Chapter Sixteen

Liam

“Do you remember the plan?”

“I feel like I’m in some alternate universe hearing that come out of your mouth instead of mine.” Charlotte smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’m serious. Tell me again.”

She rolls her eyes. “I go inside the consulate, ask to speak to the consular agent, and tell her who I am and that I was kidnapped from the U.S. Then I tell her that Agent Martin Gray is expecting me and has arranged a plane for me back to Charleston. And if she has any questions, to contact him or Agent William Rummel at the CIA office at the number you gave me.”

“Good girl.” She sticks her tongue out at me, but I’m too focused on what I’ve got to do today to react. My first priority is to make sure Charlotte’s safe. Only then can I carry out the rest of my mission. “When I called Martin Gray last night, I told him the only way I’ll complete this now—while everyone thinks I’m dead and we have that edge—is if I know you’re safe. He assured me his boss, Rummel, will take care of everything and make sure you get back to South Carolina today. I double-checked with the airport this morning to make sure he’s holding up his end of the bargain. Gray has a military plane waiting.” I give her a small smile, which is more than I figured I’d be able muster this morning. Somehow, she always has a way of lightening my mood. “It won’t be what you’re accustomed to, now that you’re spoiled by flying in a fancy private jet.”

“At least I’ll know how to maneuver in a small bathroom for the future.” I know she’s just teasing, but the thought of her fucking some other guy on an airplane—or anywhere for that matter—makes me want to kill the faceless bastard.

I push the thought, and the resulting emotions, to the back of my mind where the memory of my parents and my younger self reside. They are safer there, hidden, unexamined. I can’t have Charlotte, even if I am in love with her.

Fuck. The realization hits me like a sucker punch. Over the course of our week on the run, I’ve fallen in love with Charlotte—with her smart mouth and her mischievous streak and her plans and the way she believes in me and how easy it is to be with her. The way her smile lights up the room and makes me feel like I can do anything in the goddamn world as long as she’s there by my side…

It doesn’t matter. She wants a picket fence and a guy with a pension, not some crazy-ass Navy SEAL whose life is a mess and who’s gone all the time, trying to prove he can save the world single-handedly. She was right. I’ve created a life for myself where I don’t have to rely on anyone or get too attached. But somehow, I did.

But it’s too late for me, and certainly no time for sentimentality. I’m a Navy SEAL. And I have a job to do.

“You better go. I’ve got to meet Gray in an hour at the warehouse.”

She reaches for the door handle of the rental car, then hesitates. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to have El Gato meet you there by yourself? I know your CIA contact will be there, too, but you said the U.S. government can’t be involved and—”

“We’ve been over all this. And I meant to thank you for you helping me talk it out and think it through last night.” I reach over and tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “There was a lot to work out at the last minute, and I was glad to have that obsessively organized mind of yours help me sort it all out.”

She smiles wanly. “But you’re still going to do it your way. Alone.”

“I have to, sweetheart. Don’t worry. I’m used to it. It’s the best scenario. The only one. Gray needs to see the guns to know I’m still committed to the mission and not double-crossing the CIA. And my odds are better for taking out El Gato in a warehouse than at his compound. Besides, Gray was the one who suggested it and offered to back me up! Who knows…maybe at this point, he has orders to see the job completed himself. It will be fine. And if not…” I shrug. “You know my motto.”

She takes a deep, steadying breath. “Right. Thank you for teaching me that.” She twists the diamond solitaire off her finger, puts it in my hand, and closes my fingers over it. “See you around, Prescott.”

There’s something vaguely familiar about her words, and the look of hurt in her eyes, but of course, that doesn’t make any sense. I’ve never seen a girl more commitment phobic. She’s said half a dozen times how she can’t wait to get back to her life. How I’m not her type. Before I can say anything, the passenger door closes with a thud and the girl who rocked my world for eight amazing days walks right out of it.

…

With Charlotte safe and on her way back to her perfectly ordered life, I can focus on preparing to take down the head of the drug cartel. When we set up our plans yesterday evening, Gray promised to equip me with whatever I needed, from a programmable UGV with a bomb attached to a sniper rifle and a bulletproof vest, but I don’t like to leave anything to chance. Especially my life. As luck would have it, I have an entire armada of firearms at my disposal.

Early this morning, I’d left Charlotte sleeping, rented a car, and driven to the shed where I’d chosen my weapon of choice—a small but powerful handgun favored by the Iraqi military. Now, with the gun tucked into a holster hidden beneath my vest and my knife strapped to my ankle inside my boot, I drive to the warehouse, parking the car in a grove of trees where it can’t be seen from the road, but where I can watch the warehouse. I’d given Gray the location, but not the combination to the lock.

Martin Gray arrives fifteen minutes early. I hadn’t recognized him when I looked him up the CIA directory page on my mobile, and seeing him in person doesn’t spark any memory either. It’s no wonder; there’s nothing memorable about him at all. He’s the perfect CIA operative—average height, average build, close-cropped dark hair, who no doubt has the uncanny ability to blend in anywhere. I get out of the car and walk over to him.

“Gray.” I nod.

“Liam! It’s good to see you.” He clasps my hand, and I realize there is something about him that stands out. He has the distinctive cold, dead eyes of a snake. However, his tone is warm as he says, “I wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me. You still don’t remember our meeting?”

“No. I still don’t remember much. I’m glad I had the presence of mind to leave myself a trail so I could find the guns and finish the mission.”

“Me too.” He claps me on the shoulder. “I’d like to see the guns.”

“I’m sure you would,” I say dryly. “But first let’s go over the plan again.”

“Sure, sure,” he says agreeably. “Here’s the AUV.” He pulls out a small, compact, foldable drone equipped with a missile from his backpack. They’re considered “kamikazes,” unmanned UAVs that can crash into their target with an explosive warhead to destroy it. “As I said when we spoke yesterday, this one’s programmable and can operate for longer than most of the ones currently available to the military.

“We’ll take a look at the guns, and then I’ll stay out of sight but nearby. When El Gato and his men get here, open the warehouse and let them go ahead of you. When the last one’s inside, we’ll lock it up and let the AUV do its work. Kabam!” He makes an outward burst with his fingers, mimicking an explosion. “El Gato’s dead and there’s no evidence of the guns or any U.S. involvement. You wait a few days and then show up, having fully recovered from your injuries. Hold a press conference, give some recognition to the guy in India who saved you. Should make for good PR.”

“What about the guns I stole? It’s in the news. I could be court-martialed and tried for treason.”

“I’ll do what I can on my end to make sure it’s an open and shut investigation, but regardless, the evidence will be blown to smithereens. There’ll be no proof. Come on. You died saving a man! Focus on that. You’ll be hailed a hero. A miracle.”

I nod. I don’t like it, but it’s the best I can get.

“You brought the additional weapons?”

He nods. “I’ve got a Glock with a silencer to take care of any of the guys that stay outside the warehouse. And a sniper rifle for myself should you need a little”—he grins, but it just looks macabre—“assistance.”

“Where are they?”

“In my car. I’ll get them after you show me the guns.”

I lift an eyebrow. “You think I’m lying?”

“Of course not. But you understand my boss is a little gun-shy. Pardon the pun.”

I enter the combination and the lock clicks open. With a shove, I push open the door to the warehouse, gesturing for Gray to enter first. He walks in, a grin illuminating his face as he spies the crates.

“These all filled with guns?” he asks, rubbing his hands together.

“No. Most of ’em are filled with soybeans. Those are the two with the guns.”

Walking over to one, he bends down and pries open the lid. Running his hands reverently over an AK-47, he says, “Damn. Now this is what a million dollars’ worth of weaponry looks like.”

“Liam!” The sound of Walker’s voice is out-of-place, jolting, and I turn toward the door, certain my imagination is playing tricks on me. But somehow my best friend and SEAL brother is here, standing in the doorway of this godforsaken warehouse no one knows about.

“Walker! What are you doing here?”

“Charlotte called. She thought you might need help, but she knew you were too proud to ask.” His teeth flash white against his tanned face. “You look pretty good for a dead guy.”

Charlotte. My heart squeezes at the thought of her, probably on her way back to her normal life as we speak—a life better off without me. I’m not sure how she called him—probably on my own damn phone last night when I’d left to arrange a car—but I realize she was, as always, right. I’m damned glad to see Walker and know he’s got my back.

A second man steps through the doorway behind him. He has dark, slightly disheveled hair, a scruffy beard, and an air of danger and confidence that matches his almost black eyes. Noah Payne. My contact with La Frontera—the one I negotiated the gun deal with—and a former Navy SEAL gone rogue.

“Looks like we’ve got company from La Frontera already,” I say dryly, wanting to alert Walker. Pulling my gun, I train it on Payne. “You’ll forgive me if I’m a little overly cautious,” I say.

Walker quickly glances behind him. “It’s okay, Liam. He’s not with La Frontera. He’s on our side. Gray’s the guy you can’t trust.”

…

“What the hell are you talking about?” My head whips around to Gray, who’s also pointing a weapon at Noah.

“Step away from Mr. Payne, Commander,” Gray says icily.

Commander? I arch an eyebrow at Walker in silent question and he grins in response. I knew it. He got the promotion.

“Take him out, Liam,” Gray barks. “Kinkaid is confused. Noah Payne works for El Gato. You brokered the arms deal with him.”

“I remember. Walker, he’s right. He’s lying to you. He’s not a SEAL anymore. He went rogue. He works for La Frontera now.”

“Nope.” Walker’s voice is even. Deadly. “It’s Gray who’s not who you think he is. He set you up—”

“I’m CIA,” Gray interrupts gruffly.

“Oh, I know exactly who you are!” Walker’s voice drips with hostility. “The guy who set this whole thing up—”

“Listen to your commander, Kincaid. That’s an order!” Gray snaps. “The guy’s a traitor.” Turning to me, he says, “He’s dangerous. Manipulative. First your sister. Now your SEAL brother—”

“My sister?” What the hell does McKenzie have to do with this?

“Tell him, Payne,” goads Gray. “Tell him how you followed her to Las Vegas and seduced her, then made sure she had no other option but you to take her sailing in the Phillipines. Tell him how you lied to her. Tell him how you fucked her…how you’re still fucking her, and all the while, you’re double-crossing her brother.”

Blood roars in my head at the thought of the cartel’s hands on my sister. That fucking son of a bitch! Charlotte’s words echo in my head. She ended up meeting someone in the Philippines and stayed to go diving in Malaysia. Fuck shooting him. I’m going to kill him with my own two hands and rip every goddamn limb off, starting with the dick he’s been sticking in my sister. There’s not a death too painful for this asshole. And I’m going to make sure it’s slow and painful. I chamber a round.

“That’s right,” Gray goads. “Pull the damn trigger. Now!”

“Liam. Don’t. Trust me.” Walker’s voice is low. “Noah’s with us. Gray’s not.”

Trust me. Charlotte’s soft, lilting voice echoes in my head. You like to be in control of things just as much as I do. Except instead of making lists, you’ve just made yourself an untouchable badass who can do anything—handle anything—without any help from anyone.

I’m torn. Every fiber of my being screams at me to follow my instincts, to protect Walker, who’s standing an inch from the rogue SEAL. But Charlotte’s right. I can’t fight the world alone. I’ve got to trust the people who love me. And there’s no one I trust as much as Walker.

I turn to Gray to tell him to give Walker a chance to explain. His gun is still pointed at Noah, his eyes hard and cold, and a ghost of a memory flits across my mind. A small jolt of recognition, there and then gone, like a tendril of smoke from a campfire carried off on the wind. I shake my head, trying to focus.

“If you’re not going to do it, I will.” Gray releases the safety, and with the click, that infinitesimally small sound of metal sliding into place, a memory flashes through my head.

A run-down hut. An empty room. A scrap of red fabric fluttering over the lone window, the only bright spot in the room. A thin, scholarly looking man with kind but fearful eyes behind gold wire-rimmed glasses. Urgency. My voice, shouting. “We’re Navy SEALs. Go, go! Now!” Movement in my peripheral vision. Martin Gray, my commander. Eyes cold, his gun pointed right at me. Confusion. Comprehension. Shock. The crack of gunfire.

Slowly, I turn my gun on Martin Gray. “You were the one who tried to kill me. In that back room in Pakistan, when it was just you and me and the aid worker. You shot me in the chest. Point blank. You left me there to bleed out, along with the doctor. We’d gone in to rescue him; in fact, you overrode my command to wait to go into Pakistan. Yet you left him bound in that room to die with me.”

“I did,” Gray says agreeably. “And threw an explosive in the room for good measure. You and the doctor were supposed to die.” He shrugs. “It was a war zone. No one would have known it wasn’t an accident.”

“Why? In another week or two, I would have taken out the head of largest Mexican drug cartel, and you would have had everything you wanted.”

“Not really. I never intended for you to actually give the guns to La Frontera; I’d promised them to Francisco Dominguez. The CIA has a long history of providing benefits, permission, and immunity to certain criminal organizations in exchange for receiving valuable information, and the CIA has that agreement with Nuevo Leon. I just needed you to get them out of Iraq. You were perfect for the job—an orphan without any family, in debt, and a decorated soldier above reproach who’s just naïve and patriotic enough to agree to my scheme for the greater good of America.” His mocking tone has my fist clenching. “The plan all along was to make sure you died after you smuggled the guns out. No one would have known. No one did know, until you showed back up alive.” He frowns. “Well, there was the doctor, who somehow got out of there, but I was able to convince his wife and kids he had PTSD and wasn’t remembering things correctly before I made sure he had an unfortunate freak car accident.

“After your death in the line of duty, I went to retrieve the guns from the storage facility in Malaysia that we’d prearranged as the drop off. But when I went back, the guns were gone. You moved them without telling me. And I’ve spent the last three goddamn months trying to find them through your bucket list. I even kidnapped your sister, figuring she knew where they were, but he”—he nods toward Walker—“somehow found her.”

He grins malevolently. “But fate has a funny way of favoring the wicked, doesn’t it? You showed up, and you didn’t remember a goddamn thing. But you finally remembered where you put the guns, and you’ve led me back to them, so it’s all good.” He glances at his watch. “Dominguez will be here any minute. I’ll be able to deliver the guns to him as promised, collect the money, and be long gone before El Gato shows up. And you…well, you and your friends will die along with El Gato when the drone crashes into the warehouse. Well, unless he kills you first for cheating him out of his guns. Again. Either way”—he shrugs—“dead men don’t tell tales.”

Walker and I exchange a look of amusement. Turning back to Gray, I say, “And what makes you think two Navy SEALs—”

“Three,” Walker corrects. He tilts his head in Noah’s direction.

I glower. “That remains to be seen.” Turning back to Gray, I continue, “What makes you think we’re just going to let you walk away with the guns?”

“Insurance,” Gray says.

The small whimper from the doorway is achingly familiar, and with a sinking heart, I realize that I unknowingly sent Charlotte straight into the slaughterhouse. Gray never intended to put Charlotte on that plane. He’d no doubt set it up for his own return flight back to the States long before I called. I just handed him the perfect bargaining tool. Both Walker and Noah are pointing their weapons at Gray. I gauge the shot. I can take him out. Keep her safe. My finger squeezes the trigger…

“If you shoot me, the girl dies. Painfully.” Gray gives me a calculating smile.

Charlottes whimpers again, and now I see she’s not alone. A tall, wiry Hispanic man who looks vaguely familiar has one muscular arm banded around her, holding her back to his front, with the sharp edge of a knife pressed to her throat. Noah growls, a look of pure hatred blazing in his eyes as he lunges toward the Hispanic man, and I realize who he is. Francisco Dominguez, the head of the most powerful drug cartel, and the man who killed Noah Payne’s wife and daughter.

I remember the rumors. Payne was part of a SEAL team assigned to curtail the flow of drugs from Mexico to the U.S. by overthrowing the predominant drug cartel. When Dominguez found out he was the Navy SEAL sharpshooter tasked with taking him out, he kidnapped his family and ultimately killed them. It had almost killed Noah, too. Word was his grief had turned into an insatiable quest for revenge, a dangerous one for a SEAL, and he’d quit the military and joined forces with La Frontera, the only cartel strong enough to challenge Nuevo Leon and its leader. While I appreciate Noah’s desire to kill the motherfucker, I can’t take the chance on Charlotte’s life.

Walker stops Noah with a hand on his chest. Small beads of red form a thin necklace on Charlotte’s throat.

“What do you want?” I say tightly.

“I’ve already told you,” Gray says. “I sell the guns to Dominguez and walk with the money. You three stay here. No one knows you’re alive; your family has already mourned you. His”—he nods at Noah—“is dead. And he’s just a foster kid who never had a family to start with.” He waves his gun in Walker’s direction.

I try to rein in my anger, to focus on the motto that’s seen me through every situation, but it’s not working this time. “Fine. But the girl lives.”

“Liam! No!”

I can’t look at her. I’ll save that for when the deal is done and she’s walking out of my life for the last time. Safe. “You aren’t the only one with an insurance policy. I made a recording of our conversation—you know, the one where you hired me to illegally smuggle guns out of Iraq and sell them to the Mexican drug cartel that killed fifteen innocent American tourists last month alone. So here’s the deal. Charlotte gets home safely to Charleston and never hears from you or anyone with the cartel again and that tape stays hidden. One hair on her head gets harmed—ever!— and that tape will be all over the news. You got it? Same goes for my sister.” It’s a crapshoot, trusting the guy who tried to kill me to get Charlotte out of here alive, but it’s all I’ve got to keep her safe. I’m pretty sure he’ll be worried enough that I’m telling the truth to keep his end of the bargain.

“And their friend, Gemma,” Walker interjects.

I nod my agreement. “And the money you paid me that went to McKenzie. She keeps it.”

“Fine.” Gray nods at Fernandez and his two henchmen. “Get the guns.” Turning to us, he says, “Give me your weapons.”

I plan to keep my knife, but one of his goons finds and confiscates it.

It takes both of the men and Gray to lift the largest of the two crates, and they struggle to get it out the door, while Dominguez stays inside with Charlotte, the knife still pressed to her throat. Walker, Noah, and I are still, listening to them discuss how they’re going to get both crates wherever they’re taking them without releasing Charlotte. The two lieutenants return, dragging the second crate out the door and around to the back of the building, where they’ve decided to leave it until they’ve delivered Charlotte to someone else to watch until Gray can accompany her back to Charleston on the military plane.

Charlotte looks at me, her brown eyes shimmering with tears, and for one long minute, our gazes lock. Then she’s gone. Noah makes a slight movement toward the door, determination etched across his hard features, but Walker stops him. “They’ll kill her in a second. You know they will.”

Noah runs his fingers through his hair and growls, but he stops, knowing Walker’s right. For Charlotte to live, we die. I hate like hell that Walker’s going down with me. We sit in the warehouse helplessly as the padlock clicks into place with finality.