Damian (The Caine Brothers #3) (8 page)

The big question was, where had she gone?

Damian gave the swirling finger round-it-up-and-let’s-go signal to Cox, and they hurried back out into the hall.

Some of the guys indicated by hand gestures the number of men they’d neutralized in the other rooms—four total.

“Sir,” Damian whispered into his comm. “She was held in the room with the bodies outside, but she’s not there anymore.”

West nodded. “We’ll keep searching.”

Outside, the sounds of surprised and angry male voices were followed by gunshots, so the assault had begun out there.

West gave the signal to move forward.

At the stairs, West and Ewing took point and crept down to the next landing, followed by Damian and the rest of the men. At the second floor landing Ewing’s team continued on to the first floor while West and his team spread out to clear the second.

It wasn’t long before the sounds of battle started from below, including shouts and gunfire.

Damian took up the rear as his team fanned out to clear these rooms. He headed for the closest door, opening carefully to find a large bathroom with a glass-enclosed shower—which was empty—and another door to the left of the shower. Behind him and to the right, a third door stood open, leading to a walk-in linen closet. He poked the muzzle of his weapon into the closet space, then stepped inside, checking all the nooks and crannies—the green of the night vision goggles eerie in the tiny room—only to find it empty. He left the space, closing the door behind him, and returned to the main bathroom.

He passed the glass shower and at the second door, he pulled it open and swung his weapon inside to clear. All he found inside was an empty toilet space.

When he turned to leave the bathroom, the main door swung shut revealing a woman standing in the space behind it, a handgun pointed at his head. She flipped the switch on the wall and the light burst on above his head, searing his retinas with brightness.

“You want to lower that weapon, soldier?” she said. “I’m really twitchy right now.”

He recognized the voice. He should, given how it had been slithering around his brain like melted chocolate since the Fourth of July. “Elena?” Damian yanked his goggles up over his helmet to see her better.

She looked like Lara Croft in her sweats and utility belt bristling with guns and knives. If he hadn’t been in the middle of a mission, it would have turned him on. It kind of did anyway, especially with their sex still fresh in his mind.

“Damian?”

“What the hell? Give me that thing before you kill me,” he said, marching toward her, his hand outstretched to seize the gun.

“Hell no. I’m not giving up my weapon,” she said, but she did lower it.

“We’re here to rescue you,” he said.

“Why? Seems like a lot of risk for one person.”

“Your father’s a senator. You work for the CIA. That’s enough to consider you a high-profile target.”

One of her eyebrows went up while her lips thinned, an expression that said she wasn’t overly impressed. “I had it under control.”

Damian took offense. He couldn’t believe how naïve and ungrateful she was. He’d been worried sick about her and all the awful things Ramos and his men could be doing to her, and now she had the balls to stand in the middle of the bathroom and question all that. “Really? How’d you think you’d get out of here? It’s not like you can just jump on a fucking bus.”

“I had a plan.”

“So do we. It includes taking out all the bad guys, then hitching a ride outta here on a Chinook.”

“Okay, that’s a good plan, too. Kind of loud and messy, but if it works, I’ll take it.”

“We’re SEALs. Our plans always work.”

She snorted. Actually snorted. “Whatever you say, hotshot. Can we go now?”

The conversation was unreal, especially given the sounds of gunfire and conflict out in the hall, downstairs, and out in the compound. His jittery nerves concerned him, made him afraid he wouldn’t be able to focus on his job. He was used to adrenaline and watching out for his guys, but they were all trained to do their jobs, so he trusted them to do them and get out alive. He wasn’t used to this fear twisting his gut. Elena had no idea what she was up against and it scared the shit out of him.

“Listen, Elena, this isn’t pretend CIA spy time. My team is out there getting shot at for you.” He grabbed her by the biceps and squeezed, getting in her face. “I’m here to get you out alive and in one piece, so put the gun away, stay behind me, and do what I say. No questions, just do it.”

Her eyes opened wide in surprise, then she opened her mouth like she wanted to say something. Knowing her, she’d argue, so he gave her his best SEAL glower. His best
shut the fuck up and behave
glare. Anger and exasperation bubbled in his chest. He and his team literally risked their lives to save her—yeah it was their job, and they went where they were told—but she treated it like a joke. He wanted to shake her by the shoulders and tell her to wake up and take the situation seriously.

She must have got the message because she holstered her weapon and said, “Yes, sir.”

He sensed a hint of sarcasm in the
sir
but let it slide. They’d spent too much time talking, and by the sounds of weapon fire and yelling, things weren’t going well.

Using the grip he still had on her arm, he traded places with her, putting her behind him and himself closest to the door, before releasing her. She rubbed her arm. Maybe he’d squeezed too hard. He didn’t care. Let it be a reminder to her.

Into the comm he said, “Caine. Target acquired. Over.”

West’s voice blasted into his ear. “Copy. Hold your position. We’re taking fire. Heavy resistance. Will advise. Out.”

“Fuck.”

“What?” Elena asked.

“Ramos’s men are putting up a fight. Squad leader advised us to stay put until further notice.”

“I’m not crazy about that idea.”

He checked the door, latching and locking it, then turned off the light closing his eyes as he did so they’d adjust to the dark. Not that a locked bathroom door would be much of a barrier, but it was better than standing out in the open. He moved out of the way of the door, pushing her along behind him. The door was solid wood, but he didn’t want to take any chances of bullets cutting through.

“Not like we have a lot of choices,” he said, opening his eyes. They’d started to adjust to the darkness. Elena was a shadow slightly deeper than the darkness around her.

He caught her movement as she crossed her arms over her chest and harrumphed. He stifled the urge to sidle up to her, force her against the wall, and give her a rough, punishing kiss, but only barely. Instead, he said, “If you’re so unhappy with our rescue, what was your genius plan?”

“I was going to stealth my way through the house, find Ramos and use him as a hostage to get out of here.”

It was Damian’s turn to snort. “You’re an accountant, Elena. You’re not trained for that kind of thing.”

She cocked her hip and he felt the weight of her gaze heavy on him. The noise of battle made Damian itch to get out in it. He hated not having his teams’ backs, but not only was Elena the mission objective, she was his objective, so he’d protect her.

She scrutinized him, and he could see her well enough to recognize her biting her lip like she struggled with a decision. How she could be so calm in the midst of the chaos around them set off a little warning bell in his head. A pampered senator’s daughter who worked as a financial auditor—even for the CIA—should be panicked, crying, freaking out. Elena seemed alert and tense, but she stood in the middle of the dark bathroom looking as if she couldn’t decide between the red shoes or the black shoes.

“How did those guards die outside your room?” he asked.

“How do you know it was my room?”

“How do you know which room I’m talking about? Are there a lot of rooms here with dead guards outside them?”

“Touché. Although, you’d have to assume if you’re looking for someone held hostage, there would be guards outside the room so it’s a safe assumption it was my room.”

He had to give her that. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Would you buy it if I said I’d have to kill you if I told you?”

“For Christ’s sake, this is no time for jokes.”

“You’re right, it’s not. This whole thing has gone—what do you guys call it, tits up?”

“Yeah.”

“I killed those guys.”

His blood ran cold. If she’d killed them, it hadn’t been luck or accident. He’d seen those bodies. She’d had to know what she was doing. “You’re not just an accountant, are you?”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“Jesus. So what are you?”

She sighed. “I’ll tell you, but you have to keep this secret. I can’t have my cover blown.”

He gave her his sourest look. “I’m a SEAL, for fuck’s sake. Every mission I go on is a secret. I can get in deep shit if I talk, so I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“Okay, fine,” she said, holding up her hands in surrender. “I’m an operations officer. An agent, basically.”

“A spy?”

“Well, yeah. I’ve worked various levels of undercover, including covert operations, but I’m between assignments right now.”

His mind was officially blown. “Well, fuck.”

“Yeah. Nobody knows. My family doesn’t know, even the people in my ‘fake’ job at the agency don’t know. I’m guessing since you didn’t know my handlers didn’t tell your commanding officer, either.”

“No. We were only told you’d been kidnapped and we’d be doing extraction.”

“You didn’t wonder why they’d put so much effort into rescuing a CIA accountant?”

“You’re the daughter of a senator’s who’s connected with the Navy.”

“Still, seems like a lot of resources, just for me.”

A
thud
against the door made them both jump. The
pop
of gunfire in the hall, and the
thunk
of a couple of bullets lodging in the wood of the door had Damian jumping in front of Elena and bringing his weapon up.

West’s voice roared in his ear again. “Caine. Where are you?”

“Second floor bathroom. Top of the stairs. Door’s closed. Over.”

A few seconds later, someone pounded on the door. “Open up,” West said.

Damian hurried for the door and opened it, his weapon up and ready, but found West and some of the other guys on the other side. “Good to see you guys,” Damian said, grinning.

“We’re outta here,” West said. “Bring the girl out. Ewing’s team will meet us at the bottom of the stairs and clear ahead of us, and we’ll surround her.”

“Yes, sir,” Damian said. “What about Ramos?”

“Ewing says he ran with his tail between his legs.”

“Shit.”

West nodded. “It would have been nice to take him out or take him in, but he wasn’t the mission. Now let’s go. We’re heading out the back of the house and making a run for the LZ.”

Damian gestured for Elena to step up behind him. She’d dumped the utility belt, but held a knife in one hand and handgun in the other.

“Ma’am,” West said, holding out his hand. “I know this is scary, but we don’t need anyone getting hurt accidentally. Just give me the gun, and we’ll keep you safe.”

Damian bit his lips to keep from laughing out loud as Elena struggled with how to keep her weapon and still remain believably civilian.

“I’m from Texas. You think I don’t know how to use a gun?” she asked.

West considered her for a moment before giving her one curt nod. Score one point for Elena.

“Just stay in the middle of my men and try to keep your head down.”

“No problem. Thank you, sir.”

She managed the perfect waver of fear and strength in her voice. Damian was impressed by her acting. A little spark of pride swelled in his chest.

West spoke to the squad. “This floor’s clear. Ewing says he’s cleared the first floor. Squads three, four, and five are holding our path to the LZ and managing wounded. We just need to thread the needle, boys. Let’s go.”

West radioed for pickup, trigging a round of
hooahs
as they moved out, keeping Elena in the middle of the group.

They hauled ass downstairs and through the foyer, where they met Ewing’s men. They all circled around to the back of the house, through the kitchen—careful to hop over the dead bodies. Ewing’s guys threw open the back door and out hurried across the porch before spilling down onto the ground and heading toward the landing strip.

Looked like they’d make it.

Until Ewing’s men made it out into the open and a hail of gunfire erupted from the jungle to the south.

West and most of Damian’s squad had just stepped off the porch, including Damian and Elena, who brought up the rear.

“Fuck,” Damian said, grabbing Elena by the arm and running back up the porch steps and into the house.

A fresh wave of guerillas swarmed out of the woods like ninja shadows in the dark, cutting them off from the rest of the men.

“Jesus. How many men does Ramos have?” Damian asked.

“Too many,” Elena said.

“C’mon.”

Damian clutched her hand and hurried through the kitchen—hopping over the dead—and back into the foyer. At the front door Damian squatted down and motioned for Elena to do the same.

He spoke into the comm. “West. We got cut off by hostiles. I’m going to attempt to get her to the secondary extraction site. I’ll radio when we get there. Over.”

“Roger. Out.”

“What if they’re out front, too?” she asked.

“Then we’ll need a plan C.”

“Let’s just go with plan C.”

“Why?”

“A couple of reasons. First, Ramos took off when things got messy. It’s likely he went to meet my father in Cartagena and I’m worried that now he’ll be really pissed about this rescue effort and kill my dad.”

“That doesn’t change our immediate situation. We can’t do anything about it until we get out of here.”

“True. But once we’re out, I have to go to Cartagena to try to stop him.”

“We’ll be way behind him, you know.”

“How about you radio your team and send them after Ramos and dad?”

Damian ground his teeth together to keep from saying something particularly insensitive. The mission didn’t include chasing after a drug lord to keep him from killing a senator. The mission was Elena-specific. “If I don’t?”