Point Blank Range Read online

  “They gave me baking supplies.” A hysterical laugh bubbled from him, but it jolted his broken ribs and he wheezed in a breath. Fuck, that hurt too. Lungs burnt—the explosion… he thought distantly.

  “He doesn’t know what he’s saying. I hear the chopper. Get him up, we’ll run to meet it.”

  They lifted him again, this time in a two-man carry. Linc’s skin was no longer on his body—couldn’t be. It hurt like nothing else he’d ever experienced.

  The sweet welcome of the chopper blades met his ears, and he was loaded onto transport.

  Someone gripped his hand. He looked up at Shaw, the man’s face etched with lines of concern and enough face paint to render him black.

  “I’m out,” Linc grated through dry lips.

  “You are. Don’t talk if it hurts. Do you know the extent of your injuries?”

  He shook his head. “Ribs and nose broke. My legs—”

  “Don’t talk,” Shaw said in a tight way.

  He traveled the rest of the distance in silence, moving in and out of consciousness. This time his dreams were not haunted, but the agony in his legs kept him from truly resting. When he came to, he looked at his captain and said, “I ate all the fruit. I was too hungry.”

  “It’s okay, man. We got you. Not long now.”

  He drifted again. Soon lights blared in his eyes, and he realized he was in the light of day.

  “Jesus Christ.” Shaw was staring at him.

  “Don’t look at it. He’ll be okay. Get him in the vehicle.” Nash lifted Linc.

  “Someone thought he was being funny, giving a prisoner baking supplies. What was I gonna do with it—whip up a batch of cookies?” Linc said.

  Both men stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

  He probably fucking had. They were dropping him off at the nearest nuthouse.

  Linc laughed, and it hurt his ribs but he couldn’t stop the joy that he had bested those motherfuckers.

  “I cooked up something good. And I pickpocketed a lighter from one of those fuckers who held me prisoner in the crate.”

  “Fucking hell,” Shaw said quietly.

  Linc went on. “I lit the powdered sugar and heated the oil. When it had boiled a while, I threw the water on it and…” He spread his arms, though it hurt like hell, and created a cloud in the air to show the explosion.

  It had gotten him out of the crate, and he’d crawled on his burned legs until he stopped feeling the pain. Then he’d gotten out of that place. He couldn’t quite remember how Shaw and Nash had discovered him.

  “How did you find me?” he asked in a gritty voice. “Can I have some water?”

  They exchanged looks.

  “If he needs surgery, he can’t drink,” Shaw said.

  “Give him the goddamn water,” Nash ordered.

  “We stumbled over you in the fucking dark,” Shaw said as Nash tipped water over Linc’s parched lips. “Now lie back and rest. We need you whole, man.”

  He held up his hand again, and this time each of his teammates gripped it. “Guts ’n glory.”

  “Jesus. Do you ever stop being a hero, Linc?” Shaw’s amused tone brought a smile to his face—this time it wasn’t crazed.

  * * * * *

  This was it—the day Nealy had been waiting for. She clasped her hands in front of herself and waited for the announcement that she was being promoted to the position she had fought her entire career for.

  The Acting Deputy Director of the ATF, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives, had been in her sights for over a year now, ever since the announcement the former director would be stepping down soon to care for his ill wife. Since then, Nealy had amped up her game and laid herself on the line time and again in order to be seen.

  She drew a deep breath. What if she wasn’t promoted?

  Nonsense—she was the most qualified here. She’d begun as an ATF agent in Miami, dealing with drug and arms trafficking, with a resume under her belt that put her on the radar, and that had led her to management positions in the New York field division.

  How many ladder rungs had she hoisted herself up to get to this day? She was more than prepared.

  Hell, she had the white wine already chilling in her fridge back in her apartment.

  She waited as the chief of staff closed out his talk and got down to the real business of appointing her.

  Next to her, Mark Mitchum shifted in his chair. He was sweating slightly, a bead at his prematurely graying temple. Nealy’s only competition in this game was Mark, but he wasn’t nearly as qualified as she was, and she was confident in herself.

  Here it was—Chief of Staff Holden was finally getting to the nitty gritty.

  “Our new Acting Deputy Director will need to fill some big shoes. We will miss you, Bill.”

  A round of applause for Bill, who was looking somewhat relieved to be on his way down the ladder she was trying so hard to climb. No wonder, with his poor wife enduring chemo treatments.

  “Now if you’ll give a hand to Acting Deputy Director… Mark Mitchum!”

  Nealy had scooted to the edge of her seat in order to stand for the acceptance, but the name of her coworker hit her like a two-by-four to the skull. She blinked at Mark’s back as he stood to move forward and shake hands with Holden. Everyone was on their feet, applauding his success.

  Mark’s success, not hers.

  Nealy bit down on her emotions, stood and clapped for Mark. She would allow the true disappointment and anger to take over later, when she could be alone with her wine. Right now, she must be poised and professional.

  Mark looked right at her and sent her a wink.

  Douche-bag. He had been giving her the whole little-sister act since she’d stepped foot in the DC office, but she didn’t like the guy overall. He was the same age she was but condescending in the most subtle of ways that flew under any radars except hers.

  Now he was her boss. What a shit-show.

  As soon as the applause broke off, people moved forward to shake Mark’s hand, sucking up to him, but Nealy rounded the outer edge of the group and found Holden.

  “Sir, if I could have a word.”

  He eyed her. “I figured you’d be approaching me, Alexander. Follow me to my office, and we can get this over with.”

  That didn’t bode well, but she allowed him to lead the way. When she closed the door behind them, the chief went straight to his desk and sank to the big chair. She stood before the desk, hands folded.

  “Speak your peace, Alexander. I know you wanted that promotion.”

  No point in denying it. She nodded. “I did, sir. And I’d like to ask some questions, if you don’t mind.”

  He waved to a seat, and she sank into it, gathering her thoughts.

  “I wondered what actions I can take to be more qualified for the promotion next time. How do I stack up against these guys? How are my people skills in comparison?”

  The chief looked impressed—and she did a mental victory dance that at least she was being taken seriously and wasn’t coming off as a sore loser.

  They spoke for a half hour, with him giving her good insights as to her own abilities and how to improve. Finally, he pushed a file across the desk to her.

  “What is this, sir?”

  “Your next case. A big one. I think you’ve heard of Operation X.”

  Her heart gave a little trip at the name dubbed by Homeland Security for a group they believed stretched between several countries and had smuggled over two hundred thousand firearms into the US to date.

  The chief tapped the file. “It’s yours.”

  Were her eyes bulging? Yes, they were. She gave a nod to collect herself and drew the file across the desk. It was thick, and no wonder. They’d been after these guys for months.

  “I’m honored to be given the opportunity, chief. Thank you. I will do the ATF proud.”

  “No doubt about that in my mind, Alexander. Now off with you. You’re going to be spending the next two days reading ev
erything in that file.”

  “Yes. Thanks again.” She got to her feet, shook his hand and with the thick folder tucked to her chest, she went to her cubicle to gather her things for home.

  She was just checking on the whereabouts of her keys, when she sensed someone looming nearby.

  Glancing up, she saw Mark and offered him a smile. “Congratulations again.”

  “I thought you’d be more bitter, Alexander. I know you wanted the promotion.”

  Salt. In. Wound.

  She shoved it all aside and smiled wider. “The early bird gets the worm. But the second mouse gets the cheese,” she quoted.

  His brows puckered. “Is that your way of telling me I’m in a precarious position?”

  “It’s a known fact in business that when things go wrong, the people who sit in offices are blamed first. But of course, you have the best people under you, Mark. I’m happy for you and wish you nothing but the best.”

  Scooping up the file again, she said over her shoulder, “See you tomorrow.”

  Her drive home—hemmed in by traffic on the beltway heading out of DC, she shot glances at the folder on her passenger’s seat. The task was big, the case one of utmost importance. Operation X was thought to be responsible for twenty-thousand guns on the streets of Chicago. Homeland was pretty damn tense about it all, with good reason. They had to put this case to bed, and she would be the one to do it.

  Half an hour later, inside her apartment, she kicked off her boots and cracked open the white wine. Hell, why not? It was a celebration of sorts. She was being taken seriously, given this important case.

  Not bothering with a glass, she took the bottle by the neck and the file to the living room to read.

  She didn’t get two pages in when she set down the bottle with a thump on her coffee table. “Son of a bitch!”

  They were pairing her with some special forces from the South, a division of Operation Freedom Flag. Just what she needed—some team of gun-toting, chest-thumping guys stepping on her toes. The Ranger Ops team? Who the hell were they?

  She brought up a search on her computer, but of course, it revealed nothing. Homeland would have them all flying beneath detection, and now she couldn’t even test how cold the waters were before being thrown into it.

  Given her choice, she would not have selected a special forces unit to assist her on this case. She would have taken trustworthy, tried and true agents and created a small group to investigate the operation.

  So she was given only half control, an annoyance that she must overcome and with a smile on her damn face too. One bit of feedback Holden had given her had been that she could use her people skills to get further in her career.

  She could only guess Mark Mitchum’s way of charming people into getting what he wanted out of them had given him a leg-up. Well, next time, she’d be ready. Dealing with a team of cocky military men—maybe there was a woman among them too?—would be the first challenge Nealy tackled.

  She got halfway through the file before her eyes grew too grainy to continue. She was just taking out her contacts for bed, when her cell rang.

  “Alexander,” she answered automatically.

  “New information just came in.”

  “Mark. I see you’re diving right into the new position.” She pressed her brown hair back off her face.

  “No time to waste. Operation X is bigger than we thought. They’ve captured and held one of our men hostage, and his team just recovered him.”

  She leaned against the sink, mind whirling.

  “He was just transported to DC for medical care, and I expect you in there questioning him as soon as he’s able to speak.”

  “Yes, right away. I’ll check on him first thing in the morning and see what I can discover.”

  He named the hospital in Bethesda, twenty miles or so away, and she committed it to memory, taking note that the place specialized in burn treatments of armed forces after explosions.

  She gripped the phone tighter, thinking of what this man might have endured at the hands of Operation X. And to think, the American government only believed they were dealing with arms trafficking, never guessing at what they were truly capable of.

  “I’ll see what I can find out, Mark.”

  “Do that. His name’s Lincoln Reed.”

  * * * * *

  The light rap on Linc’s hospital room door had him cracking an eye open and lifting his head off the stiff pillow.

  “Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. It was her again—the ATF agent who was up his ass with so many questions about the group who’d captured him. Linc would be happy to be out of this hospital, this city and far away from her.

  She’d been irritating him almost daily for weeks and always showed up when he was about to drift off to sleep.

  She didn’t seem to be taking the hint that he wasn’t going to remember more than what he’d already shared with her either. Though she was pretty in an intriguing sort of nerd-grew-up way, she knew how to get on a man’s last damn nerve.

  “Oh good, you’re awake.” Nealy Alexander sailed into the room with that self-assured walk that bugged the hell out of him.

  “Not like you’d go away if I wasn’t,” he responded, pushing up into more of a sitting position. He was exhausted from a restless night’s sleep. Either the pain from his burns had him waking with his every miniscule movement, or a nurse came in to take his vitals and check his dressings.

  Alexander took up the only seat in his room, and Linc gave her the eye.

  “Which is it today?” he asked. “Do you want to know more about the crate I was in or the back of the truck I was locked in?”

  She gave him a flat look—the woman didn’t have a bone of personality in her entire body. She leaned back in the plastic chair and crossed her legs. She always wore black trousers cut like a man’s. Her button-down tops varied in color from white to pale gray, though. She really liked to party it up, this one.

  He sighed and settled in for the long haul. Once she got into this position with legs crossed, she was single-minded and wouldn’t leave until she had enough of his vague answers. One of these days, he was going to get up and toss her out.

  A grim smile spread over his face at the thought.

  She did a double-take. “What are you smiling for?”

  “No reason.” He waved a hand to egg her on. “Let’s hear the questions so we can get this over with.”

  She arched a brown eyebrow, and the look in her eyes told him she didn’t much care for him either. “Let’s go back to the moment you were taken.”

  He stifled a groan. They’d been over this so many times, and he wasn’t going to change his story now. What was the fucking point?

  All he wanted to do was sleep for another hour before the nurse came in to bug him.

  Resting his head back on the pillow, he closed his eyes.

  Ahhh, silence. Pure bliss.

  “Lincoln?”

  He opened his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, woman. Not only do you always come in when I want to sleep, but you also insist on using my full name.”

  “Linc. Fine,” she bit off.

  “I can’t tell you anything more than I already have the last six times you were here.” He returned her flat look, but he added a measure of lowered brows.

  She one-upped him by narrowing her eyes.

  “You’re not leaving until I recap it, are you? Okay, here goes. Grab some water if you’re thirsty, because it’s gonna take a bit.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t need anything. I just had a big lunch. I’m more than ready.” She uncrossed her legs and crossed them the other direction. The buttons of her top pulled over her breasts momentarily and then released as she relaxed.

  He opened his mouth and recounted the events—his team advancing on the enemy through a forest at night, knowing that they had the place rigged with land mines and other explosives to keep the OFFSUS teams at bay and from discovering that the smugglers had a shit ton of weapons ready
to roll into the US through various means.

  “What means?” she asked.

  He rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you take notes so I don’t have to spell it out for you again and again?”

  “I have it all committed to memory already. I’m asking because it’s a known fact that the more you think of an event, the more you remember. Your mind can skip over the big details and focus on some smaller ones you might have missed the first time you told it.”

  “Yeah, well, there aren’t any other details. You forget I’ve been in law enforcement my entire career before this, and I damn well remember all the details.”

  “Fine. Go on.”

  “Got into a skirmish, arm around my neck, being dragged backward, yada yada.”

  She gave a light shake of her head as if she was disappointed in him. He didn’t know why, but that infuriated him.

  He let out a not-so-subtle growl of annoyance. “Know what? I’m tired and you’re cutting into my healing time.”

  At that moment, a nurse entered. She was one of his favorites because she was gentle with the treatment of the burns on his legs, unlike Nurse Killjoy, as he’d dubbed one with a heavy hand.

  He gave her a smile. “Good morning, Lynn.”

  “Hi, Linc. Nice to see a smile on your face this morning.”

  From the seat against the wall, Agent Alexander gave a sniff and a huff before standing. “I’ll leave you for the day, but I’ll return.”

  “Don’t make it too soon,” he said in an overly cheerful tone, happy when she walked out, looking like she had a tree trunk up her ass.

  He collapsed against the pillow again. “I’ll just close my eyes while you change the bandages, okay, Lynn?”

  “Yes, Linc. I’ll try to be gentle.”

  “I know you will.”

  * * * * *

  She was back and wearing her usual uniform dress of black pants and a white button-down shirt. Today she had the sleeves rolled up her forearms, revealing slender wrists and skin with a spattering of freckles.

  He had a thing for freckles. Call it twisted but he loved a pale woman.

  Linc diverted his gaze and focused on the window over Agent Alexander’s head. The sky was always gray through the tinted glass hospital windows.