“Huh. Had you figured for a Navy SEAL or Green Beret. A real Rambo type.”
“I get that a lot.”
The other man chuckled. “I’ll bet. You give off some serious ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibes, and you do it while smiling. Disturbing, Kelly.”
“Which is why I didn’t last as a Fed.” Blaze grinned. Bastian was an okay guy, friendly and funny. “Too much personality, and most of it is warped.”
Bastian laughed and started to reply, but the chirping of his cell phone cut off their banter. Removing it from his belt, he flipped it open. “Chevalier.” A pause. His eyes widened. “Fuck me! I’ll be right there.”
Blaze tensed, instantly alert as the other man snapped the phone shut and grabbed his gun from the holster on his hip. “What’s wrong?”
“Dietz fucking escaped! He’s heading for the roof and he’s got a hostage,” he shouted, pushing past Blaze.
“Shit! How’d the bastard get loose? Who’s the hostage?” Yanking his own gun from his holster, he sprinted after Bastian.
“Don’t know yet. Goddammit!”
They ran full out, legs pumping, taking the stairs at the end of the hall. Waiting for the service elevator to return would burn precious seconds. Blaze raced up the stairs after Bastian, the rush of adrenaline powerful enough to keep him high into the middle of next week.
But that feeling was nothing compared to the terror that awaited him when they burst out onto the roof to join several other agents, weapons drawn.
Dietz. Clasping Emma’s back against his front. Using her as a shield.
The muzzle of a gun jammed into her temple.
“Emma!” His scream was lost in the thunderous noise of the waiting helicopter. Dietz shoved her inside and dove in after as the skids lifted off the ground. “No!”
He ran, heedless of placing himself in the line of fire, of the barely audible shouts at his back. Too far. The distance was too damned far, and he wasn’t going to make it. But that didn’t stop him from launching himself at the closest skid as it rose and turned.
His body twisted as he arched through the air, arm stretching. His fingers grazed the metal and missed, and he fell hard. Lost his gun. Skidded across the rough gravelly surface of the roof, slammed to a stop against the hard barrier of the short wall — the only divider between him and falling several stories to his death.
He hardly cared. The only thing that mattered was the helicopter escaping with America’s number one enemy.
And with his woman.
Leaping to his feet, he lunged, only to be held back by several pairs of hands. “Motherfucker! I’ll kill you!” He fought them all as they sought to calm him.
“Agent Kelly, stand down!”
“Sir, stop! You’re too close to the edge!”
“Blaze, listen to me,” Michael said in his ear, voice calm. “The helicopter has a tracking device on board. We’ll find Dietz, and Emma, too.”
That softly spoken promise filtered through his rage to the rational part of his brain. For several long moments he stood still, breathing hard. Finally he nodded and shook off the hands holding him, which seemed to let go reluctantly.
“You’re damned right we will. And you’d better pray you get to Dietz first, because if I do… there won’t be anything left of the son of a bitch to take to trial.”
Retrieving his gun, he spun and strode away. Wisely, no one tried to stop him.
Five
Emma hated riding in a helicopter. On the handful of occasions she’d had to climb aboard, it had been on scheduled SHADO business. She’d been able to calm herself beforehand, find her center.
“I need a sack or something,” she informed her captor as the wretched aircraft banked sharply to the south.
“Excuse me?” He gave her a haughty look, face still flushed from the narrow escape.
“A sack. Now.” She panted, trying to stave off the nausea, his weapon the last thing on her mind. After all, if this thing crashed, the stupid gun wouldn’t be a factor any longer.
“What for?”
“I’m going to be sick, asshole.”
“No, you’re not,” he replied in a reasonable tone. Almost conversational.
“Yeah? Why not?”
“Because if you do, you will move beyond merely ceasing to be useful to being a disgusting waste of space. And it’s a long, long way down. Do we understand each other?”
Her blood froze. He might’ve been commenting on what to eat for dinner, he showed so little emotion. She had no doubt whatsoever that he’d push her out.
“Yes,” she croaked.
The threat of learning to fly without feathers did the trick, taking her mind off her stomach. Determined to keep herself distracted, she studied Dietz’s profile. The man appeared so normal, unassuming. He was physically attractive in an “everyman” sort of way, with sandy hair and strong features. He was nobody’s idea of an archvillain who wanted to assist terrorists in blowing up the world.
You had Lex Luthor, the Joker, and the Green Goblin.
And then you had this guy — Corporate Psycho Ken.
He met her stare, one brow lifting. “Something on your mind, Agent Foster?”
Her name on his lips gave her a nasty start. She hadn’t thought Dietz the type of man to take much note of the worker bees, beyond making certain they did their job. Obviously she was wrong. Errors in judgment like that one could get her killed.
“Yes. Since I may not get another chance, I’d like to know what motivates an intelligent, successful man like you, a man who had it all, to do this. Why betray your country?”
“Why else? Money, Agent Foster. Tens of millions, mine for the pillaging. I have the means and the contacts, so why not?”
He’d kill her this instant if he knew she’d read the file on those contacts, much less the assignment she’d agreed to undertake. She pushed the thought aside and concentrated on the nuances of his speech, his expression.
For a split second, something very much like remorse resonated in his words, flashed in his eyes. A killer with a conscience? Well, most bad guys were human at the core. Weren’t they?
“I think there’s more to your reasons than money,” she said, taking a stab in the dark. “Something more personal.”
His laugh was cold. “Do tell. I’d love to hear your theory on the intricate workings of the criminal mind. Should be quite informative.”
“I’m not an expert on what makes you guys tick. That’s your field,” she said pointedly. “It just seems like there are any number of ways — easier ways — to illegally earn a vast fortune. Ways that, while distasteful and even morally degrading, don’t involve betraying the American people and compromising their safety to the point of annihilation. Am I wrong?”
“No, you’re correct in your generalization.” His grudging admiration, and something more heated that shone in his eyes, gave her the shivers. And not in a good way.
“Then my thinking is that something of this magnitude has roots in vengeance as much as money. Not
