Midnight Pursuits (16 page)

But he had no interest in sweet, passive women. He might've dated a few, but deep down he'd always been attracted to the strong ones. Women who spoke their mind, who stood their ground, who knew exactly what they wanted and went after it.

Women like Juliet.

Except he'd gotten more than he'd bargained for with her. She was strong, yes. Not to mention bold, resourceful, gutsy. But she was also far more vulnerable than he'd ever imagined. She had a hard exterior, hiding behind sassy smirks and biting remarks, but the more he got to know her, the more he realized what a pretense that was.

“Stop it,” she muttered.

“Stop what?” He skimmed his fingertips over her plush lips, tracing the seam.

“Stop telling yourself that I'm
the one
. We're not going to be together. We don't belong together.” Her breathing sounded labored to his ears. “Happily-ever-after doesn't exist. True love and all that bullshit? Doesn't exist. And I'm never again making the mistake of believing it does.”

He cupped her delicate chin. “Who made you believe it?” he said roughly. “Who broke your heart?”

“I'm not doing this, okay? I'm not going to sit around and swap relationship stories with you.” Anger burned in her eyes as she shrugged out of his grip and hopped off the bed. “Take a goddamn nap, Ethan. I'll wake you up in twenty.”

With that, she stalked out of the room.

“Son of a bitch. She actually came through for us.” Juliet shook her head in amazement as she strode into the kitchen at five o'clock the next morning.

Ethan and Sullivan were already up, having drawn the graveyard shift, while Liam was sound asleep on the couch, snoring softly.

Since Juliet had taken the earlier watch, she'd avoided having to share the bedroom with Ethan, much to her relief. She was finding it difficult to be around him, especially when last night's unsettling conversation continued to buzz around in her head like a pesky fly.

How could he think they'd actually wind up in a relationship once this was all over? It already annoyed her to no end that she was working with so many outsiders on this mission, and now she was going to get a
boyfriend
out of the deal? No way. Her only goal was to take out Henry's killer, and she'd do anything to make that happen, even team up with Morgan's merry band of mercenaries. And once she achieved that goal, she was saying sayonara to everyone.

Including Ethan.

“You're shitting me,” Sullivan said, jerking her out of her thoughts. “She actually got us a face-to-face with Mironov?”

Juliet made a beeline for the coffeemaker on the counter and removed a Styrofoam cup from the package she and Ethan had purchased yesterday. She poured herself a cup of coffee, added a splash of milk, and headed for the table.

“I told you, Noelle has connections. Turns out one of her informants is an ex–KGB operative with ties to the PRF.” Juliet sat down and spared a quick glance at Ethan, who looked way too cute in his snug hunter green sweater and black trousers. “Mironov knows he's meeting with an associate of Noelle's, but things might still get dicey when I show up.”

“When
you
show up? No way, Jules. You're not going alone.”

Jules? The nickname sounded so natural coming from that sexy mouth of his. It made her heart skip a beat, but at the same time, the familiarity was grating.

“Mironov's man made it clear that I was to come alone,” she told him.

“Tough cookies. I'm going with you.”

“Tough cookies? Where'd you pick up that phrase, kiddo?
Sesame Street
?”

He ignored the jab. “I'm coming with you whether you like it or not. We're not pandering to a fucking terrorist, all right?”

“Jeez. All right. But if he shoots you on sight, you have only yourself to blame.” Shrugging, she took a long sip of coffee.

“When and where is this rendezvous?” Ethan asked.

“Noon, and it's at some shit-hole bar in the city's east end. I asked Paige to vet the area and she says it's all PRF supporters out there. The bar is owned by one of Mironov's men. Apparently the cops have gotten multiple warrants to search the place, but each time they go in, they find nothing that implicates the owner or patrons in connection to the PRF.”

Sullivan spoke up, his light gray eyes flickering unhappily. “I'd feel better if I were going with you.” He paused. “Scratch that—I'd feel better if the entire team was here.”

“Yeah, some backup would be nice,” Ethan admitted. “I left Morgan a message earlier to check if they're done with the Bolivia extraction, but he hasn't called back yet.”

“We'll be fine,” Juliet said dismissively. “Mironov wouldn't dare harm anyone who works for Noelle.”

Ethan and Sullivan exchanged a look that made Juliet furrow her brow. “What?” she said in bewilderment.

“I just don't understand how your boss got her reputation.” Sullivan's tone held a combination of reverence and confusion. “I mean, people don't just fear her—they
fear
her. Grown men piss their pants when they hear her name. There're hundreds of contract killers out there, but none who inspire the same level of terror in people that she does. And yet I've bloody
met
the lady, and she seems totally harmless.”

Juliet snickered. “Harmless? I wouldn't recommend you ever say that to her face.”

“Seriously, though, where did she come from? What did she do to earn that rep?” Ethan asked curiously.

“Honestly? I don't know much about Noelle's past. She never talks about it.” Juliet hesitated. “But I did hear stories about her over the years. When I was working in Europe, her name came up a lot, and let's just say that everything I heard made me incredibly nervous about ever crossing paths with the queen of assassins.”

Ethan looked intrigued. “What'd you hear?”

“You know, the usual. Someone important would wind up dead and there'd be whispers. Lots and lots of whispers. Like how she'd been trained by a master assassin in Hong Kong, which I think is bullshit, by the way. Or that she dismembered her targets while they were still alive—again, I call bullshit. But then I met her, and some of the stories made me wonder. Like the one about her seducing a target and slitting his throat while he was orgasming, or how she'd brazenly walked into a room full of high-powered politicians, killed one on the dance floor, and disappeared without a trace.” Juliet shrugged. “Shit like that, I can believe.”

Sullivan let out a low whistle. “But you still decided to work for the lady?”

“Why not? She's terrifying, sure, but she's also smart and resourceful and her services are in high demand.” Juliet offered a self-deprecating smile. “You should have seen the training she put me through. I bet it puts your military boot camps to shame.”

“Trust me, I know,” Ethan said ruefully. “Abby took it upon herself to give me a workshop on knife fighting once. Scared me shitless.”

Juliet laughed. “Abby always did have a fondness for knives. But then your boss stole her away, and now she spends her days
rescuing
people. How boring.” Setting down her cup, she hopped to her feet. “C'mon, rookie, let's start heading out. It'll take us two hours to make the drive back to the city, and I want to get there early so we can vet the bar.”

He was already sliding off his chair. “I'm right behind you.”

•   •   •

Noelle was expecting his call.

From the second Juliet informed her she was teaming up with Jim's rookie to go after Dmitry Orlov, Noelle had known she'd be hearing from Jim sooner or later, and sure enough, his wretched number flashed on her phone at eight o'clock that morning. D had already left the suite to keep an eye on Kozlov and take advantage of the hotel restaurant's continental breakfast, but Noelle had hung back because she had a feeling this phone call would go down today.

She deliberately waited several rings before answering. Let the bastard wait. If she could create even the slightest inconvenience in his life, she'd damn well do it.

“What can I do you for, Jim?” she drawled once she'd picked up.

“Why is it that every time I turn around, you've lured one of my guys into another one of your crusades?”

His rough voice cut right to her core. Once upon a time she'd loved that deep, husky voice. Yearned for it. Dreamed about it late at night when she was lying in bed, foolish young girl that she was.

Now it only consumed her with rage.

“It's not my crusade,” she said flatly. “It's Juliet's. And your man chose to join her. I wasn't even aware of it until after I wrapped up my last job, so if you want someone to bitch at, you've got the wrong person. This was out of my control.”

“And your relationship with my best soldier? Is that out of your control too?” Sarcasm dripped from his tone.

Noelle laughed and sank down on the edge of the bed. “Relationship? You know better than that.”

“Oh, that's right. You're just fucking him.” His chuckle pierced her ear. “If you're trying to make me jealous, it's not working, Noelle.”

“The world doesn't revolve around you, Jim.”

“Your world does.”

His mocking laughter continued to undulate over the line, intensifying her anger. She'd spent years learning to harness that anger, learning to lock up her emotions in the dungeon that now made up her black heart, but Jim Morgan always succeeded in unlocking those volatile feelings.

“Every move you make is traced back to me,” he went on, cold, merciless. “And this thing you have going with D? I know you started it up in order to piss me off, but you really shouldn't have bothered. I don't give a shit who you screw in your spare time.”

“Funny, you talk about it an awful lot for someone who claims not to care.”

When he didn't respond, a surge of triumph flowed through her. The mighty Jim Morgan, not as cool and composed as he wanted her to believe.

“Now, what's the real reason for this call?” she asked him.

“Just giving you the heads-up that I'm coming to Madrid.”

She froze. “What for? Is your team joining the crusade?”

“The whole team, no. At least not unless Ethan requests backup. But I've decided to take up the cause. I'm coming to keep you and D company.”

Her shoulders went rigid. “We've got it covered.”

“I don't know . . . surveillance can be real tricky sometimes . . .”

“What the fuck kind of game are you playing?”

“Same one I've always played.” His voice lowered to a lethal pitch. “My end goal has never changed, baby. I'm going to destroy you. Whenever you experience even the faintest spark of joy, I'm going to be right there to extinguish it.”

Her hands trembled with fury. “Didn't you already do that?”

“Oh, that's rich. You really want to go down this road of who screwed who? Because I'll win every time.”

“That's a matter of opinion.” She laughed without an ounce of humor. “All right, then. Your dastardly plan is to interfere with what I have going with D? Go ahead, Jim. Bring it on.”

She disconnected the call.

Every muscle in her body was stretched taut, tightening and tightening like a guitar string until finally it snapped and she found herself whipping the phone against the wall. It smacked into the cheap landscape painting hanging there, both items crashing to the carpeted floor with a loud thud.

Inhaling deeply, Noelle gathered up the shards of her shattered composure. Goddamn him. That bastard always knew exactly which buttons to push.

But she refused to give him the satisfaction. Refused to ever let him see how deeply he still affected her.

With a long exhale, she rose from the bed and calmly went to retrieve her phone. She didn't even bother checking if it was broken—she had ten more at her disposal. Just one of the perks of being wildly wealthy.

So.

Jim wanted to come and start shit up? By all means, let him.

She'd be right here, armed and ready for him.

•   •   •

The Black Swan was an even bigger shit hole than Ethan had expected. Situated between two pawnshops, the bar boasted a tinted front window, a neon sign with half the letters burned out, and a broken rain gutter that was causing a fountain of wet slush to pour over the entrance. There were only two points of entry: a door with chipped paint that opened onto the unkempt sidewalk, and a metal delivery door at the rear, which spilled onto a narrow alley that reeked of beer, garbage, and urine. Neither door was guarded, but that didn't ease the tension in Ethan's gut.

He wished they'd decided to run the risk of assessing the interior layout during their recon, but neither he nor Juliet had deemed it wise. Instead, they'd split up and spent the past three hours scoping out the place to determine whether they were walking into a trap, monitoring each person that went in or out. They hadn't seen anything alarm worthy, yet waves of danger radiated from the little establishment.

Now it was almost noon, and Juliet's throaty voice rippled over the tiny transmitter lodged in Ethan's ear.

“I say we bite the bullet and go in. Worst thing that'll happen is we get killed.”

He chuckled, touching his ear to activate his mic. Noelle had acquired the transmitters for them last year, and although Ethan knew it annoyed Morgan to no end, the boss had started utilizing the equipment on ops. The small, flesh-colored earpieces were motion activated, which meant the speaker could be heard only when he or she triggered the mic, leaving the feed free of constant chatter.

“You're such an optimist,” he told her.

He shifted his legs, which were beginning to cramp. He was positioned on the roof of the building across from the strip of storefronts, lying flat on his belly and perched on one elbow as he peered through the scope of his favorite M40 sniper rifle, a memento from his days in the corps.

Juliet, who was watching the back, sounded impatient as she spoke again. “Meet me out front in five. Let's get this over with.”

Ethan quickly returned the rifle to its case, then stashed it beneath the black tarp that was covering an enormous stack of gray bricks in the far corner of the roof. He would come back for his gear later. Right now he was fine carrying his twin Sigs and the various knives hidden beneath his clothing.

He reunited with Juliet on the sidewalk, trying not to drool over how sexy she looked. She wore a tight leather coat zipped up to the collar, a dark blue scarf wrapped around her neck, and a wool cap covering her long brown hair. On her feet were her trademark boots, which she'd confessed had custom knife sheaths sewn into the lining. The fact that she was forever armed was a major turn-on, though he wasn't entirely sure why.

“Did you change your bandages before we left?” he asked sternly, his gaze honing in on her abdomen.

“Nah, I took them off last night. The wounds are healing nicely. They'll turn into two puckered little scars in no time.”

He didn't know whether to laugh or frown at her cavalier attitude toward bullet holes.

“Anyway, you ready?” She flashed one of those lazy grins he was growing accustomed to.

“Yeah, let's do this.”