“It doesn’t explain why both of us are escaping Jordan, either,” she snorted. “For God’s sake, Micah, just drive around and find a fucking bar. Buy me a whisky and we’ll toast to a mission accomplished. How’s that?” Anger filled her tone.
Micah looked at her askance. He’d not seen her angry. Not that she had been with the group long, a year or so perhaps.
She was pale now, though, her deep green eyes distressed, her expression tormented.
“Did something happen after I left? Is Risa okay?”
She turned to him, and in her eyes he saw the same torment he felt in his soul.
“Let’s say, I may have seen my future,” she whispered. “And if I don’t get a drink fast, I just might lose what sanity I’ve managed to retain.” She shook her head wearily. “I think I want to get drunk.”
He started the car and slid it in reverse. “I think I’ll join you.”
And neither of them saw the shadow that watched from the exit.
Jordan leaned his shoulder against the narrow door frame and considered the couple as they left, the car easing through the pouring rain as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks and lowered his head.
He stared at the cracked tile of the stairwell and breathed out roughly.
He hadn’t expected this. He shook his head and ground his teeth together. He’d expected many things from Micah, but Jordan had to admit he hadn’t expected him to walk away from Risa Clay.
“Are you going to tell him any differently?”
His head jerked up as his nephew’s ruined voice sounded from behind him.
Glancing over his shoulder, Jordan considered the younger man. Noah Blake. At one time Noah Blake had been Nathan Malone, a husband, a SEAL. Until an assignment went to hell and he had become the prisoner of a fanatical drug lord.
Diego Fuentes was still alive, currently working in deep cover with Homeland Security. Nathan Malone had been listed as Killed in Action. And Noah Blake had been born.
It had taken Noah six years before he returned to the wife he had left. But once he’d returned, there had been no going back. The papers he’d signed, turning his life over to the Elite Ops, hadn’t mattered. All that mattered to Noah was his wife, Nathan’s wife, Sabella, and the child they were now expecting.
“No, I’m not going to tell him,” Jordan finally answered, very well aware that Noah was talking about Jordan’s refusal to impose the strict guidelines set down for the Elite Ops agents.
No weaknesses. No wives. No lovers. No relationships. They were dead men, and at no time could they ever risk being more than that.
Noah had broken every rule in the book earlier in the year when he had taken back his life in Alpine, Texas. He was now Noah Blake, garage owner, husband, and upstanding citizen.
“You’d let him just walk away from her?” Noah leaned against the wall facing Jordan and pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “He’s crazy about her, Jordan.”
Jordan considered the question for long moments before asking, “Did you ask for permission to have your life back, Noah? Did you file papers, protest the guidelines, or ask for any quarter?”
Noah frowned. “I almost walked away from my wife the second time. I almost lost a chance to know my child. Those papers I signed, the decision I made when I pledged my life to the Elite Ops, wasn’t a joke, Jordan. Not to any of us. Especially Micah. We’re the men we are because of the code of honor we’ve always adhered to. That’s why you picked us up for this team. We took that decision seriously.”
Jordan tipped his head to the side. “You didn’t answer my question,” he reminded his nephew softly. “Did you ask permission?”
“Fuck no. Without Bella, you’d have a shell that didn’t care if he lived or died. That’s what you’ll have with Micah.”
Jordan shrugged. “Then that’s his choice. Not mine. Not yours. In this life, or death, Noah, every man has to make this choice himself. This won’t be an easy life for you, for Bella, Micah, or Risa. The twelve years you pledged to the Ops is non-negotiable. The rest is a solitary decision that each man has to make on his own.”
Noah’s eyes narrowed on him. “It’s a test.”
Jordan shook his head. “It’s not a fucking test. It’s a choice. If he’s strong enough to claim her, knowing what he’s facing, then he’s strong enough to keep her no matter the obstacles they face. That simple. It’s a decision each one of you makes, on your own, without help.”
Noah’s lips pursed thoughtfully. “He left with Tehya,” he said softly.
Jordan looked back to the parking lot and the rain pouring down. “Yes, he did.”
“Some men can find comfort in another woman’s arms.” It sounded like a warning.
“Then some men aren’t as smart as I originally thought.” Jordan shrugged and let the door slam closed, cutting out the rain, cutting out thoughts he was better off not thinking. “Let’s start cleaning out. I want Miss Clay transferred to her grandmother’s home after Abigail arrives here. Clint and Kell can return with them and debrief her; let the two of them know what can be discussed and what can’t. We’re still on a job. Orion’s still alive.”
“He won’t be for long,” Noah stated.
Jordan glanced at him questioningly.
“I saw the pendant Micah took off Risa’s arm. Orion left him a message. He knows who he is and he knows how to control Micah. Micah won’t accept it. It’s a threat to Risa. He’ll make damned sure Orion is eliminated.”
That was a problem. No one should know who any of Jordan’s operatives were in their former lives. Those men had to stay dead; the complications of their ever coming back to life were too extreme.
Jordan blew out a hard breath. “Let’s just hope Micah remembers the word ‘teamwork.’”
“Do any of us?” Noah asked then with a grin. “Really, Jordan, you act like a damned father. You should have gotten married years ago and had a passel of kids. It would have kept you out of other people’s problems.”
He snorted at that. He didn’t regret it. If he had lived that dream, he knew now, he would have lived it with the wrong woman.
But he couldn’t have the right woman, either.
Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. It was the story of his damned life some days.
And it was raining to boot.
CHAPTER 26
Six Weeks Later
Atlanta, Georgia
THE SUN ROSE every morning; it set every evening. Risa stared into the darkness each night; most mornings she greeted the dawn. She stared out the window of her bedroom in her grandmother’s home. Some nights Risa sat on the balcony and watched the shadows, imagining that she saw Micah in them. That he was watching her, that he lingered just out of sight and touched her with his eyes, caressed her with his thoughts.
How silly was she?
She touched her stomach beneath the cotton of her T-shirt and felt that surge of elation that she felt each time she thought of the child she carried there.
She was pregnant. She hadn’t believed it at first. The doctor had warned her that the birth control she was on might not be effective during sexual relations because of the weaknesses of it. She wasn’t using it at the time for birth control so much as regulation of her cycles. Evidently this was one of those pieces of information that she hadn’t exactly listened to.
She thanked God she hadn’t heard it, because she was carrying Micah’s child now.
She rubbed her fingertips against her stomach and gazed into the darkness. No one knew yet. She hadn’t told her friends yet, but she would soon. She would have to swear them to secrecy for a while. If their husbands knew, she knew Micah would soon find out. She didn’t want him to regret leaving her. She didn’t want his heart burdened more.
He loved her.
With her other hand, she touched the pendant she wore. She had finally found the nerve to do a search on the Hebrew phrases he had used.
How many times had he told her he loved her and she had never
known? How many times had he whispered his regret that he couldn’t stay?
For whatever reason, he was unable to be there with her. She accepted that. If he could be there, he would have been. He wouldn’t have left her crying; he wouldn’t have left her bleeding inside.
And she still cried. She still bled. She still stared into the shadows of the night and imagined he was there.
“Micah,” she whispered his name, and felt the loss of breath, the weakness that assailed her as the pain washed over her. “I miss you, Micah. I miss you so much.”
She missed him until she was certain she couldn’t draw another breath without him. And then she thought of the child she carried and she found the strength.
Would it grow easier? she wondered. That lonely sense of bleak acceptance. The knowledge that a part of her was forever torn away from her. That the man who held her heart was out there, alone, fighting, in danger. Always in danger.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“I love you, Micah,” she whispered into the night. “I hope you know, I will always love you.”
Two Weeks Later
Off the Coast of Africa
The island was several miles off the coast of Africa. A rising volcanic mountain thick with trees and undergrowth that surrounded and protected the mansion that sat in the middle of it.
The moonless night was perfect for a landing by water, but it was damned tricky getting through the heavy forest that ringed the mansion.
The team was alone on this mission. Five men made their way through the junglelike growth while Jordan manned the beaten, rusted freighter they had hijacked for the trip to the island.
It was a four hour hike. The jungle was thick with crawling, biting, sometimes lethal vermin. Snakes were in abundance here.
Micah ignored the conditions, the snakes and the mosquitos that Noah swore were bigger than his grandfather’s cats.
Six weeks. They had tracked Orion for six long, unending weeks. He had slipped off the roster and gone cold a year before the rumored hit against Risa. The list of his aliases was two pages long; his ability to change his appearance was almost legendary. But after they’d found his handler, things had gone a little more smoothly.
The mousey little Cuban, Josef, had been their informant. He’d turned on Orion out of fear that with his retirement Orion would want to get rid of the last link to his former life. Josef had been right. Orion had blown the little Cuban’s villa to hell and back, thinking Josef was still in it.
No messy bloodletting here. Just a lot of explosives. Josef had been with the Elite Ops teams. His butler hadn’t been. Orion thought he’d killed Josef, while Josef was spilling his guts and every little secret he knew about Orion to the team. Those secrets had led them here, to an unnamed island, a whole lot of nasty privateers, and Orion.
Micah slipped up on yet another of the jungle soldiers Orion employed. His arm went around the thick neck, his hand braced against the other side, and with one sure movement, he broke another privateer’s neck.
Nothing messy. No blood, no guts. Just silence.
Another little pop to Micah’s side assured him that Noah had another of the bastards out of commission.
Hell, how many were there, anyway?
With the aid of the night-vision devices Micah wore, he picked out two more. He was on them like their shadows. Silent as death. He twisted the first neck, popped it, and before the other man could turn around, he was dropping to the ground as well.
They were close. The lights set around the mansion could be seen through the thick growth of greenery now. There were a few dogs barking; a soldier snapped a command to shush them.
Cheap dogs equaled nervous dogs, Micah thought with a grin. The guards were so used to the animals’ barking at shadows that they weren’t even aware of the danger approaching them.
Moving into position, Micah shimmied up the nearest tree and braced himself in the thick branches as he pulled the tranquilizer gun from the pack on his back.
It was quieter than a gun and at times more effective.
He tapped the mic to his communication device twice to signal he was in place.
Three more taps came through the receiver at his ear. Noah, Travis, and John were in place as well.
The fifth tap signaled Nik’s readiness to break the security on the gate once the guards were out of the way.
Micah took aim and began firing.
Pop. Pop. Pop. A series of muted shots seemed overloud in the silence surrounding him as he watched the first three guards drop. Three more shots and the dogs were down. If everything had gone according to plan, then the others were down as well.
“Heat Seeker clear.”
“Wild Card clear.”
“Black Jack clear.”
“Hell Raiser clear.”
Each obstacle was taken care of.
Micah climbed quickly down the tree, shoved the gun back into the pack, and sprinted for the front gate that barred the entrance to the estate.
They slipped quickly for the gate and ran for the guards’ barracks. There would be a few more sleeping in there. They were taken care of quickly. Wild Card and Hell Raiser stepped inside, back-to-back, and used the remaining tranquilizer darts on the six men sleeping there. They’d be sleeping for a while longer.
The guns were shoved into a single pack along with the night-vision devices. P-90s were pulled from another pack and distributed along with extra clips. Micah strapped on a Kevlar vest and utility belt loaded with other goodies. Once he was weaponed up he lifted his fist to his shoulder in a signal he was ready to roll. Within seconds the others gave the same signal.
There was no radio contact, nothing spoken. Black masks covered their faces, and thin gloves protected their hands.
As one of the five of them sprinted across the grounds to the back door, Hell Raiser split off to the garage to secure a vehicle.
Black Jack pushed in the security code they had acquired, and within seconds the door was clicking open. Micah slid the knife from its sheath at his thigh. No gunfire unless there was no recourse.
The light of the back hallway glinted off five blades as they moved silently into the house.
The cook was sitting at the kitchen table, his heavy body perched on a chair that looked too small for his girth as he flipped through a magazine.
He was sleeping permanently after Micah twisted his neck, then laid his head carefully on the table. Micah worked his way to the far entrance to the kitchen, checked the next hallway, and lifted his fist in an all clear as Black Jack did the same on the other end.
They split off then. Maverick and Wild Card took the back hall and rooms while Black Jack and Heat Seeker took the other side of the house.
Minutes later they met at the central staircase.
Wild Card was now sporting a slash on his arm from the soldier who had very nearly surprised them in one of the bathrooms. Micah was minus a blade after burying it into the bastard’s throat and leaving it there.
He jerked another from inside the Kevlar vest and started up the stairs, the others moving in behind him.
He had lived for this moment for six years. For the last six weeks he hadn’t even lived; he had merely breathed. Orion’s death was imperative. The message he had left with Ariela’s pendant around Risa’s arm had been unmistakable. He knew how to hurt Micah, and he would, if the team didn’t back off.
There was no backing off.
Stepping along the hall, each man split off and begin entering bedrooms. They were empty. Orion didn’t like guests, it appeared. At least not this early in his retirement.
Moving up the next flight of stairs, Micah turned and headed for the master bedroom.
He knew where Orion slept. He knew who he slept with. He knew that tonight one of them would die, and Micah had no intentions of being the one defeated.
He stepped to the door, then pulled free an electronic key from his belt. He inserted the key into the lock, pressed the activity button
, and waited until the little red light turned green. A second later the tumbler snicked quietly, signaling the door was open.
He opened the door slowly, his eyes narrowed against the dim shadows of the room as he restrained his smile.
Orion.
He slept in the middle of the large bed. On each side a young girl slept. They couldn’t be more than fifteen. One looked as though she had cried herself to sleep. Both had been kidnapped several weeks before from their parents’ homes and brought here to Orion.
Micah stepped into the room.
It was definitely Orion. His features were the same as the ones that had been caught on the camera outside the elevator the night Risa was attacked.
He had an appointment to leave the island in the morning to travel to a Swedish plastic surgeon. It was a meeting he wouldn’t make.
Micah stepped to the bottom of the bed.
Only a thin sheet covered the assassin and his little beauties.
“Orion, wakey wakey.” Micah lifted the P-90 and waited.
Orion’s eyes jerked open, his gaze caught immediately by the gun aimed on him as the two girls cried out and rolled from the bed in terror.
“They are well trained,” Micah said quietly as he smiled back at Orion. “They know to run now when they see death coming.”
Orion glanced at the gun, then into Micah’s eyes. He sighed wearily. “David Abijah,” he said mirthlessly. “I did you a favor, and this is how you repay me.”
“David Abijah is dead, Orion,” he stated softly. “Don’t you remember? You put a bullet in his head and tossed him into the ocean.”
Orion frowned. “He lived.”
“He died.”
Micah fired.
He watched the hole that bloomed with blood in the center of Orion’s forehead, heard the whack of the bullet exiting and burying itself in the wall.
As Micah stared at the death mask that came over Orion’s face, Black Jack and Wild Card grabbed the girls, wrapped them in robes, and hustled them out of the room.
Micah stood there, and he stared. Orion was dead. What was there left now? His heart was no longer his. His soul searched constantly for something he could no longer touch.