Dangerous in Training (Aegis Group, #2) (28 page)

Mason jerked the door to the next room open. Four women shrank back as far as their manacles would allow.

“Travis, keys. We need keys.” He advanced through the room, leaving the women to Travis, and opened the second door.

A wall of fabric, spots of it on fire, crackled right in his face. Mason crouched low, staying under the haze of smoke and blaze, and found an opening.

A group hunkered down behind a portable bar were firing across the room at a cluster of Cruz’s people. Cruz’s people in turn shot at that group, and to Mason’s right, where a single shooter hid behind a brick column.

Luke.

Of course.

Only that guy would manage to start some sort of Mexican civil war during a rescue op.

Mason took aim and fired at who he could only guess were Cruz’s people.

“Luke!” he yelled.

A shot grazed off the concrete at Masons’ feet.

Mason sprinted back behind the flames, skirting the firefight, but they followed him, bullets ripping through the fabric and flame.

“Get out of there, man,” Luke yelled, his voice almost drowned out in the roar of the blaze as it caught the upper floors on fire.

Mason darted around the other side of the curtain, just to Luke’s right.

Mason had a clear sightline into Cruz’s cover.

He shot. Aimed. Shot again, pushing forward, picking them off.

About the time he hit the third or fourth one, they turned and saw him.

A man in a suit with an ugly snarl on his face turned, gun up.

Mason pulled the trigger first.

A flood light shone through the open doors, blinding Mason.

The unmistakable sound of a helo’s blades beating the air.

The flames danced, sent into a frenzy.

Some sort of back-up?

More of Cruz’s people?

Mason turned, aiming at the lights pointed in his face.

“CISEN!”

“CIA!”

“Aw, fuck.” Mason dropped the rifle and held his hands up as men in heavy tactical gear swarmed the place.

The cavalry had arrived, armed with guns and fire extinguishers. Late. But they were there.

Hannah handed out another cup of water, but her heart wasn’t in it.

Where was Mason? Travis? Zain? Luke?

The CIA agents had swept them up unilaterally, uninterested in their reason for being there. She’d been put with the other American prisoners. To a one, they’d been rescued from the fire and the buyers. It was enough of a relief—she could cry. If she’d had enough moisture left in her body. There was no doubt she was dehydrated and running on fumes.

But where was Mason?

She’d been rescued, only to become a prisoner again. This time of her own government.

A man in slacks and a CIA vest opened the door to the large holding room, or whatever it was they were keeping them in.

“Hannah Stevens?” he called out.

“Here!” She held her hand up.

Wait—did she want him to know who she was?

Too late now.

“Come with me?” He waved her to the door.

She followed, her bare feet cold on the tile. The sequins scratched her arms and thighs. In a few places the dress had rubbed her raw—but she was alive. He held the door for her, and closed it after her.

“Sorry about that. Come this way?” He put a hand at her back and guided her through the twisting hallways. Despite the late night, the place was busy. People on phones. Others at white boards.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“This is the CISEN and CIA joint task force building. At least until tomorrow morning when our partnership on this project is dissolved.” He brought her to a back service elevator.

“I don’t understand.”

He called for the lift, then turned to look at her directly for the first time.

“We‘ve been after de la Cruz for a while.”

“Is he going to jail?” She hoped he got the maximum penalty.

“Cruz is dead.”

She stared at the man, shock warring with joy and sadness over the loss of any life.

The elevator dinged, arresting her attention.

“So...what now? Am I under arrest?” She shuffled into the lift. Was this a good idea?

“No, and shit. Sorry. I’m Jerry. I knew Mason back in the day, which is how I got tied up in all this.”

“You—what? I still don’t understand what’s going on.”

“That’s okay.” He grinned. “Mason’s a good guy.”

Well, it was nice to know the guy knew which way to vote. Not that his assessment of Mason mattered to her. She’d lost all sense of objectivity where he was concerned the moment he said he was coming to Mexico.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

Cruz was dead. Her nightmare was over. Why was she still so numb?

“You’re going home,” Jerry replied.

But where was Mason?

The lift opened into what looked like some sort of underground garage before she could get another question out. A couple cars waited in front, blocking her view of the rest of the space, but she could see a cluster of men.

One man turned—Mason.

Her heart jumped up into her throat and the tears she hadn’t been able to shed leaked out of her eyes.

He was there.

He came for her.

He saved her.

And he’d waited for her.

Mason crossed the distance in the blink of an eye and scooped her up. She clung to him, the nightmare finally over.

At least until her father found out.

Mason had never seen anything more beautiful then Hannah’s face. He squeezed her close, blocking out the scent of smoke that clung to her hair. If he had his way, she’d never be anywhere near trouble again.

“Now.” Jerry’s voice broke Mason’s one-track mind. “I don’t have to say this again. You were never here, got it?”

“Got it.”

Mason gently put Hannah down, but kept an arm around her waist. He was not letting her out of his sight—or grasp—until she was home. Hell, he’d even go to the bathroom with her if it meant keeping her close. Nothing else was happening to her.

“Jer, did you get a chance to look at the logs?” Mason asked. He knew they had a tight window to make it out before the CIA net closed too tight and they were stuck as part of the proceedings. Neither the Mexican government or the CIA would look too kindly on their rescue attempts, especially if Abraham got brought up.

“Yeah, that’s some record.” Jerry nodded, hands in his pockets. “We already have a couple guys digging into them.”

“Pass along our information to the families. We may be able to cut a deal, help them out.” As good as it felt to help all the women they had—there were still others out there.

“You think the CIA can’t do it?” Jerry’s gaze narrowed.

Mason wasn’t in the mood for Jerry’s leg pulling. They both knew what the score was. “Some of those people live in non-extradition countries that won’t play nice with you. Just let us know if we can help.”

“Will do.” Jerry waved. “You’ve got a plane to catch, and she needs shoes.”

“Shit.” Mason bent and picked Hannah up without permission. He’d known she was barefoot. What had he been thinking? And why the fuck had Jerry let her walk through a building without any damn shoes on?

“I can walk.” Hannah looped her arms around his neck.

Her eyelids were drooping, and one side of her face looked a little puffy. Hadn’t the medics looked her over?

“Humor me.” He carried her to the SUV waiting to ferry them to the airport and set her carefully on the middle seat before climbing in to sit next to her. Shoes were waiting in the floorboard. A pair of flip-flops someone had offered up.

The guys found other places to look. A parking garage had never been so interesting.

Mason held onto her hand, needing that physical tether to remind him it was over. She was safe. The other women would be on their way home by tomorrow. The job wasn’t over, but they’d won the war.

Hannah’s hand relaxed in his grip until he was the only one holding on. He glanced her way, bracing himself for the sight of her. She was slumped sideways, lips parted, a bit of drool on her chin—she was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen. And she was safe.

“What’s the final word on Cruz?” Luke asked.

“I guess I shot him.” If Mason had only known, he’d gone for a leg first, then worked his way up, pumping the bastard full of bullets and making him suffer. Maybe he wasn’t so very different from the men he’d helped convict for going rogue. He’d been pretty rogue himself out here.

He shied away from thoughts of home. Of what it would be like. He couldn’t take the thought of not knowing where Hannah was or what she was doing or how she was. But that’s what they were headed for.

Maybe it was time he went somewhere else. Putting distance between them hadn’t worked out. Why should it now?

He loved Hannah. And because of his past, her father, and the lack of a future he could offer her, they were better off apart.

It didn’t change how he felt or what he wanted.

“Your stop,” the CIA driver announced.

Mason didn’t bother waking Hannah. He climbed out one side and picked her up from the other while the guys thanked the driver and got what gear they’d been able to salvage.

“We there yet?” Hannah mumbled. She nestled her head into the crook of his neck, not even bothering to protest being carried.

Giving her up would kill him.

“Almost. Go back to sleep.” He pressed a quick kiss to her brow, when no one would see.

Their last kiss.

The plane they’d been able to contract was small, a glorified puddle jumper, but it was private and could take them directly to the Aegis landing strip instead of the regional airport twenty miles away.

He settled Hannah in a seat and took the one next to her.

It wouldn’t hurt to hold on for a little while longer, would it?

Mason took her hand in his and she squeezed.

They’d had a chance at paradise and lost it. There could be no bigger flashing neon sign that a love between them would not work. Too bad his heart wasn’t listening.

He stared straight ahead. It wasn’t possible to feel this much for another person. There would never be anyone after Hannah.

H
annah shambled through her front door, Mason right behind her.

“Mel?” She paused, but there was no answer.

Over half the boxes were gone. Knickknacks and touches of home were everywhere. It was strange being back here. Almost as if she didn’t belong. As though she were a different person now.

She glanced back at Mason, but he hadn’t spoken a word. Not a single damn thing. He hadn’t strayed more than five feet from her since they landed. It was as if he expected someone to snatch her away again. She didn’t mind his presence. It comforted her. Kept the nightmares at bay. His silence? Not so much. That she could do without, but she didn’t have the energy to deal with it yet.

“I’m going to lie down,” she said.

No answer.

He just stood there.

Staring at her.

She climbed the stairs, and he followed.

Hannah grabbed a pair of shorts and a tank top from her dresser, and changed in the bathroom, not out of a need for privacy or modesty. Mason didn’t need to see the other bruises. If this was how he reacted to what he could see, she didn’t want to burden him with the rest.

They’d agreed once they came home that things would go back to the way they were. As of now, they were just friends. Technically they were breaking their rules. But she didn’t care. She wanted Mason there to scare away the nightmares. To make her feel safe. And she wasn’t the only one who needed companionship, if his stony silence was anything to go by.

She washed her face and braided her hair to keep it out of the way. The girl in the mirror almost looked like her. The old her, at least. She’d never be that girl again. Not only had the events of the last week, but just by being with Mason, she was different. Changed. And Mason was, too.

Hannah opened the bathroom door, and stared at Mason’s chest.

He wouldn’t say it, probably didn’t even have a word for it. What big, bad SEAL would? She’d bet he was scared. As scared as she was that they’d never see each other again. That they might wake up and find out being home was a dream. He needed to be near her as much as she needed him.

She took his hand and led him to the side of bed. She crawled in, scooting over to the far side, and laid down. For a moment he stared at her, brows drawn low, lips set in a firm line. She patted the empty space between them.

Mason toed off one boot, and then the other, but kept his clothes on. He stretched out on his side, facing her. She reached for his hand, tucked against his chest. It was clenched so tight it took her a moment to wiggle her fingers between his, but she was relentless.

For a long time they lay like that, on top of the comforter, facing each other, not saying a word.

She was tired, but too wired to sleep. Hungry though, that was a permanent state of being right now.

“I’m going to order a pizza. Any requests?” she asked.

“No.”

Well, at least he’d answered the question.

Since she didn’t have a cell phone, Hannah had to boot up her laptop and place the order online. She felt Mason’s gaze on her the entire time she sat at the bay window picking out toppings.

Was he afraid she’d vanish?

How were they going to move past this?

There was a bone-deep need for him eating away at her.

How was she supposed to turn that off? What would come of it?

“Hannah...are—were—you a virgin?”

Well, shit.

So much for keeping her secrets.

She looked up slowly, keeping her face as blank as possible. Did that even matter anymore? Should she tell him the truth? Or give him the answer that would appease whatever was gnawing at Mason?

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, hands gripping the edge.

“The auctioneer said you were a virgin.” His stony façade was impossible to read.

“Yes.” She closed the laptop, refusing to hide behind even that.

Mason’s jaw worked soundlessly.

“Why didn’t I tell you? Or—did I tell you and you forget?”

“Yeah.”