Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
BARCELONA, SPAIN - PRESENT DAY
“Harper,” Roman whispered, his throat parched. “I wish . . . I wish things were different.”
He slowly opened his eyes, finding the lights too harsh, so he shut them again.
Why did the room smell like when his mother sprayed their house with Lysol and disinfected every surface after her sister’s husband visited?
The man always left their Florida home reeking of a disgusting mix of stale cigars, a karate studio, and blue cheese.
Why didn’t he smell Harper’s perfume? And when he rolled his tongue over his lips, searching for the taste of the special brand of lip gloss she’d had made just for her, why were his lips Sahara-desert-dry?
“Ugh,” he groaned at the realization his entire body was sore when he tried to open his eyes again.
A guy with a thick beard sat next to him, his features coming in and out of focus. Where was Harper, and why was that actor from the spy show Jack-something or other sitting next to him?
No, wait. “Dalton,” he said under his breath, closing his eyes again, and then like a dam breaking, everything came rushing back to him.
Thick swirls of smoke in the air. A Mercedes on fire. A car heading straight for Harper.
I got hit, didn’t I?
“Since when do you call me Dalton? You, uh, remember me at least. But—”
Roman forced his eyes to stay open this time. Finn. Right.
Dalton Finnegan. But they always called him Finn. The only single guy on the team. No, I’m single. Damn it. What’s wrong with me?
“Where’s Harper? Is she okay?” he croaked out as panic set in.
“Harper’s fine.” Finn had a hand on his chest, an attempt to reassure him. “You saved her, remember?”
“But I pushed her hard. Are you sure?” he asked, still groggy.
He tried to sit up, but Finn applied pressure with the hand on Roman’s chest, urging him to stay put. But he had to get out of there. Put eyes on Harper himself. Confirm she was safe.
Roman was nauseous and dizzy but screw it. He found himself upright with Finn now standing, a hand over his mouth as if he weren’t sure what to do as Roman ripped at the wires and tubes he was hooked up to.
“No, don’t do . . . that,” Finn said too late, as Roman yanked the IV out of the vein in his arm and blood began to spurt.
Within seconds, Finn had gauze and tape from a nearby rolling cart and quickly worked to stop the bleeding while Roman used every ounce of effort to remain sitting upright when all his body wanted to do was fall backward like a lump of dead weight.
“Stubborn ass, aren’t you? You can’t be hulking out on me. I told you Harper is fine.” Finn secured the white gauze with tape. He’d also been a corpsman in the Navy, same as Bravo Five.
Still in a fog, Roman swiveled and slid his lead-heavy legs over the side of the bed, focusing on the light blue hospital socks covering his feet as they made their way to the floor in slow motion.
“I need to see her. Now,” Roman demanded.
When he’d gotten knocked down back in the war, he’d pressed forward. Kept moving. If you took a hit in Fallujah and didn’t get right up, you died.
And his mission, his focus right now, was on finding Harper.
“Where is she?” Roman asked again, his mouth dry.
“She’s two doors down, and if you insist on going there right this second, let me grab you a wheelchair.”
Roman attempted to stand while glaring at his buddy. “I’m fine.”
“You may have been lucky not to break a single bone in your body, but you need help.” He hooked an arm beneath Roman’s for support, but Roman fell backward, his ass landing on the bed again.
“It’s the drugs. What’d they give me?” He was achy, sure, but his head wasn’t right, and the drugs had to be the reason. He’d never been a fan of being doped up to reduce pain. He liked to keep his mental faculties clear. On point.
“A little of this and a little of that.” It was A.J. leaning inside the doorframe. At least Roman got his name right the first time. “Glad to see you’re awake and still your charming self,” he added in a light tone, which was a good sign.
A.J. wouldn’t have a smile parked on his face if they’d lost anyone or had any major setbacks with the op. Roman needed to be optimistic that they were going to chase down . . . who are we after? He was drawing a blank.
“What happened?” He set his hands next to him on the bed, mentally preparing himself to stand again.
The room was bright, and not just from the overhead lights. He looked toward the window to see sheets of light filtering in. What day was it?
“You don’t remember?” A.J. frowned, that look of ease quickly disappearing from his face, and he stepped into the room.
“No, uh, I do.” Parts of the night. “What’s Harper’s status? Why is she in a hospital bed if she’s fine?”
A.J. looked back over his shoulder as if remembering the door was open, then he closed it and came to stand by Finn.
“When you went all Superman last night and shoved her out of the way, she hit her head on the curb. She has a concussion. The doctors wanted to keep an eye on her overnight. She woke up an hour ago, though.”
“You said she’s fine,” Roman growled out at Finn. “That’s not . . .” Roman hung his head with guilt. “I didn’t want her to get hurt.”
“Okay, only you would feel bad about saving her from getting hit by a car,” A.J. said as Roman looked back up at him. “And she was lucky you did. The driver was seventy-nine and had a heart attack when the car bomb went off, and he lost control of the vehicle.”
“Which means no one was purposely trying to kill Harper,” Finn chimed in with what was supposed to be good news.
But someone set off a bomb, and he had to assume it was connected to why they were in Spain. That explosion could have been meant for Harper.
“All those drugs may have slowed down that super brain of yours, but I know what you’re thinking.” Finn folded his arms over his chest.
Both A.J. and Finn had swapped their bodyguard outfits for plain clothes. Jeans and a tee with ball caps. And . . .
Bodyguards. The CIA officer Zack with his hand too close to Harper’s ass. More and more of the night was coming back to him. Bits and pieces, at least.
Pretty much everything connected to Harper seemed the sharpest in his mind. He really did need to stand up and get to her.
“We believe Harper’s source was still inside the Mercedes when the blast went off.
I had started to pursue the driver who’d exited the vehicle moments before, but then the explosion happened, and I turned my ass around to make sure y’all were okay.
I, uh, probably should have kept after him, but we’ll find him,” A.J. explained.
Roman would have done the same thing. Wyatt should have ordered A.J. to continue pursuit of the driver, but the teams were a family, and they operated with a different set of rules than when they were taking orders from the brass in the Navy.
He thought about the current teams and ran through a list of the guys in his head to check his memory.
Luke, Bravo One. Owen, Bravo Two.
Asher, Bravo Three. But . . .
He swallowed at the painful reminder Marcus had been Bravo Three before Asher took over after his death.
Liam, Bravo Four. Knox, Bravo Five. Knox’s dad is the President. Check.
He kept his eyes on Finn, Echo Five, and A.J., Echo Two, standing before him.
I’m Echo Four. Wyatt is the team leader, Echo One.
And how could he have forgotten Captain America? Chris was Echo Three. And where were Chris and Wyatt? He looked toward the door. “Are they with Harper?”
“They?” A.J. asked. “Oh, Wyatt and Chris? No, they had to go back to our hotel and pack up. We need to switch hotels, but they were here earlier after they gave their statements to the local police. Not that we could tell them what we knew about the car bomb.”
“Normally a bomb like that—”
“Would level a lot more than just the car,” Finn finished for Roman. “Someone didn’t want Harper’s source to talk, but it appears they wanted Harper to witness his death. We’re still trying to figure it out. And once we track down the driver, we’ll press him for intel.”
How could Roman have forgotten? They had a possible terrorist attack to stop.
But in this case, it wasn’t only his thoughts that were vague.
The CIA was short on intel as to when and where the attack would take place.
They’d picked up chatter from the Middle East that the U.S.
was being targeted by one of their many enemies.
When an old CIA informant approached with information, he’d refused to talk to anyone other than Harper.
“I need to get to Harper, and then we should take her Stateside.” Roman forced himself to stand and willed his legs not to buckle.
“No can do, brother,” A.J. said, his Southern drawl strong when he spoke this time.
“Natasha called this morning with orders from Director Spenser and Secretary of Defense Chandler, aka her dad, that we need to stay in Barcelona until we track down the driver. See if there was another motive behind the explosion aside from silencing Harper’s source. ”
Natasha is our liaison with the CIA director, Secretary of Defense, and POTUS, relaying information for our ops.
Okay, good, I remember her. She’d assumed that mantle not long after the teams helped her take down a cyber-terrorist, during which time she and Echo One fell in love.
At least Roman’s memories were still there—it just took a bit more effort to grab on to them.
“If Harper’s source, Ezra, shared any intel with the driver, our mystery man, before he was killed, we need to know,” Finn added.
“And . . . it’s possible the driver knows about Harper, too.
” He delivered that last line with hesitation.
Finn knew how Roman would react to the idea of Harper being in danger.
Roman clenched his jaw but without much force since the drugs countered his impulse to be angry with a relaxing effect. “Take me to her.”
“Easy,” A.J. said as he and Finn helped support Roman’s weight.
Damn drugs.