Josiah King reached
for his gun and grabbed only air. Not that a weapon would do him any
good. Shooting a wall-sized monitor wouldn’t stop the bloodthirsty
execution unfolding in front of him.
“What are you watching . . . Wait, where is this feed coming in
from?” Mike Shelby asked as he walked up to stand next to his team
leader. “Man, I hope this is some sort of training exercise because
that guy looks like shit.”
“It’s real. A
video. One-way, and I have no idea how were getting it.” But this
was personal and meant for him. Josiah knew that much. “I’m
pretty sure it’s live.” It had to be because Josiah would know if
this horror had already happened. They all would. No, this hell
played out in real time.
“So we can see
this poor bastard but he can’t hear or see us?” Mike got up close
and squinted as his gaze scanned every inch of the screen. Even waved
his hand in front of the monitor. “I don’t get it. What exactly
is this?”
Josiah feared he
knew the answer. “A message.”
“For?”
“Me.” That’s
really all he could say. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea
of his personal life being beamed into a secure facility as spectator
sport.
Mike glanced over,
already frowning. “What?” Josiah kept staring up at the center
screen hanging right in front of him in the Warehouse, the de facto
headquarters of the undercover task force called the Alliance. He
blinked a few times, sure he’d fallen into a bleak nightmare he
needed to fight and punch his way out of if he ever wanted to breathe
again.
Somehow he spat out
the right answer. “Uncle.” Mike shifted the whole way around and
faced Josiah head on. “Uncle . . . as in your uncle?”
The man highlighted
on the screen in front of them looked like a version of the very
formidable 3rd Earl of Stonechase, Thomas Benedict Asher, a
hereditary peer in the House of Lords. For Josiah, simply the uncle
who taught him how to fish. Now a man tied to a chair, his white hair
sticking out in every direction. His usually pristine white shirt
ripped open to reveal the folds of pale skin around his stomach and
spray of gray hair on his chest.
Blood ran in a line
from his temple. More pooled in a circle near his heart. Yet more on
his wrist. He’d been beaten and strapped down in a room painted
gray with high ceilings and dramatic print curtains. Josiah couldn’t
see the bookcases he knew lined the wall, but he recognized the desk.
Intricately carved, with a secret compartment used by his ancestors
as they passed the secrets of the four-story stone manse down from
generation to generation along with the title and the land.
It all looked
familiar except for the bomb strapped to his uncle’s chest and the
obvious shake moving through him. Those were the parts that finally
registered in Josiah’s brain and kick-started him into action. This
was no nightmare. He couldn’t wake up, couldn’t unsee the scene
unfolding in front of him.
“Phone.” He
snapped his fingers and pointed to his cell on the conference table
behind Mike. “Get me a phone.”
“It’s . . . it’s
too late for me. I will . . . die.” His uncle’s voice, usually
perfectly smooth, held a rough edge as he stumbled over the words and
his voice trembled. He stared straight ahead, probably into a camera,
in a way that looked like he was talking directly to Josiah through
the monitor. “No matter what action you take that will happen.”
Mike froze as he
handed over the cell. “Sweet Jesus.” Through the haze falling
over Josiah he realized the clipped words coming through the monitor
speakers weren’t delivered in his uncle’s normal style. That
likely meant he read from a script or something similar. No question
someone wanted to deliver a haunting message and decided to use an
old man to do it.
“He says you
caused this.” His uncle’s gaze darted up and to the right as he
spoke, as if he were taking direction from someone in the room.
Josiah hit a few
buttons and dialed to get through to his uncle’s house. A beeping
sound greeted him, so he tried again, desperate to hear the familiar
voice.
“Anything?”
Mike’s gaze did not waver from the screen as he slipped his phone
out of his back pocket.
“No.” He was
going to fucking fail again. Josiah could feel it. Be so close but
not on time.
His heartbeat
thundered in his chest. He’d spent a lifetime in the intelligence
service. Seen people cut down by bullets and shredded by explosions.
He’d stayed focused. Now, his mind took off on a wild rush and he
fought to wrestle it back under control. Strategies bombarded his
brain, none of them workable from his position on the grounds of
Liberty Crossing, the modern complex outside Washington, DC, that
housed the National Counterterrorism Center. Virginia had never
seemed farther away from his uncle’s London townhouse than right
now.
“You and your team
ruined everything.” His uncle visibly swallowed as the trail of
blood seeped down his cheek and his gaze stayed locked on the camera,
which must have sat just out of sight. “Now you’ll pay.”
“He’s being told
what to say but seems to know he’s talking to you.” Mike didn’t
wait for agreement. He shook his head. “I’m calling everyone in.”
No one else stood in
the room with them. Bravo leader Ford Decker had his team practicing
building raid maneuvers. Josiah had his Delta team muster for weight
training earlier but they’d all moved out after showers, taking the
rest of the day for some much-needed time off.
Somewhere the people
who ran the Alliance sat in their offices across the Liberty Crossing
grounds. Being people with access to everything they’d have access
to this feed, as would other intelligence services, which were likely
monitoring and mobilizing. Josiah knew in the next five minutes
people would pour through the doors with theories and strategies.
Later there would be questions about how this video beamed into the
Warehouse with such apparent ease, about protocols and firewalls, but
none of that mattered now.
He hit the emergency
button and the metal doors clanked and locked with heavy precision as
the Warehouse switched into lockdown mode, trapping them inside. The
move would send a warning to the entire Alliance team. Bravo, Delta,
and admin would get the call to come rushing back to assist. As he
waited for that to happen he tried his uncle again, this time using
private backdoor numbers.
The ringing in his
ear echoed on the monitor in front of him. His uncle jerked at the
sound but couldn’t go far in his chair thanks to the cords binding
him. Something in the room, something Josiah could not see, had his
uncle’s gaze shooting to that same corner spot again.
Then he looked
directly into the camera. “You can’t stop this, Josiah. Please
don’t try . . .”
The brief break in
his tone. Josiah read it as a personal plea. One he had to ignore
even as he knew to his soul no one could get to his uncle in time.
Phones started
ringing in the Warehouse. Josiah could hear Mike relaying
information, likely to team members. The other monitors lining the
walls flickered to life in front of them and a steady hum filled the
room as computers turned on and paper started spilling out of the
printer. Lines of information filled one screen. Josiah knew his team
had started working its magic but the gnawing in his stomach, the
rolling bile, told him whatever they did would be too late.
Mike put a hand over
the phone. “Where is he? Which residence are we looking at?”
The
behind-the-scenes recon had flipped into action. The people Josiah
trusted most in the world likely searched files and made calls to try
to find a peaceful end to this. “Belgrave Square. London.”
“Shit, nowhere
near here.” Mike repeated the information and listened for a second
before disconnecting the line and going back to staring at the
screen. “They’re mobilizing MI5 or MI6 or whoever stops bullshit
like this in your country other than us.”
But Josiah knew it
wasn’t that simple. His uncle possessed resources. Serious
resources. “He has security.” Mike shrugged. “We both know that
can be broken.”
He didn’t get it.
“He has guards, Mike. A damn militia within shouting distance at
all times.” Josiah rubbed a hand over his face as he started to
pace.
“Who the hell is
your uncle?”
He didn’t wallow
and never felt helpless. Right now both sensations raced through
Josiah. “Someone hard to get to, which I’m assuming is the
message here. No one is safe, no matter how well-connected or high up
in government.”
He was about to say
more, to explain why this could only be described as surreal and
impossible and how it shouldn’t be happening, but the words fell
away as he clenched the phone even tighter in his palm. He called the
line that went directly into his uncle’s home office again, hoping
to get through to someone in power and reason with him.
The second after the
private line rang his uncle started talking again. “He knows you’re
the one calling.”
“Who is the ‘he’
leading all of this?” Mike asked to the monitor as a second screen
filled with images of men in uniform, approaching vehicles on the way
to the Belgravia residence.
One name popped into
Josiah’s head and refused to leave. The name of the same “he”
the Alliance had been hunting across every continent, sifting through
every lead and turning over every rock, waiting for him to slither
out.
“There’s only
one person who knows enough background on us to come straight at us
like this.” Their nemesis, the enemy of every law enforcement and
intelligence operation in the world. The man who hid under the radar
until the Alliance had dragged him into the open seven months ago.
They’d stopped a major international sale he brokered among some of
the worst motherfuckers around, and then destroyed the delivery
system he hid in Pakistan to spread a new viral weapon of
destruction.
Mike’s mouth
dropped open. “It can’t be. No fucking way.”
“He wants you to
know how this works . . . for . . .for next time.” His uncle closed
his eyes and his head dropped. The rest of the words muffled against
his chest. “Because he will not stop. I am only the first.”
Josiah needed to
walk, to hit. Much more of watching this and he’d crawl right out
of his skin. Claw his own eyes out. “I can’t believe this.”
Mike grabbed the
remote and zoomed in on the picture. “If it is him, he’s smart
enough to stay far off- screen.”
“Goddamn coward,”
Josiah screamed at the screen even though he knew only Mike could
hear him.
The minute he had
this guy, whoever he was and whatever he called himself, Josiah would
use more than words to eliminate the threat. Some people looked at
him and saw a proper British businessman. Little did they know what
lurked under the surface. The rage. The ability to turn off his
humanity and get the job done.
“The bomb is
attached to me . . . to my . . .” His uncle squinted as he looked
away from the camera. “What did you say?”
A second later
horror flashed across his uncle’s face. What was left of the color
drained away, replaced by an icy paleness that had Josiah dreading
the answer.
“Heartbeat.” His
uncle coughed out the word as he faced them again. “As it
accelerates, it triggers the bomb.”
Mike turned to
Josiah. “Is that even possible?”
He wanted to deny
the possibility. They worked for an undercover group that answered to
few and were bound by almost no laws or internal government rules.
They saw fucking awful things on a daily basis. Women used as pawns
and literally ripped in half. Men thrown off buildings and burned
alive. And those were the lucky ones. But standing there as a mix of
adrenaline and frustration pumped through him, Josiah knew the sick
truth.
“Look at the
incision.” His gaze wandered over his uncle’s chest, then down to
his arm. “The blood. Even if making a human bomb isn’t possible,
someone wants us to believe it is.”
“If my heartbeat
stays even, he has a . . .”
“A what?” Mike
leaned in, as if he were having an actual conversation through the
screen.
Josiah watched as
his uncle stared right into the camera, unblinking and almost still,
and opened his mouth. “Kill switch.”
“Fuck me.” Mike
answered the phone and hung up again without talking. “MI5 and
SCO19 are moving in now.”
“Firearms Command,
like British SWAT.” The words rolled off Josiah’s tongue without
even thinking them through first. He’d gone into operations mode.
Heard everything around him, saw the battle unfolding on the screens
in front of him. Only this time he would not be able to react in
time. There wouldn’t be a single defensive maneuver or offensive
strike he could launch before death took his uncle.
Mike blew out a long
breath. “These armed squads can get in there and—”
“I will be the
first but not the last,” his uncle said in a monotone voice,
clearly parroting the message he’d been ordered to communicate.
The camera moved
back and panned around the room. Men in dark suits, sprawled in
lifeless heaps on the floor as blood ran from their bodies and pooled
on the carpet that had always been his uncle’s favorite. Worse, he
was giving up. Surrendering to the end and letting the terror go.
Josiah heard it in his uncle’s voice, saw it in the now-determined
lines of his body.
The calmer his uncle
became, the more unraveled Josiah felt. He ached to do
something—anything— even if it meant tearing the giant screen
from the wall and smashing it into pieces on the concrete Warehouse
floor.
“You will all pay.
You will all watch as . . .” Fear morphed into sadness in his
uncle’s eyes as he continued passing on the information he’d
clearly been kidnapped to tell. “You will all lose someone you care
about.”
Mike grabbed his
phone and started punching in numbers. The yelling came next. “Where
are these supposedly impressive reinforcements?”
“You need to . .
.” His uncle leaned in.
Sensing his uncle
was breaking from the prepared script again, Josiah stepped closer to
the screen, desperate to hear any piece of intel that might help.
Eager to keep his uncle talking until the gunmen had a chance to
storm in.
His uncle’s gaze
darted around the room as he inhaled. Then his words came out in a
rush. “About forty and scarred with burns. He said his name is—”
A sharp bang rang
out, making Josiah jump back. He started to rush forward again but
his knees buckled and he had to grab the corner of the table to keep
from falling as the room on the screen in front of him blew apart.
“No!” But Josiah
knew he was too late.
A static buzz
sounded in his ears. The talking, the pleading cut off, and the
heirloom desk vanished in an explosion of smoke. The room shifted on
him as his gaze traveled over the devastation. Everything inside him
stopped—his heartbeat, his breathing—as he looked at the splatter
of blood and flesh on the screen.
Being thousands of
miles away didn’t save him from the pure brutality of the moment.
Someone he loved, broken down to nothing more than bone and skin. Not
recognizable. Not even human anymore.
“Holy shit.”
Mike grabbed Josiah, locked his arms around him, and wrestled him
back. “Do not look.”
But he had to. It
was all so unreal and impossible. His uncle had people and prestige.
This could not happen. “Let me go.”
Mike held on as he
stepped in front of Josiah, blocking the direct line of sight. “You
don’t need to see any more of this.”
Just as Josiah broke
free, the screen went blank. Completely black. He could hear a
crunching sound and decided his mind had shut down as some sort of
defense mechanism.
He stood there and
rocked back on his heels. Buried his face in his hands and silently
cursed a world where shit like this happened. As if blowing up
another person were normal. “Fuck. I can’t believe . . . fuck.”
“Now what the hell
is this?”
Josiah heard the
shock in Mike’s voice and looked up. The black screen had turned a
smoky gray as the video snapped to life again. The crunching sound
grew louder and Josiah could make out legs through the haze. Hear the
crackle and thud as each footstep landed on unidentifiable piles of
debris on the floor.
The figure turned
toward the camera but the lens never strayed higher than knee-level
from the floor. Bodies were scattered and shards of what looked like
wood stuck up here and there. Papers littered the area and a ball of
something—something Josiah feared was once his uncle—lay right
between two black wing-tipped dress shoes.
A voice broke into
the horrible silence. “The name is Benton, but then I think you
know that.”
That word. One name.
It’s all they had to go on. All any law enforcement agency in the
world had of the faceless, seemingly invisible international
terrorist who didn’t pick sides and delivered death and destruction
in the form of weapons sold to the highest bidder. A pure psychopath.
One sick fuck.
“He survived.”
Mike shook his head. “We lit him on fire with a rocket launcher
months ago and he lived.”
But that was just
it. They did hit him. Josiah knew that now. Gone was the smooth,
cultured tone he remembered from their one meeting. Now Benton
sounded winded, his voice scratchy. Josiah hoped that meant they’d
done some real damage to the guy while in Pakistan. Nothing compared
to what Josiah intended to do to him, but something he hoped hurt
like hell, burned with pain, every day since.
“Your uncle was a
hard man to reach, Josiah.” A harsh laugh followed the line. “But
I did. I couldn’t get him to admit he knew you. So proper. So
dedicated to protocol and keeping your identity secure. It’s a
shame your actions killed him.”
Mike swore under his
breath. “This guy sure does like to hear himself talk.”
“I started with
Josiah but you’ll all get a turn.” The figure they assumed was
Benton shifted as he used the toe of his shoe to push the body at his
feet to the side like nothing more than garbage. “Some of you will
not be able to hold on to your secrets.” He made an annoying
tsk-tsking sound. “And you should know once I kill those you care
about most I’ll start again and keep going until the head of
everyone you know is splattered in pieces against a wall.”
“Next time I’m
putting the rocket launcher right up his ass before I fire,” Mike
said to the empty room.
“See you soon.”
Benton delivered the line, then the screen blinked out.
For a few seconds
they didn’t move. Didn’t talk. Alarms blared inside the Warehouse
and monitors not already on sparked to life all around the room.
Josiah heard a thunk as the lock on the main doors disengaged. The
sound of voices as team members flooded in.
“They won’t
catch him.” The police could surround the house and lock it down,
and Benton would get out. Josiah didn’t doubt that for a second.
“No, but we will,”
Mike said, making every word sound like a guarantee.
“Right.” Josiah
stared at the dark screen. “We’re coming for you, asshole.”
About FACING FIRE
HelenKay Dimon
returns with another hot installment of her romantic suspense series
featuring the fierce men of Alliance—a top-secret military security
agency—and the only women who can tame them.
When his uncle is
brutally murdered, Josiah King knows that business just got personal.
His uncle’s ties to the Alliance can mean only one thing: Josiah
and his black ops team are targets, along with everyone they love.
Primed for vengeance, Josiah is determined to unravel the plot—until
long-legged redhead Sutton Dahl becomes a dangerous
distraction.
Sutton is very good at uncovering other people’s secrets—and protecting her own. When Josiah bursts into her life she’s torn between pushing him away and asking for his help. Mysterious, strong, and much too sexy, he’s a puzzle she longs to solve, and a temptation she can’t ignore.
Thrown together in the face of Alliance’s most lethal threat, Josiah and Sutton become unlikely partners, fighting for their lives even as the attraction between them flares into real passion. Torn between his team and the woman who means everything to him, Josiah will risk it all to save Sutton, even if that decision is his last.
Sutton is very good at uncovering other people’s secrets—and protecting her own. When Josiah bursts into her life she’s torn between pushing him away and asking for his help. Mysterious, strong, and much too sexy, he’s a puzzle she longs to solve, and a temptation she can’t ignore.
Thrown together in the face of Alliance’s most lethal threat, Josiah and Sutton become unlikely partners, fighting for their lives even as the attraction between them flares into real passion. Torn between his team and the woman who means everything to him, Josiah will risk it all to save Sutton, even if that decision is his last.
About HELENKAY
DIMON
Helenkay Dimon spent
the years before becoming a romance author as a . . . divorce
attorney. Not the usual transition, she knows. Good news is she now
writes full time and is much happier. She has sold over thirty
novels, novellas and shorts to numerous publishers. Her nationally
bestselling and award-winning books have been showcased in numerous
venues and her books have twice been named “Red-Hot Reads”
and excerpted in Cosmopolitan magazine. But if
you ask her, she’ll tell you the best part of the job is never
having to wear pantyhose again.
Where to buy
DIRTY TALK
HarperCollins:
http://www.harpercollins.com/9780062330109/facing-fire
Barnes and Noble:
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/facing-fire-helenkay-dimon/1120998783
Google Play:
https://play.google.com/store/books/details/HelenKay_Dimon_Facing_Fire?id=FIgQBgAAQBAJ&hl
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