Dangerously Broken (Aegis Group Lepta Team Book 4) Page 13

  “Brenden, the others?” Melody called out.

  “Our team’s fine,” he replied.

  His team. The people who’d rescued her, they were okay.

  “The flight crew?” Priscilla leaned back. She could make out some of his features this close. His face looked...wrong.

  “The captain’s pretty badly banged up, but if we can get him somewhere soon, he’ll be fine.”

  “How?”

  Melody reached them carrying Priscilla’s box.

  “Give that to me.” Brenden let go of her and took the boxes from Melody. “We took one of their ATVs. It seats five if we squeeze. Enough for us to get to a road, find some help.”

  “Do we have any idea where we are? What direction to go in for help?” Priscilla asked.

  “Not yet.” Brenden turned toward the hill. “Come on. Grant’s gathering everyone up and we’re going to make a plan. Give me the boxes.”

  “I’ll carry those. They’re mine.” Priscilla reached out, but Brenden took them from Melody before she could interfere. “Brenden.”

  They were still close. He looked down at her, his eyes catching a bit of the moonlight. “Don’t argue with me right now, Pris.”

  The complete calm in his voice made her pause. Outwardly everything was fine, but it didn’t feel that way.

  He turned and took a step away while she remained there, watching him.

  What had happened out there? What was the price of her decisions?

  “Come on.” Melody nudged Priscilla into moving.

  She shivered again, colder now than before. Adrenaline had fueled their flight, it had pounded in her veins while they waited and now it was gone. Leaving her spent, worn out, exhausted, feeling all those hours she hadn’t spent resting. Worst of all was the unbalanced sensation. Brenden had been there for her, supporting her, and now he was cold.

  Why?

  Just what the hell had happened out there?

  They followed Brenden around the hill back to the crash site. An ATV Priscilla had never seen before sat in the clearest area, its lights shining on four dead bodies covered in dirt. Three of them were unknown. Someone had covered the fourth body in a blanket, but her calves, feet and spikey heels were visible.

  These people were paying Priscilla’s price.

  A small cluster of people gathered around the captain, bloody gauze and material piled up to one side.

  “There you are.” Grant strode toward them.

  “How bad?” Priscilla stopped, staring at the old man who’d saved them.

  “We need to send a team out now.” Grant glanced over his shoulder. “If he doesn’t get to a hospital soon...”

  “Go,” she said.

  “We were waiting on you.” Grant met her gaze.

  Priscilla frowned. “Me?”

  “Yes. I’m taking you, the captain and Melody right now.”

  “But what about the rest of the team? We can’t leave them.” Priscilla turned her attention on Brenden.

  With the light from the buggy she saw blood was smeared on the side of his head, breaking open the old head wound.

  “The best thing for us is getting you away from here,” Brenden said.

  She blinked a few times. “You mean the longer I’m here the more at risk everyone else is?”

  “No.”

  “We don’t have time to argue. This is what we’re doing.” Grant held up his hands. “Melody, secure the evidence as best you can and be ready to go when we’ve got the captain strapped in.”

  “But...”

  Grant turned, calling out to the other men. Melody took the boxes from Brenden and moved to the back of the buggy.

  Priscilla took a step closer to Brenden. She couldn’t leave him.

  “What if those people come back?” she asked. “What are you going to do? Brenden.”

  His dark gaze found hers. She didn’t need to see him fully to feel the intensity, the burden he shouldered.

  How many of those people on the ground had he killed?

  “The sooner you’re safe the sooner we can take care of this. Grant thinks we can follow their trail, get you to a road then a ranger’s station and call for help. Once help is on the way and you’re secure, he can come back for the rest of us. Everything is going to be fine. You’re going to be safe.”

  “But what about you?”

  His brow furrowed as if the question were confusing.

  “Come on. Let’s load up,” Grant called out.

  “Get in the buggy.” He reached over and opened the joke of a side door.

  “No.” In her mind it wasn’t fair that she got to get away.

  Brenden bent forward until their faces were inches apart. “Priscilla, I need you to be safe so I can do my job and get these people home. One way or another you’re getting in that buggy. Work with me, not against me.”

  How could she say no to that?

  “Fine,” she snapped, even while the crazy urge to cry clawed at her eyes.

  She was going, but she wasn’t going to like it or feel good about it.

  FRIDAY. SOMEWHERE IN Gila National Park, New Mexico.

  Damian gripped the wheel of the ATV, every jarring bounce over the rocks tightening the muscles in his jaw and along his spine.

  What the hell?

  Nothing he’d been told had included fucking commandos being on that plane.

  What should have been a quick, simple clean up op had turned into a fucking nightmare.

  Ahead the road lay nestled into the earth like a glistening dark serpent, ready to take them far away from here.

  A hand grasped his shoulder. “Why aren’t we going back?”

  Damian pulled away from the man.

  The guy fisted Damian’s shirt and yanked. Seams popped. “Fucking answer me.”

  He stomped on the brake. The ATV slid over the ground before lurching to a stop. The second vehicle was slower to respond.

  Damian turned and locked eyes with the man in the back seat of the ATV.

  They’d brought three. Only four of them had escaped the clash with whoever the hell that had been back there. Men Damian had hired, worked with, trained. And now half his team was dead.

  “You think we should go back there? Just roll up and—what?” Damian slid his hand to his hip and drew his handgun.

  “My brother. We left my brother. He could still be alive.” The guy flung his arm out.

  Yeah, Damian hadn’t been keen on hiring brothers. Family caused problems, but Victoria had talked him into it.

  “Then get out and go save him yourself.” Damian didn’t expect the brother to be alive. Guys like the ones who’d routed them were not the type to miss a kill shot.

  The man acted faster than Damian, pulling his weapon and aiming it at Damian’s head. “Get out of the driver’s seat. Hands where I can see them.”

  Fucking hell.

  Damian sighed and shoved the driver’s door open. A couple dozen yards away Aaron was already standing outside his ATV, watching. Damian waved his hand. The last thing he wanted right now was an unexpected bullet.

  He got out of the vehicle and turned, using his body to shield his hand.

  “We’re going back there for my brother,” the man said.

  “Let’s talk about this.” Damian turned, brought his gun up to eye level and fired.

  The wet splatter of blood painted the side of the ATV.

  When Damian had thought about thinning his team, this wasn’t what he’d had in mind.

  He didn’t holster his weapon yet. Instead he turned to where Aaron and his passenger waited, watching them.

  “We good?” Damian called out.

  “We need to clear the area,” Aaron said, ignoring the drama that had just played out.

  The tension eased from between Damian’s shoulder blades. Aaron was good people. He knew the score. He worked hard. He didn’t mind a little death.

  Damian raised his left hand. “Meet you at the shop.”

  He had a lot t
o think about. This job wasn’t supposed to be difficult, and now he had a ticking time bomb in his lap.

  First thing, they would have to get rid of the guns.

  The bodies wouldn’t link back to him. At least they shouldn’t. Most of his jobs happened south of the border. He wasn’t big on working in the US.

  The real kicker would be reporting their failure. He still didn’t know who had referred him for this job.

  “Fuck.” Damian leaned his head back and breathed deep as the ATV shot forward.

  He needed more information.

  Who were these people? Why did someone want them dead? And how could Damian solve this problem before it blew up in his face?

  11.

  FRIDAY. SAFE HOUSE, Albuquerque, New Mexico.

  By the time Brenden plodded up the stone walk to the safe house it seemed as though a month had passed in one night. He hadn’t seen or heard from Priscilla since putting her in the ATV. No one had mentioned her in all the back and forth with cops and first responders, so it stood to reason she was fine. And yet, he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t own up to that anxious part inside of him that needed to know she was okay.

  What he wanted was to hold her, reassure himself it was all another bad chapter. But he couldn’t. There was still too much to do before anyone could rest. According to Nolan the first half of the team had only arrived at the house half an hour ago. Which meant they still had to brief, set up surveillance, make a plan, figure out who the hell those people were. Just because they’d reached a waypoint in the journey didn’t mean they were safe, that they could let their guard down, or anything.

  God, what he wouldn’t give to just sit in a comfortable chair for fifteen minutes though. He wouldn’t sleep, but at least he’d get a chance to rest.

  Nolan slowed his pace until they were side by side. “You know, in most jobs, if you’d just survived a plane crash you’d get a few days off to recuperate?”

  Brenden replied, his brain not fully engaged. “Go find that job and tell me if you’re happy.”

  Nolan chuckled then grinned at him. “You’re chatty. You sure aliens didn’t abduct our Brenden?”

  He presented Nolan with his middle finger.

  Ahead of them, Vaughn opened the front door to the spacious home and gestured for them to enter. “Come on you two.”

  The safe house was done in a southwest style with a square structure, flat roof and brown exterior. He was vaguely aware of rocks and cactus outside before following his team inside.

  It was too bright.

  That was his first impression.

  Light gleamed down, only to be reflected up by shiny tiles. Mirrors graced either wall of the entry and even the table was made from a reflective metal.

  “I’m starving,” Vaughn muttered and moved farther into the house. “Yo, Grant? Melody?”

  Brenden set his bags down then shut the door and locked it.

  The smell of food, something with spice, wafted to him and his stomach growled.

  Had Priscilla eaten? Was she okay? Comfortable?

  He scooped up the bags and followed the other guys around the curved entry into the heart of the home. A couple white, furry rugs helped dampen the light reflection. To his left the kitchen opened up, done in miles of stainless steel and wood. Beyond that an eating area was set up with boxes bearing name brand electronics. New laptops, tablets, probably even phones.

  “Fuck,” Brenden groaned.

  “What?” Riley stopped in front of him holding a plate and a bottle of water. “Here.”

  “The EMP fried all the surveillance gear, didn’t it?” Brenden set the bags down and took the offered food.

  Riley grimaced. “Probably. Which is why Zain had this stuff sent here.”

  “How does he do it?” Vaughn asked. “How is it, no matter what corner of the world we’re in, Zain knows a guy?”

  Grant came around the corner on the opposite side of the house. “Everyone grab a plate and circle up. Boss wants to brief with us.”

  Brenden glanced around, but he saw neither Melody nor Priscilla.

  He knew that they were probably elsewhere, safely tucked away resting, as they should be. But that didn’t stop Brenden from wanting to reassure himself that Priscilla had made it out no worse for wear. It was his fault she had a goose egg on the side of her head. His fault she more than likely had a concussion.

  The team gathered around the table. Riley and Grant cleared boxes away, handed out new phones and set up a laptop. In moments the face of their fearless leader, Zain Lloyd, was on the other end. Despite it being the middle of the night he was wearing a button-down shirt and appeared freshly shaven and ready for the day.

  “Team, it’s good to see you’re all okay,” Zain said.

  Brenden kept eating while the others muttered replies.

  They all looked like hell coated in sweat, dirt and blood despite their best effort to clean up at the ranger station.

  “What can you tell us about the attack on the plane?” Grant asked, foregoing pleasantries.

  “So far, not a lot. What I can tell you is that the plane veered off course maybe fifty miles into the last leg of your trip. We won’t know more unless the police share their findings with us. They aren’t keen on that. Our lawyers are talking to them, but what they’re saying without saying it is that they think this was some sort of smuggling op gone wrong. In their minds, it’s the only reason why there’d be a gun battle and a plane with a belly full of prescription pills.”

  Fuck.

  Brenden hadn’t looked at it like that.

  “What does that mean for us?” Grant asked.

  “For now, until they find something to charge us with, nothing. That could change. These cops aren’t terribly keen on us or our involvement no matter what the flight crew or the evidence says.” Zain leaned back. “I think your team should take the weekend and breathe, rest, prepare for Monday. If you stay in town, the cops might lose interest in you. First thing Monday, fly to Chicago. Go from the airport to the Asclepius offices and wrap this up. At least our part in it. This is a messy situation, and I’d like to have as little to do with it as we can. Our job was bringing Ms. Yilmaz home, that’s what we’re doing.”

  “What do we know about the shooters?” To Brenden, they were ignoring one of the biggest problems. “Some of them got away. How can we be sure they aren’t a threat?”

  “We can’t,” Grant said.

  Zain grimaced on the screen. “Again, without the local police cooperating with us, I’ve got nothing to go on. No one got a picture of them, so I can’t work that angle from here.”

  “Which means our plan is to make this site as secure as possible.” Grant planted his hands on his hips. “Let’s get some food in us, then put cameras up and we’ll settle on a schedule. Make sure everyone gets a shower and some sleep.”

  They knew nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  Brenden eyed the plate of what he assumed were enchiladas. His stomach growled, and he knew he was hungry, but the news put a bad taste in his mouth. Granted, he was spoiled when it came to the boss knowing shit. Zain would find out a way to get the intel, legal or not, but that would take time. Time they might not have.

  Grant picked up the laptop and took it off to another room, no doubt to consult with the boss in private and get their ducks in a row.

  Brenden tucked into the meal, tuning out the conversation at the table.

  He wanted to check in on Priscilla. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was blaming herself for this. Hell, Brenden was having a tough time not shouldering some of that blame himself.

  If he’d have listened to Priscilla’s fears, would they be here?

  After they plane went down, if they’d have taken Priscilla’s theory seriously would that flight attendant be alive?

  Brenden knew if he’d have pushed, if he’d dug in his heels, Grant would have trusted him. Sure, their Team Leader could be a big of an asshole and lately he was overly caut
ious, but he was a good guy. He did a damn good job.

  “Brenden?” Melody’s voice startled him out of his spiraling thoughts.

  He paused with a bite halfway to his mouth and blinked at the petite Asian woman standing at the head of the table. She had one hand braced against the chair and her hair was up. How many times had she ever worn her hair up? Her clothes were still dusty and dirty. It was a complete departure from the always poised woman he was used to. On top of that, throw in the white-knuckle grip she had on the chair, her frown and the wrinkle between her eyes and he knew something bad was going on.

  Priscilla.

  “What? What is it?” He put down his fork.

  “Would you...?” Her face twisted up even more.

  Vaughn nudged Brenden’s shoulder. “Go on, point man. You’ve got a job to do.”

  Nolan snickered, which turned into a violent cough that had him doubling over and turning away from the table.

  Brenden glanced over his shoulder and bit back what he wanted to say to them. Instead he pushed to his feet.

  “Where’s she at?” he asked.

  “The master bedroom.” Melody pulled out a chair. “Thank you.”

  FRIDAY. SAFE HOUSE, Albuquerque, New Mexico.

  Priscilla paced the room, along one side of the bed, around the foot and toward the door, then back again.

  What could she have done different?

  From the very beginning, was there something she should have done and hadn’t? Or something she shouldn’t have done?

  The Rio trip had gone according to plan. She’d arrived, gone to her hotel. The local team had picked her up. She’d toured the site with just the director.

  Should she travel with security? Was that necessary?

  Priscilla had always thought herself prepared. That she wasn’t an ideal target for kidnapping because she was always aware of her surroundings.

  That hadn’t kept her from getting taken and leading to now.

  So what could she have done differently?

  Give in and hand over the money, obviously. Was that it? The thing she should have done differently to save them all from this hell?

  The flight attendant would be alive then. Hell, Priscilla might have never met Brenden or even been on the private jet under those circumstances.