Authors: Allie K. Adams
"Millions," Dan commented dryly, his want for the mouthwatering rookie starting to dull. Oh, he still ached to touch her, to kiss her until she forgot her name, and to tease and lick her until she begged him for release. Only then would he bury himself so deep inside her, over and over, until they both passed out.
That's it, Weber. Way to keep that hard on in check.
"Millions upon millions," Donovan corrected. "That's why we need you to find her. Before she takes out the rest of your old unit and sells
"She stole
How'd she get in? Fuck that. How'd she find the lab?
He
didn't even know of its existence. Did any of the others? That left only a few men knowing of its existence, aside from the scientist and his assistant. This didn't look good for the good-looking agent.
Ballsy. Stupid. Very unlike a NASSD agent to be caught on surveillance. Something didn't feel right. She kept her back to the cameras, which meant she knew they were there. Instead of staying out of range, she purposely had herself in positions to be caught on camera. It didn't fit.
"She obviously knows which agents were on the project," Donovan explained.
"How's that possible? Only those assigned to protect it knew about
A lot worse.
Damn. A mole. A mole with possibly the deadliest information in the world at her disposal. A mole who, if Dan's instincts were right, and they were usually dead on, had control of the world in her hands. They could sell that control off to the highest bidder.
Holy world domination.
"She's contacted each and every one of the others from the project. You are the only one she's never contacted. Unless..."
Dan thought of the flawless beauty in the photo and almost felt a sense of remorse she hadn't contacted him. Almost. If she so much as sent him a text message, he'd put a bullet in her head without hesitation. "No. She's never contacted me."
The unit disbanded shortly after Dan left the agency. How in the hell could she possibly have gotten the information? It wasn't like NASSD would keep the blueprints of a secret lab right there on the computer. It couldn't have been from any of the members in his unit. They swore an oath, and swore to protect it to the death. And by the looks of it, they were carrying out that oath, one by one. "How did she contact them?"
"We don't know. Saunders was found floating in his pool, a hole in his forehead, five more through his back. He'd called Aims and told him about this hot brunette he'd met that day, and how she was coming over for a swim. The next day, when Saunders didn't answer his cell, Aims went over there and found him. Two days later, Cummings called Aims and told him about this hot brunette he'd just met, and how she was into playing in his sandbox. Aims told him about Saunders and said to ditch the bitch. Apparently Saunders didn't listen. The next day, Aims found Cummings face down in his
"How do you know all this?"
Donovan looked at him and blinked a few times. "How else would I know?"
"That didn't answer the damn question."
"Aims told me."
Dan's head hurt. Another piece that didn't fit. The guys didn't call and brag about their women. They waited until the Saturday night poker party. Of course, Dan hadn't gone to one in a while. Maybe if he had, he would have been able to pick up on the fact someone was trying to pick them off.
That was enough to convince Dan. He'd find her, find
"God no, don't kill her. Bring her in. Get that disc. It has everything needed to regenerate
With a curt nod, Dan grabbed the envelope and accepted the assignment. "Stevens. Brooks. You're with me."
"Duh. Asshole," Stevens muttered.
"Show some respect," Donovan ordered. "He's now your boss."
"Yeah," Dan added. "If you're going to insult me, follow it with 'sir'."
"Alright. You're an asshole,
sir
."
Dan smiled. "That's better."
It might have started out as any textbook op, but NASSD never trained JT Turner on how to dodge bullets while in the shower. Luckily, her assailant was a man who, upon eyeing JT in all her soapy glory, paused just long enough.
He didn't even have the chance to say, "Thanks for the show," before JT filled his eyes with body wash. She kneed him in the groin, sending all of his future children into his throat, and grabbed a towel.
Her weapon sat on the end table across the room. Stupid rookie mistake. She'd have to leave it. There wasn't any time. No doubt
Soapzilla
had friends with him. Reaching for the disc she'd duct taped to the bottom of the table by the door, JT tore it away and ran out of the hotel room.
She raced out into the hall, slammed the door behind her and broke off the key in the lock. She knew there had to be a reason why some hotels still used them. They must expect terrorists to break in to the room. They were being proactive in giving the good guys the upper hand when it came to a hasty escape.
JT ran down the hall toward the enclosed staircase. She stopped.
Twenty-two flights? I don't think so.
Judging on
Soapzilla's
dumpy physique, he certainly didn't climb the stairs to get to the top floor. He would have collapsed halfway. But that didn't mean he didn't have friends in the stairwell, waiting. JT turned around and hit the button for the elevator.
How in the hell did they find her?
Her contact at HQ told JT this op was classified. Hell, her contact barely gave
her
enough detail on it. Only that this op was important enough to pull her away from her transfer to the proverbial desk job to nowhere.
What he did tell her was that she'd be on her own. No partners. No contact with HQ. No one else would know her assignment. Odd. NASSD never sent their agents in alone. Especially rookies. But, this mission would give her the chance to prove herself to the agency, to ensure her future with NASSD. Screw protocol, he'd told her. Real agents knew when to bend the rules. Good agents made the rules up as they went along. Didn't she want to be a good agent? Didn't she want to prove to NASSD she was the best of the best?
JT wanted to prove it so bad she could taste it, wanted to show them all that a woman, in a profession dominated by men, could kick terrorist ass just as well as the rest of them. She'd learned everything she could at
could
fill the shoes of the great Dan Weber, despite what all her instructors had said.
She'd never met Dan Weber, but by the way everyone in the agency talked about him, he was some sort of Counter-terrorist God. An Assassin God. A Superspy. JT already didn't like him and hoped she'd never have to meet him. From the rumors floating around HQ, she never would. He left the agency two years ago.
Some Superspy. All the reports were classified, and the ones JT could decrypt gave sparse information. Weber on a project with seven other men. One disappeared. One died. One left.
"Take one down, pass him around, five agents left on the wall," JT sang to calm herself down, to clear her head. She wondered if the guys who found her would have found the great Dan Weber. No, he would have easily walked in and taken the disc, promptly shot every single bastard in the room, and walked back out. Easy job. No mess.
Unlike the mess JT seemed to have gotten herself into. It wouldn't be long before
Soapzilla
cleaned his eyes out enough to radio in. The doors whooshed open. With the skimpy towel barely covering the curve of her ass as she wrapped it around her boobs, JT jumped into the elevator and pushed the button for the lobby.
Yes, this was more than likely walking right into the hornet's nest. But unless there were more than a dozen men waiting, she'd be able to hold her own. She hoped. She'd taken out ten of twelve in a training exercise before they got her. Of course, she had more than a towel on, and at least had a weapon.
The elevator lowered to the lobby. As the door opened, JT hugged the wall when she spotted two more men standing by the stairwell opening.
They both had radios up to their ears, listening to
Soapzilla
, no doubt, as he relayed something in Spanish. She never did pay enough attention in her language classes. She tried to make out some of it. Something about the bitch disappearing on him, and for them to be on the look out. Either that or he just had his tip pierced. She highly doubted the latter and went with her first translation.
JT pushed herself into the front corner as best she could. If the elevator didn't have mirrors lining the walls, hiding would sure be a hell of a lot easier. The dim-witted men walked right by the open door without so much as a glance in the direction of the elevator. She sighed.
Easy enough. She'd just wait for them to—
"
Tomemos el elevador
."
Shit
. She didn't need to know Spanish to understand that.
JT stabbed the close door button repeatedly, her finger aching by the time the doors started to close. A hand shot between the doors, forcing them back open. JT jumped back and cursed. Think, think, think. She lunged forward and bit the hand as hard as she could.
"
¡Ay! ¡Hay un perro en el elevador!
" The hand jerked back out. The doors closed, cutting off the rest of his words.
JT took in her surroundings, searching for her means to escape. No doubt her Spanish friends would have radioed back up to
Soapzilla
about her being in the elevator.
She eyed the escape hatch above her. After putting the disc between her teeth, she swung up and pushed through the hatch feet first. After replacing the cover, JT flattened out on her belly. Cold. She looked down at her torso. Damn! She'd lost the towel. No more cover.
Swell. Now she was running for her life unarmed
and
butt-naked.
The elevator stopped and an older couple stepped in. JT did her best to stay quiet, despite the roof flexing and popping under her weight.
"Look, darling. Someone left their towel," the woman, dressed in a floor length dress coat, stated.
"That's what it looks like. Let's go. I'm starving."
JT eyed the woman's coat. If she could get the coat, she could walk out of the hotel without so much as a raised eyebrow. She opened the hatch and jumped back into the elevator. The man's eyes widened as he stared at her breasts. The woman gasped as she did the same. JT removed the disc from her mouth and smiled politely, ignoring the heat creeping up her neck over the fact she was a naked as the day she came into the world.
"I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am. But would you mind if I borrowed this?" JT already had the woman's coat off and wrapped it around her, slipping the disc into the pocket. "Thanks."
The elevator opened and JT casually walked out into the lobby. She glanced around and counted five men on
Soapzilla's
team. They were the only ones with dark skin and eyes nervously darting around the lobby. They were dressed in all black, matching caps and all. And they all packed. The tight turtlenecks did nothing to conceal their weapons.
She raised the collar of the coat and started for the door. This was too easy. Really. If any of them had half a brain, they'd see her bare feet beneath the coat. Her wet hair clinging to her face, still soapy with shampoo. She had to be a sight with all the elevator dust and grime on her from the top of the elevator. But no one seemed to notice.
"
¡Oye! ¡Allí ella es!
"
Double Shit
.
She didn't know what he'd said, but since he'd yelled it in Spanish, and he didn't sound happy, JT broke into a sprint. The sharp little rocks on the cement of the parking lot dug into her feet. Damn, why didn't she grab her shoes on the way out?
Of course, the car she'd rented had another five men on it. She spun around and headed for the parking lot on the other side of the hotel.
"
¡Párela!
"
A man in black came out of nowhere and stopped in front of her like some linebacker. As big as one, too. Legs spread and ready to take her, he made an easy target. JT didn't even slow as she fisted him in the groin, dropped him.
She searched the parking lot. There had to be a car running somewhere. She inhaled, smelling for exhaust. Listening for a motor.
The revving of a motor caught her attention. She whipped around. An RV? No way would she be able to outrun these guys in that thing. It looked like it had been beat with a sledgehammer. The sides were all buckled and rusty. It had to be twenty-five feet long.
"
¡Allí ella es! ¡Fuego!
"
Fuego?
Didn't that mean—
A bullet whizzed by her, barely missing her ear. Oh, great. Now they were shooting at her. She heard bullets whistle by, felt the wind at how close they came. She didn't have a choice. It was the motor home or death.
She turned and ran toward the RV just as a she felt the burning slice of a bullet dig a groove into the side of her left shoulder. It was a searing white-hot pain and almost brought her to her knees. She'd never been shot before. Couldn’t say she really liked it.
JT stumbled, but didn't go down. She brought her hand up and pressed against the wound to try and slow the bleeding. As she reached the RV, she fell against the side. Her blood, all over her hand and front, smeared the side of the rusty vehicle and JT fought the want to pass out from the sight, not to mention the searing, hot pain.
She opened the door and jumped inside, fell to the floor.
The man behind the wheel turned with a jerk. An older man, maybe mid-forties, frowned as he looked at her.
He spotted the blood now covering her shoulder. Instead of flooring it, which would have been the sensible thing to do, he simply stared.
"Unless you want the side of your luxury vehicle peppered with gunfire, you'd better get the hell out of here." She panted and pushed at her shoulder. The pain damn near blinded her, but she'd live.
"Have you been shot?" He spoke with a slight French accent. "Hey, don't I know you?"
JT felt her stomach flip. Could this guy be with the rest of them? She didn't wait around to find out. Jumping to her feet as best she could, she went for the door.
As she threw it open and tried to run out, she collided with a chest as hard as a brick wall. The man was huge and took up the entire doorway of the RV. Oh dear God. She was dead. She was dead and this was heaven. Handsome didn't even begin to describe this man, this specimen chiseled to perfection.
Her gaze traveled over his broad shoulders, across his hard chest, all the way down to his slim hips. She didn't need to see beneath his pants to know his legs were all corded muscle, athletic and very well shaped. Although the idea of seeing other muscles hidden by his pants had her intrigued.
His blue eyes were cool as they assessed her. The square muscle of his jaw flexed when his eyes flicked down to her exposed breasts. Her nipples puckered in response. She blamed the bite in the air and grabbed at the jacket, pulling it tightly around her and tying it off.
Perv
. How dare he cop a look and force a response from her body like that.
"Get in if you want to live." He didn't wait for her answer, instead jumping in and nodding his head for the guy sitting behind the wheel to move. The older man hurried out of the seat and passed JT on his way to the back of the RV.
Her eyes followed him, ready to fight if needed. That's when she spotted another one sitting at the table behind her. He sprang to his feet and drew his weapon.
JT felt the panic start to creep in. She remembered her academy training. They put her in panicky situations all the time, trying to get her to crack. But she never did. JT Turner, always the level head, always calm. Adapted to any situation.
And then screwed it up.
Her nickname back at
Takedown Turner
for nothing. She found a way to screw something up every mock mission, and usually ended up hurting herself in the process. She pushed on her shoulder. Obviously she kept with her track record on the real missions, too.
The man from the doorway spoke up. "We have company, and they aren't happy to see us. Hold on." He jumped into the driver's seat and floored it. Surprisingly, the motor home chirped the tires, and sent JT flying back against a counter. She
accidentally
lost her footing and fell against the one with the gun, easily taking it and jabbing it into the back of the driver's skull.
"Nobody move!" JT yelled when the driver's two counterparts tried to approach her. She pushed the gun harder against the driver's head and would have no problem blowing his devilishly handsome head right off his amazing shoulder if she needed to. At least her wound was on her left side, leaving her shooting hand free. Judging by her situation, she just might need it.
The distinct metallic smell of blood lingered in the air. The wound didn't look too bad, but damn, did it hurt. And the blood just kept seeping out. Great. She escaped a dozen bad guys, all to bleed out inside a motor home driven by a guy she didn't know whether wanted to save her or take her out.