Chapter Fifty-Four
Liam exited the highway and drove down the familiar streets toward Chelsea’s condo. Maybe he and Westin had extremely different definitions of a cake walk job.
“You’ll just have to trust my process,” Westin added as though able to read Liam’s mind.
He still didn’t understand who or what the man was. But Liam trusted Chance, and Chance trusted Boss Man.
He grumbled. “Guess I’ll trust your process…” Up to a point. The closer Liam came to Chelsea’s condo, the greater his bloodthirst for Pham raged.
“Keep the end in sight and your focus clear,” Westin said. “Pham needs to be taken alive in addition to the rescue.”
Liam chewed the inside of his mouth to keep from announcing what he saw clearly. He’d loved and lost. Then he loved again. He’d done so without fault or reservation, without any expectation, because life wasn’t linear, and love was never black and white.
He could grieve. He could love. He could rage and want revenge. Liam could do all of those and also kill Tran Pham.
But he didn’t know how he was supposed to take Pham alive and rescue two women alone?
Then again, he hadn’t been alone this entire time, and tonight, an apparent team stood by, even if only in his ear.
“Do you read me?” Westin requested.
Liam hesitated, uncertain of his backup and not ready to commit to Pham’s live capture. But Chelsea and Sorenson’s daughter were on the line. He’d figure out how to make everything happen. “Roger that. I have the end in sight.”
The entrance to Chelsea’s complex loomed. An oncoming SUV cut in front of Liam. He slammed on his brakes. “Shit!”
“Echo One, we’re early, but we’re a go,” Black said.
Liam checked his rearview mirror. Another SUV had boxed him in. A telephone pole and a bike rack blocked the sidewalk on the passenger side, and a third SUV screeched to a stop on the driver’s side.
Doors opened, and his enemy appeared. Two, four… Liam counted how many had him surrounded. His adrenaline pumped. Whatever the final count was, it was one against a lot.
Liam reached for the shotgun as a muffled shot fired toward him. The nearest street lamp exploded. Sparks floated, then the dark night became black.
Thump. Thump. His tires exploded under fire. Their air hissed out. Thump. Thump. He’d lost his transportation.
“Dammit!” Liam shouted. “A little warning would’ve been nice, Zulu Actual.”
“Even without lights, Sorenson’s gonna see this,” Black said.
Who cares about Sorenson?
“Do something about it,” Westin ordered Black, apparently caring. “Brosnan, you know everything you need. Army recon soldiers are at their best when fighting against an enemy that thinks they have them captured.”
He swiveled to check each side. Armed men were closing in on him.
“You know what to do,” Westin confirmed. “Now destroy the comms and start this mission, soldier.”
Shit. He yanked the mic from his collar and pulled the earpiece. The door of the SUV next to him opened.
Liam readied for his role as a rogue mercenary without any comms or support. He laid the two pieces on the center console and smashed his elbow down.
The other man closed the distance to his door, and Liam swiped the broken pieces aside.
“Here goes nothing.” He gripped the carbine and stepped out, meeting the man straight on.
The man from the Metro. Liam knew the hatred in his eyes and could feel the chill of Pham’s dead soul. He had a split-second realization that if his life hadn’t continued, he’d be a mirror image of the man standing across from him.
The distant womp, womp of a low-flying chopper came within earshot. His senses fired. Sorenson knew—and he understood Black’s concern. The senator would take Pham before a rescue, and a captured Pham wouldn’t give up Chelsea’s location to spite them.
They didn’t have long. Both men needed to make a move.
“You stole my daughter,” Pham accused.
He knew if he gave a single lie, he would never see Chelsea again. “In war.”
“Your wars are cowardly.”
“In my position, our wars are not mine to judge.”
“Al-jihad fi sabil Allah— for I strive to walk in the path of God.”
“I bet your God hates when you use him as an excuse.”
Pham growled. Liam could make out the helicopter drawing near. The interior light of his Explorer flicked on as he heard the sound of his hatch door opening. Dammit, they’d get their hands on his munitions.
One of the men pulled a large case from the trunk and opened it. The other men exchanged rapid-fire shouts. Even Pham let them steal his attention, and Liam turned. A rocket-propelled grenade launcher? What the fuck did he have in there?
The men gestured to the incoming chopper and hastened to put it together.
Liam’s stomach dropped. “No!”
Pham and his men jerked their weapons at him. Liam thought about the helicopter and the men and women who would be aboard, carrying out a crazy mission at the behest of a power-hungry politician.
Liam gaged a shootout. They’d kill him if he dove when the launcher fired, but surrounded, they might just kill each other too.
That was the only thing he could do—stand, ready to sacrifice his life for the chopper, ready to pray that a bullet would slice through Tran Pham.
He edged forward. Sweat dampened his chest and back. His mind raced for Chelsea and wept for the chopper.
Foreign words demanded he remain in place. Barrels were pointed at him and jammed in his face. The circle tightened.
One of the men hoisted the RPG to his shoulder.
He flipped on the optics and activated the laser targeting.
A light glowed green, as though it had a lock on the chopper, but that didn’t make sense.
Liam racked his mind. He ran every piece of equipment like that he’d ever used.
Nothing built like that RPG should’ve lit as though it were a guided system, ready to control.
The helicopter dove low and close enough that Liam could almost make out a team ready to drop in. He had a split second to decide if Zulu Actual had control over the RPG—and he stood down, believing that Black must.
The RPG fired. The blast shrieked. Its fire burned. The helo pulled upright. If Liam was wrong, escape would be futile.
Impact was imminent. His heart slammed. His pulse screamed.
Then, the red-and-yellow streak jerked. The trajectory arched and angled, and the grenade fired off-target, white hot as it climbed for the heavens.
He hadn’t been wrong! Sorenson’s chopper aborted their air assault. Pham and his men shouted in disbelief and anger. High above, the grenade blew like a firework in the moonless night sky.
That had to have been Black and Westin. No other possibility existed. They had armed him for every possible situation, controlled everything they could orchestrate, and guided that missile to safety.
The realization was short lived. Pham’s men slammed Liam to the ground, disarmed him, then bound his hands and feet. He’d become a captive, and the plan was finally coming into focus.
Pham snapped orders, and men lifted Liam and placed him in the back seat of Pham’s vehicle. The three SUVs slowly drove away as if the men hadn’t shot up his Explorer and shot off an RPG.