Hard Night (11th Hour #3) Page 17

  She blinked, not believing the words that were coming out of his mouth because . . . this was not the friend she knew. The man who’d been kind to her when she’d first joined the team. Who’d shown her the ropes and who’d shared missions and whisky bottles with her. Whom she’d shared her shitty childhood with and learned about his in the foster system. Whom she’d thought had her back.

  Except he didn’t have her back, did he?

  “So respect and money meant more to you than our friendship?” she demanded. “It meant more than the team?”

  “Fuck the team,” he spat suddenly, anger crossing his face. “You want to know what the fucking team was really all about?” He said the word team like it was poison. “Cornwall told me they wanted me out. That mission was the last one I’d be on and then I’d be given my marching orders. After five fucking years of loyal service that was it.” There was rage in his eyes this time, not mere anger. “That was my military career over, Jo. And there was nothing else for me. The payout they were going to give me was pathetic and I . . .” He stopped, looking down at his empty glass. “I couldn’t go back to civilian life. I couldn’t. So when they offered me money and power and shit . . . just a little fucking respect, I couldn’t say no.” He glanced back up at her. “They were going to make it so that everyone died, but I told them no. That having an entire black ops team disappear would mean no one would ever stop hunting them. And then I showed them how I’d sabotage the mission so no one died or drew it back to them.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that because she’d had no idea they wanted him out. That made his anger understandable, but still, to go so far as to betray the whole team?

  “I didn’t know,” she said thickly. “Why would they want you out?”

  His expression twisted. “I have no fucking idea. They wouldn’t tell me. Yet another reason for me to give them a big fuck-you on the way out.”

  “Josh . . .” She stopped, not knowing what else to say.

  There was a heavy, loaded silence.

  “I didn’t want to hurt you, Jo,” he said at last. “And I’m sorry I did.”

  “I’m sorry too.” She lifted her glass, took another sip of the vodka. “They want you dead because of what you did.”

  “What made them choose you?”

  She stared at him, not hiding anything. “I volunteered.”

  For the first time, he smiled, a glimpse of the friend she remembered. “You must have been really fucking angry then.”

  The tightness in her chest eased, but she didn’t return the smile. “You could say that. Plus, I wanted a straight answer.”

  “Fair enough.” He drained his glass again and poured yet more vodka into it. “So now you’ve gotten it, what are you going to do?”

  She let out a breath. It had always been a question with only one answer. “How good are you at pretending to be dead?”

  He laughed. “Excellent, as it happens. No one knows my name here. I just go by ‘Smith.’”

  “Good. We might also need a doctor who can fake a good death certificate.” There was one thing though that niggled at her. One thing she was not happy with. “You going to stay working for them?”

  He knew who she meant. The smile faded from his face, something harder appearing, something colder. “Of course. They’ll never let me go anyway. And I’m okay with that.”

  “What you’re doing is not okay, though. Those guns will lead to innocent people dying, Josh. And that’s not what we set out to do.”

  He was in the unit to protect people, that’s what he’d told her. And she’d agreed. Though for her, it was more that there were only two places a killer could safely be and that was either in jail or in the military. Since she’d only been six years old when she’d picked up that gun and shot her mother’s abuser, jail was not an option for her. So the military it was. And she’d felt good there. She’d felt wanted. Safe. She liked feeling that she was protecting people too. Doing something good for a change.

  Josh looked down at his glass cradled in one large hand. “Innocent people will always get hurt,” he said quietly. “No matter what you do.”

  She hadn’t known what to make of that statement since it had a ring of something personal about it, and she was on the point of asking him what he meant, when his head lifted and he turned toward the door. “Someone’s coming.” His black gaze came to hers. “Were you followed?”

  She frowned. “No. I—”

  But she had no chance to say more because the door burst open and a couple of guys came in, weapons drawn already.

  Guys she knew. They were from her team.

  She made a grab for her Sig, on her feet in an instant. “Craig?” she demanded. “Vincent? What the fuck are you doing here?”

  But they weren’t looking at her. They were looking at Josh.

  “Out of the way, Lynn,” Craig said curtly. “We fucking knew you couldn’t do it. But don’t worry. We will.”

  She knew what had happened then. Cornwall hadn’t trusted she’d be able to complete the mission and so he’d sent a backup. To finish it.

  Josh upended the table with a crash, but she was already moving, knocking away Craig’s gun at the same time as she swept out a foot and took Vincent down. They weren’t expecting her to move on them and in another couple of seconds she had them both on the floor unconscious.

  “Shit,” Josh said from behind her. “You’ve gotten good.”

  “I was always good.” She turned around, her Sig in her hand. “Come on, we have to get out of here. They won’t be alone, I’m sure of it.”

  He’d come out from behind the table holding a Glock. His eyes were glittering and there was a half smile on his face. He liked a fight, did Josh.

  He moved over to her and she turned toward the door, but he wasn’t coming after her. He was standing above the two prone men on the ground, his Glock already pointed at Vincent’s face.

  Again, she moved without thought, punching him hard in the arm. His shot went wide, slamming into the wall. Luckily, what few bar patrons there had been were all gone now.

  “What the fuck did you do that for?” That darkness was back in his eyes.

  “You can’t kill them. Not like that.”

  “They were going to kill me.” A muscle jumped in the side of his jaw. “Besides, I can’t let them live, not now they know where I am.”

  Her heart clenched. “Don’t be stupid. You don’t want a couple of dead American soldiers here. Think of the consequences.”

  But that hard thing was in his expression, the hard thing that hadn’t been there before. “They’re black ops. No one’ll know they’re here anyway.” He lifted his gun. “And if I go for the face—”

  “No.” She reached out and gripped his arm, holding him still. “Don’t. They’re part of our team.”

  “Not my team.” His mouth pulled in a half snarl. “Not anymore.”

  “Josh—”

  “Take your hand off my arm, Jo.” His voice was flat and cold. “You led them here. If you want someone to blame, it’s yourself.”

  Pain sliced through her, unexpected and raw.

  She’d expect something like that from her mother, not from him, and it got to her, no matter how hard she tried not to let it.

  “Don’t put this on me,” she snapped. “I didn’t know Cornwall would send another team after me.”

  Josh lifted a shoulder. “Whatever, it’s time these two were out of the picture.” And he raised his Glock again.

  But she couldn’t let him do it, not shoot a couple of people in cold blood. So she made a grab for the gun.

  Only to have something come down hard on the back of her head, pain exploding around her. Blackness descended for a moment and when it cleared, she found herself on her knees, her head aching. Someone was holding her hands behind her back in an iron grip.

  In front of her was Josh, talking to someone in Spanish on his cell, his voice hard and cold. Of Craig and Vincent there was no sign, only a
pool of blood where they’d been lying.

  Oh shit. Josh had done it, hadn’t he? He’d killed them.

  And now someone was holding her and she was . . . a prisoner? What?

  The taste of vodka sat sharply in her mouth, the cheerful sounds of the Beach Boys that had been playing on the jukebox replaced by the Righteous Brothers and “Unchained Melody.”

  She looked at Josh as he spoke, and she understood enough to know that he was relaying information about her. That killing her was a mistake, that she’d make a good hostage.

  And she felt the knife slide deeper inside her, betrayal cutting her open.

  Your mother was right all along. There are no princes left in this world.

  Anger was a dark fire in her heart, burning hot and bright.

  She’d thought she’d found a friend, someone she could trust. Someone who understood her, but of course she hadn’t. All she’d found was yet another man who lied. Who’d sucked her in with kindness, then betrayed her.

  She’d been a fool to believe he cared about her.

  The grip on her wrists shifted minutely and that’s when she moved. Fast. Hard. No hesitation. Springing straight up from her knees, the back of her head striking someone’s jaw. There was a crack, a curse, and the grip on her wrists fell away. Her head rang like a bell, pain spider-webbing everywhere, but she ignored it, spinning around and kicking the man who’d been holding her, a foot direct to the chest. There was another guy standing next to him who had his knife out already and she took a couple of cuts to her arms as he lunged at her, but a roundhouse kick to the head brought him down easy enough. There was a gun wedged into his jeans in the small of his back and she was able to snatch it as he fell.

  “Jo, stop,” Josh said coldly.

  But she didn’t, spinning around, lifting the gun and aiming at the man she’d thought of as her friend.

  To find his Glock pointed directly at her heart.

  “You don’t want to do that.” There was no mercy in his eyes. Only that darkness. “I can’t let them find me. And that means I can’t let you go.”

  She wanted to ask him whether the friendship between them had all been a lie. Whether he’d cared anything about her at all. But that would be giving too much away and she’d already given enough away as it was.

  The Righteous Brothers sang about lonely rivers and hungry touches and needing love.

  But Joanna did the only thing she could.

  She pulled the trigger and shot him.

  Joanna shuddered and opened her eyes, her heart beating so fast she thought she might pass out. She didn’t want to remember the next part but it was there in her head all the same.

  His gun had gone off at the same time as she’d pulled her trigger, and she’d felt a tearing pain as the bullet took her in the shoulder. She’d gone down, gasping, lying there on the dirty floor of the bar as pain filled her entire world.

  Somehow she’d managed to drag herself over to where Josh lay. His eyes were closed, his T-shirt covered with blood, a hole in his chest where her bullet had hit him.

  He looked dead, but before she had time to check, she’d heard shouts from outside the bar. His friends, no doubt, and if they found her, they’d kill her.

  So she’d hauled herself to her feet and had escaped out the back, blood covering her, shock both physical and emotional like an icy ocean dragging at her.

  It was a successful mission and yet she’d failed in every way that mattered.

  She’d been responsible for the deaths of two of her own team, but that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part was that she’d picked up that gun and fired in anger.

  She’d shot her best friend and probably killed him, because he’d betrayed her.

  Because her mother had been right. She was a killer after all.

  She’d stumbled down the alley behind the bar, bleeding from the gunshot wound in her shoulder, from the knife cuts on her arms and from where they’d hit her on the back of her head, wondering why she was even bothering to run when there was no escape from the past that kept following her around wherever she went.

  No escape from the pain. It would always be there, deep in her soul.

  So she’d stopped running and had just lain down in the dirt.

  And when the blackness had come, she hadn’t fought. She’d simply let it take her . . .

  Someone was breathing very fast and very hard and she realized it was herself. Her cheeks were wet and she was clutching something in her hand, the edges digging into her skin.

  She opened her fingers and looked down to see the phoenix necklace that Jacob had given her sitting in her palm.

  Jesus, why was she holding that like a goddamn security blanket? It was just a stupid piece of jewelry.

  Yet she didn’t drop it. She kept it in her hand as she downed the rest of her whisky, a reminder of the six months when she’d been free.

  When she didn’t have the knowledge of who and what she was hanging over her head.

  When you found out that there maybe are still princes in this world all the same.

  No. Jacob Night wasn’t a prince. He might have taken care of her for six months, he might have given her jewelry, but that was all for a reason. He wanted her memories. He wanted to know what had happened to his brother.

  Well, she could tell him.

  She’d killed him.

  Something slipped down her cheek. Another fucking tear.

  A formless, dark fury twisted in her blood, but she pushed it away. Giving in to it was a mistake, hadn’t she learned that? No, it was better to ignore it. It was better to not feel anything at all.

  She poured herself another whisky and downed it. Drank a third glass for luck, then pushed herself off the couch.

  The phoenix necklace was still in her hand and she didn’t know what to do with it. The logical thing would have been to throw it in the trash, but she couldn’t bring herself to for some reason. So she put it around her neck instead.

  After a brief check at the windows to see if there was anyone lurking around outside—there wasn’t—she went over to the bed, pulled back the quilt, and got into it.

  The mattress was uncomfortable, and she thought she wouldn’t sleep, but it was three a.m. and she’d come to the end of her strength.

  Sleep pulled her down, black and gritty, and she went with it, falling into the old nightmare, of running down that alleyway with flames following her, a nameless dread pulling at her.

  Only to wake with a start, feeling something large and heavy and hot lying on her.

  Because she was disoriented from the whisky and the dreams, her heart leapt like a frightened rabbit and for a second she was Faith again, memory-less and tormented by nightmares. She opened her mouth to scream only to have a large, warm hand cover it, silencing her.

  “Caught you, sweet girl,” a deep, rough male voice murmured in her ear.

  CHAPTER 12

  Faith had gone still beneath him and he could feel the shudder that went through her. But he didn’t make any effort to shift his weight off her or release her.

  She was dangerous and he wasn’t going to let his guard down around her, not again. Not while Joanna was in charge.

  Silence filled the small motel room, but he was ready.

  Sure enough, she tried to twist out from under him, her body lithe and strong. He’d been expecting it and moved, shifting to let his superior weight pin her to the mattress and pressing down against her face with his hand so she had to let go or else break her own jaw.

  “We’ve done this before,” he said, not bothering to hide the amusement in his voice. “And I won then so I don’t know what makes you think you’re going to win now.”

  She didn’t reply, simply brought up her knee, but he was ready for that too and shifted to straddle her, trapping her thighs between his knees so she couldn’t move her legs.

  She wasn’t done then, either, rearing up to slam her forehead into his nose. Easy enough to avoid it though, then se
ttle his weight on her more completely, his fingers wound around her slender wrists and pressing them hard onto the pillow.

  She said nothing, her eyes dark as she stared up at him. There was no fear in her expression, but that lovely mouth was set and hard, and she was breathing very fast.

  Yeah, he’d lay money on the fact that she was furious, and no wonder. She probably thought she’d escaped him.

  He smiled, a savage kind of anticipation gripping him as her familiar scent wrapped around him, feminine musk and lavender, while her sweet heat soaked through the quilt and into him.

  Fuck, he wasn’t done with her. Not nearly done. And that wasn’t even including the memories he was going to drag from her. No, there was more, a lot more that he wanted.

  “You can run, but you can’t hide from me, Ms. Beasley. Or is that Ms. Lynn now?”

  “Get the fuck off me.” Her voice was hard and yet he didn’t miss the breathless quality to it.

  “Language, Ms. Beasley.” He smiled wider. “I’d tell you to make me but as I said, we’ve done that already. Though feel free to try again. As I recall, it involved you rubbing yourself all over my cock.”

  She bared her teeth at him. “Been there, done that. And it really wasn’t all that exciting the first time around.”

  He gave a rough laugh. “Bullshit. You loved it. I watched you come, remember? In fact, I’d go so far as to say that being under me is your favorite place to be.”

  “Faith might have. But I’m not her.” She’d relaxed, her muscles going loose. “How did you find me?”