The Omega Team: Precious Cargo (Kindle Worlds Novella) (3 page)

The words hadn’t come easy. They held profound meaning and commitment, and were ones he intended to profess to only one woman in his lifetime. Once he uttered those three little words, the deal was done forever. There was no going back. Not now, and not the first time he’d said them two years ago.

Although his love for Mila was genuine and his heart would always belong to her, he wasn’t the right man for her. He never would be. How could he be?

Mila’s sardonic laugh countered his confession.

“Do you really expect me to believe that line again? That I’ll forgive you for everything, race back into your arms and beg you to never let me go because you tell me you love me?”

“It would certainly make this a hell of a lot easier if you did.”

The millisecond he spoke, he wished he could pull each syllable back into his big fat mouth. He might be an insensitive son of a bitch, but even
he
understood the comment was no way to make amends with the woman he cared about. He couldn’t help himself though. Once a wise-ass, always a wise-ass.

“Listen,” he tried again when she turned on her heel. “I can’t tell you why I was in Crimea or how I got out. That information is classified. Truly. But what I
can
tell you is I did fall in love with you. I’ve loved no one other than you since the day you patched me up. You came to my rescue and protected me when I couldn’t protect myself. You also made me whole, in more ways than one.”

Her feet stopped moving.

“Then why didn’t you come back? Why didn’t you find me?”

She kept her back to him as she asked the questions. No amount of sorrowful expressions was going to help get him out of the gaping hole he’d dug himself into.

The truth. He had to tell her the honest-to-goodness truth if he had any chance to keep her from walking out. Unfortunately, the truth tasted just as sour and flat as when he’d forced it down his throat way back when.

“I thought I was doing what was best for you.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “What was best for
me
?”

“Yes. What was best for
you
.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Damn, the truth was bitter.

“You’re out of my league, Mila,” he continued. “I mean, look at you. You’re young and so goddamned beautiful. Let’s not forget to mention how educated and intelligent you are. And to top things off, I now know you’re a diplomat’s daughter. No,” he said with a shake of his head, “there’s a big, bright future ahead of you. It’s the kind of future where I knew I just didn’t belong.”

Her mouth drew tightly to one side while an eyebrow arched high on her forehead.

“Look at me.” Starting at his head and ending at his booted feet, he swept down his hand, showcasing his physique. “I’m nine years older, I’m damn near out of shape, and I have zero education outside of high school or what the military provided. I tend to be grumpy, I recently retired from the military and I have no idea what I want to be when I finally grow up.”

Mila didn’t speak a word. Instead, she turned to face him, sustaining an unimpressed stare that chilled him to the bone.

He suppressed a groan. Clearly, he hadn’t won her over yet. He’d have to go deeper into a personal territory way beyond his comfort zone.

So be it.

“I didn’t go looking for you because I wanted you to get on with your life. Preferably with someone better suited for you. Someone closer in age who’s stable and can give you the kind of life you deserve, not some banged-up, crotchety old guy like me who hasn’t a clue about his future.” He shifted his weight from his right foot to his left. “Let me tell you, I’m not an easy man to be with. I have serious trust issues. I don’t like to talk about my feelings. I’m terrible at remembering birthdays. And I’ve never sent flowers to anyone. What I’m trying to tell you here is you can do so much better than me. You
deserve
someone better than me.”

“So you decided to make decisions for me? Do you think I’m incapable of knowing what’s best for me?”

“I was looking out for your best interests.”

“Without bothering to ask for my thoughts? My feelings?”

“I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“You thought telling me you love me then leaving and staying gone was the right thing? Really?”

He cringed, his face twisting from hearing just how ugly his actions had been when said out loud. Her question was one he’d agonized over every day without fail though. Even after long days of carrying out dangerous missions in miserable heat or freezing cold, he couldn’t stop the unrelenting torment of doubting his decision. He’d sacrificed his happiness for hers. He’d put the person he cared about above everything else.

That’s what love was all about, wasn’t it?

“Yes. I did,” he answered.

“Then why are you here now? You had to have known who you’d be guarding before you agreed to the job.”

And there it was. The bombshell.

The muscles in Duke’s shoulders tightened, along with the ones in his neck. Not only was the truth bitter tasting, it had sharp teeth and bit hard.

He fought the urge to end the conversation right then and there, or say something flippant to change the topic. If only she’d let him whisk her up in his arms and kiss all the questions out of her. Did they have to wander down this uncomfortable rabbit hole? Pry into things he’d rather leave well enough alone?

Only if you want to fix what you broke.

“Because I’m a selfish asshole. That’s why.”

“What?” she responded, incredulous. “A selfish asshole? What does that even mean?”

“It means that when you were put in my path again,” he pounded the end of his index finger on his chest, “I couldn’t walk away. I tried, Jesus, I tried to get you off my mind and get on with whatever my life was supposed to be next. I fished. I watched television. I drank enough to float the Queen Mary. Despite my best efforts, you were always there, in my head and in my heart. I was incapable of thinking what I should do with the rest of my life because I knew no matter what I did, it wouldn’t compare to what it could be with you in it.”

He drew in a breath.

“Don’t you see? I loved you enough to set you free, but I’m too selfish to stay away, even though it’s what’s best for you. When I was offered this job and was told you were the one I was to protect, I thought fate was showing its hand on what I needed to do. So here I am. I not only have the privilege of watching over you, I get to find out if there is still a chance for us to be together.” He took a step toward her. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I’m asking for it anyway. And if there’s any way we can try to start all over again, I’m asking for that too.”

The expression on her face fell to something completely unreadable. Sadness? Confusion? Indifference?

“Duke—”

Outside the double doors, two muffled gunshots sounded, followed by the quiet thuds of two heavy objects falling onto the carpeted hallway and a shouted
STOP
.

Years of training immediately kicked in.

Duke leaped the distance to Mila and pulled her to the floor behind the conference table. He placed a finger over her mouth and stared into her eyes until she nodded in understanding, then slipped his Fort 17 from his waistband. The Ukrainian-issued firearm was hardly the Glock 35 he used in Delta Force, but the weapon would do.

He scanned the room, reaffirming the possible exit points he’d noted when he walked in. A row of windows, heavily paned. A side door, probably for waitstaff. That was it. On this side of the hotel, there was nothing he was aware of directly below to break their fall, so the windows were out. Seven stories up were too far to jump without a soft landing, even for him. If only they were on the river side. Though high up, they would be able to survive a jump into the Styr River.

Another muted shot sounded. Something thudded against the double doors, trailed by the screech of an object sliding down the doors’ panels.

He turned to Mila to prepare her to make a run for the other room. She was in the process of pulling a small semi-automatic pistol from her purse.

The hell?

“Put that thing away,” he whispered vehemently. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

She ignored him and yanked back the slide of the gun then released the safety.

More shouts filled the hallway.

No time to argue.

“The side door. Now.”

He stood with his right arm straight, the sight of his gun locked onto the double doors, keeping himself between Mila and the melee outside while he ushered her along. When they reached the side door, he opened it and they ran inside the adjoining room. Lit only by the exit sign, the light from the conference room and the day’s dying rays of sunshine, the interior of the new space was difficult to make out.

Several gun blasts sounded from the other side of the darkened room, along with sharp cracks of splintering wood paneling directly behind Duke and Mila. Across the room, a lone gunman darted from his open position among a sea of round tables to lodge himself between an oversized urn and the wall. Clad in black, he looked like a menacing specter spiriting to safety.

Duke lowered his frame, pulling Mila down to mirror his position. They shuffled quickly to an alcove while Duke fired back, sending shattered pieces of urn pottery flying.

“You okay?” His voice sounded too winded for the short run. Jesus, he needed to get back into combat-ready shape if he planned to continue doing this shit.

“Yes.”

“You have bullets in your gun?”

“Yes.”

“You know how to use it?”

She answered with an indignant grunt.

Several more shots rang out. A loud crash erupted from the conference room they’d just left. The noise made even louder because of the open door between the rooms.

“This is no time for John Wayne heroics. You got that? No matter what I do, I want you to stay here. Make yourself as small as possible. Have your gun out and ready to shoot. If you fire, shoot to kill.”

“Okay.”

Mila didn’t waver with her response, nor did she sound afraid. Just as she’d handled herself in Crimea, she was ballsy and brave.

He inched his head and gun around the corner. His eyes now adjusted to the dim lighting, he located the urn before turning his head to check the opened door not far to his right. That door had to be shut and locked before trouble rained down on both sides.

Take a number, gentlemen. One customer at a time.

After taking in two deep breaths, Duke fired at the urn and leaped toward the door. In one fluid movement, he landed in a crouched position then used his momentum to roll on the floor and kick the door shut as he completed a second rotation. He fired two additional shots at the dark specter across the room, as the unknown assailant shot back.

A trolley of folded tables a few feet from the door provided decent coverage. He could hear the person in the conference room running to the now closed door. The shooter behind the urn wasn’t letting up. Trying to lock the door between the rooms was out of the question. He’d have to bar it from opening.

Duke shoved his gun between his back and the waistband of his jeans, the contact with the heated metal making his spine stiffen. Hands free, he grabbed the side of one table and pushed, taking the entire cart of folding tables with him for cover while more bullets zinged across the room. He angled one end of the trolley toward the door, providing just enough room for him to stay behind its relative safety. He barely had time roll it into position when the door opened and then stopped abruptly a foot in, hitting the stack of tables.

A ham of a hand gripping a sidearm poked through the narrow slit. Duke squinted, just making out the black and gray human skull tattooed on it. The knuckles bared the skull’s teeth, which was inked into an eerie grin.

Duke held on tight to the trolley, anticipating a strong push from the other side. He wasn’t disappointed. The force of the jolt jerked his arms and tested the strength of his legs, but he budged only a little. Before the next thrust, he pulled out his gun and fired at the hand, hitting the skull right between the eyes.

A loud scream sounded from the conference room. The tattooed hand dropped the pistol and darted back behind the door. Taking advantage of the situation, Duke pushed the door shut, locked it then grabbed the gun on the floor. He took a moment to check the gun’s magazine. It was more than half full. He tucked the extra gun into his waistband. No need for double-fisted shooting—yet.

He continued moving, along with the trolley, assessing the situation and trying to find a better angle to take out the person in black across the room. They were in a typical fancy banquet room. Long mirrors on the walls, large crystal-dripping chandeliers, alcoves for serving trays or beverage service, and tablecloth-covered round tables surrounded by chairs.

More shots rang out from the urn, hitting the front table in Duke’s moving shield. Then quiet, or at least as quiet as one could expect with no shots fired and a moaning man kicking the door to the conference room.