Badass: Deadly Target (Complete): Military Romantic Suspense (6 page)

My own anger builds, mostly because I want to believe her so fucking bad. But if what’s in that box is as dangerous as I’m afraid it is, the very fact that she has a key makes her guilty. “Maybe if your mother had been a little more upfront with you, you’d know that this,” I jam my finger against the box, “is better off in the hands of the government.”

“If she trusted the effing government, don’t you think she would have contacted them in the first place?” She’s on tiptoes now, trying to get in my face. “And then maybe she wouldn’t have gotten killed.”

“Wait–what?” I manage to re-focus in the face of this announcement. “She was murdered?”

Her shoulders shake, and she crosses her arms, holding onto herself. She takes in a breath and nods.

“When? Under what circumstances?”

“Today. Just a little while ago.”

“Damn.”

“I came straight here from my mom’s house,” she whispers, her chin quivering, but the tears seem to have dried up. “She called me at work. She sounded really strange and has been acting so weird lately. I even thought maybe she’d had a stroke or something. You know? Or dementia.”

Sympathy pulls at me, but I shove it back. “What happened then?”

“I went straight to her house, and she told me about the key to the safe deposit box. Told me I had to go to Russia. She was so frightened. For me, I think. As she was giving me instructions, there was a crash and…” she shudders and struggles for control.

Russia? Damn.

“Mia, have you been to Russia before?”

She shakes her head.

“Why there?”

“I don’t know,” she shouts. “She said the instructions were in the envelope, money in the box. She said I’d need my passport and…” Her eyes fill with tears and she brushes them angrily away.

“Take a deep breath. And then tell me everything. It could be critical.”

“It’s all critical!” she whispers fiercely. “Someone kicked in the front door. We were upstairs in the bedroom, and she made me hide. There was a struggle, terrible noises from downstairs, then a man came into the room. He searched each room but didn’t find me. He called someone, told them to come search the house, then left. I went downstairs and…”

“And you found her?”

She nods.

Cold creeps deep into my bones. Who was this woman’s mother, and who killed her? And why did my boss send me here, seemingly right after her murder? And how is this box connected?

If she’s telling the truth,
my gut whispers.

“Mia, this is bigger than either you or I imagined,” I say, calmly and slowly. “Bigger than a dying wish, as important as I know that is to you.” I hold up a hand when I see anger flash in her eyes. “Listen. I’m pretty sure your mother was involved in something you have no ability to face on your own.” I grasp her thin arms in my hands and wait for her eyes to connect with mine. “I hate to be the one to tell you, but she may have been part of something very dangerous. You can’t do this alone.”

Her gray eyes question me, searching for answers. Or maybe for a new possibility that doesn’t cast a shadow on her mother’s memory. I watch her closely and see the moment she surrenders to what I’ve been saying. There’s understanding there. Acceptance as well.

I blow out a breath. Does she finally trust me?

I don’t get the chance to find out.

Mia jumps as the door behind me opens so hard it bounces off the wall. Instinctively, I turn, shielding her with my body from a tall, hulking man filling the doorway. Dressed head to toe in black, there’s a blank, dead look in his eyes. His bald head completes the menacing look. So does the bulge of the concealed weapon underneath his suit jacket.

Behind him, Mr. Lunden tries to get through. He fails and calls out to us instead. “Apologies for bothering you both, but this gentleman also possesses documentation for the—”

Big bald guy steps into the room and slams the door in the little guy’s face.

“What do you want?” I ask him and feel Mia’s fingernails sink into my arm. She’s moved to my side to see more clearly. I glance down at her. She’s frozen. Petrified.

“It’s him,” she whispers.

I know immediately who “him” is and push her behind me again. In less than a second, the man is crossing the small room and lunging for the box.

Mia comes alive. “No!” she screams and reaches for it. I try to hold on to her while also going for my ankle holster, but she’s too fast, slipping from my arms.

Black seizes the opportunity. He grabs the box and flips the table in my direction. I’m pushed into the wall by its weight, and shove it aside quickly, but not fast enough. Before I can secure my weapon, he has Mia, one arm hooked around her neck. He’s holding the box as well; it’s pinned to his side under his right arm. He can’t hold it because his hand is busy jamming a gun into Mia’s ribs.

“I’m leaving with her,” he mutters in a deep, low voice, those eyes still as blank as the dead. “I suggest you pretend this never happened.”

Mia surprises us both by stomping on his instep, the three-inch heel connecting well. He curses and she brings an elbow back into his ribs. His grip loosens enough for her to spin out of his grasp, and I lunge, bringing my hand down on his wrist, knocking the gun away, the metal box clanging to the floor.

The man is huge, but also quicker than he appears. He blocks my next blow, but not my third. I deliver a blow so brutal he reels back against the wall. Shaking his head, he reaches for the box again, and I let him. Fine by me. If he wants to hold onto its bulk, he’ll have to fight one-handed. If he’s that stupid, I’ll take the advantage.

Instead of fighting, he twists toward the door, apparently intent on leaving Mia behind. She growls and fucking jumps on his back, surprising us both once again. She claws at his face, then cries out in pain as he slams her backwards into a wall.

As he’s dealing with the flailing she-cat, I deliver a series of short jabs to his right shoulder, rendering it useless for a moment or two. Just long enough for me to drive my head into his abdomen, knocking the wind from him. He doubles over, leaving the back of his neck vulnerable. A sharp chop takes him down.

He’s face down now, the box still tucked under his arm. I go to Mia, who’s now slumped on the floor, scooping up Black’s gun on the way. “Come on,” I say, pulling her to her feet. “We have to go. Now.” I tuck the gun in my pants, pulling the polo out to cover it a little.

She’s shaky, but on her feet, and I pull her toward the door. “Grab the box,” I tell her. “I’ll check the exit.”

Not knowing who’s waiting on the other side, I whip the door open, hoping the element of surprise will be my friend. But there’s no one there, and I step into the hall. Right. Left. Nothing.

I step back into the room to see Mia struggling to wrestle the box free of our attacker’s large bulk.

“Got it!” she gasps and steps over Black’s prone figure, but his hand darts out and grabs her ankle, sending her sprawling. She doesn’t have time to break her fall and lands hard on the heavy metal box, her breath coming out with a sharp cry.

Even as she curls onto her side, gasping for breath, I dive toward Black as he’s getting to his feet, taking him back down. Rolling us until he’s on his back, I pin him to the floor by his massive neck, trying to choke him into unconsciousness. Giant fists connect with the sides of my head, but the rush of adrenaline covers the pain. I reposition until my knees are on his muscular biceps, pinning him in place as he bucks to throw me off him.

“Go!” I shout to Mia. “Run!”

“Where?” she asks, her voice thin and trembling. “I don’t know where to go!”

I stare at her.

She might be innocent after all. Otherwise, she’d take this opportunity to get away.

Making a command decision, I let go of Black’s throat and grab hold of his shaved head. Lifting it off the floor, I smash it down once, twice. All fight flees him as he stares up at me, too dazed to fight back.

As I get up to join Mia, I catch a glimpse of something under his jacket. Coming down hard on his gut with my knee, I rip open the jacket and curse. It’s a badge pinned to his shirt pocket. Reality stops for a minute as I consider this new development.

It doesn’t make sense.

With zero time to consider the possibilities, I’m up and grab Mia’s purse and my jacket, then take her hand, helping her up. She clasps the box to her chest as I steer her down the hall. The lower level of the massive bank branches out in a labyrinth of corridors, and I struggle to remember the way back to the stairway I’d descended earlier.

“There!” she shouts, pointing down the hall and begins to run.

I pull her back. “Slow and easy. There are security cameras everywhere. We don’t want to look panicked.”

Beside me, she runs her hand through her long hair as we walk, pushing it back from her forehead, finger combing the tangles. “Do I look okay?” she asks. “I mean, do I look like I’ve been in a fight?”

“You look beautiful.” The truth blurts out. “Your lip’s bleeding, though.” I take a second to pause at a water fountain and wet my fingers. “Here.” I stop her just before we ascend the steps, and she turns to me, meeting my eyes as I wipe away the blood on her chin. We need to look as normal as possible. “Want me to carry that?”

She shakes her head quickly. I don’t argue, just toss my jacket across it, making sure the majority of the metal is covered.

“Good as new,” I say and grab her hand again, pulling her behind me up the stairs. Her fingers fit into mine perfectly. Absolutely perfectly. “Just be cool,” I remind her, and she loosens the tight grip on the metal box she’s holding. She smiles at me, a way too bright smile that looks plastered on her pretty face. It’s good enough. I guide her into the cavernous bank lobby.

Her palm is sweating against mine, but we’re almost there. I spot Mr. Lunden, and he just looks at us curiously. I lift a hand and give him an “I got two prizes today” grin. He grins back and gives me a little salute. A few steps later, I’m pushing the revolving doors to move them faster.

“This way,” I say, heading toward the parking garage, but turn us around when I spot the suit. The garage is being guarded. Time for Plan B, whatever the hell that is.

Picking a new direction, I walk blindly, searching the surrounding areas. I glance over my shoulder as we walk, seeing if the suit has pegged us. Shit. I meet his eyes, and he lifts his watch to his lips, speaking into the device. As soon as we round the corner, I turn up the speed. Soon, I’m pulling Mia behind me in a full out run.

“Wait!” she cries out and begins to slow.

“Not yet.” I grip her hand tightly and pull her along, faster. We’re running for her life. Probably my own now as well.

We make it two blocks when I see a large, empty looking warehouse nestled in the middle of other empty looking warehouses. It’s a block away, on the other side of the railroad tracks. I pull her in that direction, not stopping until we’re on the other side.

“Why are we running? Why couldn’t we take my car?” she pants, the words coming out between huge gulps of air.

I assumed she was in the parking garage as well. “Where’d you park?”

“The garage,” she confirms.

“No good. Suits guarding it. What do you drive?”

“A VW Bug.”

I try not to laugh out loud at the idea of outrunning a man wearing a Federal ID in a Bug. “I think we’re better off here for now. We have to figure out what to do next.”

“Who was that man?” Her words come between labored breaths.

“I don’t know,” I reply tersely, throwing a look over my shoulder. “But I don’t like the idea of him.”

And I didn’t. Not at all.

Chapter 8 – Mia

Jax pulls me behind him even as I’m still trying to catch my breath. The bank box is heavy, and my ribs screech with each step. We reach a door, but it’s locked when he tries the knob. He steps back and kicks it. After a sharp bang, we’re inside.

I yelp when we scatter a flock of pigeons, sending them flying off in every direction. Inside, Jax pushes the heavy wooden door shut as I stand back, bending at the waist, gasping for air after dropping my heavy burdens to the floor. My ribs burn like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, and I press a hand to them.

He notices my obvious pain. “You okay?” he asks, a lot less breathless than me. “Stretch your arms over your head, it will help open your lungs and relieve a side stitch if you have one.”

I glower at him. He probably works out constantly, training for whatever he does. There’s no fitness component to a desk job and three sessions of yoga and kickboxing a week clearly doesn’t prepare a person for sprinting for their life. In heels. With a heavy metal box. Or a purse the size of Korea. And messed up ribs.

“Yeah, no, I’m okay,” I pant, though each breath brings a new dose of agony. But I don’t want to let on how much pain I’m in. I still don’t entirely trust him.

He looks less than convinced. “Let me check you out,” he says, coming toward me and reaching for my belly, pulling up the tank part of my sweater set.

His fingers sliding across my abdomen send a jolt down low. I jerk away as if splattered by hot grease. “Really, I’m okay,” I say, turning away so I won’t fling myself at him, beg him to touch me again.

My eyes adjust to the dim light of the warehouse, and it looks as though it hasn’t been used by anyone other than partying kids and homeless people in years. A few random mattresses lay here and there, complimented by bottles and garbage. A chill penetrates, and I wrap my arms around myself. Now that the adrenaline rush of the chase is wearing off, I feel very small and scared.

I need to get away from this man. Away from this city that now seems so sinister. I can’t handle this. But where would I go? Who would I turn to? Trust?

Do not trust anyone, Mia
.

I still feel the pressure of her fingers digging into my shoulders, the look in her eyes as she said those words to me.

Am I in shock? I shiver harder, and my legs fight to hold me steady.

“What’s happening?” I ask out loud to no one in particular. My words echo in the empty space, the ceiling so high above me.

“What was that?” Jax asks, peering out filmy windows, making sure we haven’t been followed, I assume.