Don't Let Go (7 page)

I had glimpsed Hennessey throughout the frenetic planning, but he was always talking to someone. Occasionally he barked out orders to me, and I’d scurry off. More his personal assistant than a partner, but I didn’t mind. I believed in what we were doing. I believed in
him.
If anyone could pull this off, he could.

But when he found me, with only thirty minutes before we had to move out, he looked more pissed off than ever. “I need to speak with you.”

I glanced down at the armful of portable radios I held, ready to be passed out. “Sure. Can I find you in a few minutes?”

“No. Right now.”

Something like dread settled in my stomach. I dumped the equipment on the nearest desk and followed him back to Brody’s office. My dread increased.

Sitting inside was Lance. He didn’t meet my eyes.

“Is it true?” Brody asked. “Never mind. I already know it’s true.” He let out a string of profanities a sailor would be proud of.

I stared at Lance in shock. He’d
told?
I knew I’d have to tell Hennessey eventually, but I’d have broken the news carefully—certainly not right before a huge bust. And going to Brody directly was a dick move. At least Hennessey had asked for a replacement to my face. Lance wouldn’t even meet my eyes. The moment stretched out.

Betrayed.

I’d been betrayed by my friend. While I had betrayed my partner. I’d hurt and been hurt. I couldn’t think of anything to say to fix this.
I’m sorry.
But I wasn’t. It had been the right thing to do. Even if it hadn’t resulted in any direct information, it was good to cover our bases. And Mia
had
given me insight into our enemy. So what was the goddamn harm? Except I couldn’t ask that question either.

Hennessey broke the ice, but his words chilled me even further. “She stays in the van.”

Brody nodded, as if it was decided.

I whirled on my so-called partner. “What the hell?
She?
Why are you talking about me like I’m not here?”

“Fine,” he bit out. “You. You stay in the van. For deliberately going against my orders. For sneaking around—”

I made a dismissive sound, cutting him off. I knew it wasn’t a good idea to piss him off further, but he’d already taken away what I most wanted: a real spot on his team. A true position as his partner. But that was never going to happen, and it had nothing to do with Mia Martinez. It was about Hennessey not trusting me. If we’d truly been partners, he wouldn’t have forbidden me to see her in the first place. What would it take to earn his trust? It didn’t matter. I didn’t have it now, when it counted most.

“It was the right thing to talk to her, and you know it. I did it on my own time, so as not to interfere with anything you wanted to do. And regardless, talking to her has nothing to do with my ability to execute this bust with you. I know the plan better than any other agent out there.”

Hennessey’s gray eyes were cool. “Then you’ll be an asset directing from the van.”

Fuck.
Fuck.
There was no way to win this argument. My first game, and I’d been benched before it started. Worst of all, I’d let Hennessey down. Lance wouldn’t look at me, which was probably a good thing since my glare could cut glass. Only Brody looked pleased. He hadn’t wanted me out there, I realized.

Strange, considering.

I had to run to catch up with Hennessey. His long legs carried him faster than I could really walk in my low-heeled pumps, but I didn’t care how I looked to nosy eyes.

“
Hennessey.
Wait.”

His broad back retreated farther down the hall, farther away from me.

 “Please, Ian.”

He slowed. He had once called after me the same way. Using my first name like a hook, reeling me in. He stopped and turned to face me, giving me that much at least.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and as I said the words, they became true. They had always been; I’d just refused to acknowledge how shitty I felt—even to myself. Sure, I’d justified my actions under the umbrella of professional duty, but I owed an even deeper allegiance to the man who had given me his trust. Not even Brody, who most likely had his own agenda. Hennessey was the one who had treated me as though I had value, asking for my opinions and really listening. Ian Hennessey, the man behind the commendations.

I lowered my eyes. Not avoidance. Shame. I lowered my voice too. “I’m really sorry I disobeyed you.”

“Disobeyed me?” he snapped. “I’m not the fucking master of you.”

He blew out a breath, his frustration obvious. With a tilt of his head, he led me into the supply closet. The same place we’d spoken before. The place we had kissed. Though it was clear kissing wouldn’t be on the agenda today based on the rigid way he held himself.

“Look,” he continued more evenly, “what happened in there, benching you, it’s not about punishment. I just… I can’t deal with the implications right now, right before an op. Whether I can trust you or if something bigger is going on. I can’t be wondering about that while I’m there or someone will get hurt. We’ll work it out after this. I promise.”

Jesus. Him being reasonable was like salt on the wound. My voice came out small. “We’ll still be partners.”

“Yes. Probably.”

I sucked in a breath. Well, points for honesty, I guess. But damn, my shame increased by the second. “I’m sorry,” I repeated lamely.

He shook his head, his expression softening. “What did she tell you?”

Mia, he meant.

“She said…” I struggled for something useful to share. Even though I appreciated the insight she’d given me, I had to admit it wasn’t directly applicable to an impeding attack. “She said they understood each other,” I continued cautiously. “That he had a darkness inside him, like hers.”

He stared at me blankly. Okay, that had been pretty vague.

“And she said that he would lash out if we got close.” And we were about to get very close, right up into his business. “So be careful,” I finished softly. “I wish I could be there to have your back, but I understand why I can’t.”

I felt the tension inside him, some internal battle I wasn’t privy to. But he didn’t look pissed anymore, so I wasn’t going to question it.

“There’s a lot of firepower on our side,” he said. “And I’ll probably work better without worrying what trouble you’re getting into.”

I gave him a sad smile, aware it didn’t really reach my eyes. “Come back to me in one piece, okay?”

It felt chilly, exposing myself that way. Admitting my feelings for him went beyond the professional, even though I’d done so without words. Even if he’d already admitted as much to me with his kiss in this very room. But my feelings went beyond the physical as well, and his eyes darkened with the knowledge.

“Samantha, I…” He stopped himself, looking frustrated and a little bit lost.

It made me want to soothe him. It made me want to keep him safe, as if I could. Except I wouldn’t have his back in the raid tonight. Other agents would. More experienced agents would, and that should give me ease—but it didn’t. I’d come to care for him more than I’d have thought possible in a few weeks’ time. I didn’t want him rushing into dangerous situations. Hell, I didn’t want him leaving my side at all.

But none of my wishes would come true. He’d go to the warehouse tonight without me. And when this case was over, he’d move on to the next one. Without me.

He cupped my face, his eyes searching mine. I felt infinitely delicate when he held me like this, as if I were made of porcelain and spun gold instead of flesh and blood. As if I might break. His thumb ran along my cheek, softly, gently, the callused pad of his thumb catching my skin, tugging it, abrading it, sandpaper against silk.

He leaned toward me, and this time our kiss was slow, like the long incline of a warm beach with lazy waves, with languid caresses of his mouth on mine. His tongue nudged my lips, and I opened for him. Relaxed against him, submitting myself to the sweet torture of an unhurried kiss.

It was quicksand, swallowing me whole, one small inch at a time. His hand caught my neck from behind, supporting me, holding me steady for his exploration. He tasted of spiced masculinity with a hint of coffee. My tongue darted into his mouth, seeking more—more of his flavor, his heat. More of the heady pleasure coursing through me.

His hands roamed to my side, my back. They burned through the silk. They scorched my skin. They blazed a path right to my heart—with their odd courtly respect and irrepressible desire. I would never be the same, I realized. Such a small moment to capture such a huge shift.

His hand on my waist.

His lips over mine.

The dust of a thousand files floating all around us like snowflakes.

I loved him then—and looking back, I would always remember the time before that kiss and the time after. Two separate versions of myself, one needy and one fulfilled. He pulled back enough to place warm kisses along my lips with a reverence that undid me.

Over. It was over, but I could still feel him every place that his body touched mine. I still felt breathless and yearning inside. He stepped back with a strange expression. Regretful, almost. And the way his thumb brushed my parted lips before he turned to leave the room…

I stood there, disconcerted and overwhelmed. And suddenly afraid, because that final touch had felt somehow like an apology.

Like saying goodbye.

* * *

Static crackled over the radio waves. It felt like the noise inside me, absorbed into my bloodstream, pulse harsh and erratic. He’d said benching me wasn’t about punishment, and he wasn’t the sort of man to spare my feelings, but it still felt like a punishment.

The A/C on the van rumbled at full blast, but it couldn’t penetrate the stale lukewarm air. With Lance and the comm specialist beside me, there was barely room to breathe. I took off my suit jacket, and that helped. But between the thick suit skirt and my pantyhose, my body was boiling itself.

“North team, check.”

“Southwest, clear.”

Each of the teams reported in from their vantage points, while I waited, holding my breath. The sound came through the speakers. On the panels we could see their locations with red lights overlaid by a map of the docks.

“Are we a go?” Lance asked beneath his breath.

I shook my head. “Not yet. The teams in the water need to report in, and then he goes in.”

He
was Special Agent Hennessey, the leader of this operation. He’d be leading in the first strike as well, the most dangerous position. Fuck. He’d barely been recognizable on the way over, decked out in his black cargo pants and T-shirt, his shoulder and ankle holsters, his earpiece in and rifle loaded. A bulky bulletproof vest and body armor. With his visor flipped down, he was simply another agent, another man on the ground. A pawn.

If he were hurt tonight, I would blame myself. Even though I likely couldn’t protect him, even though the people with him were better trained in combat, stronger fighters, I felt a connection with him. It was damned inconvenient.

“In place,” came Hennessey’s low assurance over the radio. Without identification, I recognized his voice. We all did.

“Comm here,” I said into the mic. “We’re all set.”

Hennessey’s reply came quickly. “Go.”

There was a shuffle, and then the comm line dropped. I stared at the blinking equipment, tasting bile in my throat. Just like that, they were walking into a minefield. Radio silence until they were already in and had secured the location. Seconds ticked by. It felt like forever. My muscles were tensed, as if I were in combat, sitting still. My only consolation was the tripwire didn’t sound, so they must have cut through the alarm as planned.

A drop of sweat worked its way down the center of my back, a combination of stress and the oppressive atmosphere inside the van. Lance was breathing shallowly, his eyes alert. The comm specialist was busy fiddling with dials I couldn’t decipher. The seconds ticked by with excruciating slowness. Five minutes, then six. Life or death in each second.

I’d never really understood when people talked about the condition of human frailty. As if life were spun like glass, but I knew that wasn’t right. I knew how much a person could withstand. People had always terrified me, with their ability to hurt other people, with their propensity for not giving a shit. But now I understood how fragile a body was, when I loved the heart beating inside it. The bulletproof vest was little armor against a maniac, one who had no compunction about killing a law enforcement officer.

“Clear.”

At that one word, I breathed a deep lungful of humid air. Clear. He was safe. Jesus. Relief flooded my veins, making me lightheaded. Or maybe that was the unfortunate conditions. Either way, I had to close my eyes before speaking again.

Are you okay?
I wanted to ask. “Sitrep?” I asked instead. Situation report.
Keep it professional.
At least, while there were twenty other agents on the line.

“About fifteen suspects. Heavily armed. We got here in time.”

He meant they’d caught them before the deal went through. Carlos’s men in custody, the drugs seized. It was a win. A major win, even if Carlos wasn’t among the men there.

“Carlos?” I asked.

“Not sure. We’ll have to interview them when we book them.”

“Understood. I’ll contact base.” I was under strict orders to report back to Brody. Then again, I’d proven I wasn’t always keen on following orders to the letter. In this case, it seemed fair enough.

“Wait,” Hennessey said.

There were low voices over the mic, too soft to make out. It sounded like he was talking to someone else. I paused, waiting. Then a shout came, as if from someplace away from him. Another shout.

Something was wrong.

“Hennessey,” I said, too softly for him to hear me, afraid I’d distract him at some crucial moment.

A loud sound crashed through the speakers just before everything went dark.

“
Ian!
”

Too late. He was gone. The whole system had gone quiet. The comm guy practically shit his pants, cycling through the frequencies, trying to pick it back up. Lance was muttering
fuck fuck fuck
under his breath. I was completely still, processing. Whatever had happened over there, it was bad. Really bad. My imagination filled in the radio silence, envisioning Carlos lined up against the wall with other rough criminals. He would have realized he was caught, that even if he played dumb, we’d be able to figure out his true identity. Cornered, he’d done the only thing he knew how to do—he’d fought his way out. And Hennessey had been talking to me. He’d been distracted.

Lance had it right.
Fuck.

I was out of the van before I realized what I was doing, pushing through the double-wide doors and breathing in cool, misty air. It had rained. In the forty-five minutes we’d been cooped up inside the bulletproof van, it had rained and I hadn’t even realized it. I looked out over the plains and long dirt road, over the tin roofs of the dockside warehouses, and felt a million miles away from Hennessey.

I started for the cluster of buildings when something caught my elbow. No, some
one
.

Lance frowned down at me. Only then did I realize he was taller than me. The way he held himself was usually lower, designed to draw less attention to himself. But that was changing. When he’d stood up to Tyler Martinez on our unauthorized field trip, I’d seen another side of him. That side was gradually coming out more, and I’d be glad for it, once this was all over. Right now, he needed to stand aside.

“Let go of me,” I demanded.

“We’re supposed to stay in the van.”

“Bullshit. They could be in trouble.”

“And you’re going to help them with what? Your service weapon?”

Good point. They had high-powered assault rifles and body armor. I had a Glock. Still, no way was I sitting still while our men were possibly getting killed.

“I’m going in. Bottom line. These are our people, and they might need us. You’re not going to change my mind, so the question is, are you going to help me?”

To his credit, Lance deliberated for only a second. He nodded, and with a quick glance at the van, we slipped along the path and stole behind the nearest building. It was still easily a mile’s distance between our location and the main warehouse. This late in the day, the sun was almost horizontal with the ground. It cast a blinding orange glow everywhere it could reach. The other sides of the buildings lay in shadows.