by Kariss Lynch
Nick watched Logan raise his hands in front of his eyes. “Sometimes I hold my kids and wonder what they would think if they knew of the men I’ve killed. Know what my wife says?”
“You need to use more lotion?” The guys howled as Jay made another jab.
“You make it really hard to tell a story.”
Jay leaned over the bunk to peer down at Logan. “I’m done. For now. Continue.”
“C’mon, Pops,” Titus cut through the laughter. “What does Kim say?”
The silence lingered for a moment. “She says they’re the hands of a hero and that she wouldn’t have it any other way. Know what I think? My wife’s the hero. I couldn’t do this without her.”
“My wife’s the same way,” Titus chimed in. “Liza had a cousin living up in New York when the towers were hit. A fireman in the city. Really shook her family when they couldn’t contact him for hours after the buildings collapsed. She hates the work hours, but her biggest complaint is missing Texas. Heck, I miss it too, so those complaints I can handle. Where were you, Bulldog?”
“Getting out of the car for school. I’d just started tenth grade. My mom loaded us back up and took us home. We watched the news the rest of the day. I thought the world was ending. I was a superhero fanatic as a kid, and I kept thinking that Superman just needed to fly in and save the day. If only, ya know? The guys responsible for nine eleven taught their kids to hate America. But in the process they taught American kids to love their country and fight for her. In a way they hurt themselves more. Hawk?”
Nick thought back to that morning. “Mom woke me up for school with pancakes and bacon. She never cooked during the work week. I immediately thought someone died. I didn’t realize thousands had. That memory didn’t impact me fully until college. I looked around and hated my life. Found the Lord and wanted to fight for something bigger than myself. I wanted to do something that meant something. And I wanted a team to do it with.”
“You think God actually cares, Hawk? We’re killers. If He created life, aren’t we violating some intergalactic law by taking it away? I mean, that’s pretty serious stuff.” Colt’s questions shook Nick. He’d wondered the same thing before.
“Man, God doesn’t care. He took all those people. He took my dad. What’s a few more if we’re actually doing it for a good reason?” Jay’s voice held a bitterness that Nick understood well. His own voice had once held that tone.
“Jay, I don’t think the Lord ever likes the loss of life. But we’re human. And people are evil. God didn’t kill your dad, man. Evil people who chose not to follow a good God did that. They’ll pay someday.”
“Whatever, dude.”
Nick glanced to his right and kept going at Micah’s encouraging nod. “My mom used to read me stories about King David, whom God called a man after His own heart. David’s hands were marred with the blood of thousands that the Lord commanded he battle. He promised David victory, and thousands of mighty men fought with him. The first time I fired my gun on my first deployment, I got sick. I watched a man go down. It didn’t hit me until we got back to base. I couldn’t help but think of those stories and that God still loved David.”
“So how does that justify the massive amounts of death in war, Hawk?” Colt’s curiosity bled through his question.
Nick took a deep breath, praying his words would count for something later. “This war . . . it’s ugly. We’re fighting to protect our own and fighting to defend countless others who don’t have a government to fight for them. I hate it. But I’ve got to believe that though the Lord doesn’t like war, He allows it, and I’m going to wage it for the people I love. I’ll answer to Him for what I’ve done. I fight, and I’m going to keep fighting.”
The silence stretched again, and Nick shut his eyes, praying his words would take root. Praying that these men would understand the goodness of God, that His justice and mercy existed in equal measure.
Jay’s deep Jersey accent jarred him from his drifting. “You know if we catch this witch, we’ll be cutting off the weapons supply to the very guys that killed my dad. Fewer American lives lost.”
Logan’s voice boomed in the silence. “Let’s get some shut-eye.”
Nick drifted to sleep, preparing to make war.
They were coming. Janus ended the call and took another sip of bourbon, the amber liquid burning her throat and stomach. She grimaced.
How had they found her so quickly? She stood and walked to the windows, the smell of salty air faint but familiar. She squeezed the crystal glass in her hand and wondered if Nick was with the team that would try to take her out. She hated losing the upper hand. But this game wasn’t over. Far from it.
She would have to disappoint them. She glanced toward the bedroom and the packed bag on the bed. No, she wasn’t ready to be caught yet.
“Sorry to disappoint, little SEAL. But you will not catch me tonight. You may even catch more than you bargained for.”
She paced back to her chair and studied the man sitting opposite. He had proved to be a useful distraction at times.
Ivan raised his brows at her perusal. “Is it time?”
“Da,” she answered. “You know what to do.”
Chapter 8
INTEL HAD LOST their vantage point on Janus. The call came thirty minutes before the drop-off. They’d seen Janus and a man periodically come up on deck, but for hours now, nothing. But the team was launching anyway. Her boat. Last confirmed location. Everything was a go.
A knot built in Nick’s gut, and no amount of prayer eased the uncertainty. But he shoved it aside. No room to think about possibilities. They had a job to do.
Nick’s head breached the water, his eyes barely above the surface. The Jupiter bobbed two hundred feet away. Micah touched his shoulder then submerged again, approaching the sleeping vessel. With his teammates by his side, Nick sliced through the water, taking slow breaths through his face mask, feeling the cool currents of the Black Sea moving around his body. Somewhere nearby Titus and Jay lurked in black Zodiacs, monitoring the area around them.
Micah hit the boat first, pulling himself up on deck and immediately scanning the decks, corners, and recesses with his rifle. He waved them on, and within seconds Nick knelt next to him with Colt and Logan by his side, their wet suits leaving growing puddles on the deck.
Logan signaled that Nick and Micah should check the cabin while he and Colt took the deck. They moved in perfect sync, the only sound the gentle lap of waves on the hull of the boat. A cruise ship sat anchored farther in the harbor, and Nick hoped no one lingered topside.
Nick followed Micah below, his senses alert for any sound or movement. The ship lay in stillness. Too quiet.
“Cabin is clear.” Micah said, radioing the rest of the team. The two of them lowered their guns and looked around.
Lush blue carpet blanketed the floor. A bed flanked one wall, adorned with cream and gold coverings and pillows. Gold-filigreed trinkets sat throughout the room, and leather armchairs made up a small sitting area. Plush and lavish. Nick had to agree with their intel. Janus enjoyed comfort and had expensive taste.
“Maybe we missed her.” Micah broke the silence, still studying the room. He approached a sma
ll desk sitting below a circular window and glanced through a few papers, careful to leave them undisturbed. “Maybe she stayed in a cushy hotel tonight or is enjoying a late night in Yalta drinking Ukrainian booze.”
Nick approached the desk and immediately stilled. Lying on top of the letters and papers was a note written on thick, cream-colored stationery. The precise Russian lettering told Nick more about their target than the room ever could. His face drained of color as he read.
“Hawk, what is it?” Micah looked harder at the papers.
Nick picked up the stationery and turned it toward Micah.
Micah stilled, his brown eyes scouring Nick’s face.
“It says, ‘Catch me if you can.’ Someone ratted us out.”
Glass broke as a bullet whizzed through the window, embedding in the cabin wall opposite them. Nick and Micah immediately hit the floor as their radio erupted with Colt’s shouts. “Shooter! Man down, man down.”
Logan. Nick’s stomach sank. Kill the shooter, then get Logan home to his family. He issued instructions to the men on the Zodiacs. “Jay, T-Brown, see if you can get eyes on our shooter. One shot through the portside cabin window.”
“Three shots on the bow,” Colt shouted. “I think it’s a sniper, but he’s an awful shot.”
Sniper. Nick’s own trade. He pushed his body up enough to catch a small glimpse of the cruise ship anchored just inside shooting distance. He should have known. He pounded a fist on the carpet.
“T-Brown, get eyes on the top deck of that cruise ship. Take this jerk out so we can get off this boat. Jay, radio HQ. Tell them we need surgeons available as soon as we get back.”
“Hawk.” Logan’s voice shook over the radio, but Nick’s heart leapt knowing he was conscious.
“Hang in there, man. Let’s get off this boat.”
“Grab anything we can hand over. We need more intel on Janus . . . ” Logan sucked in a breath. “We need more to catch her.”
“On it.” Micah began pulling the mail and paperwork from the desk, then opened the drawer.
“Hurry, Bulldog,” Nick hissed as he crouched and moved toward the door. Another bullet whizzed through the window. This guy was clearly shooting blind. It made Nick’s blood boil. He hated getting shot at. He wished he had his sniper rifle in his hands. Payback would be brutal.
“There might be fingerprints.” Micah grabbed a few pens and papers, shoving them in a waterproof bag and then stuffing them next to his chest before refastening his wet suit. He beat a path to the door on Nick’s heels.
“We’ve got company,” Colt shouted over the radio. “Speedboat coming from the west. I got eyes on three, all fully armed.” Shots echoed from above, and Nick and Micah clambered up the stairs, stopping to appraise the situation.
“On deck,” Micah called over the radio.
“Jay, T, we need y’all. Forget the sniper. We gotta get out of here.” Nick swallowed his anxiety as he scanned the darkness.
Another round of bullets sprayed the boat, right above where Nick and Micah crouched. Sitting ducks with one wounded and a trigger-happy, inexperienced sniper. Not ideal.
“All right. That’s enough of this.” Micah looked to Nick. With a nod, they rounded the deck, firing back at the speedboat now beginning to circle The Jupiter.
Nick shouted over the roar of the speedboat. “Colt, you and Logan get to the stern and let’s get off this boat. We’ll cover you.”
“Hawk, take port, I’ll get starboard.” Micah and Nick split and began firing. As the speedboat circled closer, Nick identified one driver and two shooters. The driver’s blond hair glinted in the moonlight, probably Eastern European. Nick couldn’t make out his face. The shooters both had caps pulled low over their faces, and their dark clothes blended into the night. Nick took careful aim and sent one flying over the deck and into the sea spray.
“One down.”
Colt appeared, Logan slung over his shoulders, his steps quick and measured on the thin trail between the cabin and the boat’s edge. “Hawk, help.”
“Cover us, Bulldog.” Immediately Micah appeared at his side, firing shots. The second gunner went down.
Nick grabbed Colt, steadying him, and then helped him lower Logan to the floor. A nasty hole gaped in Logan’s calf muscle, blood still oozing from the wound. Logan’s face was pasty, his eyes unfocused. Nick noticed Colt had already tied a tourniquet above the wound.
Jay’s voice sounded over the radio, almost shattering Nick’s ear drum. “Get off the boat! Incoming.”
Colt swore as the speedboat barreled toward The Jupiter. Micah fired as Colt and Nick dove off the side, pulling Logan with them. From underwater, Nick heard another splash as Micah joined them, then they dove as deep as they could. The water lit up around them, and debris began to fall past them. Even with the currents, the heat seared the back of Nick’s neck as he and Colt pulled Logan farther away, Micah swimming next to them.
Within seconds of surfacing, the Zodiacs pulled up next to them. Micah climbed over the side and then reached for Logan. As Nick helped Logan from the water, he noticed another gash in Logan’s leg where a piece of metal from the boat had embedded during the explosion. He slid over the side and immediately turned to examine Logan’s wound.
Jay swore as he watched from the other Zodiac. Colt quickly pulled himself into Jay’s raft and began scanning the area
“Stay with us, man.” Logan coughed up water and Nick knew a moment of panic for the kids, Kim, and the baby on the way.
“T, get us back, now!”
They sped away, leaving the remains of a yacht and speedboat crackling in the Black Sea, a crew of law enforcers, Nick assumed, approaching from shore. Bile built in his mouth. She’d outwitted them. Again. It was time to get to the bottom of this. They would get home. And they would get answers.
Chapter 9
KAYLAN COULDN’T WAIT to get off her feet as she entered her house and tossed the keys on the bar. The guys had been gone for four days, and she’d just gone to check their house and get the mail. Everything was as she left it. “I guess ole Mrs. Buckner finally croaked,” Megan said as she stirred pasta in a pan on the stove.
“Megan!”
“It is what it is, Kaylan.”
“That’s sad. We didn’t get to say good-bye.” She sank onto a bar stool, her feet sore from her rotation. This month they had her stationed in a hospital, creating meal plans for different patients. She loved the nutrition aspect, but she was ready to finish the internship, take the dreaded registered dietician exam, and become Kaylan Richards, RD.
“I went by at the beginning of the week and took Mrs. Buckner some soup. She didn’t look so good. Real pale. Barely able to move on her walker.” Megan glanced at Kaylan. “It’s kind of sad her family didn’t take care of her. They would have thrown her in a shabby nursing home and never thought twice. I’ll miss going over there to watch Wheel of Fortune when I take her dinner.”
Kaylan nodded, thankful for the small glimpses of compassion she saw in Megan. Her friend was tough out of necessity. Life had dealt her some rough blows. Megan had lived in the house for a year before Kaylan moved in and had visited her a
iling grandmother for a year prior to inheriting the house. Mrs. Buckner had been friends with her grandmother, and Kaylan knew Megan had grown more attached to their elderly neighbor than she let on.
“Guess we will have a new neighbor soon.” Megan smirked. “I’m guessing we’ll take her cookies? I think your Southern hospitality is rubbing off on me.”
Kaylan laughed and allowed the full brunt of her Southern accent to color her words. “Stick around, darlin’. There’s more where that came from.”
“Oh, wow. Shoot me if I start talking like that.”
Kaylan hopped off her stool and began to pull ingredients from the cabinets. “Not a chance. I’ll have you saying ‘y’all’ in no time.” She held up two bags. “Since you are making pasta salad, I think I should take cookies to this dinner tonight. Should we make chocolate chip or M&M?”
“You’re in the mood for chocolate.”
Kaylan snuck a small handful of M&Ms. “Always. So what’ll it be?”
“Chocolate chips.” Megan turned off the burner and drained the water over the sink. She preheated the oven, and the two moved around the kitchen in perfect sync, sneaking handfuls of chocolate until the cookies were in the oven. Their next-door neighbor, Nina, had invited them over for one of her monthly “Pick-a-Little, Talk-a-Little” dinners and tea. She liked to get the ladies on the block together once a month to gossip and eat. She was on neighborhood watch and took her job very seriously. Megan had refused to go to dinner until Kaylan accepted for both of them. They had an hour before the festivities began.
Megan hopped onto the kitchen counter. “The dough is the best part. We should just take that.”