Midnight Pursuits

  “Ha. I totally am.” He flashed a victorious grin. “You like me.”

  “I do not.”

  “You absolutely do.”

  Their gazes locked, and almost immediately the air in the car grew hotter, sizzled with awareness. Oh yes, she was definitely warming up to him. Not only that, but he could see in her eyes that she wanted him. She was looking at his mouth like she wanted him to kiss her. And his hands, as if she craved his touch. And then those gorgeous chocolate brown eyes dipped to his groin, as if she were dying to unzip his pants, release his dick, and ride him until they were both panting for air.

  “Don’t even think about it,” she blurted out.

  “Think about what?” he asked innocently.

  “Your stupid baseball game. You’re not making it to second base.”

  “Sure I am.” The shrill ringing of a bell brought a rueful smile to his lips. “Just not now.”

  The moment of awareness dissipated as the doors of the school suddenly flew open and uniform-clad girls of all ages began streaming out. Several of the girls were accompanied by stone-faced men who clearly served as bodyguards to students from wealthy and powerful families.

  He recognized Anastacia Karin the second she appeared on the massive front steps. She was prettier in person than in the picture Paige had e-mailed them, a slender waif of a girl with shoulder-length brown hair, dark green eyes, and an air of sadness about her.

  “Crap,” Juliet muttered. “She’s about to go home and we still haven’t figured out a way to keep tabs on her when she’s there.”

  “I’ll call the guys and pick their brains,” Ethan replied as he started the engine of the BMW.

  “Maybe Noelle will have some ideas too. Too bad Isabel’s not available. She totally could have pulled off my maid scheme.”

  He couldn’t argue with that. Isabel Roma was a master of disguise. If anyone could transform into a completely different person, it was her.

  “We’ll come up with something,” he assured Juliet. “I’m sure there’s a way to do it without investing a lot of time and money.”

  “I hope so.”

  He waited until Anastacia and her bodyguard had left in their town car, then smoothly joined traffic, keeping one car’s length between him and their target.

  “What do we know about the guards?” he asked, straining to remember the details in Paige’s report.

  “Not much. They’re the equivalent of the Secret Service, so it’s difficult to get our hands on their files. Paige said she’ll do it if it’s really necessary, but for now she just gave us their names—Mikhail and Roman. Not sure which one is driving her right now.”

  They continued following the black car, but when they neared the turnoff that would take them to the Karin estate, the Lincoln sped right past it.

  “Where the hell are they going?” Juliet demanded.

  Ethan shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe she has a piano lesson. Or she might take ballet. Or they could be going shopping.”

  “Paige’s intel said Anastacia is pretty much a hermit. She’s driven to and from school and hardly ever leaves that fortress.” Juliet’s dark eyes were fixed on the rear bumper of the town car. “Something’s wrong.”

  “Relax. Let’s not worry until there’s actually something to worry about.”

  To his consternation, the Lincoln seemed to be moving farther and farther away from civilization. The four-lane road turned to a two-lane road, then a one-lane road. Ethan and Juliet remained one car behind, but when their buffer executed an abrupt left turn, there was suddenly nothing between them and Anastacia Karin.

  “Shit. He’s going to make the tail.”

  Juliet tried to sound optimistic. “He might not.”

  “You said so yourself—those guards are Secret Service. They’ve been well trained.” Ethan set his jaw. “He’ll make the tail.”

  He eased up on the gas, attempting to place more distance between the BMW and the Lincoln, but he knew that wasn’t much of a solution. The longer they followed Karin’s car, the likelier it became that the driver would realize he had company.

  “Where the fuck is he taking her?” Juliet’s concern was unmistakable, hanging on her throaty voice and bringing a deep crease to her forehead.

  Ethan’s gaze swept over their deserted surroundings. They were in an industrial area now, where abandoned warehouses and derelict buildings with snow-covered roofs lined each side of the narrow road. Many of the structures were closed off by chain-link fences that were either broken or sagging to the earth.

  Smothering a sigh, he turned to Juliet in resignation. “Okay, I think we’re allowed to worry now.”

  Chapter 11

  “Please tell me what’s going on,” Anastacia begged, battling the rush of fear gripping her throat.

  In the driver’s seat, Roman glanced over with irritated blue eyes. “I told you, I’m taking you to your father.”

  “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you let me talk to him?”

  “Because it’s not safe.”

  Roman returned his attention to the road, dismissing her as he’d done ever since he’d received that phone call just as they’d been leaving her school.

  After he’d hung up, he’d gravely announced that there was a national emergency, but he refused to elaborate, even now.

  Stacie couldn’t control the panic swimming in her belly. Was her father hurt? She knew his position in the government made him a target—he’d received hundreds of death threats over the years—but her dad maintained that she had no reason to worry, that their guards would keep them safe.

  “No harm will ever come to you,” he always assured her. “I will never let that happen, little dove. I’m here to protect you.”

  But he wasn’t here now. How could he protect her when he wasn’t here?

  Stacie tried to draw in slow, steady breaths, the way Nina had taught her to do whenever she was overcome with anxiety. But the breathing exercises didn’t work. Her throat had closed up on her. Her chest was tight with fear.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  Roman’s muttered curse only elevated her panic. “What’s wrong?”

  He didn’t answer, his gaze glued to the rearview mirror.

  Stacie twisted around in her seat to look out the rear windshield. She spotted a black car behind them, but it was really far back. She didn’t understand how it could be a threat, but Roman’s body was stiffer than a board, his profile revealing a dire expression as he watched the other car like a hawk.

  “What is it? Are they following us?”

  “Quiet,” he snapped. “Just sit still and stay quiet.”

  Her hands began to tingle, tremble. She didn’t know what was happening and she hated feeling out of control. Why wasn’t Roman telling her anything? And why was he reaching into his coat pocket for—

  A gun. He’d pulled out a black gun.

  And now he was pressing the button to roll down the window!

  She gasped. “What are you doing?”

  He kept his right hand on the steering wheel and gripped the weapon with his left one. “Cover your ears, Anastacia.”

  “What? W-why?”

  Her eardrums exploded as Roman opened fire.

  • • •

  “Son of a bitch is shooting at us!” Ethan swerved sharply as the driver of the town car extended his arm and sent another bullet flying toward them.

  The first shot had made contact with the windshield. It hadn’t shattered, but a spiderweb of glass now obstructed Ethan’s vision. Adrenaline flooded his bloodstream, snapping him into action.

  “Get down,” he yelled at Juliet.

  She ignored the command, instead withdrawing the Beretta from her waistband and proceeding to roll down her window.

  “I guess he made the tail,” she said dryly, unperturbed by
the fact that they were being shot at.

  A metallic ding sounded as the driver’s bullet connected with their front bumper. The Lincoln was swerving wildly as the shooter attempted to simultaneously drive and hit his target. With the layer of ice covering the road, the car’s rapid zigzagging only got worse, eliciting another irritated expletive from Ethan’s lips.

  He tossed out a quick order at the woman beside him. “Shoot out the tires. The maniac’s gonna get that girl killed.”

  Without a word, Juliet hauled half her body out the window, twisted around, and took aim.

  A second later, a piece of the Lincoln’s undercarriage snapped off. The debris spiraled in the air and collided with the hood of their car.

  “Keep it steady,” Juliet shouted over the gust of freezing wind hissing in from the open window. “I can’t get a good shot.”

  Her second attempt lodged a bullet into the bumper. The third just barely clipped the rear left tire. The fourth missed the town car altogether because Ethan had to veer again to avoid another shot to their windshield.

  “Goddamn it,” he growled. “Take the wheel, Juliet.”

  She didn’t utter a protest. Just ducked inside and took over driving duties, steering the BMW as Ethan unholstered his pistol and cranked open the driver’s window.

  With intense focus he’d honed in the military, he stuck his head and arm out the window. The frigid wind slapped the sleeve of his parka and chilled his bare hand, but he wasn’t deterred by it.

  Keeping the pistol steady, he took aim and pulled the trigger.

  • • •

  Stacie screamed as another explosion rocked the car. This one sounded different from the gunshots that had nearly shattered her eardrums. Suddenly the car was fishtailing violently, sliding on the icy road in a furious pace that had her heart in her throat. Trees and buildings whizzed by her window as Roman struggled to control the vehicle.

  She was going to die. Oh God. She was going to die.

  They hit something. She didn’t know what because she’d closed her eyes by then, but the car wasn’t moving anymore. Nausea churned in her belly. She opened her mouth to scream again but couldn’t make a sound because something exploded in her face.

  Agony seized her nose and she felt a gush of moisture pour out of her nostrils. The air bag. It had burst in her face.

  Her heart was pounding so loudly all she could hear was its rapid thump-thump-thump in her ears. Beside her, Roman was cursing a blue streak and fumbling with his seat belt.

  “Stay in the car,” he ordered.

  The request caused a hysterical laugh to bubble in her mouth. Stay in the car? Where did he think she would go?

  Stacie heard a click and then Roman was gone. He’d left her. Left her in the car, which she realized was at the bottom of a small ditch. Snow covered the broken windshield, and a cold breeze snaked in through the cracks in the glass, making her shiver uncontrollably.

  Gasping for air, she pushed aside the now-deflated air bag and brought her hand to her nose. She soaked up the blood with the sleeve of her coat, her panicked gaze moving to the driver’s window. All she saw was the top of the ditch. Roman was gone.

  He’d left her.

  “No harm will ever come to you.”

  “Daddy.” The strangled plea flew out of her mouth. To no avail.

  Because her father wasn’t here. Her father didn’t care about her.

  And it was her birthday tomorrow.

  Stacie struggled to unbuckle her seat belt. Her school bag had fallen to the floor during the crash and she reached for it with trembling fingers. Nina. She would call Nina. And Nina would come and help and—

  Her phone was gone.

  It wasn’t in her bag.

  She moaned in anguish. She’d never been so frightened in her life. Her entire body shook like a leaf in a windstorm, rocking even harder when she heard the squeal of tires coming from the road. A car door slammed. And then . . . another gunshot. This one was muffled, farther away.

  Where was Roman? Why had he left her here? Why had he—

  The driver’s door flew open.

  Relief flooded her body when she saw Nina’s familiar face. She didn’t even question the woman’s presence—all she knew was that someone had come for her. Someone was here to save her.

  “Nina! Oh, God! Where’s Roman? What’s going on?”

  The blond woman’s calm expression didn’t waver. “Roman’s dead.”

  “What? How?” Tears slid down Stacie’s cheeks and mingled with the blood seeping out of her nose. “What about my father? Where is he? Is he all right?”

  Nina didn’t answer. The woman’s head had snapped to the side as if she’d seen something, but Stacie was too overwrought to notice.

  “Take me home,” she pleaded, starting to climb over the seat toward Nina. “Please, I want to go ho—”

  The words died in her throat when she noticed the gun in Nina’s hand.

  And it was pointed right at her.

  “N-Nina?”

  Regret flashed in the woman’s blue eyes. “I’m sorry, little dove, but the country comes first.”

  She’d barely registered the response when another gunshot cracked in the air.

  And then Nina’s blood sprayed all over her face.

  Chapter 12

  “I’m never going to forget the way you look right now,” Noelle declared as she and D leisurely strolled along the gorgeous walkway of the Parque del Retiro in Madrid.

  D cast her a sideways glance. “Go ahead. Make fun of me all you want. I’ll punish you for it the next time we’re naked.”

  “Is that a threat? Because we both know I enjoy your kind of punishment.”

  Chuckling, D broke the eye contact and turned his attention back to their prey, who was ambling up ahead at a leisurely pace that annoyed the shit out of D. They’d been watching Yuri Kozlov all morning, following the man as he’d played tourist with the petite black-haired woman he was vacationing with. D normally didn’t mind surveillance gigs, but seeing the sights of Madrid didn’t interest him.

  To make matters worse, following a tourist meant posing as a tourist. Which meant getting decked out in the outfit Noelle was gleaning so much amusement from. The vomit-inducing getup included a faded Columbia University T-shirt he kept in his go bag for occasions such as this, beat-up Converse sneakers, a digital camera with a pansy-ass wrist strap, and honest-to-God blue jeans. Jesus fucking Christ. He was experiencing some serious withdrawal from his cargo pants.

  Noelle had it easy—a pink tee, white capris, hair in a ponytail. She easily pulled off the fresh-faced coed look, and every man who passed offered her an admiring smile, which in turn brought a cynical one to D’s lips. If they only knew.

  “Our little friends are getting bolder,” Noelle mused.

  D had noticed the same thing—the two men trailing after Kozlov and his girlfriend were making less of an effort to remain hidden. The short one in the blue sweater was brazenly lurking ten feet from the couple as they stopped to take a picture in front of the equestrian statue that served as a monument to King Alfonso XII, while the big one in the black Windbreaker not so conspicuously stood near the artificial pond, pretending to study a map.

  “Smile, angel face.” Noelle raised her digital camera to snap a shot of D.

  He pasted on a smile, which went against everything he stood for.

  Christ. The things he did for his teammates.

  For a man who’d worked solo for most of his career, D still wasn’t entirely sure why he’d decided to join Morgan’s crew. He supposed he could have found himself a little beach shack in some uncharted part of the world and lived out the rest of his days in solitude, but he hadn’t pulled a disappearing act from the agency in order to bum around and drink Coronas on the beach. He was built for action, wired for death and vi
olence. Self-imposed retirement from the agency had been crucial for his survival, but he hadn’t been ready to lie down and die yet.

  When he’d heard that supersoldier Jim Morgan was putting together a mercenary team, he’d been intrigued. And for some fucked-up reason, he’d offered his services to the man.

  Some days he deeply regretted that decision, but for the most part, he was content with the gig. He’d never wanted to be part of a team, and yet over the years, he’d grown oddly protective of the men he fought alongside. He didn’t know when it happened, but somehow he’d begun considering it his duty to watch his teammates’ asses and keep them from getting themselves killed.

  The rookie’s entanglement with Juliet Mason had disaster written all over it. D had agreed to get involved not just because he hated sitting idle during these forced vacations, but because he didn’t want to see Ethan lose his life thanks to another one of Noelle’s crazy operatives.

  “Do you ever miss it?” Noelle’s voice interrupted his train of thought.

  “Miss what?” he said gruffly.

  “Killing.”

  “Who says I stopped?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I know for a fact that Jim specializes in extractions. I can’t imagine he sends you out on many kill jobs.”

  “He doesn’t,” D grudgingly confessed.

  “So, I repeat, do you miss it? The excitement of the hunt, the sheer pleasure you get from closing in on your prey, the triumph of extinguishing some sorry bastard’s life?”

  “Sometimes.” He cocked a brow. “Why, you offering me a job? Trying to steal me away from Morgan the way he stole Abby from you?”

  She laughed. “Sorry, honey. I wouldn’t let you come work for me even if you begged. You’re too volatile.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “Oh, I can be.” She shrugged. “But unlike you, I’m not still hung up on the nightmares in my past. You know, the ones you wear on your sleeve.” She paused meaningfully. “Or should I say wrist?”

  She struck like a rattlesnake, snatching his right hand and curling her fingers over his wrist.