Anger boiled in her veins. She was pissed and hurt and trembling with fury. It was almost too much to bear. Her two closest friends, if you could have called them that, in the agency—and they’d wanted to eliminate her. She’d been doing her job, nothing more—and they had sold out. For what?
Money, no doubt. It made her sick to think of it.
“You aren’t getting out of this alive, Reed,” Cody called out, and she could hear the utter fury in his voice. He sounded harder and harsher than she’d ever heard him. “I’ll drop you if you force me to. Let her go and you can live.”
Mark ducked his head behind hers, eliminating himself as a target. “How good are you, Cody? Think you can kill me before I kill her?”
Miranda closed her eyes, her heart heavy. She lived in a world of lies and deceit because that’s what she had to do for the job. She knew there was no black and white, that everything was shades of gray—but she’d thought she’d known Mark and Badger. She thought she’d known what they were fighting for.
Turns out she hadn’t known a thing. Mark had never cared for her the way she’d cared for him. He’d never cared about the things she cared about—or the things these dark and dangerous HOT men and women cared about.
When she’d gone after Conti, she’d wanted to honor Mark’s memory and his fight for everything right. What a sham.
She didn’t feel obligated to him anymore. The loyalty she’d once had was gone. Mark was a liar and a traitor. The worst kind of user. He was as selfish and useless as her parents. He’d been kind to her for his own purposes, no other reason. Certainly not because he was a decent human being.
“You tried to recruit me,” she said as the truth hit her. “A year ago.”
He snorted. “You just now figured that out?”
He’d been deep in the Conti operation then. It was one of the rare times when he’d met her to pass information. He’d looked so self-assured that day. And he’d asked her when he’d sat beside her at the bar if she’d ever just wanted to run away from it all. Start over and do something different. She’d shaken her head and sipped her club soda. “Do what? There’s nothing as important as what I’m already doing.”
He’d slipped the packet into her open computer bag and given her a weary smile. “I thought you might say that. Hasta la vista, baby.”
He’d walked out, and she hadn’t seen him again before the bombing that allegedly took his life.
Miranda knew what she had to do now—because she wasn’t letting him kill her, and she wasn’t letting him get away. Maybe Mark would anticipate her, but she had to take the chance anyway. Miranda fixed her gaze on Cody, rolling her eyes back toward Mark. Cody’s brows lowered a fraction. She didn’t know if that meant he understood or if he was telling her no.
But it didn’t matter because she wasn’t waiting another moment.
Mark’s grip had loosened since he couldn’t hold her as tightly when he had to stoop to hide his head behind hers. The maneuver had put distance between them. Not a lot, but enough.
It was now or never. She threw herself into action. She spun in his grip, grabbing his gun hand and shoving it away while dropping so she could remove her head from the target zone. He pulled the trigger and she felt the recoil of the weapon near her head. The bullet whistled past her ear as the blast deafened her.
She lunged for the gun but Mark dropped to the tarmac, taking her with him in a tangle. She landed beside him, her ears ringing as she grabbed for the weapon that had clattered from his grip. But there was no need. His gaze was empty, glassy, and there were two neat holes in his forehead—a double tap. She glanced up at the blood and brains spattering the helicopter’s side and knew the back of his head did not look so neat.
Mark was dead. Really, truly dead this time. After everything that had happened, she didn’t expect that to affect her—but it did. She felt a sob welling in her chest—and then she was dragged up and into a man’s arms.
Cody had dropped to a sitting position on the tarmac beside her and held her tightly, his body smelling like saltwater and sweat and spent ammunition. She wrapped her arms around him and held on, letting the angry, despairing tears she’d been holding in flow down her cheeks. She was not a crier, dammit, but she couldn’t seem to help it this time.
Her ears were still ringing, and she couldn’t hear a thing Cody said, but she knew he was speaking because she could feel his lips moving against her ear.
She turned her head so she didn’t have to look at Mark’s lifeless body. One of the SEALs came over and said something to Cody. A moment later he was standing and lifting her with him. It took her a moment to realize he intended to carry her off the ship.
“I can walk,” she protested.
“No.” She couldn’t hear the word, but she recognized it when it formed on his lips. She could have fought him—but she was tired of fighting. Tired of throwing herself at a wall and getting nowhere.
Miranda laid her cheek against his chest and let him carry her off the ship and away from this nightmare.
30
The exfiltration was uneventful. HOT climbed into two vans, their prisoner bound and gagged, and rocketed off toward the airport. Zain Okonjo had left for Kenya with his security force, so no response would be coming from that quarter. The men who’d been manning Conti’s ship were hired sailors, not a part of his personal army, so their investment in defending him was minimal. The men who actually worked for Conti’s organization were few in number and had been rounded up and handed over to Ian Black’s people. Black’s people were also taking care of Mark Reed’s body.
“What was the cargo?” Money asked Kev. Because while the SEALs had been grabbing Conti and saving Miranda, Alpha Squad had gone after the cargo and turned it over to Black.
Kev looked grim. “Sarin and mustard gas shells, along with the usual guns and ammo you’d expect from an arms dealer. There were also about forty girls ranging from thirteen to twenty or so.”
Lucky’s face showed her fury over the situation. “Disgusting asshole,” she said. “It’s a good damn thing he’s on the other van. I’d be tempted to relieve him of his balls.”
“Holy shit,” Camel said. “And we turned the chemical weapons over to Black?”
Viking blew out a breath. “What choice did we have? Can’t leave it for Okonjo to reclaim.”
Lucky’s eyes flashed. “Ian won’t use the gas, if that’s what you’re thinking. He won’t sell it either. He’ll make sure it gets destroyed. The man is an opportunist, not a monster. He’ll also make sure those girls are taken care of and returned to their families, in case you were wondering.”
Camel looked appropriately chastened. “All right, just asking.”
“Mendez will be in touch with him, you can bet on that,” Lucky added.
Cody sat across from them, shoulder to shoulder with Miranda. He’d wanted to keep holding her when they’d gotten in the van, but she’d climbed off his lap when he sat down and positioned herself beside him. She hadn’t spoken a word.
His stomach churned with emotions he had to work hard to contain. It was a strange feeling to be so on edge. But he could still recall every second that Mark Reed had held a gun to her head. And then when she’d launched into action—
His heart would have stopped if he hadn’t been trained to keep going in spite of whatever was happening around him. She’d scared the hell out of him though. He’d known what she was doing, but it had still been terrifying. She’d given him a signal, and then she’d given him that determined look she had, the one that said she wasn’t done fighting, and he’d braced himself for anything. Her actions had given him a shot. There’d never been any question he was going to take it.
But not before Reed got off a round of his own. A round that had come perilously close to ending Miranda’s life for real. It chilled him to the bone to even think of it.
“Are you okay, Jane?” Lucky asked.
Miranda lifted her head. “I… Yes, I’m okay. My ears
are still ringing, but it’s getting better.”
“That’s good.”
Cody didn’t say anything because he couldn’t think of the right words. What was he going to say to her? She’d loved Mark at one time. She’d been on a quest to find his killer when Cody had met her.
Yes, Mark had betrayed her, but Cody had been the one to actually kill him. Logically, he knew that Miranda had given him the shot. But what if she couldn’t reconcile it in her head?
Memories had a way of obscuring the truth. What if her memories of Mark as a man who had mentored her and cared for her took precedence in her mind? What if she tried to find reasons for why things weren’t the way they’d seemed tonight? What if she regretted giving Cody the chance to take him down?
They reached the airport, going around to a private area where Black had bribed the gate guards to let them in. Once they were through the gates, the vans sped toward a jet sitting on the tarmac with the engines running.
The jet was painted with the logo of a cargo-shipping company, but that’s not what the jet was. It was a leased 737 with passenger seats and a cargo bay where the CIA moved shipments of whatever they wanted to get into a country. In the case of Jorwani, who knew? Weapons and supplies for Black, maybe?
In this case, they were moving an arms dealer/human trafficker to a place where he was going to be questioned and probably detained for the rest of his natural life. It was far too good a sentence for him, but it was out of Cody’s hands. While he might like to personally castrate the asshole for buying and selling women—not to mention whatever evil he’d planned with the chemical weapons—that wasn’t how HOT operated. And Cody was HOT through and through. He believed in their mandate and their methods, even if it was sometimes extra difficult not to dispense a little retribution.
They boarded the jet and Viking shoved Conti into a seat, strapping him in for the duration. The man snarled curses until someone shoved a wadded-up T-shirt from their pack into his mouth. If there was any justice, that T-shirt was sweaty and dirty.
The team flopped into their seats and breathed for the first time all night as the jet began to speed down the runway. Within seconds, they were airborne.
There were high fives and raucous laughter, but Cody had eyes only for Miranda. She was sitting by a window, her head turned toward the shade that was closed—they were all closed, in fact, as stealth was still important here. He wanted to reach for her hand, but he didn’t. Instead, he sat there stewing in his own doubt.
It was about an hour into the flight when Miranda stirred. Her eyes were red-rimmed as she turned her head. He hated that she was hurting. It was especially shocking since he’d never seen her this way before. She was usually so stoic. Tears were not part of Miranda’s usual repertoire.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice gravelly from disuse.
“Not really,” she said. “I can’t quite believe what happened tonight.”
“I’m sorry, sunshine. There was nothing I could do. I had to shoot to kill.”
Her eyes widened for a moment, and he wished like hell she would take out those contacts. He wanted to see her, not some version of her that wasn’t quite right.
“I know you did. It was the right choice.”
His brows drew down. “You agree?”
“Of course I do.” She reached out and squeezed his hand. “He would have killed me. You had no other option.”
She pulled her hand back, and he felt its absence like she’d taken away a warm blanket on a cold winter night. Which was odd because his distinct impression of her right now was of something cold and brittle. She was distant, disengaged. Not the warm, passionate Miranda he’d made love to last night.
Made love?
He sat there with that thought spinning in his head, his brain churning like a turbine, and considered what those words meant. Were they just another description for getting naked and losing himself in her body the same as he would any other woman’s? Or were they something more?
He’d stripped her frantically the last time, and then he’d taken her against a wall, driving them both to the peak of pleasure. But was there more to it than simply a release?
It hit him like a blow that yes, there was something more going on here. He cared about this woman. Cared to the point of not being able to imagine his life without her right now. He didn’t know what that meant, but he knew it meant something important.
For the first time in a long time, he felt like he was floating on the currents of a strange kind of happiness. It was the same kind of happiness he’d felt as a kid, riding his horse at a flat-out gallop across a field. He’d felt wild, free, like anything was possible in those moments. It had seemed so, even if returning home and finding Maggie drunk off her ass and his grandparents tight-lipped had put an end to that notion every single time.
As if thinking about his childhood made it happen, the euphoria stopped and a chill slipped over him. What if Miranda didn’t feel the same way? What if, now that they had Conti and knew that Mark Reed was a traitor, she wanted to move on? They didn’t have to work together anymore. There was no reason to see each other unless they decided to.
He thought of her walking out of his life and felt strangely empty. And that made him angry because Cody McCormick didn’t need anyone. He’d spent a lifetime making sure that was true. He was a nomad, a guy who didn’t put down any roots and who could move on at the drop of a hat. His only ties were to his grandparents, who would be there for him until their dying day.
He couldn’t count on that from anyone else. Not Maggie. Not even HOT or the Navy. If he stopped performing, they would remove him from their ranks.
He cared about Miranda, but he wouldn’t let himself count on her. She was here now, but she could be gone tomorrow. He reached for her hand, gripped it firmly. Her fingers were like ice. She lifted her head and looked at him, a question in her gaze.
“I’m glad you’re alive,” he said fiercely.
She smiled, and his heart beat a little bit harder. “I am too. Thank you for saving me this time.”
Miranda thought about a lot of things on the long flight back to DC. She thought about Mark and Badger, and she thought about Cody. He’d killed Mark. She examined that fact from every side, but there’d been no other way. When she’d thanked him for saving her, she’d meant it.
She’d spoken by phone to Sam Spencer back in DC, and she’d told Sam about Mark and Badger. Sam had gotten quiet for a moment, and Miranda had wondered if she was still there.
“Thank you,” she’d finally said. “You’ve done a great service to the agency. Mr. Price will be arrested before we’ve finished this phone call.”
Jeffrey Price was Badger’s real name. It was shocking in a way to hear it said aloud. Only a handful of people would ever know the identity behind a code name. Except Badger was no longer a name that belonged to Jeffrey Price. He’d given up that right when he’d betrayed the agency.
“I did my job,” Miranda had muttered.
She didn’t feel like she’d done anyone a great service. She felt a little stunned, like someone who’d been told their house had burned down and there was nothing left. She knew she had to pick up the pieces and start again, but she didn’t feel ready to do it just yet.
She’d finished the call and gone back to her seat. Cody had looked up when she walked toward him, but he hadn’t asked any questions.
He was another enigma she couldn’t solve. Her heart insisted on beating harder every time she saw him, but what good did that do her? He’d saved her life, but he hadn’t professed his undying love—or even his undying desire.
Did she want him to? She feared that she did, and she feared it was a direct result of being rejected so soundly by Mark. Not rejected in a sexual way, but rejected in that he’d thought absolutely nothing of betraying her trust—or of killing her, because he damned sure hadn’t thought anything of that.
She wanted to be desired for who she was, and she recognized that feeling
was even stronger now. She wanted to be valued, not used. She wanted the desire for her to be real. She did not want to be someone’s pleasurable pastime or a temporary booty call.
And because she wanted those things so desperately, she turned away from Cody and kept to herself. If she let herself lean against him, if she tried to kiss him or touch him, she felt as if she might crumble like stale bread if he didn’t give her precisely the response she wanted.
She needed too much, and therefore she was determined to need nothing.
It was a long flight, made longer by her determination not to beg the man sitting beside her to show some affection. Yes, he’d held her hand, but for the past several hours he’d not touched her at all, save for their shoulders bumping from time to time.
They refueled in the air to save time, but it was still around fourteen interminable hours before the plane landed at Joint Base Andrews. Ordinarily they’d have come into a commercial airport, but their cargo was too volatile to risk being seen by eyes that weren’t carefully controlled.
Sam Spencer and Colonel Mendez were waiting when they stepped off the jet. Miranda fixed her gaze on them. Sam was so cool and contained, her blond hair shining in the runway lights. It was a chilly evening and she wore a trench coat. Perfect for a spy. She looked as if she was about to pass a classified briefcase to someone and then stride off into the night.
Colonel Mendez was something else altogether. Tall, dressed in ACUs, his jaw hard beneath lowered brows, he looked intense. Not that Miranda had ever seen him look any other way. If he had another setting, she didn’t know it.
“Good job,” he said as HOT stopped on the tarmac and saluted him. They weren’t in uniform and they looked a bit worse for wear, but they were still a proud military outfit who revered their commander.
He returned the salute and everyone relaxed marginally.
“Cargo is safe and sound and ready to be off-loaded,” Viking said, and Mendez nodded before turning to Sam and giving her a signal.
HOT SEAL Rescue (HOT SEAL Team - Book 3) Page 19