Way of the Warrior (Troubleshooters #17.5)(50)
Sometimes, she mused. Prisoner R5762 was living proof.
“You don’t like it when I touch her, blade runner?” the guard taunted. The reference to the prosthetic on Rook’s left leg fell like a gauntlet.
He remained silent, but the vow in his eyes was unmistakable. With that look, it wasn’t hard to believe he was the killer his Army superiors made him out to be. Vivi held her breath, willing the fear to subside. She wasn’t his target.
Not yet.
She straightened her shoulders and glanced at the guard. “You can leave.”
He smirked. “I’ll be right outside if you need me, little girl.” It was a taunt, plain and simple.
If only she’d met him outside these walls…
Yeah, Vivi? What would you do? Hack into his email account and send his wife pictures of him having sex with her sister? Hack into his bank account and send all his money to a charity in Africa? Flip him the bird and stomp off?
She ground her back teeth together. She might be CIA, but she wasn’t quite as physically intimidating as she’d like. She’d love to hand him his ass. She’d love some revenge for the feels he’d copped, but there were rules in this setting and she had a goal that wouldn’t be met sitting around jonesing for payback. Maybe she’d hack into his email next week.
Vivi smiled serenely, affecting a look of tranquillity like she’d been born to it. She’d damn well practiced it her entire life. As a woman in a man’s profession, she’d had to swallow more than her fair share of shit. This was small potatoes. She could do this.
She walked to the only other chair in the room, located approximately five feet in front of her quarry, and sat down. It didn’t escape her notice that Rook’s eyes fixed on her once the guard left. His gaze was a tactile stroke, leaving no part of her untouched. Vivi took another deep, cleansing breath and raised her head.
She met his gaze, and the air in her lungs froze. Panic sliced through her as the black ice of his eyes effectively trapped her thoughts, bypassing her intent and worming through her veins. Stone. Cold. Killer. It seemed there was no life behind those eyes, nothing but a veiled intent to destroy anyone who got in his path.
She was now all up in that path—a direct target. And she’d put herself there intentionally. She glanced at the chains that shackled him to huge bolts in the floor. Yes, he was a big, strong Delta Force officer. Yes, he was one scary dude. Yes, he’d been convicted in the deaths of his entire Delta Force unit. But the chains were overkill. He’d pissed somebody off so badly they’d determined to make every second of his life behind bars miserable.
She smiled and lifted a shaking hand to push a wayward curl behind her ear. “My name is Olivia Bentwood. I believe you knew my brother, Michael.”
She left her words hanging in the air. She’d made the initial foray and waited for him to either pick it up or leave it lying there. He did as she expected and said nothing.
She didn’t drop her gaze but cocked her head and made it glacial. “You knew my brother, served with him in Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, and Lebanon, along with a few incursions into Indonesia. According to Michael, you pulled his ass out of so many cracks during the time you served with him that he could never repay you. On July 3, 2007, you saved him from a burning helo after it crashed in Helmand Province. On September 3, 2008, you pulled him, shot and bleeding, from a firefight in Kunar Province. And on February 24, 2010, you saved his life when your Delta Force unit and two CIA paramilitary operatives were ambushed at a security checkpoint outside Mogadishu, Somalia. He had more respect for you than anyone he’d ever met, and your name was the last thing he said before he died from the wounds sustained on that op.”
She paused, searching for any flicker of recognition, any hint of emotion. As Michael had told her he would, he remained ice cold. He had no way of knowing, would probably not understand, but one day she’d thank him for that iciness. It gave her strength.
She sighed and plastered the smile on her face again. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sergeant Granger. My brother spoke highly of you, swore the gods of war had created you as the perfect soldier. Said that although you lost your leg in the Second Battle of Fallujah, you were the best damn warrior he’d ever known. He passed nine months ago, in a hospital bed at Walter Reed. They said you were responsible. My brother knew different. You saved his life, and I’m here to repay the debt.”
The silence in the room was absolute, an empty void waiting to be filled. He didn’t disappoint her.
“Leave.”
One word, so simple, yet complex all at once.
“I cannot do that, Sergeant Granger. You’re in trouble. You’ll rot here if I don’t get you out. And actually, the point is moot because the wheels are already turning.” The clanging of a door down the hall resounded in the sudden silence. Determined footsteps headed their way. “Here comes our first salvo now.”
She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Her thumb caressed the screen, hovering over a particular button. Almost time. She stared at him, trying with her demeanor to calm the beast she knew writhed beneath his skin. He stared back, promising hell if she didn’t do as he’d commanded.
“We will be leaving here tonight, Sergeant. I have information I believe you’ve needed for almost a year now. That information would have saved your men’s lives and negated the need for your imprisonment. It’s important you listen to me very carefully.”