London Calling

by Veronica Forand

  “Let’s go.” Emma hopped out of the driver seat and opened the back. She paused. She hadn’t seen her father in a long time. He slid out of his seat and out of the van and hugged his daughter. His physique was weaker than when Macknight had last seen him, but he was still strong enough to handle himself.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” he said. The love he beamed toward her transcended everything. He’d done so much to keep her safe and was still willing to do whatever it took to protect her. Yet he’d never warned her about the dangers of his employment. That was a stupid mistake.

  They continued to embrace each other while Owen and Macknight did a weapons check.

  “I love reunions,” Owen interrupted. “But we’ve got to go.”

  The sound of speeding cars in the distance pushed them forward.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Emma wanted to cry at the sight of her father. He appeared skinny, like Owen, only taller and with more wrinkles than he’d had only a few weeks ago.

  “Are you able to walk?” she asked.

  “Have I ever not been up for an adventure?” He wrapped his arm around her, more in need of support than either cared to admit. His stride was uneven, but he trekked on with everyone.

  She struggled, herself, but tried to hide any sign of injury. His focus had to be on escaping this hellhole, not on worry for her. “You’re always the first person out the door.”

  “Exactly. What’s wrong?” Her father pointed to her leg.

  “Bad knee. I’ll be fine. I’m planning on taking a long vacation when we get out of here.” She smiled as she walked, biting back the pain.

  Holding her father physically gave her a sense of peace and a drive to survive. They were almost free. Macknight walked a few steps ahead of them; Owen, a few steps behind.

  They continued almost a mile in silence, but she couldn’t hold back her curiosity. “Why didn’t you tell me about MI6?”

  He half shrugged as he stepped over a fallen tree. “I never meant for my identity to surface. I assumed that if I trained you for any danger, you’d be protected. You’re a damn good police officer, but I’d deluded myself about how relentless the GRU would be in getting to you.”

  “Not a great plan. I would have better prepared if I’d known my enemy earlier on.”

  “You’re right, kitten. I promise to make it up to you. The fact that you’re here risking your life for mine is not how I’d thought this would have gone down.”

  “I know.” Damn, she’d missed him. This wasn’t the type of reunion she’d dreamed about, either. Once they got out of there, she was taking him to a secure location where they could catch up and be together.

  Her father kept moving, forcing her to pick up her pace, despite the sore leg. “This whole thing is my fault. I missed something in the background of a potential recruit. Before I could figure out why I didn’t trust him, he’d sold me out to his government. When the bomb went off, I thought the entire team had been killed. Lucy, the officer I’d worked with on many cases over the years, died because of me. I can’t forgive myself.”

  “Macknight blames himself for her death.”

  “No. He was following protocol. The man is solid in his work competence. I’d take him on any of my operations over anyone else. Not that I’ll be active again. I have a bounty on my head, and now you do, too. That isn’t acceptable to me.”

  “I’m fine. We can both create new identities and find a new life somewhere.” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t want a new life. She wanted to return to law enforcement, but it would never happen as long as the Russians were searching for her.

  Dad hugged her closer. “I’m sorry for taking you away from what you so deserve. Your job, a comfortable life, maybe a family.”

  “I have a family. You.”

  He clasped her hand and almost stopped walking when he rubbed over her finger. “Where’s your mother’s ring?”

  Emma had never taken it off in all the years since he’d given it to her for her sixteenth birthday. It had been her comfort whenever things got bad. Seeing the pain in her father’s eyes at the naked finger brought back the deep hurt of losing it. “Some GRU slug took it from me. His name is Maslov, and I think he was the man who killed her.”

  He squeezed her hand and nodded. He knew. “Your mother was beautiful, and brilliant, and the bravest person I knew. You’re her spitting image.”

  The compliment didn’t help with the heartache or douse her rage toward Maslov. “Was she pregnant?” Had he taken a sibling of hers as well?

  “Five months along. In the autopsy, we found out the baby was a girl. I should have told you.”

  His acknowledgment gave life to all the hellish things Maslov had told her. She swallowed a sob. “I’m alive today because of what you taught me. You did the best you could. I’m thankful you kept me with you despite the risks.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I’d do anything for you.”

  As the miles trekked on, her father’s endurance faded, and her knee slowed her down. She’d make it, but he was breathing heavy. They needed to move, or they’d be caught. The thought sunk into her stomach, weighing down her spirit.

  The sound of crunching leaves came out of nowhere. A group of soldiers was right on their tail.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Macknight tossed his rifle to Emma and a handgun to her father. He kept his knife and another handgun. Owen used the rifle taken from the guard.

  No doubt the head of the prison wanted Ross in custody and everyone affiliated with him dead. Without Emma’s driving, they’d have all died. She’d remained calm and saved their asses. She was the lynchpin of the operation. She’d kept her head in the worst of times and saved Owen when the rest of them fumbled.

  Each hill they hiked over revealed more fields, but not the one where Jack waited. How many more hills to go to reach the helicopter? GPS was wildly inaccurate in this area, scrambled to protect certain military bases and probably the prison as well.

  Emma remained a few steps behind him with Ross. Her knee had to be hampering her speed. Her father’s pace had also slowed over the miles. With Owen weakened, too, Macknight had the best chance of getting to the helicopter to obtain backup and more weapons.

  They were a team. They took care of each other. Right now, Owen fell back as Russian soldiers pressed toward them.

  “Follow me,” Macknight ordered. “Owen can hold them off.”

  He picked up his speed. The rain affected his vision but kept him cooler. A few minutes later, he could see the military bird in a field, not hidden at all.

  He waved to them as he approached, hands in the air, just in case. “We have three more on the way.”

  “Three?” Jack asked, as he passed Macknight two handguns and two assault weapons.

  “Mission almost accomplished.” Macknight hung the rifles across his shoulders.

  “You’re amazing.”

  “It was all Emma. She’s insane, and yet utterly brilliant.” He turned around. They weren’t behind him. Shit.

  He started back. He kept a weapon in each of his hands and trotted toward them. This was what all the training was for, one of those rare times when endurance counted for something. They never knew when they’d need it, so they trained every day in every type of weather. When he reached Owen, Emma and her father were behind a boulder, blocked in. He tossed Owen another rifle and several magazines and continued running. Five soldiers had followed him away from Ross and Emma. He twisted onto his back behind a large tree and shot one. Owen began his own shooting spree. His aim was brilliant. He had four soldiers on the ground in minutes, which opened up the right flank and gave Macknight access to the boulder.

  He circled back and approached Emma and Ross. “How are you?”

  “I’m out of shape,” her father said, starting up the hill toward Owen. “but I’ll make it.” He picked up his pace, but it was clear his health held him back.

  Macknight wrapped an arm around him. Emma ran ahead
to tell the helicopter to get started.

  Bullets whizzed over his shoulder. He and Ross zigzagged as much as they could and kept running. Owen was hiding out, taking down soldiers as they approached the area.

  The rain made for an unsteady trek. At one point, Ross tripped and pulled Macknight down with him, smashing his leg into a rock. The shock of pain reminded him of an old sprain he’d been ignoring, another enemy slowing him down. Macknight looked over to Ross. There was blood coming from his torso. A lot of it.

  Who would shoot him? Not Maslov’s men. He glanced back at a low ranked prison guard who had rushed ahead. He had an unimpeded line of fire in their direction. So did Owen. But if Owen had sought to kill Ross, he wouldn’t have wounded him.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Adrenaline surged through Ross despite the gunshot wound. He had to move, but his body was no longer cooperating. Mud had splattered over both him and Macknight in the fall. The dirt and the rain leeched into his wound.

  “I’ll get you out of here.” Macknight forced him to his feet.

  Ross had reacted to life with that same never-quit attitude in the past, but he was tired, and as the seconds passed, his energy disappeared. It had been a clean shot into his back and out his stomach. A deadly shot. His body faltered, but he pushed forward with weakened legs and low, strained words. Macknight swirled around and fired two angry shots in the direction of the men climbing the hill.

  Ross struggled to remain upright. Macknight pushed to keep him moving. The Russians would rip him limb from limb without the fear of killing him to obtain whatever information they could before he died. That was a fate Ross wasn’t prepared for. He pressed forward, his moans swallowed.

  Emma came into view, and his heart sank. She sprinted toward them. Her cries wrenched the air. Macknight called to Jack to grab her and get her into the helicopter. He was a smart guy. This wasn’t the place for goodbyes. Ross couldn’t watch her die, not after seeing Maslov throw his wife Elena, five months pregnant with their second child, off a balcony to her death. One tragedy per lifetime was more than enough.

  Despite the limp, Emma flew down the hill and away from Jack. She sprinted to her father, her brows creased, her love evident in every step. He had so much to say to her, so many things he’d wanted to explain. Time wouldn’t wait.

  He tried to move so she’d head back to the helicopter. His body rang through with such intense heat he could barely stand. The bullet had been designed for maximum damage. This wasn’t something he’d survive. He’d been weakened after weeks in prison. He couldn’t keep up the tough-guy facade for much longer.

  Jack called out for her to return to the helicopter. She didn’t listen.

  “Don’t die, Dad. Not now. I just got you back.” She rushed to him, slipping over the wet ground.

  The bullet had to be a stray shot. The enemy didn’t have the names of the moles in the Kremlin and would do anything to force them from him before he died. No one was killing him before that happened, except maybe an overzealous prison guard.

  While Macknight worked to keep him moving, the rest of the team continued to shoot at the men following them. A dizziness took hold of Ross and washed away his fight. He dropped onto his knees, clutching his stomach. Blood was everywhere.

  The helicopter blades churned over and over only yards from his position.

  Emma stood at his side, not wanting to leave him. “Dad, hold on. I’m getting you out of here. I swear it.”

  He clutched her hand. She held it tight. One of the men in uniform, feet from them, was shot dead by someone. He didn’t care. He wanted Emma to be away and safe, but she wouldn’t leave his side.

  Her face whitened, and she tried to move him. “Dad?”

  He blinked and leaned toward her. “Go. I need you safe.” He coughed. Spatters of blood sprayed from his mouth.

  “Not without you.” She turned to Macknight. He was holding a handgun pointed to the ground. Nothing about him looked tame; it was as though he was holding himself from something.

  “Help him,” she cried.

  “Go back to the helicopter, Emma. Now.” His voice a low growl.

  She shook her head. “If you won’t take him, leave me here. I won’t leave his side.”

  Ross spit up again. The bleeding was worse, and the men could only hold off their pursuers for so long. “I love you, but you have to go. I’m begging you.”

  “No man left behind. Isn’t that the saying?” She stiffened her back, prepared to fight everyone, even her father.

  Ross would never convince her to leave. She was her mother’s child, stubborn and bold.

  Macknight scanned the area and swore.

  “This may hurt, old man.” He braced Ross under his shoulder blade and led him toward the helicopter.

  Ross groaned in a core-twisting way, the sound of his anguish wrenching through the air. He could barely breathe; the blood gurgling through his system was choking him to death. More shots—Owen held the gunmen off.

  Emma remained at his side as Macknight tried to haul him to the helicopter. Ross wrapped an arm over her shoulder, her touch both calming him and tormenting him. She pushed herself to support him and carry him as far as she could, although from her limping, her injury held her back. If he lost her, he’d have failed his biggest mission.

  There was only one way to keep her safe. It would both save her and ruin her, but there were no choices left. As they approached the helicopter, he released her and fell toward Macknight. Macknight hadn’t anticipated Ross’s move, and with every bit of strength Ross had left, he yanked the gun from Macknight’s hand. Although weak, he held the younger, stronger man away from him. But experience would only last so long against someone like Macknight.

  They fought each other for control. Macknight held Ross’s arm from his side, the blood leeching across his own clothes. “Don’t do it this way. It will kill her.”

  “She’s left me no choice, and you know it.”

  Macknight relented, allowing Ross to point the barrel to his temple. Agony in his body and his mind spinning through regret and memories of better days made him pause. He loved her so much, he’d do anything for her.

  “Stop,” she called to Macknight. “He’s hurt. Let him alone.”

  Macknight blocked her from reaching Ross, then twisted his body to shield her.

  Goodbye, sweetheart.

  Ross pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Emma’s heart imploded at the gruesome way her father had died. Her legs gave out, and she fell to the ground next to him. More blood. More death.

  She picked up the handgun that had taken her father’s life and stared at the barrel, her mind on break from the chaos, her body slowing into a dull, lifeless state.

  She leaned over him, needing to be closer, but the horrible nature of his injuries and the rain made it impossible. She didn’t have even a second to say goodbye.

  Macknight hefted her over his shoulder and followed Owen toward the chopper.

  “Let me go.” She punched at him.

  Two assholes in suits ran up the hill toward them. One of them Maslov. He stared at her father and then watched her being carried away. She raised the Glock, but Maslov ducked down again, so she nailed the suit next to Maslov in the chest.

  Macknight tossed her inside the helicopter and then leaped in beside her. A bullet blasted over his shoulder, straight into the steel frame. She rolled onto her stomach as the helicopter lifted off.

  Maslov stepped into the open, staring at her. All of her hate focused on his face. She aimed the barrel of the gun toward him but was blocked when Owen slammed the door.

  “Open the door. I have the shot,” she yelled over the rotors.

  Macknight held her back. “We need to go.”

  A raw energy flowed through her. She wanted to curl into a ball and cry for her father, pound her hands into the floor for the murder of her mother, shut her eyes and hide from all the death around her. She turned aw
ay, tossing the gun on the floor, not caring if it went off and killed her. Nothing mattered, everything was numb, the world overloaded her senses.

  Owen approached with a needle, but she wasn’t ready to stop feeling. Hate and agony and complete despair. Her efforts to escape him doubled. She pivoted, but Owen and Macknight caught her. They held her arms to her sides as she thrashed about.

  Owen jabbed her in the shoulder. The horror of seeing her father blowing his brains out wouldn’t leave her head, but she hated Owen for slowing her down. She had things to do. She could handle it. “Let me go. Once Maslov is dead, we can go back and get my father. He can’t be left in Russia.”

  She screamed and fought and ranted about how unfair life was. Macknight continued to hold her as the drug worked its evil magic. “He has to remain here,” he told her. “It’s the only way to prove his death to the people who want him and to keep you safe.”

  “I don’t care. I want my father.” Tears rained down her cheeks. “I hate you all.”

  Macknight’s grip loosened, and he kissed her on the cheek. She sobbed until the world went black.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Although her father’s sacrifice had been noble, brave, and all the bullshit honorifics that described his act, Emma wished he’d never pulled the trigger. The chaos of the moment and the gruesome way he’d emancipated her blew a hole in her life, too, and shut down every emotion in her body. She didn’t remember how she’d been transported back to London, but somehow she awoke in a bedroom filled with testosterone. Browns, deep blues, dark wood, and leather.

  It smelled like Macknight. Musky, intense, yet relaxing in some way. Despite her headache and the roiling pangs of her stomach, something comforting washed over her as she rested in the bed.

  After a knock on the door, the man who had carried her to safety entered, dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt. He leaned against his dresser.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.