.jpg)
by Maya Banks
But they were going to have a serious come-to-Jesus meeting about her vow not to let ANE disrupt her work. She was never going back to her old job. Over his dead body would she put herself in that kind of jeopardy again, and he knew he’d have allies with her family.
She’d told him that they had desperately tried to dissuade her from going but that in the end, they’d supported her decision. When they knew the truth—and they would know the full truth, minus the gory details that did them no good to dream about at night—they would ally themselves with him and be just as determined to keep her out of harm’s way.
A prickle of alarm, a shift in the air, brought unease knotting Hancock’s gut. And he always listened to his gut. Even as he shifted Honor from the cradling position he held her in to carefully place her in a fireman’s hold so he could free the hand that already gripped the stock of his pistol, he heard Mojo’s muttered “Bad mojo.”
A sentiment shared by his other teammates as they stopped and sniffed the air like predators on the hunt. Or prey, measuring their opponent.
Pain seared into Hancock’s left shoulder, leaving him breathless as hot blood scaled its way down his arm and side. Damn it. He’d made a rookie mistake. With Honor cradled in his arms, no one had a clear shot at him without risking hitting her. When he moved her, it left his entire left side exposed.
He staggered to his knees, ensuring that he took the brunt of the fall so Honor wasn’t jarred into consciousness. The very last thing he needed was her awake and aware, convinced he’d betrayed her and given her up to the enemy. And who was to say he hadn’t done just that, fuck it all.
His arm went numb as he tried to stumble upward and right himself so he could position himself over Honor, but his rifle fell from his hand’s useless grip. His knees hit the ground, jarring his entire body painfully, and his men erupted in gunfire around him, with shouts of “Get down! Get down! Sniper! Six o’clock. Cover Hancock, damn it! He’s down!”
He fell forward, rotating as best he could so he absorbed the impact, not Honor. She was little more than a rag doll lying beside him, his arm curled tightly around her.
The world around him was going to hell. Ambush. Some of his men had been shot, some already dying.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to Honor, his voice barely audible. “I’m so sorry, Honor.”
The firefight was fierce and unrelenting. His men gave as good as they got, but Hancock couldn’t spot Maksimov anywhere. And all he could do was try to keep Honor covered as best he could and somehow maneuver his now-useless arm so he could get a grip on his gun, now slippery with his own blood and the only goddamn means he had of protecting Honor.
From seemingly a mile away, Hancock heard Cope shout, “Mojo!”
Hancock closed his eyes. Goddamn it, no! Mojo had obviously taken a hit, and by the frantic note in Cope’s voice it was bad.
Grief consumed him when he heard Viper’s equally impassioned plea. “Mojo! You stay with us, goddamn it. Don’t you dare let go. Do you hear me? Fight, damn it! You fight!”
Copeland scrambled over and dragged Mojo behind thick rock outcroppings that provided natural cover and only one way in or out. Anyone coming in would meet with the end of Cope’s rifle and he was in a cold-blooded rage, ready to take out every single one of the bastards.
“Mojo, man, hold on. Speak to me,” Cope begged, shaking his teammate.
Blood bubbled and was frothy coming from Mojo’s lips, and Cope knew that wasn’t good. A hit to the lung.
As Viper pleaded with Mojo to hold on, Mojo whispered, “Good mojo.”
Then he smiled, to the shock of his teammates. Mojo never smiled. He turned to his teammate with tears streaming down his face. A face carved with emotion they’d never once witnessed. Stoic and reserved. Never had much to say. He was overcome and could barely speak around the tears clogging his throat.
“I always figured I’d go to hell for all I’ve done in my time on earth. But this has to be heaven. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
There was awe in his voice, and then his words trailed off and his gaze became fixed, but there was such an expression of peace that it choked Cope up, and he laid his head on Mojo’s chest as Mojo took his last gasping breath.
His eyes fluttered closed and he suddenly looked so much younger; the lines of age and of the horrors they’d seen and participated in eased, leaving smooth skin of youth in their stead. His lips curved upward almost as if he were holding his arms wide, welcoming death like a long-lost lover.
Hancock felt a kick at his leg and stiffened, his grip on Honor tight, so tight it would leave a bruise. He’d never been more afraid in his life. He was absolutely unable to protect her. There was nothing he could do to prevent her from being taken from him. And God help him, but he’d tear the world apart to find her again.
“Well, maybe I was wrong.” A heavily accented Russian voice made him stiffen, his arm imperceptibly tightening around Honor. “Perhaps he didn’t form too much of an attachment to the girl and my informants were wrong.”
Of course Maksimov would have more than one mole reporting every movement made in Bristow’s household. Whom had Hancock overlooked? He’d sniffed the first out quickly, but how had Bristow gained any knowledge of his “attachment” to Honor? Unless . . .
No, he wouldn’t even allow for the seed of doubt. His men were solid. They wouldn’t betray him. There was someone else in Bristow’s operation who’d been feeding Maksimov information, and it was Hancock’s own goddamn fault for losing his shit when Bristow had tried to rape Honor a second time and having the asshole killed. That would have tipped off Maksimov in a big way, because he would know of icy Hancock. The one with no emotions, no feelings. As cold as an iceberg and absolutely incapable of human feelings or reactions. Maksimov’s informant would have left out no intel that was useful to Maksimov.
“Perhaps the idiot Bristow intended to kill her or use her in such a manner that neither you nor ANE would want her,” suggested Ruslan, Bristow’s second. “You’ve received all the intel on him and his men. You know that they take their missions seriously, and you wouldn’t have paid Bristow for damaged goods, which means he and his men wouldn’t have been paid either. He’s a mercenary. I doubt he was interested in anything more than a paycheck.”
“Perhaps,” Maksimov reluctantly conceded. “He did as I asked and drugged her, and it does appear as though he was set to deliver her to me. Ah well, it never pays to be too careful.”
Maksimov sounded perplexed and a little amused at the notion he could be wrong. He toed Hancock’s body and then bent to pry Honor away from him. Honor was lifted and Hancock’s hand trailed down her body to desperately latch onto her hand, holding for the briefest of moments before it was pulled forcibly from his grasp.
“No, I wasn’t wrong at all,” Maksimov said smugly. He appeared in Hancock’s blurred vision above him. “I wonder what you thought you were doing by hand-delivering the girl to me?” He laughed and then leveled a pistol at Hancock’s chest and rapidly fired a shot.
Despite the Kevlar vest Hancock and all his men wore, at such close range and with the fact that Maksimov was using what on the streets were called “cop killers,” meaning they could penetrate a bulletproof vest, while he didn’t feel like the bullet had penetrated his skin, it damn sure felt like he’d broken some ribs. Or something vital. It was like being hit by a pitchfork from hell. Apropos, since soon he’d be at the gates of hell. The gates would be flung wide and he’d be welcomed like a lost child or an escaped sinner who’d been judged and found guilty several lifetimes ago.
For so long, he’d embraced the notion that he’d lost all semblance of humanity and was the emotionless ice man everyone thought him to be. Because it meant never feeling remorse. It meant never feeling loss so devastating that it threatened to consume him and eat at his soul until there was nothing left. Anything at all was worth not feeling that. He knew that now, because he felt it all now. And it was wor
se than any mortal bullet wound would ever be. The world faded to black around him and a single tear trickled from the corner of his eye over his temple to disappear into his hair.
It was becoming hard to breathe, and the pain in his chest was unbearable, whether because of the bullet or the weight of his despair he wasn’t certain. Probably a healthy dose of both.
He’d failed his men. He’d failed his country, though it neither claimed him nor embraced him. He’d failed countless innocent lives. He’d failed himself but most of all, he’d failed the one thing that mattered to him. Not the fucking greater good bullshit creed. Because Honor was the greater good. She was the very essence of the greater good. Of what their creed should stand for. What it should have always stood for.
And now an innocent would be doomed to hell, a place where no angel’s wings should ever be singed by greedy, licking flames, preventing them from flying into the heavens where Honor belonged.
CHAPTER 32
KGI HEADQUARTERS
STEWART COUNTY, TENNESSEE
THE mood was unusually relaxed in the KGI war room. Sam was holding a “staff” meeting, though the others teased that it was just an excuse to get everyone together for Swanny and Donovan to demonstrate their mad cooking and grilling skills.
They hadn’t drawn a mission in four weeks. Four peaceful, blissful weeks they’d spent with their families. Their wives, children, the people they cared about. Good times.
Laughter sounded when Garrett dropped an F-bomb and was immediately threatened by at least three of his men, knowing that Sarah was even more strict than ever now that they had a baby girl and she didn’t want her child’s first word to be fuck.
As the laughter died down, a phone rang and a round of groans sounded. Sam cursed vehemently, more than taking up the slack for Garrett in the swearing department. The secure line had to ring now? Today of all days? When the weather couldn’t be more beautiful. Autumn on Kentucky Lake. The wives all on their way to the central gathering point, Marlene and Frank Kelly’s newly constructed and recreated replica of the house the six Kelly brothers had all grown up in. The new heart of the KGI compound. Now all that remained outside the secured facility was the lone holdout, Joe. Well, and the team members. But of the Kellys, only Joe still lived in Sam’s old cabin, calling it the perfect bachelor pad, and if he didn’t spend too much time inside the compound then he would escape his mom’s and sisters-in-laws’—whom he adored beyond reason—hatching plots for his eventual downfall.
Goddamn it all to hell. Sam had looked forward to spending time with his precious wife. His beautiful Sophie and her mini-me, Charlotte, or Cece as she was lovingly dubbed by her doting aunts, uncles and grandparents. And his baby son. He took the time every single day, no matter where in the world he was, no matter how grim or dire the circumstances, to thank God for the miracle of his family. He still marveled at all that was his, and he knew his brothers and many of the members of his team did as well. Rio, a team leader. Steele, another team leader. Nathan, co–team leader with his twin brother, Joe, who also happened to be the sole surviving unmarried Kelly chick under Mama Kelly’s watchful eye.
KGI had undergone many traumatic events over the years. Things that would have crippled and destroyed a lesser family. But the Kellys were tough, resilient, all qualities inherited from and instilled in all their children—blood or not—by Frank and Marlene, the patriarch and matriarch of the ever-expanding Kelly clan. The very heartbeat of the entire family.
Marlene’s reach extended not only to her birth children but far beyond. She had a penchant for adopting strays, as her sons teased her, a term she took offense at. But she’d taken many under her wing. The now sheriff of Stewart County, Sean Cameron. Rusty Kelly, whom his parents had adopted even though she hadn’t been a minor when the adoption had occurred. But it had meant more to her than anything else in her young, troubled life, and Sam knew without a doubt that his mother had saved Rusty’s life.
Swanny, who’d come back as wounded and suffering as Nathan had after months of captivity when a mission went FUBAR. All the KGI team members, including the leaders, and they didn’t even bother trying to deny it. They could protest and pretend to be exasperated, but they loved Ma’s mothering just as her own sons did.
And Maren Steele, Steele’s wife and mother of their daughter. She, too, was one of Marlene’s adoptees.
He found himself angry as he stalked toward the secure sat phone for disturbing what should have been a perfect day. A day to remember their blessings and revel in them. Simply enjoy living and loving and being the family unit they were. Or maybe he was just getting too fucking maudlin in his old age. Finding the love of your life and then watching her grow heavy with your children had a man rethinking every priority he thought ever held importance.
“Sam Kelly,” he snapped. “And this better be goddamn important.”
“Kelly,” the brisk acknowledgment came, and there was a brief tingle of recognition that flickered through Sam’s mind, but he couldn’t place the voice to save his life.
“You have me at a disadvantage,” Sam said, an edge to his voice. “Who are you and how did you get this number?”
The voice sounded dim. Haggard. Like he’d been to hell and back and was only barely living to tell the tale. “I doubt you’d remember my name, but you’d know my team leader. I’m Conrad. I work for . . . Hancock.”
“Fuck!”
The entire room came to attention. Silence was immediate as every single member of KGI crowded in close, watching Sam’s every movement, his body language, and straining to hear what was being said on the other side.
“And why are you calling me—us—since I assume you aren’t calling to have a personal chat with me,” Sam said bluntly.
“Look, I don’t have much time. He doesn’t have much time. Most importantly, she doesn’t have any time,” he said in a voice that turned savage in a split second. “I’m not interested in dick sizing or having a pissing match. I—we—need your help. As much as you can give. And I need you to move out now. I wouldn’t ask this if it weren’t a matter of life and death, and not just Hancock’s life, which may or may not even be an issue, or even the man we’ve already lost. But there is an innocent woman even now in the hands of Maksimov, a man we’ve been close to shutting down on two previous occasions, but we forfeited our mission to save two of your women and one of your children.”
Rio stiffened and extended his hand for the phone. It wasn’t a request. Sam handed it over without question, but he pushed the speakerphone button so they’d all be in the loop. Rio used to lead Titan. He knew this man, and Sam trusted Rio and his instincts. Rio wouldn’t guide them wrong.
“This is Rio,” he said.
“Rio, it’s Conrad.”
Relief was evident in Conrad’s voice.
“I don’t have a lot of time to explain,” Conrad continued. “But it’s bad, Rio. Real bad. We had Maksimov in our sights. Again. We had something he wanted very desperately, and all we had to do was hand her over and we were in.”
“She?” P.J. and Skylar echoed at the same time, scowls darkening their faces. “Is that how you win your battles at Titan?”
“She was never supposed to be within a mile of Maksimov,” Conrad said, impatience simmering in his voice. “Look, do you have your doctor on hand? If she can’t tell me how to help or fix Hancock, he’s going to die. And goddamn it, we need your . . . help.”
Any other time, such a statement would begin an endless chain of torment, sly innuendo, smugness and arrogance that would end in bloodshed on both sides. All in good fun, of course. Except that there was very real animosity between the two groups. But they also owed Hancock, and Sam paid all his debts. Every last one. And they owed Hancock big.
“Maksimov has her now,” Conrad said painfully. As though he gave a damn. Like he had a heart.
The others stared at one another in astonishment. The members of Titan were not known for their humanlike qualities. It was q
uestionable as to whether they were even human at all except that Rio had once led the team, and he was evidence that there were at least some vestiges of what made up a human being.
“Stay on the phone, Conrad,” Sam said in a crisp, take-charge tone. “Brief us on what we need to know while I send for Maren. Then I’ll put her on the phone with you so she can assess the damage based on your findings and guide you through what has to be done.”
“I’ll make the call,” Steele said. “She’s two minutes away at regular speed. She’ll be here in less than one. I guarantee it.”
And so Conrad gave them an abbreviated, terse, to-the-point sterile recitation of their mission, their integration into Bristow’s organization and how Honor became collateral damage but at the same time provided them their best opportunity they’d had in all the long years they’d spent hunting Maksimov.
KGI was well aware of who and what Maksimov was and that most governments feared him and stayed well out of his way. They also knew of Hancock’s previous run-in with him when Maksimov had nearly beaten Hancock to death for getting Maren out danger and back to KGI—and Steele.
“He couldn’t do it,” Conrad said quietly. “He stayed the course until the day before we were set to deliver her to Maksimov and he refused to do it. His exact words were fuck the greater good. That Honor was the greater good and he was goddamn tired of fighting the good fight for a country that neither claims us nor welcomes us, for protecting the very people who have tried to assassinate us. And for what? What does it get any of us? We have no home, no homeland. No one who claims us. We don’t even exist. We’re fucking ghosts expected to clean up messes no one else will and take out the garbage that preys on the innocent. Well, fuck that. Honor Cambridge took a goddamn bullet for me. Me. A man who betrayed her by making her believe I was her salvation. That I rescued her from a terrorist organization that I planned to turn her right back over to. She has more fire, courage, heart and loyalty in her little finger than most of the men I’ve ever served with. So yeah, fuck the greater good and fuck Maksimov. We need your help, because over my dead body and over the dead body of our fallen brother and above all for Hancock—who’s sacrificed far more than any of us will ever know, if he lives through this—will I not see Honor safe and returned to her family. And I’m not too proud to beg if that’s what it takes, because I owe Honor Cambridge more than I can ever repay her and I’ll be damned if her repayment is rape, torture and pain from Maksimov only to then be turned back over to ANE to be endlessly brutalized and kept alive for as long as possible so she suffers so badly that she begs, she pleads, she prays for death because only then will she be truly free.”