Chapter Eighteen

Damn, it was good to be back. Well, sort of back, but Logan would take reduced duty over nothing any day. His physiotherapist figured his knee was at around sixty percent and improving a little more each day. As long as he took it easy—including using his crutches when he was on his feet, something he didn’t intend to do unless absolutely necessary—and didn’t overdo it over the next few weeks, he should be fully operational in another month or so.

Besides, being here helped keep his mind off how badly he wished he was still back in that apartment with Taylor, curled up in the bed he’d crawled out of only a few hours ago.

Get it together, man.

Today’s light training was already taking its toll on him though. He bit back a wince as he shifted his weight and waited behind Zaid as the team stacked up in a line beside the newly installed door of the shoot house. They’d already blown two off their hinges practicing various breaches, rotating through positions to give everyone a turn. He was due up next.

None of them spoke as they waited in position for Hamilton to give the command to enter. Nobody knew what scenario Commander Taggart and his helpers had set up inside the plywood maze of rooms and hallways.

A hand squeezed Logan’s right shoulder, indicating that Kai and the five other guys behind him were ready to rock. Logan gripped Zaid’s shoulder, who in turn pumped Freeman’s.

Freeman didn’t move, didn’t give any indication that Zaid had alerted him, his entire focus aimed on the exterior doorway. “Execute,” Hamilton said quietly through their comms.

Zaid hauled back the battering ram and slammed it into the lock on the door, the clang of metal-on-metal loud in the quiet building. He had to ram it four times before the lock finally gave way, and he was able to haul it back.

Freeman immediately rushed through the doorway—the fatal funnel—with Zaid right on his heels. Logan swept in next, doing a buttonhook maneuver that placed him up against the near-side wall, and sent a flare of pain shooting through his knee. He winced, stumbled.

His jaw clamped tight. Goddamn it.

“Stop, stop. What the hell was that, guys? My ninety-two-year-old grandmother could have set up and shot the first two of you through the door with that kind of delay,” Commander Taggart called out from overhead where he was observing from the catwalk that ran the length of the shoot house. “Do it again. Night optics this time. Zaid, you’re still the breacher.”

Zaid let out a frustrated breath but didn’t say anything as he trudged back from the hallway and passed Logan on the way out the door. They were all perfectionists, and in this line of work mistakes could cost lives. No one said anything to Zaid; they were all their own worst critics.

Everyone lined up at the door and waited while he and Zaid put on a fresh door and the helpers inside moved into different positions. The moment the lights went out, Logan lowered his night vision goggles into place and switched them on. In the green glow of the display he watched as Freeman took point again. When Zaid was ready with the ram, Freeman gave the signal.

Zaid laid into the lock on the door with one ruthless blow and the lock cracked, along with some of the wood. He reared back and drove the sole of his boot into the weak spot, and the door flew open.

Freeman rushed in, Zaid right behind him, then Logan. “Clear,” Freeman said.

Logan swept past his two teammates toward the corner of two intersecting walls that marked the start of the hallway. Movement caught his peripheral vision.

He swung the barrel of his rifle toward it and fired at the man trying to sneak out of a doorway a dozen yards away. Logan kept moving, footsteps behind him marking his other teammates’ advance.

More movement, up ahead to the left.

Logan angled his body to neutralize the threat, fired at the same time one of his other teammates did. His adrenaline was pumping at full strength now but he didn’t let it cloud his brain or reflexes, all his concentration focused on the remaining doorways in the hall.

The first door on the right was partially open when he reached it. With a teammate standing directly behind him, Logan peered through the gap in the door.

The far side of the room was empty. He shifted to the left to lean closer to the door while whoever was behind him got ready to kick the door in.

Logan nodded.

The door flew open and a shooter stood in the hidden corner with a rifle. He fired at the same time Logan did. A siminution round hit Logan dead center in the chest.

Shit.

But at least the other shooter was down now.

“Clear,” Logan muttered, pissed off at himself.

“You can’t say that, because in real life you’d be bleeding out at the moment from my armor-piercing round,” a dry voice said from across the darkened room.

Logan recognized it instantly. “Taggart?” He’d thought their commander was still up on the catwalk.

“All clear—building’s secure,” Easton called out from somewhere down the far end of the hall.

The lights came back on. Logan shut his eyes to protect his retinas and shoved his NVGs back up on the helmet mount. In the corner stood the team commander, a big yellow splatter mark on the left side of his chest. “Not bad,” he remarked. “You got me.” Then a smug grin curved his mouth. “But I got you too.”

Logan grunted and limped out of the room. His knee was not happy about being put through its paces so soon. The rest of the team was coming toward him.

Taggart fell in step with him. “How’s the knee?”

“Good.” It hurt like a fucking mother right now. But his pride hurt more. And getting shot in the chest even with a simunition round was a sobering reminder that he always had to get the first shot.

Hamilton walked up to him and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, hopalong. Time for a shower and a beer. First round’s on me.”

“Oh, I…can’t.”

Those steel-gray eyes swung his way. “No? Got a hot date or something?”

“Nah, it’s—”

“Hell yeah, he does.”

Logan sighed at the sound of Zaid’s New Jersey accent coming from behind him.

“Really? So hot you can’t even come for one beer?” Hamilton asked.

“Yeah, I’ll come for one round. Maybe two.” And then he was getting his ass over to Taylor’s as fast as he could. It had been less than seven hours since he’d last seen her, but he missed her already and wanted to make sure she was okay. Among other more pleasurable things he planned to do that made him hard just thinking about.

She was dealing with a hell of a lot of personal stress on top of the pressure her boss was putting on her to track down all the financial threads that might help them crack the case against the Venenos wide open. If she and her team could help find bank account information and verify the identities behind them, the agency would pounce.

After showering and pulling on fresh clothes, he went to his locker in the loadout room, careful not to limp even though his knee was throbbing again, and pulled out his phone to text her.

Hey. Just heading out to grab a drink with the guys. Can I head over after that? I’ll bring dinner. He knew she wouldn’t have eaten yet. The woman was as hyper-focused with her spreadsheets and graphs as he or any of his teammates were during an op.

Just got called into emergency meetings at work. They’re coming to pick me up now. Not sure how long it will take. Text you when I’m done? I want to see you.

The last part made his heart swell. Taylor was opening up to him more and more every day, and he was damn thankful that she trusted him that much.

Sure. It was only four o’clock now, so he could grab them something to eat and have it waiting at the apartment for when she got back. I can come pick you up at the office if you want.

I’ll let you know, thanks. Gotta go.

See you soon. He was smiling as he put his phone back into his pocket.

“What’s with that look on your face?”

He looked over at Kai, who was staring at him from a couple lockers over. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” Kai snickered softly as he reached for a clean shirt and tugged it over his head. “Dude, you’re toast.”

On either side of him, Easton and Jamie both grinned and finished changing into their civvies.

Logan ignored the comment and reached for his leather jacket. Maybe he was toast, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t wait to see Taylor again. And tonight, he was going to make sure she knew he wanted way more from her than temporary or casual.

****

Dillon’s hands shook as he reached for the vial of pills on the battered bathroom counter. He couldn’t escape the crushing fatigue that threatened to pull him under, but somehow he had to if he wanted to stay alive.

Even the amphetamines weren’t working anymore. It was like his adrenal glands had been maxed out and were now as exhausted as the rest of him.

He took two more anyway and tossed them back with the remnants of his energy drink, the sickeningly sweet taste making him gag. The irony didn’t escape him.

He’d been involved with drug dealing and trafficking since the age of sixteen, and never once had he taken anything stronger than cold medicine. But he couldn’t function without help now.

For the past three days he’d gone without more than a few hours’ sleep combined, taking it in little snatches when he could. The rest of the time he’d spent on the move, looking over his shoulder and doing everything in his power to avoid the people hunting him. Including the two men he’d brought to D.C. with him.

Without a doubt, by now Carlos had tasked them with killing him and Taylor, because he was too high-risk for the cartel at this point. El Escorpion would have been made aware of the situation and would be watching it closely. He would either have made the decision to replace or demote Dillon. He’d brought too much heat upon himself and the organization as a whole.

Dillon also had another problem to worry about.

The men he’d trusted to guard his back for the past three years were the closest available sicarios, and they knew his habits. There would be others hunting him as well. Which was why he’d had to be so careful about being the opposite of predictable the past few days.

His plan had changed slightly. Salvaging his reputation and status within the cartel was paramount to him, even more so than saving his neck. His lifestyle and everything he’d risked to this point hinged on it.

He’d decided to allow himself one more shot at getting Taylor, then flee the country. Once he was free and clear he’d lie low until the fallout had settled and he could better read the situation within the cartel. If things had cooled off and he still held El Escorpion’s favor, he’d return to Mexico. If not, he’d live out the rest of his days on a tropical beach in South Asia somewhere.

The drug hit his bloodstream in a powerful rush, bringing with it a wave of renewed energy. He was almost certain that Taylor was still being housed in the building she’d been taken to the other night. At high risk to himself, that same night he’d posed as a local telephone company employee and installed tiny surveillance cameras on all the telephone poles across from the various entrances and exits of the building.

From the safety of his hideout he’d remotely captured a brief glimpse of her as she’d returned late this afternoon in an unmarked SUV, with someone else driving her. He hadn’t seen her leave again via any of the doors or in another vehicle, so presumably she was still there. As soon as it was full dark out he would take his rental car there and stake out the building.

He needed Taylor, one way or the other. Dead, or even alive would serve his purposes too, at least to begin with. Then he could use her for collateral and a human shield to buy himself enough time to escape the forces that would come after him once he attacked.