Delta: Revenge (24 page)

Empty. Where were Jensen and Brackster?

“Come on, Janny.” Sophia heaved the woman in behind her then pulled the door shut. They both collapsed on the floor, breathing in gasping tandem. Janny rolled to her side, and Sophia pushed to her knees. Medical kit. They needed to find that. A well-stocked shelf of supplies stood in the corner next to tanks and medical equipment. There was definitely not time for a defibrillator or oxygen. Rows of prescriptions, all labeled but meaning nothing to her and didn’t do shit. They were knocked down and out of order. The room looked as though it had been tossed, but it was probably just the intense vibrations from the attacks.

Nothing was where it should be. Panic made her mind spin. Uncertainty made her next move unclear. She needed a shit’s-gone-down-now-do-this manual. Sophia forced her hurting hands to her sides and breathed deeply until she could control the piercing, debilitating fear.

Her heart rate slowed. She opened her eyes and focused on the scattered, unorganized mess of supplies. The bottle of aspirin would help—no manual needed for that. She’d been educated by TV commercials enough to know that Janny should suck down some of those babies. “Janny, open up.”

Sophia fumbled the bottle open. Her hands shook. She doled out two baby aspirins, having no idea if that was fruitless or enough, then popped out another one. Without questioning, Janella took the offered pills and swallowed them down.

“Okay.” Sophia sank back to the floor.

“Okay,” Janny mumbled.

“Are you still having a heart attack?”

“Child,” she wheezed. “Lord. Maybe a panic attack? Don’t think heart attacks just stop, and I didn’t die.”

“No, you didn’t.” Sophia laughed flatly. “Thank God for that.”

“We’re the only ones here.”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “What do you think that means?”

“We’re in trouble. That’s what that means.”

“Is there a comm system in here?” Sophia spun to inspect the room again. Outside, the sirens still blared. There was still live action happening, and their enemy had breached the embassy. Even if there wasn’t a way to communicate with the outside world, help had to be on its way.

“Do you pray?” Janella asked.

For an angel. For Javier. To a God that wouldn’t let them die that day. “Yes.”

“We need to pray.”

They fell silent, the world around them loud and brash while, in the safe room, there was nothing but the sound of breathing and sniffles. And Sophia prayed. Hard. Her fingernails bit into her palms as she squeezed her fists tight.

Dear Lord. Help me. Help us. Save us. There’s too much good to do, too many ways to do it. Let us live. Give me the chance to fight. Think of Hana. The women and children that need a voice. I can be that. Let me be that. Let me survive.

The building shook, and her eyes pinched closed. Janella unsuccessfully stifled a yip of fear.

I need your help.

All she could picture was Javier. Javier opening the door. Javier knowing how to help Janny. Javier whisking her into his arms, whispering that it would be okay, and walking them out of the building that had been made safe under his protective eye.

Beep.

Sophia’s eyes flew open. Janny twisted for the door. There was another beep. Beep. Beep.

Access
denied
. Shit. The safe room had been found.

Janella inched back onto the floor. “That’s not good.”

“No,” she whispered. “It’s not.”

Bam!

“Shoot!” Janella pushed back again as though a few inches would save them from a breached safe door.

“It’s bulletproof. They can’t get in.”

“They know we’re in here.”

“No one knows we’re in here except our guys, who will get us out.”

“Where are they?” Janny’s voice jumped pitch.

“I don’t know!” Sophia’s heart slammed in her chest, fear leaving her weak, but she wouldn’t show that. Never. All she had to do was calm down.

The light flickered and failed. The room went pitch black.

“Shit!”

“Oh, Lord. They know we’re in here.”

Her pulse pounding in her neck, Sophia nodded. “We need those things.”

She dropped to her knees and crawled over the supplies on the ground, searching blindly for glow sticks or flashlights. They shouldn’t be hard to find, and she should have located them after she gave Janella the aspirin.

Crawling on screaming hands and knees, Sophia fumbled through boxes and supplies. Finally, she found a flashlight.

She pressed the button, and nothing happened. “Damn it!”

She took a breath and dropped her hand. The flashlight made a noise as she turned it over, frustrated. The weight shifted as though a piece inside had rolled to the opposite part of the handle.

“Maybe there’s another one?” Janny whispered.

Maybe they didn’t need to look. Was it self-creating energy? Sophia shook the light, holding her breath and ignoring the pangs of strain in her wrists and ribs. Out of breath and painted in a sheen of sweat from a benign activity, she pressed the power button and hoped that it would work.

Dim light flickered on. Finally. They needed something to go right.

“Oh, thank you.” Janny wheezed.

Sophia swung the flashlight to Janella. “Amen.”

Their dismal light source didn’t give them any insight into the happenings outside and nearby. But at least they weren’t in the pitch black.

“You still having a heart attack?” she mumbled, holding the light to her chest and using the residual brightness to inspect Janny’s face.

“Think so.” Janny leaned against the wall. “Heart attack. Panic attack. Enemy attack. One of those. So long as I don’t die, I’m okay with it.”

“Me too.”

“Brackster and Jensen are dead.” Janella’s voice was calm and factual as though she were reading the stock quotes.

“You don’t know that.”

“Don’t lie to yourself now.” Janny shook her head. “They weren’t in here.” Gasp. “The embassy is on fire. Explosions. People with guns.” Gasp. “No one came to find us. Jansen and Brackster are top priority.” Cough. Wheeze. “If they weren’t in here, they ain’t anywhere.” Gasp. “They ain’t breathing.”

She bit her lip, agreeing but refusing to do so out loud. “We’re okay, though. It’s a safe room for a reason.”

“The generator’s cut; the air is going to run out. It’s been at least an hour. More?” Hell, Janella sounded as though
she
were going to run out of air too. But she was also correct.

“What do we—”

Beep. Beep. Beep. Pfffsh.

Pressurized release gave way. The door unlocked, and Sophia’s heart stalled. The room tilted as she waited for the other side to be revealed. If it were the enemy, she would die. Eventually. It wouldn’t be pretty. She hadn’t accomplished everything she wanted to in life. Had she made a difference? Maybe a small one, but nothing that she couldn’t have done better. Fallen in love? Perhaps Josh had been a small love, but nothing compared to how she loved Javier.

Metal clinked and scraped as the door pushed open. The anticipation as to who was on the other side made panic flush over Sophia’s skin, a rush of goose bumps coupled with a vomit-inducing stomachache.

Dim light cast a shadow as their safe room was breached. A glove-covered hand pushed the thick door open, showing a larger-than-life man above them as they cowered on the floor. A terrified whimper pushed through her lips.

“Oh, God,” she and Janella both cried.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Delta had been back to the US for a few hours, waiting on their next deployment’s instructions. Discussion was that they were heading to the Middle East to provide additional security for the Americans working with the Saudis on a project that had been leaked. Either that or Egypt, where life was hell more often than not. Either way, they were having a domestic moment: clean clothes, home-cooked food, and watching a ball game while they waited.

Except all that relaxation BS was over as Javier bolted upright, ready to charge across Trace’s living room, reach through the TV, and shake the news anchor breaking into their show. Headline over his head: Embassy Attack in Honduras.

Javier’s blood froze. “No.”

“Oh, shit.” Trace dropped a spoonful of cereal back into a bowl.

On screen, the news anchor nodded, adjusting an earpiece as he readied to go live into a press announcement. Every second ticked by, ratcheting a fear Javier had never experienced before.

“We interrupt your show tonight with just-breaking news. The US embassy in Honduras sustained mortar attacks.”

Bile crawled up Javier’s throat. “Someone call Colin. See if she was there.” But of course she was there. He’d abandoned her fewer than twenty-four hours ago, crying in the kitchen of an embassy with minimal security. It had more than a US embassy somewhere like England but nowhere near enough to handle mortar strikes.

“Two US officials have confirmed local Primeiro Comando were warned late Tuesday against any violations of the diplomatic immunity of embassy staff and facilities when a staffer was accosted by a local mob upset by the leaked information on what’s been called Whispering Willow.”

“We should’ve brought her home.” His molars ground, and he turned to Trace, who had his phone to his ear. “Who you calling? Colin? Brock?”

“Colin,” Trace mumbled. “No answer.”

“Fuck.” Javier pulled out his phone and called Brock.

“The cartel-led uprising appears to be a continued retaliation for the leaked intelligence on a US-PC informant partnership.”

“Brazil,” Brock answered, obviously knowing why Javier had called. “Give me a second.”

“What do you know?” Javier barked.

“A second.”

One second, then two. Each took longer than an eternity.

“The embassy was closed for several weeks less than a year ago after the resignation of the Honduran president and cabinet. However, it reopened with a skeleton staff to assist in diplomatic efforts in the region. Routine consular activities have been on hold for more than a year. Known occupants of the embassy reportedly—”

Thump-thump.

Thump-thump.

Javier’s heartbeat echoed in his ears. His blood slowed to the speed of molasses. His lungs ached, and he couldn’t make time move fast enough to hear who resided at the embassy.

“—have not been accounted for. The building siege began approximately one hour ago.”

Marlena walked into the room with a gallon of orange juice and a stack of cups, eyeing Javier and her husband. The mood of the room had drastically changed since she’d lost the game of rock-paper-scissors and gone to grab drinks. She followed their gaze and turned toward the TV. “Weren’t some of you just there?”

“Yeah, babe.”

Mar placed the cups on the coffee table. “Isn’t that where Colin’s sister is?”

“Yeah,” Luke answered.

Javier hadn’t talked to Luke about Sophia. He hadn’t talked to anyone other than Grayson and Ryder, who’d witnessed him and Sophia in Honduras together. But Luke had heard what had gone down and knew better than anyone Javier’s internal conflict. They were brothers in Delta but also brothers in tragedy.

Luke had lost an old girlfriend to traffickers, similar to what had happened to Javier. They both understood revenge and had an appreciation of pain. But Luke had found a way to handle both his need for revenge and a relationship—with a woman involved in the industry, no less.

Javier hadn’t talked to Luke about his woman. There was no way they’d discuss Sophia. But they shared an addiction: they were both hungry for pain and the blessed distraction it brought. They were both covered in tattoos and reveled in fights—not just war or a job or a mission, but blood. Beatings. Brawls. They could take the pain, inflict it back, and triumph.

But not knowing about Sophia, more than pain or revenge on traffickers, Javier wanted news. Good news. He wanted it more than any other time he’d called Brock.

“Alright, Brazil.”

The center of Javier’s chest pumped as though his heart would brawl, no matter what the boss said. “Alright, what?”

“No one’s accounted for yet.”

The ground caved, and his vision crashed. Javier dropped to the couch, and fear unlike anything he’d known could exist tore his world apart. “What else do you know?”

“Damage was heavy. The closest SEALs team was given approval and a go for an extraction.”

“What about the RSO?” They handled all American security on post or staff for the embassy, and Javier knew several of them personally. Good men. Talented. They’d give their life to protect Sophia.

“Last known communication was a request for additional assistance.”

“
Shit.
” He rubbed his eyes and felt the room’s attention on him. “Where’s Colin?”

“Talking to Jared.”

Jared owned Titan Group. There was no one higher up in their world. What every man on the team also knew was that Jared was working only the most important job—his wife Sugar was getting ready to pop out a baby in the next month or two—and if the boss man was taking time to have one-on-one conversations with Colin, things were worse than Brock was letting Javier in on.