Sudden Death

know what he had been thinking, just that she looked too good, too kissable, sitting in the co-pilot seat, a frown on her lips because she couldn’t use her cell phone, her bottom lip protruding in a slight pout that made him want to suck it. He’d planned to give her a quick peck-for luck or some such excuse-but when he’d tasted her, he wanted more. That she felt the same, that she opened to him and put her hand around his neck as if to keep him right there against her lips, made him want to lie to her, tell her the storm was imminent and directly in their path. Then he could take her to the back of the plane and make love to her.

He was halfway out of his seat, pulling her up with his hands, before he realized what he was doing. What he’d been thinking-or not thinking. He let go of her and sat down, his breathing labored. Her skin was flushed, her lips swollen and red, turning Special Agent Megan Elliott from a no-nonsense federal cop into a soft, warm, and incredibly sexy woman.

Her eyelids slowly opened and for a moment he pictured a siren, the way her green eyes had darkened, beckoning him, her lashes long and thick, her lips parted. His cock twitched and he shifted, but failed to alleviate the discomfort.

He coughed to mask his lust and focused on the gauges. “Buckle up, Blondie, it might get bumpy.”

Megan looked straight ahead as she obeyed, but he didn’t miss the confusion on her pretty face. He felt the exact same way.

Watch out, Kincaid. You like Blondie way too much.

Ethan waited to the left of the door. Waited. Waited.

She’d called fifteen minutes ago and said she was coming back with Hackett.

He wasn’t good at waiting. He was barely able to hold off the panic, the overwhelming sense to flee, that had gotten him captured in Afghanistan in the first place.

It was their fault! They left you!

They were coming back. Thornton had said they were coming back to get them. Thornton had kept whispering, “Shut up. Shut up.”

Ethan whimpered as if he was still trapped in the rocks. Something crawled over his foot. He looked down, saw the scorpion as if he were right back in the rocks. He shook his foot violently.

“You’re going to get us killed!”

He looked around the room, expecting to see Thornton. His heart raced. Where was he?

Voices. Oh, God no, he was going to be killed.

A woman’s laugh. Odd. What woman traveled with the Taliban? Waves crashed across the desert … Ocean waves. He wasn’t in Afghanistan.

Santa Barbara.

Ethan looked at the knife in his hand. He remembered what he had to do.

“Whoops!” A female voice said outside the cabin door. She giggled. “I dropped my key.”

“I got it,” a man said.

Ethan frowned, clutched the knife. What was she doing? Too much noise.

Shut up! Shut up! You’re going to get us killed.

He stayed flat against the wall, silent.

He had to trust her like he hadn’t trusted Thornton. Had he just listened, not panicking, not screwing up in the first place, he’d never have been held hostage. Thornton would never have died. Ethan couldn’t have done any of this without Karin. She was the brains. He knew it. It was all her plan, to help him get better. But he didn’t feel better. Instead he felt cold. He was so cold.

“Rose, God woman, you’re driving me crazy.”

Rose? Who was Rose? Was Ethan in the wrong room? No, this was his room. He’d taken it using his fake I.D. Ethan Rose. Rose. Rose.

The door opened.

“Lyle,” the woman said. “You’ve made my whole week worth it.”

“And we haven’t gotten to the good part.”

Lyle Hackett. It was him. Ethan’s target.

The door swung shut. In the dim light, Ethan saw her eyes staring at him over Hackett’s shoulder. She nodded as Hackett kissed her neck. Her head tilted back. She mouthed “now,” then wrapped her arms around the general’s neck.

Smooth and swift, with more confidence than anything else he had done in the last five years, Ethan brought the blade down hard across the back of General Lyle Hackett’s hamstrings.

Hackett screamed, but it was stifled when he fell to the floor.

“Gag him!” Ethan exclaimed. “You were supposed to drug him so he couldn’t make any noise!”

Hackett was dragging his body toward the sliding door that led to the beach. He was howling, a fierce, pain- filled bellow that could summon the devil himself.

Ethan grabbed a gag from his black bag and stepped toward Hackett. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. And something …

She had her gun out. The gun she’d told him she got rid of. That’s when he saw the shine of the plastic gloves as her hands gripped the weapon. And finally Ethan figured out what had seemed so wrong and out of place earlier.

She’d been wearing gloves the last time she was in the room.

She aimed the gun at Hackett.

“No,” Ethan said. “Not yet-”

She fired the gun twice, in Hackett’s back and his skull. Bang bang. His body convulsed, then was still. Blood seeped from under his body and spread wide, a dark burgundy as the thick beige carpet absorbed what seemed like a huge amount of blood. She must have hit his aorta. Ethan hadn’t ever seen that much blood, even when Thornton’s body had been riddled with bullets.

“What are you doing?” he cried. “Someone will hear.”

She pointed the gun at Ethan.

He stared at her. Her eyes looked different. Darker. Her disguise-she didn’t look like the woman he’d met two years ago, or the one he’d left Texas with two nights ago.

“You fucked up yesterday, Ethan. You killed without a plan.”

He shook his head. “This isn’t about yesterday.” The gloves. The gun. In a clear and terrifying flash of sanity, he knew. He’d been set up.

“Thanks for the lessons. I’ll put them to good use.”

He stepped toward her at the same time the fire alarms went off. Someone must have heard the gunshots and pulled the alarm. Ethan made a move for the gun, knife in hand. She dropped to her knees and now he was over her, knife raised in a stabbing motion.

“You fucking traitor!” The pain and rage and hurt overwhelmed him. He saw clearly, and in the brief moment before he sliced her he realized this had been her plan all along.

She pivoted at the last second and the knife went into her arm.

She grunted and scrambled away. Ethan went after her. She had to die. He wailed, a foreign and forlorn sound. He kicked her and she stumbled, then rolled onto her back, right next to the dead general. He brought the knife down again, ready to plunge it deep into her black heart.

“You. Set. Me. Up.”

He felt the searing pain before he heard the gunshot. His body jerked again. Again. He saw Thornton in front of him, his body full of holes, his brain a bloody pulp.

I’m sorry.

Ethan fell to his knees. Reached for his savior, his executioner. She crawled away. Then everything went black.

Finally.

The scent of death permeated the room, the blood cloying, the warm fragrance of gunpowder tickling her nose. She tossed the gun toward Ethan’s body and picked up the knife. Her arm stung, and she was furious that he’d gotten a jab at her. She shoved it into her bag.