Under Fire (Elite Force #3)(37)
Author: Catherine Mann

Rachel tucked the pouch into her backpack. “I’m so glad I was able to buy these off that guy on a street corner.”

“Exactly.” Sunny nodded approvingly. “And hey, if you steal a car, make sure it’s a really kick-ass convertible.”

Chapter 10

Liam tucked his duffel into the back of the Suburban as the sun cranked onto the horizon. He hefted a second, larger bag with borrowed camping gear. Hopefully things wouldn’t get that desperate, but better to be prepared.

Wade loaded a box of MREs—meals ready to eat—alongside a flat of bottled water. “What else do you need from me?”

“I wish I knew exactly.” He hoped he’d planned for every contingency, but he was shadowboxing with a faceless enemy. He glanced up at the kitchen window, curtains lifting in the muggy morning breeze. Rachel and Sunny sat at the kitchen table with their heads close as they gabbed. His mom would have liked Rachel’s fighting spirit.

“Seriously,” Wade said, shuffling the gear in the back of the Suburban so it wouldn’t slide around, “talk around the subject if you have to, but give me something else I can do to help you out. You’re a smart dude. Make use of all the resources.”

Liam combed his fingers through his hair, his mind in three different places at once. Planning where to get a replacement vehicle. Here with this friend. Back at base, wondering what was going on. “I wish I had some big revelation to pass along, beyond Harris’s suspicions. I gotta say that even if I did, I’m not sure I would tell you. Honest to God, I don’t want you tangled up in this anymore than you have to be.”

“How do I find you then”—Wade leaned back against the vehicle, arms over his chest—“if you’re not going to tell me where you’re going?”

Liam passed over a slip of paper with the phone number for the throwaway cell he’d bought even before he went to the safe house on base. From the start, he’d sensed he needed to keep his options open. “Memorize it.”

Wade stared at the number intently, then reached into the camping gear and pulled out a small box of matches. One fast strike and a flame lit up. He burned the paper, holding a corner between two fingers until the ashes floated away in the wind. “Anything else?”

He weighed the options, hated like hell to drag anyone else in… but if what Harris said was right? If Sylvia was concerned enough to want him off base? For more than Rachel’s sake, he needed to unravel this mess fast.

And like it or not, he needed help, and when it came to keeping Rachel safe, he would take all the help he could get.

Liam closed the back of the Suburban. “I need Cuervo to do some recon for me, see if he can find Brandon Harris before anyone else does.”

“I could do that for you.”

“You’ve got a wife and I’ve already put you two at risk enough. Besides, you’re supposed make an appearance at work tomorrow, and Cuervo has the day off.”

“And Cuervo needs to do what?”

“I’ve got an idea where Brandon Harris may be. If he’s there, I need Cuervo to hide him.” He slid another piece of paper from his pocket with the name of the dog-sitting service. “Start here looking for him. Once Cuervo locates Harris, use that info I gave you and contact me. I’ll set up a meet.”

“Call me dense, but why not find him yourself?”

“I need for Cuervo to figure out if Brandon’s being watched first.” Palm trees rustled overhead and seabirds called in the distance, but there were no other noises, no one approaching from the outside world. “I also need time to make sure I’m not being watched.”

“The guy really does know something.”

That much was certain. “I believe he does. Something big, and he’s holding back. Somebody thinks Rachel knows more than she’s telling. And I have to figure out what exactly they believe she knows before the wrong people try to pry it out of her.” His hand gravitated to his chrome Desert Eagle strapped to his waist.

“What if she really is holding back? No offense, but your track record in reading women isn’t the best.”

“No offense taken. There’s no denying my past.” Muscles kinked along his back at memories of his second wife cheating, other wives walking because they couldn’t take the crap that came with this job. He had plenty of reasons not to trust women, but damned if he could leave Rachel hanging out to dry. “My gut tells me she’s innocent in all of this. There’s nothing for her to gain and it’s clear someone is seriously gunning for her. I can’t walk away.”

“For what it’s worth, I really hope your gut is a hundred percent on the mark about her.” Wade exhaled hard in the early morning heat, looking around the property, on guard. “Take care of yourself out there. If things go seriously to hell, contact Special Agent Sylvia Cramer.”

“You’re sure about her?”

“As sure as I possibly can be, and she’s a better option than that suck-up Bernard. Watch your back regardless.”

“Will do,” Liam answered as the screen door squeaked open, drawing his eyes to the two women stepping out.

Drawing his eyes to Rachel.

She’d changed into fresh clothes borrowed from Sunny, shorts and a bright pink T-shirt with a recycle symbol in the middle. Radiating energy, she took the stairs at a sprint, each step determined, committed. Five feet, three inches of pure momentum, she took his breath away.

He blinked himself back to more practical thoughts. Rachel had pulled her wavy hair back into a high ponytail off her neck, to stay cooler, no doubt. Perfect for where they were headed next. The safest place he knew, and yet at the moment, nowhere felt safe enough where she was concerned.

He turned to Wade. “If something happens to me—”

“You don’t even have to ask,” Wade said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll look out for her.”

Nothing else needed to be said.

It was time to roll.

***

Catriona wondered what Brandon would do if she just crawled right on top of him as he slept on her sofa. She would kiss him, feel the warm heat of his solid body against her. Maybe even slide her hand into his pants and stroke him awake.

Although on second thought, probably not wise to startle awake someone with PTSD.

So instead, as she stood in the archway between her dining room and living room, she allowed herself the luxury of staring at his big body sprawled on her mother’s red velvet Victorian sofa. Harley kept guard over her owner from the floor. The shaggy Australian shepherd–beagle mix kept her head on her paws, but her eyes tracked back and forth, one blue, one brown.