Chapter 17

Chapter

Seventeen

PATCH

F ifteen minutes after they cleared the guards, Locke and Remy removed the target from his home. Cleanup would take too long and setting a fire would likely create more problems. There were too many trees around the dwelling.

"Leave it," I said after studying the scene via their cameras. "Let's tap their lines and I'll pull a trace on any calls they get." Pregnant silence greeted the statement. "Yes, I'm aware it's fishing, but it doesn't mean we won't get a nibble."

They didn't argue, but I did catch Remy's thoughtful gaze in Locke's camera before they split up to tap the cell phones and the land lines. They were gloved and Locke wore a tight cap. We didn't want to leave any DNA traces. Remy, on the other hand, didn't have to worry about his nonexistent hair, but he'd put on a dark cap too.

As for the target himself, one William Henry Mackintosh, he was still alive though currently unconscious and bagged for transport. The original plan had been to question him there, but cauterizing the wound where his hand used to be resulted in him screaming until he passed out.

The man had lungs.

Oddly enough, the vague pangs of guilt these types of jobs used to leave me experiencing were absent at the moment. Mackintosh was linked to Section Five. He was the architect. At least, that was the information we'd retrieved.

Memorizing a list of key names from the data I'd pulled helped identify him when the guys asked for a list of people to kill. No doubt existed within me. Mackintosh would not be walking away from any of this.

The only decision he was in control of was how fast or slow he got to die. If he answered our questions directly and without bullshit, he'd get a quick death. That said, I didn't expect him to cooperate. At least not easily.

"Found you a present," Locke said quietly and I flicked a glance to his screen. The door he'd opened accessed a computer room.

"Oh, you delightfully sexy man," I said with a slow smile. "Do you still have my thumb drives?"

"I do. Which one do you want me to plug in? Red? Or blue?"

"Red first. Download all the encrypted files. Then blue, that will leave them with nothing to work with." I checked my watch. "You have about seven minutes left on the clock. If you can't get it all downloaded by then—blow that room."

It made me a bit sick to think of the lost information, but we had priorities. Mine included getting my guys out of this and in one piece. They were already taking all the risks. I didn't doubt they weren't the best at what they did, I'd been with them on far too many jobs to question their skill or their talents.

I also valued them for far more than their professions. At the six minute mark Locke, along with Remy, left the house behind, their package in tow. They would hike back down to their car, the location staging amended for the "attack" they'd suffered. What clues had been planted would detour, at least for a while, whatever trackers were sent out.

Hopefully by the time they had anything actionable, we'd already have the answers we needed. I tracked the guys all the way back to the SUV. Once they had Mackintosh loaded and got on the road to return, I'd let myself relax then. As it was, adrenaline still sang in my veins.

"It went smoothly then?" McQuade asked and I glanced to where he leaned against the wall, arms folded. For the majority of the operation, he'd drifted in and out, followed the conversations and brought me coffee.

The reminder had me glancing at the now fresh cup steaming on the table next to me along with a sandwich. Right… "I promised to eat as soon as extraction was done."

One corner of his mouth lifted in a hint of a smile. For all his roughness, McQuade was far gentler than he let anyone else see. I had no idea why I was so special, but I appreciated it. He was a big guy, the copper in his beard seemed almost wiry in the light, though there was a hint of silver and white peppered through the darker shades.

Raising my hand like I was a scout, I said, "I know, I promised. I will dive right in as soon as?—"

"Transport secure," Remy said in his beautiful voice. It was almost like receiving the most practical of roses, distinct yet sweet. "Package in the boot and we're on the road. ETA Ninety minutes. Confirm?"

I pressed down a button on the keyboard. "Confirmed. Drive safe." Ending the transmission, I leaned back. Now, all I had to do was keep a lookout for their approach.

Pushing away from the wall, McQuade placed the sandwich and coffee in front of me after nudging the keyboard out of the way. I could still reach it, but his priorities were clear.

"Pushy," I reminded him.

"I can cut the sandwich up into triangles if you want," was his only response. Though I didn't miss the flash of humor in his eyes.

Shaking my head, I wrinkled my nose at him. "I said I would eat." Then to make a point, I picked up the sandwich and took a healthy bite of it. He nodded and then retreated from my "office" space.

I washed down the bite with a long swallow of coffee. The ham and cheese was probably a simple sandwich, but it was also delightful. The cheddar was the perfect sharpness and the ham a bit salty. Still, I don't think I'd eaten a kinder meal before. The coffee, however, was the best.

Eyes closed, I took a deeper drink of it. Sweet, foamy, and rich, it enhanced the bite of the coffee's bitterness at the end. Smooth with a kick, just the way I liked it. When my eyes opened again, McQuade had come back with his own sandwich and coffee.

Instead of standing over me, he pulled up a chair and took the spot opposite my side desk. It let us look at each other while we ate. "I thought about chips," he said. "Then I remembered when you dumped the Pringles crumbs during that firefight."

Pringles crumbs?

I paused with my sandwich halfway back to my mouth. Firefight? Pringles… Surprise flickered through me. The moment the memory presented itself, however, I was glad I hadn't actually taken the bite, I would have choked.

"Thought I'd forgotten that," McQuade teased. "Hadn't you?"

"No, I just—I haven't thought about that in a long time." Like years, really. "That was our first year working together. Why do you remember it?"

"You cursed so colorfully and creatively," McQuade said with a shrug, the amusement still thick in his voice. "You also called me a McQuackadoodle and that lingered."

My face flamed at the reminder. Now that I had forgotten. "You were laughing at me." Not that it was much of a defense.

"Sugar Bear," he deadpanned. "I was taking fire from three different locations and I still needed to finish the retrieval. I didn't much care if your keyboard crunched when you typed and you were throwing out directions amidst all the cussing."

Nose wrinkled, I gave him a helpless little shrug. "To be fair, I was more worried about losing connection with the keyboard or worse, losing sight on you in the middle of that fight. Both could have gotten you killed."

It was the first time I'd experienced genuine fear for one of my contractors. I took a bite before I let even more information out.

"I'm not complaining, Sugar Bear," he said, putting a hand on my wrist as I chewed. The light touch trapped me more effectively than a shackle.

Of all of them, McQuade didn't shy away from touch, or invading my space, or even teasing me about my memory. It was all normalized around him. They were all gentle and caring in their own ways. I loved Remy's cultured gentleness and Locke's sophisticated teasing, but I also craved McQuade's blunt effortlessness.

"I was afraid," I told him, confessing the long kept secret. "I hadn't been doing the operator job for long. You were one of my first long-term clients and I thought…you might end up being one of my last if I got you killed."

I set the sandwich down with my free hand, then retrieved my coffee. Then I turned my wrist under his hand and let the weight of his palm settle against mine.

"The ambush hit when I least expected it—I know now that makes sense and I look for those types of traps, but… I hadn't really seen that coming then." They'd caught him in a crossfire while trying to close in on him from behind.

The only available exit for him meant going right between the sides firing at him. He'd have been exposed, the chance for success? Minimal. Every moment he lingered there, the greater the threat to loss of limb if not his life.

"You didn't show our panic." The assurance didn't help now , but it did make me smile. "You were so fierce and your cussing so damn heated that it took my mind off the situation."

"Liar," I said, though the softness in my voice robbed it of any sting. "You never stop thinking." Sipping the coffee, I enjoyed the flash of surprise flickering through his expression before he shook his head.

"I think you vastly underestimate your appeal, Sugar Bear. You also didn't stop thinking. In fact, you were the one who then decided to blow that transformer a block over."

A kernel of pride fluttered through me and popped like it had just hit the hot oil. "I gambled."

"You won," he countered. "What makes you a good operator, what has always made you the best at what you do, is that you don't stop thinking. You look for solutions that may only have a ten percent chance of working, the bet the odds no one else will see it coming."

The compliments buoyed me. "You're just biased."

McQuade laughed. The sound came right up from his belly and seemed to shake his whole body. It was a vibrant, deep, and masculine sound that threatened to sweep me away.

"Considering how many times that brain of yours has saved my ass? Yes, I'm one hundred percent biased. You are the goddamn best at what you do, Sugar Bear. You got it, you can flaunt it."

I wanted to roll my eyes and shake it all off. The level of pride in his statements, and the embrace each one offered just added to my embarrassment. At the same time, I treasured every single word.

"Tell me the truth… how many operators did you have before me?" I didn't want to fish for compliments, but I was genuinely curious. Another swallow of coffee and I tapped two keys on the keyboard to switch the monitors to exterior cameras. A couple of tractor trailers had pulled in out there.

One was parked a few slots down from us. The other was already pulling out. There were two cars on the far side. One a family and the other just a single driver. Looked like they were stopping for a bathroom break. So far, no one appeared to be "working" the information station inside.

I imagined they had a cleaning staff that came out periodically. If we still had company when the guys got back, we'd have to relocate so they could get back aboard with the car without drawing attention.

"Two," McQuade said and I snapped my attention back to him. "I did one mission each with them. They weren't my people. Then I got you… third time's the charm."

"Seriously?"

He shrugged. "Personality conflicts. Not everyone appreciates me for the charmer I am."

That did make me smile. "You are pretty perfect."

He gave my hand a squeeze. "Thanks for noticing." Only his attention wasn't on me now, it was on the monitors behind me, I twisted to watch a dark SUV enter and begin a slow drive toward the parking slots.

Too slow a drive.

The rasp of metal on leather told me he'd freed his gun from the holster, but he hadn't let go of my hand.

"Wait," I said, tracking the car as it all but crawled toward a parking spot. Dark SUV didn't have to mean government or reclamation agents. It didn't have to mean anything.

Still, when it finally pulled into a slot, I swore my nerves had been pulled too taut. Then the driver's side door opened, and a woman exited the vehicle at a dead run for the bathroom.

Relief spilled through me like water being released from a drain. The rasp of metal on leather told me he'd put the gun back as we tracked the woman's mad dash for the facilities. Then I glanced back at the car. No other passengers were visible.

"Give me a closeup on the bathrooms," McQuade said and I split the screen, keeping an eye on the cars while I switched to the camera on the bathroom doors. There wasn't one inside the bathroom and we all needed boundaries.

That was definitely one for me.

One by one, the other cars left, but it took our friend in the SUV a long time to leave the bathroom. While McQuade stayed fixed on it, I scrolled through the other angles to make sure we hadn't lost track of her.

By the time she finally emerged, however, I wasn't the only one blowing out a harsh breath. She looked pale and sweaty. Her walk back to the car was almost pained. Road trip and upset bowels were not a good combination.

Despite the lightness of our earlier chat, neither of us relaxed even after the SUV finally pulled out and returned to the highway.

Just fifteen more minutes and the guys would be here.

Fifteen more minutes and we could put miles between us and this place.

Why did I think that we were asking for a lot with fifteen more minutes?