Fearless: Complicated Creatures Part Three (48 page)

“Is Mr. Gerard with you?” Dichter asked, careful to keep his tone polite as he nodded toward the Mercedes.

“Mr. Gerard would like me to verify the products first,” she said succinctly, all business.

“And you are?”

She looked at him coolly. “Frederica Haug. I’m a former Navy nuclear weapons specialist.”

Rox’s eyes rounded.
Did that mean what she thought it meant?

“Shit, that’s not good,” Rush said into the earpiece, confirming her fear. “Specialists like that deal with warheads.”

“I can take her out,” Talon responded. “Just say the word.”

“No,” Rox decided quickly. “Not until we get a visual on Lightner. Let this play out.”

“Mr. Gerard is interested in amending his order. That’s why he’s asked me to help facilitate, given my background. I understand Taas has managed to significantly reduce the size and weight of gravity bombs, to attach them to drones for low altitude delivery without significantly compromising their payload?”

“Holy shit,” Rox whispered. “This just got a fuck-ton worse.”

“Say the word and she’s mist,” Talon repeated.

“I’m sorry, but that wasn’t the original agreement,” Dichter began, his voice alternately stressed and placating. He had to be freaking out right now. The well-being of his child depended on a successful engagement with Lightner, and instead, he’d gotten a nuclear warhead expert switching the play in the middle of the game.

Haug reached into the pocket of her coat. Dichter’s guards immediately stepped forward, weapons raised. She pulled out a black pouch slowly. “Just giving you a little added incentive,” she drawled, tossing Dichter the pouch. He caught it, opening the pouch and pouring a handful of glinting diamonds out into his hand.

“That’s an added bonus to what was agreed for the original weapons, if you can sell Mr. Gerard four B61 warheads instead,” Haug told calmly. “Upon my inspection and approval of the goods, that is.”

Dichter appeared to hesitate only briefly. “I believe something can be arranged.” He lifted his hand, gesturing for two of his guards to come and pat her down. “Just a precaution; I’m sure you understand, Ms. Haug.”

The woman submitted to the frisking before Dichter led her over to a massive containment chamber with yellow radiation warning signs over it. The door had a large wheel lock, like that of a safe. He stepped up to the container, entered a series of numbers, and pressed his hand against the biometric sensor. When it was done, Dichter nodded toward one of his guards who rolled the wheel lock and slowly dragged open the door.

Two heavy-duty metal racks filled with bomb casings lined the container, stacked six a piece on each side. Rox wasn’t a nuclear expert, but she was willing to bet that there was enough plutonium in those bombs to blow them all to kingdom come and back again. The crater left would make Nagasaki look like a pimple.

“There’s no way we let her leave here with those,” Rox murmured. “But we have to get a line of sight on Lightner first.”

“Roger.”

“Wilco.”

Haug waited patiently as workers unloaded four of the bomb casings onto specially-designed trolleys. They were each about three feet long and looked to be about a foot wide in diameter. They were painted a matte gray with dark red tips and fins. The men wheeled the first bomb over to her for inspection, carefully unscrewing the side-strakes containing the warhead. Haug reached inside the casement, opening the panel holding the nuclear package.

“This warhead has four selectable power options to adjust destructive power, thereby minimizing collateral damage and nuclear fallout,” Dichter told Haug as she examined the goods. “The casement itself has updated electronics and enhanced radar for precision accuracy, and this version also has steerable fins and a built-in navigation system.”

She merely nodded, signaling the men to bring the next bomb forward. It took her about twenty minutes to review all of them with some kind of handheld device Rox thought might be a type of high-tech Geiger counter.

When Haug was satisfied, she signaled to two of her guards to open the back of the mid-sized trucks sandwiching the Mercedes.

“Since we don’t have a radioactive isotope container for the shipment, I’ll need you to put the warheads into the transfer casks for transport,” Haug told Dichter. “We’ll keep the bomb casements separate.”

Each armored truck held specially-designed metal crates with built-in racks to hold the bomb casements, with two large silver containers that Rox assumed were the transfer casks Haug referred to. Two men unloaded the casks, pushing them toward the bombs. The drivers each stayed in the vehicles.

“Wouldn’t Mr. Gerard prefer to vet the products first?” Dichter suggested. Rox could hear the edge of anxiety in his voice.

“That won’t be necessary,” Haug told him, reaching inside her coat pocket with a free hand. “I have his account information right here in my smartphone and will transfer the funds to you now.”

Dichter balked. “That wasn’t the agreement.”

Haug regarded him coolly, “It is now.” She pulled out her smartphone and began typing in a code quickly before moving back toward the Mercedes. The driver opened up the rear door.

“Ms. Haug, I cannot agree to this without seeing Mr. Gerard—” Dichter began to protest again as Haug disappeared into the back. The driver shut the door just as her men stepped forward, sliding on gas masks. A sudden loud BOOM split the air and reverberated throughout the warehouse and up in to the rafters, shocking everyone.

“
What the fuck
—” Rox started. A cluster of smoke grenades were scattered from the vehicles, instantly filling the space surrounding the trucks with noxious smoke.

“Tear gas!” one the men shouted into her ear piece, coughing.

A salvo of shots were fired, creating a cacophony of sound within the metal shell of a building they were in, but Rox couldn’t see anything.

“Fall back! Fall back!” Rox shouted. “Get in position to take the target outside! Rush, Simon, Cam—block the entrance!”

The heavy docking bay doors were already opening, presumably to either let the tear gas out or for Haug and her team to escape. Rox quickly climbed up the rafters; she saw the shadowy figure of Talon following close behind her as they made their way to a line of warehouse windows that would be the fastest way out.

“I see Haug!” Henri shouted through the comms. “She’s got on a gas mask—she’s putting the warheads into the canisters—”

“Don’t kill her, but take her down if you can!” Rox answered, smashing through the windows with the butt of her rifle, her eyes just beginning to water from the gas. She felt the burning in her nose, the violent coughing beginning at the back of her throat. She gripped the window, hauling herself up when she felt a hand grip her foot and launch her up and over. Rox rolled out onto the sloped roof, sliding fast down the slick sheet metal.

She was hurtling too fast—
too fast
to get a grip on anything. Her arms flailed in the air, and she slid all the way down to the edge of the roof, her eyes watering as her fingers fought to gain purchase on something—
anything
—

Her boot caught the edge of the grating, and Rox tipped backward over the ledge—nothing below her but a sea of containers in a dark dockyard…

She hung suspended in the air for a breathless, weightless moment…

—
I’m gonna die
—

She closed her eyes.

*

April—Early Morning

Wyatt Ranch, Texas

S A M A N T H A

Samantha woke slowly,
surfacing gently like she was floating through water up toward the early rays of dawn. Everything felt soft and warm, until she moved.

“Oh God,” she groaned into her pillow. “Everything
huuuuurts
…”

Her body felt like she’d been through a meat grinder, the ache so profound, she swore she could feel it in her bones. Jack’s arm tightened around her waist as he pressed a kiss under her ear.

“That’s what you get for sparring with a guy twice your size before you’re ready,” Jack murmured. “Do you need anything? Painkillers? A good rubdown?” he offered, his voice drowsy and teasing.

“I’m fine.”

Jack kissed her again before shifting back. Sam turned over gingerly as he stretched across the bed and reached into her nightstand. He popped open her prescription painkillers, fished out a pill and dropped it into her hand. Then he poured her a glass of water from the carafe she kept by the bed.

“I said, I’m fine,” she mumbled, feeling awkward that she had painkillers right within reach of a recovering addict.

Jack slanted her an amused look, reading her mind. “What? You afraid I’ll mash all that up and snort it?”

Sam frowned. “Not funny.”

“Wasn’t meant to be,” Jack responded, waiting for her. “If I wanted them more than I wanted to stay sober, trust me—I would have taken them last night after I told my father to basically go to hell.”

“I hate them,” she admitted, giving it back to him.

“I know. You’d rather suffer through the pain.” Jack’s silver eyes grew smoky with understanding.

He put the pill back into the bottle and closed the drawer. She did drink the water, feeling cotton-mouthed and dehydrated. When she was done, Jack poured himself a glass, as she laid back down, watching him.

“You sided against your father for me?” she asked after a moment.

“He’ll get over it,” Jack replied, setting the empty glass down before he slid back down in the bed beside her. He tucked his hand around the soft skin of her waist as he gently pulled her closer, nudging her legs apart so he could slide his hair-roughened leg between hers. It was remarkable how intimate that simple move felt, like fitting two pieces of a puzzle together.

“We never did this,” he murmured, resting his head on the pillow beside her as the sun slowly lit the room.

“Did what?” she asked, curling toward him, languid and peaceful for the first time in too long.

“Hid away in bed for the day, just talking…” he slid across her waist. “Touching…”

“We were too busy fucking each other’s brain’s out before,” she answered, wry.

“That’s not out of the question.” Jack smiled sleepily, ducking his head into her neck as he tugged her closer, the sandpaper roughness of his bristle rubbing the sensitive skin there delicious. Sam felt the flutter of his lashes against her skin as he breathed her in, before kissing her throat with soft, almost-imperceptible pressure.

Sam ran a hand through his hair, fingernails scratching his scalp lightly. Jack practically purred in satisfaction, his breath a warm puff against her skin as he succumbed to the little luxury. She’d missed this too, the tender intimacy of just being close to him, his body warm and strong against hers, even as he lay quiet beside her, allowing the intimacies she’d relinquished. From this particularly angle, they looked and felt utterly perfect. Warm, tender, slow and drowsy—each moment redolent with pure longing.

“Am I forgiven?” he asked her after a languid moment.

Samantha met his eyes, pale silver in the morning sunlight. She read the love in them, the shadow of doubt, the hunger… For all his flaws and faults and misgivings, Jack had laid himself bare to her, open and vulnerable, his heart on his sleeve.

Sam kissed him. She couldn’t seem to help herself.

She pressed her lips to his, rubbing gently, teasing him, only to retreat when he shifted his head, angling up for more. She let him chase her back, pressing her gently against the pillows as he caught her mouth again. The kiss felt like a homecoming of the familiar and the divine, a sweet permeation of warmth and Jack himself, too insanely good to resist. He pulled her close, rising over her, searching slowly, each succulent articulation making her tremble a little with the vibration of deep desire.

“I’ve missed you,
tesoro
,” he sighed. “I’ve
missed this…
”

He pulled back, holding her close. His fingers trailed down her arm, playing over the skin of her hands. He twined their fingers, “
Sei la mia anima gemella
,” he murmured, lifting their hands so he could press kisses to knuckles, swollen and tender from fighting Alejandro.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It means you’re my soulmate.”

“Jack…” Sam pulled back slightly, looking at him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then put me out of my misery and take me back,
tesoro
,” he said to her, his baritone so lavish, so hypnotizing, she nearly gave in.

“I think that’s the opposite of hurting you.”

He rested his head on his hand. “How do you figure?”

Sam released a sigh. “Look at the havoc I’ve wreaked on your life since I walked into it. I’m no good for you, Jack.”

“Well, you certainly make things more interesting,” he teased.

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he replied, kissing her hand again. “Samantha, I’m not interested in going back to the way things were. I’m not looking for any ways out. I want you unequivocally. I want your clever mind and your sharp tongue. I want your insane passion and your ferocious heart. I want your thorns and your beautiful, jagged edges. I want to wake up with you in my arms every morning—just like this,” he told her, his gaze penetrating, his conviction ardent. “I want to know you’re mine, just as I’m yours, no matter what the world throws at either of us. I want your future,
tesoro
. I want to stand beside you. Not because you can’t do it on your own, but because you don’t have to. Not ever. Do you understand?”