Chapter Twenty-Nine
Port Harcourt, Nigeria
Mercedes plugged in her phone. The battery had drained during their overnight boat ride to Port Harcourt, and she couldn’t help the sense of relief at having to put off the call she had to make.
She sighed and gazed up into the wall-mounted mirror over the dresser. Sebastian lay asleep on the hotel bed behind her. He wore nothing but his boxers, his arm and leg both bandaged. The leg turned out to be nothing but a grazing flesh wound, but she’d had to dig a bullet out of the muscle of his arm. He’d lost a lot of blood overnight and had finally passed out during the improvised surgery. It had been two hours since she cleaned and bandaged his wounds and he hadn’t woken up yet.
She paced the foot of the bed. She had no idea what to do now. If she made the call to Harrison Stead reporting her half success, she would be all but signing her death certificate. Of that, she had no doubt. She knew how ruthless Harrison could be. She’d always admired that about him, but she’d always been his star employee, his golden child. She’d had no reason to be afraid of him. Until now.
And she was so afraid, but not only for her own skin. Seb wanted out, and he wasn’t even going to finish his last mission before leaving. If he finished the contract and killed Marcus Deangelo, he might have had a chance that Harrison would let him go without a fight.
Seb was as good as dead. And it wouldn’t just be Defion coming after him. It’d also be the people who put the hit out on Deangelo in the first place. He was dooming himself to a life as a hunted man, and nothing she said would change his mind.
Her phone beeped, indicating the battery was now charged enough to work. She froze and stared at the thing like it was something fatally poisonous. She didn’t want to touch it. Didn’t want to pick it up and make that call.
But she had to. What other choice did she have? As much as her heart screamed she should, she couldn’t run away with Sebastian. They’d both be dead. At least if she made the call, admitted her failure, Harrison’s rage would be so focused on her, Seb might have enough time to disappear.
Decision made, she strode over to the phone and picked it up before she changed her mind. Except the beep hadn’t been from her phone telling her it was back online. It had been from…
A tracking device coming into range.
Holy shit.
Dr. Claire Oliver still had the tracker the pickpocket had planted on her in Lagos.
Mercedes opened the tracking app and let out a delighted laugh when she saw the blip. If this thing was accurate, Dr. Oliver was also in Port Harcourt.
Mercedes grabbed her weapons and stopped only long enough to kiss Seb’s forehead before she left the hotel. This mission wasn’t about impressing Harrison anymore. Or even saving her own skin. This was all about Sebastian. When she returned successful, she’d have leverage to talk Harrison into allowing Seb to live.
This mission wasn’t over yet.
…
Jean-Luc tapped his brand new burner phone against his palm and watched Claire through the window of the clothing store, where she’d gone to find something that wasn’t ripped and mud stained. They already drew enough attention by being three of the few light-skinned people in the city. Last thing any of them wanted was to stand out because they looked like they had been through a war zone, too. She’d changed into a traditional Nigerian dress full of bright colors and patterns, and carried her dirty clothes in a shopping bag as she spoke with the shopkeeper. With her hair in a stubby ponytail, the new outfit made her look younger, softer, more fragile.
So fragile.
She wasn’t made for a life of dodging bullets. And to think of all the times he nearly lost her in the last twenty-four hours…
Merde. It made him quake inside. He wanted to wrap her in Kevlar and keep her safe.
“Hey.” Marcus waved a hand in front of his face. “Cajun, you gonna make the call or what?”
He scowled down at the piece of plastic in his hand. It was a crappy flip phone, the likes of which he hadn’t seen since his early days in the CIA. He opened it, closed it, opened it again. He’d forgotten how satisfying that whole feature was.
“Dude,” Marcus said with exasperation and held out his hand. “If you’re not gonna—”
He pushed the hand away. “I’ll do it.” He just dreaded it. He didn’t know how the team would react to him reaching out for help now, but this situation had ballooned into something he and Marcus couldn’t handle on their own. They needed HORNET.
Time to swallow his pride.
He flipped open the phone again and dialed Harvard’s number from memory. He figured if he owed anyone an apology first, it was the kid who’d had his back since the CIA.
One ring. Two. The knots in his stomach tightened.
The line connected. “This is Eric Physick.”
“Hey, H—”
Harvard let out a stream of curses colorful enough to make even their ex-Navy SEAL bosses wince. Jean-Luc grinned through the tirade. The kid was fairly straightlaced but when he was annoyed, he could swear with the best of them.
“I deserved that,” he said when Harvard wound down.
“And then some. What’s your twenty? Who are you with?”
“Is this a secure—”
“Don’t even insult me like that,” Harvard said in a cold voice.
Jean-Luc’s grin faded. Well, shit. The kid was genuinely pissed off. “Port Harcourt. Marcus is with me and we have Claire.”
“Good. We’re on our way to you. ETA, 0300.”
So HORNET had been looking for them all along. Harvard, genius that he was, had probably found them. He wished the thought didn’t knot him up inside with guilt. Before he could figure out how to best approach apologizing, Harvard said, “Stay put. I’ll find you lodgings for the night and text you the address.” Then hung up.
“Sounds like the kid’s mad,” Marcus said.
Jean-Luc shut the phone. Harvard had been itching to get out from behind a computer and into the field, and Jean-Luc had promised months ago to give him that shot at the first opportunity. But when he started this mission, he hadn’t been thinking rationally. He hadn’t wanted logic. He’d been following his reckless heart, and damn the consequences.
He’d been wrong to cut out the rest of the team.
He sighed and rubbed at the ache in his temple. “I’m sure Harvard isn’t the only one pissed. I’m probably gonna be hitting the unemployment line when we get home.” His phone vibrated as the promised text came through. He opened it, memorized the address, then grabbed a map from the side pocket of his rucksack. A hotel. He wasn’t at all surprised to see it owned by Quentin Enterprises. Tuc owned half the world, and probably had shares in the other half.
He showed the map to Marcus. “At least now we have a safe house.”
Marcus scowled at the address. “Not sure how safe I’d consider any of Tuc’s hotels after Martinique.”
He snorted and refolded the map. “My thoughts exactly, but we’re out of options, and it’s only for the night. The team’s already in the air and scheduled to land at 0300.”
He pocketed the map and turned on a smile as Claire joined them. “All set, cher?”
She eyed him suspiciously, then Marcus. She dropped the shopping bag. Her shoulders tightened and her guard visibly went up like she was expecting another blow. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”
He realized then how they must have looked to her. Marcus grim faced, and him forcing a smile he didn’t feel. He dropped the act and ran a hand over her hair. “No, no. It’s nothing bad. It’s actually good news for once. We have a place to stay tonight where we’ll be safe.”
“Then why do you both look like someone died?”
“Not someone,” Marcus muttered as he turned away to find them a cab. “Something. Our careers.”
Jean-Luc watched Marcus go, concerned by his lack of reaction to the idea. In fact, he didn’t sound at all broken up about it. More like resigned, accepting even—but that had to be a worry for another time.
Jean-Luc cupped Claire’s cheeks in his hands and drew her attention back to him. “Our team is on the way. They’ll arrive tonight and we’ll leave Nigeria with them tomorrow.”
“What about my research? Akeso? We can’t leave it—”
“And we won’t.” He smoothed a kiss over her furrowed brow. “We’ll get it back. I promise we will, but my primary concern right now is your safety. If Defion gets another chance at you, they’ll take it because you’re more valuable than the research by itself.”
She turned away from him. “I hate this.”
He reached for her, but thought better of it and instead picked up her bag. “I know you do, cher. We’ll make things right.”
“I don’t think anything will ever be right again. I shouldn’t have created Akeso.”
“Well, I, for one, am glad you did.”
She shook her head and took the shopping bag from his hand. Without another word, she walked over to where Marcus held a cab for them.
Defeated. It was the only word that came to mind as he watched her walk away. Defion had finally crushed her spirit, leaving her a shell of her former shelf, and he hated them desperately for that. His fingers clenched into fists at his sides.
If he ever got his hands on a Defion agent, he’d make them pay for putting that look of pained hopelessness in her eyes.