Black Jack (Elite Ops 4)

“Looks slick in that perky little hat, huh?” Nik said. “Maybe we should send pictures to his wife.”

Travis snickered at the thought. Wild Card’s wife was a hell of a woman; he had no doubt she wouldn’t ooh and aah over how cute she thought he looked. It was enough to make a single man shudder in fear. Or in envy.

“Save the pictures,” Travis advised him. “Maybe we could throw darts at them instead.”

Nik’s amused grunt was a rough, broken sound, part amusement, part mockery. The man never laughed. He rarely smiled. But hell, Travis couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed himself.

“So what are we putting in our report to Live Wire?” Nik asked him as Wild Card helped Lilly and Angelica into the car.

What was he putting in his report to Jordan?

“She’s viable,” he stated.

“Really?” The skepticism in Nik’s voice wasn’t lost on Travis. “That’s not how I saw things, Black Jack.”

/> “Do you intend to report differently?” As the limo pulled away, Travis turned back to the mountain they now called Renegade.

Nik was the only one of the team that seemed to change code names like underwear. Jordan couldn’t seem to make his mind up about the big, blond-haired giant.

“Not me.” Nik shook his head firmly as he glanced back at Travis. “If I were you, I’d talk to Wild Card, though.” He nodded in the direction the limo had taken. “Make sure he has the same report. Because I’m betting ‘viable’ isn’t the word he would choose either.”

But it was the one he would use in his report, Travis promised himself. He’d talk to Wild Card. Tonight, he’d meet with Night Hawk. The game was about to begin. That meant “viable” had to be the word they all used. Or Night Hawk would pay the price.

Under no circumstances could the Elite Ops be revealed. The damage it could cause, the danger it could represent to them all, was too high.

If Lilly wasn’t considered viable and an asset to the operation, then she was a risk. And all risks had to be eliminated.

Immediately.

Chapter 3

lilly had thought there would be no way to find a motorcycle she hadn’t even known she owned. The idea of it intrigued her, though. The thought of riding wild and free with nothing but the wind surrounding her filled her with a sense of heady excitement.

Finding the damned thing would be the hard part. Or so she had thought.

Lilly didn’t have memories of the past six years, but she had a strong sense of intuition.

As she rode through Hagerstown in the rented cab, her gaze narrowed on street signs and buildings, Lilly found herself pulling free bits of memory. She could remember riding through town in the dark, but she didn’t remember why.

A certain street sign snagged a memory and she had the driver turn. A building pulled at a memory, a sense of familiarity struck her at an intersection, and soon she had the driver stopping in front of a lot filled with storage units.

She stared at the long lines of blue and white units. A flashback tore through her mind, causing a sudden shaft of pain to seize her temples.

It was here. She knew the unit number and the code to the lock. Her temples throbbed with pain, but she knew. The memory of it was there, a little hazy, but present.

Paying the driver, Lilly left the car and entered the lot, walking quickly to the farthest line of units. She could feel the security cameras trained on her as she kept her face turned carefully from them.

The storage unit she moved to was a simple ten by ten with a combination key and digital code lock.

Lilly bent to the edge of the bottom frame, moving aside the thick layer of gravel carefully until she revealed the cement pad beneath the unit. There, a small depression had been hollowed out of the cement. The key rested there, wrapped in a protective, heavy plastic case.

Within seconds she had the unit unlocked and the key returned to its resting place.

Opening the door slowly, Lilly reached in, flipped the light on, and entered the unit as she closed the door behind her.

There was more than a motorcycle sitting there. Lilly felt her throat tighten, her heart racing out of control. Perspiration dotted her forehead, and for a moment she swore she would become ill. On one wall a series of shelves had been hung. A wide black case sat in the middle of the shelf, surrounded by smaller ones.

Stepping to it, she opened it carefully, her breath catching at the sight of the weapon packed carefully in black foam.