She tried her cell phone again. Shit. She got nothing but a spinning circle and a no service signal. Clearly, somewhere in the building was a cell-phone jammer, which meant this was more of a professional job than a slam-and-bam robbery.
Okay… what to do?
Slinking down the hallway, she heard no exercise equipment clinking and clanking. No men throwing heavy things. No people grunting as they lifted heavy objects for personal enjoyment. There was only the empty blare of music that, now that all was abandoned and quiet, played far too loud. Her phone continued to cycle without a signal, and Sugar’s eyes searched for signs of anyone in the building—most importantly, Lexi. And where had that searching Russian man gone? She needed a weapon. Fast.
She checked her phone again.
Nope. The hell with it. She tucked it in her back pocket. Across the open floor were hand weights. She could grab a few jump ropes or one of the calisthenics bars while she was there. But crossing the gym was too dangerous. With a view of nothing but treadmills, elliptical machines, and stair climbers, she had nothing but magazines to smack a bad dude with. Nothing deadly.
So the plan for the moment was to keep against the wall and head for the main desk. Surely there was a pair of scissors. A stapler. Hell, she could be deadly with a phone cord. All she needed was the right angle. But really, Sugar stressed about Lexi.
She crept around another corner of the main gym. No one was there.
No Lexi. No Bishop. No random meatheads. No guy with a Russian accent searching for rogue people hiding and creeping.
“What the fuckballs?” Her pulse pounded in her neck, and confusion covered every thought. Only Emergency Exit signs illuminated the room, and the place was eerie as shit.
Her quiet question went unanswered, and the baby took that moment to kick. “Easy, tater tot. I’ve got this.”
Creeping quiet as a mofo, Sugar found her way to the front desk where they’d checked in. Gone was the buff little dude who all but made her swear her life away for a one-day pass. She lifted the phone. No dial tone. The computer was off. There was no electricity of any kind. Sugar popped the cord from the receiver and base, winding it in her hand then tucking it into the sleeve of her shirt. She had no idea when or how that would come in handy, but at least she had something.
And she wanted a stapler. Where was a damn stapler? What kind of front desk didn’t have a stapler? But scissors she found. Sugar tucked those into her sock.
She tried to think of what other pseudo weapons could she kill someone with. Tapping her manicured fingers on the desk, keeping careful eyes out, she snagged a handful of paper clips and shoved them in her back pocket, having no freakin’ clue what she planned to do with those babies, but whatever—they had sharp, pokey edges.
The front door was open, but she didn’t have another way to call for help. Maybe she should leave and go drive for help. But what would she say—that the lights were out and her friend was gone?
Well, yeah.
But what the hell was going on?
The baby kicked her stomach. Hard. Alright—she had to be smart about this. Yeah, she’d been a kick-ass ATF agent at one point, and then Titan had trained her to be better than she could ever imagine.
But the child-on-the-way thing was a complication, at least in the badass, ass-kicking department. Go get help. That was the only option. She tucked away her pride and carefully ducked and maneuvered for the front exit. Her eyes searched everywhere, and her ears listened for any sound that could lay claim to danger.
Click.
There were few sounds that could make Sugar stop and freeze. The flick of a safety on a gun was one. She didn’t move, didn’t breathe. The fucker didn’t have to order her not to move. Waiting took forever and made her seethe more than it made her fear.
“Turn around.” Finally, the asshole gave her a chance.
She turned.
Bishop O’Kane?
“What the fuck?” she hissed. “Get that out of my face.”
Other than one eyebrow twitching at what had to be surprise, he didn’t move. “Shoving Glocks in pregnant ladies’ faces isn’t my favorite thing. If you’re not part of my problem, good. If you are part of this mess, I don’t care who, how, or what you are, lady.”
She grinned and instinctually made her decision. This guy would work for Titan.
“Wipe the smirk off your face. Sit down.” He unwound one of the jump ropes from his side and directed her to the chair at the front desk. “You’ll stay put until I figure out—”
“First, I’m pregnant, not a pariah. You should still pat me down. You have no clue if this”—she tapped her protruding tummy—“is even real. Or what I’m packing.”
Bishop blinked. “Excuse me? What is this, lessons in the field by the lady in leather?” He shook his head, but he did go about patting her down.
“Phone cord?” He held it up, unbelieving.
She shrugged. “Limited resources.”
He checked her stomach, determining in the most awkward of ways that it was, in fact, not a fake stomach—most notably, when her stomach twitched and he jumped. She snickered, and he smirked, running his hands to her shoes, finding the scissors, and disarming her with a look that said he was seriously questioning her sanity.
“What? The lights went out. No one was around.”
He turned her around and found the stash of paper clips and cell phone, placing them both on the desk. “What are you? The pregnant MacGyver?”
“Best compliment I’ve had in a while.”
“Sit down,” he ordered, unamused.
Complying, Sugar realized she should have peed before all this started. That kind of request was likely to fall on deaf ears, and the timing was really bad.
“I’ve got shit to do. Don’t need this from a gym rat.” He bound a wrist to the chair, reached around, and started on the other. “Please sit down and be quiet. You’ll stay safe and out of the way.”
“Ouch.” She winced, putting her acting skills on display.
Bishop drew back an inch, inspecting his rope work. “Bullshit.”
“I’m pregnant.”
His eyes dropped to her stomach as though he hadn’t confirmed that two seconds ago. “Are you serious? Do you understand that I need you to shut your mouth? You had a gun to your head. I’m tying you to a chair. You’re in danger. I’m your ticket out of here. Please be quiet. Can you do that for me?”
This guy was great. “Don’t be nice to me. I could still be the enemy.”
“Jesus. Who the hell are you?” he mumbled, continuing to wrap her wrist. He tested it, she noted, not only to see that she couldn’t get out but that it didn’t hurt her wrist.
“So what’s going on? Seeing as you just tied up an innocent bystander.”
“Stay put. Don’t move. If you’re not involved, you’ll be home in time for dinner. Deal?”
Screwing with him and judging his handiwork for a Titan-recruit file aside, this was not a great situation. Lexi had no idea how to handle herself in the field, and Sugar didn’t like being out of the loop. “Wait, okay. Wait. For real, what’s going on?”
“Stay put.”
“My name is Sugar.”
“Great—”
“My girl’s name is Lexi.”
“Fine.”
“She’s married to Parker Black. This little to-be-born bundle of joy”—Sugar tilted her head toward her stomach—“belongs to Jared Westin.”
Bishop’s face showed ten thousand emotions in zero-point-two seconds. “Fuck.” In three steps, he was on her, unbinding her and rubbing her arms. “Why the hell didn’t you say something?”
“I’m a sadistic bitch who was on her way to go get some kind of help. A first for me since I’d much rather know whatever it is that you’re about to do.”
“I cannot believe this.” Tension flexed in his jaw. “Jared Westin’s pregnant wife and Russian gangsters. I did not sign up for this shit.”
“Well, I didn’t
either—actually, I did.”
He lifted an eyebrow.
“You’re on a short list. We’re checking you out. I talked my way onto your surveillance team.”
“Duck down here.” He pushed her under a desk. “There’s a reason surveillance stays in cars.”
She winked. “Ah, the student schools the teacher.”
“Christ.” He grumbled, still amused.
“So Lexi?” she asked.
“She’s fine. Everyone here’s in a separate room.”
“You’re not?”
“Yeah, call me Superman. And I need to go do something about that before they realize I’m gone. Look, I told a buddy I’d watch a job for him.”
“This is the job?” she asked.
Bishop nodded. “Looks like a deal’s going down early, and it’s going wrong tonight.”
“This is one of those don’t-call-the-cops deals?”
“More like an only-call-a-certain-cop deal.”
“Ah.” She shifted, taking in the motivational posters. “In the gym? Who does that?”
“Angry Russians who own meathead gyms.” He gave her a hand. “There’s a jammer. No cell service. They can throw this place on lockdown in a heartbeat.”
“I know.” She reached to the top of the desk for her pointless cell. “Nothing.”
“Stay.” Bishop scooted to the desk, snagging a brochure and a permanent marker. “Get to your car. Call this number. Can you do that? Only that?”
“Jeez. It’s like you know me already.”
“I’ll get Lexi safe, first priority. Russians, second. Now, move.”
Sugar smiled. “Total Titan material.” She raised her fist, and he bumped it with his.
“Jared Westin’s pregnant damn wife. In what world…?” He covered her as she headed for the front door. As soon as she hit the parking lot, Sugar ran as fast as she could, hitting Refresh every other stride until she had a cell signal.
Finally, the cell rang. “Speak fast. I’m getting on a plane in an hour.”
“Well, you better not do that,” she said. “You’ve got a problem.”
“Who is this?” All the humor left the man’s voice.
“Your boy gave me this number. He’s in trouble. My girl’s in trouble. You have a pack of angry Russians causing it.”
“Motherfucker.”
“Probably that too.” Sugar opened the door to her Range Rover and pulled herself into the driver’s seat, taking more than a moment to focus on not grunting and groaning into the phone. That stomach of hers was getting very large.
“Where’s Bishop?” the man asked.
“Crawling the rafters? Slinking behind treadmills? He said something about being Superman. So clearly, he thinks highly of himself, but still, he’s smart enough to know he needs backup.”
“Who are you again?”
“His pregnant partner in crime.”
“Hang on—” A minute later he was on the phone again. “I knew better to plan a damn honeymoon until every last one of them was behind bars. Text me your location. Stay out of sight. Be there in twenty.”
Sugar followed directions, texted as told, then called her husband.
Jared answered on the first ring. “Hey, Baby Cakes.”
“Heya.”
“See the maybe-new guy?”
“In passing.”
“So?” Jared said.
“Hire his ass. You want that dude on your payroll.”
He chuckled. “Ten-four.”
“Alright, call you later.”
“Hey, Sugar?”
“Yeah?”
“Whatever your sweet ass isn’t telling me, I want a full report later, baby. Stay safe, be smart.”
She couldn’t hide the grin. He knew her too well. “Absolutely. Later.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Jared leaned back in his office chair, tapping his fingers together, knowing full well that Sugar was beyond qualified to get herself out of whatever mess she’d found herself in. Otherwise, she would have flagged for help.
However, there was something in her voice…
He cracked his knuckles. Whatever she didn’t want him involved in would likely be entertaining, fun, or dangerous. All of which he wanted in on. No, she wouldn’t do danger while pregnant. She wasn’t stupid. But she would do an adrenaline rush.
He picked up the desk phone and punched Parker’s office extension. “Call Lexi. See what they’re up to.”
“I’m not getting into the middle of it with you two.” Parker typed in the background. “If Sugar’s giving you a headache, that’s on you.”
“Asshole.”
“Boss Man.”
“Pull up their phones,” Jared said.
The tone of voice did the job, because Parker stopped with the bullshit and didn’t have a comeback. “Alright. So…” He hummed. “Lex’s phone isn’t picking up on screen, and Sugar’s is stationary.”
“Stationary, where?”
“Strip mall, Maryland, forty-five minutes from here.”
“Comb the area. Give me everything you have within a half mile that looks a hair close to sketchy.”
“Are the girls okay?” Parker’s keyboard click-clacked in the background.
Jared looked at down at Thelma. Her instincts were spot-on, and the bulldog groaned and rolled over.
“What’s going down in that neighborhood?” Jared asked.
“Here’s something—a strip of real estate owned by an LLC that the FBI has flagged as belonging to the Russians.” Parker’s keyboard noises continued. “State PD has the area as a high point of interest. Task-force type crap.”
“Shit…”
“Shit,” Parker repeated.
“Run Bishop O’Kane’s file again. See if there’s anything we have about him working on a job related to the Russians.”
“There’s not, but let me look.” The typing stopped, and Jared wanted to know everything. “Man, you know our boy, Bishop—”
“He’s not ours yet.”
Parker hummed. “Let’s see if there’s a connection to Bishop and anyone working the Russians right now.”
“So?”
“Gonna need a second, Boss Man.”
“Work faster.”
“Is Lex in trouble?” Parker’s voice dropped.
“I don’t know what we’re dealing with. Why don’t you tell me already?”
“Alright. Shit.” Parker worked in silence, and time ticked by too slowly. “Bishop O’Kane has one connection, who… let’s see. There’s two solid points of connection but the same circle of friends. He has a buddy on the Russian task force.”
Jared grumbled. “Damn it to hell.”
Parker agreed. “You going to tell Sugar?”
“I think she already knows.”
“Right. And Lexi’s phone’s off—why?”
Jared rubbed his chin. “That, I can’t tell you.”
“Hang tight. I have some phone numbers for Bishop.” A minute ticked by. “Yeah, they’re not showing up anywhere.”
“Call Sugar.” Jared leaned back in his chair. “Patch her in.” A second later, the ringing phone made Jared’s gut churn. With each ring, he should have felt better. Lexi’s phone would go straight to voicemail. Sugar’s was still on.
“I said I’d call back,” she snipped as she answered.
Relief and irritation flooded him. “Baby Cakes.”
“What?”
Jared put the phone on speaker and then rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. “Parker’s on the phone.”
“Hi, Parker. Glad it’s a party,” Sugar said. “I’ve found myself an off-duty copper named Steve Zellers if we’re talking about a guest list to the phone-call party.”
“Steve Zellers, lead on the Russian task force?” Parker asked. “Who’s set to go wheels up on his honeymoon in about ten minutes?”
“Man, you people know everything. Yeah. That’s me,” a man said, grumbling. “The Russians do nothing f
or months. I take a couple days off, get married, and we’ve got angst in the ranks of the Gornovsky clan.”
“What kind of angst?” Parker’s voice dropped low. “Lexi in there, Sugar?”
“Bishop’s got her in mind. He’s on his way to get her out.”
Jared knew that was Sugar’s most comforting voice, but he also knew Parker—a control freak to the max. Any man on their teams would go apeshit in that situation, wanting to grab his woman and bring her home. But Parker ran risk analysis. Jared knew that at that moment, Parker’s brain, whether deliberately or not, was running the mortality percentages, determining if Lexi would be a casualty or would walk away unharmed. Everything in Parker’s mind was a math problem of some sort—all jobs came down to risk, adversity, avoidance, and acceptance.
“Parker,” Jared said. “Bishop’s good. Top-notch. You told me that yourself.”
“Nobody’s better,” Zellers added. “So long as we keep this contained, I’ll be on my way to Tahiti by the end of the day.”
CHAPTER SIX
Bishop slipped back into the large storage room and identified Lexi immediately. There were two men who fit the demographic of the gym’s clientele. They were amped up and stupid enough to try something. Both had barbells in hand as though they would use the metal handles as weapons when the Russians came back into the locked room.
Exercise equipment versus Russian-made automatic weapons. Genius. Lexi, however, sat on a pile of old mats in the corner. She didn’t interact with the men. She simply stared at her phone.
Bishop emerged from the corner where he’d been watching. The two other men likely hadn’t noticed he was there to begin with, but she would have noticed he was missing.
“Hey.”
Her gaze warily bounced to his. “Hey.”
“I’m back.”
“I don’t know if that was smart or stupid.”
He popped a squat next to her. “I met Sugar.”
“Ah, smart.” Her defenses went down. “So you know about us.”
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