Fearless: Complicated Creatures Part Three (49 page)

Samantha looked into Jack’s bright silver eyes and saw the truth in them, searing in its tenderness.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she repeated, her voice just a whisper.

“I’m not asking you for protection, Samantha,” Jack whispered back. “I’m asking you to let me love you…”

*

April—Late Night

Port of Ashdod, Tel Aviv, Israel

R O X A N N E

She was falling
from the rooftop—hard and fast—

Rox felt that momentary suspension give way to the inevitability of gravity as she plunged toward the deadly metal exoskeletons of containers lining the dockyard below.

Her fall was jerked to a sudden and vicious halt, jolting her so hard a strangled scream burst from her throat.

She opened her eyes, frantic, and saw Talon hanging over her, one hand holding onto the warehouse ledge, his other hand gripping her armored vest like a claw.

“Going somewhere?” he panted out, the veins in his neck standing out in exertion as he hauled her back up with one arm.

Rox hooked a foot over the ledge as he dragged her over, rolling unceremoniously on top of him as they both breathed hard, winded. “Not anymore,” she huffed against him, trying to get her breath back.

She felt him laugh silently, one hand around her back. “You good?” he asked.

Rox breathed a sigh of deep relief, pushing herself up and off of him. “Yeah. I owe you.”

“Got two squirters coming out the back door!” Rush shouted through their comms. “Need eyes! Need eyes!”

They chased the peal of automatic weapon fire, the sounds reverberating from below as artillery ricocheted off the metal walls.

Talon looked over the ledge as they ran. “Can’t see shit,” he muttered. They got around to the front of the warehouse, following the rubble and smoke rolling out of the open entrance in thick gray waves.

One of the trucks screeched out of the warehouse just as Simon came barreling around the corner in one of their rented SUVs, effectively blocking them in. The driver of the truck shifted, jerking backward in the other direction when Kurt flew around stacked containers in their other SUV, effectively blocking the truck in.

Talon took one corner and Rox ran down to the opposite corner of the warehouse roof, immediately setting up her rifle. She watched as two figures dressed in tactical black swarmed the van. Their guys. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Suddenly, three hostiles came bursting out of the warehouse, shouting, assault rifles ready. She couldn’t tell if they were Dichter’s men or Haug’s, but she and Talon didn’t hesitate. They both fired.

Bodies dropped like potato sacks and one of their guys swung around.

“Shit, thanks,” Rush said over comms, looking up at them.

“Got you covered, bro,” Talon replied.

The truck sat still, xenon headlights lighting up the smoke like a dense fog.

“Can you see the target?” Rox asked.

“Negative,” Avi answered, moving closer to the target from the side, his weapon up.

Simon rolled forward, tightening the circle as her team stepped closer to the van, weapons ready.

Out of nowhere a rocket whooshed passed the team, straight for Kurt’s SUV. A fraction of a second later, a huge explosion lifted the men off the ground and threw them back as the SUV burst into a ball of fire. Rox felt a hot, churning wind blow past her face as she watched in horror. Chunks of concrete, rubble, and shards of metal pelted everything around them, raining from the sky like fire and ash.

“Holy FUCK!”

“Man down! Man down!”

“Kurt’s been hit! I repeat—he’s been hit!”

The Mercedes peeled out of the warehouse. Talon and Rox immediately started firing, but the bullets were pinging off the sedan like it was a Sherman tank.

“It’s fucking bullet-proof!” Talon shouted. “Aim for the tires!”

The car careened around the ball of flame that was their SUV, and the second truck started to follow but Simon rammed into the back like he was driving a rig from Thunderdome.

“Michaelson—there could be a goddamn warhead in there!” Rox shouted. “STOP!”

He immediately reversed, leaving about three yards of space between the truck and the SUV, when a figure stepped from the entrance wearing a long black coat, face obscured by a gas mask, holding an RPG.

Haug.

She aimed the rocket launcher right at Simon’s SUV just as he leaned out of the window, semi-automatic in his hand as he opened fire on the driver’s side of the truck.

Rox squeezed her trigger, nailing Haug in the opposite shoulder. She spun like a top, but the RPG teetered. Avi bum-rushed her from behind, tackling her into the ground and wrestling the RPG away from her.

Simon emptied his clip into the truck, sunk down in the SUV.

“I’m going after that motherfucking Mercedes!” he growled, shooting off after the sedan, swerving past what was left of Kurt’s SUV and weaving through the labyrinth of warehouses and containers at an impossibly fast speed for a truck that size.

“Hold your fire!” Rush shouted, sounding tone-deaf from the percussive force of the bomb, but he was moving like a running back. He made it to the truck, pushed open the door and dragged the dead driver out. He quickly rounded to the back, swinging open the doors.

“I have the package!” he shouted.

The bombs. They still had the bombs.

Oh,
fuck.
Oh,
thank God.
Rox nearly wilted in relief.

“Guys—we have a problem.” Henri’s deep voice came across comms.

“What’s your position?” Rox asked.

“Anand and I are still in the warehouse,” he responded. “We took gas masks off the hostiles.”

“Status?”

“All dead, including Dichter.”

She and Talon exchanged looks. “Repeat: You said we had a problem?”

“We have not secured the package,” Henri told them. “Repeat: we have
not
secured the package.”

“Rush, how many bombs are in the van?” Rox asked as the wail of sirens pierced the air in the distance. From their position on the roof, they could see a slew of police vehicles headed their way.
Shit
, they had to go.

Rush climbed into the back. She assumed he was checking inside the bomb to verify the nuke was still inside. “We have one B61 secured and intact.”

“We have two B61s secured inside and one casement missing the payload,” Henri said over the comms. “I repeat: One warhead is missing and Lightner isn’t here.”

April—Late Night

Tel Aviv, Israel

R O X A N N E

F
rederica Haug was
one bad bitch, and that was saying something, considering that compliment was coming from Rox. The woman had passed out twice from the pain Rox inflicted while getting information out of her, waking up only to spit in her abductors’ faces when she’d been forced to come to. The first time was Rush holding smelling salts up to her nose like the properly-trained medic he was. The second time Rox had just pushed him aside and jammed her thumb good and deep into her bullet wound until the woman woke up and howled like a wolf.

But in the end, it wasn’t the threat of physical violence that got to Haug. It was her mercenary self-interest and her ability to see that aligning with Lightner was no longer in her favor. The bastard had left her to die, even though he’d already paid her fee up front to verify the warheads were legit and get them safely stored into the specially-designed transfer casks she’d built for the job.

“Not the first time some asshole left you high and dry,” Rox guessed as she wiped Haug’s blood off her hands with a dish rag.

“I get a reputation for being a snitch, and my career in this business is tanked,” Haug replied, spitting a gob of blood and saliva out of her mouth like it was mouthwash. Her face was pretty banged up thanks to Rox’s brass knuckles. Pity.

“You know what else could ruin your career?” Rox pulled out Anand’s razor-sharp
khukuri
knife. “Having no hands.”

Rox put the blade right over the other woman’s right wrist where it was tied to the chair.

To her credit, Haug didn’t even flinch. “Hoo-yah,” she said softly, eyes glaring daggers. Translated:
Go fuck yourself.

Rox smirked, half-amused and half-impressed. “Man, you really are Navy.”

“Damn straight,” Haug spat out.

Rox crossed her arms, the knife glinting in the light of the bare bulb dangling in the basement that they’d hauled Haug into after they’d gotten out of the dockyard. “You know I cleared that man out of house and home, right?”

Haug didn’t react.

“About forty million in assets,” Rox continued. “Not bad considering. How much did Lightner pay you?”

Something flickered in Haug’s eyes. Made sense. Everybody had a price.

“I’m guessing a mil,” Rox continued, watching her.

A muscle ticked in Haug’s jaw.

“What—not even?” Rox replied, brows raised. “How about I pay you two mil of that asshole’s money to tell me where he’s going with that warhead?” she offered reasonably. “It’s just sitting in escrow right now. I was going to donate most of it to my favorite charity, but now I’m thinking you’re a hard-working lady.” Rox considered her, tapping the flat part of the blade against her arm. “Why not redistribute the wealth a little? Help another sister out?”

“I don’t know where he’s planning on going,” Haug gritted out.

“Maybe not, but you’re not a stupid chick, Frederica. You weren’t about to let that crazy motherfucker disappear with enough plutonium to take out Chicago, much less sell it without your knowing to whom.”

Again the flicker. Now they were getting somewhere.

Rox jammed the knife into a nearby wooden table and pulled out her mobile phone. “Tell me your account number. I’ll transfer the money right now.”

Haug studied her, clearly weighing out her best options.

“So what’s it to be?” Rox asked amiably, waving her phone. “Door number one: I take your hands and you tell me. In fact, you scream and beg and cry first, but then you tell me after a lot of bleeding and drama. Door number two: I transfer two mil of that asshole’s money straight into your account. You get to flip him the bird and live to fight another day.”

“How do I know you won’t just kill me afterward?”

Rox shrugged. “I won’t.” She looked at Simon and Rush looming just outside the door. “They might. You killed a good buddy of theirs tonight. They’re probably still a bit pissed.”

Haug’s eyes narrowed. “Throw in the knife and we have a deal.”

Rox chuckled. “You’ve got a set of balls, Frederica. I admire that. Now give me the account number.”

Haug recited the information and Rox completed the transfer. When she was done, she held up the phone to show her the screen.

“Untie me.”

Rox leaned against the table, casually crossing her legs at the ankle. “Tell me what I want to know first.”

Haug released a pained, frustrated sigh. “I put trackers on all the warheads. Untraceable, undetectable. Except for my software.”

“Where’s your software?”

“It’s on my laptop.”

“Bullshit,” Rox replied. “You’re too careful. No way would you keep it on a specific device that could be stolen or destroyed. Where’s the software? You got a little cloud somewhere?”

“Untie me first,” Haug insisted.

“Is it on your phone?”

“Un. Tie. Me.”

Rox cocked her head. “Is it hidden in the code of some bullshit website?”

Haug remained silent.

“Fine.” Rox yanked the knife from the table and approached. She slid the
khukuri
knife under the rope of Haug’s left wrist, then met the woman’s defiant eyes.

“Last chance,” Rox murmured.

Haug just waited, the muscle ticking in her swollen jaw.

“Alrighty then.” Rox sliced through the rope effortlessly. Just as Haug started to wiggle her numb fingers, Rox reared up and slammed the knife deep into the woman’s forearm, pinning it to the chair as Haug screamed like a banshee.

Rox grabbed the woman by the throat so hard, the chair rocked onto its back legs, leaving Haug suspended as she choked and gurgled.

“Listen to me, you stupid, arrogant
pinche puta
,” Rox snarled. “You killed a good man tonight, and dozens of others needlessly. You let a psychotic asshole leave with a nuclear warhead, and you’re a goddamn traitor to your own country. Now you think you’re going to fuck with me and get away with it? Try again.”