The Men of Black Ops., Volume 1 by Cindy Gerard

Author:Cindy Gerard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pocket Books

14

“She’s shaken,” Sam said, listening with Doc and Savage to Abbie’s voice through the receiver.

“She’s fine.” Savage stared at him hard.

Doc just cocked a brow.

Sam knew they’d heard the whole conversation between Abbie and Nader’s driver through the chatter and bustle of the busy terminal. Just like he knew they’d heard the conversation between Sam and Abbie in the jetway.

Neither Doc nor Savage had said anything. Sam figured they were thinking plenty. He knew what they called him. The quiet man. The ice man. Cool under fire. Professional to a fault. They’d never seen him react with anything other than emotionless efficiency. So they were either too shocked by his reaction to Abbie or too worried about how or if his feelings would affect the op to comment.

How he felt wasn’t going to affect anything. He wasn’t going to let it.

The minute Abbie had cleared the jetway, the three of them were on the move. They grabbed their go bags from the overhead compartments and sprinted off the plane. Once in the terminal, they headed in the opposite direction of the passenger pickup area. Sam couldn’t take the chance of being spotted by Nader’s man. He’d crossed paths with too many of Nader’s henchmen before—and not over tea and crumpets.

“Ring Mendoza,” Sam said, anxious to connect with him and get in position to tail Abbie.

“He’s waiting in short-term parking,” Savage said after a brief conversation. “Older-model SUV. Gray. Local plates.”

Mendoza knew his stuff. They needed to blend in, not stand out, and a big-ass new suburban would stick out like a tux at a biker bar.

“Anything happening?” Sam asked Doc as they backtracked toward the exit.

Doc was monitoring Abbie through a headset now. He shook his head. “Traffic sounds. They’re outside. Not a lot of chitchat. Wait.” He stopped. Held up a hand. Then quickly switched off the tracker.

“He just asked her to hold her arms out to her side.”

Which meant he was sweeping her for a wire. Probably also meant he was patting her down. Sam clenched his jaw, forced himself not to think about the bastard touching her. Or the fact that for now, they couldn’t monitor her conversation. She was on her own.

Eyes dead ahead, he walked across the parking lot, searching for Mendoza. Raphael spotted them first. He stood in the open driver’s door of a dinged and dented monolith of an SUV that looked like it had been through a war.

Mendoza, as always, looked like he’d just stepped out of a photo shoot. His thick dark hair was cropped military short. His black eyes—a product of his Colombian heritage just like his caramel skin—shone clear and intelligent under the security light. He was ripped and ready. Not as big as, say, Gabe Jones or even Sam, but pound for pound, Raphael “Choirboy” Mendoza was one of the toughest fighters Sam had ever seen in action.

“Nice ride,” Doc said with a grin as they reached Mendoza.

“Kind of like you, Holliday.” Mendoza grinned back. “Not much to look at but good in a fight.

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