“What kind of problem?” I asked as I moved slowly to a chair and gingerly sat.
My gaze went from Wick to Drake. Even wearing a scowl he looked like the typical, modern day action hero—complete with the backward hat, desert camo pants, tight Under Armour cam top, and his thigh rig still strapped on.
There was no doubt the man was as lethal as he was hot.
“The big kind,” Wick answered. “Epic cluster fuck.”
Standing at the head of the table, the general opened the folder and took out three eight-by-ten glossy images and spread them out.
“This is Roman Bolick.” Wick tapped the first image.
The name sounded vaguely familiar, like I should know it, but no matter how hard I tried to remember I was coming up empty. And there was nothing in particular that stood out about the man other than his acid-washed jeans dated the picture. I’d certainly never seen the man before.
“When was that picture taken?” I asked.
“Before you were born,” Wick replied. “This is Annelise Kushnir, Roman’s girlfriend.” The woman’s shoulder pads told me the photos were taken around the same time. “And this is their son, Roman Kushnir.”
“What do they have to do with the problem?” Luke asked.
“He is the problem,” Wick growled and slammed his palm down over the image of the younger Roman.
“And he is?”
“The man who took Lieutenant McCoy.”
An unexpected hurricane of emotion swept over me as I stared at the man responsible for my capture and torture. My hand shook as I reached for the picture now mostly obscured by Wick’s splayed fingers.
I hadn’t seen the man’s face while I was in captivity, the coward had kept it covered. It’s funny how our imagination conjures up fantasies of what monsters look like—ugly, scarred, horribly disfigured—what my mind hadn’t pictured was classically handsome. He looked…normal. Thick, wavy brown hair, a square chiseled jaw, brown eyes, average build. There wasn’t a damn thing that screamed sadistic bastard.
How was that possible? How could he look like an average, everyday man you’d bump into on the street? Why wasn’t he grotesque and mean-looking? Why didn’t he have beady eyes and face tattoos? Something—anything—a warning of some sort.
“Was the lieutenant targeted?” Drake inquired and dread started to swirl in my stomach.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know the answer to that.
“Yes.”
Shit.
“Because she’s a woman?”
“Because she’s a McCoy.” General Wick’s tone held an edge I’d never heard before. One that was not indicative of a fierce general but of a man who cared a great deal.
I was speechless, my words were caught in the firestorm that burned my throat as Wick’s declaration settled over me.
“What aren’t you telling us, sir?” Logan asked the question I wish I could’ve.
“A lot.”
A deadly silence fell over the TOC, electricity sizzled in the air, so much anger was radiating off the general I was surprised he hadn’t combusted.
What in the world was going on? Why would I be targeted because I was a McCoy? Nothing made sense.
My team had been closing in on a known Lore hideout when we’d been ambushed and overtaken. No one knew we were in the area but the Lieutenant Colonel in charge of the 8th Special Forces Group, my company commander, and General Wick. The squads were compartmentalized—I didn’t know what the other team’s objectives were and they didn’t know mine.
That was how the Hellraisers worked—we had anonymity and invisibility even within our group.
And if I was specifically targeted, that meant five good men died because of me—not the inherent danger of the job.
It was all my fault.
10
We were losing her.
Liberty sat in the seat next to me and what had started out as a shiver was now a full-blown quake. She was putting pieces together and coming up with the truth. She was also taking on misplaced guilt. It was not her fault her team had been killed—but she wouldn’t see it that way. Hell, if the roles were reversed, no one would ever convince me the death of my teammates wasn’t on me.
General Wick was taking his happy-ass time filling us in, and I couldn’t help wondering why that was. The man wasn’t looking at Liberty like a soldier under his command, he was studying her with what I could only describe as fatherly concern.
I did a quick mental scan and tried to remember everything I knew about General Wick. He was former SFOD-D which meant there was a chance he served with or at least knew Liberty’s father Levi McCoy. The Special Forces Operational Detachment, better known as Delta, was a small community, much like the SEAL teams.
“You mind filling us in or are we gonna hunt and peck for information?” I tried to hide my irritation but when Trey cut his eyes my way and shook his head in censure I knew I’d failed.
“Roman Bolick was CAG.”
Christ, the Army and their unit names. They couldn’t just have one element distinction, they had to give it multiple names—Combat Application Group—SFOD-D—Delta Force—ACE or Army Compartmented Element—The Unit, and of course Task Force Green. All the same group, just different acronyms.
“Was?” Luke asked for clarification.
“Roman was part of the 707…”
Wick let that bombshell hang and the color drained from Liberty’s face.
“I don’t understand why his son would want me dead. Did he serve with my dad and uncles in the unit?”
“Carter Lenox Senior took Roman Senior out during an op in the Bahamas. We’re goin’ back damn near thirty years—”
“My Uncle Lenox killed a member of his team? Bullshit. That’s a lie.” Liberty slammed her hands on the table and she stood. “My uncle is an honorable man. I don’t believe you.”
“Sit down, Lieutenant,” Wick demanded. “Roman was the op. He’d turned traitor and became an arms dealer.”
Liberty started to sway, her eyes became unfocused, and she shook her head violently.
“He said… he mentioned Carter,” she mumbled.
Not giving a shit about military decorum, I stood and steadied a trembling Liberty.
“Who mentioned Carter?” I asked as gently as I could even though a sting of apprehension had started to work its way up my spine.
Carter was a good friend, a former teammate, he was also a husband and father. If someone had threatened him, I needed to know about it.
“Ma’am.” I gently squeezed her bicep. Still nothing, Liberty was still staring off into space. “Lieutenant! Who mentioned Carter?”
“He did. Roman. At the end, when he was strangling me. He said I was his second choice. That for years he’d dreamed of killing Carter. Roman mentioned something about looking into Carter’s eyes when he killed him.” Liberty blinked and her beautiful, sad eyes locked with mine. “I have to warn him.”
I nodded and started to promise her I’d get in touch with her cousin when Wick beat me to it. “No one is telling Carter anything.”
“Come again?” Luke sneered. “If someone’s after Carter, he needs to know.”
“Remember what I told you—nothing leaves this building.”
“Respect, General, but—”
“But nothing, Durum,” Wick cut Trey off. “This whole situation is already a shitstorm. It will become an incident if Lenox, Walker, McCoy, and Clark catch wind the son of the man who betrayed them in the worst way is now seeking revenge. An incident that I’d be powerless to help them out of. An incident that would rain murder and mayhem. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Fucking hell, the man had a point. I didn’t need to know Carter’s father and uncles personally to know Carter got his loyalty and fierce protectiveness from somewhere. Those men had instilled it in him, until it was simply ingrained. I suspected Liberty McCoy possessed the same moral values as her cousin. Which meant she’d be a hellion to control.
“He’s connected.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Logan scoffed.
“His mother, Annelise, is Ukrainian. When her father was alive he was the Don of Nova.”
“Goddamn perfect,” Matt muttered. “A piece of shit traitor for a father and a Ukrainian mob princess for a mother. It’s no wonder the kid turned out to be such a piece of shit. He had no chance. But the grandfather’s dead, so who’s he connected to that shields him from a bullet to the face?”
Wick sighed, clearly uncomfortable with Matt’s question. And as much as I wanted to hear Wick’s reply, I needed more from Liberty.
“Did Roman say anything else to you?”
“Yeah. Roman called my dad a piece of shit—he said the thought of sticking his dick in me was repulsive.”
The tingle of worry I’d felt moments ago, morphed into blinding anger.
“He said what?” I whispered, well aware I was showing my hand and not giving a fuck. “Did he try—”
“No. I told you, no one touched me like that,” Liberty cut me off and placed her palm on my chest. “The only thing he wanted to know was how long my team had been on patrol. That’s weird, right? He asked over and over. And he knew my name and rank. My full name. Wait!” Liberty’s hand on my chest fisted my shirt and she jerked me forward. “He knew me. Wick’s right—I was the target. Hundred percent.”
Of course he knew everything about her—she was the target—but fear and panic were muddling her mind and she wasn’t thinking clearly.
Anxiety had taken over, and by the way she was staring at me, I knew that for her the rest of the room had faded away. In her mind it was just the two of us and she was using me as a lifeline.
Why the hell does that feel so damn good?
“Roman called me Moira. No one’s called me that since grade school. He said it was a shame my dad would never know who took his precious Moira’s life. I was fading in and out, his hands were around my throat and all of his weight was on my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I was trying so hard to stay still and not beg him to stop. I think he said something about them taking something important from him.”
Jesus. I hated she had to relive this, but we needed every piece of intel we could gather. Roman would pay for what he did to her, but first we needed to find him, and if he said something to aid in that, we had to know.
“Who is them?”
“I think my dad and uncles. Roman said he was taking one of theirs. An eye for an eye.” Wetness started to well in her eyes and Liberty did her best to blink it away. “He told me my death was on them. The last thing I remember was him saying, the sins of the father. Then I may’ve passed out or I was able to slip into my mind and block him out. I’d come to terms with dying, but everything hurt, I was so tired I just wanted it to happen fast so I could…”
“Hey.” Liberty’s gaze came back to me and I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile though I was sure it looked more like a grimace will all the fury that had built in my chest. “You did great, Liberty.”
The general cleared his throat, the sound reminding me we had an audience. Not only that, but it was highly inappropriate for me to address an officer by her first name. Forget the fact she was holding on to me and at some point my hands had found their way to her hips. Yeah, I was breaking all sorts of rules but couldn’t bring myself to care.
“What are we gonna do about Roman?” Luke asked.
“If we can find him, you’re gonna take him out.”
Liberty stiffened, then she exhaled and relaxed.
“I’m going with,” she announced.
Someplace deep, a switch flipped—it was instantaneous. It was like I was having an out-of-body experience as a ball of possessiveness grew. It wasn’t protective as such, more like—primal. There was no way in fuck Liberty McCoy was going on the hunt for the man who had hurt her—tortured her—held her captive.
Hell to the no. Liberty’s sweet ass was getting on a transport and going home for some R and R. She needed to heal and she needed her family to aid in that.
But before I could answer, Wick did. “If you can pass your psych eval, I’ll approve your request.”
The man had lost his fucking mind.
Liberty was in no shape to go back out. She’d lie her way through the eval, it was easy to do. After every stressful mission, part of the debrief was seeing the shrink, and all of us knew what to say and how to act to bullshit our way through. There was no doubt Liberty knew how to do it, too.
The lieutenant was nodding her agreement knowingly—fuck yeah, she’d pass.
“Respect, General, but I think it would be a mistake to send the lieutenant,” Matt argued.
“Sit back down,” Wick demanded, ignoring Matt’s outburst. “There’s more.”
Dread hit my gut like a rock, more was never good. More meant a simple hunt and kill operation was about to get messy.
Liberty pulled away and I wanted to deny I missed our closeness, but the farther she moved away to find her seat, the heavier the ache became.
She tried but failed to hide the pain the slow movements caused her. How in the hell did she think she’d be of any use out in the field when she couldn’t even sit without wincing? The woman wasn’t thinking straight—revenge was coloring her good sense—the double-edged blade always sliced both ways. And I wouldn’t allow anymore of her blood to be shed.
“The working assumption is Lore is in Beirut. INTERPOL has Roman Kushnir at the Beirut-Rafic Hariri airport two hours ago,” Wick informed us as he pushed around the papers in front of him. Once he found what he was looking for, he slid the sheet of paper across the table to Liberty.
“You were correct about the copper.”
“I knew it.” And for the first time since I’d found Liberty, her eyes lit and excitement laced her tone. “Lore’s upping his game.”
“For those of us who are not up to speed, mind filling us in?” I asked.
Liberty turned her crazy-beautiful eyes to me and they danced with determination. That rock that had been sitting in my stomach turned to lava as the burn of knowledge took root.
There was no chance this woman was backing down from taking out her target. Trained, born, ingrained, it didn’t matter—Liberty McCoy was a warfighter with a heart full of purpose and grit.
We were completely and totally fucked.
Who was I kidding? We weren’t anything… it was me—I was fucked.
Liberty would be joining us on our mission.
11
This was exactly what I needed to get my head right—a mission—a clear objective and intel. For the first time in what felt like forever, even though it had only been ten days, I felt human. Useful. This I could do, plan, plot, execute.
We’d been tracking Lore for months, and before my team came on board, there’d been analysists tracking and scrutinizing Lore’s purchases and movements. He was predictable, but still remained elusive. He, like most bomb makers, had a certain signature.
I suppose they couldn’t help themselves. The cowards hid in the darkness, yet still needed praise and celebrity for their work. Lore especially loved to give the double middle finger to allied forces.
“May I?” I asked Wick.
Funny, I was asking for permission now after I’d trampled all over protocol and military courtesy.
Wick gave me a sharp nod and faced Drake and his men.
“As you know, Lore is a Syrian born bomb manufacturer. His IEDs are credited for sixty percent of the American and Allied deaths in Afghanistan and he’s the number one supplier in Somalia and Iran. Our objective was to capture Lore and extract intel needed to shut down his network. My team was closing in but each place we’d hit, we’d just missed him.”
“Did it ever occur to you it was a set-up?” Luke asked.
“How do you mean?”
“From
a tactical standpoint, if you keep just missing him, then he knew he was being tracked. Wouldn’t be the first time a terrorist laid a trap.”
How the hell did we miss that?
“So, Lore knew, and led the squad into an ambush. Doesn’t explain how Roman, a man with a personal vendetta, was there to take Lieutenant McCoy and her team.”
Why did my heart clench hearing Drake call me lieutenant instead of Liberty?
“Best guess, Roman’s part of Lore’s network,” Wick replied.
“Best guess?” Trey muttered and tilted his head in question. “What does the intel say?”
“Loose connection,” Wick admitted.
“How loose?” Trey pushed.
There was something in Trey’s tone that garnered my full attention and I took in the operator who had assisted in saving my life before my gaze skidded across the other men. Logan, Matt, Luke, and Drake all looked menacing—but not Trey. He looked as if he belonged in a major Hollywood production. Not an action adventure war movie, no, a romantic comedy. He certainly had the looks and smooth voice for a leading role. Extremely good-looking if you liked the over-the-top handsome type.
I did not. I preferred my men to have an edge to them, I liked them rough around the edges—kinda like Drake. Actually, there was nothing kinda about it—Drake fit the bill to a T. A man like him… What the hell was I doing daydreaming during a debriefing—or briefing as it were?
Pull it together, McCoy.
“Recently, Roman has been moving large quantities of citric acid, food-grade hydrogen peroxide, and hexamine fuel tabs.”
“Lore’s signature,” I blurted out. “Three out of the four ingredients needed to make HMTD. That’s Lore’s favorite charge.”
Trey’s eyes narrowed as he studied me. “You seem to know your demolition recipes.”
“I’m no expert but I know Lore. I know he’s a narcissistic, egomaniac. There are easier ways to construct just about every IED, EFP, and explosive device he manufactures, yet he likes to flex his skills. For instance, HMTD is heat sensitive, it has to be kept cool and has a short shelf life, yet that’s his thing. I would imagine during the hottest months in the desert it’s damn hard to get his mixture in an ice bath—but somehow he does. He also charges top dollar, keeping his explosives in the hands of only the top tier of the terrorist shitbags.”
Taking Liberty: The Next Generation Page 7