by Lora Leigh
He’d read the dossiers on these men, and he wouldn’t have believed anything could make them nervous, let alone have them looking like three teenagers preparing to face a disciplinarian.
As they waited silently, the shadows in the rental unit began to slow, and long minutes later another man stepped into view.
Gregor Ascarti.
Dressed in his trademark silk suit, his blond hair perfectly combed back, but with a limp Jordan didn’t remember from that last operation against Sorrel that had reportedly taken Ascarti out as well.
Gregor Ascarti had been Sorrel’s right-hand man after his son. He had been the logistical expert who had been damned near impossible to defeat.
And now he was back.
Somehow, the bastard had managed to not just survive, but apparently to live and thrive for the past eight years completely under the radar.
He moved slowly, the limp obviously hindering his movements, as Mark Tenneyson and Ira Arthurs, the mercenaries who had been watching the Taites, exited the rental unit behind him. Ascarti stopped directly in front of John Frackle.
Before anyone could guess what he would do, his hand came back and a strong, heavy blow was delivered against the other man’s face. Frackle was flung back against the wall, but surprisingly, considering his reputation, he didn’t attempt to strike back.
Jordan saw the struggle in Frackle’s face though, the tightening of his fingers as he made an effort not to make a fist.
Jordan strained to hear the conversation, but all he heard were angry murmurs. The combination of their automatic habit of keeping their voices low and the distance from the other men made the conversation impossible to decipher.
One thing was certain, though: Ascarti wasn’t pleased. The fact that the men hadn’t arrived with Tehya was likely the reason for Ascarti’s displeasure.
Hell, he wished he could get fucking closer. If he could just hear what they were planning.
He wasn’t aware how tense he was, how closely he was checking out the surrounding cover, until he felt Noah’s hand on his shoulder in warning.
A tight grimace pulled at his face as he gave a quick nod, an affirmation that he understood the grip.
As Jordan continued to watch, Ascarti moved closer to Frackle, almost nose to nose, his finger poking in the other man’s chest, though his voice never rose.
That was a conversation Jordan would give damned near anything to hear at this point. Though he was fairly certain he knew the gist of it.
They had returned without Tehya, and Ascarti wanted Tehya.
As Jordan had thought earlier, it had all the earmarks of a revenge strike.
But as he watched, eyes narrowed, events sifting through his mind, he couldn’t help but suspect there was something more going on than simple revenge.
These men weren’t having a love affair with Sorrel’s memory. If Tehya happened to have dropped in their paths, then they would have struck out at her. But to still be searching for her after her disappearance?
It didn’t make sense.
Suddenly, Ascarti moved again, the hand holding his weapon moving, the metal smacking into Frackle’s face and knocking him to the ground. In the next breath Ascarti had his gun beneath Fillipini’s chin, pushing it high and tight.
“Fucking stupid…” His accent was thick and dark with fury, the violence in his tone causing Jordan’s brows to lift.
The voice lowered just enough now that only the tone could be heard.
Ascarti stepped back, watching as Frackle came slowly back to his feet, stumbling slightly as he braced himself against the wall.
“Imbecile. The next time, you … will…” The threat was clear as the muzzle of the weapon went beneath Frackle’s jaw, lifting it as Ascarti leaned closer to finish the sentence.
With a final slap against the side of the other man’s face, Ascarti stepped back, straightened his silk jacket, then turned around to face the mercenaries behind him.
The dim fluorescent lights above hit his face at just the right angle, giving Jordan a first, clear look at the other man’s face.
His brows lifted.
The left side of Gregor Ascarti’s face was horrendously disfigured. Scars marred the entire side of his face, twisting around his eye, giving his profile a grotesque appearance.
Jordan slipped farther back into the shadows as the Italian former smuggler moved with far less grace than he had in Aruba.
There was a limp to his right leg, an odd angle in the shape of his left hand as he walked away. Frackle and Fillipini followed him as Tenneyson and Arthur locked up and reset the alarm to the unit before moving quickly to catch up with the others.
The explosion that had targeted Ascarti had apparently not done enough damage. He was clearly as organized and just as dangerous as he had been while Sorrel was still alive.
Giving Micah a careful hand signal, he sent the other man, along with Noah, to make certain Ascarti and his mercenaries were out of the unit.
It took long minutes for the rental storage facility to become deserted except for Jordan and Nik, allowing them a chance to slip from the shadowed area where the team had hidden.
Slipping a small leather case from the pack he carried on his back, Jordan quickly picked the heavy lock one of the Ascarti’s mercenaries had secured before leaving, while Nik worked to disable the security inside.
It was apparent that Ascarti had no reason to suspect that Frackle and his partner had led Jordan and his team straight to them. Of course, why should he; they believed Jordan was dead.
As the heavy lock released, Jordan slid it free before slowly easing the door open, sliding the penlight from his pocket and stepping inside.
“Well, well, well,” he muttered as he surveyed the contents of the unit before turning back to Nik, who had positioned himself protectively at the entrance.
The other man’s pale, icy blue eyes narrowed as his expression tightened in lines of savage fury.
“What does the bastard have planned?” Nik muttered as they each surveyed the array of hidden weapons, ammunition, and surprise, surprise, several dozen handheld rocket launchers.
“I’d have sworn Sorrel was dead,” Nik continued. “But this…” He shook his head slowly as he allowed his gaze to catalog each item there. “God, Jordan, this fucking makes me wonder.”
“DEA would have a field day over this,” Jordan murmured as he moved to several covered boxes, lifted a crowbar from one, and quietly eased open the lid.
The Russian-made automatic weapons weren’t nearly as interesting as the weapons packed away, though.
A dozen Israeli corner shot automatic rifles were packed in the first box. Replacing the lid, he went to the one beside it. It was packed similarly, guns in the middle with boxes of ammunition packed around them.
Tehya’s weapon of choice.
Easing one of the weapons from the bottom of the box, he carefully arranged the packaging material to hide the theft from a casual check of the inventory before doing likewise with several boxes of ammunition before handing it all to Nik.
He hadn’t heard of the weapons missing, and they weren’t available for street sale. They were strictly military weapons. He knew a certain DEA team commander who would be very interested in this facility and its contents.
It was also the weapon heading Tehya’s “ask for from Santa” list. If possible, he would ensure it was given to her if he wasn’t around later.
The thought had him pausing. As though there was a chance in hell that he was walking away from her. It nearly brought him to a hard stop. There had never been a question before of walking away from a lover. The only question had been how short the time he would be with her before he grew bored.
With Tehya, he couldn’t imagine growing bored. He couldn’t imagine a night, a day, a second of his life that he wouldn’t want her.
He hadn’t changed his mind about the illusion of love. What he had done instead was to convince himself that the illusion could be pres
erved, if only for a little while.
“We got a problem here, boss,” Nik commented as he stared at the contents of the box. “If Ascarti has these weapons, here in America, then he could be planning more than simply getting his hands on Sorrel’s baby girl.”
Jordan turned an icy look on the other man.
“I was being facetious,” Nik finally growled. “Hell, Jordan. You’re going to have to either put a damned ring on her finger or cut the possessive crap. You can’t protect her forever if you’re going to keep walking away from her.”
“I didn’t ask your opinion,” Jordan murmured as he turned away and glared back down at the weapons.
“I volunteered it,” Nik assured him.
Hell, there was something to be said for being the commander while they were under contract to the Elite Ops. Now that they were free and clear, they thought it was simply fine to bust his ass whenever they wanted to.
He almost grinned. They had always thought it was perfectly fine to bust his ass every chance they found. Especially after Tehya had arrived at base and taught them exactly how to get away with it.
“Give our contact at the DEA a call,” he ordered Nik. “Give him the information on this rental unit and who it belongs to. Don’t give him the information on the mercenaries just yet. I want to find out what Ascarti wants from Tehya that’s so important he’s hunted her for too many years. Taking everyone out of the game won’t give me those answers.”
There was a long moment of silence behind him before Nik asked, his tone dangerously bland, “Are you setting our girl up, boss?”
His lips quirked, almost in amusement, at the question. He wasn’t the only one protective of her; he was just the one determined to keep her.
“Aren’t you the same man who just expressed his worry for her?” He turned back to Nik. “You can’t have it both ways, Nik. Either I’m too possessive of her, or I’m setting her up.”
Nik’s gaze narrowed then. “One doesn’t necessarily cancel the other out. Setting her up would be damned bad form.”
“Then it’s a damned good thing she’s safe from it,” Jordan snapped, his patience as well as his amusement exhausted with the subject. “Let’s get the hell out of here, then make that phone call.”
Jerking a heavy storage blanket from the corner, he threw it at Nik to cover the weapon he’d slipped from the crate, before turning back and replacing the heavy lid.
Seconds later, the weapon carefully covered, they slipped from the unit, relocked it, replaced the security controls, and made their way from the warehouse.
Noah and Micah were waiting at the entrance, their expressions hard, eyes narrowed and emotionless. Jordan let his gaze meet his nephew’s, seeing in it something he had hoped he wouldn’t see again after the team had disbanded.
“He killed Frackle,” Noah stated, his voice soft as he nodded to the large trash container just outside the door. “Put a bullet in the back of his head, then ordered his friends to toss him in it. Motherfuckers did it too.” The heavy disgust that edged into his tone reminded Jordan once again that there was a reason his team had always been the best.
Their loyalty to each other. That loyalty had always assured they were watching each other’s backs, just as it had always insured each operation was conducted with not just their success, but also their safety.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Jordan muttered as he watched the area outside the entrance. “I want this taken care of, and I want to know what the hell is going on, Noah. Ascarti’s luck is getting ready to run out.”
“Let’s hope Tehya’s isn’t running out along with it,” Nik stated behind him. “Or protecting her will become impossible.”
Jordan’s guts tightened at the thought, but Nik was right. If they didn’t take care of this, and take care of it quickly, then he could lose Tehya in ways he had never imagined before.
To death.
CHAPTER 17
Back in the car, the weapon stored safely in the trunk, Jordan watched out the window impassively as Noah pulled from the exit of the storage warehouse and reentered the heavy D.C. traffic surging through the streets.
“We need to find someplace to lay low while we’re considering our options,” Noah proposed. “There’s a hotel with suites just outside of town. We can get you checked in under an anonymous name.…”
“We’re going to the senator’s estate,” Jordan broke in firmly. “Kell’s throwing another party tomorrow night and I want to be in a position to protect Tehya.”
“The team will be there, Jordan,” Noah argued. “We can keep Ascarti at bay without you. If this jeopardizes her life, then you’ll never forgive yourself.”
But there was no staying away from her. Even now, every cell in his body ached to hold her close, to assure himself she was indeed safe and unharmed.
“The team will be there, and so will I.” Jordan kept his tone smooth, and his decision firm.
In the rearview mirror, Jordan caught a glimpse his nephew’s expression, the concern as well as the disapproval in his gaze.
“This isn’t a good idea,” Noah continued to argue, though his tone remained cool and unheated. “You could be seen by staff or anyone watching Stanton’s estate after her arrival. It could endanger the plan to make it appear you’ve been killed.”
Jordan’s gaze met Noah’s in the mirror for a second before his nephew turned his eyes back to the road.
The thought of not going to Tehya had his guts clenching in refusal. He’d be damned if he would let her sit there alone, allow her to sleep alone after experiencing the heat and pleasure of having her against him throughout the night.
“I didn’t ask if you thought it was a good idea. I said do it.” His gaze met Noah’s again for a brief second, their wills clashing as Jordan set the tone of command at its firmest strength.
Noah grimaced and his gaze jerked back to the road, the muscles at the side of his jaw flexing angrily.
“She’s getting to you, isn’t she, Jordan?” Noah finally asked as he made the turn onto a bypass and entered the heavy late afternoon traffic as his tone sharpened with a flare of anger. “Are you giving in to the illusion?” he mocked.
“Like you and Sabella, Noah, the illusion is real for Tehya. Just because I don’t believe in it doesn’t mean she doesn’t believe she feels it.”
Or was there more to it? Jordan fought the denial raging inside him at the thought that love didn’t exist. He had always believed it was an illusion. Since he was a teenager, since that first flush of love and the resulting betrayal, he’d refused to let himself believe.
And now he was beginning to wonder if perhaps he had been wrong. Tehya gave every part of herself to him when they came together, and he’d learned that each time he touched her, thought about her, ached for her, that the need became stronger, deeper, more intense.
“Doesn’t mean you can’t reap the benefits of it either, huh?” The disappointment in Noah’s voice wasn’t hard to miss, and it struck at one of the few vulnerable areas Jordan possessed. His affection for family, his need for that family’s affection.
Jordan raked his fingers through his hair impatiently as he met his nephew’s mockingly angry gaze. “Just because I believe it’s an illusion doesn’t mean I can’t claim the results of it,” Jordan amended, his voice darker as a part of him cringed, or seemed to, at the illogical feeling of having betrayed Tehya somehow with that statement.
Noah didn’t say anything further. His lips thinned, his expression became set in lines of disapproval, but he kept his argument to himself.
If only the others were so kind.
“Hey, Noah, did you notice he said just because he believed it was an illusion rather than just because it is an illusion?” Nik piped up from beside Noah, his voice heavy with amusement. “Maybe he’s relenting just a little bit.”
Neither Jordan nor Noah responded. Jordan could feel the heavy threat of condemnation rising from each of his men as they rode toward the
senator’s estate.
Noah had to fight to rein in the impatient anger brewing inside him.
Hell, he’d been around Tehya and his uncle enough to know that Jordan was determined to fight whatever he was feeling for Tehya. He’d been feeling it for six damned years now or more, and still, Jordan didn’t dare mention the L word. If he acknowledged it, then he might have to admit it actually existed.
But if any man had ever been born to love a woman, then Jordan had been born for Tehya, just as Noah knew he had been born for Sabella.
It was the Malone curse, his grandfather had always said. Malone men were warned to love wisely, because once they loved, they loved forever, they loved deep, and they loved with a blazing heat that burned clear to the soul.
Jordan just didn’t want to admit he was in love with Tehya. If he admitted it, then he had to face the fact that he couldn’t exist without her.
And it wasn’t a bad thing, Noah acknowledged to himself. He’d made mistakes with Sabella. He’d left her when he should have had her brought to him. He’d turned his back on his marriage, his life, his identity because of his own stupid pride and fear. But as Noah Blake rather than Nathan Malone, he’d returned, claimed everything that had ever belonged to him, and at the same time, Sabella managed to mark his soul a second time with a lash of delicate, feminine claws, female stubbornness, and raging hunger.
Hell, if he could knock some sense into his uncle, then that was exactly what he would do. Unfortunately, the more a man, or a woman, pushed at Jordan Malone, the more stubborn he could get.
Maybe, hopefully, this time Jordan would realize the gift Tehya had been holding for him all these years. The other men swore they’d seen it, eight years before. That first night they had come face-to-face in Aruba during the operation to identify and neutralize Sorrel, Tehya’s father.
Noah prayed, for his uncle’s sake, that he realized what he saw as an illusion was the only emotion that would ever ease that core of agonizing loneliness Noah glimpsed in Jordan’s eyes. If Jordan let her go this time, if he walked away, then Noah feared there would be no going back.