Firethorn (Discarded Heroes) (10 page)

“They found
you,
didn’t they?”

Oh sweet Jesus.

“From what I’ve been able to uncover, Midas is imprisoned in Venezuela. A place, as you know, Mr. Riddell, is very unfriendly to Americans on the wrong side of the law. A place where nice guys like your buddy disappear and nobody hears from them again. The newest member, the assassin, faces execution one week from today in a Hamas safe house.”

The news looped his heart into a knot.

“Cowboy was arrested in London and faces charges of terrorism.”

The knot tightened. He couldn’t breathe.

“Marshall Vaughn is hooked up to a machine and not expected to live. Someone found your Shack, grabbed the men, then blew the building into the Hudson.”

Unbelievable. Griffin leaned against the wall, rubbing a hand over his face. No wonder Colton missed their weekly meeting—arrested. On terrorism charges. The Kid on life support? It made him sick to his stomach. Metcalfe…“Frogman. Where’s Max? And Squirt?”

Her green eyes met his. “Unknown. Both disappeared two weeks ago. Frogman made a call to his wife, then vanished. His wife was shot, but it wasn’t fatal. She and the other wives and children are safely tucked away, out of sight and mind.”

Whoever had gone after the team hit hard and in a way that would decimate any chance of the team recovering.

A slow burn worked from his toes, through his legs, stoked by the sickening feeling of being hunted. It surged through his chest with volcanic fury. He’d handpicked the team with Olin. And he’d be among the damned if he let someone disassemble Nightshade. “What’s the plan?”

CHAPTER 6

W
inter had crowded out the heavenlies and silenced the familiar song of the cicadas as they waited along a barren runway. Griffin remembered sitting on the front porch with Madyar, rocking. Talking. Enjoying. Doing nothing but listening to one another. To nature. To God.

Strangely, God had been as quiet as the stark night that stretched before him. An icy wind rustled the tall, uncut grass waving under the dull glow of the winter moon. Eerie silence drifted through the starless sky. Pop-Pop had taught him to watch for God in the small things, the whisper of the wind, the smile of someone unknown. Was this woman sent by God?

No, Lambert sent her.

Griffin had to be a fool to cooperate with the escape—but Nightshade needed him. He had to get the guys back together. And the only way to do that was to be free. Wrestling with the notion that he served time for a crime someone else committed—well, God would have to sort that one out.

Cupping his hands over his mouth and blowing hot breath provided little warmth. Griffin remained quiet, ignoring the bitter cold worming through the thin scrubs. Beside him, Wonder Woman sat like a loyal guard dog, watching. Her wide eyes sat glued on a fixed point down the airstrip. She shifted onto her toes and crept forward a few feet.

“There,” she whispered as two lights blinked in the distance.

Slowly, the thrum of a plane droned into his awareness. Red wingtip lights grew brighter.

“Let’s go.” Kacie patted his shoulder and, in a hunched run, approached the runway. Staying close, Griffin prepared himself to overpower the pilot of the plane.

The moon peeked through drifting clouds, accenting the glossy body of a single-engine plane as it rolled into view.

Griffin anticipated Kacie’s move and darted toward the craft with her.

“Other side,” she said.

He whipped around the front, avoiding the pointed steel tip that guarded the propeller. The sleek hull was new, but it was still a single-engine plane. He hated single-engines. He’d been jiggled like Madyar’s homemade butter on one too many flights. At the side, he tugged up the gull-wing door—and froze.

Kacie sat in the pilot’s seat. Headphones on and pressing buttons. Her eyes darted to him. “What?”

He glanced to the backseat. Empty. “Where’s the pilot?”

“You’re looking at her. Now get in or I’ll leave you.”

Mind tangled, he folded himself into the ultracompact compartment and drew down the door. Before he could fasten the three-point harness, she was taxiing down the runway.

Even with the divider between their seats, her cool skin brushed his. Frustration wrapped him tightly as he squished his left arm against his side. He rolled his neck and pushed his thoughts to the team and away from the speed as they ramped up to take off.

Metcalfe holed up in a guerilla camp. No doubt held by someone loyal to Bruzon, whom Metcalfe had taken down. Torture. They would torture the man until he screamed and ratted out his friends.

Colton. His Recon buddy held by British authorities on charges of terrorism, which was asinine! Where was Piper? And his mother and daughter?

Aladdin would face a humiliating execution—and no doubt the men holding him would make sure to display the traitor’s body for all to see. A week. He only had a week.

Max…Max…
Where are you, Frogman?

Gravity pressed Griffin against the seat. He gripped the leather and clenched his teeth as the plane dipped to the right and—wobbled. “Did we just wobble?”

“It’s called flying, Mr. Riddell.”

He pointed to the panel where blue sat on brown. “J–just keep it straight, okay? That should stay straight.” Again he wagged his finger at it. “Straight. Got it?”

“If I did that, we’d end up in China.” Glowing under the lights of the instrumentation, her smile spiraled out at him and struck him in the chest. “Are we scared of flying?”

Clicking his tongue, he shook his head, doing his best to regroup his thoughts. And that’s all they were. He wasn’t afraid. He’d faced worse. “You’re crazy. I hop flights all the time.” He roughed a hand over his face. “I just don’t like planes where my shoulder could push the window out.” Her laughter did nothing to ease the irritation seeping into him. His fingers ached as the heated air chased off the icy coldness. “Where are we going?”

“Private airstrip in Texas. We’ll gear up and head to Afghanistan.”

“We?”

Another smile, this time as she read the gauges. “You have something against a woman helping you?”

“I—I—no—that’s not what I meant.”

Her laughter bubbled out, so light and infectious it finally dragged a reluctant smile from his own face. She punched a button on her left, then shifted and reached into the back.

“Hey!” Griffin reached for the stick on his side—only he didn’t know how to fly this thing. “What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be looking out there?” He jabbed a finger at the windshield.

“Why? So I don’t rear-end a 747?” As she drew her arm back, she brought out a large black bag and dropped it in his lap. “Get changed.”

He rummaged through it. Pants, a shirt, shoes. He eyed her. Probably had a full dossier on him, which explained how she knew. How was he supposed to change? He couldn’t even stretch out his legs, his shoulder grazed the window and her elbow, and she wanted him to change? “Excuse me while I step outside…”

Her lips parted, another grin threatening. “Watch the first step. It’s a killer.”

He would not laugh. This was not funny. But the pressure in his chest built. Finally, he let out a breathy laugh and covered his mouth with his fist. “Baby Girl, what do you think I am? A conniptionist?”

She arched an eyebrow at him, her white-blond hair practically glowing from the instrumentation. “You mean a
contortionist
?”

Wring her neck. Strangle her. Get it over with. He knew how to parachute—if there was one in this thing. It’d been a long while since he’d mangled his words like this in front of a woman. He tried to tuck aside the irritation at the way she took charge, ordered him around, and gave no explanation, but it only made him angrier.

“Relax, Gunny.” With a cheeky grin, she winked at him. “I promise not to peek.”

How could the woman infuriate and amuse him at the same time?

Tugging up his shirt, he angled his body to afford himself enough room. He cinched up the material and hauled it off. He clamped his teeth together and drew out the silky polo and threaded his arms into the holes. “Man, Madyar would beat me.” And if she saw him dropping his pants in front of a woman…

Kacie glanced at him and frowned.

He wiggled into the slacks and noticed her staring at him. “What?”

Was that a blush? “Your records didn’t mention the tattoo.”

He placed a hand over his heart, as if he could feel the fire of the gryphon burned into his chest even now. “Got that in high school.” When he thought he was a big, bad brother, ready to take over the local gang. As memories of Venus Washington violated open thought, he shoved them back and stuffed his feet into the shoes. He’d put that behind him long ago. No need to dredge it up now. “What about a shaving kit and cologne?”

She thumbed toward the back. “Right there with your cement parachute.”

“You got some serious attitude, know what I’m saying?”

Her lips thinned. A slow, uneasy breath seemed to ripple through her. Without a response, she removed the headphones and dove partially over the backseat.

Heart in his throat, he grabbed the stick. “What’re you doing? Someone has to fly this thing!”

“Autopilot,” she grunted as she flopped back down with another, smaller bag.

Griffin glanced at her—but a flash of her bare midriff as she tugged off her shirt jerked his gaze away. Heat crawled up his neck and into his face as he registered the fact that she was undressing. “Baby Girl, you have no modesty.”

“You’ve escaped a maximum-security prison, every law-enforcement agency in the nation is on the lookout, and you’re going to gripe about modesty?” Soft angora bathed her torso but did nothing to deflect his piercing comment. Shouldn’t matter.
Doesn’t matter.
He was a job. An objective. Finish this, get his thick-brained team back together, and she could retire.

Five years too late. But who was counting?

“Is this thing…okay?” His eyes glazed as he studied the panel. “This looks new.”

“It is.” She rifled her fingers through her short hair, kneading the tension from her scalp. “Cost half a million.” Yeah, talk about the equipment, the toys. Keep his mind—and
hers
—on safer topics. “Compliments of your benefactor.” Her words faltered as she climbed back into the pilot’s seat. Though she’d tried to put syrupy sarcasm into her voice, it didn’t work.

His dark chocolate eyes came to hers, penetrating. “What’s your name?

“I already introduced myself.”

“A psychologist introduced herself to me. What’s
your
name?”

“You think I lied?”

“I
know
you lied.” He chuckled. “I don’t think you could hold your tongue long enough to listen to a lunatic’s ravings. And I am sure you wouldn’t sit there quietly while one of those hardened criminals decided you’d be their next meal or playmate.”

She flashed a challenge at him.

More chuckles. “Go on.”

He was baiting her. She wouldn’t bite. “In my career I’ve put up with more egotism and testosterone than you could imagine.”

He held out a hand toward her.

She furrowed her brow. “What?”

“Wanted to introduce myself.” He could disarm a nuclear weapon with that smile. “Griffin Riddell. They call me Legend.”

Dare she do this? Open the portal to her soul that she’d sealed off long ago? Ha! Not likely. Nobody, nowhere, no man…She thought she could trust a man once. Carrick had convinced her he was watching out for her, but in the end…well, that was just it. Everything ended. She wouldn’t betray herself like that. Not again. Stick to the story, the alias. Stay safe. “Kacie Whitcomb.”

A hissing sigh coiled around her conscience. “I see. Going to be like that, huh?” He nodded slowly, pursing his lips. “It’s all right, Baby Girl. I’ll win your trust.”

Baby Girl?
Something slithered through her stomach, burning. She bit back the harsh retort about not being anyone’s baby or girl. Then again, it always worked to her advantage when men underestimated her.

Quiet monotony settled into the cabin like an iceberg. The thought pushed her attention to the wings where the automatic deicing seemed to be working. If only she had something that could thaw her life. She was tired of living like this. Tired of…