Betrayed (Hostage Rescue Team Series Book 9) (2 page)

A warning prickle at her nape amplified the sense of urgency driving her.

Hurry. Go, go!

She’d bought herself some time with a little evasive maneuver, but she didn’t know how much.

She hefted the guitar case holding her sniper rifle, pulled on a new pair of gloves, grabbed her duffel and crossed back to the door. There was no sign of danger outside the peephole but that meant nothing. She knew someone was out there. They’d been following her for at least two days now, maybe more. And she needed to lose them fast because her target would be on the move shortly.

Outside, the cool October night air carried the scent of damp leaves and wet pavement. This time she hurried down a different set of steps that led to the parking lot out back. She’d left her rental car close to the exit. There were no signs that it had been tampered with but out of habit she checked for explosives and tracking devices regardless before opening the door.

All clear.

After setting the guitar case on the floorboards of the backseat and her duffel on the passenger seat, she slid behind the wheel and started the engine. Traffic behind the motel was sparse. She didn’t notice anything suspicious as she steered out of the lot and quickly drove away from the seedy part of town, taking random turns to ensure she wasn’t being followed.

The prickling at her nape had subsided but her gut told her that her shadow was still out there somewhere.

One problem at a time.

She glanced at her watch. She had plenty of time to make the drive, but didn’t dare linger here a moment longer. Soon she’d ditch the car for something else. Her life depended on remaining undetected.

Turning east, she headed for Alexandria. Fifteen minutes later she had reached her destination in one of the city’s oldest and wealthiest neighborhoods.

Here well-tended oaks and maples showed off their fall colors in bursts of scarlet and amber. Expensive brick and clapboard homes lined the quiet street, the warm yellow glow from the old-fashioned lampposts reflecting off the wet cobblestones and puddles from the rainstorms that had fallen on and off throughout the day.

As she neared the second house from the end she crouched down slightly behind the wheel and continued past the wrought-iron gate at the bottom of the curving driveway. Perched on top of a rise in the center of the historic district, the Colonial-style brick mansion loomed over the property, warm yellow light spilling from the bank of large windows lining the front.

It looked like something out of a Thomas Kincade painting, all cozy and welcoming. But the beautiful exterior was merely a façade. Because evil lurked within the stately home’s historic walls.

The rest of the country might see the homeowner as a patriot. An all-American hero. Georgia knew differently.

The magnificent wrought-iron gate began to open. She pressed down a little more on the accelerator, kept watch in her rearview mirror as she continued up the street. A black Escalade pulled out behind her. It was armor plated, she knew, and she could make out the silhouettes of both the driver and a passenger in the front seat.

A bodyguard. Because her target never traveled with fewer than two security personnel at all times.

She turned right at the next intersection, watched as the SUV continued on straight, then doubled back around the block and followed it at a safe distance. As expected, the vehicle drove to a posh hotel in downtown D.C. where a charity benefit for the children of SOF members killed in the line of duty was being held.

Georgia set her jaw. Five days now she’d been watching him, looking for patterns in his movements, something that would give her an advantage. She’d found none, except for this gala tonight. Not surprising given his SOF and intelligence agency background. This benefit might be her best chance of killing him.

She parked in the far corner of the lot to observe what was going on. Because of her prior recon she already knew the layout of the building, but the security measures were still somewhat of a question mark.

From her vantage point she could see uniformed private security guards stationed throughout the lot and in front of the entrance. There would be more inside, along with others dressed in civilian clothing.

Going inside was too risky. She’d done hits like that before, up close and personal. The femme fatal routine while dressed in a killer gown, when she’d cozy up to the victim and slip something into his drink. Or follow him to the bathroom and take him out with a knife or a shot to the head while he had his fly open and his dick in his hand.

None of that would work now. There were dangerous people looking for her. Even wearing her current disguise she’d be too visible. She’d have to wait until her target left the hotel, make her move then.

Georgia watched as the man exited the Escalade, flanked by his bodyguards, and entered the lobby. He still wore that unmistakable military bearing, and his ego was even broader than the wide shoulders filling out the jacket of his custom-fitted tux.

Observing him, she was surprised to realize that she felt…nothing. No tingle of excitement at the thought of meting out the justice he deserved. No sense of relief that this could end tonight. Where once the bright fire of promised retribution had burned inside her, now there was only emptiness.

The thought made her frown. This man had known her once upon a time. Had helped shape her into the deadly weapon she’d become. But then he’d turned on her, helped frame her. She knew he’d been aware of the hit on Frank, the man who’d been the closest thing she’d ever had to a father, and done nothing to stop it. Worse, he’d helped cover it up.

His willingness to look the other way while good officers were murdered in cold blood to cover the sins of others made him just as guilty as the killer in her eyes.

A vague tingling at the back of her neck warned her that she wasn’t safe here. Whoever was following her must be close.

No way. She’d been too careful, living like a ghost these past four months, rarely staying in the same place for more than a night. She wore disguises everywhere she went and changed them several times a day whenever she went out. Facial recognition software was getting better all the time but making sure her ears were covered and her nose altered would help stymy most efforts to identify her.

But not all.

She took a covert look around, couldn’t see anyone in the immediate area watching her, but she knew they were out there. Getting close. She didn’t know who it was, but there were only two real possibilities.

A contract killer from the CIA, or an enforcer from the Fuentes cartel. Both equally dangerous, both highly skilled and lethal.

And both had good reason to kill her.

Georgia wasn’t scared of dying. Not anymore. As long as she finished her mission, she didn’t care what happened to her after that. Death would actually come as a relief at this point.

That burning need for revenge that had once eclipsed everything was gone, a once roaring blaze now banked to glowing embers. Its residual heat was all that drove her now. That inner fire was all that made her get out of bed during the rare times she was actually able to sleep, which amounted to only a few hours every other day or so.

She couldn’t go on like this much longer. Didn’t want to. Because losing the only men she’d ever cared about had changed her. Damaged her irreparably.

When the tingling at her nape increased to a warning buzz, she drove out of the parking lot to a secluded spot she’d picked out the day before, after circling the block a couple times to make sure she didn’t have a tail. A few blocks up, she found the perfect vehicle for the next part of this op.

Away from the lights, out of range of the CCTV cameras mounted on the nearby power poles, she stepped out into the cool night air. The disabled dome light kept the interior dark as the crisp breeze ruffled the fallen leaves strewn along the shoulder of the road, its chilly edge caressing her face. From the backseat she pulled out the guitar case holding the components of her custom-made sniper rifle, then grabbed her duffel.

She approached the older model car, its age allowing her to steal it much more easily, took one last look around, then used her special Leatherman tool to jimmy the door open. A minute later she was driving back to the hotel. This time she chose a spot across the street, with good views of the hotel entrance. She opened the guitar case, took out her rifle.

With practiced motions she assembled it quickly and adjusted the scope. The feel of the perfectly calibrated weapon in her grip was familiar, comforting.

A sense of calm overtook her.
Almost over.

She’d bide her time now, lay across the backseat and hide her rifle beneath the blanket she’d brought in her bag, set up her shot through the side window. Then she’d wait. As long as it took for her target to come out, she’d wait. And if tonight didn’t pan out, just like the two previous nights had not, then she’d follow him and try again tomorrow. One pull of the trigger and it would be done.

Then only one more to go.

If she killed the two remaining men responsible for all her suffering, then she could die at peace. There would be no one to mourn her anyway.

Georgia kept her eye on her scope, watching that front entrance. She’d gone off the grid four months ago. Cut off from everything and everyone she’d ever cared about, she had no one to rely on but herself.

It was better this way. To operate without emotion. But how ironic that her next victim had inadvertently turned her into something that his training session all those years ago had failed to—a stone cold killer.

She was twice as lethal as she had been before she’d found Frank’s body lying on his living room floor. Before Miguel had died right in front of her.

Her targets would pay for that with their lives.

The loneliness was a small price to pay in order to see this through. Revenge was all she had left to live for. The only two men she’d ever cared for would get their justice. Then…well, she’d accept whatever fate dealt her.

Something was up. Briar never texted him to meet up with her in the middle of the afternoon on a workday, but she’d done just that two hours ago, saying something about having a late night work meeting later on.

Stepping out onto the private shooting range, Supervisory Special Agent Matt DeLuca paused to enjoy the sight that greeted him. A dozen yards away Briar lay stretched out on her stomach, sniper rifle to her shoulder, eyes on target downrange.

It was a difficult shot, at least eight hundred yards away down a rise, the air was heavy with the promise of more rain and the wind was gusting. He took a moment to admire her form, let his gaze travel down the length of her body to linger on the firm curve of her ass and the length of her sexy legs now encased in camo cargo pants.

She’d been such a surprise. He hadn’t been looking for a relationship last December, much less a partner, but then she’d blindsided him and knocked his world off-center, stolen his heart with her courage and loyalty. Not to mention her insane skills as an operator.

Briar was almost thirty but looked much younger than that. People who didn’t know her had no clue what she was capable of. They saw only her youthful face and slender build, dismissed her as a threat. Some might even think she was delicate or vulnerable. He knew firsthand just how wrong they were.

Briar was lethal. Deadly with any number of weapons, but especially a sniper rifle. And he still thought that was the hottest fucking thing in the universe. As a former Marine Scout/Sniper, he guessed that made some kind of twisted sense.

He crossed his arms and stood there watching her settle into the shot. Without a doubt she knew he was there. Might have known it even before he’d stepped out from behind the twelve-foot yew hedge that served as a screen, blocking the view of the range from prying eyes. Even after all these months of working on-the-books ops for the NSA, she still hadn’t lost the sharp edge that came with working years of solo covert ops.

Her lithe body was completely still, her ribs barely moving with her calm breaths, butt of the rifle tight against her shoulder, cheek pressed to the stock. But he saw the moment she exhaled all the air from her lungs, knew she was about to pull the trigger.

A heartbeat later the report of the big rifle cracked through the air as it recoiled against her shoulder.

Matt reached over and picked up a pair of binos resting on the wooden bench beside him. Aiming them toward the target downrange, he tightened the focus and checked the paper target.

A single hole marked the target a few inches from dead center.

His lips curled upward in amusement and pride. She never ceased to amaze him.
That’s my girl.

“Yep, you’ve still got it,” he murmured, lowering the binos and walking toward her.

Briar turned her head toward him, gave him a smug smile. “Want a turn?” She waggled her eyebrows as she stroked a hand along the rifle’s barrel in a possessive caress. She didn’t let just anyone fire her baby.

He chuckled. “Nah, I’m good. But I’ll spot you for a while.”

Lowering himself to his belly beside her, he stretched out and picked out a new target, gave her the range, elevation and windage. An afternoon at the range might not be most people’s idea of an ideal date, but it was for him. It had been a couple months at least since they’d last gone on a date, and spending time at the range was a favorite way to unwind.

Other than sex, he quickly amended, already looking forward to going home after this. With the demands of their jobs, they didn’t get a lot of downtime together. He’d been traveling a lot recently and she’d been off on various ops. For the next few hours, however, she was all his.

And he intended to make every second count. She was a slippery little thing. Whenever he tried to pin her down about getting married or planning for the future together, having kids one day, she evaded him. It drove him nuts. He desperately wanted that sense of permanency and commitment with her but for whatever reason she wasn’t ready yet.