Badass: Deadly Target (Complete): Military Romantic Suspense (17 page)

On top of the hotel, a shadow moves and I hunch back down. Through the window of the truck, I look again. Sniper. Shit. I move to the next car on my left. I need to stay covered, but circle around, get closer, create a distraction that doesn’t end up with me being dead.

For the first time in two years, I want to live.

Keeping an eye on the sniper, I hurry to the next car when his gun swings back to my right. Watching him again, I make my next move, then the next. I’m four cars closer by the time the delivery guy is knocking on the door.

Don’t open it, sweetheart.

I make it to the fifth car, then the sixth and the door opens a crack. I can see the sparkle of the chain holding it closed. There’s talking that I can’t hear, the words don’t come to me from that distance, but she isn’t opening the door.

He’s trying to convince her to sign, I know it as I get a car closer. She reaches through the crack for the signature tablet, but he doesn’t give it to her. More talking, this time louder. Mia tries to close the door. The guy rams his shoulder against it, and I turn to make my move.

Click.

I freeze, both at the sound and the feel of steel on the back of my skull.

“Get up.” The voice is deep, thick with an accent I immediately recognize. Russian.

Raising my hands, I let the gun dangle from the trigger guard. It’s immediately ripped away. At the hotel, the guy is still attempting to get in. The shove of his shoulder opens the door farther. The chain breaks and he’s pushing, slowly overpowering the much smaller woman. But she isn’t making it easy, that’s for damn sure.

Then he’s in and I hear her scream, but it’s cut off abruptly. Something overturns. A thump. Another scream. The firing of a gun.

Jerking to my left, I bring my leg around as I drop to the ground, my foot connecting with the guy’s knee. It pops and he screams as I go for my knife and slice the arm holding the gun.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

I lower my head as the sniper’s bullets shatter the car glass behind me. My immediate threat drops the gun as the torn tendon in his arm releases his grip. He comes around with my gun in his non-dominant hand. The movements are jerky and it’s easy to overpower him.

A bullet in the chest and one to the head stops him for good, and I grab both guns and dive for the next vehicle. I’ve got to get to Mia.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

Shit.

I’m being held in place by the sniper and also by two suits I can now see behind the brown truck. One of them is Black. I recognize the ugly mother right away. I dive for another car and a bullet makes a hole in my pants, but doesn’t catch skin. Too close. Way too close.

That’s their goal, I realize. They’ll kill me if they can, but they want the box. They want Mia.

Bam.

I’m astonished when I see the sniper fall. I’m astonished even more when Black and the other man turn to face their new adversary.

“Go, go, go!”

Oh my God, it’s Dave. He’s shooting from the street on the office side of the hotel, using his old truck as a barrier. The man next to Black takes a bullet in the arm, is rocked back against the truck. But I don’t see anymore because I’m running, digging in, crossing the parking lot in seconds, bursting through the hotel door.

Mia’s face is covered in blood and I quickly realize it isn’t her own. She raises the gun, pointing it at me as I crash through.

With a sob, she lowers it. “I killed him.” She’s crying hard, the blood running down her cheeks in streams. Killed him indeed. The man doesn’t have a face left.

We have no time for comfort. I grab her hand, the steel box and the phone still on the desk, stuffing it in a pocket. I find the envelope the delivery guy had been holding and hope like hell Mia’s passport is in it. There’s a towel and I snatch it too, thrusting it at her.

“Be quiet, sweetheart,” I tell her and lift a finger to her lips. She nods and presses the towel against her mouth. She pulls it away, sees the blood, and starts scrubbing it against her face.

Sneaking a peek out of the door, the goons are still distracted by Dave, and I take advantage, pulling Mia after me. At the end of the lot, I break into a run, not stopping until we’re behind the cover of a house. Looking back, checking on Dave, I pound a fist to my chest and hold it in the air. He does the same, then jumps into his old truck and hits the gas, a huge plume of black backfiring behind him.

“Let’s go,” I tell Mia and run to our SUV.

Chapter 6 – Mia

I killed a man.

After Jax shoved me into the 4-Runner and we’d driven several miles with no one chasing us, my heartbeat slows enough for me to think. I pointed and I shot, over and over, watching in horror as his face became that of a monster, but I couldn’t stop pulling the trigger. Not even when there were no bullets left to shoot.

The knock on the door had come as a horrible surprise. I’d been waiting for Jax, sitting on the bed dreaming about him. When the knock came, I jumped up, thinking it was him. I almost threw the door open without thinking, but stopped myself as soon as I touched the handle.

I peeked through the little hole and was startled to see the delivery guy. We’d been expecting him, of course, but I hadn’t known Jax had ordered the package delivered directly to our door. Just to be safe, I put on the chain and opened it slowly.

The man seemed so friendly at first. A bright smile gleamed from his face as he held the envelope in front of him. “Delivery for a Mr. Jax Hawthorne.”

“Yes, of course, I’ll accept it for him.”

“Sorry, ma’am.” The smile didn’t fade. “I can only accept his signature.”

I dug in my pocket and pulled out a twenty, holding it up to the crack in the door. “If you’ll hand me the clipboard, I’ll take it to him. He’s in the bathroom,” I lied as I folded it in my palm and stuck my hand through the inches wide opening.

Same big smile. “Sorry, ma’am. I need to see him personally.”

Behind me, Jax’s phone rang. It was the third time it had gone off in the last ten minutes. I should have answered it before, but didn’t know if I was supposed to. It felt ominous as it echoed through the room.

“Then you’ll have to wait,” I snapped and tried to shut the door. The phone started to ring again.

I screamed when the door bounced open against the chain and I shoved back against it as hard as I could. It came open wider and the chain broke, but I pushed it back a little. I couldn’t hold it. My toes were digging into the carpet and I was holding with all my strength, but it wasn’t enough.

Remembering the gun, I let go of the door and lunged for it. The second the cold steel was in my palm, I dove over the bed, rolling to the other side as the door crashed into the wall. I came up, pointing the weapon. The man picked up the small round table and threw it at me.

I screamed again, ducking as it smashed to pieces over my head. But I came up shooting this time, not hesitating. I hit him in the stomach, then raised the sights higher and hit his chest. He was rocked back, but didn’t go down. He was wearing a vest, I realized, and aimed higher, even as he was pulling his own weapon. My finger pulled and pulled and—

“Mia!”

Snapping back to the present, I realize I’m trembling uncontrollably. My teeth are chattering so hard the sound is ringing in my head.

“Breathe, Mia,” Jax says, his voice soothing, his hand stroking my thigh. “That’s right. Breathe. You’re doing great. Just perfect. That’s right, in and out.”

I want to cry, but refuse to, so I just rest my hand on his, seeking the comfort he’s trying to give even as he’s weaving in and out of traffic, trying to get us to safety. Whirling in my seat, I look behind us, trying to see if we’re being followed. I look up through the sunroof. Nothing there either.

“It’s okay,” he says, turning his hand until our fingers are linked. “There’s no tail. I think—”

I yelp when his phone rings.

Pressing my fingers to my temples, I try to find a place of calm as he pulls the phone out of his pocket. He hits the speaker function and a man’s voice flows from the phone.

“You’re clear, man.” I think it’s Jax’s friend, Dave. “I’ve got eyes on your bad guys and they’re doing clean up right now and are still casing the room. I don’t think they realized you got out.”

“I owe you, Dave.” Jax glances over at me. “Big time. Where did you come from anyway?”

“Yesterday, after I’d dropped the passport off for delivery, I spotted a tail. I didn’t know if they could intercept the package or what else they’d try to do. I also didn’t know if I was just being paranoid, so I didn’t want to worry you.”

“And you drove here to keep watch?”

“Yeah, a just in case measure. There were eyes on my house, but I got out the back and used my old truck I keep parked at my sister’s. I spotted you leaving the room, then spotted the sniper up top. Then all hell broke loose and I positioned away from you, hoping to distract.”

“Like I said, I owe you one.”

I spoke up. “I owe you one too.”

His tone changed. “Saw the delivery guy get into your room. I kept trying to call and warn you, but no one answered.”

That piece of the puzzle fell into place. “That’s my fault,” I tell him. “I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to answer Jax’s phone.”

“Were you hurt?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“She took down the goon that got in,” Jax said and patted my hand.

“No shit. Are you sure you aren’t a spy? Libby’s life hangs in the balance, remember.”

That makes me smile, and the smile turns into a laugh which turns into something close to hysteria. Jax’s hand moves to my forehead as if craziness would have a temperature. That makes me laugh harder and Jax takes the phone off speaker and presses it to his ear.

When I settle down enough to hear him speaking, I realize Jax is talking about heading over the border. He looks over at me. “Open the package and see if your passport is really in there or if it was a decoy.”

Crap. I didn’t think of that. I tear it open and breathe a sigh of relief when my passport with its one measly stamp falls into my lap. I hold it up in victory. “Got it!” I double check the envelope to see if there’s anything else and find an ink jet printer picture of my cat. She has a gun to her head!

“Dave!” I yell and turn the picture until Jax can see it too. I’ve never heard anyone laugh so loud. “It’s not funny,” I pout, but can’t keep it up. It is kinda funny. Maybe. Or was Dave serious? No, he couldn’t be. Could he? I looked into the blue eyes of my sweet fur ball.

Jax puts the phone back on speaker. “You better not hurt her!” I yell.

“You better not be a spy.”

“Is she okay?”

I can almost hear him grinning over the phone. “She’s fine. She’s with my sister. Dana is already in love. You may never get Libby back.” He pauses. “In one piece.”

I growl. “I. Am. Not. A. Spy!”

Jax takes the phone off speaker and they talk some more. Mostly about which border point to cross, where to stay, what Dave will do in the meantime. “Be careful, Dave. I mean it. Don’t take any risks.”

I can hear Dave laugh, even though the phone is still pressed against Jax’s ear. Then he says something I can’t understand and the men talk for a few more minutes. As Jax’s deep voice reverberates through the cabin, I look down at my hands, at the spots of blood still lingering there.

I killed a man.

Is there any going back after that? Mentally, I mean. Can you just take a life and keep breathing and eating like normal?

Reaching into the back, I open my bag and pull out the first aid kit Dave sent with us. Opening one of the little alcohol packs, I wash away the spots, then flip down the visor and use the mirror to thoroughly clean my face.

Then I do it again.

And again.

When I reach for another wipe, Jax grabs my arm, stopping me, but doesn’t say a word.

No.

Even after all the traces are gone, I feel the blood still lingering on my skin. There are some things that simply can never be fully removed.

Chapter 7 – Jax

Crossing into the San Diego city limits on I-5 is a blessing and a curse. On one hand, I’m glad to be so close to Mexico. On the other, what the fuck do I do once I get there?

For hours now, I’ve been contemplating that question, but there are too many unknowns at play. The most pressing is that I’m no longer certain our passports will get us across the border, which pisses me off after the trouble we had getting Mia’s. But I don’t trust them. Not sure why, just a deep tightening in my gut.

The safe deposit box in Sacramento held a key and address to a bank in Tijuana. I hope that ends the mystery and isn’t some part of a wild goose chase. I can’t help but wonder if the second bank box will lead to a third, then a fourth, then maybe to one in Russia.

Damn. What the hell have I gotten myself in to.

Taking the San Diego Airport exit, I turn us away from the airport and pull into a combination fast food restaurant and gas station. Time to fill up and check in with Haun. I need information and the location of the new safe house since I’m assuming all safe houses have been moved. More than anything, I need new documents. The more I think about it, the more certain I am that we’ll be tossed into a Mexican prison if we attempt to cross over by our legal names.

Mia stirs as our speed slows and the road noise surrounding us changes. She’s awake by the time I turn off the ignition. She’s been asleep for a couple hours, and I’m glad. She needed to rest, and I needed to think.

“What are we doing?” Mia asks, her voice sleepy and deep.

“Gassing up and calling in. I want to access a safe house. There are things I need to do before we get into Mexico.”

She’s sitting up straighter now. “Is it safe?”

No.

“Should be. Protocol should have been followed, and all safe houses moved to a new location.”

“Oh.” She sits back in her seat, looking straight ahead. Then her hand is on my thigh. “You’re worried. I can tell.”

Covering her cold fingers with mine, I lie. “Not worried. Just being abundantly cautious.”

“You promise?”

Squeezing her hand, I avoid the question. “There are things at a safe house that will be useful as well. I want a second set of documents for each of us, which I can produce there. I can also get my hands on a secure phone and computer. Be able to translate those papers.”