W
hen they got out of the vehicle, the interior lights didn’t go on. Hannah stepped out after Gray. Dry grass crunched under her feet. Almost pitch dark, cool, and absolutely still, there wasn’t a breath of wind. A shiver of foreboding raced up her back, damp with nervous perspiration. “Is this why they call it black ops?” she asked facetiously, keeping her voice down because it was freakishly quiet.
She really, really, really wanted to be home, watching TV in her jammies, eating her Friday night tablespoon of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie. She wanted to forget what Colton had dragged her into. She wanted him safely back at the insurance company where he worked. Wanted to
re
-forget Grayson. She wanted the Moms home from Asia so she could quit managing Provenance Inc.
She also wanted
not
to feel like crap, because having hypoglycemic issues really wasn’t convenient right now.
That was a long list of freaking wants. But that’s about as far as Hannah got. Because she couldn’t think further than getting through this ordeal right now.
The hanger was about a hundred feet away, an enormous, black square against the night sky. Silently she trudged along between Grayson and a man built like a tank. Two of his men walked in front of her, a man and a female operative behind. All dressed in black, so they pretty much blended into the darkness.
“Do you think I’ll try and make a break for it? Run across a dark field in a strange town with no money and no identification?” she asked with just a touch of sarcasm.
“Keep your voice down,” he said so quietly she shouldn’t have been able to hear him, yet even as soft as his voice was, she heard every word. “We don’t know if Stonefish has more of his people around. We’re not taking any chances.”
Fabulous.
Now she felt as though she had a bullseye in the middle of her back. This morning she hadn’t known any spies other than Bourne and Bond. Now she was surrounded by the real deal. It seemed a lifetime ago, instead of hours earlier, that she and Colton had boarded the
Stone’s Throw
, and since then her life had taken a weird, scary turn.
Being surrounded by Gray’s men was like walking inside the high walls of a black cave. Hannah was relieved when they entered the hangar through a side door. Blinking in the brilliant overhead lights flooding the vast empty space, she wasn’t sorry when the men peeled off. Grayson, however, stayed glued to her side.
She shot him a glance. Focused and fierce, he strode into the center of the large space, keeping her within reach of his hand even though he didn’t touch her. She always forgot how tall he was until he was standing right next to her. Six three, of disreputable male, with his darkly stubbled jaw, dark, dangerous glower, and the skintight black outfit that displayed his tall, virile physique to perfection. He looked tough, mean and dangerous as hell. “I wouldn’t want to bump into you in a dark alley,” she told him sotto voce, as she sped up to match his long strides.
It was disconcerting to realize that she didn’t know this Grayson at all.
“Trust me,” he said, scanning the open space and milling people as if looking for ninjas to jump out from every corner. Which, God only knew, wouldn’t surprise Hannah in the least. “You’d want me with you in that dark alley.”
She rubbed the faint, annoying headache at her temples with two fingers. “Fortunately, I don’t frequent that many dark alleys.”
He slanted her a look, gray eyes softening. “I know you’re freaked out by all this, but hang tough, Tink. Stay with me until we can establish who’s who, okay?”
Now that the danger was past, Hannah realized she wasn’t feeling so hot. Nerves, stress, a bouncing boat. Low blood sugar. Shit. She shrugged. “I have nothing better to do.”
The hangar was old, and probably not in use. Rusted, corrugated walls, oil-stained cement floor, and a bunch of broken packing crates piled haphazardly in the far corner. Half the overhead lights were burned out or hanging by electrical wires.
Thirsty, she tuned out the susurrus of multiple conversations, looking around for something to drink.
A soda would help with her blood sugar until she could get some real food. There didn’t appear to be a vending machine around. But considering the look of the hangar, if there were, anything in it would be petrified by now.
Other than swarming people, and mounds of windswept leaves and debris in the corners, the space was empty. Just a few large grease spots where planes once sat. Grayson’s men, dressed in identical sleek black get-ups, cowls shoved back, were starting to separate the swarms of people from the ship.
The process was loud, and she learned a few new swear words, as everyone voiced their opinions more loudly than the guy next to him. It was a big crowd of crazy.
“The plane will be here soon,” Grayson told her, giving her a small portion of his attention.
She stepped back. “I’ll stay out of your way.”
He locked his hand around her wrist. “No, stick to me like white on rice. I don’t want you out of my sight.”
Tempted to remind him that he wasn’t the boss of her in any way, shape or form, Hannah bit her tongue and tugged herself out of his hold. The reality was, he was the only man here that she trusted; she just didn’t trust him to touch her.
Seeing a familiar gleaming, sandy blond head among the crowd, she indicated his brother with a jerk of her chin. “Colton’s over there. God. He looks terrified.”
“Good,” Gray said unsympathetically. “I don’t want you near him until he’s been processed.”
“Come on, Grayson. You know he wasn’t aware of who he was dealing with.”
“No one with half a fucking brain goes into business without knowing everything there is to know about his partners. But let me rephrase that. Would he steal multimillions of dollars from his mother? No. He’s too fucking good for that.”
Hannah had never heard the suppressed brutality in his voice before, as he said what she’d been thinking. “Would he take you on board a ship half a world away to fucking impress you, but in fact, plops you into the lap of not just a terrorist, but a
group
of terrorists whose leader is number one on half a dozen countries’ fucking watch lists!”
“Stop Gray. He didn’t know they were terrorists.” Man, she was so not up to sparring with Grayson right now. She needed all her cylinders firing at full throttle to keep up with him as it was.
No way to measure her blood sugar since everything she owned was at the bottom of the South Pacific. But if her blurry vision and other symptoms were any indication, it was low.
“He’s a
criminal
, Hannah. He stole the Moms’ life savings, and more. The buy in for investors was ten mil a piece- What? You weren’t aware of the full amount?”
“You must be mistaken. Provenance Inc. is doing well, really well, but they didn’t have that kind of money. I estimated he took somewhere in the region of five million.”
“Well then he stole the rest from someone else.” Grayson said grimly. “We’ll know after he’s been questioned. Make no mistake, he
will
be prosecuted, and there’s a damn good chance he’ll spend some formative years behind bars. If nothing else, this should put the fear of God into him, and teach him not to fucking steal, especially from his own family.”
“That horse bolted out of the stable a long time ago,” Hannah said dryly, really wanting to sit down now. Colton had to be punished, but she just wanted to get through the next few hours before she had the reality check that her friend not only deserved to go to jail, but that she’d be the one pressing charges.
Gray stopped to talk to a short, muscular, redhead She recognized most of the men she’d seen on board
Stone’s Throw
. Two of the three men who’d given the impressive presentation about the hotel complex; Elijah Sorenson and William Deeks were each being questioned by several black-clad T-FLAC men, fifty feet apart. They both had their hands cuffed behind their backs, and some sort of hobble around their ankles. By their identical expressions, they were clearly pissed off and uncooperative.
A dozen crewmembers, dressed in shorts and white shirts with
Stone’s Throw
insignias on the breast pocket, were similarly cobbled. They all looked unhappy and scared as they were individually questioned in various parts of the hangar.
Hannah shivered, rubbing her upper arms briskly against the chill. She wanted Gray’s arms around her. Or a big fluffy blanket. No blanket in sight, and of course he didn’t touch her. Maybe it was better he didn’t.
“Copy that. Tell him he’s on his own in this clusterfuck. Kyatta and Bren Edde to me. Out.” he said with ill suppressed anger to whoever was talking to him in his earpiece. “Colton’s asking for you,” he told her, the anger still a dark thread in his voice.
“I have absolutely no desire to see him. Ever, as a matter of fact. That’s probably going to mess up Thanksgiving dinners,” she added dryly as he continued walking, expecting her to catch up, “but I’ll live with that.” She had to practically jog to keep up with Gray’s long strides.
Hannah knew at any minute another of his men would need him for something, and he’d forget she was there. “What are you going to do with all these people?”
“Question them here, then transport them to Montana.”
“Montana?”
“T-FLAC Headquarters.”
She pretty much knew they wouldn’t be taking a detour to Chicago to drop her off. She didn’t feel so hot. All she wanted was to get as far away from what was going on, eat, and sleep. She needed to eat. Soon. The adrenaline had worn off, and she was feeling shaky and weak.
Gray stopped in his tracks, turned and searched her face, then frowned as he cupped her cheek. “You’re cold and clammy.”
She tilted her head a little so her cheek rested in his warm palm, like a sleepy kitten. “That sounded like an accusation.”
“Fuck. You gave yourself a shot just before I found you, and you haven’t eaten. Your blood sugar’s dropping, isn’t it?”
She’d timed her shot just before dinner. But dinner had never happened. She didn’t have any way to test her blood glucose level, but she knew it was way too low. She should’ve eaten hours ago.
As much as she wanted to rest her face in his palm like a pet for a few hours, Hannah stepped out of reach. “We’ve been a little busy. But getting something to eat soon would be good.”
“Anyone got any hard candy?” he said into his comm, which earned him a few surprised glances from the operatives. “We’ve got a diabetic here. She needs something. Search everyone again. Candy. Gum. Anything.”
“Thanks,” she said quietly.
“How bad do you feel?”
“Get me that candy,” she said calmly, rubbing the headache at her temple with fingers that shook.
He touched the comm as Kyatta and Bren Edde strode toward him. “Find me that fucking candy, people!”
“W
hile we’re waiting, let’s find the people you overheard, and see who this Savrov insulted by using his name,” Gray told her. He touched his ear. “Bring me a guy called Savrov.”
“They were going to kill him, maybe he’s dead,” Hannah reminded him.
“Maybe, but I don’t think there was enough time between when you overhead them and when I found you. I believe the men you overheard were the two I saw in the corridor.”
“Get the lead out, people! Where the fuck is Savrov?” Gray said into his communications devise.
It took several minutes, but there was, apparently, no Savrov in the hangar. Everyone was accounted for.
Feeling a little light-headed, Hannah rubbed her upper arms, not sure if she was hot or cold. “He could’ve been one of the people that were left dead on the ship.”
“Strong possibility on that. Hang on a sec. I don’t see Mauro, did he make it?” Grayson asked tightly into the comm, then listened to the response. Easier than yelling across the enormous space, Hannah knew, but she would’ve liked to know more than just half the conversation. And even that was in some form of verbal shorthand.
“Shit,” he snarled, after listening to something transmitted into his earpiece.
A dead end, Hannah thought with black humor. Until today, she’d never seen a dead body, now she was getting frighteningly used to seeing a lot of them.
“Considering the timing, I think the man on the stairs was one of the men you overheard,” Gray turned his attention back to her. Under normal circumstances it would be difficult to keep track of who he was talking to, but right now, Hannah was having difficulty navigating her way around a normal conversation. Her mental focus and her vision were both getting fuzzy.
“The other guy’s a crewmember. He’s here. None of them were KIA.”
Trying to corral her wondering thoughts, she gave him a blank look.
“Killed in action. I shot a bodyguard on the stairs, he could be our boss man. He was with a crewman, who’ll be able to ID him, for us.” He wrapped his hand around her upper arm and steadied her. Hannah didn’t even realize she’d been swaying slightly. “Would you recognize the man’s voice if you heard it again?”
Frowning hurt her head. “Who? The dead guy?” Hannah impatiently rubbed the annoying headache pulsing at her temples. “Of course.” God she was cranky and confused. The nervousness, and desire to pick a fight could be attributed to the circumstances, but she knew her body, and was familiar with the symptoms. Cold and clammy, she was freaking
starving
, and her heart pounded with anxiety. Hypoglycemia, probably exacerbated by her present circumstances.
“How long until the plane gets here?” If it was big enough to make the long flight, and there were dozens of people expected on board, there’d be food. Something to drink.
He glanced over her shoulder. “It arrived a few minutes ago. Thanks,” he said to a woman dressed as he was, as she handed him a can of Coke. He gave it to Hannah.
She frowned at it. “Where did this materialize from?”
“Hensley went to get it from the plane. Here,” he said gently, taking the can back. “Let me open that for you.”
She was pretty sure she could open her own damned drink, but right now she couldn’t quite figure out how.
He wrapped his large, warm hand around hers, lifted it to her mouth. “Drink.”
Opening her mouth, Hannah let the fizzy, overly sweet soda slide down her throat. He tangled the fingers of his other hand in her hair, holding the back of her head to assist her. She needed all the help she could get. Her brain was going in slo-mo.
“Drink it all, honey, the sugar will help you feel better.”
She did so, her fingers curled around his wrist as she drank. She couldn’t fight low blood sugar and Grayson at the same time. Hells-bells, she could barely keep one thought in her head at a time at the moment.
“You scare the shit out of me, you know that, Tink? Not your fault. But fuckit, you need a keeper.”
“I really don’t,” she said tartly, moving away so his hand dropped. Drinking the soda helped. A lot. And she felt more lucid by the minute as the sugar hit her system. “I was only supposed to be here a couple of days at the most. I came prepared with enough insulin for two
weeks
, and a whole bag of snacks and candy for emergencies. I didn’t know I was going to be kidnapped and forced to leave all my belongings on a doomed ship.”
He brushed her cheek, gray eyes searching her face. “There’s that.”
Self-conscious, she combed her fingers through the tangled stands of her hair. Her makeup must have sweated off hours ago, and she probably had raccoon eyes.
Putting her palm on the hard wall of his chest, she gave a pathetically light shove, feeling the tingle of contact all the way up her arm. “You’re in my personal space, and all your spylettes are watching us.”
“Are you up to IDing the guy?”
He spoke into his communications device, as he watched her. His eyes made a whole slew of promises of their own. “Bring Deeks to me.” He turned back to her, his eyes focused intently on hers. “What do you want him to say?”
She thought about the conversation she’d overhead. “‘As you instructed. Exactly thirty minutes from now.’” Which, as it happened, had turned out to be a lot less.
“You’ll recognize the voice just from that?”
“Perfect pitch, remember?”
“There isn’t a damn thing about you I’ve forgotten.” Unflinching, he held her gaze.
“Then it must be that your sense of direction is out of whack. One would think a guy like you, leading a tough-ass team like this, could find his way home. But then…one would be wrong.”
“Don’t doubt that I’d find you blindfolded, in the dark, on another planet,” Gray murmured, voice tight.
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I guess finding me in my own condo was just too damn easy. Next time I’ll remember to blindfold the groom and have the chapel on a sunless frigging planet.”
Gray shifted his jaw. “I can tell you’re feeling better.” His voice was bone dry.
“Getting there.”
A tall, grim-looking man, with salt and pepper hair and a craggy face, came up to Grayson. “Everyone’s ready, and Deeks is hobbling his ass over here”
“Good,” Hannah said, grateful for the interruption. “Let’s get this over with so I can go home.”
“This isn’t over, Tink.”
“You’re a promise and three years too late, Grayson.” Hannah said tartly. “Just have him say the lines so I can get the hell out of here.”
#
Perfect pitch had fuck-all to do with recognizing a voice. Especially when Hannah had been afraid for her life at the time. But she was all he had right now. “Bring over Deeks.”
The three terrified and loudly protesting ‘investors’, his baby brother included, were demanding their rights. As if they fucking had rights in a foreign country consorting with terrorists on the watch list for fucksake.
“Keep ‘em on ice,” Gray instructed the teams.
“What do you want to do with the crew? Take them with us, dispose of them or leave them here?” Kyatta asked in his ear as he prodded an unhealthy looking guy, with too much body fat, and a small, bald head to the lineup with the rest of the bodyguards, taking baby steps because of his ankle ties. While Gray had ordered them kept alive, their quality of life wasn’t a consideration. Many of the bad guys sported bloody lips, assorted gashes, and an array of colorful bruises. A crying shame.
The crewmembers hadn’t been interrogated yet. They’d know little to nothing other than they’d been minding their own business off the coast of South Africa, been hijacked, kidnapped, and forced to stay on board for the long trip to South America. They didn’t know any of the people on board, other than each other, and this was the first time they’d been ashore in months. It was clear by their body language that they didn’t even like one another, and wanted to get the hell away ASAP. They were lowest priority, and would be processed last.
“Yeah,” Gray told Charlie. “We’ll get the crew back home. Wherever that is. Keep them secured for now.”
“Hang tight,” he told Hannah off comm. She looked remarkably better since drinking the Coke. Her color was back, and the shaking had stopped. She’d scared the bejesus out of him when they’d gotten into the hangar and he’d seen how weak and vague she was.
Lifting her chin, Hannah gave him a cool look. “Don’t you have terrorists to terrorize?”
“I have a few minutes to spare and competent people to do the terrorizing.”
She rolled her eyes. “Please, don’t waste your spare few minutes on me. Go to your spy stuff. I’m a big girl. I can stay out of your way and. . . observe your manly prowess.”
He smiled. “You’re cranky.”
“Ya think?” She gave him an annoyed look. “Run along and do your spy stuff, so I can get over it.”
The aftermath of blast of adrenaline affected most people that way- cranky was mild. He’d seen people go into manic rages, and go ape-shit after going through half of what Hannah had just experienced. In her case he suspected her irritability had a lot to do with low blood sugar as well.
Thank God the plane had arrived, because Gray was pretty sure if her hypoglycemia had gotten worse, she’d be in a fucking
coma,
and not giving him sass
,
right now. The knowledge that he should’ve taken into account her illness made him sick to his stomach. And so fucking
furious
at his brother he wanted to pummel Colton into the ground. Twice. Once for himself. Once for her.
Shifting so he could keep an eye on Hannah, he filled his team leaders in on what she’d overheard in the corridor earlier.
Around them people were moved and realigned to form a line. “Not the crew. Not if her interpretation of the convo’s correct. One of the men was clearly in charge. I killed one guy in the corridor outside the cabin she was in. Bodyguard type. Armed. He was with a crewmember. Not sure if they were the ones she overheard or not. A crewmember wouldn’t have been entrusted to blow up the ship, or to make sure the diamonds were secure. So the man who gave the order must’ve been one of the three known principals on board. The other, a high-up associate. He glanced across at the lineup. “Anyone missing?”
“Just Mauro, remember?”
“Yeah. Double fuck.” Sorenson or Deeks better give up Stonefish, otherwise this fucking mission was a bust. And they still hadn’t found the diamonds. Gray hoped they were at the bottom of the ocean.
“Can you hang on a few more minutes to listen to some of these guys before you go?”
“Sure.”
“One at a time, starting with you.” Gray motioned to William Deeks, a forty-two year old Kenyan, dressed in a scuffed and smudged thousand dollar dark suit, open necked white shirt, and three thousand dollar shoes. The man had who’d been with Stonefish for more than twenty-two years. No known address. Sister; single-mother, small daughter. Both residing in Nairobi. The man’s mahogany skin shone in overhead lights. He didn’t look nervous or even fucking concerned.
“You won’t make it out of Esmeraldas alive,” Deeks said in a well-modulated voice, Africa tinged with British prep school as he was urgently shoved forward by Bren Edde, “let alone out of Ecuador. Stonefish is aware of T-FLAC’s actions, and reprisals will be severe and swift.”
“We have Adimu and Dafina,” Gray responded, not missing a beat. “Where do we find your boss, and which of you has the diamonds?”
Hearing his sister and niece’s names made the Nigerian jerk in response. He reined himself in pretty fast, giving Gray an inscrutable look. “You would not harm a woman and a small child.” “To get my hands on Stonefish? Fuck yes, I most certainly would. Answer the question.”
“No one knows where he is. We never know. As for the diamonds, the answer is clear. At the bottom of the South Pacific.” “Is that your final answer?”
“It’s the truth.”
Not even fucking close. But there was time and the appropriate location to interrogate him elsewhere. Right now he wanted Hannah to recognize the voice, so she could leave. “Repeat this phrase. ‘As you instructed. Exactly thirty minutes from now.’”
Deeks repeated the words. Hannah shook her head, and the man was returned to his corner of the hangar.
“Let’s have Sorenson.”
Sorenson, a white-haired man in his late fifties, sporting a tan and a soul-patch, gave him a dead-eyed-snake look. Like Deeks he wore a tailored suit and expensive shoes. He was a filthy mess, with a long rip in his pant leg, and the side of his face caked with dried blood from the nasty gash over his eye,. His tie had been removed by Gray’s people. But he looked like the kind of guy who’d have the top button of his shirt done up, and a Winsor knot in some expensive neckwear.
Grayson repeated the request about Stonefish and the diamonds, threatened the man with the withholding of his medication, and was met with calm.
“Answer the damn question.” Gray said coldly when the man just stood there.
“Did you miss the ship exploding?”
“Since your people initialized the blast, dickhead, we know someone ensured the rocks were safe before she blew. Isn’t it time for your medication?”
“I don’t know what happened to the diamonds. If I die, you will have nothing.”
“If you live I have nothing.” Gray said. “So what do I have to lose by letting your heart fail as I watch?” Well-trained, and loyal to a fault, Sorenson remained mute.
“Say this-“
“Fuck yo-“ Suddenly the older man clutched his chest and dropped to his knees. Eyes white and wild, he gasped, “Medication.”
“Sure. Repeat this first. ‘As you instructed. Exactly thirty minutes from now.’”
Sorensen keeled over, gasping for breath, his face a rictus of pain.
“Fuck me.” Gray crouched beside him to feel the pulse at his throat. Felt fine to him, but what did he know about heart transplants? “Anything you’d like to say to atone for your sins before you croak?”
“Grayson!” Hannah sounded horrified.
“Help. Me.”
“Help me first, dickwad. Where’s Stonefish?”
“Sir?” A crewman, close enough to witness what was happening, raised his voice to get their attention. Fortyish, bald, British. Like most of the other captives, his clothes were speckled with dried blood splatter, grease marks and smudges from the oily smoke during the explosion. A red mark that looked like a burn cut across his left cheek.