Dangerously Hot (A Hostile Operations Team Novel)(#4) (28 page)

She pulled away from his embrace and reached for his tie. “If we’re still going in, we have to fix this.”

Her scent drove him crazy, but now wasn’t the time to do anything about it. He let her fuss over his tie, his throat feeling tight as he looked down at the top of her head. She was his now, and that thought filled him with quiet joy.
His.

He was still getting used to what that meant. She smoothed his lapels and then ran her fingers through his hair. It was a sensual shock to his system. Another second and he’d grab her wrists to halt the torture, but she leaned back and studied him with a critical eye.

“There. At least you don’t look like you were in a cat fight anymore.”

She reached up and fixed her hijab a little tighter before smoothing the silk of her abaya. It was wrinkled, but there was nothing they could do about it now. He glanced at his team, saw that most of them were busy looking anywhere but at the two of them.

It didn’t matter whether they approved or not, but it bothered him that maybe they were thinking of Marco and wondering what would be happening if he were still alive. Hell, he wondered that too. But that wasn’t the hand they’d been dealt.

“There’s not going to be a lot of time,” Matt said. “We’re inserting together, and then you can make your way to the ballroom through the maintenance corridor.”

Kev nodded. It’s what he’d have chosen to do too, given the circumstances. Soon they rolled to a stop and shoved open the van doors. Billy and Flash stayed in the van to monitor the comm links while the rest of the team piled out at the rear of the school. It was dark now and there was activity near the rear entrance, but the team didn’t go that way. Instead, Matt led them to a fire escape on the side of the building. Iceman scaled it first and reported the all clear.
 

One by one, the rest of them went up. Kev sent Lucky ahead of him. When they hit the roof, they ran for the entrance. Iceman popped it open, and then they were inside, heading down the stairwell that came out into the school’s maintenance area.

Matt gave a signal and everyone stopped. “Everyone in position in three minutes.”

They checked their watches to make sure they were still synchronized, and then Kev drew his MK23 with the suppressor and led Lucky toward the ballroom. There was a chance they’d run into someone on lookout, but he’d deal with them effectively and swiftly if so.

Lucky clutched the tail of his jacket as they crept through the darkened corridor. They could hear voices coming from inside the ballroom and the tinkle of plates and glasses from the kitchen where the caterers had set up. There was a bright light shining from the kitchen up ahead, and men rotated in and out of the doors with trays as they went from the kitchen to the ballroom and back. Kev stopped as they got closer and pulled Lucky into the shadows.

As soon as it was clear, they hurried to another door that opened onto the ballroom, and Kev holstered his weapon.
 

“You ready?”

“Yes.”

He kissed her swiftly and then opened the door and they slid through. A lady looked up as they walked in, but she only smiled and went back to her conversation. Kev took Lucky’s hand and walked casually around the perimeter, studying the crowd. People milled in clusters while a string quartet played in one corner. The men and women glittered in their evening clothes. Most wore native dress adorned with shiny embroidery, but there were a few tuxedos and modest evening gowns. The school girls gathered into small groups where they talked and laughed together while their parents chatted with school officials and teachers.

A photographer circulated, snapping photos. Kev grabbed two glasses of something fizzy from a passing waiter—not champagne, since alcohol was forbidden in Qu’rim—and handed one to Lucky.
 

“Don’t drink it,” he said under his breath. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with the stuff, but why take that chance? They didn’t know what Al Ahmad had planned and had no idea how he would execute it. Drugging a crowd with poisoned drinks was definitely within his capability.

She nodded, her gaze straying over the crowd. He knew she was searching, hoping like hell to find Al Ahmad, but the truth was they didn’t even know if he would be here or not.
 

He took her hand again and they started to circulate. The headmaster came up to them and chatted about the upcoming article that he and Flash were supposedly doing. Kev was beginning to feel on edge the longer they stood in one place, but finally the man’s cell phone rang and he excused himself to take the call.

“King’s car just pulled up.” It was Matt’s voice in his ear. “Showtime, Big Mac.”

“Copy that.”

Lucky’s gaze collided with his. “What?”

They hadn’t given her an earpiece or a mic, so she didn’t have access to the reports coming through.
 

“King’s here. If our boy’s going to make a move, it’ll have to be soon.”

She searched the crowd, desperation and frustration clouding her expression. “There are too many people. He could be anyone. He could have changed his face…”

The main doors burst open a few seconds later as the king and his party strode inside. The entire ballroom sank into curtsies and bows, and a hush passed over the group. Even the quartet stopped playing.

“Six men,” Kev said softly. “Only two appear to be bodyguards.”

“Copy.”

He bowed even as Lucky curtsied. Her head was still up, studying the men, searching. And then her grip on his hand tightened as she sucked in a breath. “I think maybe… it could be… Dammit, I can’t tell.”

Kev looked at the knot of people she was watching, but he didn’t know what he was looking for. The men wore traditional robes, and they had all bent forward in deep bows. But one glanced up, his eyes glittering as he watched the king’s party. It didn’t mean anything, and yet there was a certain coldness in his gaze. Whether or not he was Al Ahmad, he definitely wasn’t a fan of the current king.

There was a hush and a murmur, and Kev realized that the waiters had set down their trays. That shouldn’t be odd, and yet…

“Something’s happening,” he said, alarm churning through him.

One of the waiters stood tall as the king passed. He cried out in sharp Arabic, opening his robes as he did so. The two bodyguards drew their weapons, but the man said something else and they dropped the guns to the floor and kicked them away. Two of the other waiters grabbed the guns.

“What the fuck is happening?” Matt said over the comm.
 

Kev couldn’t see the waiter’s face, only his back, but he didn’t like the way the man stood there so confident and sure. Dread crawled up Kev’s spine and settled at the base of his brain. “Not sure.”

But Lucky’s face had drained of all color. Her voice was barely a whisper. “He’s wearing a bomb.”

***

Fear ricocheted around Lucky’s belly, making her nauseous. The waiter—suicide bomber—stood there so erect and proud and fearless. Willing to die.

A murmur rippled across the crowd. A woman screamed and then dropped in a faint. Many of the girls started to cry while others screamed and ran to their parents’ sides.

Lucky focused again on the man she’d spotted right before the suicide bomber revealed himself. He stood with his arms around a woman and a girl—Lana, she was called. Lucky remembered because she’d been so gregarious. Not at all the sort of child you’d expect to belong to a madman.

Lucky searched her brain for a name. She couldn’t think of the girl’s surname because Arab surnames were long and she’d been working on memorizing the girls’ given names first.
 

The man’s face was hidden now as he stood with his arms around the woman and girl. He didn’t seem like a crazed terrorist. He seemed like a frightened spectator, same as the rest of the people in this room.
 

Her heart thumped. She was wrong, and this man wasn’t the one. So where was he? Why couldn’t she find the man who’d tortured her, the man whose face should be seared into her brain no matter how briefly she’d seen it?

Kev’s hand tightened on hers. He stood upright now, as did everyone else in the room. Another man in a waiter’s uniform spoke to the crowd, and Lucky whispered the words, hoping Kev—and the team—would hear them.

“In the name of Allah the most mighty, the Freedom Force promises you will not be harmed if His Most Revered Highness, King Tariq bin Abdullah, accedes to our demands. If he does not, you will be executed one by one.”

The king’s chin went up. He was resplendent in a dark thobe with ornate embroidery in golden thread running down the edges. He was also young, perhaps thirty or so, and handsome. His cheeks were slashed with red as he spoke.

“My government does not bargain with terrorists,” he said in a clear voice.

“As you wish.”

A shot rang out and everyone jumped. A few people screamed. And then a man sank to the tiles, a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. A different waiter lowered a gun as a woman began to sob.

“Jesus,” Kev said under his breath.
 

“Your Excellency?” the first waiter asked again. The bomber stood by with a serene expression on his face, awaiting orders from the apparent leader.
 

Lucky had no doubt he’d detonate the weapon if told to do so. Footage of the suicide bombings carried out by the Freedom Force played in her head, as well as her memories from the other day. So many people hurt. So many lives torn apart without remorse. And for what?

She glanced at the man with Lana again. His head was still down, his face partly obscured. Dammit! She had to find him, or what was the use of her being here?

“What do you want?” the king snapped.

“You will come with us. Never fear. You are too valuable to be harmed.” The waiter let his gaze slide across the gathering. “These people, however, are not. Choose wisely, Your Excellency.”

***

“I’ve got the shot,” Jack Hunter said softly from his hiding place in the dome that rose over the ballroom. There was a small gallery that ringed the dome, and he’d scaled the stairs double quick to make it up here after the team had split earlier. He didn’t have his spotter, but he didn’t need him for this close-proximity shot. “I can take the bomber out and the leader next.”

“Negative, Hawk,” Matt said. “We have no idea how many of them there are. Or if there’s more than one bomb.”

“We can’t let them take the king,” he ground out.

“I know. But we still have no idea who Al Ahmad is, and if we blow this, we may never get another chance.”

“Can you see Lucky and Big Mac?” Iceman’s voice.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “They’re behind the bomber.”

“Kev, you got anything?” Matt said. “If you can’t speak, signal.”

Kev shook his head slightly.
 

“That’s a negative,” Jack reported.

“Sonofabitch.”
 

Jack didn’t know who swore, but it was pretty much what they were all thinking. The fucking King of Qu’rim was about to be kidnapped by terrorists, and they still had no idea who Al Ahmad was. He had to be in the room—unless they’d been wrong about his daughter. What if it was all a smokescreen? What if they’d been led on a wild goose chase?

He could be anywhere, laughing his ass off and planning what he was going to do with those weapons once he had them.

Jack scanned the room. The man who’d been shot was definitely dead. A woman sobbed over his body, and a girl sat and rocked back and forth as if she were in her own world. Old sorrows threatened to break loose and overwhelm him, but he forced them down again. He had a job to do. He did not get emotional. Ever. He’d left emotion behind the day the Red Cross had called his commander and said they needed to speak with him.

Loss. Jesus Christ.

He sighted down the scope and watched the man who’d spoken to the king. He didn’t have any emotions either. The suicide bomber stood placidly by, also devoid of emotion.

Jack couldn’t understand what was being said, but the king held up a hand to the men on either side of him and walked toward the terrorist leader.

“Something’s happening,” Jack said.

“Copy,” Matt replied.
 

Jack knew he wasn’t the only one who could see what was happening in the ballroom, but he had the bird’s-eye view.
 

The terrorist smiled at the king and said something. Then the two of them turned and walked toward a side door. Another terrorist went with them, but the bomber stayed behind. Jack counted eight men with weapons. Fucking waiters. It was the perfect way into the school. Obviously, the screening process for the caterer had been shit.

Jack’s finger hovered over his trigger. He didn’t know what these assholes were going to do, but if they started shooting, he’d have a hell of a time getting them all before they took out at least a dozen innocent people. And that’s only if there were no other bombers in the group.

Definitely a fucking nightmare.

The gunmen barked orders at the crowd, and they all began to move toward the center, clustering together. The littlest girls cried and Jack gritted his teeth. Goddamn. He wanted to put a bullet in that asshole’s brain, but he couldn’t.