Page 41 of Always Been Mine (Always #2)

“Fuck. What do we do now?” Gabe asked Travis, who had returned to the safe house with Caitlin.

The plan was Caitlin would work the communication systems and process whatever surveillance photos Gabe was going to transmit from the meet.

Satellite imagery and timings were not sufficient to observe remotely.

“If I don’t leave now, I run the risk of encountering the people involved in the rendezvous. ”

“You’re not going by yourself,” Beatrice said. “You don’t even have the contact information of the covert group; they might make a mistake and shoot you.”

“If Porter hasn’t shown up, they might not be there and may be assisting him somewhere else.”

“I’ll go with him,” Travis announced.

“What?” Caitlin exclaimed. “I think the best idea is to forget this.” She turned to Beatrice. “I’m sorry, Bee, but your dad is a big pain in the ass. He tells us to do something and we do it and then he turns around and changes his plans without telling us. ”

“What if something happened to him?” It was obvious it took an effort for Beatrice to vocalize her fears.

Her face was pinched with worry. That thought had occurred to Gabe, but he hadn’t wanted to add to the anxiety of the group.

Caitlin suddenly looked remorseful, and Travis looked stony-faced.

Sam was standing quietly against the wall.

“You know the admiral better than that, Bee,” Travis said. “He’s too smart to let something happen to him.”

“If they have him, the more we need to get to the meet,” Gabe stated resolutely.

“He told us to do recon on the area. We did so thoroughly yesterday, Travis.” The meet was at an old barn on a farm.

Because it was winter, cover was scarce.

There were no leaves on trees and only skeletal bushes dotted the area.

At least, there was no snow on the ground because there was no white camouflage gear available.

Gabe was already suited up. Black cargo pants, military boots, black tee and jacket. The rest of his equipment and ammunition was in a backpack. He had a carbine to tote, a pistol in a thigh holster, and another in the back. He looked at Travis. “We’ve got an armory downstairs. Go gear up.”

“Just recon, okay?” Caitlin linked her hands with Travis. “Don’t get too close and don’t engage.”

“Just recon, babe,” Travis agreed. “Sam, can you call Nate and have him come over. Two men should be covering the safe house while we’re away.” Sam nodded and left to make the call.

“That goes for you, too,” Beatrice looked pointedly at Gabe. “Even if you recognize Redrook, let my dad deal with it. Right now, you guys are vigilantes and acting outside government sanction.”

Standing down with a target in sight, knowing he played a role in torturing Beatrice, was going to be difficult, but he would give Beatrice the reassurance she needed.

“You got it, poppy,” Gabe said, drawing her close and kissing her forehead.

“I got the barn in sight,” Gabe murmured through comms. The farm was set amid rolling hills and he had hunkered down along the crest of one, training his binoculars at the structure in question.

He and Travis parked their SUV a mile from the location and hoofed it the rest of the way.

The short hike was beneficial in keeping them sharp.

Oxygenated blood kept them warm and aided their focus.

They had agreed to split their area of coverage.

Travis covered the back of the barn, while Gabe was in charge of the front.

There were guards stationed at the beginning of the long driveway leading to the barn, probably to check the buyers before they were allowed through.

Caitlin was issued a QR-code for identification.

Gabe and Travis knew what areas to avoid.

“Two guards,” Gabe added. “They don’t look like Fuego. I’d say they’re ex-military.”

“Mercenaries?”

Gabe adjusted his optics closer. “Yeah.” His reply was noncommittal. “But not too sure.”

“Copy that, buddy.”

Buddy . Gabe allowed the word to sink in. It might have been a slip on Travis’s part, but the man’s willingness to be his wingman in this op reminded him of their brotherhood in the SEALs.

“I see a car approaching the back of the barn.” Travis’s voice crackled through comms. After a few minutes, he said, “Fuck, it’s Zach Jamison.”

“Alone?”

“He has some underling carrying a couple of briefcases.”

The ST-Vyl virus.

“I don’t think Redrook is in that vehicle,” Travis added.

Unless Zach was Redrook, which was highly unlikely given his background.

He checked the time. It was 9:45 p.m., the meet was set at 10:00 p.m. Usually in transactions like this, timing was very precise.

Too early was not good and increased the risk of getting caught.

A minute past meet time was a no-no as well because it increased the tension in the waiting party.

The buyers should be arriving in the next fifteen minutes.

There was a muffled curse from Travis, followed by a grunt.

“Travis?” Caitlin’s panicked voice crackled over their communication system. “Gabe, what’s going on?”

“Fuck,” Gabe muttered as he levered himself up from his prone position.

A twig snapped behind him, and he heard a muttered expletive.

The sounds were on top of him, so without looking back, Gabe fell to his side and swept his leg in an arc.

His fishing expedition caught someone’s leg and sent the person crashing to his back.

Gabe pushed to his knees and grabbed the pistol from his thigh holster, but a swift kick from his assailant, who was still on the ground, knocked the gun from his hand.

Stunned at the lightning reflexes of his opponent, Gabe withdrew his knife and pounced . . . and found himself flying in the air, somersaulting actually, and landing on his back.

What.

The.

Fuck?

Thankfully, he had the knife flush to his forearm and didn’t end up stabbing himself.

Realizing the unknown figure was highly trained and not the random goon, Gabe scrambled to his feet to assess the man warily.

By now, his assailant had risen to his feet.

From the light of the full moon streaming through the bare branches, he discerned he was around his own height of six-four and probably around two-twenty pounds.

The man was suited up in all black with a skull cap on his head and dark paint camouflaging his face.

They squared off .

“Who the fuck are you?” Gabe growled.

“Funny. I should be asking you that question,” came the gravelly response.

“Look, man, we could be on the same side.”

“I know who’s on my team,” Gabe could hear the sneer in Face Paint’s voice, “and you’re not. Come on, motherfucker, show me what you’ve got.”

Face Paint held out his arms in a challenging gesture.

This was nuts, Gabe thought, but he’d be damned before he threw the first punch.

They circled each other. Finally, his opponent got tired of waiting and spun, his leg went flying.

Anticipating every move, Gabe caught the foot and twisted it.

The man’s body pivoted with the leg and his other foot headed straight for Gabe’s head.

He managed to duck, but he had to let Face Paint go.

Staggering backward, Gabe made a mental note to engage Sam in sparring exercises because he was barely keeping up with this guy.

They went at it, the man’s elbow jarring Gabe’s jaw, but he managed to sink a fist into Face Paint’s solar plexus in retaliation.

More jabs and punches were exchanged, and although they seemed evenly matched, Gabe was breathing heavily while the other man was barely panting.

He needed to end this now because the meet was starting in a few minutes and this son of a bitch was going to outlast him.

With a suppressed roar, Gabe blocked the oncoming blow, and with a leap in the air for added momentum, came crashing down with his elbow into the side of the man’s head.

“Fuck!” the other man grunted and fell to one knee. Seeing his opportunity in finishing this off, Gabe followed up with a kick, and for the second time this night, found himself flat on his back.

He was really, really, getting pissed at this guy.

Face Paint straddled him; Gabe tipped him over. They rolled and punched. Over and over. Gabe was starting to get dizzy, and he was praying so was the other guy.

“I don’t know; they seem to be having fun,” a female voice spoke beside them.

“Damn it, Maia, we don’t have much time!”

Travis.

Gabe and Face Paint stopped fighting.

“Travis, what the fuck is going on?” Gabe growled, angry that at the end of the fight, the other guy was on top of him.

“Figured out who Porter’s covert group is,” Travis said conversationally. “Gabe, meet Viktor Baran of AGS.” His friend motioned to Face Paint.

“This, here, is Maia.” The woman with Travis was also similarly dressed as Viktor.

Viktor pushed away from him, got to his feet, and held out his hand. “Good fight, Sullivan.”

Gabe had heard of Artemis Guardian Services (AGS) and their inimitable leader.

This fucker knew who he was, and they wasted time fighting senselessly.

Gabe ignored the proffered hand and stood to his full-height to go eye-to-eye with Viktor.

“I don’t know what the hell your game is, Baran, but we’re wasting precious time. ”

“Agreed,” Viktor answered curtly. “Maia, what’s the bead on the buyers?”

“They’re arriving at the moment.” Maia pushed down on an ear piece, listening to updates. “Our team has the barn surrounded and is waiting for word to go in.”

Gabe resumed his position on the hill, surveying the activity in the barn.