Midnight Pursuits (27 page)

“No. Way.”

“Goddamn it, D! There's no reason for all of us to die here!” Her breaths came out in rushed pants. “At least this way we'll have a chance. You can tell the others where we are, try to get an excavation team to dig us out. If you stay, we all fucking die and nobody will ever find us.”

D opened his mouth, clearly ready to argue again, but Juliet put an end to his protests by touching her earpiece.

“Morgan, you there?”

A gruff voice instantly responded. “Yeah, I'm here. We're clearing the blast radius. What's your ETA?”

“D's on his way out. Ethan's in bad shape, so we're gonna ride it out in here.”

Morgan sounded horrified. “Ride it out? Are you fucking insa—”

“One of you has to come back in case D needs help clearing the blast. He'll tell you where to find us.”

She cut off communication and turned to the tattooed mercenary who was currently scowling at her. Another glance at her watch gave them a minute. One measly minute.

“Go,” she said softly. “Please.”

After a beat, D's harsh features took on a look of surrender. “Keep him safe.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I'll try.”

A second later, D took off running, leaving them alone.

Fighting back tears, she did her best to shoulder Ethan's heavy weight, urging his hunched frame to keep going. Her side began to ache from the strain, each labored step they took pulling on the patch of tender skin that Grechko's bullet had gone through, but she ignored her own pain and concentrated on Ethan.

“We're almost there, baby,” she murmured in encouragement. “Just keep walking. We're almost there.”

It seemed like hours before they reached the doorway of the storage room, but her watch revealed that only ten seconds had passed. She quickly ushered Ethan inside and shut the door behind them, then guided him toward the corner of the room, which she determined was the spot least likely to crush them should the ceiling collapse.

She helped Ethan into a sitting position. Thirty seconds left.

She settled down beside him. Twenty seconds.

She cradled his damp head against her chest. Ten seconds.

Then she took a deep breath.

And waited.

It was a somber group that gathered in the trees and watched as the barn shuddered in the distance. A moment later, the roof caved in. The wind carried the sound of wood cracking and splitting apart, the heavy crash of walls folding and collapsing, until the structure was nothing but a pile of broken beams and splintered wood chips.

The explosion itself had occurred underground, the force of it bringing down the barn and officially trapping Juliet and Ethan down below.

Or maybe just killing them.

Noelle stood away from the others, an unwelcome wave of sorrow washing over her. She couldn't pretend that losing Juliet didn't hurt. God, she loved that girl. She'd trained her, groomed her into a true warrior.

Noelle turned her head at the sound of twigs snapping and glimpsed Morgan striding toward her. The hood of his black parka was down, providing her with a clear view of his strong neck and chiseled jaw. He hadn't shaved since he'd joined them in Madrid, and the dark beard growth on his face lent him a feral look.

As he came closer, she was startled by the raw emotion in his midnight blue eyes.

“I'm not in the mood to hear your death threats,” she said with a sigh. “I'm well aware that your man is most likely dead.”

“I didn't come over to threaten you.” He cleared his throat. “I just spoke to my CIA contact. He's arranging for an excavation team, but they can't get here until morning.”

Neither of them voiced what they were both thinking—Juliet and the rookie might not have until morning.

“The smoke down there will be brutal,” Noelle said flatly.

“I know.”

“The whole bunker could be engulfed in flames.”

“I know.”

She discovered that her hand was trembling as she reached into her pocket for her cigarettes. She extracted one and brought it to her lips. The orange tip glowed in the darkness as she lit up.

“Gimme one of those.”

She acknowledged Morgan's gruff command by handing him a smoke, followed by her Zippo.

His cheeks hollowed as he inhaled, and then he blew out a cloud of smoke. It was carried away by the icy breeze, disappearing into the night.

“They might have survived,” he finally said.

“Maybe.”

But she wasn't holding out hope. There had been no contact from Juliet since the bunker had exploded. Her earpiece needed a signal in order to function. No way was a signal getting through all the rubble down there.

Another stab of pain sliced Noelle right in the heart. Motherfucker. She should have never allowed Juliet to get mixed up in this revenge scheme. Noelle, of all people, knew how toxic revenge could be.

“This is on me,” she murmured.

Morgan glanced over, weary. “Wasn't it only days ago when you insisted you're not responsible for Juliet's crusade?”

“Haven't you learned by now that I'm full of shit?”

He flashed a rare smile. “Of course you are. But not when it comes to this. This isn't on you, Noelle. You and I might call the shots, but we both know our people make their own decisions. You couldn't have stopped her, same way I couldn't have stopped Ethan from helping her.”

The murmur of voices drifted over, causing Noelle to turn her head. She saw Kane and Port whispering to each other near a cluster of snow-covered shrubs. Macgregor was standing at the edge of the clearing, staring at the caved-in barn. Dubois was talking softly into a cell phone. And D was sitting on the cold ground with his back against a tree trunk, his left arm draped across his broad chest.

His eyes were closed, but Noelle knew he wasn't sleeping. She also knew he was more shaken up than he was letting on. He hadn't said a word since he'd emerged from the bunker. Alone.

She wondered if this was the first time he'd ever left a man behind. She suspected so, because no matter how hard he tried to hide it, it was evident that leaving the rookie had affected him deeply.

She was affected too. The ache in her heart was so strong, ran so deep, that she felt like her chest had been hit by an eighteen-wheeler.

“They might have survived,” Morgan said again, almost as if he were trying to convince himself of it.

This time she didn't answer. Hope didn't exist in her life. Only pain. Constant, unceasing pain that had weighed on her shoulders for years, until eventually she'd chosen to shut down altogether. To stop feeling. To stop caring.

But, damn it, she cared about Juliet.

Sullivan Port wandered over, interrupting her bleak thoughts. “What now?” he asked his boss. “Should we stick around until the dig crew shows up?”

Morgan released a breath. “Nah, you might as well head back to the safe house. Keep Abby company.”

Sullivan's gray eyes narrowed. “What about you?”

“I'm staying.”

With a nod, the blond man rejoined the rest of the group, said a few words, and then they were all gone, leaving Noelle alone with the man who'd haunted her for so many years.

“You should go with them,” he said roughly.

She mimicked what he'd told Port. “I'm staying.”

“Suit yourself.”

Silence settled between them as they stood side-by-side, smoking their respective cigarettes and eyeing the wreckage that used to be the barn.

“Shit. It's frickin' cold out here. This is gonna be a long night.” Morgan sounded tired as he dropped his smoke on the ground and snuffed it out with his boot.

A gust of wind snaked beneath Noelle's hair and brought a chill to her neck. “Want to snuggle up to stay warm?” she said mockingly.

He snorted. “In your dreams, baby.”

•   •   •

Juliet had expected the blast to be powerful, but, Jesus, not to this extent. The deafening explosion rocked the bunker, causing the walls to shudder and pieces of exposed concrete to break off and crash to the floor. The ceiling, however, had stayed blessedly intact, or at least the portion that was over her and Ethan's heads. The front part had collapsed in large chunks of cement, effectively barricading the door and making it impossible for them to escape.

Seconds after the series of explosions roared beyond the door, the temperature in the storage room had spiked, becoming so unbearably hot that Juliet was sweating through her clothes. Through it all, she held Ethan tight, stroking his hair as he lay there with his head buried in her lap.

The acrid scent of smoke seeped in through the exposed cracks in the wall, but fortunately she'd snagged a few portable oxygen canisters from one of the shelves in case the air became too smoky to breathe.

When Ethan stirred in her arms, she experienced a burst of relief so strong she would've fallen over if she hadn't already been sitting down. A part of her had feared that even if they managed to get out of this bunker, Ethan wouldn't be alive to see it. His skin was molten hot, his wounds bubbling and oozing with blood, and he'd been unconscious from the second she'd dragged him in here.

But now he moaned, his eyelashes fluttering as he peered up at her.

“Juliet?” he mumbled.

She swallowed. “I'm here.”

“Where's . . . here . . . ?” He sounded disorientated, weak.

It hurt her to see him like this. She wanted her warrior back, damn it.

“One of Orlov's bunkers,” she told him. “Which, FYI, just exploded. We're trapped under a mountain of rubble.”

That seemed to snap him into a state of alertness. His hazel eyes focused, filled with shock, and suddenly he was trying to get up. He groaned the entire time, but managed to raise himself into a sitting position.

“What happened?” he said hoarsely.

She gave him the short version, which brought a deep frown to his mouth. “You . . . stayed behind with me? Why would you do that? You should've left me behind.”

Anger slammed into her. “Don't you ever say that to me again. There's no way in hell I could ever leave you behind.”

To her extreme shock, he started to laugh. Deep, raspy sounds that echoed in the smoke-laced air. The explosion had knocked out the power, so the room was bathed in darkness, but there was no mistaking the incredulity on his face.

“Christ, sweetheart, only days ago you were telling me we have no future. And now we
literally
have no future.” He raked a hand through his hair. “There's no way we're getting out of here.”

“We might,” she murmured. “D knows where we are. The excavation team will know where to search.”

Ethan didn't seem to hear her. “What happened to your trusty self-preservation? Why the hell would you choose to die here with me instead of getting out?”

She faltered, her heart catching in her throat. Lord, he was right. She'd chosen to stay with him instead of saving herself. Never in a million years would she have dreamed of doing that for anyone. Her survival came first. It always had.

But . . . damn it, she hadn't been willing to leave him.

“I don't know why I did it.” Her voice was a shaky whisper. “I . . .”

“You love me.”

Those three words evoked a rush of discomfort, but she couldn't for the life of her deny them. The thought of losing Ethan had been so viscerally terrifying that she'd sacrificed her well-being for him.

“You love me,” he said again.

The sting of tears pricking her eyes had nothing to do with the smoke. “Yeah, I think I might.”

He slid closer, resting his chin on her shoulder. “If it helps, I love you too.”

The husky declaration caused the tears to spill over. Even as they streamed down her cheeks, she found herself starting to laugh. Oh God. She hadn't been in love since she was seventeen years old, but as crazy as the notion was, she knew it was the truth.

Ethan Hayes was the best thing that had ever happened to her. He was sweet and strong and sexy, and he accepted her for who she was, flaws and all. He didn't care about her shitty background, her compromised morals, the bitchy front she put on. He was a man of true worth, a man she probably didn't deserve, but, God, she wanted him in her life. She
needed
him in her life.

“Why are you laughing?” he murmured.

“Because we're probably going to die.”

“Not exactly seeing the humor in that, Jules.”

“I finally found the man I'm meant to be with, and we're going to die. I think that's pretty funny.”

After a beat, he chuckled. “Meant to be with, huh? You never struck me as the kind of woman who believed in fate.”

“I never did before, but I think I do now.” She touched his chin with one hand and brought his face close to hers. “I have something I need to ask you.”

“Yeah, and what's that?”

Juliet exhaled in a fast rush. “Will you be my boyfriend?”

The sound of his sexy laughter almost made her forget that they were trapped in a collapsed bunker.

“Well?” she demanded when he still hadn't answered.

A smile crinkled the corners of his mouth. “Damn right I will.”

•   •   •

“Did I ever tell you about the time Maria let me watch her soap operas with her?”

Juliet's quiet voice penetrated the darkness, making Ethan smile. They were sitting in the corner of the room, shoulders and thighs touching, fingers interlaced and resting on his lap. The smoke in the air had thickened, and despite the oxygen canisters they'd been making good use of, they'd been coughing a lot. Definitely not a good sign, but Ethan was determined to remain optimistic.

He'd survived that psycho Kirill's torture, for fuck's sake. If he ended up dying of smoke inhalation, he'd go to the grave kicking himself the entire way.

“Ethan? Oh, Jesus, please don't fall asleep.” Her alarm was palpable.

Realizing he'd zoned out, he squeezed her hand in reassurance. “I'm awake. Sorry. You were saying something about soap operas.”

“Yeah. There was this one week when Maria was in a really good mood, and she asked me to keep her company during her soaps. They were cheesy as hell, but one show featured a supercouple that kept breaking up and getting back together, like, a hundred times. I thought it was ridiculously dumb—I mean, why not cut your losses after the first fricking divorce? But there was this one episode, after they'd reunited, where the chick was waxing poetic to the guy and telling him why she kept coming back to him.”

Juliet hesitated, prompting him to coax her into continuing. “What was her reason?”

“Well, she went on for a while about how much she loved him. And then she said something that resonated with me. She said that he was her person.”

“Her person?”

“You know, the person she could always count on. The one she knew would be there for her no matter what she did or who she screwed or how many times they hurt each other. When I heard that, I realized I didn't have a person. My folks didn't give a shit about me. My foster parents and teachers and caseworkers didn't care. Henry did, but even then I could never be sure that he'd be there for me
no matter what
,
you know?”

The sorrow in her voice seemed to suspend in the air. It brought an ache to his heart, and a determined expression to his face.

“I'm your person,” he said gruffly.

When she didn't answer, he grasped her chin with one hand and forced her to look at him. “Do you hear me, Jules? I'm your person. I'm your
no matter what
. And you're mine.”

“You want me to be your person?”

He'd never heard her sound so vulnerable, so wistful.

“Damn right I do. From this point on, we're in this for the long haul, sweetheart.” He paused. “Unless the age difference actually bothers you . . . ”

He let the question hang, eliciting a quiet laugh from her lips, which were dry and cracked.

“Rookie, I don't care how old you are. I think you've more than proven that you're all man.”