by Elle Kennedy
“Innocent?” D gave an uncharacteristic snort. “The bitch isn’t innocent, Macgregor.” His features hardened as he opened the driver’s door. “I’m not standing around and talking about this. I need to go.”
“Fine. Then let’s go.” Liam rounded the car and threw open the passenger’s door.
“I don’t need you, Boston. I can handle this alone.”
“Fuck you. And get in the fuckin’ car.” Liam slid into the SUV and slammed his door.
It took several seconds before D got behind the wheel, visibly pissed off. Then he started the car and pulled out of the alley without a word.
Liam used the silence to twist around and peer at the unconscious brunette in the backseat. She was undeniably gorgeous, the kind of woman who’d turn heads wherever she went. And D had been grinding up against her in a wholly familiar way.
Had they been lovers?
He almost laughed out loud at the thought. Lovers. Right. Liam doubted D had ever made love to anyone in his life. The man fucked. He fucked hard and then he left, at least according to the other guys on the team, who’d known D a lot longer than Liam had. But there was no denying that D had transformed in that alley. He’d been . . . magnetic. Sexual. A completely different man.
Liam shifted around in his seat. It didn’t matter who the woman was. D wouldn’t have grabbed her if she wasn’t connected to Sullivan’s disappearance, and Liam wasn’t leaving D’s side until he got the truth out of the man.
Christ, every time he thought about Sully, it felt like someone was scraping his chest with a hot blade. He’d been racked with fear and guilt since the moment Sullivan had turned up missing in Dublin, and the fact that D was shutting him out of the mission—whatever the hell the mission even was—made Liam want to put a bullet in D’s goddamn kneecap and force him to talk.
“You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that?” Liam spat out. “You should’ve just told me you were going after him. Then I wouldn’t have had to waste more than a day tailing your ass. We could’ve been working together.”
D didn’t answer. His gaze remained on the road as he made a right turn and drove away from the tourist strip. It was Saturday night, and the streets were crawling with college kids who would no doubt be out partying until the wee hours of the morning.
A trio of drunken guys in Hawaiian shirts stumbled along the crosswalk as D stopped at a red light. One of them tripped over absolutely nothing, his hand landing on the hood of their SUV with a thump as he attempted to steady himself. Bloodshot eyes peered at the windshield, a slurred apology drifting in through D’s half-open window just as the light turned green.
Rather than acknowledge the kid, D hit the gas and sped through the intersection, nearly clipping the drunken party boy in the ribs.
“Where’s Sullivan?” Liam demanded when D still didn’t speak. “Who has him?”
His teammate finally looked over. “I don’t want you involved in this.”
Fury burned a fiery path up his throat. “Well, too fuckin’ late! I am involved.”
He’d been involved from the moment he’d met Sullivan Port, the cocky Australian who’d snuck through Liam’s defenses and somehow become his closest friend. Thanks to his stint in the DEA, Liam didn’t have many friends. He had colleagues. He had rivals. But friends? Not so much. He’d spent his entire career in deep cover, cozying up to bad guys and taking them down, but it wasn’t until he’d started contracting for Jim Morgan, until he’d become part of a team and connected with Sully, that he’d realized what true friendship really was.
And then he’d gone and ruined it. He’d had the best friend he could ever hope for, the one person in this world who he trusted implicitly, who he’d lay down his life for, and he’d blown it.
It killed him that his last memory of his friend was rooted in anger. That last night in Dublin, Sullivan had accused him of not giving a shit about their friendship, of letting a case of misguided lust sever the bond they’d formed.
Lust. It fuckin’ ruined everything, didn’t it? Liam hadn’t expected to be attracted to his friend. He hadn’t expected Sullivan to reciprocate those feelings. But it had happened, damn it, and Sully had been smart enough to know that acting on it would screw up their friendship. And instead of agreeing, Liam had pushed him. He’d pushed and pushed until his friend had eventually stormed out of that hotel room.
He grew sick to his stomach as he remembered Sully’s furious strides, the slam of the door. It was his fault. If he hadn’t picked a fight, Sullivan wouldn’t have gone down to the bar. Sullivan wouldn’t have been distracted. Because that was the only way a man like Sullivan Port would have allowed himself to get captured—if he’d been distracted.
An anguished groan ripped out of Liam’s throat. “Don’t you get it?” he mumbled. “It’s my fault he’s missing.”
D turned with a sharp look.
“He was distracted because we argued. Someone got the drop on him because his head wasn’t where it should’ve been, and that was because of me.” Liam clenched his teeth. “It was my fault.”
“No.” D cleared his throat. “It was mine.”
Chapter 9
D parked in the gravel lot behind the three-story apartment building on the outskirts of the city. The building wasn’t the nicest, its pink concrete exterior cracked and dilapidated, but it suited D’s needs. The six apartments were mostly used as short-term rentals for tourists, and D had rented out the two on the ground floor. He’d verified that the other four were occupied by spring breakers, which was good, because he didn’t consider them a threat. The kids would get plastered at the bars every night, drag themselves home in the mornings, and pass the fuck out, oblivious to what was happening downstairs.
The real threat at the moment was Liam Macgregor.
Damn that bastard for crashing the job. D was pissed at himself for being careless, for that stupid slipup with Liam’s name, for not realizing that Liam had been tailing him. Yeah, Liam knew how to remain invisible, but D was usually more aware. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had snuck up on him, which told him that this Mendez thing was really messing with his head.
He glanced at the backseat, where Angelina was still out like a light. She’d be waking up soon, though. He’d need to give her a sedative. The job would go a lot more smoothly if the bitch remained unconscious the entire time.
“Stay with her while I clear the safe house,” D ordered. “You can bring her inside when I give you the all clear.”
For once, Liam didn’t argue. In fact, he hadn’t said a word since D had slipped up yet again and admitted that Sully’s disappearance had been his fault.
D had expected the Spanish Inquisition after that, but Liam had simply clammed up. They hadn’t exchanged a single sentence in forty-five minutes, and he was anticipating a hell of a blowup when Liam finally decided to talk.
Swallowing a sigh, he got out of the car, drew his weapon, and approached the dark archway at the building’s rear. A passageway ran through the ground floor from front to back, and rickety metal staircases on either side of the run-down exterior led to the upstairs apartments. No lobby, no intercom, no security whatsoever, which was one of the reasons D had chosen the location. That, and its numerous exit points—front and back doors, side windows in both apartments.
He did a sweep of the building and surrounding area, then cleared the apartments before signaling Liam. He stood in the archway, watching as his teammate opened the back door and hauled the unconscious brunette in a fireman’s carry.
“So now I’m doing your grunt work?” Liam muttered as he stalked up, Angelina slung over his broad shoulder.
“You wanted to be part of the job. This is the job.”
D marched into the apartment on their left and flicked the light switch. The open-concept main room offered sparse furnishings—a couch, a coffee table, and a dinette set.
“Put her on the couch for now.”
Liam carried Angelina to the beige
sofa and deposited her on the scratchy cushions, while D unzipped his go bag and pulled out his field med kit. A zippered case inside the kit held syringes and several vials of heavy-duty sedatives, enough to keep Angelina out of commission for as long as he needed.
He could feel Liam frowning at him as he knelt in front of the couch and grabbed Angelina’s right wrist. He checked her pulse. Steady, strong. Her eyelids twitched when he touched her, her breathing changing slightly. Fuck, she would wake up soon.
Without delay, D tapped the veins at the inside of her elbow, then injected the sedative and quickly zipped up the case.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or should I start guessing?” Liam’s tone was flat.
D’s cheeks hollowed in displeasure. Goddamn it. The last thing he needed was Macgregor screwing everything up for him. Now that Angelina was in his custody, D needed to handle the rest of this op with extreme caution.
“Who is she?” Liam demanded. “What are you planning?”
“An exchange,” D said tightly.
Liam’s breath sucked in. “Her for Sullivan?”
He nodded. He was reluctant to continue, but hell, Liam was here now, so it was time to suck it up and adapt. “Her father has Sullivan. Should be an easy trade.”
Yeah fucking right. Nothing was easy with Raoul Mendez. And their history? Not at all easy. Even if the exchange went as planned, Mendez would never stop hunting D. Which meant that after this, D would need a new identity.
Derek Pratt would have to die.
“If it was so easy, you wouldn’t have gone Lone Ranger on us,” his teammate retorted, seeing right through the lie. “You’re expecting complications.”
“I always expect complications.”
Liam narrowed his eyes. “Why did you say it was your fault that Sully was taken?”
“Because he used my name at the bar. It alerted the wrong people, and they took him, thinking he was me.”
“Wouldn’t they know what you look like, these mysterious people who are after you?”
“The thug at the hotel? No. I’ve never seen him before in my life. He’s never seen me. I think it was just the name that tipped him off. He probably didn’t realize he had the wrong guy until he brought Sullivan to the boss.”
“And who would that be?” There was an edge to Liam’s voice.
“Nobody you need to concern yourself with.”
“Don’t you fuckin’ give me that shit. I need to concern myself with every detail of this bullshit op you’re planning. This is Sullivan’s life we’re talking about.”
D cursed under his breath. “You’re on a need-to-know basis, Macgregor, and I’ve told you everything you need to know.”
“Fuck you.”
“Uh-huh. Great comeback.” He stalked to the door. “I’m grabbing supplies from the car. Watch her. If she wakes up for some reason, knock her out again—trust me when I say you don’t want this bitch opening her mouth. It’s better if she stays quiet.”
He turned the knob and stepped into the walkway just as a shadowy figure approached the door.
In a heartbeat, D had his HK drawn and his elbow in the intruder’s neck, slamming the solid male body against the concrete wall. There was a choked sound as he dug his forearm into the man’s windpipe.
“D,” came a strangled voice. “Jesus, it’s me.”
A rush of anger spiraled through him when he recognized the voice. The face. The green eyes of the team rookie, conveying a silent plea for D to stand down.
Motherfucker.
D eased the pressure on Ash’s throat, but didn’t remove his arm. If his hair had been long enough to pull, he would’ve ripped it out by the roots. Every fucking hair on his own goddamn head.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he snapped, struggling to control the rage coursing through his blood.
“Noelle sent me,” the rookie sputtered. “She asked me to escort Sof—”
“Let him go, Derek,” an annoyed voice commanded.
He abruptly released Ash and spun around to find another pair of green eyes staring back at him. A darker green than Ash’s, surrounded by thick black eyelashes and gleaming with indignation.
Sofia.
D drew a breath, but it didn’t calm him down. It only made his lungs burn.
He turned back to Ash, his voice coming out low, measured. “What. Is. She. Doing. Here.”
“She is standing right here,” Sofia retorted. “So you can direct that question to me.”
He kept his gaze on Ash. If he looked at Sofia right now, he might actually lose his shit. He was in the middle of a delicate op, where a single mistake could mean the difference between Sullivan’s life and death. And now not only did he have Liam’s interference to deal with, but Ash’s? Sofia’s?
D pushed Ash out of his path and stormed inside. His blood boiled as he advanced on Liam, grabbing the man by the collar and shaking him.
“You involved Sofia?” he hissed out. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Liam planted both hands on D’s chest and shoved him away, and it took all of D’s willpower not to shove back. Not to smash his fist into the other man’s chiseled jaw.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t involve—” Liam stopped in shock as Ash and Sofia entered the apartment.
But Liam’s shock was nothing compared to the gasp Sofia gave when her gaze landed on the couch. Or rather, on the bound, gagged, and unconscious woman lying there.
Horror flooded her expression, and then she whirled around, her accusatory gaze burning D’s face. “Oh my God! Did you kidnap an innocent woman?”
He took a breath.
Then another one.
And then he started to laugh.
Deep bellows of laughter that caused every pair of eyes to widen in alarm. But he couldn’t stop it. His nice and tidy solo op had turned into a clusterfuck of monstrous proportions. First Liam showing up. Then Ash. Sofia. And if one more person used the word innocent in conjunction with Angelina Mendez . . .
Another hearty laugh flew out of D’s mouth. Innocent, his ass.
“Is he laughing?” Ash asked Liam.
“I think so? I mean, I’ve never heard that sound come out of his mouth before.”
His teammates looked worried about him. Sofia just looked outraged.
“You think this is funny?” she exclaimed, racing over to the sofa before he could stop her. She dropped to her knees and pressed two fingers to Angelina’s neck, checking for a pulse.
D’s misplaced humor faded rapidly. “She’s not dead,” he muttered.
Sofia ignored him. She gently pried Angelina’s eyelids open, studied her pupils, then glowered at D over her shoulder. “What did you give her?”
Rather than answer, he turned to Ash. “You said Noelle sent you?”
The younger man nodded.
“And I’m guessing Noelle is the one who gave you my location?” D asked Liam, who nodded in response. “How?”
Liam frowned. “How what?”
“How did she know where I was?”
Liam gestured to the tactical watch strapped to D’s wrist. “I’m assuming she used the SOS tracker.”
“No, she didn’t.” Because D didn’t have an SOS tracker—he’d disabled the GPS in the watch two hours after Morgan had given it to him. And since his location registered only when the SOS button was triggered, the security men monitoring the grid had no idea that D’s tracker wasn’t operational.
Noelle must have found another way to track him, then. His clothes, maybe? Boots? No, too many variables involved with that. He could ditch his clothing at any moment and the tracker would be useless. Which meant . . .
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, damn near glaring at the thing. How long had Noelle and Morgan been tracking the team’s phones? It had to be a recent development, because D swept his gear for bugs before every job, and everything had come up clean before the gig in Guadalajara two months ago.
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He was tempted to crush the phone beneath his boot, but the tracker could come in handy now that Sofia was here.
And fuck.
Sofia. Was. Here.
Why, damn it?
Now that he was feeling calmer, he finally took the time to study the woman he’d fucked two months ago. She wore a blue tank top and faded jeans with a hole in the knee. Her dark hair hung in a long braid over one shoulder. And when she rose from the floor and approached the men again, she looked noticeably tired. Drained.
“Why did you come here?” D asked gruffly.
Her expression grew even wearier. “Because I needed to see you.”
He clenched his teeth so hard they hurt. Liam and Ash were both staring at him, eyebrows raised, as if they were waiting for answers of their own, an explanation for . . . for what? For why Sofia would need to see him? For why he’d abducted an “innocent” woman?
Well, he didn’t have to explain shit.
“Why?” he asked again, searching Sofia’s face.
Liam answered before she could. “You know what, D? Enough. You’re not allowed to ask any more questions—not to me, not to her, not to anyone. Not until you cough up some answers of your own.”
“He’s right,” Sofia said, her gaze straying toward Angelina again. “Why is that woman tied up and sedated? And I swear to God, if you don’t have a good explanation, I’m calling the police. Her family could be looking for her! She could be—”
“A sex trafficker,” D interrupted, his voice coming out in a loud boom, because holy fucking shit, he’d had it up to here with everyone tonight. “She could be a sex trafficker, Sofia, and she is a sex trafficker, so don’t go feeling all sorry for her, all right? And her family will definitely be looking for her—you’re right about that. Because guess what? Her father is a sex trafficker too. He sells women as sex slaves, and he’s very, very rich because of it. Oh, and by the way, he’s currently holding Sullivan captive at the moment. So get off your fucking high horse. All of you.”
Sofia’s face went stricken.
Next to her, Ash’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “Wait—you know where Sully is?”