Hart Attack

by Cristin Harber

  “The auction.” He cleared his throat. “Simple. We go. I schmooze. You give me a thumbs up or down on appraisal price. I bid. End of story.”

  “That’s it?”

  His backstep from seconds ago reversed. “Do you want there to be more, Beth?”

  Such a loaded question. She tried not to fidget and picked her glass up again. “I wouldn’t mind schmoozing a little myself.”

  “How about this? We’ll get out, meet some players…” He studied her. “I have something even bigger coming up. We’ll see how this trip goes, and maybe we’ll work together again. I will need a strong right-hand man when it comes time for this job.”

  “I’d like that.”

  He clinked his glass to hers. “Funny. I think I’d like that too.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Roman burrowed further into his layer of debris. Under the night’s blanket of safety, he’d been sitting for hours since he, Cash, and Montana had received their go-orders from Titan HQ. This was a non-sanctioned, US-funded job to take out a sex-trade cartel kingpin. Their job was easy. One shot, one kill. The fallout from the fucker’s death would cause a shift in power, allowing Mexican and US deep-cover agents to move further up the food chain. In the long run, one assassination would save further women from rape, slavery, and murder, so it would be a job well done in Roman’s mind when the guy fell over dead.

  Now that he’d been awake for more than twenty-four hours—during which he’d kissed Beth, watched her on TV, and almost beat her asset to a pulp—the almost-daybreak-night surrounded him. He stared into the horizon through the green tint of night vision, ready to wrap up any time now.

  A set of headlights sped forward several clicks down the only road leading to the compound. Roman signaled Cash on the radio. “Vehicle heading in on avenue of approach.”

  A half-click away, Cash was perched and angled to shoot. “Roger that.”

  Montana signaled to Roman. Something else was in the distance. Another set of headlights appeared.

  “Hang tight.” Roman studied them. “Two vehicles. One’s a decoy.”

  “Let me know,” Cash whispered.

  Roman zeroed in on the vehicles, trading information with Montana. One rode lower to the ground, both identical makes. “Half a click and approaching the gate. Wind from the northeast, ten miles per hour.”

  Keeping his eye on both vehicles, Roman watched them maneuver, hitting the divots and bumps on their route, the lower-hanging one hitting them harder. That was their target; the vehicle had to be armored. “Target’s in the second one.”

  “Second vehicle. Got it.”

  Roman watched them enter the gate. “I’m blind. Wind shifting, north, five miles per hour.”

  “Give me five, four, three…” Cash went silent. Seconds ticked by. “Bull’s eye. Let’s go.”

  Roman rolled over and jumped up from his burrowed hole then booked it to meet at the rendezvous location. They had two vehicles hidden away, one he and Cash had taken, the second Montana had for back up.

  He was there first and hit the driver’s seat. Forty-five seconds later, Cash jumped into the passenger seat. Roman slammed the gas, bumping onto the road through a thick wall of brush. Montana would likely be about a minute or two behind them. They all knew where to go. The job had gone long, but in the grand scheme, it was a cake walk.

  “Well done, dude.” Roman pulled off his equipment as he drove with his knees. “Working with the kid ain’t bad.” He picked up his comm piece. “You hear that, Montana? Great eyes, buddy. Nicely done.”

  “I hear ya, buddy.” Montana downplayed his contribution, which made Roman like the kid even more. Everything happened for a reason, and with Cash off playing husband all the time, it would be good to have another guy around to shoot the shit with.

  “Agree. Kid did well.” Cash rummaged through a bag on the floor, grabbing granola bars and throwing one at Roman.

  Roman dropped his comm piece into the console and relaxed. Starving, he and Cash raided the box of granola bars and drove several miles down a broken road in silence.

  Cash balled up his wrappers and tossed them in bag. “I’m not going to meddle, but—”

  Meddling could only mean Beth.

  “Christ.” Roman shook his head and pushed the gas pedal down as though driving faster would keep this conversation from happening. “Leave it alone.”

  “Beth called Nicola.”

  The speed didn’t help. “You sound like a freakin’ chick playing telephone.”

  “And Nic said you nearly started a fight with the asset Beth’s working over.”

  Roman grumbled. “Asset she’s working over. Nicely worded.”

  “What has you so damn worked up, man?” Cash turned his head. “I mean, you and Beth have been dancing around whatever it is you two have, but, seriously. Storming her building, getting in her guy’s face when you know she’s working a job? I don’t get it.”

  If Roman tried hard enough, he’d be able to rip the wheel off the steering column with his grip. “Dude’s name is Gregori Naydenov. Why’s the name ring a bell?”

  “That’s the dude’s name?” Cash asked.

  “Yeah. What do you know?”

  “Not much. Guy’s a money launderer for a couple big-name terrorists.”

  Roman groaned. “Fucking spectacular.”

  “What the hell happened the other night?” Cash chuckled.

  “Nothing you don’t know already.”

  “Kissing Beth wouldn’t make you lose your mind like that. I don’t care if her lips taste like sugar or some shit.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Roman grumbled, remembering that they did taste exactly like sugar and were addictive as hell. Not that he wanted to kiss them ever again. And crying? Then another guy? Nope.

  “Roman, man. What gives?”

  “Nothing worth getting into.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Cash said.

  “Truth…” Roman’s grip on the wheel made his knuckles ache. “She’s gotta bed Naydenov for the job.”

  “Huh.” Cash whistled low. “Didn’t expect that.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  They drove for miles in silence before Cash shook his head and started in again. “Fine. Beth does a little dirty for the gig. Not unheard of. But what’s the whole situation with—”

  “The other night, when we were at that bar, before I kissed her, she said alright.”

  “Alright, like alright-alright? You two…”

  Roman nodded. “And I backed down. Because she’d been drinking and I was sober as a minister on Sunday.”

  Cash threw back his head and laughed. “Man alive, I’m enjoying this side of the show.”

  “What?” he scowled.

  “The crap you guys gave me when Nic popped back up. Now I can see why. This is great.” Cash gasped in laughter, slapping his leg and howling. “Fucking awesome. Hilarious.”

  “Dude, shut up. It’s not like that.”

  “The hell it isn’t.”

  Roman ran off the road, making the tires rumbled in protest. Cash stopped laughing long enough to see they weren’t crashing, but as Roman pulled back on to the road, his buddy fell apart worse than before.

  “Not funny, asshole.”

  “Beth is your Nic. Everyone knows it, but I think maybe you’re just realizing it.”

  Roman rubbed his forehead, sliding his fingers down to pinch the bridge of his nose. Then cold dread grabbed his stomach. “No.” He shook his head. “No woman of mine would spread her legs for the job. Beth’s sweet, hot. I bet she’d fuck like a porn star. But nope, none of that Beth-is-my-Nicola shit. The only thing Beth is is a permanent headache.”

  “Eh, maybe. Maybe not. Think you just need to wake up and see what’s in front of you.”

  Shaking his head, Roman couldn’t—wouldn’t—do that. “How about we radio in Montana and talk some of Titan’s strategic—”

  A loud explosion echoed in Roman’s ears before he registe
red a flash of light. White. Red. Yellow. It came out of nowhere, wrapping around the windshields. The vibrations shattered his eardrums. Pinching his eyes shut, his hands lost the steering wheel as their armored vehicle flipped. They went sideways, its heavy tonnage slamming the road. Roman growled through the blast, the crash.

  They flipped again. The impact so jarring his teeth slammed together, the metallic taste of blood coating his tongue. The seatbelt tore into his neck, the impact giving him whiplash.

  Finally, their trajectory stopped, stuck at an angle, and his head dropped forward. He tried like hell to regain his bearings, to hear something besides the ringing in his ears. The scent of blood and fuel burned in his nostrils. He wanted to sit up, to move his arms and legs that ached in a thousand ways, making his head spin to the point of nausea.

  His head rolled to the side. His eyes loosely focused. He took in the cracked windshield, the shatters window, and—Cash slumped in the passenger seat.

  “Cash?” But Roman wasn’t sure if the word came out. He tried to move. The ringing in his ears continued, and his surroundings looked like a stilted movie, almost as if he were slowly clicking through a slideshow.

  He lifted his arm to wipe the blood out of his eyes. Hurt like a motherfuckin’ bear. Then the sulfur smell of smoke made him twitch. React. Realize that somewhere, something was sparking. Who knew what they’d been hit with, but they had to get out of their vehicle.

  “Cash,” he coughed out, reaching for his own seatbelt.

  No answer.

  “Cash, wake the fuck up.” Roman couldn’t even hear his own voice. Damn it.

  He unbuckled the belt and fell to the side. Right, they were at an angle. He seriously needed to get his thoughts together. No telling who was after them, how close, or what they wanted.

  “We gotta go, man.” Roman checked Cash’s pulse but couldn’t make sense of anything.

  So help him God, if anyone took Cash away from him, he’d lose his mind. Years of not having his sister? Now Cash wasn’t moving? Not responding? “Dude. Come on.”

  Roman groaned through the pain. His eyes watered from whatever was smoking and sparking, from the leaking fuel, and from his blood mixed with sweat seeping down his face.

  Cash was still out. But alive? Seemed that way. Had to be that way. They had to get out or neither one would be for long. Roman turned to his door, kicking to open it. It remained shut. He tried the handle, but no use. He turned to Cash’s, same routine, same result.

  “Wake up.” Fuck, he felt weak. Helpless.

  His hands clawed for the satellite phone, not finding it as black smoke filtered into the cab. He unbuckled Cash, who fell sideways, and Roman heard a low moan. Good. Cash was alive and Roman’s hearing was coming back in pieces. But shit, they were still stuck, and Cash was still out.

  “Come on, man.” Pulling his leg up, Roman saw it was blood coated. His eyelids tried to sink shut. Moving both his legs was almost too much. But he kicked and kicked, growling and shouting at the goddamn window that was already partially shattered from impact.

  Stupid. Safety. Glass.

  Another kick and finally the window spider-webbed. It clunked out with a final kick, giving them enough room to make an exit. Roman pulled Cash toward the opening, then pushed himself through it.

  The world spun as he fell and hit the fuel-soaked ground. His eyes ran over the vehicle. Definitely hit by an RPG or an IED, and how often did folks survive rocket-propelled grenades or improvised explosives? Not often. Hell, he didn’t want to go like this, especially when the hard part seemed over.

  He stood, staggering and swaying as the world swirled at Mach One. Nope, the hard part wasn’t over yet. He summoned enough strength to pull Cash through the window, hoping to God the dude didn’t have a broken spine.

  Roman focused, gritting his teeth, and leaned against the door. A small fire broke out under the hood. More smoke plumed out. As soon as it hit anything fuel covered, they were dead.

  “Cash.” Roman held him. “Dude, come on.” Because he couldn’t do this on his own. “Wake up.”

  Roman gripped Cash’s arm, tugging as white-hot pain ripped into his muscles and a pounding headache threatened to knock him out. Sweat poured off of him, and he was so dizzy. Too dizzy. He couldn’t comprehend. Couldn’t think about survival. Just that he had to get them away.

  One more horrible blast of pain, and Cash’s limp, moaning body fell down on top of him. Fumes, smoke, and gasoline surrounded them. Roman rolled over and crawled on his stomach, dragging Cash along with him. They had to escape faster. But he couldn’t. Inch by inch, he pushed away from the vehicle. Maybe they’d make it.

  Dirt caked his skin and pushed into his mouth. Muscles aching, unknown wounds tearing him apart with each move, Roman couldn’t do it. His chest heaved. The pain was intolerable. Roman looked at Cash next to him, the vehicle not that far away, the sky—

  Another giant explosion ripped into the night. The force rattled him. The heat and rippling vibrations flattened him to the ground. Again his ears bled in pain, his eyes burning from the onslaught.

  He wrapped an arm around Cash again, covering his friend’s head and fighting for survival, to stay conscious. And… just… couldn’t.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Roman’s eyes cracked opened as he awakened with a headache to trump all headaches. Dim lights surrounded him, and the hum of machinery beeped in his ear, forcing his headache to epic pain levels. He did a mental roll call of body parts. All hurt like hell but were accounted for.

  Slowly, he tried to take in his surroundings. IV bag. Vitals monitor. Yup, hospital room. He was unsure where in the world he was or how he’d gotten there, though. His memory reached into nothing, drawing a blank for why he was on his back and aching like he’d gone to blows with a bull.

  “You’re not dead. Wake the hell up.” Jared leaned over Roman and growled. “I have no patience for my favorite sniper-spotter team finding the easy way into an R & R request.”

  Rest and relaxation? Surely he was dead. Being unable to move and having Boss Man bark orders into his face. Yeah, absolutely dead and hanging out in hell.

  He jolted. Cash. Montana. “What happened? Where’s—”

  “Take it easy.”

  “Where’s—” He coughed, igniting another round of pain.

  “Cash is laid up, like you. Montana came upon you and called in for the troops. You owe him.”

  Montana got them home. Roman owed the kid. That was doable.

  As Roman processed the information, his mind went fuzzy. Heavy and sore, he let his eyes slide shut, slipping back into the peaceful bliss of what he hoped were painkillers. Otherwise, if he really were dead, this was going to suck.

  ***

  Swirling coffee in her cup, Beth numbly trailed Nicola down the hall, watching in fascination as the strongest woman Beth knew became as weak as a feather, unable to function and focus. Nicola had called her right after Jared had called with bad news. The details were sketchy at best. Roman and Cash had been hit by a cartel-launched RPG after they had assassinated a cartel kingpin.

  The new guy, Montana, had been in another ride. When Roman and Cash were attacked, barely escaping, Jared received a quick go-save-your-guy heads up from Montana. Titan Group went in hard and fast, pulling their own out and moving them back to the US. Everyone owed Montana a thanks.

  The rescue mission had happened with such fine-tuned finesse that Beth wanted to tell Jared that he ran a tight ship. But the guy scared the crap out of her. And if she admitted it, the idea of Roman not making it back…

  She shook her head, not willing to think about Roman. That second, she centered in on her numbness and thanked God she’d given up the ability to feel anything for anyone. Anything for Roman.

  Beth was here for Nicola.

  Roman was just a friend.

  Yes, he was Nicola’s brother, and they had checked on him. Well, Nicola had checked on him. Beth remained glued to the wall, thankfully slippi
ng into Cash’s room later. Cash was Beth’s comfort zone. Roman was nothing but dangerous, making her question everything she’d come to relish with her numbness. She couldn’t go into Roman’s room. Couldn’t take a peek or listen to the doctor’s rehash of what had happened. The idea of knowing how close he could’ve come to dying made her dizzy, and there was no need to be a shaking, quivering duplicate of Nicola. Except now, when Beth tried to take a sip of her coffee, her hand shook.

  She scowled at the cup and placed it on the small table in Cash’s hospital room. Nicola was on his bed, curled around him as though the wires and doctors who poked and prodded him weren’t there.

  In one giant swoosh, the door opened and the hanging curtain was swept to the side. There, lo and behold, was Jared Westin, looking ready to strangle someone.

  His eyes ran over Cash and Nicola. Nicola didn’t say hello. Then his gaze swept Beth’s way, and that dangerously hard look landed on her as though it was her he wanted to strangle. She’d known him long enough that he shouldn’t scare her with a nasty glare, but his look right now was one for the record books. The guy was angry.

  “Hi.”

  “Beth.” His eyes narrowed. “Why the hell are you in here?”

  Okay, yes, angry at her. But why? “Oh, um. Nic brought me. Well, I brought her.”

  Jared’s scowl intensified. “Beth.”

  “The girl got a phone call about her husband and her brother. She wasn’t in a good place to drive.”

  He shook his head.

  Nicola sat up, pushing off the bed to walk to the chair next to Beth. “Boss Man.”

  “Princess,” he said with his version of a smile.

  Beth glowered at Jared. “She’s Princess? And all I get is snarls and—”

  “You’re a stubborn pain in the ass. Just like Roman.”

  Beth’s mouth dropped. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re sitting in here, sipping coffee, while he’s practically unconscious next door.”

  Nothing wrong with that or the fact that she didn’t dote over Roman. Except for the inner war waging within herself. Hold him. Stay away from him. Care about him. Never care for anyone. “Nicola checked on him.”