Shadowed

by Kariss Lynch

  “That I might be able to do as long as you promise me one thing.”

  They climbed from the car and slammed the doors shut. “And what’s that?”

  “Do not try to convert me to your Southern ways. I refuse to say ‘y’all,’ eat fried animals and roadkill, and watch football all day.”

  Kaylan threw her arm around Megan’s shoulder as she unlocked the door. “We may not convert you, but we at least need to educate you. And for the record, my gran makes the best fried chicken in the state of Alabama.”

  “I don’t eat meat.”

  “You might change your mind if you . . . ”

  A scream tore through the air and Kaylan whirled to the sound, her gaze sweeping the street. Nina stood at her front door shouting, “Kaylan, Megan, a man just ran from the back of your house. He had a knife in his hand.”

  Kaylan bolted from the porch, pulling Megan with her. They sprinted across the yard to Nina. “Get inside now, girls.” She shooed them indoors. Through the window Kaylan saw two men running around the side of their house having exited a car she now knew housed the FBI. Nina grabbed her phone, and Kaylan stopped her.

  “Nina, don’t call the police. It’s under control.” No one else needed to get involved.

  “Don’t be silly. We have to call the police.”

  Kaylan covered Nina’s phone with her hand and lowered her voice. “Nina, because of Nick’s job, the FBI have been hanging around lately, keeping an eye on things. They’ll take care of this, I promise.”

  Nina’s look bore a hole in Kaylan, the look that demanded the truth from lying children. Kaylan met it head-on. “I promise.”

  Nina tossed her hands up in the air, her floral robe gaping to reveal silky pajamas. “Good grief. I’ll make some tea. You aren’t leaving here until I say so.”

  Head spinning, Kaylan gripped her own phone, knowing she needed to talk to someone. Who could she call? Not Logan and Kim. Nick and Micah were out of town.

  “Kaylan, what is going on?” Megan muttered as Nina fussed over the kettle on the stove.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Can we call someone?”

  “All the guys are out of town.”

  “Call Logan.”

  “I can’t. They’ve got too much going on in their lives.”

  “Kaylan, quit being independent and call the family that just told you to call if you needed anything,” Megan gritted under her breath.

  “Pot meet kettle.” Kaylan stepped into the living room and dialed Logan.

  “Carpenter residence.”

  “Logan, it’s Kaylan.”

  “Kaylan, what’s wrong? Did y’all make it home okay?” His voice went stiff, and Kaylan remembered that it would take more than losing a leg to slow down this Navy SEAL.

  “Someone was at our house. Our neighbor saw him. She said he was holding a knife. What do I do? All the guys are out of town.”

  “What am I, chopped liver? Hang tight and don’t tell your neighbor any details. I’ll check in with the Feds. But I would expect they will tighten their leash with you. And, Kaylan, you did the right thing calling me. It may be totally unrelated, but I don’t believe in coincidence.”

  “Logan, I can’t . . . ”

  “Yes, you can. Take a deep breath and do what you need to. And make sure Megan stays quiet.”

  Kaylan took a deep breath, reaching for reserves she didn’t feel like she could muster. But it wasn’t about what she felt. She could and would do this.

  “Let me know what you find out.”

  “Hang in there. We got your back.” He hung up as a knock sounded on Nina’s front door. Time to talk to the FBI.

  Home. Even for a loner like Janus the thought of being back on Ukrainian soil, hearing her own language, seeing familiar sights, brought a hint of nostalgia. But she usually drowned that out with vodka. She stared out over the Sevastopol city center from her roost in a luxury suite. Her contacts back in Coronado didn’t know if the SEALs had left or not. They vacated the house a little earlier than the usual time.

  The eyes on Kaylan said she went about business as usual. No word if the SEAL team had caught her scent. If they had, well, a lot more was at stake besides this deal. If her boss were caught before she made her getaway . . . she didn’t even want to think about the ramifications. They all ended with her six feet under in an unmarked location.

  She took a long drag on a cigarette, and coughing seized her. No one would miss her anyway. She glanced at her watch. Her boss and the Iranian would knock on her door only hours from now. And if her contacts in California didn’t hear from her after that, they had orders to take the girls, both of them. She’d given Nick every opportunity. A girl with hair like Kaylan’s would get a good price on the international market. It was her last resort. The only option. The men were on standby. The SEALs should have left her alone.

  Despite the expansive windows, she felt like a hamster trapped in a cage. Even gilded rooms made prisoners of their occupants when subject to the whims of greedy men. She would not be taken alive. Orange would not look good on her, and a cell wouldn’t suit. She took another drag on her cigarette before pouring a drink. Yes, it was a good day to die.

  Chapter 37

  WHAT WAS IT with these people and boats? Nick shuddered in his wet suit, hunched down in a shipping yard after his swim to shore. The workers had long since gone home for the day. The scent of fish and trash wafted his way in the still night. From what he understood, the meeting had taken place, and the takedown was only minutes away. Or at least he hoped so. Something didn’t feel right.

  Janus and her boss were supposed to rendezvous back on his yacht after the meeting. But first they would show proof of weapons to the Iranian liaison, proof that remained hidden in the warehouse where Nick, Micah, Titus, and Colt crouched. Nick’s job was to secure the weapons, but so far they weren’t sure which set of crates contained the right shipment.

  Row upon row of crates filled with machine parts and delivery items sat in the dank, dark warehouse. Nick shuffled from station to station, checking the arrival date and location. At this rate he might as well wait for Janus to point him to the right shipment, something that was highly unlikely.

  A rusty door slid open, and voices sounded in Arabic. The team stilled, fading into the shadows with barely a sound. Nick hunkered behind boxes, readying his gun in case an “imminent threat” arose—the two words that always stood out in their briefs.

  Titus breathed over his microphone. “They’re discussing the weather. This isn’t helpful. Sure we have the right rendezvous?”

  Nick gazed through his scope, his eyes stilling on a slight woman, blonde hair, icy blue eyes, immaculate clothes, and gloved hands. His pulse accelerated. He recognized her. Only now her hair was shorter, her eyes icier, her expression determined, hostile. No longer sweet and inviting. No longer matronly. Cathryn.

  “That’s Kaylan’s neighbor,” he breathed. No time to process that. At least now they knew where she had been getting her information.

  “I’ve got eyes on the Kahuna,” Bulldog whispered over the radio. They would finally have a picture t
o help with a name.

  Nick analyzed the man approaching his hiding place—tall with a pudgy belly, glasses on his nose, and graying brown hair. His angular facial features were classic Eastern European. Nick froze.

  “We’ve got a problem. That’s Sasha Baryshev, one of the biggest oil moguls in Russia and nearly untouchable because of his influence in government. Taking him would be a political nightmare. We may need to stick to intel here.”

  “Stick to the plan, Hawk. Capture only. We’ll let the guys back in DC deal with the political red tape. At least we have a name and identification,” X whispered over the intercom. Nick knew Jay would radio it back to HQ from his overwatch position nearby.

  The three targets stopped near Nick’s hiding place. He could hear the Arabic cadence and watched as Sasha gestured to a large crate in front of them.

  “Seven males incoming. Look to be European. All armed,” Titus warned, his voice remaining as bland as if he were commenting on the weather. Nick smirked. Sometimes he wondered if they were trained too well.

  “They’re blocking the entrances,” Micah muttered.

  Nick’s finger hovered near the trigger, ready to respond if things escalated. Two of the goonies walked forward with crowbars and attacked the crate with gusto. Built like tanks, the men tore the top off with ease, revealing a layer of multicolored silk scarves resting on straw.

  Sasha leaned forward and brushed aside the layers, and Nick caught a glimpse of AK-47s and RPGs.

  Titus swore over his intercom, and Nick tensed. “Sasha is telling the Iranian he can get him uranium for a nuclear warhead if the price is right. They are negotiating a meeting next month. This shipment is chump change. They met to discuss a bomb.”

  Colt’s deep voice hissed in Nick’s ear. “Trouble on my six. Might have to step this up.”

  Nick heard shouting in Russian and shots fired just as all hell broke loose. “Grenade!” Colt shouted as an explosion rocked the air a hundred feet from where Nick crouched, shattering crates and boxes in its wake. Nick ducked, trying to keep his eyes on their three targets, but they’d slipped away in the chaos.

  “Colt?”

  “Fine. Go!”

  Nick left his position and took off in pursuit of the three targets, radioing his plans as he ran.

  A man stepped out in front of him, the barrel of his gun coming even with Nick’s chest. Nick couldn’t slow down. He slammed into him, grunting with the impact. The gun fired into the air. Twisting free, Nick aimed and fired, sending the man sprawling backward. He paused long enough to confirm the fight was over before he took off again.

  “Right behind you, Hawk.” Nick heard Micah’s feet pounding in perfect rhythm behind him as the rest of the team secured the warehouse while the two of them pursued Janus. He didn’t care about anyone else. Just catching her, ending the threats, the worry. Ending her career and reign of terror. Ending, or at least slowing, the slaughter of American soldiers fighting on foreign soil.

  They spilled out the door into an industrial shipyard hugging the bank of a water channel that flowed out into the Black Sea. Nothing moved, and he and Micah slipped back into the shadows, guns ready, their black wet suits blending into the night.

  A crane hovered above Nick’s head and smaller boats with glowing lights sat silent, their owners in bed. A shot pinged the building behind his head. He ducked, and his senses sharpened. He scanned the dimness to determine direction. Another shot whizzed past, and Micah inhaled sharply. Nick shifted to look at his best friend. Micah’s wet suit hung split open, and a slim gash bled from where the bullet grazed his arm before embedding in the side of the warehouse.

  “I’m good. Keep moving.”

  Another shot hit the building. Either the person lacked marksmanship or he was shooting blind. This time Nick guessed the direction to be an old industrial fishing boat of some sort about one hundred yards to their right. He signaled to Micah to go around the side while he slipped up onto the deck.

  A click sounded over the radio as Colt slithered into view, rounding the boat and disappearing to cover the other side. Three-on-three. Nick liked their odds. He was thankful for more men on this mission taking care of the rest of the guys inside the warehouse. But right now all he cared about was Janus. He wasn’t sure who fired at them or if the other two lay in wait or fled the scene. But he swore that at least one of them would fly back to California with his team. And he knew which one he wanted.

  He crept across the deck, his footfalls silent in the murky night. The moon hid behind clouds, the light muted for a moment. He scanned the deck. A small figure shifted, leaning over the railing, gun aimed and trained.

  “Do svidaniya.” She whispered just as Micah entered her line of sight. Nick reacted and launched himself forward, regretting his directive to capture and not kill. Her shot went wild. Micah yelled over the intercom.

  Nick tackled the slight frame, rolling on the deck in a mess of arms and legs. Blonde hair tangled in his fingers, obscuring his view of Janus’s face. Although she was wiry and strong, he heard a slight wheeze in her breathing. Taking advantage of the weakness, he punched her in the stomach, enough to stall her breathing for a moment, then flipped her over and bound her hands behind her back with lightning movements.

  Nick’s breathing slowed as he radioed his team. “Female jackpot apprehended on fishing boat near warehouse. Radio HQ. Any sign of the other two?”

  “None, Hawk. Searching now,” Titus’s voice sounded over the intercom.

  “Coming up, Hawk.” Micah pulled himself up just as Janus regained her breath.

  “We’re going to take a little trip, Janus. I hear you’ve taken a liking to my town.”

  “It suffices if you like tacky American culture.”

  “What I like is you staying away from my girlfriend. What I like is you in American hands.”

  She squirmed beneath him. In one swift movement he stood, hauling her to her feet.

  “But the games were so fun. And you are so gullible. Face it, little SEAL. I infiltrated your world all too easily, and you could do nothing to stop me.”

  Nick towered over her, his temper fighting his good sense.

  “I should have shot you when I had the chance.” He grabbed her arm and tugged her with him.

  “The game’s not over yet.”

  Micah stalled next to Nick, studying their adversary. “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I said. The game does not end until I say it does.” Her eerie chuckle turned to coughing as she doubled over.

  Nick gritted his teeth, unsure what to do. Colt radioed that the Iranian and Big Kahuna were gone. Jay responded with confirmation that the sniper and remaining men in the warehouse had been taken care of. The helicopter would pick them up in five minutes.

  Despite the victory chatter in his ear, Nick could only focus on Janus. His head spun. “You’re crazy.”

  “What you call crazy, others call brilliant. It is all a matter of perception, is it not?” she wheezed, a smirk twisting her lips. Gone was the polite, affluent, proper neighbor. Instead, a calculated, cold-blooded killer stood before him.

  Micah grabbed Janus’s arm
and hauled her from the boat. “Listen, lady, I’ve had about enough of you, your games, and your threats to my family. I don’t care if they lock you up and throw away the key. You are getting on that helicopter. You lost, you got that?”

  Between the two of them they half-carried, half-dragged Janus to a waiting helicopter, hovering above an empty dock. Colt and Titus pulled her in as Micah and Nick jumped on.

  “I expect we are flying home?” All eyes turned to Janus, who stared back with icy blue eyes, her cherry red lipstick still perfectly painted on thin lips that grinned triumphantly. “Perfect. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

  Nick’s heart stalled. He had a sinking feeling that Janus spoke the truth. This game wasn’t over yet.

  Chapter 38

  MEGAN DIDN’T COME home after work Friday night. That wasn’t too unusual, but when Kaylan tried to call, she couldn’t reach her. After dealing with news of the intruder Tuesday night, Kaylan couldn’t believe Megan wouldn’t let her know her plans. The FBI had found no signs of a break-in and no indications that someone had tampered with the door, and they reassured Kaylan that they were watching the house 24/7. Still, Kaylan couldn’t shake the feeling that something didn’t add up.

  Thankfully the rest of the week had gone by without incident. On Wednesday Megan brought by her latest flame, Jackson. On Thursday Nick called to say they were fine and hoped to be back by late Friday night or early Saturday morning, but he would be out of pocket until then. Now it was Friday evening, and no sign of Megan. She was probably spending the night at Jackson’s, but then why hadn’t she called or texted? Should she tell the Feds? With the events of the past few weeks, Megan’s lack of communication rattled her. She tried Megan’s cell again, but it immediately rolled to voicemail.