A View to a Thrill (Masters and Mercenaries Book 7) (20 page)

“Back off,” she commanded. Another one had come in and was hefting Jesse on to his shoulder, fireman style. “And put him down. Wait. Put him in that Jeep. And you, take this one and do the same.”

She hoped Jesse’s keys were there. She might still be able to make something of this. She might be able to save them.

“Deke, I need you to get a line on the Brit for me,” a voice behind her said.

A red dot appeared on Simon’s forehead.

Chelsea dropped the SIG. “Don’t shoot him.”

Fake Ian moved in front of her. “I was trying not to, Miss Dennis, but I will if you don’t cooperate. Bear, let’s move. We’ve got incoming. Apparently this one’s employer wants to retrieve him, but I think our target is going to be a hell of a lot friendlier if we’ve got him as a safety measure.”

The man carrying Jesse stepped up. “And this one?”

“Boss said to clean up our mess,” Fake Ian ordered. “That means leave nothing behind.” He touched his ear again. “Boomer, we’re ready for the cleaning crew. Make it fast. Our incoming’s ETA is about ten minutes out. And make sure you check for security cameras. I know the place is falling down, but that pervert in the office might have eyes in the rooms and I don’t want to leave anything behind. Your ass will be mine. Understood?”

Suddenly, the parking lot was filled with men in black moving bodies and cleaning up evidence.

Fake Ian pocketed the SIG she’d dropped as the man he’d called Bear hefted Simon over his massive shoulders like he didn’t weigh a thing. “It’s time to move, Miss Dennis. This can go one of two ways. You can move your pretty ass or I can move it for you. I will not hesitate to knock you out if you give me a moment’s trouble.”

“Your way or the highway, huh?” He sounded a whole lot like his doppelganger. “Who do you work for?”

Fake Ian didn’t say a thing, merely stared down at her with icy eyes. Now that she was calmer, she could see they weren’t identical. This version of Ian was slightly more slender, though there was no lack of muscle on his big frame. He didn’t have the same frown lines Ian had, though the way he was frowning, he would get there.

“Stoic type, huh?”

“I’m about to be the shooting type, ma’am. I have extra darts. I would pick you up, but I think you might be a screamer and I really like the quiet type more.” He picked up the rifle again.

Damn it. Chelsea got to her feet. “You know how to treat a lady, Tag.”

He frowned. “How the hell does everyone know my name? Come on.”

She really didn’t have much of a choice. She had to go wherever they were taking Simon. She stepped in front of Fake Ian, who also seemed to be named Tag. Which posed another couple of questions.

“Do you know my brother-in-law?”

Weird Clone Tag pointed toward the back entrance of the silent motel. If there was anyone in those rooms, she couldn’t tell. “I don’t know anyone, ma’am. Left down that hall.”

She turned where he told her to, her feet against the cold concrete. “You seem to know me.”

“I only know and only care that you’re my target. You have information my boss wants, and he’s willing to do just about anything to get it.”

“So you’re what a hired thug looks like.” She was really sick of people bullying her. It looked like The Collective had a rival. She wished like hell Al hadn’t thought of her when offloading his final confession. Didn’t he have other friends he could have gotten into a situation where multiple criminal enterprises wanted to take them down?

The man behind her chuckled. “I like to think I’m prettier than your normal thug. If you want to look at someone ugly, there’s my brother right there. Theo, where’s the boss?”

Chelsea shook her head as Tag number two stepped out of the shadows.

“He’s here.” The man named Theo, who fit right into the Ian Taggart look-alike convention, nodded toward the back lot. A limo pulled up on the street. “You know the boss. He’s always got to make a damn entrance.”

“I’m not getting in that limo.” Whoever was in that freaking limo was bad news. She just had to wait a few minutes. They’d said Simon’s employer was coming for him. Adam must have gotten that text and the troops were on their way. And then she would have to deal with the nightmare reality that apparently there were three Ians in the world. Four if you counted Sean, who looked an awful lot like the rest of them. But she would take a hundred Ians if they were just the real one because the real one, for all his assholiness, wouldn’t let Simon and Jesse get killed, and he wouldn’t let her get into that limo.

She looked around and the giant chunk of granite Fake Tag had called Bear was dumping Simon’s body in the trunk of an SUV. “No. He comes with me.”

She started toward the black vehicle. She would pull him out herself. A meaty arm went around her waist.

Chelsea kicked and thrashed, but it didn’t matter. The even faker Tag had her and he wasn’t letting her go.

“I’m putting in for combat duty. This one’s already shot at me once. Now I think she’s trying to deball me.”

“She can’t take what you don’t have, brother. And you’re going to catch hell for not even being able to sneak up on a nerd.”

“She’s kind of a cute nerd. Hey, if I admit you’re hot, will you stop trying to take my head off?”

She brought her elbow back and aimed straight for the asshole’s head.

“Chelsea, Chelsea, Chelsea. I thought we were friends.” A man stepped out of the limo, his lean body encased in jeans and a white western shirt. His boots hit the concrete and he sighed as he looked her over, shaking that handsome head of his. He was a sun-kissed god of a man, with brown and gold hair and a Southern accent that likely had every woman who heard it melting at his feet.

But he was so not her friend.

She stopped fighting the man who held her and stared at her real enemy. Maybe not an enemy so much as a man who held her life in the palm of his hand and who could rendition her someplace nasty with a single phone call. “Tennessee Smith.”

And just like that, her day took a nosedive. It looked like there was a place worse than Hell and it was called the CIA.

* * * *

“You sure you don’t want anything?” Ten sat back as he finally gave the driver the go-ahead. It looked like his team of superhot assholes had finished up in record time. “I could have Hutch stop and get you some breakfast. He doesn’t mind. I think he’s enjoying playing the limo driver. He’s more used to driving Humvees, if you know what I mean. He swears he can get this thing through a drive-through line, but I’m not so sure.”

The two SUVs the team had been in were already gone, and she wondered how soon she would see Simon again. Maybe never, but it was obvious Ten was going to use him to gain her cooperation.

“I don’t want anything from you except explanations.” And clothes. She felt ridiculously vulnerable sitting there in a big stretch limo wearing PJs that had definitely seen better days. She didn’t even have her bug-out bag. No ID. No weapons. No cash. Nothing at all. She was completely at the mercy of the Agency, and she was fairly certain they had none.

“I’m sure you do, but I can give you so much more.” Ten sat up, and his head turned as a big SUV drove around the corner and motored into the motel parking lot with screeching brakes. There was a shit-eating grin on his face as he settled back against the plush leather seat.

Ian. That was his oversized, environment-killing machine, and he’d probably just moved heaven and earth to find Simon and Jesse, and all he would get for his trouble was an empty motel.

“Can you text him and let him know his people are alive?” She wondered if Charlotte was in that car.

Ten’s eyebrow rose. “After I just worked my ass off to cover up any piece of evidence that I was ever there? Not just no, darlin’, but hell, no. Besides, I have to admit, I kind of like the idea of the big guy chasing his tail for once. He’s done it to me, and I always say turnabout is fair play.”

Chelsea was fairly certain Ten never played fair. “Who the hell are those men?”

“They’re my men. It’s a new project I put together. They’re a team I use from time to time when I need to move quickly and cleanly. This is one of our first ops. I think it went well. What do you think, Hutch?”

“I think you owe us all a kegger, boss.” Hutch turned the wheel with the cool efficiency of an expert and got them on the freeway. “Though you’re going to have some questions. How did that British guy know Tag’s name? I heard him and the target there both mention his name. Are we compromised?”

Ten just smiled that laid-back, nothing’s-wrong-here-ma’am smile of his. “Nah. It was inevitable. I’d hoped for a little more time, but something came up.”

Through the rearview mirror, Chelsea could see the way Hutch’s brows rose. “You want to explain, boss?”

“Nope. Get us back to base, Hutch.” He pressed a button and the window between the front and the backseat started going up.

Hutch’s expression was plain in the rearview mirror and it never changed. He was obviously a man used to getting cut out of the explanations.

Chelsea was not. She was used to knowing everything. “Who are they, Mr. Smith? I think Ian would really like to know that the CIA has a new cloning program and they’re using his DNA.”

Ten laughed at the idea. “Wouldn’t that make the world an easier place? Nah, we could never get that funding through, but I like the way you think, Chelsea. As a matter of fact, I downright admire you. And call me Ten. I really do want to be friends.”

“Friends don’t knock out other friends and shove them into the trunks of their cars.” Somewhere out there, Simon and Jesse were still and unmoving in the fake Taggart’s vehicle. She had to hope they were all going to the same place.

Ten shook his head, a sharp movement. “I didn’t say I wanted to be friends with Weston, and I wouldn’t trust that other nutbag as far as I could throw him. I have to admit, I don’t really like the idea of so many valuable assets around a loose cannon like Murdoch. I tried to talk Big Tag out of hiring him, but that man just loves to bring home strays. I’m pretty sure that particular stray is going to bite him in the ass one day. You do realize he killed that man with his bare hands. He also took a nice chunk out of him with his teeth.”

She was well aware of Jesse’s problems. She was also aware that he wouldn’t hurt her. He hadn’t been so far gone that she couldn’t talk him down. “It was self-defense.”

“It’s always self-defense in Murdoch’s head because he’s never really left that prison they had him in, and that makes for a dangerous man.”

“What are you going to do with them? And who the hell are those guys who look like Ian?” She was getting really tired of the way he evaded her questions.

“You finally doing Weston?” He gave her a flirty wink that might have set her heart to palpitating, but after being close to Simon, Ten felt like a slick player to Simon’s soulful lover.

And Ten was doing it again. He was evading her questions, likely hoping to get her flustered so she would forget everything except what he wanted her to remember. “I can’t do Simon when you keep interrupting me, so no. And I’m not forgetting my original question. Who are they, Ten?”

She gave in on the name thing. Maybe he would be friendlier if she gave him a little. One way or another, she knew he was playing some kind of angle. He hadn’t picked her up on a lark, and he hadn’t done it out of the kindness of his heart.

“I really was hoping to have a little more time with them, you know. I should have known it would all go to hell.” He sighed and leaned forward, pressing a button and revealing a nicely stocked bar. “God, I love the rich. Thank the lord for Texas oilmen.”

A couple of things fell into place. She couldn’t help but remember that Simon’s cousins had been arguing about Michael’s potential CIA ties and that he’d had friends out on the ranch that week. It looked like he was tied up tight. “You’re working with Malone Oil?”

Ten poured a couple of fingers of what looked like Scotch. “They’ve had a lot of trouble with some of their pipelines overseas. For a while, it looked to be nothing more than the usual mob shit, but I ran across a man in Uzbekistan who claimed that he was working for some corporation. He’d been arrested for trying to blow up some Malone Oil equipment, and he was trying to cut a deal. Funny. That corporation had never heard of him, but two nights later he was found in his very well-guarded cell with three bullets in his torso. I traced those bullets back to a gun purchased by a former MI6 agent. Disavowed, naturally. So I started thinking…”

She rolled her eyes because Ten seemed big on the drama of his job. “It’s The Collective. Everyone knows they were behind the problems with Malone Oil in Russia, though one of the douchebags is trying to get Simon to believe his uncle is involved.”

“David Malone? Nah. They wish. I think they’re going after him hard because they know he would never work with them and he’s got serious ties in the government that they haven’t been able to break through. How much do you personally know about the group?”

Wouldn’t he love to know? She couldn’t give up every card in her hand. Not when they were so early in the game and besides, he was distracting her again. It was Ten’s best play. Disarm with his good looks. Distract with information that wasn’t what she was looking for. “Ian’s been tracking them for months and you know it. The assassin was that complete douchebag Baz Champion, who was also working for The Collective, but he’s dead now. So cut the bull and tell me who the Ian clones are and why they’re working for you.”

Ten frowned. “You’re really no fun to play with. Fine. I recruit from time to time. I decided a few months back to gather together a special team. I usually use whatever Special Forces team happens to be in the area, but I want something different. I want my team. I want a team that’s loyal to me, a team that knows exactly what I want, and I can’t get that from players coming off the bench.”

“So these men belong to you and not the military?”

“Some of them. Some of them I’m merely in talks with. This was supposed to be a boys’ weekend out at the Circle M. We were going to drink some beer, shoot some pool, convince Mike Malone that this is the life for him.”