by Angel Payne
Ava nodded softly but didn’t push her cousin for anything more. None of that sounded good, and she figured both the women, who were medical corps, had already started guessing at diagnoses. Sage looked awful. Her pale profile was a picture of consuming anguish, except for the spasms that made her grimace with such regularity, Rayna started noting them with quiet glances at her watch.
Ava’s heart panged. This wasn’t fair. Two years ago, Sage had been presumed dead by the world until Garrett rescued her from a slave-trader’s den in Thailand. Now her body swelled with new life, a miracle that had turned Garrett as giddy as a flute-playing minstrel dancing in a meadow. Thinking of him beneath that imaginary meadow instead, dead before ever seeing his child…
No. She couldn’t go there. She wouldn’t.
Taking care to keep her feet tucked beneath her, she pressed toward the guard as far as she dared. “Amigo,” she implored. “Por favor, you must listen—”
He chopped her short by lifting his rifle. “I’m not your amigo, remember?” he retorted. “Probably for the best, anyway. Shit’s gonna go down soon, and I don’t wanna be on your side, honey.”
Rayna bared her teeth at the bastard. “This has nothing to do with sides! This has everything to do with decency. Do you want a man’s death on your conscience?”
The guy unfurled a wide, lethal smile. “Just add it to the stack, mijita.”
Ava squeezed her eyes shut to activate the kill switch on looking at him anymore. It was better than killing him, which every cell in her body begged her for. If she popped open her bra, how many seconds of distraction would that get her? Certainly it wouldn’t take any longer than that to lunge the few feet to him, grab the rifle, and—
The plan was ripped off the table in the next moment. Her eyes flew wide as the trailer’s door was yanked back. But after the panel traveled a few inches, seemingly tugged by a ghost, it shut again. The guard peered, blatantly curious. His frown deepened when the motion happened again. The third time, he got to his feet with the rifle poised in front of him.
Less than a second later, with less sound than a wisp of wind, Tait Bommer filled the space between the soldier and the door. He’d brought a pair of helpful accessories. Each of the pistols filled one of his big, steady hands. Their muzzles, nicely fitted with specialty suppressors, were a perfect fit on top of the guard’s eyebrows.
“You willing to die for your mission today, asshole? If not, secure the safety on that stick and let it down nice and slow.”
Without a word, the soldier complied. Tait pushed him farther into the trailer while kicking open the door behind him, allowing someone to climb inside. Astonishment jumped into her mosh pit of emotions now. It was Luna Lawrence, the nutcase who’d helped that Mua monster to nearly recapture Rayna last year. The woman was the same—but not. She still wore head-to-toe black, accented now by a matching backpack, and the lavender streaks in her hair still matched her fingernails. But the torment in her eyes was gone. And even in this insane situation, the creases of anger had been erased from the corners of her mouth.
That was when the mosh pit came to a stunned stop. Ava’s gape stretched wider. The woman to whom Ethan had talked this morning, when he called from Ricochet seeking the CIA guy, had been named Luna. And if someone stuck a brown wig, pencil skirt, and heels on this woman, she could pass for a saucy studio accountant…
What the hell?
“Hi.” The woman herself broke into that rumination with deliberate friendliness. “It’s Ava, right? You okay? Hey, cute naughty nothings. Freddy’s of Hollywood or Vicky’s Sec—holy shit!” She gingerly pushed the bee jar away with her booted toe. “What bozo thought that would be funny?”
Tait grunted. “Hey, flower?”
Luna’s lips quirked. “Yes, dear?”
“As much as I love listening to you talk about panties and shit, I could use some of your bondage expertise over here.”
“Oh, yes, Sir!” She set down the backpack but not before reaching behind the chair and pulling out Ava’s clothes. “You probably want these now.”
Since Rayna seemed just as excited to see Luna as Tait, Ava decided her bewilderment about the woman could go on hold. She gratefully accepted the wad from Luna before watching as the woman unloaded her pack. Out came four more pistols, a steel box labeled Breaching Kit, a handful of sheathed Bowie knives, a couple of hand scopes, and two filled water bottles. It looked like there was a bunch more, but that was the point when the woman reached a pack of plastic zip ties and a large roll of duct tape.
Finally, Ava found her voice again. “How did you two know where we were?”
Luna smiled. “You can thank Ethan. That man of yours can think on his feet.” She yanked out a long swath of the tape and nicked it for a tear with her teeth. “Is my boy toy ready for me, Weasley?”
“Damn straight, baby,” Tait drawled.
“Have…have you seen Ethan?” Ava stammered. “Where is he? What’s happening?”
Luna bobbled her head for a second. “There’s a really interesting answer for that.”
“Tell me.” She backed the demand by shooting to her feet but was forced to sit back down, clutching her clothes in front of her, as Rhett. Rebel, and Kellan stumbled out of the bedroom at that moment. With them was another guy who had the potential of being a life-size Ken doll, though right now, the four of them looked more like the toys some kid had dragged through the backyard one too many times. When Luna jogged her chin toward the guy and cracked something about “Dan the man, back in action,” Ava made the connection that this was the CIA agent Ethan had been looking for this morning.
“Ava.” Kellan stepped forward to address her but respectfully dropped his head so she could at least get into her T-shirt again. “I know this won’t help much, but I don’t think they’re going to hurt Ethan soon. When they came and got him, I stayed coherent long enough to hear Stock ordering him into his Class As.”
“Makes sense considering with whom he was doing the grip-and-grin a few hours after that.”
As Tait stated that, Franzen staggered out to join the party. He looked worse than the others combined, blue polo shirt clinging to his sweat-soaked torso, eyes bloodshot, skin sallow. “That sucked worse than fast-roping on those Afghan gun pirates in the middle of that gnarly sandstorm.”
Tait crossed to his captain with grim purpose. “Sorry to be the messenger, Cap, but there won’t be spa time yet. We have to get our shit together. Something major is coming down the line, and soon.”
“That’s exactly what our friend kindly shared.” Ava was busy yanking up her jeans, so she just dipped her head at Mr. Gorgeous and Evil, who glared as Luna wound the tape to his ankles in an intricate figure eight.
Franzen wrenched open the trailer’s refrigerator. He went straight for the freezer section, hauling out the bucket under the automatic icemaker. As soon as he plopped the thing in the sink, he rammed his face into it. After drying off with a paper towel, he told Tait, “First things first. Did you and Luna bring wheels?”
“Affirmative. We’ve stashed the vehicle between soundstages eighteen and nineteen. It’s quiet over there; take it from the guy who’s kept tabs on most of this place for the last week.” He circled his stare to the others as he hoisted the goodie bag of weaponry onto the counter next to the sink. “But we won’t need it. This fox is hiding right in the backyard.”
Colton flashed a knowing smirk at Luna. “I see you remembered where the fun room was.”
She grinned back. “Memorized the code for that before the front door.”
“Nice work. And the car you brought? It’s the Fiat?” After her confirming nod, he beamed his confident look at Franzen. “It’s not big, but it’s fast. It’ll get the job done.”
“Outstanding,” Franzen replied.
“What job?” Tait asked.
The captain’s jaw clenched. “Hawkins isn’t in great shape. Still in lullaby land with a set of vitals that isn’t pretty.”
Rayna stood. “And I’m fairly certain that Sage is in the early stages of labor, too.”
“I heard that.” Right after she flung the accusation, Sage whimpered, grabbed her stomach, and rolled her head back in pain. “And I’m…officially…refuting it.”
Rayna folded her arms. “Uh-huh.”
“Ray, please. I can’t have this baby without Garrett!”
Rayna dropped back down to her friend’s side and clasped their hands. “Look at me. Listen to me. You’ve slept in jungles. Scared off cobras. Slogged through swamps lined in worms. Don’t you dare wimp out on me now, Sergeant Sage Hawkins. Garrett has to get the attention he needs. While he does, I’m not leaving your side.”
Franzen nodded decisively. “That settles it. Z and Rayna will take Garrett and Sage to the hospital. Everyone else, huddle up so T-Bomb can fill us in on what we missed during our nap.” He turned his nearly black gaze straight toward Ava. “Ms. Chestain, you’re not on my payroll. I can’t order you to do this, but damn, we could use your help. Nobody knows the lay of the land around here better than you.”
She stepped forward until she stood next to the other guys, feeling like a sapling in a grove of sequoias but returning Franzen’s stare without hesitation. “Nobody cares about getting Ethan away from those shits more than me, either. So yes, Captain. I’m in.”
Way, way in.
Deeper than she could bring herself to admit.
Chapter Twenty–Three
“Cut! Great work!”
Cameron’s command boomed through the set, followed by a wild burst of applause from the crew and support staff. Today even Charlie Jenkow himself, normally too busy running things to applaud them, joined the ovation. Ethan supposed that was what happened when the leader of the free world was the guy in the shot with Bella.
The woman herself clapped ecstatically before hugging President Nichols. “You are so damn good!” She cut her gushing short by slapping a hand over her mouth. “Oh, no. I just swore in front of the president.”
Nichols tossed back his head, full of its famous thick hair, on the laugh that had charmed millions of women into voting for him. Hell, even Ethan had voted for him, but not for the laugh or the hair. The man was a worthy leader. It made the necessity of watching his every move, not to mention those around him, that much more important. The Secret Service detail, bumped to ten agents because of the unusual circumstances, had already acknowledged his diligence with respectful nods.
They still had no idea about the reason for his extra attention: the opportunity to get at least one of them alone for thirty seconds. He’d rehearsed his briefing well. It was the only refrain that kept filling his head.
Cameron Stock is in collusion with a paramilitary radical named Ephraim Lor, who isn’t on set today because he knew you’d run a security check. The two have been developing a plot involving hundreds of targets across six states, and the CIA has reason to believe that it’s going down soon. You have to get the president out of here now!
“What do you think, Sergeant Archer?”
He hadn’t thought to pray for a face-to-face with Nichols, but the man himself filled the bill, strolling over with an expectant smile on his face.
“About what, Mr. President?”
Nichols chuckled. “Well, am I ready for primetime now? Are my subterfuge moves filled with enough sexy stealth to satisfy you SOF boys?”
“Looks pretty good from where I’m standing,” Charlie murmured.
“Ooooo, baby. Presidential hotness!” Bella swiveled her head in one of those oh yeah, girl moves that only women could pull off until interrupting herself with a giggle. “Mamma mia. Now I just flirted with the president. Thank God the press isn’t here yet.”
Ethan took advantage of everyone getting distracted by the mirth to dare a step closer to Nichols. He was conscious of Stock’s eyes on him, though none of the mercenaries from earlier seemed to be here. That was either really good or really bad. Right now, he had to bet on the latter.
“Mr. President, please listen.” He issued it fast and low. “Things here aren’t what they seem. You might be in—”
“Mr. President, we’re ready to run through the next part of the scene,” Stock called.
You might be in danger. I have nothing to back up that allegation except a map of the western states rendered in rainbow dots, along with a phony TV producer who isn’t even here and a whole battalion full of comrades who’d back me up on this if they could, but they’re still passed out on sleeping gas and—
Shit. Maybe it was better that he couldn’t babble to his heart’s content.
Nichols, thank fuck, wasn’t a stupid man. He studied Ethan for another second, his face reflecting concern. “Why don’t we sit down and talk after I run this next shot with Cameron?”
A sliver of pressure slid off his chest. “That would be great. Thank you.”
He drew in a long breath. Okay, all he had to do was sit tight for a few more minutes. Maybe that would be the extra cushion T-Bomb needed to get here too. Or any of Colton’s teams. Or even a junior ROTC troop who’d made a wrong turn while out on maneuvers. He’d work with what he could get.
They’d moved to a set depicting a fictional command center. Ethan gave a bittersweet grunt. The set-design team had made some upgrades to the computer consoles based on Rhett’s recommendations. His teammate would’ve been proud to see them.
Stock approached the president and his leading lady. “At this point in the plot, you two have made your way to the main missile deployment tower inside Vandenberg Air Force Base.”
“That’s just north of Santa Barbara.” Bella recited it like a dutiful schoolgirl. “Where my character, Raven Ryder, has spent the week working with horses traumatized by the war.”
Nichols earned another tick of respect from Ethan for reacting to that with a serious nod. Several people, Ethan included, had tried telling Bella that unless the world had decided to start fighting wars with ceremonial parades, horses were now safe from PTSD. Nothing had worked; the detail had stayed.
“Okay,” Stock went on, “we’ve already scripted the setup into early scenes of the show. To recap, terrorists have gotten in, knowing that an arsenal of warheads is parked beneath the base, stockpiled there by the military in case thwarting a nuclear attack by North Korea ever becomes a necessity. But they’ve also learned that a second round of firepower is in place, designed to launch after the first warheads have been deployed, enough to take out all of North Korea and half of China if need be.”
Nichols shook his head and laughed. “Your writers are very creative, Mr. Stock. I’ll give you that.”
Only from years of controlling his emotions did Ethan not act on what he observed next. While Stock walked Bella and him through the first steps in the scene, Nichols turned his head and threw a furtive glance at the floor. It lasted three seconds, but it spoke three thousand volumes of meaning.
It said that the plot was more real than anyone thought. That there really was a nuclear stockpile beneath Vandenberg.
If that wasn’t enough to grab his heart and strangle it, the next moment would get the job done.
Stock punched a button in the “fake” computer console, igniting the large monitor on the wall with a “fake” image. That picture was the same layout that Franzen and Colton had shown Ethan last night, the map showing damn near everything west of the Rockies covered in multicolored dots.
Raw dread drove him forward by a silent but steady step. All ten of the POTUS protectors shifted with him. He caught the eye of the one nearest to him, letting his clenched jaw do the talking for him. Something wasn’t right—but if he gave them the high sign and made them shuttle off Nichols now, no matter what the plausible reason, Stock would jam in on his own alarms. God only knew what shit that would rain on Franzen and the guys, let alone whatever scheme Stock and Lor were mixing.
He had to keep his fucking wits about him. Had to watch and listen. The appearance of the colored candy map, here and
now, led him to believe that the second laptop was going to make an appearance soon. If the two were linked, he had to learn how. And if that link meant the success of Lor and Stock’s plans, he had to shatter it, with or without help.
“Ooohhh, look how pretty that is,” Bella murmured.
“The scariest things often are,” Nichols answered. Without knowing the entire scope of what he looked at, the man already sensed the danger of the “plotline” Cameron proposed. “All right, so…the story is, the bastards have gotten in and redirected the missiles at the country instead of away from it.”
“And the sexy-ass president is here to save it all!” Bella did a girlish victory dance and then shrugged. “Hey, I’m already going to hell. I might as well enjoy it.”
Nichols carved an approving nod through the air. “Okay. That works.”
Stock’s light-blue gaze twinkled. “Figured you’d approve, Mr. President.”
Nichols braced his hands on the set’s large, round map table. “So brief me on how that happens.”
Stock wiggled a couple of fingers, motioning a prop handler forward. As Ethan watched the guy approach, he thought the staffer looked more like one of the minion soldiers in civvies. When he saw what the guy carried, he realized his impression wasn’t wrong.
Holy shit.
The second laptop?
Stock took the leather case from his man, hoisted it onto the table, and unzipped it. Inside, there was another case. Industrial. Aluminum. So distinct, even Nichols let out a guttural “Goddamn” of awe.
“Are you sure that’s a prop?” the president charged. “It looks exactly like the real thing.”
Stock nodded. “Pretty good, eh? I keep thinking the same thing myself. But once you get inside…” He filled in the rest of the sentence with an appreciative whistle.
“The real thing of what?” Bella asked.
Stock draped an affectionate arm around her shoulders. “The slang term for it is ‘the football.’” He lifted expectant eyebrows back at Nichols. “They do still call it that, right?”