Читать книгу Mission: Marriage - Karen Whiddon - Страница 9

If reinforcements didn’t show up soon, Natalie Major thought grimly, she might as well paint a target on her chest and leap into the open. The unknown assassin—or assassins—were that close. The decaying concrete warehouse she’d holed up in only had two ways out—and one of them had been blown to rubble.

She needed help. Corbett Lazlo, her father’s oldest friend and owner of one of the top private investigative agencies in the world, had promised to send someone. She’d asked for the best.

Now she wished she’d asked for the most prompt.

Gallows humor. She’d never been particularly good at it before, though she’d grown more proficient.

Her husband wouldn’t even recognize her now if he were still alive. Once, he’d been Lazlo’s top agent. She’d married a Lazlo Group spook, just like her own father had been. Retired now, and in a wheelchair, her father lived in relative seclusion. Her beloved husband, Sean, hadn’t been so lucky. He’d been killed two years ago this week. Lazlo’s group seemed to be the ruin of everyone she loved, so in honor of her dead husband and disabled father, and in defiance of the Lazlo legacy she could easily have embraced, she’d worked her way to the top of SIS, the British Secret Intelligence Service. There was no job too difficult, no task too dangerous for Sean McGregor’s widow.

Until now.

She scouted the area. Trapped inside the abandoned warehouse, she was fast running out of options. The concrete walls made a good shield against bullets, but she needed to see her enemies. Right now, she could only hear them. And it was hard to fight when you had no idea who the enemy might be. Or where they were hiding.

Plus, cement was cold and hard and reminded her too damn much of a tomb.

The shooters fired off another round of shots. AK-47s. Random bullets ricocheted crazily and dangerously off the cement walls and floors. She couldn’t even dodge them, having no idea where they’d go.

She’d found the abandoned warehouse two days ago. A concrete bunker in a run-down area of Glasgow had seemed relatively safe. Not wanting to endanger others by staying at a B and B or hotel, she’d used the concrete warehouse as her base, returning to sleep and regroup while attempting to gather information on whoever had sold out her team. Since Millaflora—a low-down, no-good mole operating as a double agent inside the SIS—had already been caught, she had no idea who she was looking for.

Officially, she was on administrative leave, supposedly holed up, incognito in an unknown luxury hotel on the French Riviera. No one in her office knew she’d come to Glasgow, not even her supervisor.

And though she’d tried to take extraordinary precautions similar to those she used when deep undercover, her enemy had found her.

Whoever “they” were.

She supposed the whys and the hows didn’t matter. Not now. All that mattered was that if help didn’t arrive soon, she was dead.

Her ammo nearly gone, no backup, and no alternative plan—pretty shoddy situation for an undercover agent who’d recently been promoted to team leader.

It had to have something to do with the code. Natalie was sure of it. She’d been so close to cracking it. She and her team.

Now they all were dead and she was on the run.

And she had only herself to rely on. In seven years of service, she’d never had a single casualty. Until now. Now she’d lost her entire team. They’d been eliminated, killed in a way that left no doubt she was next. All the codes they’d been working on had disappeared, at least as far as anyone knew. She’d told no one that she’d made her own private copy.

Not knowing who was on her side, she hadn’t dared to contact SIS. She’d called her father, knowing he’d contact Corbett, knowing Lazlo would help.

“Come on, reinforcements,” she muttered. Her father’d told her Corbett had promised to send help. The head of the Lazlo Group never went back on his word.

A movement across the alley caught her attention. Finally! Someone had arrived to help her out of this hellhole.

She took another look and blinked, wondering if the stress had finally claimed her mind.

Out of the mist and smoke, a dead man strode toward her, keeping close to the wall, staying in the shadows, but coming. For her.

Natalie began to shake.

Shots rang out. Crouching, the man began to run. More shots. So far, he hadn’t been hit. He’d always been lucky that way.

At least, until the day he’d died.

Dead. He was dead and buried.

Rocking back onto her heels, she rubbed her eyes and took another look.

She hadn’t been wrong. The man she’d loved more than any other, her soul mate, her husband, the man she’d mourned, the man she’d never thought to see again, kept moving toward her.

Frozen, she watched as he continued, his low crouch purposeful and unafraid. Or maybe he didn’t care. After all, a man couldn’t die twice, right?

Her heart drummed in her ears. Sean. Her husband, Sean. This couldn’t be real, couldn’t be happening.

She wasn’t the type to faint—not anymore. Too many hard lessons learned. Instead, she’d taught herself to push back, to fight.

But how did one battle a ghost?

From the smoke and the grave, against the periodic bursts of gunfire, he continued to come toward her. He moved exactly the way she remembered—purposeful and bold, dodging bullets as though he were untouchable. She’d often thought that very arrogance had been what had gotten him killed.

Killed.

Yet here he was, ducking under the concrete overhang into her shadowed hiding place, solid and real and alive.

When he reached her, he stopped, his dark gaze intense. She couldn’t move. He was still beautiful, even in the dust and the dirt and the danger. She caught her breath, unable to speak.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice husky, as though too long unused, a hint of wariness in his gaze.

“I …” She moved toward him, inspecting him, still unable to believe what the fates had just returned to her.

“Get down,” he snarled, yanking her behind the concrete wall with him as the shooters let loose with several rounds of shots.

“What the—” he cursed, letting her go. “They’ve got AK-47s. You must have royally pissed someone off. Why are they trying to kill you?”

She still couldn’t find her voice. Unable to help herself, she let her gaze roam hungrily over his muscular body—the way her hands used to.

“Either I’m dead, dying or you’re not dead,” she said, feeling like an idiot, still not sure what to think.

“No.” His dark gaze locked with hers, daring her wrath. “I’m not dead.”

“Sean.” Fierce joy rose in her. Joy and disbelief and … anger. Anger, fury, rage. Hard and hot, pushing away everything else. “I went to your funeral. You died in a car crash on your way to the airport.”

He dragged his hand through his hair. “It was set up,” he said, unsmiling. “I went into hiding. But your father called Corbett, who told me you were in trouble. I’ve come to help.”

To help. Not because he loved her or missed her, but because his boss had requested it. Of course. Anyone who’d pretend to die, who’d let his wife grieve and mourn …

Speechless, all she could do was shake her head. Then suddenly, tears streamed down her cheeks as she began to weep, crying in great big, gasping sobs.

Another round of shots rang out. They both ignored them.

“Don’t.” Reaching for her, his expression looked pained, and she remembered how he’d always hated it when she’d cried. He’d welcome a fight, maybe even a discussion, but he’d never been able to deal with a woman’s tears. Or, more specifically, hers.

Suddenly, she hated him. “Stay away from me.”

“But I—”

“No.” Still crying, she felt rage again knife through her, chasing away the pain. Blinding fury, the kind she’d had to draw upon again and again to get through her grief.

Then, she’d been angry with him for dying. For leaving her. Now, she was enraged to learn he’d lived.

She looked lovelier than he’d remembered, which shouldn’t be possible. Her face had haunted his dreams each and every night of the two years they’d been apart. He’d kept track of her from a distance, relying on Corbett Lazlo to keep him up to date.

Now, he stood before the woman he hadn’t seen in two long years, the woman he’d never stopped loving, and prepared to face her wrath. After all, he’d expected it, and God knows he deserved it.

Another round of gunshots shattered the concrete floor in front of them.

“This way.” Grabbing her, Sean dove deeper inside the building.

Because she had no choice, she went with him. “What are you doing? I’ve walked the perimeter—there is no other door. We’ll be trapped.”

“Yes there is. You must have missed it. I had the satellite check out this place before I got here. There’s another way out, though it’s on the other side of the shipping area. This warehouse has apparently been abandoned for a long time. Vandals have busted out the back loading doors.”

“How do you know the shooters won’t already be there?” Despite her question, she shook off his grip and pushed ahead of him. When she glanced over her shoulder to make sure he followed, her face was absolutely expressionless. Not the fury he’d expected, not even sorrow. Instead, she had the cold, calculating look of a seasoned undercover agent, one prepared to do what had to be done to make it out alive.

“I don’t. Where’s your backup?” he asked her.

“I don’t have any. I’m not supposed to be here.”

“What?”

Ignoring him, she kept moving.

Wary, he stayed close behind her. This was Natalie, and knowing how much his return from the grave must have shocked her he wasn’t sure what to expect.

More gunfire, closer this time. “They’re moving in,” he said. She didn’t respond.

He grabbed her arm. “Nat, stop.”

Her eyes narrowed and he braced himself for the storm.

Instead, face blank, she looked at him and shook her head, as though she found him wanting. “I would suggest,” she said, her voice deadly calm, “that you let go of me. If you don’t want to go with me, then turn around and go back to whatever rock you crawled out from under.”

Ah, now this was the Natalie he knew. “Let’s postpone this discussion for after we’ve gotten out of here alive, don’t you think?”

Immediately she nodded. “Of course. Forgive me. I wasn’t aware there was a code of conduct for how a wife is supposed to act when learning her beloved husband had faked his death and not only lied to her, but voluntarily spent the past two years away from her.”

He glared back. “There isn’t. But there is a code of conduct for staying alive. Move!”

“Right.” She lifted her chin and took off.

More gunshots. “What the hell are they doing, shooting randomly in the dark?” He cursed. “They’ll hit their own men with the ricocheting bullets. Stupid idiots.”

The blackness had become absolute. And he didn’t dare light a match. Hands out before him, he felt his way, concrete pillar by concrete pillar.

“I hope you’re right about this exit. If you’re wrong, we’re trapped here.”

“Satellite photos are pretty accurate. There should be another hallway here to the left.”

Bumping into something in the dark, she cursed. “I think I found it.”

“Take my hand.”

“What?”

“Team members.” Impatient, he held his arm out blindly. “Come on.”

A second later, her small hand slipped into his. They kept moving.

“Is it my imagination, or is it getting a bit lighter in here?”

“We must be getting close to the loading area. Keep going.”

More shots.

“Do those fools not realize bullets ricochet off concrete?” he said again.

“Apparently not,” Natalie answered, annoyance still evident in her voice.

“Why didn’t they move in before?”

She shook her head, making him realize he could see her. “I held them off. But you barely showed up in time—I was running out of ammo. Did you bring more?”

“You should always be prepared.”

She flipped him off. “That’s why you’re here. More ammo, another gun. The fact that you knew another way out is a bonus. Corbett did good, sending you.” Tossing her head, she gave him a narrow-eyed, go-to-hell look. “You do have more ammo, don’t you?”

He laughed, and saw her clench her teeth. A second later, he tossed her a couple of clips. Seething, she slammed one into her pistol. “Ready?”

He raised a brow. “For?”

“Moving out. Just in case the shooters have covered the back exit.”

“You plan on blasting your way out of here?”

“Yep.”

Once again she surprised him. The Natalie he’d known before would have wanted to stay hidden, hoping to pick them off one by one.

“Do you have any idea how many there are?” The cool, professional Sean was back. Astounded he might be, but he hadn’t survived this long in such a dangerous game by letting his personal feelings get in the way of his job.

She matched her tone to his. “There are at least two out front. One east, one west. Both armed with AK-47s.”

“Any idea who they are?”

“Does it matter? They want me dead. That’s all I need to know. Now, how much farther?”

They both heard the shouts and the sound of boots running on cement toward them.

“We’re over halfway there. Come on.” He took off. This time, rather than following, she kept pace with him. Side by side.

Another round of gunfire, closer. Chunks of concrete spewed from the wall to the left of them.

Close. Too close. They both knew it.

“Damn it.” Sean drew his weapon. “You go. I’ll hold them off.”

Ignoring him, she flicked off the safety and raised her gun. Leaning around the pillar, she aimed, waiting. An instant later, she squeezed off a shot.

Direct hit. The shooter’s body jerked, then nose-dived forward. “Got him. One down, a few more to go.”

He touched her arm. “They’re shooting blind. No way can they see us back here. Come on.” He took off.

She didn’t waste time arguing.

Left, then right, then right again. With each turn, the darkness lightened.

“Here we are.” Stopping, Sean pointed. “There’s the loading area. See how that one metal door moves in the breeze?”

“Listen. The shooting’s stopped. I wonder why?”

“Who cares?” He moved forward. “Let’s get out of here.”

She climbed onto the cement platform, staying close to the wall. Sean followed right behind her. When they reached the rusted metal door, she lifted one side and pointed toward a narrow alley between two tall brick buildings. “That looks like the only way out.”

“No. Too constricted.” Out of reflex, he grabbed her arm. “We’d be sitting ducks. There has to be another way.”

Again, she jerked away. “Don’t touch me.” Breathing hard, she glared at him, putting every ounce of loathing she could into her expression.

Grimly, he looked around. He lifted his hand to point and as he did, the remaining shooter fired off another round, narrowly missing him. “Damn it.”

“I don’t think we have a choice.” She jerked her head toward the opening. “Are you ready to make a run for it?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but a sound—metal striking concrete—grabbed his attention. For half a heartbeat, they both eyed the oblong metal object rolling across the floor toward them.

“Time-delay grenade!” he shouted, grabbing her and shoving her ahead of him. “Take cover!”

She needed no second urging. Sprinting for the nearest concrete divider, she dove behind the wall with him right on her heels.

The grenade exploded. Sean yanked Natalie into his chest, ducking his own head. Fire flashed and roared and the dilapidated building shook.

Dust and smoke and cement rained down on them.

Sean’s mouth moved, but she couldn’t hear for the ringing in her ears.

More gunfire. This, she could hear. The shooter—or shooters—were moving in, hoping the grenade had done the job.

Natalie looked at Sean. They didn’t need sound to know what the other was thinking.

“One, two, three … go.” Moving low and fast, they sprinted for the door. As they slipped through the unstable metal, bullets sliced into it where they’d been.

“Come on.” They took off running, guns at the ready.

“Something’s wrong.” Natalie didn’t like the way the pounding of their feet echoed off the alley walls.

“Too quiet.”

Then, into the silence, they heard another sound. The unmistakable click of the grenade launcher firing.

“Down,” Sean shouted, in the split second before the grenade hit to the left of them. It exploded on impact.

Natalie was thrown to the ground. Sean was lost somewhere in the smoke. Damn it, she thought as she struggled to stand up. It would be a crying shame for Sean to come back from the dead only to be killed on his first mission after. If anyone was going to kill him, it was going to be her.

At the exact instant she stood, squinting in the smoke and fire and dust, head pounding, ears ringing, looking for Sean, the concrete wall above her came tumbling down.