Trusting Love Page 4

  He fired twice, hitting both but nothing serious because they both kept coming. One took a stance behind the couch that held the dead senator and returned fire. A lucky bullet threw Robert backwards with a blast of pain so intense he swallowed down the immediate nausea even as his opponent took the advantage and attacked.

  Robert went down, but brought the other man with him, holding his arms pinned to his sides with his legs in a scissor hold. He bashed the guy’s head with his and fought to keep himself on top so he could keep from being shot.

  They rolled and Robert released him, lunging to his feet and following through with several direct kicks to the kidneys. Rob’s shot shoulder took a punishing blow that had him gritting his teeth from the rush of pain. Rage exploded behind his eyes, blurring everything in a haze of red. He jabbed the man in the throat with enough force to collapse his windpipe and turned to take an upper cut to the jaw.

  Blood splattered on his exhale, but Robert tossed the pain aside and focused on the fight. They exchanged several more punishing blows, matching each other perfectly. From his right a dark-haired tattooed man jumped over the fallen coffee table, hit him in the side, and swung at Robert’s face. Robert caught his hand and twisted, using him as a human shield to block another attack. He heard a satisfying crunch of a knife breaking past the chest cavity of the man in his arms. He let go, and watched him fall, lifeless at his feet.

  Stunned, Robert shook the sweat out of his eyes and stared at the man across from him. There was nothing in his blue eyes, no conscious knowledge or regret that he’d just downed one of his own. Nothing showed on his face but a crazed look, like a rabid dog needing to kill for the instinctual drive to murder something. He moved like a robot, but with such speed and unconcern over the damage Robert was doling out that a chill shivered up his spine even as sweat dripped down his ribs.

  Jansen yelled through the com something he barely made out beyond the order to exit now. He couldn’t agree more.

  He brought his knife out and, holding it low, tucked himself down nearer to the ground and tackled Robocreep when he came in on the offensive. Robert swung his fist up and jammed his nine inch knife right into the soft flesh under his chin, hitting his brain with the savage blow that killed him instantly.

  “Tazz!”

  Robert heard crashing glass immediately after Walters’ shout.

  Time to go. He left his knife behind and turned to see Sonya yelling to go after Walters. She wore black and her red hair, usually tied up in a ponytail if not disguised with a wig, was down, her face paler than usual, but her eyes—the green in them was dull while the rest of her eyes were bloodshot. She was either on the drug, or on something else. It shocked the shit out of him. If anyone knew what the drug could do, it was Sonya. She wanted this stuff as gone as he did. Why take it then?

  Another voice, laced with an accent and deep, called her name, quieting her.

  Robert didn’t take the chance of staying to hear more.

  He moved so the wall of windows was to his back as the last man came at him. He dived at his new opponent and managed to knock him backwards onto the glass topped coffee table then jump back to his feet, rush at the window, and hit it with his shoulder and side. He sliced himself up but he also broke the window and landed in the snow with a soft thump. Thanking whatever God had created stupid men like DeRoy for not purchasing bulletproof glass, he lumbered to his feet and found himself face to face with Walters’ gun.

  “Fuck this shit, huh?” Walters grumbled, but he was a second too slow in lowering his weapon in Rob’s opinion. “Let’s get out of here.” He didn’t wait, but took off at a dead run in the direction of the woods.

  Rob got up a bit slower. His shoulder wound had begun bleeding bad enough to make him worry over blood loss. A yell through the broken windows got him moving. DeRoy didn’t have a perimeter security set up to warn the intruders where they ran, either. The cover of dark was on their side as well. Robert thanked the greedy old man again as he raced directly for the trees. As soon as they reached the woods, he’d head them north—not straight up—to where a road led to a highway and further on down to town.

  Shots sounded behind him and more whistled through the air from their left—his men returning fire. The shots nearing them ended and he turned to focus on what he hoped were his men in the hills.

  A male voice shouted for them to stop shooting into the night. The shots from the house slowed then stopped. The guy must have realised how many bullets his men were wasting aiming at Bryson and Jansen.

  Walters stumbled in the deepening snow as soon as they reached the tree line and landed hard on one knee. He got to his feet with an effort and continued on unaided, so Robert indicated which direction they should go and they crashed deeper into the limited safety of the trees together.

  Out of nowhere, another shot found its mark in his side and sent him head first into a tree. Pain blistered up from his side and dimmed the blow to his forehead. The pain brought him to his knees. The lucky bastard—or the damn good sniper—hit had struck right in the fleshy muscle above his hip. A little more to the inside and he’d be done. The last time he’d taken his dose of the drug had been yesterday, so he was due for the next and that might have explained the rush of pain, but worse, he feared he’d built up a resistance to the genetic altering pill—if that was possible.

  “Damn, man, how the hell—?” Walters broke off when more shots splintered the frozen trees around them.

  “Just move!” Robert yelled, gaining his feet with difficulty, but holding his side he managed a half jog, half run for a few hundred yards before he needed to stop.

  “Fuck! Sonya was with them,” Walters panted, landing in the snow near him.

  “Yes, she was.” The spy had an agenda. She always did. He thought this time it was to end the serum that had nearly killed her. Maybe it still was, but he couldn’t be certain. She’d once been a mark for hire. Had she gone back to that life? No, he’d not believe that until he had proof. The odds said she hadn’t. For one, she never missed a shot. She could have killed him before he’d known it was her behind the trigger if she’d wanted him dead. Something else was afoot. Something he’d get if he just had time to think of anything other than what their next move would be.

  “We don’t know the deal, but for now, she’s not looking good. We should keep on. From here on we go up. Hopefully this snowfall will cover our tracks by the time they think to look here for us instead of out there on the road.” He held his side tightly to stop the blood as he spoke, but felt the warm flow of it on his hand.

  “Let’s hope. But for the record, Sonya always looks good, even shooting my ass.” Walters grinned, but he quickly took off up the hillside.

  Robert didn’t bother telling the man he was barking up the wrong woman. Sonya liked men that had nothing, absolutely nothing to do with their life. The ordinary type of artsy guys, the kind that were man enough to sing and play their guitar for a woman were her favourites. Walters, with his bluster and boasting, didn’t even stand a chance.

  “I don’t hear anyone yet on those snowmobiles,” Walters called back.

  “Nope, they would need to get those fired up and ready.” He was betting on that taking at least five minutes. They would be long gone by then. Plus, he guessed they thought the flash drive was still in the case, so they weren’t as quick to follow them either. Benjamin had paid for his crimes, but what a price. DeRoy had got off easy, in his opinion.

  The com clicked and Jansen’s voice filled his ear. “Report in, Tazz. What the hell—?”

  Robert clicked the com and nodded towards the hill for Walters. “We’re coming in on the far ridge shaped like a hammer head.”

  “Copy that. I’ve not heard from Bryson. I’ll—” Static hit the line. The line wasn’t dead because he clearly heard Walters hit his and ask them to report.

  “Nothing,” Robert growled. “Shit, Sonya, what’s your game?”

  “She wouldn’t hit our guys. She could
have killed you. She didn’t. The big bastard with her, though, he looked deadly and familiar. I need a computer.”

  “I didn’t spot him. What did he look like?”

  Walters scanned the area before he turned back. “Big guy, rich as hell, European maybe?”

  Robert frowned. He wanted to ask what the hell that meant, but the sound of snowmobile engines brought them both up short.

  “Fuck!” he growled.

  Their five minutes suddenly turned into more like two. His shoulder was bleeding heavily, his side also seeped warm blood, but with the drug coursing through his system he could have kept going until the loss of blood killed him.

  Walters had been shot in his left arm if the way he held it meant anything.

  Right now they needed to take care of their wounds before they continued on, and the sound of the damn snowmobiles made that a more of a priority than ever. If they had to run they needed to be in top shape.

  He made a decision and said, “We bind our wounds. Those snowmobiles will be on us soon. We have to split. I’ll check the ridge for the men—”

  “No, you’re more of a liability. I’ll look for Bryson and Jansen. You get down to the checkpoint. We’ll meet up at the second location just in case Super Sonya has intelligence on the first.” Walters grinned at his joke, but he also took his sweater off and ripped a long strip of cloth from the shirt he wore under it. He handed the scrap to Robert with a nod to his bleeding arm. “Tie this fucker up and I’ll do you the honours, then we’ll get this flash drive out of circulation.”

  “If we can,” Robert said, already using the shirt to bind Walters’ wound. “In and out. Who shot you?”

  “Sonya, the brat. Remind me to talk to her about this next time we meet up for coffee, okay?” Walters winced when Robert tightened the bandage, but shrugged his sweater back on easily enough. “This snow is not our friend, man. Avalanches—hell, the snowfall alone will slow us down to a crawl. Maybe I should take the flash drive. You’re in rougher shape than I thought.”

  “I got it. Tie this up and I’m fine.” Robert shrugged out of his own sweater and eased out of the button-down shirt and T-shirt too before he met Walters’ eyes. Walters had made that suggestion sound casual, too casual. He hid his hand under the fabric of his shirt, his gun still in it. “Not in and out, huh?” he asked at the frown on Walters’ face.

  Walters shook his head as if he’d lost himself in his thoughts. “Nah, never easy, you know?” He wrapped Robert’s shoulder quickly, not speaking again. Right after he worked on getting the side wound plugged up. “Caught another in the arm, but it’s an in and out, more a scratch, really.”

  Walters worked quickly, and Robert had his shirts and sweater back on before he was too wet from the snow falling on his heated body. He also didn’t meet Rob’s gaze while he made a show of scanning the area and blowing on his hands as if to warm them. Robert wasn’t chilled, but then again, he had no idea if the drug allowed cold to affect them.

  “Good?” he asked.

  “Me? Good as gold.” Walters snorted. “Hell, this drug might fuck us up, but while it does, it makes life interesting, doesn’t it?”

  Robert didn’t answer. He didn’t agree and having that conversation with a man he didn’t know well enough to trust wasn’t his style. Instincts warned him now more than ever that there was more to this man than he let everyone see. The senator had been shot in the head, sure, from the front, but the kid had been killed with a twisted neck, something every special ops knew how to do in their sleep.

  “We head off from here, try to dodge the snowmobiles, but hell, they sound like they’ve already lost our trail.” Walters pushed up his sleeve to check his watch and shook his head. “They didn’t even make it five minutes.”

  The snowmobiles had gone off their trail, which was odd, but not unreasonable. The snow was thick and they’d got to the trees and angled away from the road. Sonya, and he hoped the man she’d signed on with, would think they’d head to the only road that led out of this rough country. They said Texas was big, but it wasn’t full of the kind wilderness Wyoming boasted.

  “What do you have left for arms?” Robert asked.

  “A Sauer at my back, another at my ankle, and three knives.”

  “Damn, man, you’re holding an arsenal.” Robert tried to straighten his shoulders but the bullet wound shot pain through his side when he did.

  “And you aren’t? I peg you for one more knife,” Walters said.

  “Two, plus another gun.”

  “Shit. And you claim you’re not my hero?”

  Rob shook his head at the humour, but under it he heard more sarcasm than joking.

  “Yeah, well, right now your hero wants to know where the fuck Bryson and Jansen are.”

  “Tay-Tay and Janie will be on the mountain top, covered in snow, which is blockin’ their com but they’re too dumb to know it.”

  Robert laughed dryly at the joke, less impressed by Walters by the minute. The snowmobiles were growing closer.

  “You go check on the boys anyway, okay? Then hit that second location. Give me time, but not longer than five hours. This snow is a bitch but we get there and end this as quickly as we can. If I’m not there, do it without me.” He left off all the kid had told him, keeping that on the low from instinct more than anything else.

  Walters gave him an odd look and nodded.

  “Sure thing, but you’re pretty bashed up. I know the juice does a great number on recovery, but you need both bullets out. And if I took the—”

  “And I’ll get that taken care of as soon as you haul the boys down to the second location,” Robert said, tightening his grip on his pistol. The small hairs on the back of his neck shivered warning him he was in danger, whether from Walters or from the men on snowmobiles wasn’t clear. One thing was. He wasn’t going to that second location if he got worse. He hoped he didn’t get worse, but if he did, he wasn’t trusting Walters with his life.

  The one person he would was also the one person he shouldn’t go to. Kristen. Just thinking her name had his breathing get worked up. He’d known when he’d come on this mission that she was a temptation he had to avoid. For one, she thought he was dead. But more than that was that no matter how much he wanted to see her, he knew better than to go.

  She might be my only choice.

  The rapid-fire thoughts were fast, but not quick enough to stop him from aching to see her again.

  Walters helped him focus by smacking him on his unhurt shoulder. “That’s a deal. Coronas on you, huh?”

  “Always, right?” Robert replied automatically although he’d never tipped a glass with the other man.

  Walters nodded and, with one more glance around the area, took off up the hill, while Robert did the same, only down and in the direction of the small cabin they were using ten miles across country from where he was right now. It was also in the direction of Kristen’s home.

  The snow had already accumulated at least ten inches since they’d started this mission, but he kept on, assessing the area for pursuit from both the men on snowmobiles, and now Walters to keep his mind off the one woman he’d never been able to forget

  After an hour, he paused for a drink from a stream and ate a protein and iron rich snack he’d stowed in his cargo pants. His blood loss was still higher than it should’ve been, but he rested for a few minutes to ease his body, and check his compass for his location.

  He was still on track. So far so good. He’d got the flash drive and knew where the other copies were, but he had a feeling this wasn’t going to be over so easily. Not nearly so easily.

  The kid had been lying, for one. But what about?

  Then there was Sonya to consider and now a new player—the mysterious European buyer. And Walters.

  He had to keep going.

  Quitting just isn’t part of the deal. Not any longer.

  Now just to get his depleted body back to working properly again and not lose course in the snowstorm and end
up dead, or worse, at Kristen’s place.

  Chapter Three

  “How the hell did you manage to shoot me, again?” Eric demanded, hissing between his teeth when the doctor pressed down on his wound. They were in an underground, in his opinion wicked cool compound run by a man he’d follow anywhere—called Duke. The state-of-the-art equipment, top of the line accommodations, and endless luxuries looked better than any glitter-painted strip club dancer he’d ever screwed senseless.

  “I told you you were in the way, Walters.”

  Eric glanced at Sonya and narrowed his eyes. She paced to the other side of the clinic’s small hospital room, seemingly unconcerned with his anger, or with the fact that she’d nearly killed him. Two inches to the left and his day would have ended completely differently.

  “Why were you there, by the way? Wasn’t the plan to snatch the flash drive, the kid and hit it without leaving McNeil alive?” she asked, sounding bored of him, the mission, and everything about the newer, higher paying team they’d joined.

  Duke was wealthy. He was so rich he was invisible in the stratosphere. Within ten minutes of meeting him for the first time, Eric had found a man he could follow—anywhere. Within an hour, Duke had promised him things he hadn’t realised anyone could guess he wanted. One of those things tossed her red hair over her shoulder and turned to give him an annoyed glance for not answering her. He imagined her doing that right before he tossed her over his knee, shoved her pants down, then gave her butt a spanking so hard she’d have trouble sitting for days. Then, oh, yeah, man, then he’d let her up as far as her knees to suck his cock with her sexy lips. She’d have her mascara running down her face with her tears and try her best to please him because he’d let her know that she’d be head down again if she didn’t with her ass blistered.

  Soon, he consoled himself. Soon he’d fuck over everyone he’d ever known for more money than Donald Trump dreamed of making. Then maybe all of the years of working his butt off with little more than getting his tip wet with high class call girls would come to an end. Finally he’d be discovered for the killing machine he was. Duke, with his money and connections, would have his loyalty completely and, in return, he’d have Sonya in his bed and anywhere else he wanted her until he tired of her. Just thinking of introducing her to her new life as his willing sex slave made his spine tingle with the need to beat-off.