Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
“We’re five klicks out,” A.J. announced, which meant they were just about three miles away from their target. He was behind the wheel of one of their two rental Tahoes, and Roman sat shotgun at Harper’s insistence.
Wyatt, Finn, and Chris were a hundred feet ahead of them in the other SUV. “It might be too cold tonight for anyone to be working the streets.” He could hope, at least.
Part of him regretted leaving the hotel because whatever Natasha had said to Harper before they left had her exiting her bedroom with pale skin and haunted eyes.
How could he press her to talk when he was incapable of doing so himself? And God, why did he kiss her?
Aside from yesterday in the hospital, they hadn’t kissed since October.
It’d taken all of his restraint during the last few months to keep his mouth away from hers, and then he blew it by giving in and kissing her in the hotel room, basically hitting a reset button.
He’d have to start all over again, training his body to refrain from taking her into his arms whenever she was near.
She was angry at him. Angry for a breakup she didn’t remember and pissed off about the secrets she knew he was keeping. Secrets he wished he didn’t remember.
But like Harper, a few blurry spots lingered like shadows in his mind that he couldn’t quite make out, especially some of their time in Barcelona before the car bomb. He only hoped whatever he was forgetting wasn’t important.
“Too bad Rory has Bear at Quantico right now. We could use our newest addition to the team here. Send him into Mauricio’s first to take a nice juicy bite out of his ass before we go inside.” A.J. could probably sense the darkness suffocating the inside of the SUV and was trying to lighten the mood.
“Rory teaches at Quantico?” Harper asked, most likely searching for confirmation her memories were accurate.
A.J. looked at her in the rearview mirror for a brief moment, and Roman saw the concern on his face. “Ana does. A few courses a year when we’re not in Alabama. Rory took Bear there to do a couple of exercises with the new recruits at the academy.”
“Right,” Harper said softly, sounding frustrated.
A.J. side-eyed Roman as if curious whether he remembered, too. He was the one who’d been hit by the car, after all.
Roman’s hands tightened into fists on his jeaned thighs as A.J.
stopped at a red light in a familiar intersection.
He stared at the bright bulb, jaw locking tight and his thoughts plunged to a dark place as he called forth the memory of the day his cousin was stolen from the world at thirty-nine from a traffic accident.
The city had mourned his loss for weeks.
“You still want to charlie mike?”
Why was A.J. asking if he wanted to continue with the mission? Did he somehow know this exact light, this exact fucking spot, was where Thiago died?
And I’ll be thirty-nine this year and . . .
“What do you think?” Roman asked through gritted teeth, hating he was directing his anger toward one of his best friends. But how could he not be angry about Thiago’s death?
“Do you want to talk about what’s got your skivvies in a twist? I mean, aside from getting hit by a car and the bad guy escaping?”
“What is this, therapy?” Roman growled in response to A.J. with too much ferocity again. “I don’t want to talk.”
“Of course not.” Harper huffed.
He deserved her blunt retort—more than she knew.
Eventually, he’d have to confess the truth, but until then, he wanted to keep her and everyone he cared about blissfully ignorant to the fact his days as Echo Four were numbered. So instead, he looked to his lap and shook his head, silently scolding himself for being an asshole.
“It’s way too quiet in here,” A.J. announced, then scrolled through his playlist on his phone. He’d synced the SUV’s Bluetooth, and a moment later, a country song began to play.
Of course.
“Do we have to listen to this?” And his aggressive tone was back again.
I’m way too on edge to be operating. He was only supposed to stay in the car, but if he had to pursue a target or engage with an enemy, would he be capable?
Harper loved music, maybe more than anyone in the bunch. Even more than Chris, who the team had recently learned was a damn good DJ. Or A.J., who was a great singer.
Music had taken on a new significance when he and Harper secretly began sleeping together last year. Now, he noticed every lyric, felt the meaning of every word, whereas before, he only cared for the beat, and everything else fell by the wayside.
“It’s Sam Hunt. You got a problem with him?” A.J. smirked.
“It’s the lyrics,” Roman admitted, which he hadn’t meant to say out loud.
“He’s singing about breaking up. You got hit by a car, not dumped.” A.J.’s comment had Roman’s back tightening, which didn’t feel so great after straining it during the accident.
If he’d been two seconds slower last night, Harper would have . . .
No, he couldn’t think about the what-ifs. He had to stay focused. And shit, he was forgetting the tactics he used over the years to keep himself from allowing his mind to go crazy.
He buried his fingertips inward on his thighs and did his best to breathe evenly. Draw up a list of facts to serve as a distraction.
But the only things that came to mind were about Harper.
Like how the guys on the team didn’t know the real reason behind her humorous T-shirts. Or why she had almond-rum-scented candles around the office and that the lip gloss she wore with the same scent was custom made.
That smell and those T-shirts were more than quirky Harperisms—they were links to cherished memories. Everyday items that kept her parents close even in her busiest moments. But were those memories still safe in her mind now?
“A.J., can you please change the song?” Harper’s soft plea did the trick, and A.J. didn’t hesitate to change the tunes, but the second he landed on a song by Kane Brown, Harper yelled out, “Not that one!” and extended her arm forward between A.J.’s and Roman’s front seats.
A.J. stole a look back at Harper before side-eyeing Roman yet again, sending a message with his eyes and raised brows that read, I’m worried. He turned off the song, but Roman couldn’t shut off the memories now filling his mind.
That song. Lost in the Middle of Nowhere. Damn.
“Thank you,” Harper said as they neared the target’s address.
“I’d turn on your comms now,” A.J. said when they pulled onto Mauricio’s street, where mostly Catalan, not Spanish flags, flew from the homes.
Roman tapped at the comm in his ear to turn it on. They were sporting their advanced comms, much better than the ones they’d donned the night they’d been pretending to bodyguard Harper and Zack.
“This is Echo Two,” A.J. said. “Comms check. You copy, One?”
“This is One. We have a visual of the home. Street appears to be empty,” Wyatt answered. Most likely, it was too cold for drug deals tonight. Or men looking to get laid. “We’re moving into positions.”
“Roger.” A.J. pulled over and parked a few cars behind the rest of Echo. “You sure you’re good?” he asked Roman with his hand on the door, prepping to move to his assigned location.
“Yes.” Hopefully.
A.J. looked back at Harper, exhaled a deep breath of uncertainty, then he left the SUV, and Roman locked the doors.
“I’m not finding any location to access high ground,” Wyatt added a minute later. “I’ll be on the street, too.”
“This is Two. Roger that. I’ll take the south side of the street.”
Roman could chase down the suspect if somehow Mauricio managed to bypass Finn or Chris once they were inside. His hip and back might protest, but that wouldn’t stop him from getting the job done.
Roman unbuckled and pivoted in the seat to put eyes on Harper. He muted his comm to listen in to the team without them overhearing his conversation, and Harper did the same. “Are you okay?” About the songs? About us? About everything?
Harper peered his way, the streetlights filtering into the vehicle, but the tinted windows were enough to obstruct the view from outside. “I’m trying to be.”
It’d been a coin toss whether she would answer honestly, and he was slightly surprised she’d gone that route. So, he confessed, “Me, too.”
The long, dark lashes that framed Harper’s beautiful eyes flitted a few times, and she scooted forward in her seat a bit to draw herself closer to him.
He wanted to kiss her again. How crazy was that?
The guys were on the street going after a dangerous target, he was in the one place he’d never wanted to bring Harper, and yet, he so badly wanted to lean in and kiss her.
Reset button, he reminded himself. They had to start over. “What did Natasha say to you?”
Those big eyes of hers closed as she chose not to answer his question. “I’m pretty sure I know a big reason why we’re not together anymore. It looks like I was keeping secrets, too. I’m sorry.”
Secrets? A ripcord of worry pulled inside of him, which had his back straightening, and he ignored the pain that shot every which way in his body. The emotion was a hell of a lot worse, anyway.
“Harper,” he said on a deep exhale, terrified of what she might say next.
“I don’t remember why I chose not to tell you, but I can imagine I was scared. Maybe embarrassed. I-I don’t know.” She swallowed as a glossy sheen covered her gorgeous eyes.
Fuck. Was this happening right now?
He needed air.
An escape plan.
To join Echo and kick down a door.
He wasn’t going to handle her admission without wanting to commit murder. And what kind of person did that make him? The kind of man that—
“This is One. I’m in position. You’re a go, Three and Five,” Wyatt told Chris and Finn.
“Roger,” Finn responded.
“We can talk later. Sorry.” She motioned for him to face forward, to focus on the op.
He hesitantly turned toward the street and reached for the weapon tucked beneath his jacket on his good hip in case shit went the wrong direction.
“We’re in,” Finn added a minute later. “Advancing to our target location.”
Roman kept his eyes on their mark, the building twenty-five feet away, preparing for a quick exit if the team needed an assist. Not that he wanted to leave Harper alone, but she was strapped and knew how to take down a bad guy if necessary.
“Floor two,” Finn provided the location, and why was Roman so shaky?
His nerves didn’t usually get to him on ops. Maybe he did need to see his primary doctor when he returned to the States. Of course, his primary was in Virginia, not New York, and when was the last time he’d even gone to the doctor? Brain scars?
“Floor three. Moving in now,” Chris announced.
Back in Iraq, the teams usually brought a translator with them on missions to do a callout, a quick “give up or die” message. On ops like these, the guys preferred the element of surprise. But if they had to breach the door with force—
“Fuck,” Chris said a moment later. “Mauricio is here, but he’s dead. Place has been tossed, too,” he added the bad news. “Someone got here before us.”
Roman leaned forward at the sight of a large figure stepping onto the terrace that faced the main street. He unmuted his comm and alerted the team to his visual. “And that someone is about to perform a stunt and scale down the building. He’s on the terrace. Do you copy?”
“Don’t let him get away, but no shooting unless he draws your fire first,” Wyatt commanded over comms. “We’re in a neighborhood.”
Not that the guys would forget that major detail, but Roman had the best chance to get to the son of a bitch and engage with his fists if he needed to. Well, if the man didn’t plummet the three stories to his death first.
Roman unlocked the SUV door and slowly opened it, preparing to exit when Harper reached out for him.
“You can’t afford to get hurt again,” she pleaded.
“Get your weapon out and lock the door.” He left the car in a hurry since they were short on time.
“Tango is near street level. But there’s a car racing fast toward our location,” Roman told them, the bright headlights striking him in the eyes as he did his best to move, hoping his legs wouldn’t fail him and adrenaline would kick in like it used to back in the war.
“Do not get hit by another car.” That was Harper this time, and her voice nearly stopped him in his tracks.
The man jumped the last eight or so feet and landed in a crouched position. He swiveled his gaze to look at Roman, lifted his ski mask for only a second to show his face, and Roman halted in place and lowered his weapon to his side.
Before Roman had a chance to get his thoughts together, the man’s mask was back down, and the car pulled up next to him.
By the time the team made it to street level, it was too late, and they couldn’t shoot at the car, so Wyatt ordered a vehicle pursuit.
Roman blinked out of his stupor, and A.J. hooked his arm with his as if noticing something was wrong. “Come on, brother, I got you.”
“Don’t let him get away. But no drawing attention to our presence either,” Wyatt hissed.
“You okay?” Harper reached forward once Roman was inside the Tahoe, and she set a hand to his shoulder. He jolted at her touch.
No, he wasn’t okay.
Not even a little.
That’d been one of Carmen’s bodyguards.
Why the hell did her bodyguard just kill their target?