Cherry red gloss stained her lips. Plump, sinful, smiling lips. The longer he stared, the wider she smiled. She damn well knew the effect she had on men.
Her beauty was bold, arresting, and deliberately, garishly exaggerated. With her makeup painted on in aggressive strokes and her mermaid hair so shockingly red, he suspected she spent more time primping than firing a weapon.
From head to toe, she exuded a rockabilly vibe, blending old-school rock with Goth subculture, like a retro Russian pinup girl with a wartime air. She would look right at home sprawled on a Soviet tank, wearing nothing but garters and that ruby red smile. Seductive and freaky and one-hundred-percent artificial.
What did she look like beneath the hair dye and caked-on cosmetics? He trusted her beauty as much as he trusted her.
“While your eyes are bulging from your head,” she said in her thick accent, “the clock is ticking. You will come with me now.”
Someone had bugged Rylee’s house, sent a hitman after her, and killed three innocent people, and this woman was involved.
The plan had been to lure her here. Not get himself captured.
He laughed. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“You will, Cole Hartman.” She removed a large-screen tablet from the pack on her motorcycle and handed it to him. “Turn it on.”
His lungs caved in, and alarms rang in his head. He stared at the offered device, unable to move, crippled by memories.
Eleven years ago. Thurney Bridge. He’d faked his death, lost his girl, and destroyed his life—all because of a video on a phone.
He couldn’t guess what she would show him on that device, but whatever it was would force him to his knees.
No. Fuck no. Not this.
It couldn’t be a threat to Danni’s life. Not again. Trace swore she was safe.
The woman huffed with impatience and powered on the screen, displaying a paused video. “Push play.”
“Rot in hell.” He aimed the pistol at her face, inches from her painted lips.
She didn’t flinch or bat a fake eyelash. Instead, her mouth curved up. Her tongue poked out, and she slowly, fearlessly, fucking shamelessly licked the end of the barrel. All the way around the tip she went. Then she drew it between her filthy, lush, red lips.
His dick twitched, heating his anger past the boiling point. He yanked the gun away.
“We’re out of time, tigryenok.” She pouted. “Watch the video.”
She pressed play, and as much as he wanted to smack the device from her hand, he was still a soldier. A disciplined operative. Logic over emotion, his mind was in control.
The video showed a tarmac and private airplane hangar, the camera hovering from somewhere overhead. Before it zoomed in on the plane and the people boarding it, he knew exactly what he was looking at.
Matias, Camila, Josh, Amber, Kate, Martin, Ricky, Tula, and Vera. The nine Freedom Fighters who were on their way here.
His throat closed, panic spiking.
How had she obtained this footage? Whoever watched his friends hadn’t stopped them from boarding. He’d spoken with Matias after they were in the air. They were safe.
Unless another aircraft was following them.
She switched the screen, displaying a new video. “This is a live feed, streaming from an armed drone.”
The drone was in motion, high in a pitch-black sky, and locked onto a target. Equipped with night-vision cameras, it provided an undeniable view of another aircraft coasting at a distance ahead of it.
She tapped on the screen, controlling the drone’s camera and zooming in until the tail number on the aircraft’s cowling was legible.
He recognized the number instantly and knew it was registered to Matias’ plane.
An ache swelled in the back of his throat.
Van’s wife, Tiago’s wife, Liv’s husband, Lucia’s sister—every person on that aircraft was irreplaceable. They were family.
The team on the ground was listening through the radio, but they didn’t see what he saw. They didn’t know their loved ones were in danger.
Didn’t matter. They were his people, too.
Cold purpose numbed his chest as he slipped a hand into his pocket and discreetly muted the transmitter, preventing his friends from hearing what came next.
“What’s the ordnance on the drone?” he asked calmly.
“Air-to-air hellfire. Enough to take down your friend’s plane multiple times.”
Fire-and-forget missiles.
Fucking fuck!
The drone didn’t need to be in line-of-sight of Matias’ plane to hit it with those missiles. They were self-guided. But someone, sitting somewhere in a remote terminal, had to control the drone and pull the trigger.
“Where’s the operator?” he growled.
“You’ll meet him when we arrive.”
“What are the orders?”
“The operator will shoot down the plane at precisely twenty-three hundred.”
That was two hours away, which might’ve felt like plenty of time if she hadn’t mentioned a ticking clock more than once.
“Call it off.” He tightened his grip on the 9mm. “I’ll triple what they’re paying you.”
“I’m not the one holding the trigger.”
Which was why they sent her and not the operator.