Targeted

out of here alive if you don’t cooperate.”

When Vargas didn’t respond, he continued. “Let the girl go. You don’t have a way out of here. Even if you take her, you know we’ll be forced to shoot your plane down—but you and I both know you’ll never even get that far. We only want to know about your Middle Eastern contact.”

“I want immunity.”

Of course he did. Jack gritted his teeth. “It depends on your information.”

“I know names, times, dates, and meetings. You get it all as long as I get immunity.”

At that moment, the hangar door was pulled back. Jack didn’t bother turning around. He knew who it was. After disarming the outside security team, his guys had come in the back and through a ventilation shaft.

This would be Wesley coming in to wrap things up. His boss had heard everything and no doubt would deal with this scum.

“Who are you?” Vargas shouted.

Jack felt before he saw Wesley walk up next to him.

“My name is Wesley Burkhart. I’m deputy director of the NSA. You give us what we want, you’ll be granted complete immunity but you won’t be allowed to step foot in this country again. If you do, the agreement will be void. This is a onetime offer and if I don’t like what you have to say, I’ll hand you over to the DEA.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“You have my word and you have it in writing.” Wesley held up a piece of paper signed by the president.

Jack had known they’d have to deal with Vargas. He hadn’t realized Wesley had been this prepared. Though he should have expected it. The one thing he hated about this job was the politics. Intellectually he understood that sometimes it really was all about the bigger picture, but he hated making deals with someone like Vargas. Of course, Jack also knew that once they cut Vargas loose, his days would be numbered. Someone would kill him. A sniper, no doubt. The CIA, the NSA, it didn’t much matter who. The guy was a walking dead man.

Vargas shoved the girl away from him and laid his gun on the floor. He looked at the man still holding a gun on Johnson and bit out something in Spanish.

Jack figured out enough that Vargas threatened the guy’s family if he didn’t let the agent go.

Almost immediately the thug dropped the gun and put his hands behind his head.

“Sorry it had to work out like this,” Wesley said low enough for Jack’s ears only.

“It was inevitable.” Jack holstered his weapon and watched as the other men rounded up Vargas’s guys.

Wesley squeezed his shoulder. “Go check on Sophie. We can handle things from here.”

“Thanks.” Jack had turned to leave when Wesley stopped him.

“Check on her, but I want you to help interrogate Vargas.”

“No problem.” He hurried out of the building and borrowed one of the SUVs to drive down to their building.

The sensation humming through him right now was foreign. Different—better—than any rush he’d gotten before. Better than when he’d graduated from boot camp. He had no clue what the future held for them—hell, if they even had one—but he did know he was taking an extended vacation. If Sophie forgave him, they deserved a chance to see where this thing between them could lead. And some part of him he hadn’t known still existed was burning with hope that they might actually have a second chance.

There would be a ton of paperwork and days, maybe weeks, of questioning Vargas, but afterward, he was making some changes in his life. Starting with Sophie. Yeah, he’d lied, but they’d make it over that hurdle. He’d spend the rest of his damn life making it up to her if he had to. And he could think of plenty of ways to make it up to her.

As he pulled up to the building, one of his burner phones buzzed. Only the members of the team here had this number. Frowning at the unfamiliar number, he answered, “Yeah?”

“If you ever want to see your girlfriend alive again, you will do exactly as I say.”

“Who is this?”

“Thomas Chadwick. Now listen carefully. Sophie’s life depends on it.”

Chapter 21

Immunity: protection or exemption from something like prosecution.

Ten minutes earlier

Sophie stared at the live video feed and tried to digest the sight in front of her. Vargas had a gun to her best friend’s head.

She clutched the edge of the crappy fold-out table as she watched the horrifying events unfold on the computer screen. Pieces of wood were splintering off as she dug into the table. Hannah looked so scared it brought tears to her eyes. This whole thing was too surreal.

“Do you need a drink of water?” the man sitting next to her asked. He was one of the analysts.

Her eyes were glued to the screen. “No, thank you.”

Two more analysts sat behind them at another table. They’d been kind enough to set her up with her own computer so she could watch what was going on. Now she wished they hadn’t.

It was as if an invisible weight pressed down on her chest, making it impossible to breathe. In addition to Ronald’s video feed, which was now obstructed, a few of the field agents had worn cameras, giving her multiple views of the situation in the other warehouse.

As a wave of nausea swamped her, she abruptly stood. The chair scraped against the floor, echoing loudly in the large room. She turned to the man sitting next to her. “Bathroom?” Saying any more was impossible. If she attempted she was likely to puke on his shoes.

His eyes widened, but he pointed toward the back. “Small one near the back door.”

Her shoes made rapid clacks as she sprinted across the floor. Focusing on the sound was the only thing that prevented her from hurling. Breathe in and out. She repeated it over and over, trying to push down the bile.

Her best friend and the man she’d never stopped loving were in that warehouse. If something happened to either of them, it would kill her.

The bathroom door made a soft snicking sound as it closed. She barely made it before emptying the contents of her stomach into the toilet. Her entire body was chilled, but drops of sweat rolled down her neck and back.

When Sophie was finished, she closed the lid and flushed it. She forced herself to stand on wobbly knees. The stark white bathroom was cold and sterile, but at least the facilities worked. She turned on the cold water and rinsed out her mouth before splashing her face.

The icy sensation jolted through her. With shaking hands she grabbed a paper towel and patted her face dry. Clutching the side of the white sink, she managed to steady herself.

Over the past few days she’d surprised herself by keeping a level head. Maybe it was because Jack had been by her side the entire time. So contained and sure of himself. Now she felt anything but calm. His revelation last night had left her raw and shaken. Jack was Sam. Her first love. The only man she’d ever loved. She still couldn’t find the right words to say to him, but she wanted the chance to try. God help her, she prayed he was okay.

The door handle was cold as she grasped it. Clutching it, she pulled the door open and found herself staring down the barrel of a gun. She let out a terrified, instinctive yelp. Though she was ready to scream, she froze at the man’s words.

“Scream and die.” The analyst—Thomas something—roughly grabbed her arm and jerked her toward the lone back door. He kept glancing behind him, but his grip on the gun and her never wavered. “You’re coming with me.”

She seriously contemplated screaming but knew it would be a stupid move. He might shoot not only her, but