Worth the Risk (Book 3, Wolff Securities Series) Read online

  Would Kell come find her? The last time they’d been together she’d walked out on him and never looked back. The weekend they’d spent together had been the best sex of her life. Off the charts good. And, it had scared her. No, terrified her. She’d never been good at relationships, despite her parents perfect marriage. Shea just didn’t have that settling-down gene in her. She chose her career over love every time. In her idealistic world, that was what she’d been meant to do. A sacrifice she’d happily made. She’d put many terrorists behind bars.

  Now, as she looked back over her life, she realized she’d missed out on something incredible. She’d had a chance with Kell. They were on the same page when it came to work and life. Neither of them wanted commitment.

  Ugh, commitment. She hated that word. There was only one time in her life she had even considered it. The day she found out she was pregnant with Kell’s child. Somehow, she’d known they made a beautiful child together that weekend. They’d taken precautions. Mostly. There was that one morning when Kell woke her with hot kisses on her navel. She’d been putty in his hands. Unable to resist or think straight. What that man could do with his tongue…

  Not only had she run from Kell. She’d run from herself. From what she was feeling. Sex was supposed to be sex. But Kell took her to new heights, made her feel things she didn’t want to. Words like love and commitment and forever had popped into her head. Scary words for a woman who still had unpacked boxes in her apartment back in Virginia.

  Tingling began in her extremities. Soon, they would be numb. How long did it take a human body to drain itself of blood? How long before she slipped into forever sleep?

  Shea popped her eyes open. Not that she could see anything in the complete darkness they’d left her in. She’d never felt so alone. That was saying something for a woman who flew solo in everything she did.

  Giving up wasn’t in her DNA. Ask any of her superiors. Until the very last drop of blood dripped from her arm she would fight to survive. Hope wasn’t lost. Kell would come. She had to believe that.

  Please, God, let him come.

  Shrouded in the veil of darkness, Kell moved silently down a back alley. A black cat darted out from behind a dumpster and ran off around the corner.

  He’d tracked down Yosef and used Shea’s phone to set up a meeting with him. He’d had to dig through her cell in order to find old messages and meeting locations. She covered her tracks damn well.

  A figure moved out of the shadows. Short of stature, dark haired, young. Yosef.

  Kell approached him. When Yosef saw him he turned to run. He’d been expecting Shea.

  “Yosef. Wait. I’m a friend of Shea’s,” Kell said, prepared to tackle the guy if needed.

  The young man halted. Wary. “You sent the text?”

  “Yes. From Shea’s phone.”

  “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know. She’s been missing for six days.”

  Yosef’s face fell. “So it is true? She is dead?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I hear things. And she has not contacted me in days.”

  “Do you speak often?”

  Yosef glanced around to make sure the alley was clear. “Often enough. Who are you?”

  Kell held out a hand, needing to gain his trust. “Kell.”

  Yosef’s eyebrows shot up. “You are the wolf?”

  Did everyone know him as the wolf? Maybe Shea made him out to be one. Wouldn’t be so far from the truth given how they’d ended things.

  “Yes. I need to find Shea. It’s important. Can you help?”

  Yosef’s head bobbed. “These are dark times in our country. You are taking a big risk being here. I will see what I can find out.”

  “Thank you. Time is of the essence here. Message me when you know something.”

  Kell pressed a couple coins into his hand. Yosef pocketed the money and ran off, the darkness swallowing him up. Kell went the other way, taking a different route back to Shea’s house. In case anyone decided to follow him. When it came to spooks he couldn’t be too careful.

  The CIA had trashed her office, taken her computer and files. They’d have her phone too if Kell hadn’t hidden it away. Alsu was hard at work trying to put everything back in order. He hoped it wasn’t for nothing. Having no leads yet had him restless as hell. The longer it took for him to locate Shea, the higher the possibility she would be found dead. As the CIA reported.

  He refused to believe it. Despite all the signs pointing toward it, until he found a body he would believe Shea was alive.

  7

  Cedar Falls, Michigan

  Avery curled up next to Quinn, taking comfort in the heat of his body, his scent. His arms went around her, holding her tight. Here, she could remain forever. Safe and protected in the arms of her fiancé.

  She couldn’t wait for the day they made it official and became husband and wife. With everything going on they hadn’t had a chance to plan a wedding. Part of her felt guilty for being so happy. The Wolff family had suffered a terrible loss because of her.

  Her therapist’s voice rang in her head. Not your fault, Avery. You were a victim, too. You didn’t cause this. Didn’t ask for it. Until you let go of your guilt you will never be truly happy.

  “What are you thinking?” Quinn asked, his deep voice rumbling through his chest and sending shivers down her spine.

  “Sure you want to know?”

  He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

  She smiled. So honest, her Quinn. She loved that about him. “I was thinking maybe we could set a wedding date.”

  Quinn pulled back so he could see her face. “Really?”

  Avery nodded. She’d never been more sure of anything in her life. “Fall is coming and I bet it is gorgeous here when the leaves change color. I’m thinking an October wedding.”

  “I’m in.”

  She grinned, elated. “So we’re doing this?”

  He smiled. “We are.”

  Avery shifted out of his arms and stretched out on top of him, loving the feel of his hard muscles against her softer curves. “I’ve never been so happy,” she whispered.

  Quinn lifted his head and kissed her. Deep and slow, as if they had all the time in the world.

  With Diakameli dead, maybe they did.

  Jamshid, Azbakastan

  Shea felt herself slipping. Slowly, as if piece by piece she was losing herself. Which she was. With every drop of blood that fell to the floor. It had begun to puddle, the echo more muted than before.

  Her thoughts drifted. Her sister, laughing as she spun in circles, arms outstretched, loving life. Happier than Shea had ever experienced. Her parents, sharing a loving embrace after they thought the girls had gone to bed. Kell. Making love to her as if she were the only woman in the world he wanted.

  Those thoughts morphed into faces of the men she’d helped put away. All running into one another, melding into one grotesque monstrous image. Within it were the faces of the victims she couldn’t save. Red with blood, hands outstretched, begging Shea to help them. She tried to reach for them but her limbs wouldn’t move. Pain knifed through her chest as they faded, one by one, into the darkness. They were the ones she couldn’t save. The ones who haunted her. Among them, her sister. Her beautiful Brianna whose life had meant so much.

  Somewhere in her head she heard a baby crying.

  Shea twisted her head back and forth, trying to find the source. A tiny face floated in front of her. All pink and soft. So small. Crying with longing for her mother. For Shea.

  “I’m here,” Shea said, trying to touch her, but the image turned into a cloud of raindrops. Her baby. The little girl she’d lost before she ever got a chance to meet her. Another victim of Ramil Diakameli.

  An ache spread through her. Not from the beatings, but deep inside her soul. A longing like she’d never experienced. An emptiness that could never be filled.

  Her baby girl was gone. And
nothing could bring her back.

  Tears slid down her temples, landing soundlessly on the metal slab. She’d never cried for her baby, never grieved. How did you grieve the loss of a child? Someone that had been part of you for months. Someone who had taken the loneliness out of her soul and filled it with so much love. Unconditional love.

  Only to be torn away like a cruel dream.

  Shea moaned. Soon, she would be reunited with her child. Maybe this wasn’t the worst thing to happen. She was tired. In her body, in her soul. She’d been fighting monsters for so long she’d lost everything. Her family, her friends, her baby. Maybe it was time to let it all go. Time to rest and let someone else take on the responsibility of saving the world.

  That tiny face wafted in front of her, tiny mouth open and crying for a mother she’d never known. Shea’s heart broke. God, how she wanted to hold her. To hug her. To kiss those soft pink cheeks. To love someone. And, have someone love her in return.

  The face morphed into another. Kell. The one man she could see herself loving. Making a future with.

  A sob rose in her throat. Her future had been stolen from her. Just like her baby. Leaving emptiness in it’s wake. A deep void never to be filled.

  It consumed her. If only she’d done things differently. Let herself show love and be loved. Kell would have been the man to complete her. Deep in her heart she knew it.

  “Shea? Sweetheart, come back to me.”

  Kell’s voice. It sounded so real. Like he was right there.

  A dream, because she couldn’t feel anything anymore. Her body had gone numb. Blessed numbness. No more pain. No more suffering. She was too tired to hang on to his voice so she let it go, drifting into forever sleep where her baby girl waited for her.

  “Fuck.”

  Kell cut the leather restraints pinning Shea to the table, tearing them off her. He raised her left arm, forcing the blood in the other direction instead of out the small opening in her vein.

  Bastards had left her here to die.

  If he hadn’t heard her voice saying, “I’m here,” he may have been too late. This underground prison was full of tunnels and doorways. How Shea had known he was there he didn’t know. She was out of it. Listless and unresponsive.

  Working quickly, he wrapped a bandage around her wrist, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. His boot slipped in the small puddle of blood that had pooled on the floor and he cursed again.

  He had to get her to a hospital. He wasn’t a medic like his brother. He knew basic life-saving techniques, but Shea’s injuries were beyond his scope of knowledge.

  “I got you,” he said, lifting Shea into his arms. Her body was limp, lifeless.

  Kell ran. Down tunnels, through doorways, until he burst onto a darkened alley. He sprinted for his car, hoping the heap of junk started. He’d had to give her a jump before coming here. Carefully, he put Shea in the backseat, checked her pulse one last time and rounded the car to jump in the driver’s seat.

  He turned the key.

  Click. Click.

  Staying calm, he tried again, cajoling her as he pumped the gas and nudged her to start. On the third try, she did. Kell slammed down the gas pedal and shot down the alley, barely coming to a stop for the turn onto the street.

  Ignoring the car horns and screeching tires he pushed the little car as fast as she’d go, praying he wasn’t too late. Yosef had come through. Impressively fast. Kell had paid him three times what he should have and sprang into action. He hadn’t known what to expect when he got to Shea’s location, but it sure as hell wasn’t an underground maze without guard. He hadn’t come across anyone, the place deserted.

  Except for Shea, who’d they’d left to bleed out. Alone. In the dark.

  His gut clenched. What kind of animals did that?

  For miles he raced, passing cars, laying on his horn for them to get out of his way, swerving around corners. Until the hospital Emergency sign came into view. Darting around a slow car, he careened into the parking lot. Tires squealed as he came to a sudden stop. Seconds later he was running through the doors, shouting for help.

  Hospital staff flocked around him. Someone took Shea out of his arms and lay her on a gurney. A dark skinned man shouted orders, nurses scrambling to do his bidding. They began to wheel Shea through a pair of revolving doors. Kell went to follow, but a young nurse put a hand on his chest to stop him.

  “Please. Sir. She’s in good hands. I need you to fill out some paperwork. First, lets get you cleaned up. Come with me?”

  Kell tore his eyes away from the swinging doors, no longer able to see Shea. He glanced at the nurse, noticing the sympathy in her brown eyes.

  He nodded and followed her to the restroom where she stood aside, holding the door open. “I’ll get the paperwork ready,” she said and left him to use the bathroom.

  Kell let the door close behind him as a fluorescent light blinked on. He walked to the sink and turned on the faucet. Numb, he ran his hands under the water, watching Shea’s blood turn the porcelain sink red. He scrubbed his hands clean, but there was nothing he could do about the blood on his clothes.

  He left the bathroom and strode to the reception desk where the nurse handed him a clipboard holding a stack of papers and a pen.

  “You can have a seat right over there,” she suggested.

  Kell sat in the corner, his back to the wall, away from the other visitors. An elderly gentleman, coughing into a napkin. A young couple trying to keep their toddler still as they waited their turn. A teenager with a black eye, holding his wrist against his chest. None of them seemed too upset over the blood staining Kell’s shirt.

  It took him a few minutes to fill out the paperwork. He decided against using Shea’s real name and address. The CIA had a long reach and he couldn’t risk her being found out. If they knew she’d survived they might come after her again and try to finish the job.

  Let them try. They’d have to go through him first. Bastards didn’t get a second chance to bury Shea.

  He finished the paperwork and carried it up to the nurse. She smiled and took it from him.

  “Any news?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry. It’s too soon. I’ll let you know as soon as I know something. There’s coffee and tea in the cafeteria if you’d like a cup.”

  “Thanks,” he said, returning to his seat.

  Time crawled. Every time someone came or went through those swinging doors he looked up, hoping it was about Shea.

  Patients came and went out of the waiting room. Time dragged on. He read the texts from his brothers. Considered replying. What did he tell them? As of right now he didn’t know much. Someone had slit Shea’s wrist and left her to die. The CIA tossed her house. She’d been missing six days and her SOS came from her maid. She’d played a part in the death of Ramil Diakameli.

  Nothing added up. The pieces still not fitting together.

  The only person who could answer them was behind those closed doors fighting for her life.

  8

  Jamshid, Azbakastan

  Chris Wolff tipped back a shot of whisky and slammed the glass on the counter. He motioned to the bartender for a refill. His fourth of the night and it was just after nine. Too early to be drunk, but he didn’t care. This was a celebration drunk. The bastard who’d killed his brother was dead. That was reason to celebrate. Bittersweet as it was.

  At least the alcohol numbed the ache in his chest that had been there since Ryan’s death. His baby brother. The one Wolff brother who hadn’t ended up in jail for their pranks. Or fights. Ryan had always been the more laid back one. That didn’t mean he didn’t get into his share of trouble. He just escaped the consequences like a charmed one.

  Hell, the kid had the luck of the Irish. Never getting caught. Chris always wondered how that happened because he seemed to get busted every time. Not that he cared. Being the town’s bad boy brother didn’t bother him. He’d gotten a lot of tail because of it. He was the guy girls didn’t bring home to meet the
parents. The rebel. And it wasn’t an act. He liked living life free and reckless. Enjoyed having a different female partner whenever he got an itch that needed scratched.

  Jake MacNair, brawny Scot who owned the pub, with badass tattoo sleeves, and a thick accent, approached Chris with a bottle of Scottish whisky and refilled his glass.

  “Hittin’ it a bit early,” he commented.

  Chris didn’t say anything. Not in the mood to talk. Jake was a good bartender. Knew when to push and when not to.

  Chris swallowed the liquid fire, letting it slide down his throat and burn his gut. Jake was a friend. When he opened the pub it quickly became Chris’s favorite watering hole. Not to mention, Jake’s sister, Maggie, was a looker. A ginger with sparkling blue eyes and an easy smile. Her accent wasn’t as thick as Jake’s, but sexy as hell. Chris liked it when she tended bar instead of waitress. Gave him a chance to flirt with her. She was a feisty one and he liked that. Gave him a run for his money every time. And not once had she accepted his offer to go home with him. Instead of feeling rejected, he enjoyed the challenge.

  “I saw the news about the terrorist killed. Sometimes things work out to our advantage.”

  “Yeah,” Chris said, tapping a finger on the bar for another. The bastard was dead and he was pleased about that. He just wished it had been by his hand. He’d never wanted vengeance like he did for Diakameli. No one hurt Chris’s family and lived to tell about it. The need for revenge still burned in his gut. Would it ever go away?

  The next job to come across Wolff Securities desk was his. He needed to get rid of the edginess grinding inside him.

  Behind him he heard the raucous laughter of the biker gang sitting in the corner. He’d seen them come in. Knew they were going to interrupt his buzz.