Mission: Her Protection (Team 52 #1)(34)

“I have no idea, but I know it’s dangerous, and Lachlan was very good at it.”

And while doing it, he’d hardened, and he’d lost his arm. “I can tell.”

“So good that even after he was injured and discharged, Jonah recruited him for Team 52.” Nat leaned back. “Ty gave Lachlan his high-tech arm.”

“And Blair’s eye is a prosthetic.”

Nat nodded. “All the team suffered various injuries that ended their military careers. They have scars—some more visible than others.”

Rowan looked at her wine. “He scares me now. I mean, I know he’d never hurt me physically, but…”

“Emotionally?”

“He wouldn’t mean it, but yes. I can feel he holds himself back.” Rowan lifted her gaze. “I’ve lived with that all my life, my parents are…distant. I want more.”

“He’s different with you,” the archeologist said quietly.

Time to change the subject. “How did you come to join Team 52?”

“I was working at Stanford.” Nat crossed her legs. “I specialized in studying various ancient cultures, but had a focus on megalithic prehistory.” She smiled. “I posted some…controversial theories under a pen name on a blog. I couldn’t have the conservative halls of academia finding out that I had some queries over strange artifacts and sites. I’d seen facts and dates that didn’t match up with the accepted theories and timelines on how civilization on our planet had evolved. Jonah discovered it and made me a job offer. It’s fascinating work.”

“The mysterious Jonah,” Rowan murmured.

“Now there is one gorgeous man…who scares the pants off me,” Nat said. “Thankfully, he’s an excellent boss.”

Suddenly, the sound of smashing glass echoed from the hallway leading to the bedrooms. Rowan leaped to her feet, heart pounding. Nat jumped up, set her glass down on the side table, and yanked open a drawer. She pulled out a handgun.

“Stay here.” The archeologist’s face was set in serious lines, and she held the gun with ease.

But she’d only taken two steps when the sound of something rolling made them both freeze. A metal object tumbled across the sleek floor.

Rowan stepped back. Bang.

Piercing noise. Flashes of light.

Bang. Smoke filled the air.

Her ears were ringing and she heard shouting, but it was muffled. Her eyes stung.

Rowan stumbled forward. She couldn’t see Nat, only gray smoke. Then she heard another sound.

God, were those gunshots?

Heart in her throat, Rowan staggered through the smoke, trying to find Nat. Suddenly, hands grabbed her from behind and lifted her off her feet. She kicked out, tears running down her face.

She was spun around violently, coming face-to-face with a big man wearing a red balaclava.

Not good. Rowan fought harder, kicking and trying to get her arms free. The smoke was just starting to clear.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something on the ground. A slim body. Oh, no, it was Nat. She was slumped on the rug, not moving.

“No!” Rowan kicked out, catching the man between the legs. He went down with a groan.

Spinning, she aimed for the door. She had to call Lachlan. Arms grabbed her again, and she found herself tossed up and over someone’s hard shoulder.

“Let me go!” she shouted.

Someone else stepped closer, and a dark cloth bag was pulled over her head, cutting off the light.

“Quiet,” a low voice filled with menace said. “Or I’ll put a bullet in you.”

Rowan bit her lip as she was carried out of Nat’s apartment. Shit.



*

Rowan found herself tossed in the back of what she guessed was an SUV. She yanked the bag off her head, and thankfully, no one complained.

Two men, faces hidden by red balaclavas, slid into the front seats. Out the windshield, she saw two other men dressed the same way get into a gunmetal gray sedan in front of them.

She quickly scanned the interior of the vehicle. All the windows were tinted and there were no door handles, no buttons, or handholds of any kind. The engine roared to life, and the two vehicles abruptly pulled out onto the road. Rowan was thrown back against the seat.

God, please let Nat be okay. Rowan’s stomach was rolling and she fought back her panic. Her eyes were still watering, stinging from whatever was in the grenade.

They sped down the busy Strip, the casinos whizzing past. Rowan cautiously ran her hands over the doors, hoping to find some way to open them. Nothing.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “Where are we going?”

The men ignored her. Dammit.

Think, Rowan. They get you far away from here, and you’re dead. Then, through the windshield, she spotted two black Suburbans speeding toward them.

It had to be Team 52. And they were about to speed past, with no idea that she was in here.

In about four seconds, Team 52 was going to be gone, and she’d end up somewhere very bad.

She didn’t think, she just knew she had to do something.

Rowan dived through the gap between the front seats and leaped on the driver.

She tried to grab the wheel. She’d surprised the driver enough that he swerved wildly. Curses filled the cab, and ahead, she saw brake lights flash on at the back of the sedan.