Wanted (Hostage Rescue Team Series Book 8) (10 page)

“I’m on it.” Carmela, Vance’s woman who they’d all just met, jumped up and grabbed the only remaining bottle of wine, filled Celida’s glass nearly to the top. Zoe liked her already.

Celida grimaced. “I really shouldn’t, but…okay.”

“Don’t forget you’ve still got to be able to stand upright on your own for the dress fitting in an hour,” Zoe reminded her in a dry voice.

Celida scoffed. “I’m a former Marine, don’t forget. Couple glasses of wine got nothing on me. And you can drive us there.”

“Aww, you guys are leaving?” Marisol—Cruzie’s better half—asked, popping another bite-sized appetizer into her mouth. She was a doll, and freaking smart. A fellow lawyer, like Zoe had been until she’d taken up writing full time.

“Just for a little while. Y’all are staying until we get back, right? Because I’ve got a small mountain of desserts waiting in the fridge,” Zoe said, pointing a thumb toward the kitchen. She slid a glance toward Briar. “Including a tray of freshly baked baklava.” Zoe knew they were her favorite, because a certain HRT commander had told her so. She was determined to win Briar over, no matter what it took, and she wasn’t above bribing her with sweets to make it happen.

Briar gave her a mock scowl, narrowed her black eyes. “Damn you. My one weakness.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I hear your only real weakness is a five-eleven stud with a pair of dreamy green eyes. And I also hear he’s pretty good with a sniper rifle, too, as luck would have it.
Hot
.”

A blush crept into Briar’s bronze-toned cheeks. “Yeah, he’s not bad.” Then she grinned, and it was pure sass. “Almost as good as me.”

Everyone snickered and hooted at that, and Zoe smiled as the conversation swirled around the room once again. The woman fascinated her. She absolutely planned to base a future character on her, wanted to ask her a million questions but knew Briar would be way too uncomfortable with that.

Zoe didn’t have security clearance so she wasn’t sure of the exact details, but from what she’d managed to pry out of Clay about Briar, he’d made her sound like some sort of a badass female assassin. Whatever Briar had done in the past—or maybe was still doing—Clay clearly thought she was amazeballs.

Zoe eyed her now, sitting there on the couch, contained and almost removed from what was going on around her. She looked younger than she actually was, and despite whatever lethal skillset she had there was an almost innocent air about her. A real mystery.

Just the kind that Zoe loved to write about. And now that most of her personal stress with Clay had been resolved, she was feeling eager to hit the keyboard again, finish up this latest book. She even had an idea of how it ended, with the heroine demonstrating her absolute trust in the hero. Trust was the most critical part of any relationship’s foundation, and she regretted ever questioning Clay’s character.

A while later she glanced at her watch. “Okay, woman, you’re done.” She plucked Celida’s wine glass from her hand. “Time to get our inner divas on and squeeze into our fabulous dresses.”

The shop owner was staying after hours as a favor to Celida. Zoe hoped the bust of her gown would still fit her. They’d go to the dress place first for the fitting, then to the hairdresser for a consultation.

Celida was one of the most low-maintenance women Zoe had ever met, but she refused to let her bestie show up to her own wedding without looking like she’d stepped off the pages of a bridal magazine.

Celida pushed to her feet and pointed at the group, turning in a half circle to aim a warning finger at each of them in turn. “You guys better still be here when we get back.”

“We might be persuaded to stay.” Taya flopped back against the couch she sat on and draped a friendly arm around Carmela’s shoulders, her message clear. The ladies were enjoying themselves and weren’t going anywhere for the next couple hours. “Hurry back though, or we can’t promise there’ll be any dessert left.”

“Don’t you dare eat up all the dark chocolate stuff then,” Celida warned with a mock scowl. “Because I will take you bitches
down
.”

Zoe smothered a laugh. “And with that you are officially cut off,” she said, turning her friend by the shoulders and steering her toward the doorway off the kitchen that led to the garage.

She’d done it. She’d found her.

Amanda’s heart raced as she sped toward the freeway entrance. She’d gotten lucky ten minutes ago when one of her contacts got a hit on the government license plate from the car SA Celida Morales had been driving yesterday. After identifying it on CCTV footage he’d called immediately—because that bitch Zoe was with her.

She gripped the phone tight as she drove. They had to get to the dress shop before the women left. “Are you on your way?” she asked Dominic.

“Yeah.” She could hear traffic sounds in the background and knew he was on the road. “I’ll probably beat you there by a couple minutes. I’m bringing our diversion.”

If he meant what she thought he did, then it was freaking awesome. She didn’t want to say too much over the phone though, just in case someone had managed to figure out her identity and was trying to track her.

“Good. I’ll meet you at the rendezvous point.” Elation zinged through her. So close now. Everything was finally coming together—if they could just get to the dress shop in time. Dominic would be bringing the heavy weaponry but she had two pistols with her, just in case.

Even if everything went sideways before and after the diversion, she should still be able to get Zoe in the confusion that would follow. She and Dominic had planned this out carefully, had gone over several backup plans.

Amanda had purposely made it look like a man had been stalking Zoe this whole time. Dominic would flush Zoe into the trap Amanda would spring. Then Zoe’s lover would come for her.

Then, together, she and Dom would carry out the hit that would earn them their huge payday.

She and Dominic had to act fast. There was a chance someone had put the pieces together and figured out that Zoe was being targeted. And if Clay Bauer wasn’t already coming for her, he would be soon enough.

Her pulse skipped. There’d be no reward money without killing one of the HRT members, so this plan had to work. Amanda would take Zoe to a secluded place so Bauer could watch her die when he showed up. Zoe was both a means to an end, and a personal score to settle.

She wanted to watch that bitch suffer first, for meddling in other people’s business and getting Carlos killed. When Bauer showed up for her—and he would show up—Amanda wanted see the agony on his face before Dominic ended him too. The diversion and disguises would allow them the perfect opportunity to make it all happen.

Amanda smiled to herself and drove as fast as she dared to the exit she needed. After the deed was done it would take the authorities a while to follow the threads of the investigation and figure out she had planned this op.

By then she’d be safely ensconced in the non-extradition country she’d chosen, awaiting her wire transfer payment from Fuentes’s people to an offshore account she’d set up. She would get her house on the beach, spend her days basking in her slice of tropical paradise. Fuentes had a reputation for paying what he promised. As soon as his people confirmed she was responsible for the hit, she’d be set up for the rest of her life.

She stole a quick glance at herself in the rearview mirror, satisfied with what she saw. No one would bat an eyelash if they saw her walking down the sidewalk toward the dress shop, especially not in her stolen cop uniform. No one would question her carrying a weapon in the holster on her hip.

And no one would question her helping a frightened citizen in the aftermath of the terrifying incident that was about to take place, she thought with a smug grin.

****

It was quiet over in enemy territory, but Clay knew they were out there, hiding less than a hundred yards away in the dried-up rows of cornstalks. “You ladies too scared to come out, or what?” he taunted. “Is there a maze in there you got lost in? Or maybe you found a baseball diamond?”

“If you build it, they will come,” Evers mocked, hunkered down beside him.

“Says the leader of the pussies hiding behind a barricade!” Cruz yelled back.

“Whatever, Cruzie. We took you out like, ten minutes ago, so you’re supposed to be dead anyhow,” Clay called out from behind the cover of the barricade he’d constructed of old tires earlier.

“Fuck you, they’re just flesh wounds,” Cruzie shot back from somewhere across the empty cornfield. “I’m still in the fight. Man up and come out from behind your little hiding place over there, and I’ll show you. Got a round waiting here with your name on it.”

With an evil chuckle Clay nudged Evers. “He’s so easy to rile.”

Evers snickered in delight. “I know. All that passionate, Puerto Rican blood, I guess.” He added his voice to the trash talk. “Come on, you chicken shits, get out here and meet your paintball makers like men.”

“Brave talk, coming from a bunch of pussies cowering behind the only real cover out here,” Tuck fired back.

“
Smart
pussies,” Clay countered, immensely pleased with himself.

“Whatever man, you were the one who put that thing there in the first place last night, so you knew exactly where it was all along. Totally unfair tactical advantage,” Blackwell accused.

Clay grinned, loving everything about this. He hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. Well, he definitely had fun with Zoe, but it was a different, private and extremely fucking hot kind of fun. He shifted his grip on his weapon, itching to attack. “Come out and tell me that to my face, Blackwell.”

“You show me yours, I’ll show you mine,” his teammate answered.

He turned to Evers. “Whaddya think? Should we go for it?”

Evers shrugged. “Why not? I’m starving. Let’s get this over with so we can eat.”

He looked past Evers to Vance, who was at a distinct disadvantage with his right arm strapped across his chest. “What about you, man?”

“I could eat a whole freaking cow by myself right now man, and those steaks are smelling pretty damn good to me.”

“Yeah. Okay then. On three.” He faced the edge of the pile of tires again and called out to the enemy team. “All right, you pansy-asses. Let’s do this.
Molṑn labé
.” A classic expression of defiance that loosely translated to
come get some, motherfuckers
. That King Leonidas must have had titanium balls when he’d said that to the Persians at Thermopylae.

“Bring it, assholes! We’re ready,” Tuck answered.

“Wait, so we’re going Rambo mode?” Evers asked.

“Rambo on steroids,” Clay responded. “Three,” he called out to the others. “Two. Go!”

Roaring their battle cries, Clay and his two teammates rushed out from behind cover just as Tuck and his team emerged from the dried cornstalks.

Immediately they opened up on each other, firing everything they had. Whoops and war cries filled the night, along with the rapid
thunk-thunk-thunk
of hundreds of paintballs finding their targets.

Rounds hit Clay in the torso, the arms. One smashed into his right cheekbone, and then someone played dirty and began firing straight at his groin.

Since he’d been smart enough to wear a cup the impacts didn’t put him into the fetal position like they would have without protection, but he still roared and turned to face his attacker. In the light of the fire behind him in the fire pit he saw Schroder running straight for him, cackling like a maniac as he fired round after round right between Clay’s legs.

Clay lowered himself to Schroder’s level and returned the favor, firing until his weapon was empty. Schroder hit the ground and cupped his balls, groaning as the rest of Clay’s shots slapped into his prostrate body.

“Bet you wish you had a cup on right now, huh, Doc?” he yelled over the noise.

Schroder groaned and tried to sit up, something that sounded a lot like “freaking asshole” coming from the team medic. Clay laughed, unrepentant.

Everyone emptied their magazines on their enemies. Seconds later the volume of fire died down, then stopped altogether, the entire team grinning like idiots and covered in paint.

With all the ammo fired, the game came to an abrupt end. Everyone lowered their paintball guns and raised their goggles. In the light of the campfire the extent of the carnage was visible.

All seven of them were covered from head to toe in bright yellow or blue splotches. The spot over Clay’s right cheekbone was swelling where Schroder’s round had hit. Would make Tuck and Celida’s wedding photos memorable.

“Man, that was
fun
,” Tuck exclaimed. “Best bachelor party ever, Bauer.”

He shrugged. “I try.” It was pretty tame compared to what his fellow SEALs had done to guys once the team found out one of them was getting married or had eloped. Clay had helped kidnap one teammate the day after the guy eloped—he’d done it without telling anyone in an effort to spare himself the physical punishment he knew he would have suffered once the team found out.

They’d tied him up anyway, shaved off his eyebrows and pubic hair, thrown him into the back of a van, then driven out into the middle of the California desert and dumped him there. All in good fun, of course.

So really, Tuck was getting off easy.

“And hey, team with least number of hits on them wins,” Clay announced, quickly turning to count the marks on each of his teammates. “Evers, turn around for a minute.”

“Whatever,” Schroder scoffed, immediately swiping his gloved hands over the front of himself, smearing the paint everywhere. “Now try and count how many times I was hit, frogman.”

“About twenty times in the nuts alone, I’m pretty sure,” he answered.

Schroder’s lips quirked and he held up a middle finger. “Sit on it and rotate, man.”

“You’re not my type, sorry. And you’re also a total loss,” Clay remarked, ignoring him to keep counting how many hits Evers had on him. “And as there’s not enough left of you to identify, guess we’ll have to use DNA to confirm before we can inform Taya what happened to you.”