Fixed Asset (Downrange), page 8
“Here.” I gently shoved the baby into her arms. “We have incoming.”
In the blink of an eye, Berta’s brown gaze turned lethal. She would fight and die to protect the people in this room.
“Go.”
I turned the mic to my comms on and radioed back, “Good, copy.”
I went straight to the stairs and took them two at a time, fastening the sides of my vest I’d released to get comfortable while sitting.
When I made it to the top, I grabbed my M4 by the barrel and pulled it over my shoulder. I let go, the sling caught, and I pulled the Rugger-Magpul RXM from my holster. I quickly pulled my hearing protection from the carabiner hooked at my side and slid the noise-canceling headset on over my earpiece. With my left hand, I slowly opened the door, keeping my RXM close to my chest.
Training day one: never lead with the barrel.
I didn’t hear any sounds.
I pushed the door open just enough to slip through and silently closed it behind me. Someone knows how to use WD-40. As quietly as I could, I made my way down the short hallway that opened up to the main part of the house.
“I’m entering the house, east side,” Pete called in. “Everyone else, hold positions.”
Two “copy that” calls immediately came in—Fallon and Mason.
It took another few seconds before Jack’s tight, rumbled “copy” came through.
In my mind’s eye, I could see his angry frown.
The open living room, kitchen, and dining space came into view. One of Berta’s men stood to the side of a window peering out, until he swung his rifle in my direction. I held my breath and waited for the man to recognize me. It was never fun being on the business end of a weapon—friendly force or not.
I heard the door to my right open. I pivoted and waited. Pete appeared and shoved his goggles up onto his helmet.
“Rough night?” I asked when he got close.
“Not for us,” Pete told me. “Four tangos broke through. Fallon can’t get a shot, and Mase and Jack are still on the other side of the building.”
“You broke cover for four tangos?”
There were three of Berta’s men in the house and me. Pete didn’t need to come in.
“You’ve only got one man in the house. Two broke station and went outside.”
I didn’t get a chance to ask why the men had left the house.
The window to our far right shattered. Glass exploded into the room, followed by two men. I popped off a shot, hit my target in the shoulder, adjusted, pulled the trigger again, and he fell. Pete’s target was down with one.
The window behind us broke. Pete went left for cover while I went right. Berta’s man at the window went down, blood oozing from his forehead.
“One, you’ve got at least two more coming your way,” Fallon announced.
The door swung open. I dropped to a hip, leaned out from behind a chair, and fired. The newcomer stumbled, his shot went wide, and I fired a second time.
Pete still hadn’t answered the call, so I did.
“Copy that.”
A second later, a barrage of bullets tore through the room, holes peppered the furniture, and pictures fell off the walls. I was pinned down but had a direct line of shot to the door and the now-shattered window opposite Pete, who was returning fire. The smell of gunpowder perfumed the air, reminding me I needed to slow my breathing. Let my body fall into my training, let muscle memory take over.
Easier said than done when your world’s exploding around you.
After what seemed like forever, the gunfire slowed. I chanced a look in the direction Pete was shooting. Two assailants, one right after the other, tried to climb through what used to be a large picture window but now was nothing more than a battered frame. In rapid succession, Pete dropped the men.
The room went quiet. Eerily quiet. I used my wrist to wipe away the sweat rolling down my temple.
“I’m coming to you, Five.”
Even though Pete wasn’t more than twenty feet away from me, I heard his call through my earpiece.
I held my position, ignored the stock of the M4 digging into my side, and waited for Pete to make his move.
My eyes were alternating from the window to the door when I thought I heard what sounded like the snap of the changing handle of a rifle slamming closed. I slowed my breathing and strained to listen.
Nothing.
“Hold,” Pete instructed. “Call positions.”
Right, he heard it too.
“Overwatch,” Fallon came back.
“Three and Four are still at the line,” Mason returned.
The team was accounted for and not in the house. But one of Berta’s men could’ve entered the house to help.
Shit.
The next minute felt like an eternity, and the house remained silent.
“Coming.”
I held my breath, glided my finger down the trigger guard, and paused just shy of the pull that fired my weapon.
Two shots pierced the silence.
I rolled to my back, did an ab curl, and fired on the man advancing into the room. His shoulder jerked, then he disappeared back into the kitchen. There were three points of entry into the house; one was through the kitchen. The upstairs was basically one open room, but the cabinetry that jutted out to make the kitchen an L would provide cover and a place to hide.
I rolled back, peeked around the chair, and saw Pete lying face down on the floor.
Fucking shit.
I scrambled to my knees, tossed my rifle back over my shoulder, and crawled as fast as I could to Pete’s prone body.
I heard the snap of the bullet breaking the sound barrier before I felt it whiz past my head.
I dropped to my belly, transferred my RXM to my left hand, and returned fire in the general direction. Then I went to Pete’s feet, grabbed his ankle, and stood. I was pulling him back behind the couch he’d been using as cover when the shooter appeared with his rifle lifted.
I went into a crouch, saw he was fumbling to clear his jammed weapon, and used his bad luck as my opportunity to end the threat.
“Come on, Pete,” I grunted, and pulled. His gear made it hard for me to slide him across the floor, or maybe it was the 1970s shag carpet that was inhibiting my movement.
We were almost there when an assailant ran into the house.
Fucking hell, where are they all coming from?
I let go of Pete and went to my knees. The angle was awkward, seeing as I was basically straddling his legs, but I couldn’t leave him unprotected. I fired on the man, and my slide snapped back and stayed open. I dropped the out-of-ammo weapon and calculated the odds of getting my M4 back over my shoulder before the asshole got a shot off.
I didn’t have to think. Berta appeared and unloaded on the man.
Unfortunately, his buddy didn’t get the memo it wasn’t safe to enter Berta Lanza’s home and helped himself to the door behind me. Before Berta could stop him, his forearm went around my neck and he hauled me to my feet, using me as a shield. His other hand went to my hip as he pulled me back.
The idiot didn’t have a weapon, or if he did, he wasn’t holding it. I needed to get him off me before he commandeered my rifle.
Berta was yelling at the man in Spanish. The man was yelling back. He tightened his forearm across my throat. I turned my head into the crook of his arm to stop him from choking me out and reached up to my vest to find Jack’s knife.
I snapped it open as the man jerked me up off my feet. My neck wrenched and pain exploded down my spine. I breathed through the pain. The asshole dropped me back to my feet, unhooked his arm, and in the process clocked me in the jaw. I immediately tasted blood. I freaking hated the taste of blood, despised it, just the thought of it made me want to gag.
It was an insane thing to think about while being manhandled by a man who meant you harm, but there you have it—the crazy shit one thinks about while in battle.
As soon as I got a handle on my gag reflex, I spun and plunged the knife into the side of the man’s throat. He let me loose and I dove to the side, landing on top of Pete.
“Christ,” he rumbled beneath me.
“Welcome back, boss.”
I rolled off, clicked on my mic, and called in, “Need backup.”
After that, I sat on my ass next to Pete with my M4 up and waited for the cavalry.
Chapter Ten
I had to keep reminding myself that Catarina and Pete were alive.
Cat was unharmed.
Pete’s vest had saved him from a bullet hole in the chest, and Cat had done the rest.
But I couldn’t stop seeing the blood on her hand and the bruise on her jaw.
“I’m fine,” Cat groused when she caught me staring at her.
Daylight had come, and I found myself standing outside behind the house on what could be considered a back porch, if you used that term loosely and considered a porch mostly dirt.
It was almost a full-circle moment. Nine months ago, I’d walked away from Catarina after a night of mayhem and bloodshed. And here we stood again after surviving a night of mayhem and bloodshed of a different kind. Only, this time, she was in jeans and a tee and fully geared up instead of in a ripped-to-shreds party dress after being groped by a madman.
“I know you’re fine,” I told her.
“I could’ve helped with the bodies.”
Only Catarina would bitch about not helping to move dead bodies out of the house. Berta didn’t want the women down in the bunker to see what had happened. They’d heard enough; they didn’t need to be stepping over the dead.
“You could’ve,” I agreed. “But Berta needed you downstairs.”
She nodded and looked off into the distance.
With the sounds of battle gone, I could hear the birds in the forest. There was nothing but beauty as far as the eye could see—as long as you didn’t walk around to the side of the house.
I wanted to know what she was thinking about, but I knew better. It took time to process your actions on the battlefield. It took even longer for your mind to reconcile the lives taken over the lives saved. Some missions took longer than others. For me, the lives of the women in the bunker were worth taking out as many men as necessary to ensure their safety. I’d lose no sleep over last night’s op.
“How hard was it for you to hold your position?”
That was not what I thought she’d been pondering. But it was an easy answer.
“More control than I knew I possessed.”
Her head turned and her eyes landed on me—clear blue eyes I wanted to stare into for the rest of my life. Eyes I wanted to go to sleep to, wake up to, and one day look at my children and see those same blue crystals dance with happiness.
“Thank you.”
Christ.
Arrow to my heart. I doubted she knew the blow she’d delivered but it landed, nonetheless.
“I was wrong,” I admitted. “Pete was right. You were right.” A cocky eyebrow winged up, and I took that as wanting me to continue with my apology. “I never should’ve doubted you. I have . . . control issues when it comes to you. In my defense, I’ve never loved anyone who was crazy brave and—”
“Wait. You love me?”
Well, fuck me running, I hadn’t meant to go that far and admit the whole truth.
“C’mere, baby.”
I held out my hand, and for once Catarina Keys didn’t throw attitude as she happily walked her fine ass the handful of steps needed to get to my side. As soon as I had her hand, I pulled her against my chest and wrapped my arms around her.
Once I had her where I wanted her, I told her a story.
“I think I fell in love with the idea of you before I met you. It started when I read the dossier of this woman who was a high achiever, smart, physically tough. Her superiors raved about her work. Commands were clamoring to get their hands on this woman whose skill set was such that it made her invaluable. She was in high demand but went to work at the Marshals Service, using her supreme intellect to stop sex offenders.
“By the time I was done reading, I knew if I were ever to find a woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, she’d have to measure up to the woman in the report. That was the kind of woman I’d always wanted but couldn’t find. Then in walked this blonde-haired, blue-eyed spitfire who was all attitude and sass, and it hit me—the woman who was meant to be mine was standing right in front of me. An hour later, I learned not only was she smart and gorgeous, but she was funny as hell. And I knew right then down to my soul, if I could somehow manage to win her, my life would be filled with nothing but beauty for the rest of it; until my dying breath, I’d have everything. Then I fucked up by being a twat. The end.”
Catarina shook her head and whispered, “No, not the end.”
Thank fuck.
“You willing to give me a second chance?”
“Let me tell you a story.” She paused and adjusted her cheek on my chest and nuzzled closer. “There was a woman, and all her life she searched for a man who was big and tough and smart. He had to like to laugh and have fun and watch something other than sports . . .” Cat tilted her head back and looked up at me. “Do you watch a lot of sports?”
I felt my lips twitch, trying to stop myself from fully committing to the smile trying to break free, and shook my head.
Damn, the woman was fucking cute.
“Phew.” She readjusted her cheek and went on. “But see, a man like that, one who’s strong enough to go head-to-head with this woman, he’s hard to find. She’s a lot to handle, and not a lot of strong, tough men are willing to put up with her attitude. And the men who are, are pushovers, and that’s totally not her thing. She’s looking for protective, and a little cocky—but not the bad kind—and bossy in the bedroom, but not overbearing, and he needs to have a little bad boy in him to keep up with her.” She stopped again and glanced up. “Are you following?”
“Yeah, baby, I’m following.”
I smiled down at her, and I swear to God the smile she gave me in return stole my breath. Uncaring she wasn’t done with her story, I dropped my mouth to hers. My tongue glided over the seam of her lips. I felt the cut on her lip but pushed the knowledge of how she got that cut out of my head and got lost in the feel of her tongue sliding against mine. One hand skimmed up her back, under her hair, until I had a handful of silky brown locks. I had to admit, the dyed color was growing on me, but if I had my way, she’d go back to blonde. My other hand went to her ass.
Catarina moaned and pressed closer.
Alive.
In my arms where she belonged, with minimal damage.
Reluctantly, I broke the kiss, but only because I wanted to hear the conclusion of her story—which hopefully ended with the confirmation she was giving me a second chance.
“Damn,” she whispered. “You’re really good at that.”
“Stop being cute and finish your story,” I demanded.
With a sigh I knew she didn’t mean, she kept her eyes on mine this time and went on. “So there she was in Sin City for work. Imagine her surprise when she walks into a hotel room and meets this really good-looking man. He’s a little older, and has lots of gray in his hair . . .” She trailed off when she couldn’t keep a straight face.
She was talking about my old boss.
“I’ll make sure to tell Wilson you think he’s a good-looking old man. He’ll love that.”
“You do that.” She beamed a megawatt smile at me. “But then there’s this other guy in the room . . . Now, he’s the hottest man she’s ever seen. Full-on pantie-drenching hot, and he’s funny to boot. She takes one look at this man and she knows, down to the pit of her stomach, he could go toe-to-toe with her. Not only could he handle her attitude, but he’d love it. He’d be bossy and arrogant in all the right ways. And right then and there, she knew she’d never met the man who was perfect for her because she’d never met that man lounging back in a chair like he was the king of her world. And she fell in love. Then it took this man a long time to get his head out of his ass and figure out she was what he’d been waiting for his whole life.”
Jesus fuck. My heart was ready to jump out my chest.
“Are you done?”
“No.”
“Finish,” I growled.
“The end.”
My fist in her hair tightened. I gently pulled her head farther back so I could fully take in her pretty face.
“Yeah, baby, the end.”
My lips hit hers. Story time never tasted so good.
Chapter Eleven
“Hey, Cat, wait up.”
I stopped at Pete’s callout and turned. He was jogging out of the house.
Two black vans had shown up a little bit ago. Berta wasted no time getting the women and children ready to be loaded in. We’d be ready to roll out any minute now. Pete, Mason, and Jack were going to the hospital to grab Maria and her three daughters. Fallon was coming with me to the port to guard the women and wait for the others.
“Everything okay?” I asked when he stopped in front of me.
“Just wanted to say thanks.”
“For what?”
Pete tipped his head and took me in like this was the first time he’d ever laid eyes on me.
“I was out cold. You saved my life.”
My eyes automatically went to his forehead. The guy had a big knot left of center. I was pretty sure he had a concussion, but Pete, being of the male variety, swore he was fine. I didn’t say a word, seeing as I would’ve said the same after being knocked out on a mission while more work was to be done.
“Any of—”
“Wasn’t anyone, it was you. So accept my gratitude, so we can move on.”
“Right. You’re welcome. But don’t make a habit of thanking me for doing what teammates do. We have each other’s back.”
“Is that what we are, Catarina? Teammates?”
Damn, that was a slip.
“We are on this op.”
He continued to stare at me. His gaze was so perceptive, I fought the urge to confess all of my past transgressions before he saw them for himself.
