Out of the Shadows (Tangled Ivy #3) (18 page)

Just then, there was a knock on the door.

“Shit,” Devon muttered. “That’s the champagne.”

He vaulted off the bed and I grabbed the sheets, pulling them up to cover me as he headed for the door.

“Put something on!” I couldn’t believe he was walking to the door naked. But he did as I asked, grabbing a towel from the bathroom to wrap around his hips. Of course that did nothing to hide the tent his erection made, but it was better than nothing.

The hotel worker discreetly averted his eyes as he carried the tray of champagne and glasses to the table and set it down, though I thought I saw his ears turn red. Devon gave him a tip and he was gone within seconds.

“Yeah, that wasn’t awkward or anything,” I grumbled.

“Don’t be absurd,” Devon said, unwrapping the foil from the top of the champagne bottle. “I’m quite sure he’s seen worse.”

“If that’s supposed to make me feel less embarrassed, it’s not working.”

The champagne cork popped out with the distinctive cheerful sound that made me smile in spite of myself. Devon began pouring the sparkling golden liquid in the glasses.

“Then let’s get tipsy, darling, and you’ll forget all about it.”

“There are lots of ways you can make me forget all about it,” I teased.

“And I plan on doing them all to you.” He handed me a glass. “To us, my darling.”

“To us.”

The glasses clinked and I drank the cold liquid, though my gaze was locked on Devon’s. Anticipation shivered in my veins, dispelling the butterflies. From our first kiss, Devon had known how to touch me, our bodies so in synch and perfectly matched. My imagination was already conjuring up memories of us together.

And Devon was true to his word. He did all of them, and then some.

Devon and I did finally get to sleep in the wee hours of the morning, but I was still exhausted when seven in the morning rolled around. Well, exhausted but satisfied.

As usual, you couldn’t tell Devon had slept for a mere three hours, whereas I was piling concealer on the dark circles under my eyes.

We met Beau and Alexa in the lobby and they didn’t seem worse for wear, though there was a strange tension between the two and they avoided looking directly at each other. Hmm . . . I wondered what exactly had happened last night in their room.

We reached the harbor and parked, Beau leading us out to the very last slip where a boat was waiting. It was a pretty big boat, thank goodness, plenty big enough for all of us and then some. I knew it was only ninety miles to Cuba, but hadn’t wanted to make the trip in some little motorboat I’d been afraid to picture in my head.

Once we were onboard, the captain and crew lost no time in heading out to sea. Beau was talking to them as Alexa drifted toward the bow. Devon took my elbow and followed her.

“We have four hours to kill,” he said to her, leaning on the railing next to her. “Let’s hear your story.”

“And why should I tell you that?” she countered.

“I bargained for your freedom. You owe me all the information I ask for.”

“I’ll tell you about Vega, but you don’t need to know my life story,” Alexa said. “I’m here because you need me to take her out. And she needs to be taken out.”

“Fine.” Devon’s reply was curt. “Tell us about Vega.”

“She was born Elizabeth Percy and grew up in the Scottish highlands. The only daughter of William and Annette Percy. Her mother died when she was three years old. Elizabeth—Vega—attended St. Mary’s Catholic School until the age of fifteen.”

“Why just fifteen?” Devon asked.

“She and her father left the area suddenly with no forwarding address,” Alexa replied. “No one saw or heard from her again. Until years later when she turned up as Vega working inside the Shadow, and worked her way up the chain of command.”

“How did you find all this out?”

“I followed the bread crumbs,” Alexa said with a shrug. “Everyone comes from somewhere. Everyone has a past.”

“And Vega allowed you to find all this out about her?”

“She tried to kill me,” Alexa corrected.

“Only when you left her employment. And you haven’t mentioned the reason you did that. I don’t need your life story but that, I would think, seems pertinent.”

Alexa considered Devon for a moment, the wind ruffling her hair such that she had to tuck it behind her ears. I eyed the blonde locks somewhat enviously. I missed my normal, blonde hair.

“She sent me on a mission guaranteed to fail.”

My brows rose at this, but I didn’t say anything, content to listen.

“There’s never a certainty of success,” Devon replied.

“I understand that,” Alexa said, her voice tight. “There’s a difference between something difficult and sending an operative on a suicide mission.”

“And you’re saying that’s what she did.”

“I was sent to assassinate the second-in-command of the Al Qaeda contingent in Islamabad.”

There was a pause as Devon took that in, though it meant nothing to me.
Al Qaeda
was never exactly a good thing, though, was it?

“You know what that means,” she said. Devon’s expression was grim.

“Wait,” I interrupted. “I don’t know what that means. I mean, it sounds dangerous, but why do you say that it was a suicide mission?”

“Because she’s a woman,” Devon replied.

I looked at Devon, confused. “So? She certainly seems capable of killing someone.” I shot Alexa a glance. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“It’s how they treat women that’s the problem, not Alexa’s capabilities,” Devon said. “The odds of her getting close enough to do the job were slim. Getting out afterward, nearly non-existent. And what they’d do to her if caught . . . let’s just say I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

“So you can see why I decided to get out. I didn’t know why she wanted me dead or why she didn’t just kill me herself, but I wasn’t waiting around. I got out. Disappeared.”

“And she’s been trying to kill you ever since,” Devon added.

“
Trying
being the operative word. You got the closest, but only because I let you.”

“What did you mean that night?” Devon asked. “You said Vega was hiding something from me. That I should get out while I could or she’d never let me go.”

“You wouldn’t believe me.” Alexa leaned on the rail as she gazed out over the dark ocean.

“Try me.”

“You’ll figure it out on your own,” she said, “Once I take you there. You’ll have what you need, and I doubt she’ll try to kill me again. She and I called an uneasy truce.”

“When did you do that?”

Alexa looked at Devon. “When I sent you back alive.”

Her words, so simply stated, sent a chill down my spine.

A light off the port bow, low to the water and approaching fast, caught my attention.

“What’s that?” I asked.

Both Devon and Alexa turned just as an alarm sounded on the boat. Alexa ran for the bunkhouse while Devon grabbed me around the waist, hauling me in front of him as he rushed from the bow. Wood splintered near our feet and then I heard the report of the rifle. Devon shoved me through the door ahead of him.

Beau and three members of the crew were donning bulletproof vests and holding rifles of their own. And they were moving fast.

“What’s going on?” I asked. Who was shooting at us? Even now, I could hear the report of gunfire and the sharp smacks as bullets hit the hull.

“Drug traffickers,” one of the men explained. “They patrol these
waters to guard their routes. Shoot first, ask questions later.”

“But you’re the CIA,” I said. “They’d have to be crazy to attack you.”

“We’re not the Coast Guard,” one of the men said. “This boat isn’t
marked.”

“They’ll shoot us and dump us in the ocean, then take the boat,” the other said.

“Not tonight, they’re not,” Devon said. He looked at Beau. “Give Alexa a weapon.”

Beau glanced at Alexa, who was waiting expectantly. “You turn on us and you’ll regret it,” he said. “I’ll hunt you down.”

“Don’t think so highly of yourself, cowboy,” she sneered. “As if you’re worth the effort.”

“I ain’t a fucking cowboy, princess.”

“Don’t call me princess, jackass.”

I watched this exchange slightly open-mouthed. It seemed really odd and unnecessarily argumentative for the situation in which we found ourselves.

“Are you done with the foreplay?” Devon cut in, slamming the magazine home in his pistol. “Because I believe they’re still shooting at us.”

He grabbed another bulletproof vest and bundled me into it before I could say anything. Not that I was protesting. Being even partially bulletproof sounded pretty darn good.

“You two head aft,” one of the crewmen said, pointing at Beau and Alexa. “We’ll head forward and split up. They’ll try to board from the side. You stay here, defend the captain upstairs driving the boat.”

Devon didn’t particularly like being left behind, but I was glad not be alone. Beau and Alex didn’t look happy being stuck together, but they didn’t protest, just followed orders. I watched them head out the back door.

The two crewmen went out the front, coordinating together and rushing out together amidst the gunfire. I winced, fearing the worst, but they seemed to make it without getting hit.

“What should I do?” I asked, feeling useless. I didn’t have a weapon. If anything, I was just cannon fodder, which rankled, but I wasn’t going to pretend I had any kind of training for something like this.

“You’re going to go about the very important business of staying alive.” Devon took up a position next to one of the small windows, his gun at the ready as he peered out.

“That doesn’t seem very helpful,” I groused.

“If someone makes it past me and gets upstairs, they can take control of the boat,” he said. “I’d much rather not end up in a third-world shithole tonight.”

“But aren’t we headed for Cuba?”

He shot me a look, but his lips twitched at my joke.

Probably not the best time, but I was nervous and my filter was gone. I had every faith that the agents, Beau, Devon, and even Alexa, would keep us safe. But I didn’t think it was going to be pretty and I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. My stomach churned with dread and a sense of the inevitable.

The yelling and gunshots sounded much closer, which made me jump.

“Get down,” Devon ordered.

I obeyed without question, not wanting to distract him by having him worry about me.

There was a weird thumping sound from both sides of the boat, and more yelling in Spanish.

“They’re boarding from both sides,” Devon said. “There must be more than one boat.”

“More than one?” I squeaked. “We can’t fight off so many.”

“Of course we can,” Devon said. He spied a fire extinguisher on the wall and ripped it off. “We just may need to be a bit creative.”

“With a fire extinguisher?”

“Surprisingly effective, given the right preparation.”

He began pulling open drawers in the console. He grabbed a box of something, then kept searching, finally pulling out a roll of duct tape. In seconds, he’d dumped the box, which contained nails, and taped a bunch of them to the outside of the fire extinguisher.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Causing more damage.”

He grabbed the extinguisher and watched out the window again. “They’re climbing over the side. Help me out, darling. When I count to three, you pull open the door.”

I hurried to the door and grabbed the handle.

“Careful to stand behind it when you open it,” he cautioned. I nodded. “Okay then. One . . . two . . . three!”

I yanked open the door, staying behind the thick wood as Devon tossed the fire extinguisher, sending it rolling right toward the men boarding. I saw one of the crewmen go down and prayed he wasn’t dead.

Devon aimed, firing off two shots, and the fire extinguisher exploded. The force of it pushed two men overboard right away. The third was knocked to the ground and I saw his body jerk as the nails hit him. The fourth and last one was killed instantly with a well-placed nail that made nausea climb into my throat. Then Devon was back inside and slamming the door.

“We’ve betrayed our presence,” he said way more calmly than I felt. “But it couldn’t be helped. Do get down, darling.”

I ducked behind the console again, my heart in my throat and my pulse racing. I wanted to cry but held back the tears. They were more of a reaction to the stress and fear than anything else.

More gunshots, and this time Devon said, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to go out there.” He looked at me. “Stay put.”

I kept my mouth shut, but wanted to scream in frustration as he headed out the door. I hated feeling so helpless. And now the man I loved—my
husband
—was heading straight into danger while I cowered, hiding.

I waited, heart in my throat, and prayed as gunshots sounded outside, and thumps, and yelling in English and Spanish in voices I couldn’t distinguish. I searched for a weapon, opening the same drawers Devon had, and found a hammer. I grabbed it. It was heavy in my hand and a bit unwieldy, but certainly better than nothing.

The door flung open. My nerves flew into a panic as I stared at an unfamiliar man nearly twice my size. He was carrying an assault rifle and it was pointed directly at me.