to be part of the team, that teamwork applies to your decision-making process.”

  “And we never leave one of our own to hang,” Gunner added.

  Drea had never really been part of a group. Even though she helped the OA, she’d always been considered an outsider. The old ladies hated her, went out of their way to flirt with Danny, who, of course, ate that attention up with a spoon.

  “I won’t. I can’t. I know I’m a big part of the reason you’re thinking about going with him. You can’t deny that. If I’m out of the equation, then I don’t have to feel guilty for forcing you into something.”

  “That’s what family’s for, goddammit!” Jem roared. There was dead silence and then … laughter. These fools, all of them, were laughing.

  “I don’t understand you guys,” she muttered.

  “Yes, you do,” Avery reassured her. “All the times we’ve gotten in trouble? It’s been because one of us needed help or protecting. So we’re all to blame for all the situations we’ve gotten ourselves into. You’re, like, totally in line with the rest of us.”

  Grace nodded in agreement. Gunner added, “If you don’t have fucked-up baggage to drag along behind you, then get out of our group. If you’ve got extra-heavy fucked-up baggage? Come right on in and grab yourself a cold one.”

  Drea motioned to the group. “You’re all really sick.”

  Jem nodded. “And that’s how you like us.”

  And they made it completely impossible to disagree with them.

  *

  After Jem and Drea went to curl up in one of the double beds, and Dare and Grace claimed the other one, Key lounged with Avery and Gunner in the main space. None of them had bothered pulling out the couch beds—Key’d definitely slept on worse than the couch, and Gunner had Avery lying half on him, so the guy wasn’t going to complain about anything.

  The door was open to the bedroom—the other four were attempting to watch a movie, and Key supposed they were all trying to pretend that tomorrow’s meeting wasn’t something that could once again change the course of their lives. And this had already been changed majorly a couple of times.

  Ethan had called back an hour ago, and Avery, smart woman that she was, explained that she’d set the meeting place in the morning. “Because if everything I know about him is true, getting anywhere in the States on short notice shouldn’t be an issue.”

  “Why do I feel like he knows what state we’re in?” Key mused.

  “What state are we in?” Gunner asked, and both Key and Avery shot him looks. “What? I was paying attention to Jem’s stories—I wasn’t following directions.”

  “Don’t tell him,” Key warned Avery. “The less information he’s got, the better off we are.”

  Gunner shot him the finger. “I want to meet with this Ethan guy last.”

  “Too late—Key already called that.” Avery broke it to Gunner.

  Gunner frowned at her. “You know, we’re sleeping together. I should get some special treatment.”

  “Oh, honey, you definitely do …”

  “Oh, for the love of Christ, cut that shit out,” Key grunted. “Or go into the couples’ room.”

  “We like annoying you more,” Gunner said.

  It was actually pretty damned funny, considering that Key and Avery had made out one drunken night—the very first night they met. But once Key had seen Avery with Gunner, he knew Avery was gone. And he’d been glad, because he’d never be able to give Avery his heart like that. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to give anyone that, and he certainly didn’t want to hurt a woman like her. “I want to know more about Ethan.”

  “I’ve told you the whole story
three times,” Avery said.

  “What’s his last name?”

  “Oh, I didn’t tell you that. Ethan’s last name is Welles. Ethan Welles IV.”

  “As in Welles Oil?” Gunner asked as Key popped the name into Google. “Because holy fuck, that’s some serious cash.”

  Avery nodded in agreement to both statements. She was currently half-splayed on Gunner, looking comfortable and relaxed, despite the circumstances. Gunner worked hard to make sure Avery balanced work and play. Their self-appointed jobs were intense and they had to make sure they didn’t burn out.

  Key scanned through the various charity organizations that a search brought up around Ethan’s name. There wasn’t much else there beyond the charity foundation Web site … which meant someone was cleaning up on the Internet after him.

  Key wasn’t surprised—everyone had something to hide. “So he’s a spoiled rich boy who wants to play solider.”

  “Or sailor,” Gunner threw out.

  Key rolled his eyes. “God help us if he’s a squid.”

  “Squids have saved your ass,” Gunner pointed out.

  “You can keep your hands off my ass,” Key told him.

  Avery sighed. “Frat house.”

  And she loved it. Despite the near-constant danger, they were very much a family here. One that Key had never known existed. “So, what time are we meeting Rich Boy?”

  “And does he know we have our own money?” Gunner asked.

  “I’ll let you know in the morning. I haven’t chosen the location yet. And our accounts are well hidden in offshore accounts and he didn’t seem to indicate thinking we needed financial support. He spoke specifically of the agencies.”

  “Before they came after us,” Key pointed out. “What if he’s a part of all this?”

  “Key’s such a suspicious bastard,” Gunner said to Avery. “And I like it.”

  “Of course you do. Squids need to be led.” Gunner threw an empty soda can at Key’s head. Key caught it, crushed it in one hand and pretended it was Rich Boy’s head. “So we’ll meet him.”