Code Name: Disavowed (Jameson Force Security 8)

Kynan regards me with a mixture of frustration laced with a tiny bit of respect. After a moment of thoughtful consideration, his gaze slides to Bebe, and he nods.

She gives me the phone number, and I enter it into my phone, dismayed that my hand is shaking. Ladd and I had a moment right before he was taken where we’d reconnected in the way I’d always imagined. For the first time in years, my future actually appeared bright. My heart, which had been raw for so long, felt like a balm had been rubbed over it.

And that was jerked away from me by that son of a bitch Hugo Mejia.

He’d better hope I don’t find Ladd hurt, because if I do, Mejia is gonna die. And I don’t care if anyone calls that cold-blooded murder.

I hit the button to connect the call and put it on speaker for everyone to listen in. The crowd of agents draws closer.

The phone rings three times before a man answers. I recognize his deep voice as he answers. “Mejia.”

“You have something I want,” I say in English.

There’s a dark chuckle that comes through, and he answers in the same language. “Agent Greer Hathaway, CIA, currently disavowed. I’ve been wondering where you were hiding.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” I say smoothly. “I was standing right beside Ladd when your buffoons took him.”

There’s a moment of silence, then Mejia starts cursing—not at me but clearly at someone in the room with him. He wants to know why I wasn’t taken, and there is fear in the voice of the person who answers, insisting he’ll find out what happened. This is proof positive that wherever Ladd is, he’s not in Mejia’s clutches at this exact moment, so he’s most likely somewhere outside the city.

“I’m no longer a blond,” I advise him once he stops his tirade. “And I cut my hair. Still, your idiots should have given me a closer look. I was standing so close to one, he pushed me to the ground. Imagine that? He was so close to having me for you.”

More curses from Mejia as he promises retribution to someone in his immediate vicinity.

“Hugo,” I bark into the phone, and he goes silent. “I’ll come to you. I want you to release Ladd and take me instead.”

“Why would you exchange yourself for this man?” he asks suspiciously.

I’m not stupid enough to believe Mejia will ever exchange us. He’ll try to kill us both, but it’s the only way. “Because he was drawn into this by someone else.”

“That’s no matter to me,” he snarls angrily. “He rescued you. He will suffer.”

He’s not taking my bait, so I need to spell it out for him. “Don’t you want the person who actually killed your son?”

Mejia calls me a name in Spanish. It’s not nice.

I ignore it. “It’s me you want. Ladd was merely there to rescue me, and he did his job, but I’m the one who put a bullet in Diego’s head. Tell me where to go, and I’ll exchange myself for Ladd.”

Mejia growls low in his throat and in English says, “I’m going to fillet you from pubic bone to breastbone, and I’m going to let your guts fall onto the dirty floor while I watch you die.”

I glance around the room at the agents listening on the speaker, their eyes wide. Not that they haven’t dealt in their own ways with evil men and shocking gore, but Mejia’s voice is so sinister it seems to lower the temperature in the room.

“Tell me where to go,” I demand.

Mejia gives me an address and tells me to be there in an hour.

“You better not lay a hand on Ladd,” I warn him. “If he’s hurt, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” he sneers.

“I’ll kill you,” I say softly. “It’s a promise.”

Mejia disconnects, and I look to Kynan. “We better get suited up. I hope you have sufficient weapons.”

“I’ve got everything we need,” he replies fiercely.

CHAPTER 19

Ladd

The black bag pulled over my head is cinched tight around my throat, the drawstring pulled hard enough to make me gag. A gun’s pressed against the back of my skull, and I’m ordered harshly to lie still, which I’m not about to do. I figure if my death was the immediate goal, I would’ve been killed on the street. There’s no doubt in my mind I’m being taken to Mejia so he can do the honors, so it only makes sense that I fight my ass off right now.

With the bag over my head and three men in the rear of the van with me, I am powerless to stop them from zip-tying my hands behind my back, although I put up a damn good struggle even as the van lurches forward to speed away.

We travel for what seems about ten minutes before the van coasts to a stop and I hear the door open. I’m dragged out and dropped to the pavement before being hauled up and thrown into what I believe is the back of a truck. Once again, a gun is pressed against my body, this time against my spine, and I am ordered to be quiet and stay still.