Extreme Measures

11

The gunshots echoed a split second before Eve cursed Archer for his bad timing.

The soldier decked out in black ops gear with an assault rifle poised at his shoulder swiveled in the kitchen and aimed her way. Her fingers closed around the knife she’d quietly pulled from the butcher block, and she hurled it hard.

A grunt echoed as the blade sank into his neck. His finger hit the trigger as he fell backward, and gunfire lit up the kitchen, tearing into the ceiling.

Eve ducked behind the cabinet. Plaster and wood rained down around her. She bit her lip and kept her curse to herself while chunks of wood cut into her shoulder. Her pulse raced. As soon as the gunfire cut off, she pushed to her feet. Broken glass dug into her foot, but she tiptoed through the kitchen as carefully as she could and stepped over the man choking on his own blood. He was wearing a black ski mask—not that she’d expected to see his face—and she wasn’t tempted to look beneath it. Averting her gaze, she holstered the Glock at her lower back and picked up the rifle.

Footsteps pounded from the direction of the living room. Adrenaline surging, Eve opened the steel fridge door, slung the strap of the weapon over her shoulder, and reached for the chilled bottle of champagne.

Not the welcome-to-your-vacation gift the management company had anticipated, not that Eve cared. Backing into the cold chill, she grasped the top edge of the open fridge door for balance and lifted her feet onto the bottom ledge, out of view, and waited.

Glass crunched under boot steps, and Eve tensed. When the tip of a rifle passed the edge of the open door, she shoved the door open hard with her shoulder, then swung out with the bottle.

Glass shattered against bone. The man grunted. Arms flailed out as his body weight pitched backward. Dragging her arm away, Eve shoved her fist into the man’s throat, collapsing his windpipe. He dropped to the ground with a thunk.

Eve stepped over him, shifted the first rifle to her back, and picked up the second.

Glass crackled from the living room, and Eve froze.

Her pulse shot up all over again. She ducked behind the edge of the wall and lifted the weapon.

“Don’t fucking shoot,” Archer announced. “It’s me.”

Eve released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and lowered her weapon. “Dammit, Archer,” she whispered. “There’s still another one lurking.”

“No there’s not.” He rounded the corner into the kitchen and glanced down at the two unmoving bodies lying among broken glass and splintered wood on the kitchen floor. “I got the other three.”

She wasn’t going to be impressed. She straightened and frowned. “Just had to show me up, didn’t you?”

His dark gaze lifted to hers. Blood splatters stained his cheek, sweat beaded his forehead, and his shirt was torn at the shoulder. And though he had two weapons slung over his shoulder, much like her, and was holding one assault rifle in his hand, his feet weren’t torn to pieces from the broken glass like hers. The man hadn’t just taken out three black ops assassins in the time it had taken her to drop two. He’d already snagged their combat boots. “It’s not a competition, Evie.”

“Everything’s a competition, Archer. Especially when you’re a woman.” Why was she so irritated? She’d worked with men on ops before. She’d even worked well with Archer—and not just in the bedroom. She didn’t have to prove herself to anyone. But the way he was looking at her set the fine hairs on her nape standing straight, and something uncomfortable rolled through her belly.

She shook off the strange feeling, slung the second rifle over her shoulder, then knelt and tugged the boots off the closest body, refusing to look at the soldier’s face. “That was a wet team. Not the same untrained thugs who chased us at the docks.”

“Yeah. But this insignia isn’t US government.”

She looked down at the patch on the sleeve of the man at her feet. A wolf encased in a circle, surrounded by stars. “I noticed that too. Hired mercenaries?”

“Could be. Or something else.”

The “something else” didn’t leave Eve feeling all rosy inside. “The Agency wouldn’t have sent a wet team just for you. They’d have sent the Feds in, along with the press to catch it all on camera so they could brag to the world they caught the mastermind behind the Seattle bombing.”

“I know.”

Eve’s stomach tightened as she pushed her feet into the boots. That meant someone besides the US government and a group of terrorist thugs was after them. She cringed at the pain in her left foot. There was still glass in there. She’d get it out later.

“They came in by boat,” Archer said. “There’s a Bayliner tied to the dock.”

Eve knelt to tie the laces. The boots were three sizes too big, but big was better than nothing. “That’s probably our easiest way out of here.”

“Yeah. Miller left his truck, but it’ll take us twice as long to get to Everett that way.”

Eve stood and ground her teeth against the pain. “What’s in Everett?”

“My car.” When she stared at him, he added, “Supplies.”

Money, ID, passports, fresh weapons. Eve knew the drill. “Fine. Let’s go.”

She turned for the back door, but Zane’s hand gripped her T-shirt and pulled her back. Before she could catch her footing, he pushed the weapon to his side, shoved her up against the wall, and closed in at her front. Then his mouth was on hers. Hot. Hard. Demanding.

He kissed her with those sensuous lips and pressed his muscular, sweaty body into hers until all thought slipped from her mind, then pulled back. “You’re not alone, and you don’t have to do everything on your own. I’m here with you in this. Try to remember that.”

He stepped past her, out into the morning light, and, dazed, Eve stayed right where she was, pulse racing and mind spinning.

He was offering help. Help for something she’d dragged him into. No, she corrected herself, for something he’d stumbled into all on his own. He could leave, take off and get his team at Aegis to help him clear his name, but he wasn’t. Her gaze strayed out the shattered window toward the dock. He was staying. Waiting for her to join him.

Her heart picked up speed, and pain gathered beneath her ribs, where it beat hard and fast. Their rendezvous—okay, fuck session—in the bedroom replayed in her mind, and her stomach and chest grew tight all over again, just like it had the moment she’d realized what she’d done and climbed off him.

Sweat broke out all along her forehead, and she swiped at it with a shaky hand. A pissed Archer she knew how to handle. One hell-bent on revenge and retribution? Way easier to deal with than the one currently standing out on that dock. Offering to help. Trying to protect her. Because he cared.

“Tell me I never mattered to you and it was all about the job. I’ll walk away and you’ll never have to see me again.”

She squeezed her eyes tight. Stupid, stupid—so fucking stupid. He’d given her an out, and she hadn’t taken it. And now he knew her biggest weakness.

She braced a hand against the wall and tried to settle her quaking stomach. But it didn’t work. Because what waited for her out there scared her more than anything the CIA could throw her way.

Metal scraped metal, and Olivia braced a hand against the cold, dingy floor as she pushed up from where she’d been trying to sleep.

Bright light blinded her as the door to her cell was pulled open. A silhouette blocked part of the light, and she blinked several times to see more clearly, but she couldn’t make out any distinguishing features. “Who—who’s there?”

Fresh, blessed air drifted to her nostrils, pushing aside all the stale filth she’d been wallowing in these last days, and she drew it in deeply, as much as she could before they closed her in again. Heavy footsteps crossed the dirty metal floor as she was filling her lungs, and then a firm, large hand wrapped around her biceps and hauled her to her feet. “Time to go, little lady. The powers that be have decided you just might be useful to us after all.”

Pain raced down her arm and back up again. She yelped as she was dragged across the grimy floor and tried to find her footing. This wasn’t the same man who’d brought her food before. It was someone else.

Bright sunlight washed over her, blinding her, bringing her limbs to a stop in the warmth, and halting all questions about who had her now.

Freedom. Her body shook with sweet relief. The sun was still there. It hadn’t disappeared. There was still hope. Her legs went out from under her.

“Son of a bitch,” the man holding her arm muttered in a thick accent. He tugged hard again, and pain spiraled through Olivia’s body, but she couldn’t move her legs. They weren’t working. And the sun felt so good. She didn’t want to leave it. Couldn’t . . .

“Get up.” He yanked hard again.

Olivia yelped. Tried to stand. But her legs felt like Jell-O, and the sun . . .

“Fucking bitch.” He hauled her up and tossed her over his shoulder like she was nothing more than a sack of potatoes.

Pain echoed all through her weak body, but Olivia braced her hands against his back and lifted her head, blinking into the sunshine as he moved, trying to see—see something, anything.

Large shapes closed in around her. Blocking out the sunlight. She blinked over and over, trying to get her eyes to work, and then, slowly, the shapes came into focus.

Large metal containers. Hundreds of them, all around her. And above, angry-looking claw-like hooks. Big ones.

A seagull cried somewhere overhead, and Olivia realized it wasn’t just sunlight she was drawing in; it was salt as well. From seawater. They were at a port of some kind. And around her . . . those were ConEx containers. The kind that were shipped on barges from one country to another.

Gravel crunched under the man’s feet below her. He spoke to someone nearby in a language she didn’t understand. Spanish? German? Arabic? She couldn’t tell.

Focus, Olivia. Focus on anything you can so you can remember.

She was a teacher. Nothing special. And she was too weak to try to overpower these two and still live. But she’d watched enough crime movies to know that when she got out of this—if she got out of it—she needed to pay attention to every detail if she wanted them to be caught.

The man carrying her stopped. Words were spoken—more she couldn’t make out—then a car door opened, and the man holding her set her down on her feet.

He let go of her for a split second, and her legs wobbled, but she braced a hand on the edge of the white van to steady herself.

Then she realized he’d let go of her.

The flight response kicked in without her even searching for it. She shoved her arms hard into the cargo door. It hit one of the men, knocking him off balance. She turned and pushed her legs forward as hard as she could.

She was a runner. She might be weak from days in isolation and very little food, but she dug deep for the strength she’d gained from hours and hours running trails back in Boise.

“Dammit. Get her!”

She darted around a car. Didn’t even care that her feet were bare or that gravel was digging into her soles. She pumped her arms and ran as fast and hard as she could. Away. She had no idea where she was going—just away.

She scurried behind a truck and turned to her right. A body slammed into her hard. She grunted, sailed through the air, and hit the packed gravel on her side, sliding through rocks and dirt that embedded into her skin.

“Stupid fucking bitch.” A man—not the same one who’d carried her, this one was smaller—grabbed her by the front of her blouse with both hands, lifted her upper body inches from the ground, and then slammed her back into the gravel.

Blinding pain ricocheted through Olivia’s skull, and she gasped.

“You’re gonna pay for that.” Chest heaving, he yanked her from the ground and tossed her over his shoulder.

Stars fired off behind Olivia’s eyelids. And the pain . . . She groaned as he jostled her bruised and bleeding body.

When they reached the van, he tossed her into the back. She hit the floor with a grunt and tried to pull her legs up to her chest to alleviate the burning pain in her hip and shoulder. Only nothing helped. She breathed through her mouth and cradled her aching arm close, but then he was there, climbing into the back, pulling the cargo doors closed, and yelling, “Let’s go!”

The van’s engine turned over, and Olivia braced herself as the vehicle whipped around and bounced over the uneven ground, but it did nothing to stop the pain thrumming through every cell in her body.

“Stupid bitch,” the man growled. “We were nice to you before because of your sister. But not anymore.”

Olivia’s eyes tore open, and she stared up at his dark face, twisted in a fury she’d never seen before.

“My—my sister?”

He chuckled, a dark, menacing sound that condensed into a knot of terror in her belly. “What? You thought this was all for fun? No. You’re leverage now.”

He dropped to his knees and leaned over her, and his scent—sweat, spice, and danger—filled her nostrils. A scent she’d never forget. “Too bad she won’t find you in one piece. Not after that little stunt.”

It took Landon longer to locate Archer’s warehouse than he’d thought. The ferry system had been shut down, which meant he had to drive all the way down to Tacoma and back up and around. Then, when he’d finally made it back to Seattle, the damn traffic was being rerouted all over the place because of the ongoing investigation.

Frustrated, he climbed out of the rental car he’d picked up on Bainbridge Island after leaving Archer and slammed the door shut. An abandoned warehouse stood to his right, the skeleton of a building under construction on his left, and between the two a tower crane sat unmoving, its long arm angled out toward the waters of Puget Sound in the distance.

Damn, but the guy really was a moron to bring her here, not even three miles from the bombing site.

Landon rubbed his aching forehead as he moved for the warehouse doors. Obviously, the dumb fuck hadn’t been thinking. But then, when it came to a woman, he wasn’t the first man to lose all common sense. Landon knew that lesson well himself. The difference was, he’d never repeat his stupidity, and after seeing Archer this morning, he knew the idiot was bound to repeat every single stupid-ass thing he’d done because of Evelyn Wolfe. Archer might not be able to see it, but Landon could. Up close and personal. The idiot was still in love with her.

The door handle didn’t turn, but picking the lock was easy enough, and Landon was inside in a matter of minutes.

The warehouse was cut in the middle by a long hallway and doors that led to what looked like large storage units. Uncovered, dim bulbs hung from the ceiling every twelve feet. Landon paused to listen. Hearing nothing out of the ordinary, he moved for the metal stairs that ran up to the second and third floors.

He knew when he’d found the right loft. The steel door was cut in two, as if whoever had wanted in had used a buzz saw to get inside. Landon pushed the right side open the rest of the way and moved into the loft.

His gaze scanned the empty room. A chair was turned over on its side. A broken table sat upside down. A metal tray and three hypodermic needles lay scattered across the floor. His gaze strayed to the bed against the far wall. To the mattress stained with blood and other things he didn’t want to focus too much on. Then to the metal handcuffs hanging from the metal headboard.

“Stupid-ass dumb fuck,” he muttered. Oh yeah, Evelyn Wolfe had every reason to kick Archer’s ass from here to Mount Rainier, and at the moment, Landon kinda hoped she did.

He shook his head as he turned away and looked around for the purse Archer had told him he’d brought back with him. Whatever happened between Archer and Wolfe was not his problem. The only thing he cared about was finding Wolfe’s sister. Then he was taking a monthlong vacation, and his boss Ryder could suck it if he didn’t agree.

He checked cabinets along the wall and finally found a woman’s black purse hanging behind what had to be Archer’s denim jacket on a hook in the bathroom.

He set the bag on the dirty counter and pawed through it until he found a cheap cell phone. He powered it on and saw a video on the home screen. His fingers hit Play, and he watched as a woman, her hands tied behind her back and her face covered by a black sack, thrashed on the floor of what looked like a van. The purple butterfly tattoo on her ankle was clearly visible as she struggled.

There was no sound. Landon replayed it three times, looking for anything that might help him identify the van. Fury rolled through his gut. He didn’t have a problem taking down anyone who deserved it, but he had a major-ass problem when innocents were drawn into the mix. He knew that was why he’d washed out at DIA. Not because he couldn’t stomach what he was asked to do, but because he refused to do it to civilians.

He clicked the video off and paged through the contacts. Nothing showed on the phone. He turned it in his hand and remembered Wolfe’s explanation of what had happened at that outdoor café. This was the phone her contact—Smith—had slid across the table to her.

He tucked the phone into his pocket and resumed searching her bag, looking for another one. He finally found it—an iPhone, the most recent version—and turned it on. A white apple appeared on the screen, followed by a tropical image of a beach, hammock, and swaying palms. Apps appeared, dotting the screen. He waited until service clicked in, then hit the Phone button and paged through her recent calls. DC numbers. One he recognized belonging to Langley. Another that was labeled “Olivia Wolfe.” And a few blocked calls he’d have to try.

He hit Close and scrolled back to the home screen to look through her messages. The one at the top was from another blocked number.

BLOCKED NUMBER: 2:00 p.m. You have the location. Bring the envelope. Don’t be late.

“Bingo,” Landon muttered.

He was just about to hit Dial when his cell buzzed. Tugging it from his pocket, he held it up to his ear. “Miller.”

“It’s Marley. I have some information on Wolfe’s sister.”

Landon grabbed the purse and moved out of the bathroom, back into the main portion of the loft. “Let’s hear it.”

“She’s a drama teacher in Boise. Has worked at one of the local high schools for about five years. She was last seen four days ago at a Mexican restaurant downtown with a man named Karl Stetson, a teacher at the same school where she works.”

“What does he teach?”

“Biology, physics, chemistry. Claims he drove her home after what was—by his words—an uneventful date, and two men jumped them when he pulled into her drive.”

“Did he get a look at either of them?”

“Not really. Said they were big. Dark-skinned. He described them as either Hispanic or Middle Eastern. And they were speaking a language he didn’t recognize.”

Landon frowned. “Observant, isn’t he?”

“It’s not his most charming quality,” Marley muttered, “trust me. According to his story, they snagged Olivia Wolfe, roughed him up a little, and then let him go. And here’s what has me all warm and gooey for the guy. He didn’t report her abduction to the cops for a full twenty-four hours.”

“Bastard.”

“Yeah, well. There are a lot of them out there. I should know. Ask me about my last date sometime. Anyway, Stetson claims they threatened him, but I got the impression he just didn’t want to get involved.”

Landon clenched his jaw. “Someone needs to abduct his ass.”

“I agree, but he’s not our problem. Cops are handling him. Did you find Archer?”

Landon looked out the broken window toward the fire escape. “Sort of.”

“Sort of? What does that mean?”

“It means Ryder isn’t going to like what’s coming next. Listen, Marley, I need a favor.”

“I’m here to help.”

“I need to know who at the State Department has it in for Aegis. Evelyn Wolfe hinted that the raid in Guatemala was a setup, and Aegis was the target. I need you to do some digging, without Ryder knowing.”

“Why can’t Jake know?”

“Because if what Wolfe said is accurate, then Ryder was the target, not Humbolt. And if that’s the case, I’m thinking it’s possible that blaming this whole bombing in Seattle on Archer is a setup too, not to take him down per se, but to get at Ryder. You and I both know Ryder’s pissed off more people in Washington than he should have. What better way to guarantee Aegis doesn’t score another defense contract than to charge their operatives with treason?”

“Don’t you think that’s a stretch?”

“I worked for the Pentagon. Trust me, sugar. Nothing’s a stretch.”

“Okay,” Marley said. “I’ll see what I can find out. I still don’t understand why Jake can’t know, though.”

“Because whether I’m right or wrong, it’ll just get him fired up, and he’ll start making calls. And if someone at the State Department finds out Aegis is asking questions about black ops, they’ll clam up. Or worse, leak shit to the press. Ryder’s not exactly a people person.”

Marley huffed. “You can say that again.”

Landon smiled. Marley was a saint. She really was. Ryder didn’t realize the gold mine he had in her. Landon just hoped she didn’t get fed up with Ryder at some point and walk away from the company. Because if she did, Ryder would lose more than just his right hand. He’d lose the majority of his operatives, who’d follow her anywhere if she asked. Him included. “Thanks.”

“Okay, my turn to ask you a question. Is Archer okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine.”

“Is he with Evelyn Wolfe?”

Landon hesitated, then figured the more Marley knew, the longer she could keep Ryder in the dark. “Yes. And neither’s killed the other yet, so I think we’re safe.”

“That doesn’t leave me feeling all tingly inside.”

“That’s why you get the joy of dealing with people like Karl Stetson on a daily basis.”

Marley laughed. “Okay, point taken. So, tell me this, smart guy. If you’re no longer tracking Archer, what are you doing?”

“Looking for her sister. Something tells me Olivia Wolfe knows a hell of a lot more about what’s going on here than anyone else.”

“And Archer and Evelyn Wolfe?”

“Running down other leads. Wolfe’s security clearance with the CIA has been revoked. It’s only a matter of time before her name shows up in the press as being linked to the bombing as well.”

“Fabulous. Just watch your six. My gut says there’s more going on here than meets the eye.”

Marley’s gut was usually right. And on this one, Landon agreed. He looked back out at the water again. “Speaking of . . . if Ryder ever fires you, you’ve got a freebie from me. I wouldn’t mind being the one to take that bastard out.”

“He’s your boss.”

“That’s never stopped me before.”

Marley chuckled, then sighed. “Firing me isn’t the worst thing he could do to me.” Her voice strengthened. “I’ll call you as soon as I have news.”