Forged in Ash (33 page)

Which made it perfect for his purposes.

The crumbling sheds, with their peeling white paint and termite-infested walls, were perfect for clandestine surveillance. His men were obscured by the teeming interior shadows.

Detective Pachico, or at least the bastard pretending to be him, wouldn’t see his team until it was too late.

If he showed up.

Lifting his hand, Mac scowled down at his watch. The asshole should have been here by now.

“The bastard’s blown us off,” Mac said grimly.

From the somber expression stamped across Zane’s habitual calm face, his LC was thinking the same thing.

But Zane, being the optimistic bastard he was, offered excuses. “Could be caught in traffic. Could have gotten a phone call.”

“Yeah.” Mac didn’t believe it, but he glanced at his watch anyway. They could afford to hold steady a while longer.

Silence beat the air between them as they waited. One minute. Three. Seven.

The bastard was in the wind. Mac was sure of it. “If he made us, they’ve probably pulled the eyes.”

Which meant they wouldn’t have anyone to grab and shake down for answers.

Fuck,
they’d been unceremoniously dropped back down to square one. Or close enough. Although they still had Jillian; maybe she’d prove more helpful once they had a chance to question her.

“Goddamn son of a bitch.” Swiping a hand down his face, Mac gritted his teeth, fighting to hold the frustration in check. He could feel it swelling inside his chest, until he felt like a balloon on the verge of popping.

If Pachico’s fucking ringer had bolted, if they’d pulled their fucking tag team, if Jillian didn’t cough up some answers that would lead somewhere—well, hell, they’d lost their three best chances of clearing their names and serving justice to the men responsible for McKay’s murder.

When his cell rang, he plucked it from his belt and gave it a quick once-over.

C
ALLER UNKNOWN
.

It could be anyone from Pachico calling to gloat, to Cosky asking for an update. That was the price of dealing with prepaid, untraceable cells, the caller ID sucked.

Raising the phone to his ear, he hit talk and barked into the mouth piece, “Yeah.”

“Commander Mackenzie?” A controlled feminine voice marched down the line.

His fingers went rigid. So did his cock.

If he hadn’t recognized her voice, he would have known exactly who was on the line by his dick’s instant reaction.
Jesus fucking Christ,
the damn thing had locked onto her voice like Pavlov’s dog had locked onto that damn bell. And now that he thought about it, the two shared other elements in common too—not only were they both man’s best friend, they were both driven by primal, instinctive impulses.

Impulses that couldn’t be reasoned with.

When his chest started to burn, Mac realized he’d forgotten to breathe. Just another of those annoying, frustrating reactions she incited in him.

“Mackenzie?” she asked, her tone not altering from that cool control.

Mac’s mouth tightened. He hated, absolutely hated, the way he felt around her. Like he was back in eighth grade, the underprivileged, underdeveloped class laughingstock, getting ground beneath the prom queen’s high-heeled shoe.

“Kinda busy right now,” he snapped, his hand so tight around the phone his fingers burned.

“Too bad,” her voice cooled. “I was going to fill you in on some recent developments concerning a couple of the first-class passengers on—well, maybe later.” The line went dead.

Son of a fucking bitch.

He punched in her phone number and hit dial. It went straight to voice mail.

He dialed again. Voice mail.

“You grind your teeth any harder, and you’re going to need some serious dental work,” Zane said. He paused, and then asked dryly, “Amy?”

Mac froze. He hadn’t realized anyone else had noticed his unwelcome reaction to the damn woman. “What the fuck makes you think that?”

Zane snorted. “She’s the only person I know who’d hang up on you. What did she want before you pissed her off?”

Mac relaxed, the last thing he needed was his frustrating—in more ways than one—reaction to the damn woman to become common knowledge among his men. Hell, among anyone.

“Apparently there’s been a development with some of the passengers from flight 2077.”

With a relieved whistle, Zane scanned the silent grounds. “That’s damn good news, because this little party’s looking more and more like a bust.”

No shit. Mac tried Amy’s number again. Third time was apparently a charm, because she relented and answered.

“I take it you’ve freed up some time?” she asked with no deviation in her cool, collected tone.

Mac locked his instinctive response down. The fucking broad would almost certainly hang up on him again, and who knew how long she’d punish him next time before taking his call.

“We’re in the middle of a stakeout,” he told her tightly, instead.

“Really? Did he fail to show?”

“No, he didn’t—” Mac’s voice rose.

“You wouldn’t be talking to me if the stakeout was successful,” she interrupted, her voice so calmly reasonable it made Mac want to
shake her and then kiss her fucking senseless—until she lost every ounce of that enormous self-containment.

Which was, yeah—completely insane—and why he needed to make sure three states and 1,250 miles continued to separate them.

He took a deep breath and released it carefully. “What about these passengers?”

“A lab exploded four days ago. Twelve people assumed dead. Eight of the twelve were booked into first class on flight 2077.”

Mac thought that over. “What are your FBI contacts saying?” he asked. “They checking into it? They questioning the coincidence of these scientists being on the plane four months ago?”

She snorted, a mixture of frustration and derision in the sound. “Coincidence. That appears to be the operative word. At least in the FBI’s eyes.”

So they weren’t checking into it.

Mac wasn’t surprised. If the lab bombing was connected to the attempted hijacking, the men behind the two events sure as hell wouldn’t want them linked. Which meant whoever was working for them within the FBI would make sure the lab bombing didn’t draw any attention.

Their lack of initiative could work in his team’s favor, though. The local investigation wouldn’t be trying to link the two events, nor would they be searching for anything beyond the scope of a normal arson investigation.

He and Zane had speculated that the original hijacking had been an attempt to acquire the team of scientists, along with the research they’d been carrying with them. Maybe some of that research had survived the blast, even if the scientists hadn’t.

Assuming the scientists had been in the building when it went
boom
.

He nudged a rock with the toe of his boot as another possibility occurred to him. “The place was totally razed? Was there anything left?”

“According to the reports, not much survived the blast,” Amy said.

“They have bodies?” Mac asked.

“A good dozen. Charred beyond recognition. They’ll have to pull dental records for identification.”

“And if someone were to swap dental records…”

“You think they kidnapped the scientists before torching the place.” Amy didn’t sound surprised by Mac’s suggestion. No doubt she’d already questioned that possibility herself.

Mac shrugged. “We can’t discount the possibility. They sure as hell have the resources to pull off an op of this magnitude. And if they wanted those scientists bad enough to stage a hijacking…”

Amy made a soft sound of agreement that traveled through Mac’s system like falling dominos. First his skin went tight, then his muscles clenched, his blood heated, his chest tightened—
fuck
—he gritted his teeth at the ache that took up residence in his groin.

“So you’re coming up?” Amy asked, but there was no question in her voice.

She’d banked on the certainty they’d hightail it up to check that lab out.

Scrubbing a hand down his face, Mac glanced at the entrance to their trap. Still nothing. Pachico was way late now, too late to be anything but a thumbed nose. If Amy was right, though, and these scientists were the passengers Russ had been after, then another window had opened up before them.

It was worth checking into.

“What’s the name of the lab? The scientists?”

Silence echoed down the line. “I’m going with you to check the place out.”

Like fucking hell.

He kept his voice easy. “Sure. What’s the lab’s name?”

More silence. And then, “I’ll fill you in when you get up here.”

Mac’s mouth tightened. Goddamn it, couldn’t the woman be reasonable for one fucking second?

Of course, you could always go over, or around, a stone wall, or a stubborn woman.

“It will be a couple of days before we can make it. We’re right in the middle of something.”

“Your stakeout.”

“That’s right. We’ll head up as soon as we’re done here.”

Which would be in seconds, but she sure as fuck didn’t need to know that.

“I’ll fill you in when you arrive.”

He couldn’t tell whether she believed him or not. She hung up before he had a chance to, which irritated the hell out of him all over again.

“We’re headed to Seattle?” Zane asked, waving the rest of the team in.

“Yeah, I’ll fill you in on the way up.” Mac punched in Radar’s speed-dial number as he turned toward Zane’s van.

How hard would it be to locate a lab that had recently burned? Shouldn’t be that hard, particularly if the explosion had claimed lives. The drive from Coronado to Seattle took approximately twenty hours, depending on traffic and weather. Radar would have scrambled up an address and the necessary intel before they arrived. They could be in and out of the bombed-out husk before Amy got suspicious.

A strategy that was interrupted by the half-dozen police cars that suddenly barreled into view. They took the corner leading into their trap in a single line and headed straight toward them on a cloud of dust.

“Fuck,” Mac said grimly, his hands on his hips as the cruisers approached. Somehow, he just knew this was not going to be fun.

Or quick.

Cosky advanced on the Escalade, his heart racing like a damn greyhound. How the hell was he going to hold them off long enough for the women to escape?

“Kait!” a deep, rich baritone bellowed from inside the shadowy interior.

Kait skidded to a stop and spun. Dragging Jillian with her, she bolted for the Escalade.

What the hell? Cosky moved to intercept her.

“It’s Wolf,” she yelled at Cosky’s approach.

Another explosion sounded behind them, followed by the shriek of tortured metal. It was the cars, Cosky realized. The gas tanks were exploding.

“Get inside,” Wolf ordered.

Cosky wanted to slam the order back down the bastard’s throat. But damn it, they needed the ride. Leaping forward, he jerked open the back door, boosted Jillian inside, and followed her through the door. Kait dove into the passenger seat.

The asshole behind the wheel floored it before the doors were even closed. As Cosky dragged the door shut—thank Christ he’d
dislocated his left shoulder, rather than his right—he was aware of a dark head and a huge, broad body behind the steering wheel.

A series of smaller explosions rocked the condo as the Escalade raced away. Probably the ammunitions lockers. They’d had a shitload of weapons and ammo in the place.

Cosky twisted in the seat, scanning the road behind them. No other cars were in sight. Or at least in play.

But the condo was a giant fireball, flames clawing fifteen feet into the air. A dense black cloud boiled overhead.

“Everyone get out,
bixoo3etiit
?” Wolf asked.

A square face with the chiseled cheekbones of one of those shirtless, moronic male models that graced the covers of his mom’s romance novels turned toward Kait. Pitch-black eyes scanned Kait’s face.

He must not have liked what he saw, because he swore grimly and faced forward again, tension tightening the muscles of his huge shoulders.

“Yeah, we all got out.” Kait’s voice was hoarse. “You have the best timing.”

The compliment tightened Cosky’s lips. Now that his adrenaline was flatlining, suspicion kicked in. How had this asshole known where Kait was? She hadn’t talked to him. And while she’d called him—repeatedly—the only message she’d left had been of the “call me” variety.

“Almost too good to be true,” Cosky agreed in a tight voice. When the bastard cocked his head slightly, Cosky knew he’d picked up on the subtext.

Inscrutable obsidian eyes caught and held Cosky’s gaze in the rearview mirror. But then the tanned skin of his forehead wrinkled.
He reached up with a huge, square hand and adjusted the rearview mirror, tilting it down and to the left.

Cosky twisted slightly, following the new angle of the rearview mirror. It was centered on Jillian, who’d pressed herself against the door, as far away from him as it was possible to get. She’d curled in on herself, her arms wrapped around her belly, her cropped hair spiky. Her left eye was completely swollen shut and the color of a robin’s egg—while her right eye, brimming with wary hostility, shifted between Cosky and the driver’s seat.