Ultimate Prey (Book 3 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series) (49 page)

She sighed, while guilt gave her a small kick. “When I first started training with Dante, I realized he was into a few different kinds of earth and energy-based religions.”

“Dante? Seriously? He’s the one who wanted to execute Steven.”

“Exactly. Dante was going through a bad time and searching for something to cling to. I caught on to that, and, I know this sounds bad, but I kinda acted like I was into
feng shui
.”

“You had a crush on him.”

She brought their joined hands to her mouth to keep her giggles quiet. “No,” she whispered. “But he actually thought I
did
have a crush on him, and I totally embarrassed him when I pointed out our age difference.”

“I’m six years older than you.”

“Yeah, and Dante has me by twelve. Plus, he’s in love with his wife.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “He needed a little positive energy in his life and was dabbling in
feng shui
…I was just trying to help him.”

“And maybe hoping to make a friend at CORE.”

“Can you blame me?” She gripped his hand tighter. “I was so humiliated today when Ian was ready to dismiss me.”

“But after you left the room, you should’ve heard how Dante, John and Hudson came to your defense. As for Harrison…he’s very protective of you. Talk about a crush.”

“I told you Harrison and I are just friends. He has my back.” She hesitated for a moment, but sitting in the dark, not being able to see Ryan’s face or read his eyes, made it easier to be honest. And blunt. “Sounds like you had my back, too. I never had the chance to ask…did you really threaten to leave if I wasn’t allowed to stay?”

“Absolutely. We’re partners.”

If only that partnership went beyond stopping Jackass. She wouldn’t go there, though. Yeah, he’d joked about the lion, tiger, bear baby thing. If anyone else but Ryan had brought it up, she would have shouted, “Oh, my.” But she understood his sense of humor, and knew he wasn’t looking at her as the future mother of his children. Honestly, she’d never given any thought to having kids until she’d started hanging out with Dante’s pregnant wife, Jessica. When she’d learned that Dante and Jessica’s first child had been abducted, she had selfishly wanted to remain childless because she’d worried the same could happen to her. That kind of heartbreak was…unfathomable.

“We
are
partners,” she finally said. “Partners who will dine on whatever the Gulf has to offer.”

He kissed her cheek. “I’ll bring the Dramamine just in case.”

While they’d been making the tripwires, they’d both decided a Thanksgiving dinner was more work than it was worth. Since she hadn’t had a bout with seasickness during the boat ride from the trailer to Ryan’s dock, he had suggested they fish for their dinner, and had assured her that she’d never taste anything better than his blackened grouper. Except…she’d tasted him and—

Don’t go there.

He stood and moved toward the far edge of the sliding door where a long drape hung, then pushed it aside a few inches. She stared at the dark outline of his body, and watched as he adjusted the bulletproof vest. Dante had only brought five vests with him. Since there were six of them in the house, Ryan had volunteered to go without, but Ian had insisted he would be the one to run the risk. She prayed there wouldn’t be a need for the vests, and yet also hoped Jackass would show so that they could put an end to him and his threats. But what if he didn’t come to the rental?

“Do you know how long Ian plans to wait for Jackass?” Ryan asked.

“I was just thinking about what we’d do if he didn’t show tonight or tomorrow.” She stood, then walked toward him. “I don’t like sitting here hoping someone kills Steven so we can all move on with our lives, but at the same time…”

He put an arm around her and hugged her to his side. “I get it. There’d been times when I was a SEAL that I’d spend hours lying on the ground, camouflaged with whatever plants were around me, rifle trained and waiting for my target. I’d lie there wishing whoever I was supposed to take out would just show their face so I could kill them, collect my gear and head to base.” He squeezed her closer. “I’m not proud of that, but it was my job, just like this is yours.”

“Is this where you tell me to stay out of my head?”

He kissed her temple. “No. If you didn’t feel any kind of guilt, or didn’t question killing a man, you’d be no better than Jackass.” With a sigh, he released her. “I better head back to my side of the house.” He gave her lips a quick kiss. “If you get tired, pop over for a visit.”

When he left the room, she sat back in the chair, wishing she didn’t like Ryan as much as she did. She was going to miss talking and kissing.

She did have two week’s worth of unused vacation time. Maybe, if he was even interested, she’d come back and visit him next month. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe they could have a long distance relationship, but she would like to spend more time with him. Then again, if they spent a couple of days together after they…put an end to Steven, she might decide Ryan was annoying. Maybe he was a nose-picker, or left toenail clippings on the bathroom floor. She wrinkled her nose at the thought, then sighed and shook her head. One second she was trying to come up with a way to spend more time with him, and the next, she was trying to make him unappealing enough that she’d have no problem turning her back on him. Pathetic, yet—

The backyard lit up. She quickly rushed to the glass door. Yawning shadows from the two palm trees near the deck stretched across the grass. She angled her head, then jumped when the tripwire crackled and popped and the firecrackers flashed orange.

Heart racing, she made her way through the darkened room, then into the hallway. Ryan met her halfway. “Which tripwire went off?” he whispered.

“The one near the back door. I didn’t see anyone, though. Maybe an animal—”

Firecrackers popped from the front yard.

Ryan took her elbow and hurried her to the master bedroom, which had the best view of the yard. When they reached the window, she looked out. The motion lights had been triggered, but, once again, she saw nothing.

“Jackass couldn’t have gotten to the front of the house that fast. It had to have been an animal. Maybe a cat or a raccoon,” she said, keeping her voice quiet and trying to slow her heart rate.

“Could be. I’ll volunteer to search the yard.” He started for the door. “Stay here and cover me. I’ll be right—”

The doorbell rang.

*

Dread slithered along John’s skin. He crouched beneath the living room window and looked to the foyer. Hudson’s shadowy profile neared the front door from the den, but John shook his head. He turned and stared across the expanse of the large living room into the formal dining room. The glow from the lantern in the kitchen barely touched on Dante, who had edged toward the bay window facing the backyard. “Ian?” he asked in a hushed voice.

Dante cocked his head toward the kitchen, then help up three fingers.

Shit. They were going to do this on three.

Heart pounding hard, John faced the foyer again. He also held up three fingers to Hudson, who nodded. John fisted his hand, prepared to give Hudson the signal to go, when a burst of orange suddenly flashed outside and reflected off the front window.

Glass shattered behind him. “Fire,” Ian shouted from the kitchen.

A round of gunshots blew off the front door’s handle. Hudson recoiled, then slammed back against the wall, just as the door swung open. A torch flew into the foyer, arching like a red-orange comet. More gunshots echoed from the back of the house.

Glock raised, John quickly turned his head and watched in horror as the bay window exploded. Dante staggered. He lurched to the side as he was hit again, then crashed into the hutch and fell to the floor in a heap.

“Duck,” Hudson shouted.

Before he could react, a bullet slammed into John’s vest and right bicep. Ignoring the excruciating burn in his arm, he faced toward the foyer, then aimed at the man who’d turned his gun on Hudson. Without hesitation, John pulled the trigger twice, purposefully hitting the man behind both knees.

Howling in pain, the man, who was clearly not Steven, crumpled to the floor firing his weapon. The bullet ricocheted off the foyer’s tile, missing Hudson by several feet. “There’s more than two agents,” the man shouted, and pointed his gun at Hudson again.

John took aim, wishing he had killed the bastard when he’d had the chance, then flinched when another gunshot exploded. The man dropped like an anvil, blood trickling from the hole in the center of his forehead.

Ryan stepped into the foyer holding his weapon. “Jackass?”

“No.” John quickly stood, then hurried for the torch. He picked up the stick, then tossed it onto the concrete porch. “Dante’s hit. Where’s Lola?”

“She took the back,” Ryan said, just as another gun blast came from the kitchen. He moved for the front door. “I’m going after her.”

“Box him in,” John said to Hudson, and charged down the hall. He slipped into the half-bath near the kitchen. His heart beat fast as he angled his body enough to see Ian had pulled out the refrigerator toward the hall leading to the laundry room and used it as a shield. When Ian met his gaze, his father-in-law mouthed, “Door.”

John fisted his left hand and raised it. He held up his index finger, then his middle, and as he was about to raise a third finger a gunshot blasted. He rushed from the bathroom and rounded the corner.

Through the haze of smoke from the torch, the spotlight above the back door revealed Lola standing on the patio, smoking Glock pointed at Steven’s back.

Steven’s wide eyes were wild with confusion, his face twisting with pain. The rifle in his right arm shook, as blood spread over the front of his shirt near his collarbone where Lola’s bullet had penetrated through. Using his bandaged arm, Steven raised his weapon and narrowed his eyes. “Fucking dead,” he snarled.

“Not today,” Ian shouted, and fired. John did, too, and looking to the left, he saw Hudson and, thank God, Dante, releasing their weapons.

The rifle fell from Steven’s hand. Blood oozed from the holes in his stomach and chest. He wheezed, coughed blood and stumbled against the counter. Gripping it for support, leaving streaks of blood in the process, he looked directly at Ian, and slid to the floor. “I fucking hate you,” he rasped, between deep ragged breaths.

Ryan hurried through the back door, kicking the rifle across the room. Lola came inside, as well, stepped around Steven and went to Ryan’s side.

“You should have killed me when you had the chance,” Ian said, as he approached Steven. “That was your first mistake. Your second?” He raised his weapon. “You cut my woman.”

Steven’s ballsy smile bared bloodstained teeth. “Not enough.” He coughed again. “So, are you gonna kill an unarmed man?” He gasped and wheezed, shifted his watery gaze around the room, until he settled it back on Ian. “Then hide the evidence.”

John tensed when Ian raised his gun. Steven was dying. Even with medical care, based on the wounds to his chest and stomach, the man didn’t stand a chance. Since every agent who’d shot him carried a Glock, not one of them could say they’d been the person to kill him. At this point, he could sleep at night. But he’d sleep better knowing Steven was dead.

Steven chuckled. “All you righteous pricks had to do was hide my brass knuckles.” His mouth contorted into a sneer. “And give me credit for stopping a serial killer. But you destroyed my life instead. If I were you, I’d kill me, too. Because I won’t stop. I’ll come for you again.” He gave Ian a bloody grin. “Remember, nobody fucks with me.”

Ian took several steps forward, teetering slightly. And that’s when John noticed the blood coating the right side of Ian’s shirt near his waist. “Wrong.” Ian held his right arm straight and pointed his Glock directly at Steven’s head. “Nobody fucks with
me
,” he said, then pulled the trigger.

*

Ian lowered his weapon, then slowly glanced around the room. “Anyone hit?” he asked, then looked to where his shirt was soaked with blood and stumbled backward. Thankfully, John pulled him onto a kitchen chair before he fell.

“Someone get the torch out of here,” Lola shouted, then started opening kitchen drawers. “Where are the towels?” She moved toward Steven’s body, kicked the dead man aside, and whipped open the drawers. After grabbing a handful of dishtowels, she handed them to John. “Put some on Ian’s waist, and your arm.”

With a nod, John pressed the towel against Ian’s bullet wound. “Keep pressure on it.”

Ian did as John said, and watched as Hudson stepped over Steven’s body, then tossed the torch onto the patio. He shifted his gaze to Lola, who was now helping Dante out of his vest.

“You’re bleeding,” Lola said, rising onto her tiptoes and examining the back of Dante’s head. “Ryan, I need one of those towels and some ice.”

“On it,” he said, moving for the fridge.

Dante touched the back of his head, then looked at the blood on his fingertips. “I think I hit the corner of the hutch,” he said, as Lola led him into the kitchen and sat him at the table.

Relieved Dante hadn’t been shot in the head, Ian glanced back to John, and tensed when he noticed his son-in-law had been hit in the bicep. “My daughter is going to hate me when she sees your arm,” he said, then clenched his jaw and fought off a wave of dizziness. The pain from the bullet wound was excruciating and felt as if someone had impaled him with a hot poker.