Dangerous Games

by Tess Diamond

  She was counting on him.

  He was the touchstone, now. Her touchstone.

  He couldn’t fail her. Not when he . . .

  Not when he loved her the way he thought he could.

  The sudden realization gave him strength, filling him with a faith he thought he’d lost years ago, back in the desert. She was a piece of him that he hadn’t realized was missing, and now that he’d found her, he’d be damned if anything—or anyone—would stand in their way.

  He tapped the phone onto speaker. “Well, Goldilocks,” he sighed. “Looks like you’re in the thick of it now.”

  For a second, he could almost see the shaky smile on her face—then her voice, all business, interrupted his memory. “Here’s what I want, Jake,” she said, clipped and quick. Despite the bravado in her voice, he knew she was scared out of her mind. “I want a car to the airport. And not just any car. I want one from the senator’s fleet, one with bulletproof windows. And I want a private plane waiting on the runway, ready to take off immediately. With a clear flight path.”

  Jake looked at Black, who shook his head violently, his frown deepening. If Maggie hadn’t been inside a building with a madman, a bomb, and two hostages, Jake would almost be amused at how she had screwed up Black’s takeover so spectacularly. That was Maggie Kincaid for you—always surprising. But this was insanely gutsy, even for her.

  “Black says we’re going to need a show of trust,” Jake said.

  “When the car arrives, we’ll hand over Agent Harrison,” Maggie said.

  So she was going to keep Kayla with her. Smart. Who knows what Black might do to Kayla. Jake didn’t trust him to make sure she was all right—who knew what she’d overheard inside that cabin? Black might consider her a liability. Neither he nor Maggie could risk that.

  “We can have the car ready in an hour,” Black said in an undertone.

  Jake almost rolled his eyes, but caught himself. Who did Black think he was dealing with? Black gestured for Jake to relay the information, impatience seeping into his stern expression.

  “The car will take about an hour to get here, Maggie,” Jake said obediently, thinking about how nice it’d be to pummel Black’s face. Just one punch. That’s all he wanted.

  “That’s a bullshit timeline, and you and I both know it,” Maggie spat back. “Tell Black that delaying me isn’t going to happen. I’m not some rookie criminal he can run roughshod over and leave dead in a ditch to be forgotten. I’m the best damn negotiator the FBI’s had in decades, and I know his tricks. I see through him. So—fifteen minutes. If the car’s one minute late, Mancuso’s going to kill me. That’d be a great story for the journalists outside. Former FBI agent dies trying to save a senator’s daughter ’cause the CIA botched the job so badly. There’ll be Senate hearings for months. Does Black really want that? I know you’re listening, Black.”

  Mr. Black’s eyes sparked with fury, his lips nearly disappearing as he pressed them tightly together. “I need to talk to the girl, Ms. Kincaid,” he said finally.

  “You weren’t worried about her before,” Maggie snapped venomously. “No need to start pretending now. Stop stalling. Clock’s ticking, Black. Fifteen minutes. Or tomorrow’s headlines are going to tank you—and everyone you’re protecting.”

  She hung up.

  Jake handed the phone back impassively to the man, trying not to let his confusion—and his concern—show on his face.

  What was she up to? She had to have a plan. She always had a plan.

  He just needed to figure it out. He traced the conversation back in his head. Pretty standard demands. Maybe that was the point? Could they be a red herring to hide her actual plot?

  “What’s she doing, O’Connor?” Black asked. “Did you two cook this up together? That insane do-or-die run she made to the cabin? I could’ve had her on the ground bleeding from a dozen bullets in three seconds flat.”

  Jake rose from his seat, towering over Black. The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Jake stared him down, anger radiating from his narrowed eyes.

  “Bet you’re regretting taking those cuffs off me,” Jake said.

  Black swallowed again, clearing his throat. “You don’t scare me,” he said coolly.

  “I should,” Jake promised, stepping forward. “Think about it before you draw that gun,” he said, his eyes going to Black’s hip, where his holster rested. “Think about what you’ve read in my file. You miss, the bullet’s going to ricochet.” He gestured to the SWAT truck’s thick, armored steel walls. “And Black?” Jake smiled, all predator, showing his teeth. “I’ll make sure you miss.”

  Black’s eyes narrowed as he considered his options.

  Jake watched. He waited. He was ready.

  He was a soldier, after all. Spies may have tricks up their sleeves, but soldiers have hearts of steel. And this soldier would do anything to protect Maggie.

  “Sit back down,” Black finally scoffed, with a lot more bravado than he clearly felt.

  Jake sat back, relaxing a fraction. He was getting to the guy.

  Good. Nobody could threaten his woman and get away with it.

  He needed to have Maggie’s back, no matter what. She was in that cabin with a madman and a bomb, with the CIA ready to finish her off. Both just as angry, just as dangerous. The CIA might be the worst of the lot. Mancuso hadn’t shot her yet, which gave Jake hope that Maggie had calmed him. Jake was pretty sure Black would shoot her the second he knew there were no eyes on him.

  Jesus. Jake needed to be free. To be ready.

  He needed to be strong. For her.

  Chapter 59

  Maggie let out a shaky breath, dropping the phone onto the bed. A faded, hand-stitched quilt was spread across it—a strangely homey, personal touch that made her stomach twist. She could hear the choppers outside, circling in the air. The steady whirring of the helicopter blades was like a warning heartbeat.

  Mancuso tossed something at her. Automatically, she caught it, looking down at the thick zip tie, looped wide enough for her to slip her wrists through.

  “Put it on,” he demanded.

  She didn’t want to. Fear—the base, animal kind—stirred to life inside her. But she couldn’t hesitate. She couldn’t falter. She had to ignore the fear.

  Maggie obediently slipped it over her hands and tightened it, but she angled her wrists to provide some space without him noticing. She’d been bound and helpless once before, and had sworn to herself it’d never happen again. That meant an almost obsessive fascination with learning how to break free of various bonds. With just that little slack, she knew how to snap the zip tie if she had to, by bringing her wrists down onto her bent knee with a sharp, swift movement. But she needed Mancuso to feel in control. Tying her up was the first step.

  Now that she’d made a step toward making him less nervous, it was time to get something she wanted.

  “Can I please check on Kayla?” she asked Mancuso.

  He nodded sharply, pushing her down the hall into the living room. Maggie scanned the room; Paul was tied to a chair in the center and Kayla was lying on the sagging seventies couch, her blond hair spread like silk over the ugly orange-and-brown plaid.

  “Maggie!” Paul’s eyes widened in horror. He looked frantically around her, as if he expected SWAT to be following right behind. His face fell when he realized she was alone. “Oh, honey,” he said, the horror in his face melting into anguish and worry. “What have you done?”

  “It’s all right, Paul,” she said, making a beeline for the couch. Kayla lay there unconscious, her breathing reduced to a shallow shuddering.

  “Oh, God,” Maggie said, bending down and feeling the girl’s forehead. She was clammy and cold. “How long has she been out?” she asked Paul, trying to count a pulse. Frantic beats fluttered against her fingertips. Much too fast.

  “About thirty minutes,” Paul said. “I tried to keep her up, tried to keep her talking. It worked for a while. But she kept getting weaker and slower
to answer. And then . . .”

  “It’s okay,” Maggie said quickly. “You did good.”

  She looked up at Mancuso, who was staring at the room like it was the first time he’d seen it. His shoulders slumped, like the exhaustion was finally overtaking him. How long had he been up? Was it finally hitting him, what he’d done? She looked around the room, and she didn’t see the “doctor” Mr. Black had sent in. Where was he? She almost wanted to ask, but she worried if she did, it’d be a trigger—a reminder of what Mancuso had done. What he was capable of.

  “Roger,” she said. “Please let me give her the insulin. You have plenty of leverage. You don’t need to keep holding her life in the balance.”

  Mancuso’s cheeks reddened, his eyes flashing with guilt. “I crushed it.”

  “What?” Maggie and Paul exchanged worried glances.

  “I just . . . look, she’ll be okay,” Mancuso assured her. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than Maggie. “I had an aunt with diabetes. She hardly ever took her meds. Always ate whatever she wanted.”

  Yeah, and she probably died at forty, Maggie thought, rage and fear rising in her chest.

  She needed to get Kayla out of here. Fast. She checked her watch. Black and Jake had thirteen minutes to get her a car. They’d better hurry.

  Maggie walked over to Paul. “What have you done?” he asked in an undertone. “Why aren’t you . . .”

  “I’m just checking on him,” she told Mancuso, who had stepped forward as she approached Paul. “Vitals and stuff. I’m not going to mess with that much C4, Roger. I’m not stupid.” She reached for Paul’s wrist carefully, to make it look like she was feeling for his pulse.

  “You’d better not,” Mancuso said, holding out the dead man’s switch to show who was boss. Paul tensed in his seat, and Maggie wanted to put her hand on his shoulder, to somehow soothe him, but she knew what a bad idea that’d be.

  Mancuso kept pacing near the window, peering through the small crack between the curtains every few seconds. Maggie needed to take advantage of his distraction.

  “Something big’s going down,” Maggie said to Paul quietly, bending down to check his pupils. They were blown wide from stress and adrenaline, but thank goodness they weren’t uneven. No head injury. “The CIA’s taken over.”

  “What?” Paul looked at her like she was crazy. “That’s . . . ridiculous.”

  “The director’s given control to a man named Mr. Black,” Maggie said, keeping a close eye on Mancuso. “Jake figured out he works for the CIA. Mr. Black arrested him and fired me. So I took matters into my own hands.”

  “You just . . . walked in here? Maggie! What the hell were you thinking?” Paul whispered angrily.

  Maggie glared at him. “Whoever the senator’s working with to cover up SouthPoint’s crimes is willing to sacrifice all of us to keep it secret. So I knew I needed to do something to change the game.”

  “What are you talking about?” Mancuso asked suspiciously from the window.

  “I’m just filling him in on the senator’s bullshit,” Maggie said casually.

  Despite the clock ticking down and the adrenaline shooting through her body like fireworks, there was a part of her that wanted nothing more than to grab Mancuso and demand that he tell her why he had parroted Erica’s words at her. How could he know about her? About what she said? But she mustn’t think about it, she told herself firmly. It wasn’t the time. Thinking about Erica was what led her to the tragedy at Sherwood Hills. That couldn’t happen again.

  Kayla needed help, and she needed it fast. And Maggie had to get it for her. By any means necessary.

  Taking advantage of Mancuso’s current focus on Kayla, she turned back to Paul. “The press is crawling all over outside,” she said softly. “So I’m using them. To get out of this alive, we have to keep things interesting enough to keep the cameras rolling and live. A lot is going to happen—and it’s going to happen fast.”

  Paul’s face hardened, going into field-agent mode. She could practically see the shift in his mind. “Okay,” he said. “What do you need?”

  Maggie wanted to hug him or thank him. Because what she was about to ask wasn’t going to be pretty.

  She took a deep breath and told him.

  Chapter 60

  “Sir, the car’s arrived.” One of the agents Jake didn’t recognize—was he one of Black’s men?—ducked his head inside the SWAT truck.

  “Come on, O’Connor,” Mr. Black said, yanking him to his feet. Jake shook him off, glaring, but following him outside. A sleek black Lexus had driven through the cordons and was waiting, with a clear exit out of the park. Jake had to hand it to the senator—he had good taste in vehicles.

  The phone in Black’s hand rang. He handed it to Jake, who answered, his stomach tight with anticipation. What if he couldn’t figure out what she needed him to do? What if he screwed it up? Made the wrong assumption? Botched her grand plan?

  “Hey, Maggie,” he said, opting for casual. “Car’s here, but I guess you know that.”

  “Tell the driver to leave the keys in the ignition, get out, and walk back to you,” Maggie directed.

  Black gestured at the driver, who hastily got out of the car and hurried behind the cordon.

  “Are you going to drive?” Jake asked, praying she’d say no. Praying she’d find some way to get out of this unscathed, safe. The idea of her being hurt made his heart clench dangerously. It was a shocking, visceral feeling that took his breath away. A world without Maggie Kincaid in it suddenly didn’t seem possible to him. He’d spent over thirty years not knowing she existed, but everything was different now that she was in his life.

  “I’m not driving,” Maggie said. Relief shot through him, only to crash and burn when she said, “You are. No guns. No knives. No weapons. See you in a second.”

  She hung up before Jake could reply.

  “Absolutely not,” Black snapped, snapping his fingers at his cronies, issuing orders at a rapid-fire pace, getting them in position.

  “Think again,” Jake said, grabbing his arm. Mr. Black looked down at his hand disgustedly, stepping to the side. But Jake was unswayed, thinking fast. Maggie needed him to drive, so he was going to be in that driver’s seat. Even if he had to beat Black unconscious to get there.

  “I can do this,” he said seriously. “She wants me to do this, and I’m sure there’s a good reason why. I can help defuse the situation. I’m good at what I do. I know you’ve dug into my record, Black—you know where I’ve been, what I’ve done, how good I am. Think about it. If the hostages die, they’ll be investigating for months. Internally and publicly. Those journalists out there in the clearing will dig and dig, and they’ll find threads leading them to the men you’re protecting. Nothing can stay hidden forever.”

  Mr. Black stared at him, eyes narrowed, trying to read his face, his motives. Jake looked back levelly, trying to look as sincere as possible. He was sincere. He was also determined to make sure that Black paid for what he’d done. How much he’d fucked this up. How much he’d endangered Kayla, Maggie, and Harrison. Jake’s blood boiled at the thought, but he had to keep calm. He had to get Black to agree.

  Maggie needed him, and he’d be damned if he didn’t have her back the whole way.

  “Fine,” Black said after a long moment. “But if you try to pull anything . . .”

  “I just want the hostages and Maggie out of there and safe, Black,” Jake interrupted him. “You can do whatever the hell you want with Mancuso once he’s not a danger to them anymore. I’m not interested in your secrets or spy games. I’m a soldier—I care about innocent lives.”

  “Go,” Mr. Black ordered.

  Jake made his way across the clearing toward the car. Behind him, he could hear Black calling off his men, returning them to the perimeter, out of the blast radius, just in case. Jake came to a stop next to the car, turning to face the cabin, in full view of the front window. He opened the driver’s door.

  T
he plaid curtains fluttered, then the cabin door swung wide.

  Jake’s heart seized up with a kind of fear he’d never felt before. Hot, consuming, terror flooded him as Maggie stepped out of the cabin.

  She had the bomb vest strapped to her chest.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  His mind raced with scenarios and solutions, staccato bursts through his brain. He wanted to run over there and tear that thing off her. He wanted to tackle Mancuso to the ground, his fist over Mancuso’s hand, preventing him from releasing the dead man’s switch. But he couldn’t make a move. He had to be patient.

  Maggie met his horrified gaze.

  Trust me, her eyes said.

  Trust her. Trust her. He had to trust her. This woman, so brave, so reckless—she knew what she was doing.

  God, she’d better. Or they were all dead.

  Maggie made her way slowly toward the car. The press rumbled and fretted to her right, every camera trained on her. SWAT paced restlessly along the perimeter, reined in by Mr. Black’s orders. The lights from the choppers flooded Maggie in an eerie white glow as she came to a stop next to Jake.

  She smiled weakly. She looked impossibly small and terrifyingly strong in that moment. A beautiful, brave contradiction.

  “I’m going to be mad if you blow yourself up before we have a real first date,” he said, trying to alleviate some of the fear he saw in her eyes. He didn’t want her to see his own—he needed to be strong for her.

  The touchstone needed a touchstone now.

  “Yeah, that’d really suck. So I’ll try hard not to,” she said, holding his gaze.

  Mancuso followed next, Kayla in his arms, one of his hands still clutching the remote trigger. Jake could barely tear his eyes away from it. What if Mancuso lost his hold on Kayla? If he shifted wrong, his grip loosened, Maggie would be gone. Jesus. This was a mess. It was all he could do to stop himself from leaping into action, but he knew that would bring on a disaster.