Chapter Thirteen

Capri, Italy

Evgeni Volkov did not look his age. His hair was still jet black, his face free of wrinkles. Guess that was one perk of owning the half of the world that Tuc Quentin didn’t already own. You could buy the best plastic surgeons and physical trainers.

Ian stayed two steps behind Tuc and kept Tank on a short leash. Jean-Luc flanked Tuc’s other side and for once the Cajun was taking this seriously. His dopey, ever-present grin was gone, and Ian caught a glimpse of the killer lurking behind his eyes.

Well, that was interesting.

Ian had never considered Jean-Luc as anything more than an annoyance, a bug that he wanted to swat but couldn’t. Normal people frowned on killing someone just because they annoyed you, and Ian did his best to project an air of normality.

Did the Cajun put on an act like him? Was he just as damaged inside?

Tuc stopped in front of Volkov’s table. Beyond the terrace, the Mediterranean sparkled a happy blue in the midday Italian sun.

“Quentin,” Volkov said, his Russian-accented voice deceptively genial. “I didn’t know you were in Capri this weekend. We could have made an appointment for dinner.”

Ian wondered if anyone else heard the hatred seething underneath those words. Volkov was playacting, too, putting on an air of civility when he wanted nothing more than to see Tuc’s downfall.

Nothing about Tuc’s smile looked forced. Those acting chops at work again. “Hello, Evgeni. I actually came here specifically to see you.”

“What an…unexpected surprise.”

“Is it really? You had to know I wouldn’t let things go business as usual after what you did in Indonesia.”

Volkov arched a manicured brow. “I haven’t been to Indonesia in years. Please, sit.” He waved a hand at the seat across the table. “Would you like a glass of wine?” He started to signal the waiter, who stood off to the side of the terrace, but Tuc held up a hand in a halt gesture.

The waiter didn’t seem to know what to do. He glanced back and forth between the two men, then wisely decided to step back.

“I’ll pass,” Tuc said coldly. “We had a deal. It worked well for both of us. Why risk that?”

Color flooded up Volkov’s neck and filled his cheeks an unhealthy red. “I haven’t risked anything. I haven’t done anything.”

“Then explain to me why I’m dealing with two dead employees at my house, another one missing, and a kidnapped civilian woman.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Each word was measured and precisely cut off.

Ian actually believed the guy. He was in the dark.

Apparently Tuc did, too, because after studying Volkov for a long moment, he lowered himself into the previously offered chair, but he didn’t relax. Tucker Quentin didn’t know the meaning of the word.

“Your men were involved, Evgeni. That missing employee I mentioned? He got in a lucky shot before they took him.” Tuc reached into the inner pocket of his suit coat. Volkov’s men tensed. Ian loosened his hold on Tank’s leash and gave the ready hand signal while Jean-Luc reached toward the weapon holstered under his left arm.

Volkov held up a hand, silently telling his men to stand down. “None of my operatives are currently in Indonesia.”

Tuc slowly pulled out the patch he’d ripped off the dead merc’s clothing and tossed it onto the table. An effective gesture, since blood still stained the thing. “That doesn’t belong to you?”

Volkov picked up the patch and studied it. Then he waved over one of the black-clad bodyguards standing at attention along the edge of the terrace and they had a soft, heated conversation in Russian. He handed the patch over and the man strode away.

Ian slid a quick glance toward Jean-Luc. Now he got why the mouthy Cajun was along for this trip. Jean-Luc spoke Russian fluently but didn’t show even a flicker of that knowledge now. He stood stoically, looking like he was all brawn and no brain.

Smart.

Didn’t explain why Tuc snagged Ian for this job, though. Maybe because he looked on the outside like the monster he was on the inside, and Tuc was not here to get answers. He was here to deliver a message.

Volkov returned his attention to Tuc. “I will investigate this. You have my word.”

Tuc rose to his feet, braced his hands on either side of the table, and leaned in. “Fuck with me, Volkov. I dare you. See what happens.”

The older man’s eye twitched, but after an obvious internal battle, he forced a smile. Though it was much more brittle than it had been before. “I have no intention of changing our arrangement.”

“Then find my missing people.” Tuc straightened and tugged his jacket into place. “You have an hour. If I don’t hear from you, consider our arrangement terminated.”

“I’ve been in this business longer than you’ve been alive.” Now Volkov’s smile turned mean. “You don’t want to start a war with me, little boy. You’ll lose.”

Tuc bared his teeth. “Try me.”

With that, he pushed up from the table and strode out the door. Jean-Luc followed. Ian waited a moment, staring Volkov down until the old man shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Then he also turned and guided Tank out.

Nobody said anything during the short ride back to the airport. Once aboard one of the many jets owned by Quentin Enterprises, Tuc went straight to the bar at the back and poured himself a large glass of bourbon. He downed it in one breath and closed his eyes as if savoring it. When he set the glass down, his hand shook just a bit.

Huh. So Tucker Quentin wasn’t as invincible as he seemed.

The mask of unruffled businessman was back in place when he turned around. “What did Volkov tell his man to do?”

Jean-Luc flopped into one of the cushy leather seats. “He said he wanted to know what the fuck Dmitry was up to and why he wasn’t aware of an operation in Indonesia.”

“Who’s Dmitry?” Ian asked, since Tuc didn’t seem confused by the name drop.

“Volkov’s son,” Tuc said. “A little shit stain with more balls than brains and a nasty coke habit. If Dmitry is off the books, Volkov will deal with him for us.”

“You’re sure about that?” Ian unhooked Tank’s leash and settled onto one of the couches along the plane’s wall. Tank walked in several circles before deciding the comfiest spot to curl up was on Ian’s boot. “’Cause from where I was standing, he wants a war with you.”

“Yeah, it’s coming,” Tuc admitted. “Our peace was always tenuous, at best. I’m his biggest competition and, before he dies, he’d like to see nothing more than the fall of my empire. But he’s not ready yet. He has other plans, and Dmitry is fucking with them.”

“And I thought Defion was a problem,” Jean-Luc muttered.

Tuc yanked at his tie, loosening it. “Defion is a fly. A pest we’ll eventually squash. Harrison Stead doesn’t have the resources to take us on and win.”

“But Volkov does,” Ian said. “What is Volkov Group, exactly?”

“They’re a PMC, like Defion. Like us.”

Another private military contractor. Except that didn’t tell him anything he hadn’t already figured out. “Yeah, and?”

Tuc pushed out a breath in obvious annoyance. He wasn’t used to being questioned, but too bad. Ian didn’t like walking around with a target on his back when he didn’t know the players or the game.

“And,” Tuc continued, “Evgeni Volkov is good friends with Russia’s president. There have been rumors that his mercenaries do the Kremlin’s dirty work.”

“Oh, is that all?” Jean-Luc said, heavy on the sarcasm, and then added what could only be a curse word in Russian. “What if Defion and Volkov team up? The enemy of my enemy and all that.”

Ian nodded. It was exactly something Harrison Stead would do. Harrison might not have the resources of Volkov or Quentin, but he was damn good at getting what he wanted. And he wanted to be standing in Tuc’s polished loafers, sleeping in Tuc’s mansions, swimming in Tuc’s money. If Volkov and Defion teamed up, there was no telling what hell they’d rain down, and by the look on his face, Tuc knew it.

“If that happens, we’re fucked.”

“Great.” Jean-Luc shoved out of his seat and walked over to the bar. He didn’t bother with a glass. “I finally find something that makes my life worth living, and now you’re telling me our world’s about to end.” He downed a shot straight from the bottle, then swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Is my wife safe? What about Gabe and Quinn and their families?”

Tuc released a heavy sigh and consulted his watch. “I’ll let you know in about forty-five minutes.”

…

Central African Republic

Dmitry Volkov.

After a full day of travel, Mercedes was finally face-to-face with the man who was holding her brother prisoner. She was sure of it.

Maybe Xander was even here in this abandoned village turned military training camp. She absolutely planned to look.

That was, if she lived through the next few minutes.

Dmitry looked like a wannabe gangster rather than the head of a huge PMC. He wore a heavy gold chain around his neck and had spiked his dark hair with so much gel, it looked bulletproof.

Did nobody tell him the 90s ended twenty years ago?

The smile Dmitry aimed in her direction made her want to take a bath. He was slimy, no doubt about it. And judging by the way he kept sniffling, he liked his nose candy a little too much.

No way was he the brains behind this operation. Xander was too smart, too good at his job to let a little punk like this get the best of him.

“You were with Defion,” Dmitry said like it was some big secret. It wasn’t. She made damn sure the guys she’d met in Indonesia knew she was ex-Defion.

“I was.”

“We had another Defion operative come to us for sanctuary last year, and he recently betrayed us.”

Xander.

Had to be.

Her heart punched against her ribs, but she kept her face impassive. If there was one thing Harrison Stead had taught her, it was how to shut down her emotions. She was the last one to give Harrison credit for anything, but she had him to thank for the stone-cold bitch she was today. She’d be sure to do that before she sliced his throat.

“So tell me,” Dmitry continued, “why shouldn’t I turn you over to them, hmm? I hear they are offering good cash for your pretty neck.”

Pretty neck? Yeah, she really didn’t like him. “Because I’m better than ten of your men put together.”

“That’s a big claim for a little girl.”

Little girl? She resisted the urge to reach for her weapon and shoot him now. “Not a claim. The truth. You want to test me, test me. I can be an asset to Volkov.”

“We’ll see. Do you speak Russian?” he asked in his native language.

“Have you always been a shit-ass?” she replied in the same language. She’d always enjoyed cursing in Russian. They were so wonderfully creative with their insults.

Dmitry let out a quick bark of laughter. “You have spirit. I like spirit.”

Mercedes bit down on her tongue to keep from telling him where he could shove that spirit. She’d already pressed her luck by calling him names. Shouldn’t have done that. She should be playing the part of the good little soldier, but she really didn’t fucking like this man.

Leah said the mercenaries after her had captured Xander, but Mercedes still clung to the hope he’d gotten away. He was good. After all, she’d trained him to be. But if by some chance he hadn’t escaped, this fuckwit Dmitry would know where he was. And if he was holding her brother hostage, she would take great pleasure in wiping that smug grin off his face.

After another moment, Dmitry stood from his desk. “Consider yourself hired, but one fuckup and you’ll join your fellow ex-Defion operative in the mines.”

The small flame of hope inside her sizzled out. He could only mean Xander. Her brother had been caught, and this little shit in the Fabio shirt was now holding him hostage.

What mines?

She needed more information, but asking about it now would only show her cards. She needed to play this one close to the vest if she had any chance of getting her brother out alive.

Though it nearly killed her, she offered Dmitry her hand. “Thank you.”

He held on too long, and if it wasn’t for the commotion at the door just then, she got the icky sensation he would’ve pulled her toward him and laid a kiss on her. As it was, he caressed the back of her hand with his thumb before letting go.

Ugh.

Where was the bleach when a girl needed it?

“You’re dismissed,” he said and turned his attention to the door. Two men dressed in Volkov black, despite the heat and their jungle surroundings, dragged a struggling blond woman into the hut.

For the second time in a matter of minutes, Mercedes’s heart thumped hard with recognition.

Leah Giancarelli.

What the hell?

Leah’s frantic gaze ping-ponged around the room until it landed on her. The woman opened her mouth in an O of surprise. Mercedes gave a tiny shake of the head, silently warning her not to say anything. To her credit, Leah recovered fast and hid her surprise with a shout of frustration when one of her guards shoved her forward.

Mercedes continued out the door, careful to keep her face impassive even as questions raced through her mind. What the fuck had happened to land Leah here? Last time she’d seen the woman, Marcus Deangelo was sticking to her like gum and had been determined to keep her safe. Was Marcus dead? It was the only thing that made sense. Marcus wouldn’t have let Volkov take his woman if he was still alive to stop it.

Shit.

She didn’t need this complication.

Mercedes slipped out the door into a new spat of rain. Of all the forsaken places on earth Volkov could’ve set up shop, why did it have to be Africa during the rainy season? She’d gotten her fill of the continent last year in Nigeria and hadn’t planned to come back to this corner of the world any time soon. But now here she was, somehow both melting and freezing in the torrential rain, breathing in air so thick with humidity it soaked through everything even without the rain’s help. It was enough to give her flashbacks to Nigeria—sitting in the pouring rain for days on end, waiting to do Defion’s dirty deeds out of some misguided sense of loyalty.

Well, no more.

She was her own fucking woman now. A free agent. The only person she owed any loyalty to was her brother, and she was closer to finding him than ever before. Leah Giancarelli wasn’t her problem.

Except.

She was a realist. As badass as she was, she might need help freeing her brother and, given her current situation, HORNET was her best—no, face it, her only bet. HORNET was all about loyalty and honor. They all lived by a code. Helping Leah would get her a lot of mileage with those men. Maybe it would even convince them she’d turned over a new leaf.

Ha.

Way she saw it, she had two options. Save Leah and secure HORNET’s help when the time came, or try going it alone. Both had pros and cons. But after a quick internal battle, she decided one had more cons than pros.

Mind made up, she snagged a sat phone from the supply hut, then jumped up into the back of a cargo truck for some privacy. The rain drumming against the canvas roof would give her cover from potential eavesdroppers. She had no doubt Dmitry would have her watched closely over the next few days, but he was currently distracted and hopefully hadn’t issued that order yet. This might be her one and only opening to make a call.

She dialed from memory and didn’t wait for a greeting when the line connected. “Missing something?”

Ian Reinhardt growled softly. “Where are they? Did you have something to do with this?”

“No.”

His silence said he didn’t believe her. Well, fuck him.

“Hey, if you don’t want my intel, I’ll hang up now. I’m putting my neck on the line here.”

“Where are they?” he asked again. She wouldn’t say his tone was pleasant, but he’d definitely shaved the edge off it. She imagined the control it must have required had a muscle ticking under one of his dark eyes.

She grinned. “Say please.”

Maybe it wasn’t smart to throw accelerant at a bomb waiting to happen, but she couldn’t seem to help herself when it came to Ian Reinhardt. She liked provoking him.

Several seconds passed in charged silence. Then he said, “Please,” like something was strangling him.

“I love it when you beg.”

“I’m hanging up.”

Shit. Too far. She’d pushed him too far. “No! Wait. Leah Giancarelli is in CAR.”

“She’s in a car?” Suspicion dripped from the question. “That’s your intel?”

“No, C-A-R. Central African Republic. In some unnamed abandoned village on an unnamed road.” She gave the coordinates. “Dmitry Volkov has her. He’s here with his mercenaries. Supposedly they are training the local military, but there’s something else going on here.”

“And Leah’s there? You’re sure?”

“I saw her.”

“What about Marcus?”

“No clue. I only saw her and if you want to get her back alive, you need to light a fire under Tucker Quentin’s ass and get HORNET here like yesterday. She’s living on borrowed time.”

“Aren’t we all?” Ian muttered before he hung up.

No Thank you, Mercedes or You saved my ass or I owe you.

That wasn’t Ian’s style.

But, like it or not, he did owe her now. A few times over by her calculations. And she planned to collect sooner rather than later.

She gazed out at the pouring rain and winced. She’d enjoyed staying somewhat dry for these last few minutes, but she had work to do.

Now to find out more about those mines.

…

Capri, Italy

“Who was that, mon ami?”

Ian pocketed his cell phone but didn’t turn around at Jean-Luc’s question. Fuck. The Cajun was a sneaky bastard when he wanted to be. “Nobody important.”

“Sounded like something important.”

Ian did a quick mental retread of the conversation. Had he called Mercedes by name? No. He hadn’t said anything too damning, but he had mentioned Marcus and Leah. So how was he supposed to share this intel with the team without exposing all his secrets? It was bad enough they already had the flash drive. If he told Jean-Luc he’d been in contact with Mercedes, he might as well just hand the Cajun a knife to slit his throat, because it would be easier than answering the questions he’d face.

But he still had work to do, revenge to dole out, before he cashed in his chips. He needed to think fast.

He made sure his scowl was still firmly in place when he faced Jean-Luc. “A buddy of mine from my EOD days is working the PMC circuit now. I asked him to keep his eyes and ears open for news about Marcus and Leah. He just spotted them.”

“Uh-huh.”

Shit, you didn’t need to be a linguist to hear the doubt in those two words. “What?”

Jean-Luc lifted a brow. “I’m surprised is all.”

“That I care?”

“That you have friends.”

“Fuck you, Cajun.”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Sorry, you’re too late.” He held up his left hand and wiggled his ring finger. “I’ve turned over a new leaf and am now a happily married man.”

Ian stalked past him, headed for the stairs leading up to Quentin’s plane. They had hung around the airport in Capri awaiting Evgeni Volkov’s reply. When none came, Tuc had the plane refueled for a return trip to Indonesia. Mercedes’s call had come just as they were preparing to leave, which meant he now had to convince Tuc to change plans.

“I had no idea you like men,” Jean-Luc called after him.

He stopped like he’d hit a solid wall and whipped around. “What?”

“Your buddy? He’s…more than?”

“Keep saying shit like that and I will pound your head into Cajun gumbo.”

Jean-Luc held up his hands. “Mais la! Just making an observation. That convo made you…” His gaze dropped pointedly to Ian’s fly. “Happy.”

Ian looked down at himself. Sure enough, he was rocking a hard-on. “If you’re a happily married man, why are you noticing my cock?”

“Hard not to when your soldier’s standing at attention like that. So your friend…?”

“Fuck off.” He took the stairs to the plane two at a time. Not that it would get him away from the annoying Cajun. He was stuck on this plane with the man until they got to wherever they were going next.

Which looked to be fucking Africa.

Again.

As soon as he figured out a better explanation than “an old military friend told me.”

Ian sat in one of the leather seats and winced as certain areas of his anatomy rubbed and pinched. He adjusted himself, then glowered down at the bulge in his pants. For years, sex had been so far off his radar that he mostly just ignored that particular appendage. Sex got men in trouble. He saw it happen time and again. He’d watched each of his teammates fall to the almighty pussy. He wasn’t going to be one of them. He pushed his palm against his cock, willing the stupid thing to disappear.

Adrenaline, he told himself. The thrill of new intel to chase. Definitely not attraction to a bossy, bad-mouthed Latina mercenary with an agenda of her own.

Hell, he didn’t even like her. Why the hell would he want to fuck her?

Had to be adrenaline.

Just adrenaline.

Nothing more.