Never Mine: A Base Branch Novella (Titan World) Page 9

  Every head in the place swung his way and stared, except for one. The stranger wore a uniform from a company that supplied the kitchen’s linens. He looked at Callum for a second but just as quickly dropped his gaze and turned into the long hallway.

  Callum’s lead on this fella was greater than yesterday’s, but still, his stomach churned at the thought of Jillian in danger. The woman herself was danger. She played with it every day with explosives large enough to obliterate her. He took off after the guy.

  “Stay with me,” he called over his shoulder.

  “You stay with me, slowpoke.” Jillian zipped up next to him. It was cute, really, but his legs were almost twice as long as hers were.

  He pushed twice as hard as he had yesterday, refusing to let this asshole get away. The man’s heels jogged furiously over the path he and Jillian had run not long ago. Only, this time, he closed the distance, and the man chose the exterior door instead of the office door, which had been left propped open.

  The guy disappeared through the bright doorway. His high-pitched Arabic shouts begged for backup. He’d better have brought a large contingent because what Callum wouldn’t decimate with his fists and well-placed bullets, Jillian would.

  “Eyes peeled,” Callum hollered back at her and dove through the open doorway. He landed on the son of a bastard’s back five feet from the exit, too close to the large cargo truck parked in the bay with its trailer door rolled high. They careened over the dock’s ledge.

  For a second, Callum’s two hundred and sixty pounds weighed nothing as it plummeted to the concrete below. He held tight to the man’s collar and braced for impact. Homey’s face absorbed the brunt of the fall, leaving the guy unconscious, if not dead. The truck’s passenger door swinging wide kept him from a conclusive determination.

  Black boots stomped onto the rusty metal grating above an auxiliary gas tank. Callum rolled off the probably dead guy—judging by the amount of blood and hint of brain matter seeping onto the ground—and ghosted under the rig. Everything inside him went quiet, even his panic over the absence of Jillian’s voice or gunfire. It quieted to keep her safe, to eliminate the threats, and lay eyes on her right the fuck now.

  Dark navy pants and boots matching the dead guy’s ensemble hit the concrete in an athletic stance that meant business. It lasted one step before faltering. “Arif? Arif, get up,” the passenger ordered.

  Callum pushed and coiled onto the balls of his feet and waited for the man to pass his hideout. The narrow barrel and blunted shark fin sight of an AK-47 lowered by the man’s side. Jillian had to be inside the building. There was no way she wouldn’t have fired unless she were also hiding or caught. He hadn’t heard her scream. He needed this fucker to get a move on. His muscles itched for release for the unknown.

  The passenger stopped even with Callum. He didn’t want to use his gun because it would draw more attention. Still, he reached for the handle. The man dropped to a knee, pressing his AK’s barrel against the ground. His hand extended toward the body. Callum abandoned his gun and launched himself at the terrorist.

  He coiled his legs around the man’s torso, pinning his falling body to the ground. One palm wrapped around the guy’s jaw and the other braced a black thatch of hair. He wrenched.

  It was over in an instant.

  Callum searched the dock. No Jillian. He scrambled back to peer inside the rig’s cab. Nothing. His heart rate ratcheted with each passing second he didn’t find her pouty mouth and long dark hair. Sweat coated his palms as though it were his first mission, first kill—well, first two. Though he hadn’t meant to kill the runner. They needed someone to question to find the warhead, but before he found that hunk of metal, he had to find Jillian.

  Determination churned his legs to the dock. Conditioning hoisted him over it and toward the doorway where he’d launched himself through three minutes ago. Where the hell was—

  “I give my life to Allah.” The thickly accented declaration echoed from behind.

  Callum turned toward the truck. The same man from last night stood at the mouth of the trailer’s open cargo space. Sweat dripped from his chin. His hands shook, making his fingers fumble with the last clasp on a suicide vest.

  Christ, his wobbly hands alone could detonate the homemade device. Forget about the remote curled into his palm.

  “I give it to stop the infidels.” Two halves of the clasp slid together. The man raised his hand high, glared at Callum, and drew his last breath.

  11

  Jillian kept pace with Callum, considering his stride easily bested hers by a foot and a half. They blew past the prep tables, ovens, stunned staff, a raving chef, and the commercial grade refrigerator. The bright metal door flashed like a neon sign that read, ‘Hello, dumb asses?’

  Her feet compounded their own weight and dragged her to a standstill. Callum pushed on around the corner after the fleeing man, taking her heart with him. She stood with her hand on the lever and struggled with the measure of her options. One, go with the man she loved and make sure he was safe. Two, open the door and find the warhead capable of killing thousands—both of them included.

  She gnashed her teeth, looked right to find the staff down the hallway already back in their gourmet breakfast prep mode, and jerked the door wide. Condensing vapors rose from the ground as they had in Titan’s subterranean cooler. Why hadn’t she thought to look here? It was so simple yet so obvious, it wasn’t. She stepped into the curling clouds. Then again, if the entire staff wasn’t in on it, why hadn’t one of them alerted management about the large bomb sitting next to their orange-spotted trevally?

  If the entire kitchen staff was on the terrorist’s payroll, what was there to keep them from locking her in here, and letting her slowly freeze to death? Jillian hesitated in the doorway, wishing like hell that she could see the whole of the freezer’s contents from her vantage point.

  Deep shelves with crates of fresh fruits, vegetables, and meats lined the walls on either side of the entrance, limiting her view. She leaned out of the cooler and looked left, yearning for Callum’s face to appear from around the corner. No way could she wait for him even if she wanted. When he didn’t magically appear, she pulled both pearls from her earlobes, set them deliberately at the base of the wall outside the refrigerator, and prayed he came back soon and noticed them.

  Then she dipped into the cold.

  The dim light above the door did little to illuminate the refrigerator’s contents…and still, disappointment socked her in the gut. None of the shelves or crates held a deadly surprise unless Titan was planning to take down trans fats and sugar.

  “Goddammit.” Jillian double punched the air and paced the perimeter of the slick concrete floor. Why else would there be such a link to the kitchen, unless the thieves utilized the massive hotel cooler?

  It didn’t make sense. None of this added up. Frustration crawled over her skin like a thousand baby tarantulas. She snagged a lime from a bin and launched it at the far wall.

  A hollow gong reverberated in the contained space. It gave rise to a sleep deprived, post goose egg headache that rivaled all others. The unusual sound also piqued her interest.

  Jillian slung her backpack to her front and yanked a flashlight from it. When she clicked it on, the small light cast a high beam. She ran it along the seam where the metal wall met the metal ceiling. Irritation pounded behind her eyes. She dropped the beam to the floor.

  “Got you, fuckers.” Her headache eased immediately at the sight of shallow scrapes behind the row of shelves where the wall had been moved forward to make room for something behind it.

  She pocketed the flashlight, hurried to the corner shelving unit, which non-coincidentally held a light load of finished desserts. Her fingers wrapped around the cold metal and heaved it from the wall. At the bottom corner, a notch had been cut into the sheet of chrome.

  “I win.” Jillian pulled back the false wall panel and stared into the darkness. Her pulse thumped in her neck. She snatched the
flashlight from her pocket and swept from right to left.

  A wooden frame held the fake wall in place, leaving a three-foot gap between the insulation and the metal plates that ran the length of the six-foot room. It made the perfect nook for the warhead she’d rescued from the clutches of evil once before.

  “Hello, beautiful.” She swallowed past the joy and panic of having the ultimate lethal weapon at her fingertips, slipped into the nook, and wedged herself between the insulation and freezing metal—wedged atop a serving cart—that was meant to arm a submarine.

  There was no way to know if someone had a remote detonator on the thing. She’d love to call for backup for herself and Callum. In the cold, dark space with no pistol, she was a sitting duck for whoever came through the door, and there was no way to know what kind of situation Callum was running into. Her gaze lifted to the door as her mind momentarily locked on the man she loved beyond understanding. She couldn’t, wouldn’t risk leaving its side until she’d dismantled the mechanisms for kaboom.

  Jillian slipped off her pack and laid it gently atop the warhead. The zipper was as cold as a windshield wiper on a winter day. It screamed across the track as she opened the bag wide and let her fingers dance across the tightly organized tools. Her eyes surveilled the lower belly for the Hallelujah panel—as in, hallelujah I probably won’t die today.

  “Number six spanner head. Cocksuckers.” Jillian hissed and snagged the one and only such screwdriver from her bag.

  The damn things were notorious for breaking, especially when using on overtightened screws or the metal was cold. She ground her teeth and ignored the sting of frozen metal against the pads of her fingers.

  A concussive blast roared through the building. Outside the nook, plates and cookware rattled, crates toppled, and people screamed. Jillian braced a hand on her bag and another over her heart.

  “Callum.” His name squeaked out as an oath.

  Her fingers shook, and her heart rattled against her ribs, demanding release.

  Jillian straightened and placed the screwdriver in the notch of the first screw. A sob gathered strength in her chest. Tears slipped down her cheeks onto her bare wrists. She suppressed the quivering of her lungs, her sniffles, her impending sorrow, and gingerly twisted. The screw held fast, like she did to the hope that the bomb wasn’t as large as the boom she’d heard, and that Callum had been far, far away from it.

  “Fuck you. Fuck it all.” Jillian screamed and sobbed and shook her fists into the air.

  Footfalls thundered through the cooler. She grabbed the heaviest wrench from her bag and prayed it was enough.

  “Not everyone, baby.” Callum huffed in the false wall’s doorway. “Just me.”

  Jillian launched the wrench to the right of Callum’s blood splattered form. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

  “Hey.” Callum tossed up both hands. “I looked back, and you weren’t there. So back at ya, babe.”

  “The explosion?” Her body couldn't keep up with her attitude. Every muscle quivered with relief.

  “They were coming to transport the warhead or blow us all to hell trying. The last man standing had a suicide vest.”

  “And…” She gulped.

  “I shot him and the lever, holding open the trailer door, which locked him inside, and I ran like hell.” He nodded at the warhead. “Now, disarm this thing so we can go home to our girls.”

  Her heart fainted at the elation and horror of having everything she’d ever wanted. She stood in a stupor, unable to operate the simplest of tools to save everyone in a five-mile radius.

  “Come on, Jillian. You can do it.” He might have meant go back home with him and live with his girls, but his warm hands guided hers to the first screw.

  For the first time in her life, Jillian drew from his steady strength. One by one, she unfastened the screws and eased back the metal square.

  “Holy shit,” Callum whispered.

  “Maybe I can’t run as fast as you, but I can RSP a bomb better than you can.” Jillian kept her eyes on the mechanical fuse and electronic accelerometer.

  “I have no idea what that means, but it’s hot as fuck.”

  A smile tugged at Jillian’s lips. She let it stay, while she praised all the gods that no one had installed booby traps, and cracked the appropriate circuit boards in the panel.

  “We need to get Titan in here to secure this thing.” She slipped her screwdriver back into her pack and looked at Callum.

  “In a minute.” He threw his arms around her and squeezed the breath from her lungs. His face nuzzled against her neck.

  “I love you, Jillian.”

  12

  If he were the bare-knuckle badass he showed the world, then having Jillian ignore his second profession of love wouldn’t hurt so much. Too fucking bad. Pain, he could handle. No matter how long it took her to overcome Amery’s ghost and see them as a couple, he’d wait. He wouldn’t wait because he was conceited or desperate, but rather because he knew she loved him and his girls with everything she possessed. It was in the way she made love to him, the way she looked at him, the way she danced from foot to foot, waiting for the rest of Delta and Titan to trickle out of the hotel kitchen.

  Most of the guys had gone to the basement to secure the warhead, but a few had stayed behind to irritate the shit out of him. Well, that was just one. The damn Aussie was trying to die today. If he eyeball fucked Jillian one more time, he was about to oblige.

  “Parker, scan every face before they come back inside this hotel. I want zero unknowns in here; guest and staff alike.” Jared stood in the chaos of strewn food with both hands on his hips, slinging orders as if it was a battlefield. “Delta, you’re on crowd control.”

  “What about them?” Ryder pointed at him and Jillian.

  “Bradfield’s officially no longer my business, and Jillian can do whatever the hell she wants with the rest of her day.” Jared shrugged. “Thanks to her, we have this one. Now, get after it.”

  Ryder fell out with the rest of the crew through the double doors.

  “The jet is fueled and ready whenever you are.” Jared split a look between him and Jillian. “Or you can stay. I can always use another capable and trusted hand around here.”

  Jilly dance shuffled some more.

  “One condition, though.” Jared offered his hand.

  “What’s that?” Callum shook the sturdy arm and quirked a brow.

  Jared’s gaze slid to Jillian and her uncomfortable shimmy shake. “Tell Vail Tucker why you’re really coming halfway across the world. I don’t want to deal with him if he thinks I poached one of his guys.”

  “Yes, sir.” Callum tried to hide his smile, but it only half worked.

  “Cooper, amazing work today.” Jared extended his hand to Jillian.

  “Thank you, sir,” she squeaked.

  “On the same token, if you want to renegotiate your contract or home base, let me know.” Jared dipped his head and shoved through the doors before Jillian’s jaw hit the floor.

  Callum grabbed her hand and pulled it to his chest. He waited for several beats for the silence to settle around them. After the chaos of the morning, it was a welcomed quiet for talk of the future.

  “We can work,” he whispered.

  Jillian finally stilled her feet and looked at him. Her chest rose and fell with a long breath and then another.

  “I love you, Callum. I just can’t go back there and live a life meant for my friend.” Before his mouth could open, she lifted a palm and pushed on. “I’ve never been able to make a simple relationship work, much less this.” She pressed the hand already on his chest harder against him, and then pulled it away, placing it over her heart.

  “The baggage of our pasts won’t allow this to work.” Her wisp-riddled ponytail swung back and forth.

  Irritation seeped into his words. “I made it work with Amery, when we barely knew one another, when she was pregnant, an obligation, and not much more at the start.”


  “I know.” She sobbed. “I know, but what if we can’t make it work? I’d never be able to leave the girls. Then we’d all be miserable.” Jillian’s lashes clumped together with tears. She slapped the moisture from her cheeks and smiled up at him. “If we could stay here forever and live in our little world, where you’re mine, and I’m yours, maybe. But going back…It’s just too much.”

  “I’ve never seen you run away from anything, not even Trent the asshole.” Full-blown anger burned his gut. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and soothe her fears, but she was shoving him away.

  “Don’t you get it? You’re more important than anything before.”

  “Then don’t run away.” Callum couldn’t keep the pleading from his voice and didn’t much care.

  “I’m not.”

  But she was.

  Jillian stood on her tippy toes and pressed her lips to his for one heartbreaking second. “I’m staying. You’re going.”

  “Goddammit, Jillian.” He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close. “You are mine, and I am yours, from this day until my last.” He shook her, not hard, but fuck, he wanted her to understand. “Don’t you get it? You’re it for me.”

  “And you for me.” Tears continued to cascade down her face, telling him everything he needed to know. She wasn’t leaving with him.

  Callum planted a hand at her nape. He pressed his mouth to hers and dared her not to participate. They kissed like starved animals, gnashing and sucking at each other for life. When her hands pressed to his heart, he pushed back.

  Jillian heaved breaths. Her wild eyes begged, but for what, he couldn’t be sure. Callum took one long last look, turned, and walked out.

  13

  Two months and two days later…

  Jillian’s lower quads and back screamed as she leaned over the network of wires partially buried in the dirt that linked three packs of ammunition. Next to her, Boomer bit back a pitchy whine.