Iron Shield (SEAL Team Blackout Sierra #2)

ONE

The first thing Special Operator Jack Rome noticed was that their commanding officer stopped talking.

And for a man who could brief an operation through heavy artillery fire, that was unusual.

Rome looked up from the intelligence packet spread across the table.

What finally told him the briefing was about to go sideways wasn’t the report. It was Cannon reaching for the bottle of aspirin he kept within arm’s reach of every meeting.

He ripped off the cap, shook a few into his palm, tossed them into his mouth and swallowed without so much as a sip of water.

Their leader sat back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose—never a good sign. For the past hour, Sierra had been chasing disconnected intelligence across three continents, trying to find the thread tying it all together.

The one who did was usually Rome.

The trouble was, he couldn’t find it. Judging by the silence around the table, neither could anyone else.

A loud crack echoed through the war room as the door burst inward, slamming against the concrete wall.

Every head snapped toward the sound.

Jolie stood in the doorway, breathing hard.

Rome frowned. The newest addition to the Sierra team base never interrupted briefings. She wasn’t even permitted in the war room.

“We’ve got a problem,” she blurted. Her cheeks were red and her eyes wide with…

Fear.

Archer, aka Monk, jolted to his feet, fists curled and ready to end any threat that came at the woman he broke the rules of Blackout to keep.

“What’s the matter?”

She held up her phone, mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out.

Rome’s spine locked, because whatever global disasters Cannon was briefing them on a second ago was about to take a back seat to whatever Jolie had brought through that door.

The woman shouldn’t be here at all, let alone interrupting.

Monk crossed the room in three strides and wrapped his fingers around her upper arms. “What happened?”

She finally found her voice. “My phone,” she croaked.

Rome exchanged a look with Rivers, silently questioning if the woman required medical attention. Rivers, the team medic, didn’t move.

Cannon set the aspirin bottle on the table with a rattle. “Start talking, Jolie. Which one of your siblings called?”

Her throat worked on a hard swallow, and she looked past Monk, who still held her by the arms.

“Stina,” she said.

Cannon pinched his nose again. “You don’t have a sister named Stina.”

The room groaned as one.

Rome shot a hand toward Rivers. “Told you. Pay up.”

Rivers shook his head. “You didn’t bet that she’d answer the phone during a briefing.”

Rome gave him a flat look. “I bet that she’d answer a call when she was given explicit orders not to.”

“A technicality.”

Rome twitched his fingers, waiting for Rivers to hand over the twenty bucks he owed him. He stared at Rivers until he let out a dramatic sigh and reached for his wallet.

He shelled out the first ten. “This is robbery.”

“This is what happens when you lose a bet.”

Jolie stepped around Monk and held up the phone. “Stina is basically my sister!”

Monk’s jaw flexed as he clearly fought the urge to tell them all to shut up, but Rivers just ignored him and handed over another ten. With a nod of thanks, Rome pocketed both.

Cannon popped two more aspirin, gaze settled on the woman. “Jolie, tell us what happened.”

The command was like hitting a switch, and Rome felt it. One second they were joking about Jolie’s chronic inability to follow orders. The next, every operator in the room was focused on her.

She held up her phone again. “Stina received a message.”

Monk’s expression hardened. “What kind of message?” He reached for her phone and she let him take it.

He stared at the screen for three beats. Every trace of humor drained from his face.

Rome’s muscles bunched as his body prepared to leap at a single command.

Wordlessly, Monk crossed the room and handed the phone to Cannon. He studied the screen, and the way his eyes narrowed spilled ice into Rome’s veins.

Cannon passed their tech guru the phone. “O, put this on the big screen.”

O Carino might not have revealed his real name, even to his brothers on Sierra, but he knew tech like it was his native language. The image popped up a second later, and the air was sucked out of the war room.

A photograph of Jolie and Stina standing together, wearing the uniform of the restaurant where they both waitressed.

Red crosshairs were drawn over both of their faces.

Nobody was smiling anymore.

The money in Rome’s pocket suddenly weighed as much as bad intel received five minutes before an operation.

“Who sent it?” Cannon asked Jolie.

“She said it was an unknown number.” Her voice wavered, and she scraped her fingers through her wavy brown hair.

“Any message attached?”

She shook her head.

“O. Any demands attached to the message?”

O hunched over the screen, a deep crease between his brows. “Negative.”

A tremor ran through Jolie, and Monk slipped an arm around her. He guided her to a vacant seat and anchored himself at her back, hands on her shoulders and his body a human shield. As if worried a threat could breach their hidden base.

“Nothing but the picture,” O said, finger swiping over the image. He enlarged the image on the wall monitor until only their faces remained. Jolie and Stina smiled back at them from the screen through the scope marks.

“Call the agent watching Stina,” Cannon barked.

Henry Younger, the oldest operator on their team, grabbed the phone and placed the call through the secure line.

Over speakerphone, they listened to the undercover agent’s phone ring.

And ring.

And ring.

It went to voicemail.

“Again,” Cannon ordered.

Younger tried two more times.

Silence thickened the air in the room with every passing second.

Jolie wrapped her arms around herself and bowed her head. Rome saw a single tear drop into her lap.

Now that cash in Rome’s pocket really felt heavy.

If she hadn’t disobeyed orders and answered her phone, she wouldn’t have any idea there was a target on her and her friend.

Jolie was already inside Blackout’s walls.

Stina was still out there.

And the agent assigned to watch over her wasn’t answering his phone.

Rome and Cannon’s gazes met.

“Rome, you’re up. We need eyes on her,” Cannon said.

He pushed away from the table and shot Rivers a look. “Thanks for the money. Guess I’m buying the first round in Chicago.”

“Arrangements will be made. Meet the chopper,” Cannon said as Rome strode to the door.

As he passed Jolie, he pitched his voice low. “I’ll take care of her.”

She swallowed hard and nodded. He met Monk’s gaze for one brief beat. No words were needed.

He turned and walked out.

The drive to the helicopter was uneventful.

So was the flight. Rome kept one ear on the radio the entire time, waiting for someone to report they’d found the missing undercover agent.

Instead, the updates stayed the same. The agent was still AWOL, but Stina remained exactly where she was supposed to be—working another long shift at Antonio’s Ristorante.

Four hours later, Rome stood across the street from the restaurant where Stina Velez worked.

The undercover agent should already be in position, waiting to follow Stina when she clocked out. Rome gave the street a quick once-over before shifting his attention to the alley running beside the building.

That was where he’d park. Close to the employee entrance. Close enough to move swiftly without advertising he was there.

Rome set off at a quick walk, aware of his surroundings as he entered a shadowed alley marked with gang graffiti, one hand hovering near his spine, prepared to reach for his sidearm.

He spotted the black car and checked the plate. It was a match.

With a casual air, he approached the dark vehicle, but no one was inside. Not behind the wheel or in any other seat.

He scanned the small, paved area behind the restaurant and spotted something sticking out from behind the dumpster.

His pulse slowed and his training took over.

Before he even approached, he knew what he was looking at was a boot attached to a foot. And that foot was attached to a body.

“Sit up slowly,” he grated out, weapon raised. “Hands up!”

The person didn’t move. Either someone was passed out there…or worse.

He rushed forward and nudged the boot with his own.

No movement. He grabbed it and ripped the body out, but the instant he did, he knew the person was dead.

A single, clean shot through the heart.

His pulse tripped as he crushed his phone to his ear.

Cannon answered on the first ring. “What do you got?”

“Agent’s dead.”

“Dammit.”

Rome looked down at the body. “Professional hit.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

Another curse from his commanding office. “I’ll contact the Bureau.”

“We need to know who burned him.” He barely got the words out before the back door opened and a woman with curly black hair stepped out carrying a garbage bag.

Stina. Relief washed through him that she was still alive. But he took a step toward her in case whoever offed the agent was still lurking nearby.

He pocketed his phone and slipped his weapon into his waistband as she headed straight for the dumpster where he was standing next to a dead federal agent.

She looked right at Rome and stopped. Just then, sirens ripped through the night, and her shoulders slumped.

“Oh, come on.”

He stared at her. That wasn’t fear or panic.

It was annoyance.

She pointed at the body, head cocked with what could only be called attitude. “Another dead guy in the dumpster?”

Before he could respond, she stomped her foot.

“Did you have to call the cops? Do you know how many customers are going to leave when they see police cars?”

Thrown off-balance in a way he hated to admit to himself, he scrubbed a hand over his jaw. He’d crossed half the country expecting to find a frightened target.

Instead he’d found a woman who didn’t realize she was standing in the middle of a kill zone.

* * * * *

Stina made it almost two hours to the end of her shift before the night officially turned into garbage.