Page 17 of Going Rogue (Tactical Operations & Protection (TOP))

Rogue

“Crane, I was hoping you’d come back empty-handed.” A man’s voice floated through the open doors.

A voice she recognized.

Jordan.

She knew it wasn’t the guy’s real name. He had many aliases, and this was merely the one he used for TOP. In her time with military intelligence, she’d known operatives like Jordan and had never trusted them.

You pretend to be someone else too long, you forget who you are.

Crane visibly relaxed; she didn’t share his relief. They might not have walked into an ambush, but she didn’t trust Jordy. Well, maybe Crane didn’t either since he made no move to enter the next room. “Where’s everyone else?” he called out.

Jordan’s voice grew louder; he must’ve moved closer. “Gone home. Like you were supposed to.”

Rogue remained silent. She could only guess what Jordan was up to, but she’d bet 100,000 Iraqi dinars it didn’t bode well for them.

Crane, at least, seemed cautious enough not to move into the open. “Well, obviously, you didn’t either.”

“No.” She heard shuffling as if Jordan had moved something bulky. “Are you two going to come in? I have something you might be interested in.”

Oh, she bet he did. And surely whatever it was would be deadly. Her grip twitched on the Glock, and she ran her trigger finger over the metal of the slide in an unconscious gesture meant to soothe her unease as she tried to determine the direction his voice carried from.

“Why are you still here?” Good, Crane. Keep him talking. She strained her hearing, and more shuffling reached her ears. Did it come from their right?

“I had a job to finish.”

With the comment, she became almost positive he stood to their right inside the next room. She barely resisted the urge to peek past the doorframe.

“What the hell are you talking about?” The big guy was getting frustrated. She glanced at him. The resolve in his eyes told her he meant to face Jordan regardless of the man’s intentions.

Fear for his safety cramped her stomach, and she couldn’t stop the desperate plea. “Crane…”

He gave her a sharp look, but Jordan spoke, “You always were a smart one.”

She could hear the smile in his voice; picturing it made her skin creep with an invasion of ants.

“What the fuck, Jordy?” Anger, confusion, or a mixture of both forced Crane to move.

As soon as he cleared his door, her feet compelled her to follow.

Self-preservation didn’t enter her mind, only a certainty that she wouldn’t let Jordan hurt Crane if she could help it.

She still wore a bulletproof vest; he didn’t.

They’d entered another open bay, but old furniture littered this one.

Ancient metal desks, old military chairs with cracked leather, and three-drawer filing cabinets scattered the floor.

Some toppled on their side, others set at strange angles like the wind had transformed into a whirling dervish and whipped through the room.

The same roofline windows let in more sunlight, which shone on Jordan.

His dark hair curled under his ears while his piercing black eyes seemed as slippery as a wet fish.

He stood next to a chair holding a hooded person.

The figure’s posture suggested they were either dead or unconscious.

The only thing keeping them upright in the chair was the ropes binding them to it.

Black rappelling line wrapped the person’s chest and legs, securing them to the chair’s frame while their head drooped at an angle.

“Who’s that?” Crane crept forward as he asked his question.

“The op was doomed from the start. Those militants knew we were coming. But I figured they’d be willing to make a deal.

” Jordan grinned and gestured to his hostage.

“I get the traitor, and they get a pretty prize.” His eyes cut to Rogue on those words, and the puzzle pieces clicked into place for her. Contemptuous heat roiled in her belly.

This fucking asshole!

Her finger strayed to the trigger of the gun she held at her side. He’d given her up on purpose. For money, probably.

Her breathing accelerated with her rising anger.

Jordan was the reason she’d been captured, beaten, and nearly assaulted.

The hell she’d endured made her vision narrow to the spot over his heart.

She wanted to aim at it. Pull the trigger and allow her bullet to tear through the flesh of this coward’s vital organ.

“TOP still completes the mission, and we get rid of your little distraction there.” As if Crane needed the added explanation, the asshole waved his gun at her. “It was a win-win. Until you screwed it all up.”

She’d been so focused on her own anger she hadn’t realized how rigid Crane had become beside her. With deadly calm, he stated, “You’re the reason Dafi left me high and dry.”

“I paid him a higher price, amigo.” Jordan shrugged. “I hope she was worth it because now you’re both casualties.” He tsked as if he actually regretted that fact; she seriously doubted it. “Caught in the crossfire when I retrieved the package. Unfortunate, but an acceptable loss for the mission.”

He raised his pistol and pointed it at her head. Jordan had been the mouthpiece for her naysayers at TOP. Constantly pushing to get her kicked off the team, but she’d never thought him capable of this.

The double-cross cut deeper than she would’ve liked. Mostly because she hadn’t seen it coming. Too many successful ops together had left her complacent. He’d been a thorn in her side but hardly a poisonous one, or so she’d thought.

“Before you get any ideas, sweetheart, strip the gun and toss it.”

Jordan wanted her to disassemble the Glock but as her only weapon . . . Fat chance, asshole. “And if I don’t?”

“I shoot Crane first, though I preferred having him watch you die.” The gleam in Jordan’s eye sent shivers down her back.

Not for herself. For Crane, who vibrated beside her. She could almost feel his body tremble with the effort it took to suppress his rage.

“You do that, and I shoot your traitor.” Rogue lifted her gun and trained it on the slumped man. Her threat wasn’t a bluff. She would do whatever it took to get her and Crane out of this situation.

Jordan glanced at the hooded man with a beleaguered sigh. “Our orders were to bring him back alive, but . . . a dead body is better than no body.” The smile on his face could only be described as lethal. The promise it contained wasn’t lost on her.

Her thoughts raced as fresh sweat broke out at her temples.

It would be difficult to outreason him. She glanced at Crane, but his gaze stayed focused on the threat.

Fingers of fear started to claw at her lungs.

When her hand shook, she changed her grip, bringing her other palm up to steady the Glock.

She shifted her target, training her sight on Jordan with her finger poised against the trigger.

Ready for any chance to break it and fire the bullet that would end this.

But could she manage it fast enough without Crane becoming a casualty?

Because she wasn’t sure, she tried to stall for time. “There’s no way you walk away from this clean. TOP already knows you sold me out.”

His smile hinted he didn’t believe her. “If that’s true, where are they?”

She pulled answers from thin air, hoping a real solution might present itself. “They’re waiting for you. Right outside these walls. If Crane and I don’t walk out those doors, you better believe you won’t either.” She managed to come off as smug and hoped it made the lie convincing.

Out of the corner of her eye, something moved. She glanced over to see the blade of Crane’s Ka-Bar flying through the air. Jordan, who’d been watching her, tracked her shift in focus and dodged the knife just in time. It wedged itself in a beam beyond his head.

With a coolness the situation didn’t warrant, the deranged asshole smiled and said, “Thank you for relinquishing your other weapon.”

Crane snarled and clenched his hands into fists. Silently, she cursed at him for doing something so stupid.

Jordan nodded at her gun. “Strip it, or the hulking birdman here will be sporting bullet holes.”

For the first time in years, Rogue felt stuck.

She didn’t know what to do. Shoot Jordan and he’d shoot Crane, unless .

. . a wild idea, but an idea, nonetheless, went off like a blazing lightbulb.

“I’m sorry, Crane,” she murmured. Though her attention appeared to be on him, her aim didn’t waiver from Jordan.

As expected, Crane’s head whipped toward her, his caramel eyes questioning. They went from confused to fearful in the space of a blink as he realized she meant to fire on Jordan. But before she had the chance to step in front of him and take her shot, Jordan used his weapon.

“No-o-o-o-o-oo!” Everything moved in slow motion, even her yell. Her finger squeezed the trigger, firing at Jordan as Crane’s hands lifted to his right side.

When he staggered back a step, she moved to catch him, but they both crashed to the floor under his weight. He landed half on top of her. She sat up with a grunt and cradled him in her arms.

“Oh God, Crane.” Blood gushed from his abdominal wound.

On instinct, she lifted her hands to put pressure on the spot, but she still held the Glock.

She shifted her gaze to Jordan. He was down for the count.

She didn’t need her weapon any longer. Setting it aside, she grabbed Crane’s big mitt and used it to cover the hole in his gut.

“Jordy—” He lifted his head, and his face contorted in pain, making her wince in sympathy.

One of her bullets had gone through Jordan’s left eye, the other through the center of his forehead. “No longer an issue.”

“Good.” Crane tried to smile at her; she saw the struggle in his eyes, but it ended with a grimace before his head flopped backward. “I’m sorry, squirrel.”