Extraction Point (Ricochet #3) (8 page)

Quinn put the empty glass of water in her sink and braced her hands on the countertop, gently rolling her head back and forth. Her neck cracked loudly. The constant tension in her muscles was beginning to give her a pounding headache.

She spied the bottle of painkillers the doctor gave her when she left the hospital, but decided she could go without for now. Pain pills weren’t the answer. What she needed was to know that Travis was behind bars. Until then, Quinn was positive that she wouldn’t ever be able to fully relax.

It took another minute for Quinn to grab a paperback off of her nightstand and hurry back to the door. She didn’t want to show up without it after using it as her excuse to leave the gym.

Can’t let them know I came up here to freak out.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped out.

Bright sunshine made Quinn squint as she made her way down the stairs to the parking lot of Sanctum. It was still early in the morning, but already very warm out. She sighed, another boiling hot day in Atlanta.

Traffic was thick on the main road in front of the gym, morning rush hour in full swing. Already perspiring along her hairline, Quinn wasn’t sure if she was sweating from the heat or from her constant case of nerves. Double-timing it, she hurried around the building towards the front, already craving sitting in the air-conditioned break room with her book.

She paid no attention to the car that pulled into the lot until it stopped right in front of her, blocking her path to the front of the gym. The driver’s side door flew open and a man jumped out, reaching for her.

It happened fast, yet each image that flashed by seemed to make time slow down. Quinn wasn’t sure if she was imagining the scene or if it was real life. What she
was
sure of was that the man lunging for her, a murderous look in his eyes so chilling that she felt it to her bones, was her husband.

As his hands gripped her waist, he snarled in anger. Reacting without thinking, Quinn grabbed his shoulders and yanked down, raising her knee at the same time. The impact knocked the wind out of him with a loud whoosh of air from his lungs. Before he could recover, she landed a sharp kick to his groin.

A strangled sound came from Travis’ throat. He managed to gather just enough strength to swing his arm, knocking her feet out from under her. Quinn hit the pavement hard and began to scramble to her feet, desperate to reach the safety of the gym… and Rick.

As she lifted herself to a standing position, a hand clamped around her ankle and began dragging her towards the car, pulling her back to the ground.

She screamed, scratching and clawing at the asphalt, her nails and fingers becoming scraped and bloody.

He won’t give up. He’ll never stop.

Quinn wondered if Rick would survive if she disappeared again.

Chapter 6

Nothing. There was absolutely no activity by Travis Hardy since he rented the car to abduct Quinn. No bank transactions, no debit cards used… the man fucking vanished.

Tapping into government facial recognition programs, Rick began the very slow process of checking various cameras near the gym for a match. Unfortunately, they didn’t have a recent photo of Travis to scan. Only his old DMV photo, one without the alterations Quinn had made to his face.

Rick pulled up the grainy photo Tucker had isolated from a security camera near where Hardy took Quinn. It wasn’t good enough to use in the facial recognition program, but it was good enough to make Rick smile. It was obvious, even with the poor quality of the image, that something was wrong with his face. He wasn’t sure what, and wasn’t about to ask Quinn no matter how badly he wanted to know. Upsetting her for information was the last thing he would do at this point.

In his peripheral vision, Rick spotted movement on one of the screens. He jumped to his feet, staring incredulously at the security camera live feed.

“Fuck!”

Rick thrust his hand under the desk, pulling a nine-millimeter Glock out of a holster mounted beneath the solid surface, knowing a round was already chambered.

Goddamn it! I should be carrying my own weapons at all times!

He cursed himself for his poor planning, and for leaving Quinn alone. Fucking Xavier!

Rick raced through the gym, barreling out the front door. Sprinting across the parking lot towards the woman he loved, he saw Travis trying to drag a kicking and screaming Quinn into his car. As much as he wanted to drop to one knee and shoot the fucker between the eyes, he couldn’t. Not with Quinn thrashing in his line of sight.

“Rick!”

He caught the fear in her wide eyes. Her desperate plea had him running as fast as he could, praying he would get the chance to kill that sick fuck. As he just about reached them, Travis looked up and their eyes met. The man’s disfigured face surprised him, but it was his eyes that caught his attention. Rick had seen that look before, the look of someone who was completely unhinged… desperate, vicious, and completely without remorse.

Travis must have known he didn’t have time to get Quinn in the car, so he let go of his hold and jumped into the driver’s seat. He slammed the door shut, speeding out of the lot as Quinn flung herself into Rick’s arms, preventing him from getting a shot off.

“Goddamn it!” Rick lowered his weapon, the car already merging in with traffic. He couldn’t fire his weapon at a car in the middle of downtown rush hour. “Fuuuuck!”

Rick wanted to pull his own hair out for missing what could have been his only chance to get Travis. Though the thought was short-lived, his attention redirected as Quinn clung to him, her body heaving as she sobbed into his shirt. He tucked the Glock into the back of his waistband and scooped her up into his arms. The fury radiating through him was palpable as he carried her into the building. He didn’t stop as he walked through the gym and Xavier yelled to him, or when he passed Mack’s office and heard his boss ask what happened. Rick didn’t stop until he reached the conference room, where he sat on one of the large leather chairs with Quinn cradled in his lap.

“Shhhhh, baby. You’re okay doll. I’m sorry, so sorry.” He spoke softly into her ear as he held her, his shirt balled up in her torn and ragged fingers. He felt like a monumental failure.

I’m a fucking trained Force Recon Marine with an army of paid mercenaries and I can’t stop one fuckwit sheriff’s deputy from assaulting my girl.

Rick continued to pet Quinn’s hair as she wept, his heart breaking a little more with each quiet sob. By the time she cried herself out, the conference room had filled up with the men of Sanctum, each looking angry, determined, and fully dressed in their combat gear.

Mack entered the room last, taking the seat at the head of the table.

They’re going to have a meeting now? With Quinn here?

“Mack.” Rick gestured with his chin to Quinn, who was still curled up on his lap, her face buried into his chest.

“Rick, I could give a shit less if she knows. At this point, she needs to know that we have her covered and it will be easier if she understands the full extent of what we do here.” Mack’s unwavering scowl met the eyes of each man in the room.

“What’s going on?” Quinn lifted her head and startled when she noticed the roomful of irate, heavily armed men.

Rick watched Quinn carefully as she scanned the room, her eyes wide and her mouth open in shock. She burrowed a little closer to Rick, whispering softly. “What’s going on? I don’t understand.”

“You’re okay. I think Mack is going to explain everything, doll.” Rick kissed the top of her head, keeping his protective arms around her, shielding her from anything and anyone who dared to upset her.

Mack stood up and spoke, his voice commanding and firm. Rick was brought back to the Marines, in boot camp, when Mack ruled his every thought and action.

“Quinn, this isn’t how I intended for you to find out what we do here, but this is an unusual situation.” Mack paused, his expression softening when his steely gaze found Quinn. “We aren’t just an ordinary training facility.”

“You’re not?”

Rick was surprised Quinn was able to find her voice. With the trauma that just occurred in the parking lot and the table full of armed, angry and powerful men.

“Am I late?” Tucker burst through the door, wearing jeans and a T-shirt and looking generally disheveled, as usual. He ran a hand through his messy brown hair before throwing his bag onto an empty chair.

“No, we just started,” Clint said.

“Great. I’ll go into Mission Control and listen in on the Bluetooth so I can get logged in.” Tucker scooped up his things and disappeared back out the door.

Quinn rubbed her forehead, looking dazed. Rick noticed her hands were still raw and bleeding. “Dane—” He nodded his chin towards her fingers.

“I gotcha, Ricochet.” Dane leapt to his feet and hurried out, returning less than a minute later with a first aid kit. He sat next to Rick and began gently cleaning Quinn up while Mack continued the meeting.

“So, as I was saying, the gym is a front for our real business, Quinn.”

She hissed as Dane rubbed something over her fingers, wincing in pain.

“You asshole!” Rick barked, feeling so territorial and agitated that he wanted to punch Dane right in the head for hurting her.

“Rick, I’m okay. He has to clean me up.”

Dane stared at Rick, waiting for permission to resume the first aid.

“Fine,” Rick snarled.

“Are you done, Rick? Can we get this show on the road before we lose the asshole?” Xavier snapped from across the table.

“Fuck you, Xav. You were supposed to be looking out for her!” If Quinn hadn’t been sitting on his lap, Rick would have flown across the table and bashed his friend’s face in.

“Fuck off, Ricochet! You think I don’t feel bad?” Xavier began to rise from his chair, his fists balled in fury. Ben Price put his hand on Xav’s shoulder, keeping him from getting up.

“Stop! Look what you’re doing to her!” Clint was yelling from his spot next to Mack.

Six pairs of eyes swung towards Quinn. Rick could feel her shaking, her face burrowed back into his chest again as Dane held onto one of her filthy hands.

Fuck, I have got to calm down.

“Enough!” Mack yelled, staring down each one of his men. The room immediately became silent. He lowered his voice to speak calmly. “Quinn, look at me please.”

It seemed even Quinn couldn’t resist obeying Mack’s orders. The man was a born leader. Slowly, she raised her head until her tear-streaked face was tilted towards the older man.

“We’re covert operatives, Quinn. Hired mercenaries. We mostly do work for the U.S. government. Do you know what that means?”

Quinn’s mouth opened and closed several times before she spoke. “Yes, I think so.”

“Good. Every man at this table is a highly trained, combat soldier. Now that you know, you can rest assured that we will protect you from your ex-husband, at all costs. Do you understand?” Mack’s leaned over the table, his weathered face looking weary but determined.

“Soldiers? So, you’re not fighters?”

Ben laughed. “We are, Quinn. We happen to be excellent fighters, but Mack recruited us for our military skills.”

“Oh.” Rick felt Quinn slump back onto his lap, most likely too dazed to ask any more questions. Dane put the first aid kit away, done wrapping her fingers up in soft gauze. “That explains the bullet wound,” she whispered.

“Now, we need a plan.” Mack sat back down. “Quinn, with you aware of the full extent of our capabilities, we don’t have to sneak around behind your back. What I’m saying is, we can without a doubt, stop your ex from ever getting near you again.”

Quinn couldn’t believe what was happening.

I’m going to wake up, and this will all have been a dream. Travis didn’t find me, Rick didn’t come out of the gym with a loaded gun, and my father’s oldest friend doesn’t run a secret mercenary for hire operation.

She ran her eyes over every man in Sanctum’s conference room. Ben Price, the kind, unassuming man, was dressed from head to toe in black, looking like some kind of lethal ninja. Clint, her best friend’s husband, was agitated and angry, the tight white T-shirt he had on overshadowed by the leather double shoulder holster strapped around him. The shiny black and chrome grips of two very large handguns were clearly visible under his bulky biceps.

As she continued around the table, she noticed every man in similar gear—armed, ready, and most definitely willing to do battle for her. She felt like the only human standing on the top of Mount Olympus, surrounded by gods with innumerable powers.

“I’m…” she rubbed her head, feeling dizzy. “I—I…” Quinn jumped to her feet. “I need a minute.” She dashed out of the room and across the hall. Grabbing a bottle of water out of the break room fridge, Quinn chugged half of it while standing in front of the open refrigerator.

This is too much. A man I’ve known my whole life… Clint, Rick… they kill people for a living.

Quinn’s heart sped up and panic flooded her body. The reality of everything hit her. Her husband wants to kill her, her boyfriend wants to kill her husband, her dad’s oldest friend runs illegal covert operations… what next? She bent over, putting her hands on her knees and letting her head hang as she caught her breath.

Someone entered the room, closing the door. She felt him come up alongside her, knowing it was Rick just by listening to the way he moved and catching a whiff of his masculine scent.

“Quinn…” He leaned on the counter next to her, gently rubbing her back.

“I can’t, Rick. I can’t sit in there right now. I need time to think.”

“I understand.” He took her arm and pulled her upright, hugging her to his broad chest. She felt calmer instantly, safe in his familiar hold. Rick’s heartbeat was steady and strong in her ear. His presence may be intimidating to others, and he may have killed a lot of people, but for Quinn he was a balm for her shredded psyche.