Midnight Target by Elle Kennedy
Christ, he wanted to know if Liam was in the same depressing place as he was. If their friendship, that fucked-up attraction, had ruined him for everyone else too, or if it was just Sully who lay there at night, jerking off to the image of Liam’s sexy mouth around his dick—
He quickly shoved the traitorous thought away before he sprung a boner. At one point, seeing Sully with an erection might’ve turned the other man on, but the indifference of his tone and the complete lack of desire in his eyes were a pretty big sign that Liam had gotten over him.
But hell, that was what he’d wanted, right?
Still, curiosity had him pushing, “Why did you end it?”
“It wasn’t working.”
“Why not?” Christ. Why was he badgering the guy? He didn’t want to know this, damn it.
“Because it didn’t.” Liam paused. “She wanted me to propose.”
She.
He fought a wry smile. Of course it was a she. Evidently Liam had reverted to the straight, Irish Catholic, pure hetero male that he was, which was exactly what Sully had known would happen. Liam Macgregor didn’t screw men. Period.
Sullivan Port, on the other hand, had been attracted to both sexes as far back as he could remember. As a teenager he’d traded handjobs with a fellow drug dealer. They’d made out, fucked a few times. Brody was the first guy he’d ever screwed around with, but he sure as shit hadn’t been the last. And the women . . . Lord, he’d had his fair share of those too.
But Liam, well, he hadn’t even looked at another man until Sullivan had planted those ideas in his head, luring him into the world of threesomes and debauchery. But clearly the man had hopped back on the pussy train, just as he should. Liam wasn’t cut out for Sully’s lifestyle. That Irish guilt would crush him.
“Why haven’t you? Proposed, I mean?”
“Not ready for that,” Liam muttered.
“Uh-huh.”
“What does that mean?”
“Means you’re full of shit,” Sully mimicked. “You haven’t proposed because you don’t want to get married. You’ve never wanted that.”
That got him two raised eyebrows. “Since when are you an expert on what I want?”
A frustrated laugh flew out. “Are you kidding me? I know you better than I know myself, Boston. You don’t want marriage and kids and some bullshit nine-to-five job. You’re an adventure junkie. You want to travel the world and blow shit up.” He offered a look of challenge. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
Liam rubbed his hands over his knees and fixed his gaze on the floor.
“That’s what I thought.” Sully’s chuckle died when the other man abruptly lifted his head.
“You know me, huh?” Those blue eyes shone with intensity. “All right. Then tell me, what else do I want?”
Sullivan gulped. Fuck. Fuck. Were they really going there? Right now?
His jaw felt like a rusty hinge as he opened his mouth, but he didn’t get a chance to speak because footsteps sounded at the door. Thank Christ. Sully wasn’t sure what he would’ve said, but he damn well hadn’t been ready to have this talk.
“Jesus,” he breathed when he spotted the figure in the doorway.
“Not quite,” came the tired response. “Just little old me.”
Holden McCall entered the room, causing both men to bolt to their feet.
Sully wasn’t speechless often, but he had no idea what to say to the man standing in front of them. He hadn’t seen his friend and teammate in four years. After Holden’s wife was killed at Morgan’s former compound, Holden had completely gone off the grid.
Liam was the first to say something. “Holden . . . ah, not sure if you remember me, but I’m Liam—”
“Macgregor,” Holden finished. “The contractor.”
It took Sully a moment to remember that Liam hadn’t come on board full-time until after Holden was already gone. And now none of them were on the team. Life was a bitch sometimes.
“Hey, mate,” Sully said to Holden. “It’s been ages.”
After an awkward beat, he pulled Holden in for an even more awkward side hug. Oh man, his old friend had lost a lot of weight. And there were dark shadows under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Or maybe years.
“When’d you get in?” Sully asked gruffly.
“About ten minutes ago. Decided to make the rounds before I went in to see Jim.”
There was sadness in Holden’s tone. Sully hated that it was Morgan’s knocking on death’s door that had drawn their former teammate back to the land of the living. “How’ve you been? Morgan said you moved back to Montana?”
A flash of pain crossed Holden’s eyes as he shook his head. “No, I didn’t. I’ve just been traveling around. Haven’t stayed in one place for too long.”
Another silence fell. Christ, this was bloody uncomfortable. What the hell were you supposed to say to a man whose wife had been gunned down in his arms?
“Have you met Cate yet?” Liam asked, trying to break the tension.
Holden finally cracked a smile. It was weak and frayed at the edges, but, hell, it was something. “You mean the furious blonde who just stormed past me while flipping the bird to some poor Southern boy? We weren’t properly introduced, but I’d know her as Jim’s kid from anywhere.”
Sully chuckled. “Yeah, those two are scarily similar. And that poor Southern boy is Ash—he took Ethan’s place as the rookie.”
Ash’s ears must have been ringing because he suddenly appeared at the door. His frazzled expression revealed that he hadn’t left Cate’s presence unscathed. “We’re rolling out,” he said stonily. “Get your shit together. Noelle’s already in the chopper.”
“Is Cate coming with?” Liam asked with a barely suppressed smile.
“No,” the rookie snapped.
Sully fought his own grin. “You sure about that?”
“Don’t care if I have to handcuff her to a pipe,” Ash ground out. “She’s not coming.” Then he stalked off with a growl.
Holden watched the younger man go before turning to Sullivan. “Guess I have a lot of catching up to do,” he remarked with a sigh.
* * *
He would always view her as a child.
It was a depressing thought, but Cate was no longer holding out hope that Ash would eventually see the error of his ways. Despite all the time and effort she’d spent trying to show him that she was all grown up, the stubborn jerk refused to let go of his first impression of her—that she was Morgan’s teenage daughter, a helpless girl who needed to be saved and protected.
His staunch refusal to let her help with this Aguilar matter proved that.
The good thing was, Ash wasn’t in charge. Noelle was, and she had no problem sending Cate into the field if necessary. Noelle had been recruited as a spy for the French government when she was only eighteen—she wouldn’t let something as trivial as Cate’s age stop them from finding Rivera.
Hell, the woman had already ordered Ash to take Cate with him on surveillance. Noelle was going to be pissed when she found out Ash had disregarded those orders, but the only reason Cate hadn’t gone over his head again was because . . . well, because she didn’t want to be anywhere near him right now, not after what he’d said to her.
I don’t want you there.
Fine. Then she didn’t want herself there either. Not if it meant taking Ash’s abuse.
Still, she wasn’t exactly thrilled as she paced the small room. She supposed she could take a quick nap, but she was too riled up to sleep. None of them had caught so much as a wink of sleep since they’d arrived at this base and probably wouldn’t until they had some news about Morgan’s condition.
I don’t want you there.
She paced faster, all the while hating herself for letting Ash get to her like this. But that jerk had always had that effect on
When she’d first met Jim and moved to the compound, she’d viewed Ash as a friend, a big brother type. Once the shock of losing her old life had worn off and she’d adjusted to life on a mercenary compound, everything had changed. She’d gained confidence. She’d trained with Morgan and Noelle. And whenever she’d needed someone to talk to, she’d turned to Ash, who was always there to listen. They’d even had their own private spot in the jungle, for Pete’s sake.
So yeah, it wasn’t long before she’d stopped viewing him as a brother and started aching for him. Unfortunately, he hadn’t ached for her. Because she’d been seventeen. And then eighteen. Nineteen. And Cate knew that until she was out of her teens, Ash would never give himself permission to touch her.
Except then she’d turned twenty, twenty-one . . . and it hadn’t mattered either.
Bitterness clogged her throat. That man was a goddamn hypocrite. No matter how many times he reminded her how young she was, how he didn’t want her, she knew he was lying. Over the past four years, she’d glimpsed heat in his eyes. She’d caught him staring at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. She’d seen the desire he was trying to tamp down, and she’d hoped that one day he would give in to the attraction between them.
But he hadn’t.
He wouldn’t.
Her ringing phone snagged her attention, sending a wave of gratitude through her. Thank God. She didn’t even care who was calling. Anyone would be a good distraction right about now. Ash didn’t deserve the mental energy it cost her to obsess over him.
She snatched the phone from the desk under the small window. “Hello?” she said eagerly.
An unfamiliar male voice came over the line. “Hello, my dear. How’s your father?”
“Who is this?”
“Do you really require a formal introduction? I assumed we were far past that by now.”
A chill flew up her spine. “Rivera.”
“Still so formal! Please, call me Mateo. And I’ll call you Cate? I heard you prefer that to Catarina.”
Despite the galloping of her pulse, Cate managed to keep her voice calm. “How did you get this number?”
“I have my ways.” He chuckled. “And if you’re thinking about tracking this call, don’t bother. You won’t be able to pinpoint my location, as I’m sure I won’t be able to pinpoint yours.”
He was right about that. Though she wasn’t officially an operative, she still received the same perks as everyone else who worked for Morgan and Noelle, including an untraceable phone programmed with the techno voodoo of Paige, one of Noelle’s assassins. Cate had no idea how it worked—something about dummy numbers and satellites and calls bouncing from tower to tower—but apparently Paige’s tech skills were unbeatable. Even the CIA couldn’t trace the team’s phones, a fact that Bailey, a former agent, had cackled about to Cate once.
Although Rivera probably wasn’t bluffing, Cate wasn’t stupid enough to take him at face value. She grabbed a pen and notepad from the desk, already scribbling on the page as she marched to the door.
Making sure to keep her footsteps soundless, she popped out into the hall in search of . . . shit, everyone was gone.
She forced herself to speak as she sprinted forward. She needed to keep the bastard talking. “Why are you calling?” she demanded.
“I thought I’d extend the courtesy of a proper introduction, seeing as we’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”
She ducked her head into the open doorways along the hall, one by one, but every room was empty. Damn it. “Yeah? What makes you think that?”
“Because I’m going to find you.” Another low chuckle. “And when I do, it won’t be quick and painless. I plan to drag out your punishment for days, hopefully weeks.”
“Is that right?”
She reached the end of the corridor, which connected with the hall that led to the medical wing. When she turned the corner, she spotted a familiar face outside the door to Jim’s room.
Holden McCall. They hadn’t been introduced yet, but she’d heard the others talking about him before. Apparently he was the male equivalent of Paige, a whiz with computers.
Holden opened his mouth when he spotted her, but she held up her hand to silence him. She gestured to the phone, then shoved the notepad in his hand.
Frowning, Holden read the message she’d scribbled. Then he grabbed the pen from her hand and jotted down a note in return.
I need your phone number.
“You see,” Rivera was saying, “usually I’m a reasonable man. I understand the concept of self-defense. I sent men to kill you, so of course you’re going to try to protect yourself—I anticipated that, and I respect your sense of self-preservation. But no matter how admirable that is, there’s one thing, to me anyway, that’s far more important than self-preservation.”
“And what’s that?” she asked as she wrote down her cell number. She handed the notepad back to Holden, and he cocked his head, gesturing for her to follow him.
Silently, they moved in a brisk walk back toward the barracks.
“Family,” Rivera answered. “Family is more important than anything else in this world.”
“I agree,” she admitted.
“Do you? Well, then you must understand why I’m so unhappy with you right now, my dear.” He paused. “You killed my son.”
Cate’s breath caught. She’d been told that Ash and Kane had killed the cartel goons who’d ambushed them in Bardera, but nobody had mentioned that one of those men was Adrián Rivera. Had they been trying to shield her as always? Or had they just forgotten to tell her?
She was betting on the first one.
“Your son?” she echoed uneasily. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Your people gunned him down this morning.” Rivera’s tone remained deceptively pleasant. “He was my firstborn, you know.” A pause. “He was a strong, intelligent boy. I was very proud of him.”
“That’s good to hear. A lot of parents feel nothing but disappointment for their children.”
He laughed. “Are you speaking from experience?”
She followed Holden into a room near the end of the hall and watched as he removed not one but three laptops from a canvas bag on the floor. He placed them on the desk, his dark head bent and his features set in concentration as he began booting up each laptop.
“Is your father disappointed in you, little one?”
A lump rose in her throat. “No,” she answered, although a part of her wasn’t quite sure.
Morgan was certainly disappointed that she’d left school. That she’d chosen photography over her studies and was going on dangerous assignments. If it were up to him, she’d be photographing babies and awkward family portraits in a department store.
“No, I imagine your father is more open-minded than most parents,” Rivera mused. “Killers usually are.”
“My father isn’t a killer,” she said tightly.
“Oh, how naïve you are. Of course he’s a killer. Your father, his wife, you . . .” There was a rustling of papers over the line. “Would you like me to list all the other killers in your father’s employment? Kane Woodland, former SEAL, married to a woman who, on paper, has no identity, but I’m confident I’ll uncover those details sooner or later. We’ve also got . . . Ethan Hayes, a Marine. Ooh Rah—that’s what they say, right?”
Cate’s blood ran cold. How the fuck did he know all their names?
“Shall I go on?”
She pressed her lips together.
Her silence only elicited another wave of laughter. “I see you’ve underestimated my resources, little one. Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to find out who you people are?”
She adopted an indifferent tone. “We weren’t trying to keep it a secret. My father runs a pri
“Perhaps. But I’ve only begun to scratch the surface of what I was able to learn.”
At the desk, Holden was furiously typing something. One laptop screen showed a world map, while the other two displayed what looked like a satellite imaging system with flashing dots and lines that Cate couldn’t understand. She knew every last component of her camera, could probably take the thing apart and put it back together like men did with their rifles, but other than a proficiency for graphic design programs, she knew shit-all about computers.
But Holden seemed to be making some sort of progress because he gestured to her in a keep him talking motion.
“What do you plan to do with all this information?” she asked politely.
“I plan to do plenty.” Rivera sounded gleeful. Something creaked in the background, as if he was leaning back in a chair. “I’m very much looking forward to meeting you, my dear. There’s no fear in your voice when you speak to me. I like that.”
“Are most people afraid of you?”
“Of course they are. Do you think I got to where I am without being able to instill fear in people?”
“I guess instilling fear is an asset in building a criminal empire,” she agreed.
“Indeed. But it gets boring, I’ll admit. Standing in front of your enemy and seeing his pants dampen with piss as he stares down the barrel of your gun. Hearing him beg and cry for mercy before the blade of your machete slices his head clean off . . .”
She shivered.
“I prefer a challenge. You’re going to be a challenge for me, aren’t you, Cate?”
“You’re never going to find that out.” She laughed. “Because you’re never going to find me.”
He snorted. “Oh, the hubris of youth. I found you twice already. It won’t be difficult to do it again.” For the first time since this bizarre discussion began, his tone hardened to steel. “You’re a meddlesome girl. Sticking your nose in places it doesn’t belong. Taking pictures—”
“Is that really what this is about?” she interrupted with a harsh laugh. “One silly picture? What do you care, Rivera? Nobody knows where you are anyway.”