Special Forces Rendezvous (18 page)

He smiled. “What should I say, then? ‘See you soon’? ‘Catch you later’?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “You’re even allowed to tell me you’re going to miss me. But anything that so much as implies this might be the last time we see each other? Forbidden.”

Laughter tickled his throat. “Yes, ma’am.”

With her chin lifted in defiance and her hazel eyes glittering with true grit, she’d never looked more beautiful.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Julia pinned him down with a stern look and said, “So now give me a hug and a kiss, and go kick some terrorist butt, Sergeant Stone.”

Chapter 15

“W
e’ve got a visual on Apollo. I repeat, visual on Apollo. Appears to be asleep in the back bedroom, west side, clear shot.” The hushed report came from the sniper positioned on the roof of the house bordering the terrorist nest.

“Roger that. Maintain visual.” Foster’s voice, in that same monotone murmur, echoed in Sebastian’s earpiece.

“Visual on two tangos in the back bedroom, east side,” the operative covering the side of the house whispered. “Andromeda One and Two. No movement.”

“Andromeda Three, Four and Five in the kitchen. Visual on back door,” came another whisper. “Awake but no movement.”

From his position in the hedges separating the ULF nest from the neighboring home, Sebastian fixed his gaze on the front of the house. The lights in the living room were on, and a body was sprawled on the couch, a male arm pointing a remote control at a television. The bluish light from the TV screen reflected off the glass of the large front window.

“Tango in the living room. Awake but no movement,” Sebastian murmured. “That makes Andromeda Six.”

Six soldiers and Escobar, who’d been dubbed Apollo, making that a total of seven bodies inside the house. Four awake, three potentially sleeping.

Sebastian looked at the stoic-faced operative next to him. They were both decked out in the same getup—all-black uniform, utility vest, protective helmet, sturdy boots, and their faces were smudged with dark polish for them to blend into the shadows. Protected by a layer of Kevlar and body armor, Sebastian was carrying an MP5 submachine gun and two nine-millimeter sidearms, not to mention strategically placed knives and several grenades clipped to his vest.

“Get in position,” Foster’s voice murmured. “Maintain visual.”

Using standard operation hand signals, Sebastian’s teammate, a man who’d introduced himself only as Boswell, gestured for Sebastian to fall in line. The two soldiers silently crept toward the house, flattening themselves against the exterior wall and inching toward the edge of the bay window. They slid down to the ground and assumed a crawl position, neither one making a sound as they slithered beneath the window toward the paint-chipped front door.

One by one, the other team members checked in with a quick “Ready,” including the two snipers positioned on the roofs of the neighboring houses. Once Sebastian and his partner were in position, they murmured their status, then awaited instructions. The plan called for a simultaneous ambush on every point of entry, but not until they received the go signal from Foster.

Time stood still as Sebastian waited in the darkness. The entire street was quieter than a church, though he did make out the sound of a car engine in the distance. Other than that, there was virtually no residential traffic at four-thirty in the morning, and the unit had been able to infiltrate the area without any trouble.

Foster’s voice hissed over the transmission again. “Remember, lethal force if necessary, but the objective is to apprehend, not eliminate. Priority on Apollo. We move on my count. One.”

Sebastian tightened his grip on his MP5.

“Two.”

He breathed deeply through his nose.

“Three.”

He and Boswell sprang to action, spraying the front door with bullets before kicking it in and bursting into the house. Boswell went straight, Sebastian ducked left into the living room. Noise exploded in his ears, coming from all parts of the house. Deafening gunfire, shattering glass, urgent shouts and brisk commands to lay down weapons.

The ULF soldier in the living room dived off the couch, firing an AK in Sebastian’s direction. Ears ringing, Sebastian rolled behind the arm of the tattered polyester sofa and unloaded a round. Glass exploded. More gunshots continued to rock the house.

The soldier was hunkered down behind a brown armchair with its stuffing coming out. Sebastian’s gaze followed the movement of the man’s arm, which appeared to be trying to reach the splintered wooden table.

“¡Ahora!”
The frantic Spanish order broke through the
rat-tat-tat
of machine gunfire.
“¡Ahora!”

Now.

Sebastian glanced at the coffee table and instantly realized what the panicked ULF rebel was attempting to grab. A silver remote the size of a cigarette pack, with a blinking red light and black button.

Son of a bitch. A detonator. Evidently, the responsibility of blowing the house to kingdom come was this little bastard’s job.

Making a move for the detonator meant exposing himself to the barrel of that AK-47, but Sebastian had no other choice. Saying a silent prayer, he left the cover of the sofa and executed a flying leap toward the table. Bullets whizzed by his head. Something hit him in the gut, hard, knocking the wind right out of him. He made a mad grab for the detonator, his fingers colliding with it just as the ULF soldier lunged at him.

The remote slipped out of his hand and clattered to the weathered hardwood floor. Both men went after it, Sebastian dropping his MP5 in the process. Christ, he wasn’t going to reach it first. Fear and adrenaline seized his blood. He fumbled for the Glock at his hip.

With a wild cry one might hear from an injured animal, the terrorist flung out his arm, his fingers inches from the detonator.

Sebastian pulled the trigger and put four bullets in the back of the man’s head.

Thump.

The terrorist’s arm dropped to the hardwood. His body went motionless.

Breathing hard, Sebastian climbed over the dead man, ignoring the puddle of blood forming around the man’s head.

He grabbed the detonator, then shuddered out a sigh of relief as he touched his earpiece and said, “Andromeda Six KIA. Detonator confiscated. South quadrant clear.”

He tipped his head up to examine the ceiling for any signs of wiring, but whatever explosives this house had been rigged with, they weren’t visible to the naked eye. He expected they’d find a mountain of C4 in the basement, maybe even concealed in the walls.

“Andromeda One and Two apprehended. West quadrant clear,” a brisk voice reported.

“Andromeda Three, Four and Five KIA. North quadrant clear,” another voice barked.

“Apollo apprehended,” a triumphant voice announced. “East quadrant clear.”

Pocketing the detonator, Sebastian picked up his fallen MP5 and stepped into the hallway, where he found Boswell. It was hard to make out the man’s expression beneath all that black face paint, but it was easy to discern the glint of victory in the soldier’s eyes.

They headed for the back of the house toward the bedroom where Escobar had been holed up. There, they found two Delta operatives looming over Raoul Escobar, guns trained on his forehead. The ULF leader wore an expression of pure defeat, looking so upset that Sebastian had to swallow a laugh.

Your dastardly plan didn’t work out the way you wanted, huh?

“Any sign of Meridian?” Foster’s voice barked in everyone’s ears.

“Doing a sweep of the premises,” one operative barked, and he was echoed by three similar responses.

Sebastian removed the detonator from his vest pocket and held it up. “House is rigged,” he said, clicking on his earpiece. “Get a bomb squad here. We don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

“Meridian virus secure.”

Silence rippled through the feed.

“Say that again?” Foster ordered.

“Meridian virus is secure.”

Sebastian glanced at Escobar, whose dark eyes had taken on a hard, resigned light. He was beaten, and he knew it.

“I repeat, the Meridian virus is secure.”

* * *

An hour later, Sebastian was still riding the adrenaline high of a successful op as he hopped out of the chopper with the rest of the team. A ground unit was bringing Escobar and the two surviving ULF soldiers in for interrogation, while the deadly vials discovered in the basement of the nest were being airlifted to the CDC. A search of the house hadn’t turned up any more vials, and according to one of Escobar’s men, who was singing like a canary, all the vials in the group’s possession had been in the house.

That only spoke to the disorganized and highly unprofessional tactics of the ULF splinter sect. Escobar’s planning had been shoddy, his security weak, his goals unrealistic.

“Very nice work,” Brent Davidson boomed as he greeted him at the helipad.

He slapped Sebastian’s back, and the two men headed for the door leading into the building. The rest of the team stalked past them, Foster barking orders at his men as he wiped the black polish off his face with a cotton rag.

Sebastian did the same, running a cloth over his skin as he fell into step with Brent, who was still spitting out details.

“A joint task force is being organized in San Marquez. Every known ULF hideout will be raided. We can’t take the chance that Escobar has another vial of the virus stashed somewhere in that country.”

“Honestly? I don’t think he does,” Sebastian answered. “Escobar didn’t strike me as the brightest bulb in the bunch. I think he was tired of Luego not producing any results, convinced a handful of idiots to join his cooler and more extreme ULF sect, and half-assed a scheme that unfortunately got those people in Dixie killed. He was successful on a small scale, but I doubt he would’ve been able to pull off an attack on a major city, and I doubt he’d risk letting that virus out of his sight, not if there’s a chance of it being released in his own country.”

“Valid points,” Brent agreed. “We’ll see what the searches turn up.”

They strode down a fluorescent-lit corridor, and Sebastian unsnapped his helmet and tucked it under his arm. “I want to see Dr. Davenport. Where is she?”

“She’s in my office. The couch in there is comfortable as hell, but I suspect she didn’t listen to my suggestion that she get some sleep. She was wearing a hole in the carpet the last time I checked on her.”

He suppressed a grin. Yep, no surprise there. No way would Julia do anything other than pace—she’d been too damn worried when they’d parted ways on the helipad.

“You want something to drink?” Brent asked as they entered the elevator.

“Some water would be great. Feels like my mouth is filled with sawdust.”

Brent grinned, reaching out to punch two different level buttons. “I could use a cup of coffee myself. I’ll grab you a bottle of water and meet you and the doc in my office for debriefing.”

“Sounds good.”

The elevator doors dinged. Sebastian stepped into the hall and made his way toward Davidson’s office. His pulse sped up the closer he got, and he suddenly realized just how eager he was to see Julia. The last time he’d felt this excited to see a woman had been...nine years ago.

When he’d been falling in love with Lynn.

He came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the corridor. Before he could stop it, the image of Lynn’s big blue eyes and silky blond hair floated into his head, and his heart clenched in response. Christ, she’d been so delicate. Barely over five feet, with soft ethereal features and the prettiest smile he’d ever seen.

Lynn’s face quickly transformed into Julia’s—those stubborn hazel eyes and angular jaw and sassy mouth. There was nothing delicate about Julia. She possessed an unyielding amount of strength. She was hotter than molten lava. Smarter than he’d ever be.

And he loved her.

He freaking loved her.

Rather than the icy rush of fear he expected, pure liberation soared inside him like a bird taking flight. He set off again, his strides long and determined.

He marched into Brent’s office without knocking and found Julia on the couch, absently flipping through a copy of the day’s newspaper.

She shot to her feet when he walked in, blurted out “Thank God!” and threw herself into his arms.

He wrapped his arms around her slender body and held her, breathing in her familiar scent of soap and orange blossoms. Christ, he could get high off that sweet feminine fragrance, and he held her even tighter, never wanting to let go.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she murmured, gazing up at him with those big doe eyes that suddenly seemed so unsuited to a woman who had nerves of steel.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he replied huskily.

Ignoring the surprised look on her face, he swiftly bent his head and kissed her, all the pent-up tension of this unbelievably tense day pouring out and transforming what was supposed to be a gentle kiss into a passionate domination that had Julia moaning against his lips. He nibbled on her bottom lip for a moment, then pulled back with a grimace. His mouth was now officially devoid of any moisture, parched to a whole new level.

“I’m so damn thirsty,” he said with a sigh.

Laughing, Julia grabbed a bottle of water from the desk. “Here, drink,” she ordered. “We can’t have you getting dehydrated.”

“Yes, Doctor.” He untwisted the cap and chugged the entire bottle in one long gulp, eliciting another laugh from Dr. Davenport.

The cold liquid hit the spot and eased the dryness of his mouth, but when he tossed the empty bottle in the wastebasket by the door, he saw Julia eyeing him with disapproval.

“What?” he said sheepishly.

“You really couldn’t save a teeny little drop for me?” She rolled her eyes. “Because now
I’m
thirsty.”

“Er, I’m sorry, Doc. Let me make it up to you.” With a wicked grin, he advanced on her, intending on resuming that hot makeout session, but Brent foiled that plan by striding into the office.

Holding a foam cup of coffee in one hand, the black-haired man tossed an Evian bottle in Sebastian’s direction before rounding the desk and sitting on the commanding leather chair.

“Here,” Sebastian said, handing the water to Julia. “This one can be all yours.”

Smiling, she uncapped the bottle and took a long sip. “Thanks.”

“Have a seat, guys,” Brent said, gesturing to the two plush chairs in front of the mahogany desk. “We’ve got a few matters to discuss, and some statements for you to sign.”

They spent the next twenty minutes being debriefed and discussing their options. With a frustrated sigh, Brent leaned back in his chair and said, “I recommend you remain stateside. I can offer both of you round-the-clock protection and—”