Black Jack (Elite Ops 4)

Page 13

A sniper rifle. It was broken down, well oiled, and shining in the dim light. Reaching out to touch it with trembling fingers, Lilly fought back the realization that she had used it, more than once.
Moving to the smaller cases, she found handguns, and knew somehow that they were modified and highly illegal. There were empty clips and cases of ammunition.
There were clothes, maps, files that Lilly scanned as fear stole her breath.
What in the hell had she been involved in?
Shaking, she pulled a leather bag from a small cabinet and packed clothes, a Glock, ammunition, and several knives inside.
Storing the bag in the back compartment of the motorcycle, Lilly turned to the remainder of the clothes.
She dressed quickly in leather pants, t-shirt, and jacket. Flat leather boots pulled above the knee, and she found the key to the cycle hanging in the ignition.
Fear was ever present, but so was excitement. It pounded inside her, raced through her bloodstream, and sent adrenaline flying through her system.
She didn’t remember who she had been.
She didn’t remember what she had been.
But maybe those memories were now growing stronger, moving closer, and were almost within reach.
Friendly’s Sports Bar sat in the perfect location for assignations such as the one Travis had set up with his favorite former Elite Ops counterpart.
It sat on a corner. Across the street were an assortment of closely built inner-city brick houses that served as apartments, homes, and offices.
Franklin Street was a busy area, especially on a Friday night, which allowed for greater anonymity, as well as plenty of traffic, both by vehicle and by foot, which could be used as a distraction as the other agents positioned themselves to watch every corner of the tavern.
They wanted to know who was following Lilly, how she was being followed, and who they could be traced back to.
Sitting at the bar, Travis nursed a beer, his gaze trained on the side entrance of the building from the short end of the L-shaped bar. At the other corner, Nik sat sideways on a bar stool as the red-haired Tehya, one of the team’s communications experts, sat beside him and flirted outrageously.
Farther down the bar Clint McIntyre, a former Navy SEAL and now part of the Elite Ops independent backup team, sat with his wife and tried playing the drunken male on the make while his wife, Morganna, her long dark hair pulled back in a braid, pretended not to be amused.
The rest of the team, backup as well as the agents, were positioned outside along with Jordan and Santos Bahre, one of Lilly’s commanders.
“She’s not showing.” Santos’s voice came through the tiny earset that linked communications between the agents and the commanders. “I warned you she wasn’t this predictable.”
Travis glanced around the bar.
“She’s here.” She’d been here for a while, he suspected. He could feel her watching, those green eyes narrowed on him as she waited to see what he’d do.
“Doubtful.” Reno Chavez, commander of the backup team that had been with the Ops for years, now spoke into the link. “Macey and I both have the entrances covered. There’s no way she slipped in there without us knowing it.”
There was a way. Lilly always found a way.
Travis pushed back the warm beer he had been nursing and made to rise when he felt the small hand that pressed between his shoulder blades, indicating he should remain in place.
Settling back on the stool, he turned his head, restrained his smile, and watched as Lilly slid onto the bar stool that had been vacated beside him.
“I didn’t think you were going to show.” He motioned for the bartender to take her order.
Waving the man away, Lilly turned back to him, her gaze suspicious as she watched him closely.
She was wearing her riding leathers. Leather pants, boots, a short jacket, and a black silk shirt that bared her midriff if she moved just the right way.
“Neither did I.” Her green eyes were dark in the shadows. “Tell me who you are and what do you have to do with me?”
There was something about him, something familiar, something she couldn’t put her finger on. She should know him, but she couldn’t remember him. She couldn’t remember meeting him.