Surrender (The Command Series Book 3) (12 page)

Ethan remained where she’d left him, although the alarm was gone from his expression. Now his long, angular face was unreadable. Nerves made her vibrate.

“It was Phillip,” she eked out.

“I heard.”

The sex in the air had dissipated, and it was awkward now, given what they’d been doing a minute ago. Like last night, he stared as if waiting for her to do something, but her mind was completely blank.

“Can I ask you something?” he said. She nodded. “Why did you kiss me that first night?”

He was such a puzzle. Did he think she was, too? “Because I thought you were hot, and I wanted in your pants.”

His stunned gaze sank to the floor, then heated as it returned to her. “Come here.” It was soft yet commanding, and her breathing sped up.

“We don’t have time.” But she obeyed, going to him.

He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her, deeply. His mouth possessed her and made her legs go boneless.

“Dangerous—” she mumbled, as she kissed him back.

“I thought you liked danger.” It sounded like a challenge.

“I do.” It made her feel something, like she was alive.

The kiss ended with his hands sliding away, but his intense expression burned into her. Behind the intensity, there was something in his eyes. Longing?

“Olivia.” It looked like he was searching for what to say.

“Ethan.”

Hearing his name must have been what he needed. “If I had my way, last night would happen again, only I’d get to take my time with you. But it’s about to get a lot more complicated for me.”

Her curious brain wouldn’t shut up. “Complicated how?”

“Gio’s brother is dead.”

She’d heard that Constantine, Vitale’s younger son, had gone missing, but everyone talked as if he was wild and selfish. Like this disappearance was normal behavior for him. But he was dead? “How? Did Renzo tell Gio that?”

Doubt flashed in Ethan’s eyes. Whatever he wanted to say gave him tremendous pause. She brushed a hand down his defined jaw and her fingers bristled on the stubble there. The retreat back into the cold Nathan persona had already begun, and she wanted a few more seconds with Ethan. She kissed him. Every bit of tenderness and intimacy between them was like a pocket of turbulence.

He lifted his head when the kiss ended, looking like he’d hit his own patch of turbulence. Stunned and disarmed. “No,” he said, “Renzo didn’t have to tell me. I know Constantine Abramo is dead,” his voice was uneasy, “because
I’m
the one who killed him.”

Ethan sat in the rear of the plane, pretending not to listen to the heated conversation going on between the Italians. They were discussing something unimportant now, a football match he could care less about.

Why the hell had he told Olivia he’d been the one to kill Constantine? Her eyes had widened with surprise, and she’d gone stiff in his embrace, but she hadn’t run from him or even said a damn thing. It had been like she pretended she hadn’t heard him.

It had been unavoidable, the death of Gio’s brother, and that Ethan had been the one to do it didn’t bother him. It did put an enormous kink in the Agency’s plans, though, and telling her was another mistake. Sloppy. Distracted. He could only hope that it wouldn’t come back to bite him in the end.

He’d yet to figure out what the hell Constantine was doing at the house the day he’d spun and fired. Constantine would have done the same to Ethan, but the woman slung over Ethan’s shoulder at the time had alerted him to the danger and saved them both. He’d never thanked Kara Hayward for that, but he hadn’t seen her since, either.

The agonized screams that usually filled his moments of reflection were silent today. Instead his thoughts were with the woman commanding the cockpit. The argument between the Italians rose to yelling and he squashed the desire to tell them to shut the hell up. He should have taken their guns away when they boarded, but he wasn’t in a position to make demands.

I thought you were hot,
she’d said. That word didn’t do her justice. It wasn’t just her looks, but her confidence. Her aggression was undeniably sexy, and he wanted more. Olivia said she didn’t do relationships. Why was that? Was it her job? Jesus, he had to stop analyzing that comment. His fascination with her made him weak and stupid.

“When was the last time you heard from your brother?” Renzo asked Gio.

“Last August. He’d been too busy partying in Morocco, or Ibiza, or wherever the hell he was, to take any meetings. Our father was . . . disappointed, so I called to let Constantine know.”

“Did you talk about Juric?”

“I’m sure we did. I’d sent a man to the Hayward woman’s apartment looking for Juric. I knew he blamed us for his CIA capture, so I was hoping to reason with him.”

Juric wasn’t wrong to blame the Abramos for the months he was held at a CIA blacksite. His suspected contract killing for the family had put him on the CIA’s radar. Ethan had spent four brutal weeks in Croatia gathering intel on Juric, hoping it would lead him to the Abramos, and it had, but it came at a steep price. One that Jason Dunn and his wife Laurel had paid.

“Reason with him?” Renzo’s voice was filled with disbelief. “Juric was insane, even before the fascination with his little American pets.”

“That’s obvious now. Imagine what my father would have done to him when he found out about the bombing.”

The memory slammed into Ethan. When he’d arrived on scene, the building was still on fire. Hendrix, the director of his field office, had called him personally to authorize action. The directive on Juric had shifted from capture to damage control. And although it took a considerable amount of work to cover up Juric’s death, Ethan had been glad to do it. The result was one less monster in the world.

“When we speak with your father,” Renzo said to Gio, “let me do the talking. I know what to say so you don’t screw this all up for us.”

“Us?”

Ethan couldn’t see the men’s faces because he was seated in the rear, but he imagined the expression of disgust that Gio had.

“Half makes us partners, Giovanni.”

Shit, Renzo better be careful. If he kept pushing, he was going to end up with his partner’s fist through his face.

Olivia squinted against the vanishing sunlight at the fuel truck that was finishing its pump. In a few minutes, it would be done and she’d have to get back on board to start checks for the final leg of the trip. It was nice to be up on her feet and outside, so she rounded the plane, habitually checking the landing gear and flaps for any signs of distress, even though the plane was sound.

Her body felt like it had been stretched just past the point of comfort. She’d slept with a murderer. No, maybe not a murderer. He hadn’t offered any details about what happened between him and Constantine, but Ethan was a killer. She’d witnessed that firsthand with the poacher.

And she still wanted him.

It would be dark soon and it was quiet except for the fuel truck driver unhooking the nozzle on the other side of the plane. The dusky Senegal air around her shifted, and she wasn’t alone anymore. The shadow on the pavement was impossibly long, signaling it could be no one else.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, not bothering to turn. She wasn’t sure what version of him she was going to get.

“It’s fine.” The shadow reached into its pocket and then lingered, forcing her to look at him. The brown eyes gazing down at her were vacant. Ethan held out a slip of paper to her. It was a receipt with the name
Shawn
and a phone number scribbled on the back. She didn’t recognize the dialing code.

“What’s this?”

“Do you speak German?” he asked. She shook her head as she took the slip. “Doesn’t really matter. He speaks English. He can help you find a crew to captain.”

Her heart squeezed at the gesture. “Thank you. Does this Shawn have a last name?”

An odd look flashed across his face and disappeared. “Yeah. It’s Dunn.”

Shawn Dunn. Why did that name sound familiar?

Before she could ask, he turned and left her standing there. She jammed the paper into the pocket of her uniform slacks and straightened the scarf around her neck that always came loose. The fuel truck sputtered away, and when her copilot finished the last of the paperwork exchange and the official zipped away on a cart, she gave a nod that they should prepare for departure.

Angry Italian words punctuated the thick, muggy air. Renzo and Gio were arguing at the base of her jet stairs, and Renzo’s face was an ugly shade of red. Ethan stood back a few feet, watching the exchange.

When Ethan abruptly straightened to his full height and clenched his fists, it sent a chill through her. Like the quiet moment right before Gio had reached for the rifle in the Land Cruiser, Ethan’s body language projected that something was wrong.

The pitch and volume rose between the Italians as Gio got in Renzo’s face. The balding Italian refused to back down.

“No, sta ‘zitto,”
Ethan said, holding up a hand to encourage Renzo to be quiet. It was a wasted effort.

The moment Renzo pushed Gio too far was made clear when a small, silver handgun appeared in Gio’s outstretched hand. He must have had it on him, but it seemingly came from nowhere.

The crack of this gunshot was so different from Ethan’s, or the rifle. Not as focused and less of an echo, but still a jarring retort. Renzo’s knees gave out and he crumpled to the sunbaked pavement, dead before his bloody head slammed into it.

-10-

Icy waves flooded down over Olivia’s skin and made her shake uncontrollably. She couldn’t breathe. All she could do was stare at the rapidly spreading puddle of blood Renzo was lying in. Gio’s head tilted to the side, studying what he’d just done, and then his gaze lolled toward Ethan and the gun at his bodyguard’s side that was out, ready.

What the fuck did Gio just do?

The gunshot must have drawn her steward’s attention. The young cabin attendant appeared at the mouth of the plane and screamed when he discovered the body at the foot of the stairs. He clung to the railing as he stumbled down the steps and hurried to try to help. “Is he all right?”

“Don’t,” Ethan commanded. His authoritative voice brought the young man to a halt, and chilled Olivia further.

Someone coughed and retched to her left. Her copilot. He’d sunk to his knees and proceeded to throw up on the pavement. She’d almost had the same reaction the first time she’d seen someone die, but her stomach then, like the rest of her now, had been too paralyzed to move.

The discussion between Gio and Ethan was tense and curt, and it sounded like Ethan was gritting the words out. Then, an order came from Gio that tightened Ethan’s hold on his weapon. What was Vitale going to do when he discovered his son had murdered Renzo Librizzi?

“All of you,” Ethan said, unease coating his voice, “together.”

The breath she held left her in a sharp, painful gust. Vitale would never know what happened, because there’d be no witnesses. They were going to die right now, right here. Her eyes went wide and unblinking. Was Ethan really going to let this happen?

Oh my God.

Was Ethan going to be the one to do it?

Her knees trembled, but her body locked up with anger and disbelief. She’d watched Ethan take a life and heard him confess to killing another. How could she be so dumb and ignore the clear signs smacking her in the face? There was a ruthless edge to him. She’d flirted with fire, and she was still shocked that he was about to burn her. Maybe she deserved to die for being so goddamn stupid.