by Angel Payne
He and Ava had to move. Now.
Squeezing her hand with command, he sprinted across the foyer. They caught up to Franz and Colton as the men pulled on the glass door to the enclosed garden area. “Hey there, Runway,” Franz offered. After giving a pleasant wave to Ava, he went on, “Sorry for the fuck-of-dawn team call, but Cameron has to be on the set early due to the script changes, and—”
“Cameron’s the reason we’re here.” He hoped his terse interruption, delivered between his heavy breaths, conveyed the urgent subtext clear enough.
Thank God it did. Without veering his stare at Ethan, Franz reached and grabbed Colton’s shoulder. “What’ve you got, Archer?”
Before he could get one syllable out, a defined clack filled the air. The sound of a round being loaded into a pistol.
Ethan pivoted to focus on that gun. It rested in Cameron Stock’s big hand. The man’s smirk was as steady as his grip on the weapon. “What has he ‘got,’ Captain?” said the director. “Think I can supply the answer to that one. How about an offer to join the rest of your team in this nice, cozy atrium?”
Ethan didn’t release his grasp on Ava and was damn glad Stock didn’t ask him to. After he stepped into the atrium at the end of the man’s gun, he discerned the reason behind Stock’s magnanimity. He was now backed by another ten soldiers who materialized out of the heavy foliage lining three sides of the atrium. Each one of them carried a damn fine firearm and had a facemask parked atop their head.
One of them carried something besides his rifle. A canister the size of a hairspray can. Ethan caught a glimpse of the label—and the skull and crossbones on it. Every drop of his blood went to ice. The shit was not hair product or even tear gas. Best-case scenario, it would simply make them all go to sleep. But he knew, along with every guy on the team, that “best-case scenario” didn’t always hold true with sleeping gas.
He looked into the grim faces of both Hawkins and Hayes, who clutched their women as tightly as he grabbed Ava. His gut wrenched especially hard for Garrett, who spread one hand across Sage’s extremely swollen belly.
“Fuck,” Zeke spat.
“Ditto,” Garrett choked.
“Get down,” Ethan ordered Ava. After she complied, curling herself into a fetal ball, he draped himself across her and smiled as he inhaled the jasmine sweetness of her in the seconds before he fell into a black, mindless sleep.
Chapter Twenty
Technically, this didn’t qualify as stalker behavior.
Tait nodded his head, confident with the conclusion, as the sun started to burn off the June mist across the parking lot of the Los Angeles branch of the CIA. He hadn’t followed her home, wherever the hell that was these days. He hadn’t left her a single annoying text and only tried to call her at the desk once a day. All he’d done this morning was borrow the team’s rental van to buy her coffee and a chocolate croissant and then park here for a few to wait for her to roll into work. She’d been working insane hours; he knew that because all the spooks were on an all-hands-on-deck status that didn’t seem to be changing anytime soon. As soon as he gave her the sustenance, said a quick hi, and then maybe grabbed a fast kiss, he’d get his ass and the vehicle back to the hotel before Franz poked an eye open.
He kept a close eye on a few people who arrived. Three guys and a couple of women, though none of them was Luna. Everyone appeared like they’d gotten just a few hours of sleep and would be hitting the caffeine IV in a few mikes. After six years in Special Forces, he knew that look well.
While vowing he’d give this stunt only fifteen more minutes, he got out of the van and leaned against it. Not the wisest move in a parking lot where even the trash was likely given X-ray scrutiny, but he was oddly restless and couldn’t keep still.
“Damn it, Luna.” He fought off the disgruntlement with himself once more. How had she drawn him here, standing in line for the Insanity Coaster once again? He knew how this worked. He’d love every twist, turn, and drop of the ride, only to stumble off and puke on his shoes afterward.
But he couldn’t stop himself and didn’t want to. Crazy Luna. That’s what she’d called herself. The trouble was, he liked crazy. Who on earth was he kidding? He adored crazy, especially when it was working so damn hard to show the world that cray-cray could be okay too. That crazy didn’t mean it couldn’t atone for its missteps and try to make the world a better place again.
But why the hell was crazy bolting out of the building now, black-and-lavender hair flying, ID badge twisted, knee-high boots clattering in a mad pace on the pavement?
Tait pushed off the van and called to her. “Luna?”
She whipped around with one emotion claiming her face. Fear. “Weasley! Shit! Y-You’re here.”
He held his hands out. “I’m not pulling anything creepy, okay? Just brought you some coffee and—oof!”
A full-body check was the last thing he expected from her. His nose tangled in her hair as she pythoned his neck with her elbows. “Thank God,” she uttered. “Thank fucking God.”
If her face was permeated in terror, her voice swam in the stuff. He pulled away to get a good look into her eyes. “What is it?” he demanded. “What do you need?”
“Stock is Lor’s bitch. He double-teamed us. And he’s called an ‘emergency’ meeting for everyone at the hotel, not the studio, apparently for an urgent matter.”
He choked on the ice bucket of shock she’d just dumped on him. “When?”
“Right now.”
“Right now?”
He was genuinely shocked and her gaze narrowed, clearly believing him. “Franzen sent out the text about it an hour ago. Haven’t you been checking your phone?”
“I took the rental van without asking. What do you think?”
Brandishing her second shock of the morning, Luna gave him a hard and fervent kiss. “For the first time, I’m damn glad you bend the rules, buddy.” Alarm sparked anew in her eyes. “We have to get to the hotel. Now!”
He reached back and wrenched the driver’s-side door open. Before Luna could get a step off toward the passenger side, he swept her up and threw her onto the bench seat. She’d crawled across and buckled up before he fired up the ignition. That was a good thing, because T-Bomb was in the driver’s seat now.
* * *
“What the hell?” Luna blurted it as he guided the van toward the hotel’s loading dock and they noticed a white C-Class Mercedes that’d been driven up a curb and left on one of the hotel’s sidewalks with its hazards blinking.
Tait growled and stated, “You got it about right. That’s Ava Chestain’s car.”
“Shit.” During their fifteen-minute speed ride over here, she’d filled him in on the phone call she’d gotten from Ethan, in which he’d not only cited Ava as his source about Stock but had confirmed many of the details directly with the woman. They could imply she and Ethan had come here together. “That doesn’t look like Archer made it to the loading dock.”
He braced his forearms against the steering wheel and considered his next move. Follow the trail from here, where Runway had obviously entered the building, or stick to the plan Luna had set and proceed to the loading dock?
When he looked up, his decision got sealed for him.
“Fuck.”
“Wha—” Luna cut herself short when she followed his line of sight and took in the same incongruous thing he did. “What the hell?”
Part of the hotel had been built out with a domed atrium. The top was glass, meaning they should be able to see straight through to the sky on the other side. That wasn’t the case. There was a thick cloud of smoke pushing up against that curved roof.
“That’s a whole lotta hookah,” he muttered in tight suspicion.
“Get this thing parked where we can get to it fast if we need to.” Luna flashed him a look full of trepidation. “I don’t feel good about this.”
They tucked the van against the back side of the kitchens. Before Tait climbed out, he reached under the seat and
was relieved to feel the reassuring steel of a SIG P226. After checking the chamber and the safety and pocketing the extra rounds Franz had also left behind, he swung out of the van, tucked the pistol into the middle of his back, and ran to catch up with Luna.
She waited for him at a corner that opened onto a lawn that adjoined the atrium. As he neared, she peeked around the corner. When she pulled back around, it looked as if there’d been a giant rubber stamp waiting for her around the corner—and it’d been dipped in ink made of mortification.
“Oh, my God!” She slumped against the wall.
“Oh, my God.” Tait’s version was different. Lower. Grittier. But resonant with just as much horror.
He looked out again across the lawn—to where his unconscious battalion mates, along with Rayna, Ava, and even the very pregnant Sage, were being carried out of the atrium on stretchers into what looked like a huge medical bus. Cameron Stock, with a grimace on his face, calmly supervised the mass kidnapping. Tait heard someone snarling at the duplicitous bastard and suddenly realized it was him.
“Sleeping gas.” Luna’s grief-stricken whisper came behind him. “Th-They’re not dead, are they?”
He squeezed her hand. “I don’t think so, beautiful.” He watched Stock step over to consult with one of his camouflage-wearing minions. “Those dildos are probably the mercenaries Galvaz told us about,” he ventured. “Looks like the one he’s talking to is their captain. Damn it, they’re talking too low for me to hear. I have to get closer.”
Luna yanked him back. “No, you don’t!” she seethed. “Tait, if they see you— Tait!”
He pulled the comfort of her voice, even if it was banded in terror, around him through every step he gained around the perimeter of the lawn. After less than a minute, he’d made significant progress using the pillars and hedges as shields. He was finally close enough to hear the exchange between Stock and camo asshole numero uno.
“So all their vital signs are within normal, with the exception of the one?” Stock asked it as he scrutinized a clipboard full of pages.
“Affirmative,” the soldier answered in a thick Spanish accent. “We’ve ventilated him for now. He may pull through with that extra help.”
Tait called on every ounce of his training to keep his breaths quiet and even. Ventilated who, goddamnit? And what did he mean by may pull through? Dealing with the death of a battalion mate was a disgusting part of this job, but when it came from being senselessly gassed in the name of terrorism, he had a serious fucking problem with activating the healthy coping thing.
“All right,” Stock replied, “keep me posted. If our demands for safe passage out of the country aren’t met, that may be a ventilator we decide we don’t need.”
“Understood.”
He ground down a layer of tooth enamel as he clenched his jaw. The monster was asking for a forty-caliber “decision” in his skull right now. Dial it back, T-Bomb. There’s still a second laptop out there, getting prepped for God knows what kind of fuckery thanks to this traitor.
“Did the missing one show up yet?” Stock prodded. “Our friend Sergeant Bommer?”
“Negative,” the soldier supplied. “The team’s rental van isn’t in the lot, either. We are following up on your guess that he’s involved with the special agent, Ms. Lawrence, and that they may be together. Her car is in the parking lot at the agency’s building, but she isn’t answering her desk line or her cell phone. We have three men watching the entrances and exits.”
Stock’s face hardened. It wasn’t a scowl, merely an impassive look that reminded Tait of how his Uncle Jonah appeared whenever they went out hunting and the man pondered how to outwit a cunning whitetail. On the director’s all-American features, it was a chilling visage. “What about her apartment?”
“Classified information. She’s on a special task force, right?”
“Right. I don’t know a lot about her, except that her undercover skills are exceptional.” One side of the man’s mouth quirked up. “Too bad. In a different world, I could hire her for the show. Probably much easier to direct than that plastic fish who calls herself my leading lady.”
“Well, her apartment is registered under another name. It will take us a while to hack the proper channels into the CIA’s database and get the address.”
“Fine, fine. Hop on it as soon as you get it. In the meantime, track the van through the rental company.”
“Yes, sir.”
The soldier said it as they rolled out what looked like the last stretcher. They’d laid the guy’s arm across the blanket as if wanting to make it look like a rescue instead of an abduction, and Tait knew by the sleeve of pirate-themed tattoos that it was Rebel. He swallowed his fury and sorrow in time to glance over at the perimeter the hotel staff was now taping off around the atrium. Shit. That was exactly what Stock had done, staging this thing as some kind of abnormal chemical spill.
Somebody started up the big bus. As the motor revved to life, Tait took advantage of Stock’s temporary distraction to sneak his way back to Luna. Without wasting time for words, he scooped her up by a hand and raced back to the van.
“Where are they headed?” she charged as he flipped the ignition.
“Don’t know.” The words bit at his mouth like acid.
“So we’re following them?”
“No.” Now it was acid stirred with thumbtacks. “They’re going to put a trace on the car through the rental company. We’ll need to ditch it. They’re looking for loose ends right now, and I’m the biggest item on that list.” He left the car in neutral for a moment longer, swinging a rueful stare her way. “They’ve also figured out I’m a little sweet on you, flower.”
She lifted the generous curves of her lips at him. “Nothing I can’t handle, wizard boy.”
Though he tied back the physical urge to kiss her, he let her read the intent in his eyes. The next second, hard logistics dictated his words again. “They’re watching your car and your office, and it’ll only be a matter of time before they find your apartment address, Luna.” He reached for her hand, feeling solemnity wash over his face. “Who else knows your Wonder Woman origin story? Is there anyone at LA’s CIA or FBI besides Colton who knows where you really came from? And, more importantly, about the tracking chip in your neck?”
She went still. He didn’t blame her for the shock, or the fresh fear that glittered in her eyes. “I…I don’t think so,” she replied.
“Good. We’ll hope that stays the case, because I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
Her response might as well have been a wallop with a two-by-four. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t have traded the gentle touch she lifted to his face for anything. “And I’m not letting you out of mine.”
He luxuriated in one more moment of elation before letting desperation crash in again. As he turned and watched the “medical bus” leave the hotel with red lights whirling and siren blaring, he whacked a hand on the steering wheel. “We need a fucking plan,” he snarled. “Trouble is, I don’t have one.”
For the second time in as many minutes, Luna’s calm fingers, now on his hunched shoulder, pulled him back to sanity. “I do, Weasley.”
* * *
If his stress level wasn’t pegging its needle in the red right now, he would have a serious boner of appreciation for what this woman called a plan.
The luxury condo, located on the top floor of a tower in Wilshire Boulevard’s swankiest section, was pulled from a damn movie. The sprawling granite kitchen had a fully stocked pantry of nonperishables and a wet bar that rotated with a button push. Two bedrooms contained plush California-king beds piled high with pillows in gray, red, and black. In the bathroom, there were at least three ways to get clean, including a glass stall shower, whirlpool tub, and a eucalyptus “wet room,” whatever the hell that was.
But the real shit that was worth the hard-on were the audio and video systems in the living room. Tait ran a hand along the sixteen-channel mixer, the sleek spheres of the Cabasse
speakers, and the ledge beneath the massive image monitor—and mustered at least one “holy shit” of reverence.
Wasn’t happening. All he could think about were his teammates, being locked and loaded into a phony medical transport, bound for God knew where.
The acid and thumbtack cocktail coursed through his whole body now. He paced, trying to escape it and chase it at once. Frustration pounded at his brain. Restlessness clawed his limbs.
“I found some soup,” Luna called from the kitchen. “There might be crackers in here too. I know it’s only seven in the morning, but you have to eat something.”
He stopped only to dash off a burning glare. “I need to find my teammates. I need a goddamn phone.”
She huffed. “I guarantee you Stock’s boys had your phone thirty minutes ago and are scouring the SIM card as we speak. Making you toss it into the riverbed was one of the best decisions I’ve made all day.”
He increased his pacing route to include a loop around the couch. That made it easier to slam a frustrated palm against the long marble bar that separated them. “Right up there with making me ditch the van for a Fiat and then telling me to circle the block six times before pulling in here?”
The woman braced hands to her black denim-covered hips. “The backup car was Dan’s choice, not mine, and you sure as hell weren’t minding its speed on the curves, so I’d seal the hole on that one, soldier. As for the ring-around-the-rosy, my first instinct was to go for ten rounds, but I was feeling generous. You got off easy. Now thank me.”
He wanted to maintain his glare, but it was damn hard when she stood there looking so bossy and sexy. “You’re lucky I like you.” Grudgingly, he added, “Thanks, Mamma Mercy.”