Tom frowned as Howdy reported in a bare whisper, “I’ve got movement out the back side of the helicopter. Four men. Fanning out quietly. They look to be surrounding the meet. Armed, blacked out, night-vision gear, but no IR equipment and no visible radios or headsets.”

That was good news. Infrared equipment was a trick to hide from. And if the men didn’t have radios, that meant they couldn’t act in a coordinated attack. Like his men could. Tom replied tersely, “Keep an eye on them. Report their movement. Don’t let them get too close to Dutch. It’s him they’ll be looking for.”

“Roger,” Howdy replied with the icy, competent calm of the topnotch sniper he was.

Tex commented, “I doubt they’ll go up that cliff.”

Dutch had himself parked on the mountainside like a damned billy goat and was, indeed, likely safe up there.

Tom turned his attention back to the helicopter. He would order one of his guys to move in and booby-trap the thing right now, except for the possibility that Dutch and Julia might end up on it with Eduardo. And despite his doubts about Julia’s sincerity or Dutch’s transgressions, he wasn’t prepared to order their deaths just yet. It was the hardest part of command. Deciding who lived or died.

The biggest threat the helicopter posed was that Ferrare could make a getaway they couldn’t follow. The Blackjacks had come in prepared for a ground pursuit, and the slippery bastard had outmaneuvered them by choosing an aerial approach.

“Doc, get on the horn and radio the state police. Ask them to get a helicopter into this area ASAP.”

“I’m on it,” came his medic’s quiet reply.

“The hostiles are hunkering down,” Tex reported. “One is behind that stand of holly bushes about fifty feet beyond the gazebo. One is parked about a hundred feet to the left and down the hill from Dutch. One is behind the rest rooms.” A pause while he located the last man with his extraordinary eyesight. “The fourth guy is attempting to sneak—very noisily, I might add—about halfway between my position and Doc’s.”

Howdy’s voice. “They’re setting up telescopic rifles.”

Tom breathed a sigh of relief. If they weren’t on radios and weren’t within easy earshot of Eduardo Ferrare, then they couldn’t receive a verbal command to kill Julia or Dutch. Which meant most likely that their instructions were only to see to it that Ferrare got away from this meeting in one piece. The two thugs who were sticking to Eduardo like mold on bread would be the executioners if it came to killing Julia or Dutch. Both men were huge. It would take several well-placed shots to drop either one of them. Those two could be problematic if it came to a shooting match.

“Get a microphone on Ferrare and his daughter. It looks like they’re getting ready to talk,” he ordered. “And stay sharp. This could turn ugly real fast.”

 

Julia watched her father walk toward her, his two bodyguards scoping out the area, their heads swiveling constantly.

Eduardo wore a long, beige cashmere coat, a maroon wool scarf wrapped high around his neck and ears, and a pair of black leather gloves. His nose was red, and he sniffed loudly. He was not a fan of cold weather. He looked significantly thicker than usual through the torso. Wearing body armor, was he? Well. That spelled out what the rules of engagement for this little tête-à-tête were going to be, then.

He sat down in front of her at the table and stared at her in stony silence. She didn’t rise to the bait and start babbling like an idiot. She met his glare with a cool look of her own and held her silence, as well.

Finally, he broke the stalemate. “You’re enjoying dragging me out here to this godforsaken tundra in the middle of the fucking night, aren’t you?”

She answered grimly, “I’m not enjoying anything about this meeting.”

His gaze narrowed. Reassessing. Take that, Daddy. Mousy little Julia’s not rolling over and jumping through your hoops, tonight. She’d changed over the last couple of weeks. She’d grown a spine, with Dutch’s help.

Eduardo’s tone of voice changed. Grew harsh. “You said you want to make a deal. What sort of deal?”

“A trade. You let Carina go and promise not to harm the man who’s been helping me, and in return, I’ll agree not to testify against you to the U.S. authorities.”

An immediate snort of derision from her father. But then, she’d expected that. He was too shrewd not to bargain for more than her initial offer. He countered, “How about this for a deal? You tell me where my money is, and I let you live.”

She let out her own snort of derision. And saw surprise flicker through his steely gaze.

“I do believe, Father, I’m the one in a position to call the shots here. Frankly, your money should be the least of your worries right about now.”

He slammed his hands down on the picnic table and half rose from his bench. He growled, “You think seven hundred million dollars isn’t important?” He ended in a shout, “I want it back, and I want it now!”

She shook her head and tsked chidingly. “Temper, temper, Father.”

His face went beet red. She was playing a dangerous game, baiting the bull like this. But her instinct told her to keep him off balance. Do the unexpected.

He subsided back onto the bench, but a vein continued to throb rapidly in his temple. “What did you do with my money?” he snarled between clenched teeth.

“Obviously, I moved it,” she replied lightly, “since it’s not in your account.”

“Where to?” her father choked out.

The man looked in danger of having a stroke.

“Let Carina go and swear you’ll leave my friend alone.”

“Never,” her father said.

“Well, then, I guess we have nothing to talk about.” She made to stand up.

“Sit down,” her father barked.

She raised an eyebrow at him and took her time about it, but she did sit down again.

“You’ve had your say, you spoiled little brat. And now it’s my turn. My men have guns aimed at you and have orders to kill you when I say the word. You start talking right now and tell me where my goddamned money is, or you’ll never walk out of here alive. In addition, I swear this to you. I’ll kill your sister and I’ll hunt your boyfriend to the farthest corner of this planet and see him dead, too.”

Fear twisted and coiled like a nest of vipers in her stomach. But this was the crucial moment. She either caved in now and never again had a moment’s peace, or she made her stand. Once and for all.

She released a long, slow breath. “I’m sorry. No deal.”

Her father leaned across the table and grabbed her hand. He yanked her forward until the edge of the table dug into her midsection. His face loomed a scant foot from hers. Close enough to see the rage boiling in his gaze and a speck of saliva flecking the corner of his mouth. He looked too apoplectic to speak. She felt the explosion building inside him.

She spoke succinctly. “If you ever want to see your money again, you’ll let Carina go and swear never to harm my friend.”

“What about you, my traitorous flesh and blood?”

She shrugged. “You can do whatever you want to me. But let them go.”

Calculation whirred through his eyes. “Somebody put you up to this. Your boyfriend.”

“No,” she answered firmly. “I’m acting on my own.”

“I don’t know why, but for some strange reason, I believe you. Here’s my counteroffer. I’ll let you and your sister live, but you hand my money and the big, blond bastard over to me. Your sister for your lover,” Eduardo growled. “Take it or leave it.”

 

Dutch leaned forward, listening hard to the conversation. His gut yelled at him to reveal himself, to cut into the conversation and tell Eduardo to go to hell, then blow the guy’s head off. He was positively itching to rescue Julia. He could hear in her voice that she was so scared she could hardly breathe, but there she was, going nose to nose with the bastard without flinching.

Dutch froze as Eduardo issued his ultimatum. And there it was. The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. Carina or him. Sister or lover. Which would Julia choose?

Obviously, she had to choose her sister. Carina was the innocent here. Dutch knew what he’d walked into and it had been purely his choice to see this through. He couldn’t blame Julia one bit for the choice she was about to make. Besides, Eduardo was already trying to hunt down and kill the Blackjacks. This new threat from Ferrare wouldn’t change the status quo one bit.

It was a win-win situation for Julia. Her sister would live, and he would carry on as he had before they met, locked in battle with Eduardo Ferrare.

Except she was taking a long time to answer. She shifted in her father’s grasp and Dutch’s attention snapped back to her. The wind changed direction, and Eduardo’s voice grew muddled. Dutch adjusted the parabolic mike slightly and her words carried clearly to him once more. “…you know who my boyfriend is, Father?”

“Of course I do, you ignorant little slut. You’re spreading your legs for James Dutcher. From the Blackjacks. Does it give you a cheap thrill to sell your body to the American soldiers you set up?”

Even from up here on this hill, Dutch felt the pain Eduardo’s insult caused Julia. But she rolled with the blow, absorbing it stoically and climbing back to her emotional feet. Pride in her resilience surged through him.

“You know, Father,” she said slowly, “I let you blackmail me into betraying the Blackjacks ten years ago. The way I see it, I owe them an enormous debt. And now I owe you one, too, in a strange sort of way. You see, tonight you’ve given me a chance to finally pay back my debt to those brave men.”

“What are you jabbering about?” Eduardo demanded sharply.

She straightened deliberately, pulling free of her father’s grasp. What the hell was she doing? Dutch sensed what was coming as she opened her mouth. No, Julia! Don’t do it! Take the deal! he shouted silently.

Her voice was utterly calm as she pronounced each word. “Father, you can take your deal and shove it. I will never betray the Blackjacks again. At any price.”

Dutch’s heart actually missed a beat. She wasn’t going to betray him again. She would choose death for herself and her sister rather than turn on him. Did it mean… Hell, how could it mean anything else? She loved him!

“You would let your sister die for a bunch of fucking American commandos?” her father roared.

Julia lifted first one leg over the picnic bench and then the other. She looked down at him for a moment and then said clearly, “If you kill your own daughter, her blood will be on your hands, not mine. I know my sister, and she would rather die than let you go on harming and killing innocent people. As much as I love her, and as long as you’ve used that against me, it ends now. It’s over, Father. Carina and I are done being the tools of your evil. And you can kiss all your millions goodbye.”

Oh, Lord. She’d done it now. Dutch jumped up and took off running down the mountainside without bothering to wait and see what was coming next. Eduardo was going to blow a gasket. As Dutch slid down the steep, icy bank, he saw Eduardo’s head turn in slow motion. The man said something to his two henchmen, and the big men reached under their coats for the weapons concealed there.

Dutch yanked up his own semiautomatic rifle and opened fire at the thugs. In surreal clarity, he saw the pair of goons jump at the sound of gunfire and dive for the ground.

He noted vaguely that Julia never flinched as the gunfire erupted around her. She just walked away, one foot in front of the other, her back straight and her head high.

“Julia! Get down!” Dutch bellowed as he reached flat ground and took off sprinting toward her. Shots rang out around him. From multiple directions. He ignored them all.

Eduardo stood up then, reaching under his own coat. No. Oh no. The bastard was going to shoot his own daughter. Dutch put on a burst of speed he didn’t know he had in him and dived for Julia as Eduardo’s silver-plated revolver came up into firing position. Dutch’s feet left the ground, and he stretched out at full length in midair in a desperate attempt to catch the lead projectiles meant for the woman he loved.

They impacted him in a quick barrage, four shots one right after another in his chest. Their impact knocked him to the ground. He felt no pain. The gazebo light spun overhead for a moment, and Eduardo’s face came into view above him. Leering in rage.

Ferrare spoke, his voice dragging out slow and distorted, deeper than it ought to be. “You stupid son of a bitch. You made a whore of my daughter to get to me and now you’ll pay.”

The silver pistol glinted as it came up to point at his head. And then something dark and fast rocketed into Dutch’s line of sight from the right, plowing into Eduardo’s bulky form like a football lineman.

“Nooo!” Julia screamed as she knocked down her father.

The collision rolled the two of them over and over on the ground. No! Bad! She would get herself killed. She didn’t know how to wrestle an armed man! Dutch somehow got a message to his body to push itself upright. He felt completely detached from his limbs, and it took extreme concentration to move forward. Left foot. Right foot. Julia was in trouble.

 

Tom watched in intense concentration. If he called his team’s assault too soon, they would be exposed to hostile gunfire from those four concealed gunmen. Too late, and Dutch and Julia could die. Thank God Dutch had his bullet resistant vest on. He would be bleeding like a stuck pig right now if he hadn’t been wearing the garment.

Tom drew breath to call the attack, when Howdy’s voice came across the headset tersely. “Movement. Ferrare’s backup thugs are closing in.”

Outstanding. The gunmen were about to give his team their backs. Tom closed his mouth and watched the four mercenaries run at a half crouch toward the confrontation in the gazebo, rifles held at the ready in front of them. They acted confident. Sure that they were in charge. The corner of Tom’s mouth curled up sardonically. Clearly, they didn’t know the Blackjacks were on the field.

One of the commandos shouted in a British accent. “Freeze! We’ve got you covered, Dutcher.”

Dutch rolled and climbed to his feet slowly, dragging his right leg. Tom nodded knowingly. Dutch’s standard fake-injury move. Dutch wasn’t anywhere near as hurt as he was pretending. Tom recognized the act from a dozen previous missions.

Another few seconds to let this farce play out. And then it would be time for the endgame.

 

Julia lay in a tangled heap with her father, unsure of what to do next. If she stayed on top of him, maybe his men wouldn’t kill her. But then she looked up. Into a beautiful pair of sapphire-blue eyes. Dutch was alive! The man had more lives than a cat. She’d seen the bullets slam into him. How was he still standing?

He offered a hand down to her. Dazed, she reached for it and let him help her to her feet. He squeezed her hand tightly and displayed easy strength as he pulled her up. But then he limped away from her and her heart went into her throat at the sight of him wounded. Her gaze went frantically to his torso, looking for mortal wounds.

No blood. How was that possible? She frowned. She’d been certain several bullets had hit him in the upper body. How was it his leg was hurt, then? Maybe a ricochet. And then she had no more time to think as four armed men dressed in black burst into the light.

“You should’ve taken the deal, baby,” Dutch murmured wryly as he raised his hands over his head.

“Shut up!” one of the British commandos yelled. One of Eduardo’s personal bodyguards helped Julia’s father to his feet and brushed at his cashmere coat until Eduardo snapped at him to quit fussing.

Her father sneered at her. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t expect G.I. Joe to come with you tonight?”

She glanced over at Dutch. How had he found out about this meeting, anyway? She’d been so careful…

Her father was talking again. Giving sharp orders. “Tie them up and get them into the helicopter. Then take me someplace where I can dispose of their bodies. After I hurt them a lot.”

One of the commandos stepped forward and prodded her in the back with the barrel of his rifle. Dutch slapped the metal away and took a fist in the kidney for his trouble. He doubled over beside her with a moan of pain.

She bent down beside him, grabbing his arm to help him back up. “Don’t get yourself hurt on my account,” she murmured frantically. “I’m dead, anyway. Get yourself out of this alive. Please. Do it for me.”

“Sorry. No can do,” he murmured back.

“Shut up, you two,” Eduardo barked. “Get some rope on them and gag them, for God’s sake. I don’t need to listen to them whining at each other.”

She saw a flash of anger in Dutch’s icy, calculating, blue gaze, and then it was masked instantly. Thank God he had such iron self-control and wouldn’t rise to Eduardo’s bait. Not that it was going to do them a bit of good, now.

She stumbled alongside Dutch toward the helicopter, and tears began to run down her cheeks. She would have loved to grow old with him. Fill a home with laughter and children. His children. To have given him all the love in her heart. Drawn him out from behind his walls for good. But none of that was going to happen now. He was going to die because she’d led him into this trap. Again. She’d done it unwittingly this time, but the result was the same. Anguish speared through her.

“I’m so sorry,” she half sobbed to Dutch. “This is all my fault. You’re going to die because of me.”

Eduardo glared over his shoulder at her. “If you don’t shut up, I’m gonna make both of your deaths even slower and more painful. Got it?”

She glared back at her father and dashed at the cold tear tracks on her cheeks.

And then a loud sound behind them made her jump half out of her skin.

“Freeze!” someone shouted through a bullhorn. “Everyone drop your weapons!”

Another sound, a ripple that sounded like dozens of safeties being released on weapons. The black-clad mercenaries around them froze.

“Do it!” the amplified voice barked. “We have orders to shoot to kill.”

The four mercenaries bent over slowly and began to lower their weapons.

“Don’t you dare!” her father screamed. “You work for me! You take orders from me!”

One of the men retorted, “You ain’t payin’ me enough to sacrifice my hide for you, mister. I’m out of this fight.”

One by one the four mercenaries laid down their weapons. But Eduardo was having none of this peaceful-surrender stuff. He whipped around, yanking his pistol out from under his jacket. Julia watched in horror as his gaze met hers, only a few feet in front of her. The pistol pointed at her for an instant, and then it shifted. To her right. Toward Dutch. The bastard was going to inflict maximum pain on her before he went down, and he had realized that killing her wasn’t the way to do it. Killing Dutch was.

She opened her mouth to scream, then she leaped.

 

Dutch yelled as Julia jumped in front of him. To take a bullet for him. “No!”

He caught her in his arms as she fell. Wet warmth flowed over his hands and onto his lap. Oh God. She was hit!

“Doc! Medic!” he bellowed, oblivious to the shooting going on all around. Brass bullet casings rained around him, and dimly heard explosions rocked the ground, but none of it was real. Just Julia’s limp body in his arms, her life’s blood flowing out of her from entrance and exit wounds right over her heart.

He pressed both hands frantically over her wounds, willing the flow of hot blood to stop. But it was futile. Like trying to stem the flow of a mighty river with his bare hands. God, no. Not now! Not when they’d nearly made it. Not when he finally believed her. When he could finally let go and love her.

Feet pounded past him and weapons fired nearby. Members of the Blackjacks in hot pursuit of Eduardo and his two personal bodyguards as they hightailed it to the helicopter. And then a heavy thwocking noise. A rush of bitterly cold wind as the craft leaped into the air. And through it all, his one true love lay bleeding, dying in his arms.

Finally, Doc came. Pushed aside his hands. Slashed away fabric with a knife. Frantically inserted inflatable internal pressure bandages into the wounds and inflated the balloons inside her body. If they were lucky, the balloons would squeeze shut the bleeders.

Tom Foley’s voice over his shoulder. “How’s she looking?”

Doc’s voice was clipped, choppy, as he worked. “Entrance wound in the chest cavity. Exit wound in the upper back. Bleeding just above her heart. Pulse erratic and thready. Rapid loss of blood. Left lung collapsed. Going into shock.”

“What do you need?” the colonel bit out.

“Blood. Chopper. Trauma center ASAP.”

“Roger,” the colonel replied sharply. “Get on the horn, Howdy.”

“Already calling, sir.”

Dutch pushed her hair away from her pale forehead. “Hang on, baby. You’ve got to fight, honey. Don’t you die on me. I can’t lose you,” he begged her.

“Uh, Colonel, we’ve got a little problem,” Howdy said behind Dutch.

“Talk,” the colonel ordered.

“The police have one chopper close enough to respond right now. They can chase down Eduardo Ferrare or they can come here and pick up Julia. But they can’t do both.”

Dutch looked up at his boss. A plea for Julia’s life stuck in his throat. Instead, his eyes filmed over with moisture. Must be some sweat or something burning his eyes like that. He understood Colonel Foley’s duty. An international criminal who’d killed hundreds, if not thousands, of innocent people was getting away. Julia would have to make do with Doc’s best efforts.

Colonel Foley looked at Julia, then at him, his gaze hard.

“Please, sir,” Dutch finally managed to whisper. “She’s my life.”

The colonel looked up at Howdy. “Tell the police to get their chopper here as fast as they can. We’ve got an innocent down.”

“They’ll be here in ten minutes, sir,” Howdy reported.

“Make it five,” the colonel reported. “Tell the pilot to firewall that bird.”

Dutch sagged over Julia’s inert form and hot tears splashed down upon her porcelain pale cheeks.