Chapter Twenty-Eight

Natasha

The clock at the bottom of the center monitor mocks me. Every minute that passes ratchets my anxiety even more. So much so that when my phone does ring, I yelp loud enough to wake Charlie.

Every member of Hidden Agenda leaps into motion. Wren passes the baby to Ryker and picks up her laptop. West and Graham duck out of the boxing ring where they were sparring, and Inara taps her ear twice.

"Raelynn, switch to channel bravo and make sure Bella stays quiet. The call's coming in."

They're all on comms. Even me. The tiny earbud is barely noticeable, but works with both my phone and the encrypted system the team uses whenever they're on mission.

Doc links our fingers. "You can do this, baby."

Across from me, Wren gives me the signal. She's ready to work her magic tracing the call, though she's not sure she'll be successful. Not with the tech power Bastian so obviously has on his side. I always thought tracing was easy, but apparently, that's only in the movies.

"Where is Gladys?" I ask without even saying hello. He doesn't deserve the courtesy.

"Natasha, is that any way to greet an old friend?" His nasally voice grates along my last nerve. I'm squeezing Doc's hand so tightly, I'm afraid I'll hurt him.

"Fuck you. I'm not playing your games, Bastian. Let me talk to Gladys or this conversation is over."

"Turn on your video."

I swallow hard. We were prepared for this. But God, I don't want to see his face. Or let him see mine. I scoot as far from Doc as I can without letting go of his hand. Wren nods, and I tap the screen.

Holy shit. She actually did it. Instead of the warehouse kitchen behind me, it looks like I'm in a cheap hotel room. Alone. Down to the garish patterned carpet and the 1970's-era bedspread.

Bastian isn't anywhere recognizable. Plain, cinderblock walls. Bright lights. No furniture I can see. West moves closer to the flat screen monitor on the wall that mirrors my screen.

The years haven't been kind to my former squad leader. His black hair has started to thin. His nose looks like it's been broken at least once, and his skin has a sallow texture that would be worrisome if I gave two shits about his health.

"I admit," Bastian says with a sneer, "I expected Parker to have done more damage than that." He gestures to me, and I reach up to touch the dark bruise under my left eye. "Your hand-to-hand skills always were decent…for a woman."

"Parker talked too much. So do you. Where. Is. Gladys?"

His gaze flicks up, behind the camera, and a second later, the view switches.

Another cinder block wall, this one with part of a steel door visible at the edge of the frame. Gladys sits in a rolling desk chair, her hands clasped in her lap, wearing a pair of bright pink sweat pants, house slippers, and a shirt that says, "I sleep naked. Join me?"

She squints at the screen, frowns, then pushes to her feet. But Doherty steps into the frame and shoves her back down again, grabbing the arm of the chair to stop it from rolling halfway across the room. She narrows her gaze at him. "Your mother didn't teach you a lick of manners, did she?"

The look Doherty gives her chills me to my core. But Gladys doesn't seem to care, simply harrumphs and turns back to the camera. "Baby girl, did they hurt my Bella?"

"She's okay. She says she loves you." My eyes start to burn, but I can't let her—or Bastian—see me cry. "I'm so sorry, this is all my fault?—"

"Hush now. You didn't kidnap an old woman before she finished her first cup of coffee. The only thing you gotta be sorry for is not tellin' me your real name. Natasha suits you a hell of a lot better than Nat."

I choke out a laugh. "You're my best friend, Gladys. My only friend. I love you, and I'm going to get you back home. Back to Bella."

"That girl is going to make the most beautiful bride," she says, her scratchy voice taking on a wistful tone. But then her expression turns fierce, and she grabs the arms of the chair and sits up straight. "Don't you listen to these assholes for one minute!"

Doherty slaps her across the face.

"You fucking bastard!" I scream. Only Doc's hold on my hand stops me from jumping up to pace. The tech Wren is using to mask my location won't work if I move around too much.

The video switches back to Bastian. I can hear Gladys moaning in the background. "If you hurt her?—"

"You'll do what? Kill me? Send me back to prison?" He scoffs. "I have too many powerful friends, Natasha. Even if you and that doctor of yours have killed three of them. I'm willing to let the old woman go, but you and the good doctor are going to do exactly what I say."

"Leave Doc out of this."

With a chuckle, Bastian shakes his head. "You should have let Parker kill you days ago. Then, this would all be over. But as I checked in with my parole officer the other day, I realized I was thinking too small."

I'd roll my eyes if I didn't think he'd hurt Gladys again to spite me. "Get to the point, will you? Those two idiots you sent after Doc showed up in the middle of the goddamn night. I'm tired."

"I've fantasized about killing you every day for the past eight years," he says. "We all have. We had a good thing going in Iraq. I was clearing a quarter million a year. Tax free."

In my ear, West mutters, "Is this a fucking shakedown?"

Bastian continues, oblivious to the former Navy SEAL—and everyone else—listening in. "Doherty, Collins, and I had eleven months left to hit our twenty years. Eleven months till we'd be able to draw our pensions. Senator Norton had jobs lined up for us that would let us keep the operation going without risking our lives every fucking day. All that's gone now. We're war criminals. Unless you recant your testimony."

"You have got to be kidding me. No one is going to believe I made the whole thing up. You're fucking delusional."

"They will. Not only that, you'll take responsibility for the entire operation. It was so much bigger than anyone ever knew."

I scoff, but Bastian's grinning like he just won the lottery. My stomach twists into a knot, and I squeeze Doc's hand harder.

"The doctor will surrender himself to a location of my choosing, while you will report to CID. You'll give them details I kept secret for years. Verifiable information you could only have if you were the mastermind of the entire operation. You'll cop to everything. The murders of the family outside of Albaghdadi and so many more. Once you're arrested, we'll let the old lady go."

"I'm a lady," Gladys snaps. "I'm not old."

"Shut up!" someone—Collins, I think—says. "Can I gag her?"

Bastian nods once, and the sounds of soft scuffling come from just out of camera range. I squeeze my eyes shut to stop my tears from falling.

"You have twenty-four hours, Natasha. But don't worry. I've made all your travel plans for you."

My phone dings with a notification from Air Northwest. Two tickets on a red-eye flight out of Sea-Tac for 9:00 p.m. A second later, another message arrives with the subject line, "For your reading pleasure."

Bastian stares daggers at me through the screen. "If you don't get on that plane, your friend dies. If anyone besides the doctor boards with you, she dies. If you try to contact the authorities?—"

"She dies. I get the idea." I wish I could see West. Or Ryker. Or even Raelynn or Inara. I need to know there's a plan. But I can't. I have to keep my focus on the man who wants to take the only good things left in my life. "I want to talk to Gladys as soon as I get off the plane. And again before I walk into CID. Non-negotiable."

"Fair enough. Make sure you memorize everything in that file I sent you. See you soon, Sergeant."

The screen goes dark. West grabs my phone and shoves it into a shiny gray pouch. The loss of it sends my heart into overdrive.

"I need that! Gladys…"

"That fucker found a villain handbook in his box of Cracker Jacks this morning." West shakes his head and tosses the bag to Ripper. "Until we know the file he sent you isn't infected with malware, the phone stays in there. Wren's monitoring your number. If he calls again, it'll ring through to Doc's phone."

"Take it, baby." Doc presses his phone into my hand. Holding the device makes me feel marginally better. Until I realize we only have six hours until we have to be on a plane to D.C. And none of Hidden Agenda can go with us.

"I have the plane's manifest," Wren says. "It'll take me an hour—maybe two—before I know which tickets were sold in the last few days. He put all this together after he sent Parker to kill you. We need to know how many hostiles we're dealing with."

A long list of names appears on the biggest flatscreen monitor. It takes me only seconds to zero in on one name in particular. "Ben Kerr."

"Who?" West asks.

A single tear tumbles down my cheek. "The night my brother was killed, he was one of the MPs assigned to protect me. I'd gone out for a run. Ciprian—I think his first name was Thom—went with me. Kerr stayed behind." I turn to Ryker. "Logan was Special Forces. I could never understand how Parker got the drop on him. He was too good. But now I get it. Kerr let him in."

Someone—Raelynn, I think—went to the apartment and returned with…everything. My medical kit. Passports. Clothes for both of us. Natasha refused to look at any of it. She's spent the past three hours memorizing all the dates, times, and places in Bastian's file. Ryker taught her some of his memory tricks, and he's currently quizzing her. I can't listen any longer. The sick fuck killed dozens over the years. Assaulted even more.

I shower, letting the hot water ease my sore muscles. We have a plan—of sorts. But so much of it depends on luck. Or on Bastian not counting on Hidden Agenda.

I wish Natasha and I had a few hours together somewhere private. I'd make sure she slept. Even if I had to wring multiple climaxes from her body to exhaust her. Instead, I dry myself off alone, wrap a towel around my waist, and shuffle out to the lockers.

"Doc, I'll check those stitches for you." West sits on one of the long benches, his field kit spread out in front of him.

"They're fine."

The former SEAL's brows shoot up. "That wasn't a question. Sit your ass down."

I don't work for the man, but more than once, Raelynn's told me that "no one fucks with the SEAL," and I can see why. When he's on mission—and though we haven't left the warehouse, we are very much "on mission"—his icy blue eyes hold almost no emotion. He's so clearly in control, it's scary.

So I do as he says.

"Can you lift your left arm over your head?" he asks.

"Not easily." I grimace, but can almost salute the man—though I think I might technically outrank him.

West aims a pen light at my side, then gently palpates the swelling around the wound. "Natasha's a Ranger. She knows her shit. But she's too close to this."

"She'll never forgive herself for what Gladys is going through." I'm not sure the woman I fell in love with will come back from D.C. Even if West's plan works and Gladys escapes unharmed.

"You land at 6:00 a.m. That gives you two hours until the Army CID office opens." West swabs an antiseptic pad over the stitches, waits for the skin to dry, and pulls out a roll of medical tape. "Inara and I will be at Dulles when you land. Clive and Tank from Second Sight will be close, but Tank was a Ranger and Clive was Army, so we can't have them anywhere visible. Just in case. But they'll be in short term parking.

"Trevor, Vasquez, and Ella will be watching CID. They'll swap cars on the regular"

"What about comms?" Talking through the plan helps to keep me focused, though my gaze hasn't left Natasha's face since I sat down.

"If Bastian's not a complete idiot, he'll have a scanner or a signal jammer. But Inara's currently modifying one of your hiking boots to hold a spare unit in the heel. If we can't take him down before he and his band of village idiots get their hands on you, use it. It'll work with your phone or—since I can't imagine you'll be allowed to keep that—any unsecured wi-fi network. Though it'll default to broadcast only."

West secures half a dozen strips of tape over the stitches. "Scale of one to ten. How bad is the rib pain?"

"Three." At his stare, I sigh. "Five."

"Any way to get that lower? Say…to a one?" he asks.

I scowl. "Doubtful. Not for more than a few hours. Morphine would be out of my system in four. Same for Dilaudid. Ibuprofen will have to do me."

"Not good enough. With Raelynn?—"

I swear under my breath. "Fucking hell. That wasn't my idea. You know that. And I doubt it lasted very long."

"Long enough. But…no." West repacks his field kit. "We could be fucked here, Doc. We don't know who we can trust in CID. If we can't find Gladys before 8:00 a.m., you and Natasha won't have a choice. Bastian will take you, and she'll have to turn herself in.

"Fuck no!" Halfway across the warehouse, Ryker stares at us, holding the baby to his chest and patting her back gently. I lower my voice to a harsh whisper. "There's no scenario where that asshole just lets Gladys—or me—live. No matter what Natasha does. You know it as well as I do."

"That's why we need you as…agile as possible. To protect Gladys and do everything you can to get her the fuck out of there." He rubs the back of his neck, stress lines bracketing his lips. "This is what we do, Doc. And we're really fucking good at it. But no one—not even me—can anticipate every outcome. We have to be prepared. For anything."

"Even a shot of lidocaine—or two—directly to the nerves might not last long enough. But it'll give me the best chance. I don't have what I need here. We'll have to stop at the clinic before we go to the airport. And you'll need to be the one to handle the injections."

West nods, checks his watch, and pushes to his feet. "Be ready to go in an hour. I need another gallon of coffee."

He hasn't slept since this morning's interrogation. None of us have. Not really. And in less than twenty-four hours, we need to be at our best. Or I could lose Natasha forever.