Midnight Rescue: A Killer Instincts Novel (2 page)

A black Mercedes was approaching the fence. From the porch of the compound, Kane Woodland raised his beer to his lips and took a deep swig, narrowing his eyes on the vehicle. The windows were heavily tinted, which made it next to impossible to see the driver. Whoever it was, he or she obviously knew the drill. The sleek car stopped by the intercom box.

He watched as a long, slender arm emerged from the driver’s-side window and reached for the keypad. One of Morgan’s women? Nah, the guy never brought ladies home. Always drove into town to get his jollies. The compound was off-limits to everyone save members of the team and carefully screened staff.

And since Jim Morgan knew it the second anyone so much as looked at the compound from a distance, Kane wasn’t surprised when the door behind him opened and Morgan stepped onto the porch. He was a commanding figure—six-three and all muscle, with intense blue eyes and a head of cropped dark hair. Women went wild for him. Men… Well, they usually kept their distance. Or at
least the smart ones did. Morgan had
Don’t fuck with me
written all over him.

“Fuck,” the man muttered under his breath.

The radio poking out of Morgan’s front pocket crackled. “Sure about this, boss?” The security man’s voice was riddled with static.

Morgan radioed back. “Let her in.”

Kane turned to study the frown creasing the other man’s lips. Morgan’s jaw was stiff, his teeth visibly clenched. Not unusual, though, since the boss was always stiff and frowning. Morgan was as prickly as they came, way too sarcastic for his own good, and God only knew if he ever laughed.

When Morgan had approached Kane after he’d left the SEALs nearly eight years ago, Kane had hesitated before accepting the job the other man dangled before him. Extraction had always given him the biggest rush when he’d been with the teams, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to work for Morgan, mercenary extraordinaire, the man who never smiled. In the end, he’d decided working for the unsmiling merc was worth it, as long as he was able to continue playing G.I. Joe without being forced to adhere to the strict rules the navy loved oh so much.

Kane hated rules. The only reason he’d joined Morgan’s team was because he’d been strapped for cash at the time; he’d figured it would be a temporary gig, a few fast jobs and then he’d move on. But he’d quickly come to respect Jim Morgan. The first mission out, Morgan had saved Kane’s ass—big time. But gratitude wasn’t the sole reason he’d stuck around. Morgan had a way of inspiring loyalty in his men. Treated them like equals rather than subordinates. With Morgan, it was no uniform and no rules; sure, the man barked orders at them,
but it was easy to say
yes, sir
when you genuinely liked and respected the guy you were
yes, sir–
ing.

Still, it would’ve been nice if his boss weren’t such a prickly bastard most of the time.

Right now, Morgan seemed extra prickly, his dark gaze fixed on the approaching vehicle. The guy looked… nervous? Nah, no way.

Kane arched one brow and said, “A friend of yours?”

“No.”

The two men stood in silence as the gate creaked open, allowing the car to drive into the courtyard. The Mercedes’ wheels slid over the red dirt, slowing as the vehicle pulled up next to Kane’s silver Escalade.

Morgan looked like a volcano ready to erupt. A vein throbbed in his forehead, and he kept clenching and unclenching his fists at his side. Well. This was fucking weird. In the eight years they’d worked together, Kane had never seen his boss this agitated.

Curiosity sparked in his gut. Leaning against the railing, he waited for the driver to show her face.

And damn, what a face it was.

The woman who stepped out of the Mercedes belonged in a museum, in an exhibit called “The Most Beautiful Woman in the World.”

She had the face of an angel—wide-set blue eyes, a delicate upturned nose, sensual red lips that other women would kill for. And that body. Petite and curvy, with full breasts hugged by a tight black tank and shapely legs encased in leather. Angel face and devil body. Damn, what a combo.

Next to him, Morgan didn’t seem to appreciate the view. In fact, the other man’s shoulders only stiffened again.

“Hello, Morgan,” the woman called. Oh yeah, that throaty voice definitely suited her.

She sauntered toward the porch, the heels of her black leather boots snapping against the red dirt beneath them. Her blond hair shifted in the warm afternoon breeze. Great hair, Kane noted. Fell in waves almost down to her ass.

He felt his body stirring the closer she came, until Morgan uttered one word that killed every flicker of arousal and appreciation.

“Noelle.”

Kane forced his mouth to stay closed. Noelle?
Noelle?
He supposed it could be a coincidence, just another woman with that terrifying name, but Morgan’s next words confirmed Kane’s suspicions.

“Here to kill me?” the boss said mockingly.

Holy shit. The queen of fucking assassins, standing on their freaking porch.

“Of course not—would I really do such a thing?” she drawled.

Morgan snorted.

“How’ve you been?” she added, her midnight blue eyes never leaving Morgan’s face.

He didn’t reply to the question, but posed one of his own. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Kane saw an indefinable glimmer flash across those fuck-me eyes. Anger? Annoyance?

Resting one delicate hand on her hip, she cocked her head thoughtfully. “Guess.”

Morgan released a sharp laugh. “Well, you say you’re not here to kill me. So…” He slanted his head in thought. “Hope it’s not to fuck me, because we both know that’s not gonna happen, baby.”

Wow. Okay. Morgan might quite possibly be the only man in the world who would dare to call the queen of assassins
baby.
His balls were that big, apparently.

Kane wondered if he should discreetly disappear. This conversation had
personal
written all over it. But he was far too fascinated to leave. Besides, he couldn’t quit staring at that dainty hand she had perched on her hip. Her fingers were long and slender, fingernails manicured and painted bloodred. Those hands were capable of killing men twice her size, or so the stories went.

Noelle—no last name, as far as he knew—was a legend. A private contractor, she sold her services to various government agencies and the occasional civilian, though rumor had it she only took out slime bags that deserved it. An assassin with a moral code, apparently. Rumor also said the women she employed were just as deadly. Kane’s contact at the CIA had called them chameleons. You didn’t see ’em until they were gunning for you, and by the time you realized the threat, you were dead.

So why the hell was she here to see Morgan?

“Sorry,
baby
,” she returned dryly. “You’re not my type.” She glanced around, her shrewd eyes taking in the enormous ranch-style house in front of her, the high fence surrounding the property, and the long stretch of flat, barren land in the distance. “Nice digs you’ve got here, Jim. Very… open. What happened to the place in the mountains?”

Morgan shrugged. “Too easy to be ambushed. Here, I can see an enemy coming from miles away.” He shot her a stony look.

Noelle laughed, the sound melodic and unusually warm, and then those eyes went all business. “Are you going to invite me in?”

“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

After a long pause, she released a sigh. “I need your help.”

Morgan laughed.

Her lips instantly tightened. “You think I enjoy asking, you son of a bitch? If there were any other option I’d take it. As it stands, I need you. So, are you going to invite me in?”

Still chuckling, Morgan took a step back and gestured to the open doorway behind them. “By all means, baby, come in. I cannot wait to hear this.”

The other men were sitting out on the back terrace when Kane drifted onto the patio. He wondered what was going on in Morgan’s study at the moment. Before disappearing with the sexy assassin, Morgan had told Kane to go outside and wait with the others. Kane shook his head, absently crossing the dusty tiles toward the table.

“Lloyd says we’ve got a visitor.” Luke Dubois spoke up as he lifted a bottle of beer to his lips. A cigarette dangled from his other hand, the smoke curling in Kane’s direction. The long-haired brown mutt lying by Luke’s feet raised his head sharply at Kane’s approach, then flopped back down, deciding that Kane was no threat. He had to wonder what the dog would do if he
was
a threat. Probably tear his throat out. A German shepherd and collie mix, Bear was enormous, and more skittish than an untamed horse. The mutt seemed to relax only when Luke was around.

“Oh, we sure as hell do,” Kane replied with a grin. “Though I’m not sure
visitor
is the right word.”

The sun was high in the sky, without a cloud in sight, and beads of sweat began to form at Kane’s temples as
he sank into the chair across from Luke. Man, he was sick of this heat. He’d grown up in Michigan, and in Michigan the month of November meant bitter-cold wind and shitloads of snow. Here in Tijuana, it meant baking in a sauna all day long. He supposed he could always find a place of his own, somewhere cooler, like some of the other guys who worked for Morgan, but fuck, what kind of life would he lead? Holden was married, so he had a woman to come home to when they finished a gig. Sullivan had always preferred his lazy nomad lifestyle. And Trevor was still in mourning. The guy’s condo in Aspen gave him plenty of space to deal with his loss.

But Kane had no woman and no reason to be alone. Hell, he couldn’t stand his own company sometimes. Too many messed-up thoughts in his head, too much anger that always found a way out whenever he was alone. Here, at the compound, he had distractions. He could shoot the shit with Ethan Hayes and Luke, get drunk on fine Mexican rum, and when the anger found a way to the surface, all he had to do was head to the gym with D, where they could beat the crap out of each other.

He glanced at D, who stood by the railing, elbows resting on the sleek metal while his black eyes fixed on something in the distance.

“Pay attention, D,” he called. “You’re going to want to hear this.”

D turned his broad shoulders. The snake tattoo that circled his neck rippled as he cocked his head with interest. Out of all the men in Morgan’s service, Derek “D” Pratt was the most terrifying. Not just because he had ink all over that lean, muscular body. No, it was the eyes. Black as coal, hard as ice. He’d been with Delta for a
while, then worked for a mysterious black ops agency nobody had ever heard of. Tough as nails, lethal as ever, and definitely a man you wanted by your side in a fight.

“So who is it? Feds?” Luke drawled over the rim of his beer bottle.

“CIA?” Ethan spoke up with typical boyish curiosity.

Ethan was the youngest of the team, a former marine who’d been orphaned as a teenager and tended to look at Morgan as a father figure. No matter how hard he tried, Kane couldn’t view Ethan as anything but a kid. But the kid was good at his job, and Kane knew that despite his clean-cut, preppy good looks and gratingly polite personality, Ethan always had his back in the field. Same went for Luke, their resident Cajun bad boy. Luke could drink Kane under the table, and he hooked up with more women than Kane could keep track of, but like Ethan, he was a damn good soldier. Morgan had succeeded in putting together a team that functioned like a well-oiled machine—that was for sure.

Kane shook his head. “Guess again.”

“The queen of fucking England?” D said in that gravelly rasp of his.

“Try the queen of assassins.”

There was a stunned silence.

Luke raked his fingers through his dark hair. Kane could swear the man’s hands were trembling. Look at that. Luke Dubois, smart-ass Lothario, scared speechless.

“Noelle?” Luke finally breathed, looking so impressed that Kane had to laugh.

“You’re shitting us,” D said. Those black eyes shifted uneasily. “Right?”

“Nope. She just drove up in a sexy little Mercedes.”

“Why the hell didn’t you get us?” Luke demanded.

“I was too absorbed. She and Morgan—they know each other. Fuck, I think they
know
each other.”

Luke laughed. “No way.”

“I’m serious, man. Sparks flying all over the place.”

Before the others could press for more details, footsteps sounded from behind. Kane received a jolt of extreme satisfaction when he heard all three men hiss out their breath. He twisted his head just as Noelle, in all her leather-clad glory and shiny yellow hair, stepped onto the patio. Morgan appeared behind her, his back ramrod straight, like someone had shoved a poker up his ass. Didn’t look happy, their boss.

The dog wasn’t happy either. At Noelle’s entrance, Bear got on all fours, pulled his lips over his teeth and snarled at the woman—maybe Luke’s constant bragging about his dog’s enemy radar wasn’t
total
bullshit.

The enemy in question was completely unfazed. With a scowl, Noelle jabbed a manicured finger in the dog’s direction and said, “Sit.”

Bear sat. Just like that.

Kane wasn’t sure if he was impressed or scared shitless.

“This your team?” Noelle asked in that husky, femme fatale voice as she turned away from the dog and coolly appraised the four men on the terrace.

Kane found that he couldn’t hold her gaze for long. Her blue eyes were too astute, too eerie, as if she were looking right into his damn soul. Ethan and Luke also broke eye contact after a few seconds. But not D. Oh no, D eyed her right back, his black gaze as cool and calculated as her blue one. She seemed surprised by it, and oddly approving. Nodding, she glanced to Morgan for an answer.

“Part of the team,” he said. “The others don’t live on the compound.”

“But these four do.” She studied them once more, and her pouty lips curved slightly. “I bet you boys have barrels of fun here, don’t you?”

Morgan made an irritated sound. “Sit the fuck down, Noelle. I told you, I won’t agree to do this until I hear what my men think about it.”