Midnight Pursuits (13 page)

“I'm never going to forget the way you look right now,” Noelle declared as she and D leisurely strolled along the gorgeous walkway of the Parque del Retiro in Madrid.

D cast her a sideways glance. “Go ahead. Make fun of me all you want. I'll punish you for it the next time we're naked.”

“Is that a threat? Because we both know I enjoy your kind of punishment.”

Chuckling, D broke the eye contact and turned his attention back to their prey, who was ambling up ahead at a leisurely pace that annoyed the shit out of D. They'd been watching Yuri Kozlov all morning, following the man as he'd played tourist with the petite black-haired woman he was vacationing with. D normally didn't mind surveillance gigs, but seeing the sights of Madrid didn't interest him.

To make matters worse, following a tourist meant
posing
as a tourist. Which meant getting decked out in the outfit Noelle was gleaning so much amusement from. The vomit-inducing getup included a faded Columbia University T-shirt he kept in his go bag for occasions such as this, beat-up Converse sneakers, a digital camera with a pansy-ass wrist strap, and honest-to-God blue jeans. Jesus fucking Christ. He was experiencing some serious withdrawal from his cargo pants.

Noelle had it easy—a pink tee, white capris, hair in a ponytail. She easily pulled off the fresh-faced coed look, and every man who passed offered her an admiring smile, which in turn brought a cynical one to D's lips. If they only knew.

“Our little friends are getting bolder,” Noelle mused.

D had noticed the same thing—the two men trailing after Kozlov and his girlfriend were making less of an effort to remain hidden. The short one in the blue sweater was brazenly lurking ten feet from the couple as they stopped to take a picture in front of the equestrian statue that served as a monument to King Alfonso XII, while the big one in the black Windbreaker not so conspicuously stood near the artificial pond, pretending to study a map.

“Smile, angel face.” Noelle raised her digital camera to snap a shot of D.

He pasted on a smile, which went against everything he stood for.

Christ. The things he did for his teammates.

For a man who'd worked solo for most of his career, D still wasn't entirely sure why he'd decided to join Morgan's crew. He supposed he could have found himself a little beach shack in some uncharted part of the world and lived out the rest of his days in solitude, but he hadn't pulled a disappearing act from the agency in order to bum around and drink Coronas on the beach. He was built for action, wired for death and violence. Self-imposed retirement from the agency had been crucial for his survival, but he hadn't been ready to lie down and die yet.

When he'd heard that supersoldier Jim Morgan was putting together a mercenary team, he'd been intrigued. And for some fucked-up reason, he'd offered his services to the man.

Some days he deeply regretted that decision, but for the most part, he was content with the gig. He'd never wanted to be part of a team, and yet over the years, he'd grown oddly protective of the men he fought alongside. He didn't know when it happened, but somehow he'd begun considering it his duty to watch his teammates' asses and keep them from getting themselves killed.

The rookie's entanglement with Juliet Mason had disaster written all over it. D had agreed to get involved not just because he hated sitting idle during these forced vacations, but because he didn't want to see Ethan lose his life thanks to another one of Noelle's crazy operatives.

“Do you ever miss it?” Noelle's voice interrupted his train of thought.

“Miss what?” he said gruffly.

“Killing.”

“Who says I stopped?”

She rolled her eyes. “I know for a fact that Jim specializes in extractions. I can't imagine he sends you out on many kill jobs.”

“He doesn't,” D grudgingly confessed.

“So, I repeat, do you miss it? The excitement of the hunt, the sheer pleasure you get from closing in on your prey, the triumph of extinguishing some sorry bastard's life?”

“Sometimes.” He cocked a brow. “Why, you offering me a job? Trying to steal me away from Morgan the way he stole Abby from you?”

She laughed. “Sorry, honey. I wouldn't let you come work for me even if you begged. You're too volatile.”

“And you're not?”

“Oh, I can be.” She shrugged. “But unlike you, I'm not still hung up on the nightmares in my past. You know, the ones you wear on your sleeve.” She paused meaningfully. “Or should I say
wrist
?”

She struck like a rattlesnake, snatching his right hand and curling her fingers over his wrist.

He saw the move coming, yet for some reason allowed it.

Uneasiness washed over him as Noelle traced the two lines of faded black text etched on his skin.

“Two sets of dates,” she drawled. “The first one . . . I'd bet it marks an event you want to forget but force yourself to remember. And the second one . . . about ten years after the first . . . I'm not sure what that one signifies. Care to enlighten me?”

“Nope.”

“Shocking.”

She released his hand and put on a blithe smile, her shrewd blue eyes focusing on their target.

Kozlov and his lady were laughing about something, oblivious to the ominous reality that they were being watched by two sets of people. Ah, to be carefree and ignorant and blessedly optimistic.

D had lost that privilege when he was eight years old. It had been plucked away from him, and the death and violence he'd indulged in over the subsequent years ensured that he'd never get those feelings back.

Beside him, Noelle had taken her phone out of her shoulder bag and was glancing at the screen.

“Juliet's calling,” she said before answering. “Yes?” She waited, her pouty mouth twisting into a grimace. “You all right?” Another pause. “Casualties?” A nod. “Sounds good. Stay in touch.”

She hung up with a frown. “Someone made a move on their target and killed her bodyguard, but they neutralized the situation. They're taking the girl to a safe house up north, near the Russian border.”

“Do they want us to grab our guy and join them?”

“Only if we sense a threat to Kozlov.” She made an irritated sound. “We're on standby. I fucking hate standby.”

So did he, but he wasn't one to gripe and complain about things that were beyond his control.

“C'mon,” he told the sulking blonde, “it's time to continue playing tourist. They're on the move again.”

•   •   •

The teenage girl in the backseat of the BMW was inconsolable. Shaking, panting, and crying, her arms hugging her chest as the sobs racked her body.

“Why are you doing this?” she moaned. “I just want to go home.”

Juliet stifled a groan and prayed that Anastacia Karin wouldn't keep this up during the entire ride to the safe house. The property they'd secured last night with Paige's help was a good two hours away, and they were only ten minutes into the drive. At this rate, Juliet would shoot the kid herself.

Ethan, on the other hand, was an endless well of patience. He sat in the back with Anastacia, murmuring to the distraught girl in stilted Russian.

“We're taking you somewhere safe, Anastacia. I know it's difficult to hear, but your life is in danger.”

Her sobs escaped in ragged pants. “She . . . she was going to
shoot
me . . . Nina . . . she would have killed me. She would have killed me, right?”

Ethan didn't mince words, but his voice stayed soft and gentle. “Yes. But you're safe now. I promise you you're safe.”

“I'm not! How do I know you won't shoot me too?” The girl started crying in earnest now. “I want to call my father! Please just let me call him!”

As Ethan continued to console the girl, Juliet met his gaze in the rearview mirror, saw the frustration in his eyes. She knew what he was thinking—this was a total fucked-up mess. They hadn't had time to clean up the scene, which meant that the authorities were bound to find Karin's town car in the ditch, along with two dead bodies.

Juliet was still having trouble making sense of what the hell had happened. Just as Karin's Lincoln had sailed through the guardrail, a second town car appeared out of nowhere—it had most likely been parked in the industrial park they'd noticed before, Juliet had realized afterward. She and Ethan had taken cover behind their car, under fire from Anastacia's bodyguard, when a blond woman had emerged from the second car and pumped three bullets into the bodyguard's chest before making a beeline for the wrecked car.

When the woman pointed her weapon inside the car, Ethan hadn't even hesitated—his shot had taken off half the blonde's head. Anastacia's face and coat were still stained with the woman's blood.

Christ. What a mess. Juliet knew that the second the cops arrived on the bloody scene and discovered that the prime minister's daughter was nowhere to be found, they'd have every law-enforcement agency in the country searching for the missing girl.

What had spurred Orlov to dispatch someone to make a move? Today, in the middle of the goddamn afternoon?

Juliet pressed down on the gas, driving faster, knowing they needed to get off the highway and to the safe house as soon as humanly possible. Before every road in the country was crawling with cops.

In the back, Anastacia had fallen quiet. A quick glance in the mirror showed a pair of vacant green eyes, and the girl was shivering so hard that Ethan had wrapped one strong arm around her, offering comfort and warmth.

“We can't be out in the open.”

His low murmur was spoken in English and directed at Juliet, who nodded in response. “They'll think it was an abduction,” she said flatly. “It'll be all over the news in a matter of hours.”

“Could work to our favor. The media attention might discourage Orlov from making a move on the others. What did Noelle say?”

“Their target is safe. I told them to be prepared for anything.”

Ethan offered a nod of his own. “Call Sully. Tell him to rendezvous with us at the safe house.”

“You want them to snatch Baronova?” she said in surprise.

“Yeah. She's here in the city. Might as well keep her and the girl in the same place. D and Noelle are on the alert, so they'll be ready if someone makes a move on Kozlov in Madrid.”

Juliet kept one hand on the wheel and used the other to bring up Sullivan Port's number on her phone. When the Australian answered, she relayed Ethan's instructions, then hung up and focused on driving. She was speeding, but not by much. They couldn't afford to attract any unwanted patrols, not when they were harboring the prime minister's daughter in the backseat.

“Don't touch me!”

Anastacia's panicked cry reverberated in the car. The girl had started struggling again, same way she'd struggled when Ethan pulled her out of the car after he'd eliminated her would-be assassin. She must have snapped out of her terror-ridden daze and noticed his arm around her, because she was slapping his hands away, her tears leaving two trails in the blood caked on her face.

“It's okay, sweetheart. Hey, it's okay. Look at me, Anastacia. I need you to take a deep breath and look at me.”

Juliet's eyes were on the road, but her ears were attuned to Ethan's husky voice. A strange wave of affection washed over her as she listened to him. He was so patient with the terrified girl, radiating strength and compassion but also a quiet intensity that Juliet had never noticed before.

In this moment, he didn't look or sound like a kid.

He was a man.

And back at the scene of the accident, he'd been a soldier. Juliet had been startled by the calm fortitude that lit his hazel eyes when he'd taken out that blonde with the cleanest shot to the head she'd ever seen. He'd killed a woman without blinking, revealing a ruthless and dangerous side that, she was ashamed to admit, kind of turned her on.

Ethan Hayes was much more than she'd believed him to be. Deadlier. Sexier.

God, definitely sexier.

“Who are you people? Why are you here? I don't want to be here!”

Anastacia's shrill outburst reminded Juliet that now was not the time to be daydreaming about how sexy Ethan was.

They'd abducted the prime minister's daughter, for Pete's sake. Yes, they'd saved her life and removed her from the scene for her own protection, but Juliet doubted the authorities—or the prime minister—would see it that way.

“Please take me home! Please! Just let me call my father,” the girl pleaded between hiccupped sobs. “He has money! He has lots of money and he'll give you as much as you want! Just take me home!”

Juliet and Ethan exchanged another look in the mirror.

Jesus. It was going to be a long ride.

•   •   •

Orlov received the news twenty minutes after his conference with General Vasiliev had drawn to a close. He was just leaving his office to meet with his advisors when an aide came rushing down the corridor.

“Sir! Prime Minister Karin's daughter has been abducted,” the young man burst out.

Orlov's outward demeanor didn't change. As the aide spit out the details, he listened without comment, his face devoid of emotion.

All the while seething on the inside.

When the other man finished, Orlov stalked into the small inner office in his block of suites and addressed his secretary. “Get Marisova from Justice on the line. Forward the call to my mobile.”

“Right away, sir,” came Galina's swift reply.

With the aide nipping at the heels of his leather wing tips like an excitable puppy, Orlov marched back to the hall and headed for the elevator bank. Every door and elevator on the Defense floors required a security card, and so he went through the motions of swiping his coded, magnetic ID in the electronic panel mounted to the wall.