Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Five minutes until the exchange...
Ellis Baker was killing him. Second by second. Minute by minute. Slowly carving away at what made Colt whole. Poking holes in his armor, until she reached the soft flesh underneath. Then, she’d grabbed a knife and just shoved it through the opening. And all his life had started spilling out.
That’s how he felt. Sitting in front of her in the Jeep.
Staring at the empty expanse of pavement stretching out in front of him—a deserted section of the wharf south of the city that had been demolished but was awaiting approval to be rebuilt.
Waiting for the man who’d been trying to kill the woman Colt loved to arrive—make the trade.
Ellis for Kameron.
Colt still couldn’t believe he’d let Ellis talk him into this.
Belay that. Talk his entire team into this.
Because they’d discussed it—all night. Laid out their concerns—every way this could go horribly wrong.
How she’d end up dead. Colt wasn’t ashamed to say he’d yelled.
Not just at Ellis. At his buddies, too, for even entertaining the thought.
Delta Force didn’t trade lives. Period.
No negotiating with terrorists, and no trading one life another.
Yet, here they were, prepared to do just that.
Sure, they had a plan. Not a terrible one, if Colt was being honest. But it wasn’t foolproof.
Not even close. The fact it hinged on a few key elements actually working—at McCormick wanting Ellis and the information she’d stolen more than he wanted to have a damn predator drone just fly overhead and blast them all to bits.
That the GPS tracker scam she claimed would work, actually did.
That Colt and his team would arrive in time.
That this meeting wouldn’t just turn into a modern version of the OK Corral—all made this another string of ‘ifs’ with even deadlier consequences.
Because if they were wrong about McCormick’s motivations…
Technically, they had some of their issues covered.
When it had become evident they were going to have to go ahead with Ellis’ idea, Jericho had called in her boss.
Colt had to give Supervisory Deputy U.S.
Marshal Art Collins credit. He’d sat quietly listening.
Adding a few suggestions—not once looking at Ellis as if she’d completely lost her mind.
Had a death wish—then offered to help. Whatever the Marshal Service could do.
Whatever resources were needed to catch McCormick in the act and bring him in.
That was crucial. Bringing the bastard in alive. Part of the equation Colt didn’t agree with because alive meant possible threat. And he’d been trained not to leave those around to bite him or his team in the ass, later.
But, it had been nonnegotiable. A requirement to get the Marshal Service on board.
And they were integral in the final stages of the plan.
If it got that far. Had dedicated forces to arrest McCormick and his men.
They’d also offered to use their own drone to patrol the skies—keep any bogeys from raining missiles down on them. Ensure the transfer went as agreed.
Christ. This was insane. And if anyone was crazy, it was Colt for agreeing to this.
Four minutes to the exchange...
Cannon turned to face Ellis in the back, one arm over the edge of the seat. “You know how we all feel about this.”
It wasn’t a question, and Ellis merely nodded. She hadn’t said a word since leaving the safehouse. “It’s the only way.”
“There’s always another way, honey.”
Ellis looked out the windshield, staring at the emptiness just like Colt had been doing. “If we had more time, maybe. But every second Kam spends with that psychotic bastard, the more likely he is to hurt her. I know the risks. I can live with them.”
“But that’s the problem.” Colt met her gaze in the rearview because if he turned to face her—he’d pull her into his lap and tell Cannon to drive. “If any one thing goes wrong, you won’t be alive to regret this.”
“Then, we’ll have to make sure it all goes right.”
“Nothing ever goes exactly as planned, sweetheart. Murphy’s Law.”
“You think I don’t know that? That I want this? I never wanted any of this. I wanted y—”
She swallowed, glancing away.
You. That’s what she was going to say. I wanted you. And Colt’s chest squeezed tight.
She took a deep breath. “I’ve spent the past five years executing missions far more dangerous than this.
With men crueler than McCormick. Always wondering if this would be the one that killed me.
If I’d somehow outed myself, or been outed.
If the asset was faster than me. Or smarter.
If maybe enough of me wanted to die this go ‘round, I might find a way to make it happen. So, don’t look at me as if I don’t understand the gravity of the situation. I do.”
He couldn’t stop from twisting in his seat, this time. Reaching for her hand. Ignoring the slight tremor. “Then, let us think of another solution.”
“It’s too late. Besides, I’ve got an ace up my sleeve.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “You. Cannon. The rest of the team. Never had a team I trusted before. Or one as skilled. I’ll put my faith in all of you.”
Three minutes to the exchange…
Screw faith. She was putting her life in their hands. And Colt was intimately aware that he couldn’t pay the price of failure. That he wouldn’t be able to pull himself back, this time, if he lost her, again.
Cannon nodded. “We’ve got your back, Ellis.”
Cannon tapped his mike, going through a variety of checks.
Bishop on the top of a vacant warehouse to their left.
Check. Rigs dressed as a vagrant against the pillars in front of them.
Check. Midnight covering the entrance sector to their left—crouched down on the break wall.
Check. Ice and Six positioned in the rear—watching for any kind of flanking forces. Double check.
They also had Addison and Blade searching for explosives in the adjoining buildings while Jericho covered the one street in and out with Art. Observing only. They had overhead visual via the drone and would track McCormick’s car back to his base—in theory.
McCormick wasn’t stupid. He knew the kinds of resources Colt might be able to get his hands on. No doubt that bastard knew everything about Colt and Cannon. Six and the others. So, McCormick might have a way to take the drone out of commission. Which meant everything rode of Ellis’ GPS trackers.
Two minutes to the exchange…
Cannon faced her, again. “Everyone’s in position. Remember. Don’t start walking—”
“Until Kameron does. And don’t cross the center line between our vehicle and theirs until Kameron’s at the same spot. I need to keep out of everyone’s sight line, in case they have to take a shot. Then, I just wait for everyone to rescue me wherever it is they take me.”
“Bang on.”
Colt clenched his fists in his lap. “He might just shoot you. You know that, right?”
She gave him a reassuring smile that did nothing to ease the restless gnaw in his stomach. “He knows I won’t be alone. Opening fire would be a tactically poor decision, and McCormick doesn’t make many of those.”
“Be a hell of a time for him to start.”
“Brett—”
“One minute.” Cannon signaled to the lone road in. “We’ve got movement. Everyone, mission is a go.”
Colt focused straight ahead. Now, wasn’t the time to be thinking about all the ways this op could turn ugly.
He needed to carry his weight. Make sure this part of the plan was executed properly.
Trust that Ellis knew McCormick as well as she claimed.
That she wasn’t walking into an ambush. That this wasn’t the last time he’d ever see her alive.
Lights straight ahead, slicing through the darkness, mapping out the vehicle’s path. It was two hours before sunrise. Overcast. Nothing to lessen the shadows without thermal or IR.
The perfect makings for that ambush.
They waited until the Suburban came to a full stop, engine still idling. The driver flashed the high beams three times. Cannon answered in kind, keeping the headlights aimed at the other vehicle—spotlighting the whole transfer site.
Cannon looked back. “Ready?”
Go time…
Ellis nodded then opened the door. Stepping onto the cracked pavement. Colt held his position behind the passenger door, gun drawn. Aimed at the asshole who got out of the back.
Roger McCormick.
Dressed in black pants, a black tee, with matching black shirt, he looked every inch the commando his file claimed. He didn’t make a move, just stood there. Arms by his sides, gaze fixed on Ellis.
Ellis moved in beside Colt, stopping then waiting.
Another man got out of the front right door wearing the same black outfit.
Big. Definitely former-Special Forces—the way he moved.
His obvious situational awareness. SOG asshole, for sure.
He headed to the rear, yanking a woman out of the back.
She had a pillowcase over her head—hands bound in front.
Cannon motioned to her with his gun. “Remove the sack and untie her.”
The big bruiser holding her looked over at his boss. McCormick nodded. The guy complied, removing the hood and slicing through the restraints, then strong-arming her around to the front of the vehicle. Ellis inhaled once then settled.
It was Kameron. No doubt. Looked as if she’d kept fighting while she’d been held. Darker shadows along her forehead—down her arm where her shirt was ripped. What Colt assumed were bruises. No obvious blood, but he couldn’t be sure.
McCormick motioned toward the Jeep. The other man gave Kameron a shove—got her stumbling toward them. Ellis took a step, stopped then turned, claiming Colt’s mouth in a searing kiss before stepping back.
She touched her lips, staring for one more heartbeat, then moved, slowly heading toward Kameron. The other woman shook her head, pleading to Ellis, but she kept walking. No hesitation. No fear.