Mission: Her Security: Team 52 #3, page 3
The door flew open.
“Nuh-uh.” Mr. Cool grabbed her, yanking her out of the room. He flung her and she went flying, falling onto her hands and knees. Cool strode toward her, his handsome face twisted, aggression in every line of his body.
Kinsey jumped up. She was done being the victim.
She’d trained with Team 52. Blair had showed her plenty of moves. Letting that training take over, Kinsey kicked out. She hit Mr. Cool between the legs and he froze, making a pained sound. When he dropped to his knees, she followed with a chop to the back of the head. It reverberated up her arm.
He dropped into the fetal position, groaning.
Mr. Short appeared. “What the fuck?”
Before she could think what to do next, he backhanded her. She flew to the side, her shoulder slamming into the wall. Ow.
He grabbed a bunch of her shirt and dragged her back to the empty bedroom where she’d been before. He wasn’t gentle when he re-cuffed her to the exposed pipes.
“Bitch.” Mr. Cool was back on his feet, doubled over a little. His lips were tight with pain, and he wasn’t so cool now.
“Forget it,” Short said. “You got bested by a girl. Best to pretend it didn’t happen, man.”
Cool lifted his chin, his jaw working. “Lucky I’m in a good mood, seeing as your people are splattered across the desert.” He laughed.
The sound grated and Mr. Short joined in. They slammed the door closed, and Kinsey wrapped her arms around herself and curled up in despair.
Chapter Three
Smith opened his eyes and shook his head to clear it. It throbbed. Fuck.
He was still strapped to his seat, his shoulders and head aching. He moved, pain shooting through him again, and he groaned.
Shoving down the pain, he looked around, taking in the shattered ruins of the X8. Air whistled through his teeth. Fuck. They’d crashed.
He heard a deep groan nearby. “Axel?”
Unclipping his harness, Smith staggered to his feet. He wrenched some wreckage out of the way. He saw Axel’s black-clad legs protruding from under a seat. He pulled the seat off his teammate and helped the other man up.
Axel groaned and pressed a hand to his bleeding head. “I know I must be alive. If I was dead, I wouldn’t hurt this much.”
Smith spotted Lachlan still in his seat. He wasn’t moving. Damn. Smith glanced at the back of the X8. Callie was sprawled on the floor.
“Help Callie.”
Axel nodded and moved. Smith pressed his fingers to Lachlan’s throat. The man’s pulse was strong and steady. He was alive, but unconscious.
Smith spun to the front of the aircraft. There was too much debris blocking the way to the cockpit. “Blair? Can you hear me?”
No response.
He tugged at the torn metal, but it was wedged in place. “Blair!” Smith touched his ear. “Blair? Brooks? You there?” He waited, hearing deafening silence. “Brooks?”
Nothing.
Smith hoped to hell that Blair was okay. He knew she was as tough as titanium, but they’d crashed hard.
“Callie’s got a bump on the back of her head, but she seems okay.” Axel had the unconscious Callie slumped in a seat. He was gripping the back of one chair, clutching his CXM.
“Lachlan’s out too. No word from Blair and we’ve got no comms.”
“We got shot down.” Axel’s tone was filled with rage.
Suddenly, Smith heard the sound of a vehicle outside. He and Axel both crouched.
“Here.” Axel tossed Smith’s CXM at him.
They both whipped their rifles up.
Through a gash in the side of the aircraft, Smith caught a glimpse of a desert dune buggy and a dirt bike, bouncing toward them across the rocky landscape.
“Good Samaritans?” Axel murmured.
Smith’s muscles tensed. “I’m guessing no.”
The vehicles moved to the back of the X8, out of sight. The engines cut off, and a second later, they heard voices.
Smith pointed and Axel nodded. They both shifted closer to the tear in the metal, clutching their weapons.
They waited. Smith had hunting in his blood. He’d learned the importance of being patient as a kid at his dad’s knee.
“Over here, Benny,” a man said.
“On it. Let’s do this. Enzo’s waiting for us to call when it’s done.”
There were a few minutes of silence, and then Smith heard a banging. Metal striking metal. He tensed. Fuckers.
“They’re opening the aircraft storage compartment.”
Axel’s eyes widened and he muttered a curse in Spanish.
These had to be the assholes who brought them down. They were after the artifact.
The assholes who had Kinsey.
Smith pointed to Axel and then to the side door of the X8. He gave another set of hand signals. Axel’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. Then Axel gripped the side door.
Smith held up his hand, counting down with his fingers. Then Axel yanked the door open.
It didn’t open all the way, but the gap was enough for Smith to slide through. He whipped his weapon up and opened fire.
“Fuck!” a deep voice shouted.
Smith watched the two men dive out of view, hidden by the wreck of the X8. Smith advanced, still firing.
Suddenly, bullets whizzed back at him. He dodged, pressing his back to the side of the aircraft.
He’d gotten a good look at them. Two men in jeans and ball caps, with scarves tied over the bottom half of their faces.
There was nothing about their appearance to give away who they were.
But they had Kinsey. These were the fuckers who’d taken her, hurt her. He wasn’t letting them get away.
He glanced over and saw the dune buggy and motorbike parked not too far away. His gaze fell on the RPG launcher resting in the back of the buggy.
Smith’s lips firmed. Bastards had signed their own death warrants. But he couldn’t kill them until he knew where Kinsey was.
More gunfire broke out, and Smith pulled back. He risked a glance around the X8 and saw the two men racing toward their vehicles.
The artifact box was held between them as they fired random, wild shots behind them.
Smith fired a few shots, careful not to hit them. Axel appeared beside him, raising his CXM.
“No,” Smith said. “Let them go.”
“What?” Axel looked at him askance.
“We need them to lead us to Kinsey. You stay here, take care of the others, and wait for help.”
Smith strode forward.
“Smith, this is not a great plan—”
“Going to get Kinsey back.”
He saw the two men toss the box in the dune buggy. He fired a few more shots in their direction, keeping the pressure on. When one of the men broke away, heading for the dirt bike, Smith increased fire, peppering the ground around him with bullets.
The man ducked, abandoned the bike, and ran back towards the buggy. The other man was already pulling away, and the second man dived into the passenger seat.
The buggy sped off, fishtailing in the sand.
Smith sprinted toward the bike. He swung his rifle onto his shoulder and jumped on. A second later, he started the engine, revved it, and sped off.
He gunned the bike, swerving around several scraggly bushes. Ahead, the buggy sent up a cloud of dust.
Smith drove over a small mound of dirt, and the bike launched into the air. He landed, just as bullets whizzed past him. He swerved to the side and started zig-zagging.
When he glanced up, he saw the passenger was holding a gun, firing back at him with one hand. Thankfully, his shots were going wild.
Then suddenly, the man shoved something out of the back of the buggy.
The RPG launcher.
The grenade launcher bounced on the rocky ground and Smith dodged.
His bike skidded out of the control. Gritting his teeth, he fought to keep from crashing. He bounced over some shrubs, his bone rattling. Gunning the engine, he managed to recover.
More bullets flew past him and he leaned low. He swerved again and pulled his SIG out. He held the bike as steady as he could, aimed, and fired.
The man ducked down.
Missed. Smith blew out a breath. The man popped back up, firing again.
Smith carefully took aim. Bam.
The man jerked, then flew out the side of the buggy. He hit the desert floor, tumbling over and over.
Smith dodged his body.
The driver didn’t stop for his comrade. He kept speeding across the desert landscape that was growing rockier and rockier. Suddenly, the buggy made a sharp turn, and that’s when Smith realized they were following a faint track.
He kept following the vehicle, using the dust cloud for cover as much as he could. Minutes ticked by, and then Smith spotted the cabin in the distance. It wasn’t much, and he’d seen rough hunting cabins in the mountains of Colorado.
He slowed down, letting the buggy pull ahead. He watched the vehicle speed up to the cabin and skid to a stop in front of it. The driver jumped out, firing in Smith’s direction.
Damn. Smith swerved. The shots kept coming, and a bullet clipped him, a searing pain on his bicep.
He swung the bike wide, leaning over the handlebars. He circled around the other side of the cabin. There was a back door.
Then he stopped the bike, leaped off, and swung his CXM off his shoulder.
Kinsey had to be inside.
I’m coming, Kinsey.
He had to get in there before they used her as a shield or formulated a plan. He strode up to the door of the cabin, lifted a boot, and kicked the door open.
The roar of gunfire.
Bullets slammed into the door. Smith swiveled and fired.
A man went down with a scream.
More gunfire. Smith dived across the wooden floor, rolled, and came up firing. But his opponent had dived behind a ratty-assed couch.
Smith yanked a smoke grenade off his belt, activated it, and lobbed it across the room.
Bang. There was a hiss as smoke filled the space.
Smith held his breath and backed up to the front door. He stared down his scope.
He heard coughing, then quiet. The smoke started to dissipate.
Smith strode in.
The man launched himself at Smith. He hit Smith hard, grabbing him around the waist. The bastard was lean, but strong. Smith grunted.
They spun, slamming into the wall with a crack.
The man’s eyes were red, and he reared back, throwing a sloppy punch.
Fueled by anger, Smith crashed his fist into the man’s gut. With a groan, the man bent over. Smith grabbed him and rammed his head into the wall. The man made an agonized sound, and Smith spun him around, dragging him onto his toes.
“Where is she?” he growled.
The man pressed his lips together.
Smith shook him. “Where. Is. She?”
The man tried to kick Smith, and the sliver of patience Smith was holding onto evaporated. He rammed the man into the wall again.
“You start talking, or I’ll take my time breaking every bone in your body.”
The man’s gaze darted to a nearby doorway.
Smith shoved him backward and followed through with a front kick. His boot struck the man’s chest and he flew back, hit the couch, and tipped over it. When he landed in a heap on the floor, he didn’t get back up.
Scanning the cabin, Smith searched for any more attackers. He didn’t see or sense anyone. He circled the couch and yanked the man off the floor.
The asshole struggled clumsily, but Smith yanked out a zip tie and bound him. He strode over to the first man he’d shot. The man was slumped against the wall, blood oozing from his chest. He rolled pained eyes at Smith but didn’t move. Smith zip-tied him as well.
He dragged both men to the ugly kitchen and opened the cupboard under the sink. He then tied them to the pipes beneath.
The roar of an engine sounded outside. With a curse, Smith strode to the window. He saw the dune buggy speeding away, a giant plume of dust behind it.
Fuck. One of them had gotten away with the decoy artifact.
But Smith didn’t care. There was something else far more important to him still here in the cabin.
He spun, facing the door to what he guessed was a bedroom.
Mouth dry, not sure what he was going to find, he strode toward it.
Chapter Four
Kinsey sat curled on the floor, her free hand digging into her thigh. Her arm was numb from being cuffed for so long, but all she could do was listen to the shouts and gunfire outside the door.
Then everything went silent.
She swallowed, feeling like she had a rock in her throat.
She had no idea what was happening. Had her kidnappers started fighting amongst themselves? Her heart knocked painfully in her chest. She wanted to believe it was Team 52. That they weren’t really dead. She closed her eyes and imagined Smith’s rugged face. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
The door handle rattled and the door swung open.
Kinsey sucked in a breath, blinking at the light. Her darn swollen eye didn’t help.
She heard a harsh inhalation of breath and she stiffened. Then she felt a big hand on her shoulder and couldn’t control her flinch.
No. Her survival instincts kicked in. She was going to fight. She was going to survive.
She tried to kick her attacker, catching him in the calf. She heard a grunt. She knew she couldn’t have done much damage, but it felt good.
“Kinsey.”
She froze and tipped her head, blinking her one good eye.
Smith was standing there, dressed all in black and covered in a layer of desert dust.
He was breathing and very much alive.
“Smith.” Her voice broke.
“I’m here, babe.” He crouched down in front of her. His gaze ran over her face, and his lips pressed together. She watched a muscle tick in his jaw. He looked like he was about to lose it.
“Smith,” she said again, desperate to know that he wasn’t a hallucination.
He pulled something out of his vest and she saw some sort of key in his long fingers. He reached for the handcuffs.
“How are you doing?” His voice was a deep rumble.
“Oh, you know, a little tied up.”
Her joke fell flat, and he didn’t smile. Not that Smith smiled that much, anyway.
A second later, her arms were free. Kinsey cried out as pins and needles exploded in her limbs. He took one arm in his big hands, rubbing gently.
She was free.
A sob welled and she moved, slamming into his chest. She almost knocked him over as she burrowed against him.
Big, strong arms closed around her.
“I’ve got you.”
Her breath hitched. “You came for me.”
“Yeah.”
“You came,” she whispered again.
“Yeah, Kinsey. You’re part of the team.” He tugged her closer. “Gonna make sure you’re safe and secure.”
“They…they told me they shot the X8 down, and that you were all dead.”
He paused. “They did bring the X8 down in the desert.”
She sucked in a horrified breath.
“I left Axel with the others. I know Lachlan and Callie were alive, just unconscious. I came after you.”
Kinsey pulled in a shaky breath, her fingers gripping his vest. She felt the heat pumping off his big body. “Seth? Blair?”
“Seth’s still on his honeymoon. I didn’t have time to check on Blair before I came for you. But she’s fucking tough. She’ll be fine.”
He’d come after her.
Something inside Kinsey steadied. She was alive. She’d be okay.
She knew that bruises faded, cuts mended, and wounds healed. She’d unfortunately learned that the hard way from her drunken daddy’s slaps, and her mama’s backhands.
She was Kinsey Mae Beck. She knew how to pull herself up by her bootstraps, and make lemons into lemonade.
“You aren’t going to cry, are you?” Smith sounded uncomfortable.
She gave a watery laugh. “You just survived a plane crash and took down all these bad guys single-handedly, and you’re afraid of a few tears?”
“Yeah.”
She looked up and smiled up at him. “I’ll try not to cry.”
His big hand stroked over her swollen eye so gently. Anger burned in his eyes.
“I’m okay,” she said. “It’ll heal.”
He moved, sweeping her up into his arms. God, he was so strong. As he carried her out the door, she felt so incredibly tiny.
In the main room, she saw him scowl at the two men tied up in the kitchen. Kinsey glared at them.
“I’ll be back for you,” Smith growled.
When they stepped outside, Kinsey blinked at the bright sunshine. He carried her over to a motorbike, and set her down. She watched as he swung one long leg over the bike, then he gripped her hand and tugged her closer.
“Climb on,” he told her.
Gingerly, she climbed on behind him, settling in.
“Hold tight.” He pulled her arms around his middle.
Kinsey leaned in. God, he was so warm and so hard. She pressed her cheek to his back, and heard the bike’s engine rumble to life.
Then they pulled off, speeding away into the desert.
She closed her eyes, feeling the wind on her face. It was like a dream. Sun on her skin and Smith’s big body pressed up against hers.
After several days of hell, Kinsey finally felt safe.
Safer than she’d ever felt before.
* * *
Smith negotiated the desert track carefully, Kinsey’s slight weight pressed against his back. He didn’t want to do anything to risk her coming off the bike. She’d been hurt enough.
The image of her swollen, bruised face ricocheted around his head. As he stared ahead, he felt equal parts pissed and relieved.
She was alive, but she was bruised to hell. A part of him wanted to go back and beat up those bastards some more.
Finally, the X8 came into view, and he watched a Black Hawk helicopter sweep overhead. As they got closer, he saw another, larger helicopter parked by the X8. This was a heavy-lift helicopter—a Sikorsky CH-53K King Stallion. He knew they’d use it to take the wreck of the X8 back to base.
