Complicate (Deliver 9)

“You can make demands, offer bribes, or shoot me with that gun.” She shrugged. “The operator will not abort.”

“Unless?”

“Unless you and I arrive at his location by twenty-three hundred. No exceptions. If we hurry, we’ll make it there with five minutes to spare. I’ll even let you watch him call off the strike.”

His heart hammered, and adrenaline flooded his system. “Who ordered this?”

“No more questions.” She clicked her tongue. “Tick-tock.”

If he could get a message to Matias, maybe his pilot could evade the danger. But it was too risky. Matias’ luxury aircraft was designed for one purpose only. To transport people. It didn’t have the speed or artillery to engage an armed drone.

“I know what you’re thinking.” She stowed the tablet in the pack on her bike, her accent grating. “If your friends deviate from their course or try to escape the drone, it will fire.”

His jaw clenched, his options dwindling with the countdown of the clock.

He would kill for his friends.

But would he hand himself over and endure torture for them?

Would he die for them?

Eleven years ago, the activity deployed Cole overseas to complete a job. His last job. Upon his return, he intended to retire, marry his dancer, and live a normal, innocuous life in the suburbs.

The assignment was standard undercover work. He was sent to infiltrate the Romanian mafia, root out a leak of classified information, and return home. He expected to finish within a year.

But when he discovered the source of the leak was Marie Merivale, his trusted partner and ex-lover, his entire world imploded.

She’d taken a bribe from the mafia, betrayed Cole and her country for money, and because she knew he would figure it out, she made damn sure she was ready for him.

When he caught her in France on Thurney Bridge, they stood in a face-off, guns aimed. Until she held up her phone and showed him a live video of an assassin in Danni’s house.

There was no leverage more powerful than a threat to Danni’s life.

He had a split-second to make a decision. Let Marie kill him and save Danni. Or kill Marie and guarantee Danni’s death.

Lucky for him, Marie didn’t know about the high-tech, bullet-resistant clothing he wore under his jacket.

He let her shoot him.

The bullet hit his chest, fractured his ribs, and sent him crashing into the river below. When he didn’t surface, Marie believed he was dead. Everyone believed it. His unit, his employer, Trace, Danni…

Danni grieved his death for three years while he remained hidden, covertly hunting Marie.

The fucking bitch was a trained operative, same as him, and always a step ahead. But he had the element of surprise. She thought he was dead.

Maybe he should’ve killed her when he caught her, but she wasn’t a threat now. It’d taken him three years, but she was finally in prison, serving a life sentence without parole.

All of this flashed through his mind with a horrifying sense of déjà vu as he stared at the Russian woman. She’d shown him a video, threatened his friends, and now, in a race against the clock, he had a decision to make.

But this time, it wasn’t as simple as kill or be killed. Bullet-resistant clothing and a fake death wouldn’t get him out of this.

If he shot the woman, his friends would die. If he died, his friends would die. If he pretended to die, his friends would die.

The only way to save them was to go with her.

But if he did that, he faced gruesome, prolonged torture. They would methodically rip him apart until they extracted what they wanted from his mind.

Unless this was about revenge. In that case, torture would serve no purpose beyond their sick enjoyment. Electrocution, starvation, dismemberment—the ways a man could die were limited only by the imagination.

“It’s a two-hour ride.” She leaned a hip against the motorcycle and tapped her fingers on the seat. “We’re officially late.”

There was only one thing he could do in the face of such grim inevitability. He had to trick his brain into fighting for a sense of control and dignity.

Straightening his spine, he pulled in a slow, deep breath.

He wouldn’t die for his friends.

He would go with the woman and find a way to survive for them.

“I’m driving.” Everything inside him hardened as he regarded the motorcycle, its tires and suspension, and the spare helmet on the back. “I’ll get us there in time.”

“Leave your weapons and communication equipment.”

He ejected the round from his pistol and tossed it. The knife from his boot went next.

With razor-sharp focus, he felt nothing as he switched on the transmitter. “Come in, esé.”

“Go ahead,” Van said.

His entire team was tuned in, listening. Dammit, there was no easy way to say this and no time to mince his words. “Our aircraft has a drone on its tail. Armed with hellfire, it will shoot down our plane at twenty-three hundred unless I arrive at the designated place and time with this Russian cunt.”