Page 44 of Nothing to Fear

In the clothing section, he grabbed extra T-shirts, a button-up shirt to conceal his weapon once they docked, and a pair of pants. For Willow, he estimated her size and tossed in a couple of wrinkle-resistant sundresses. He’d never seen her wear any patterns, always solid colors, and she’d never had a crease. He wasn’t sure if they bothered her, but no sense chancing it.

Heels weren’t practical, but gauging shoe size was harder. Kelli had worn an eight, but Willow had smaller feet. He threw a box of size seven Keds in the cart.

On his way to get toothpaste, he passed an aisle with condoms and stopped.

Shaking his head, he pressed on and picked up toothbrushes. He rounded the corner, waltzed down the aisle, and found himself in front of the display of condoms again.

Just in case. They were going to be stuck together in a confined space for two days. Safety first. He grabbed the value pack. But the only way to be sure he did the right thing and showed Willow the respect she deserved was not to get the condoms. Right?

He put the rubbers back.

Or he could get them in case things got out of hand. He knocked a box from the shelf into the cart. Having them didn’t mean he’d use them.

The situation could get messy. Ugly. Maddox’s words rattled in his head.

Willow needed a nice straitlaced gentleman who did sweet things and made her feel special every day. Besides, Gideon didn’t do sex tender and gentle and slow, the way a lady like her would want. His type was someone cut from the same cloth as him—another damaged, train wreck of a soul who enjoyed sex no-holds-barred dirty.

That wasn’t Willow. They made no sense together, and the last thing he wanted was to put her in a position where she felt trapped with him on a boat or beholden because he was helping her. Only a pig would do that to her.

He threw the box of condoms back on the shelf and hustled out of the aisle.

For once, he needed to be a better man.

18

Near Potomac Regional Park, Virginia

Friday, July 5, 1:30 p.m. EDT

Traffic crossing the freeway overhead rumbled low. Sweat beaded Cobalt’s brow. The muggy air was ten degrees hotter under the overpass along the rarely used service road. A slight breeze brought welcome relief from the godforsaken heat wave pounding the city, but the foul stench of death and desperation lingered.

Daedalus’s tactical unit was inbound. Once those animals were unleashed, they couldn’t be bought off, and they wouldn’t stop. No matter how much blood flowed in the streets, no matter how many cops, agents, women, or children they had to kill or maim to get the job done.

They weren’t mindless dogs. Oh no. They were merciless, organized, well-trained.

A shiny black SUV, windows tinted dark, turned onto the road, followed by two motorcycles polished to such a high-gloss finish, it looked as if they’d taken the time to roll through a car wash on their way over. Well, it wasn’t their necks on the chopping block if this went south.

The roar of the bikes thundered in the oven-like space under the freeway. The three vehicles pulled to a stop, and the SUV’s driver emerged. A familiar face, Ray-Bans hiding eyes of ice. Omega, Daedalus’s second-in-command. He was known for producing results. Rumor had it he once crippled a kid to get information from the boy’s father, then terminated them both.

Cobalt had first met Omega in Montana and was forced to watch his handiwork up close. Betray your country, you got life in prison. Betray Daedalus, you spent days in a tiny, dark hole, naked. Then Omega carried out the real punishment, the nature of which depended on his mood. Peeled off your skin if he was inclined toward benevolence. Diced you up if he wasn’t, starting with your tongue, ending with severing your ribs from your vertebral column.

Either way, you ended up back in the tiny, dark hole.

After Montana, Cobalt rarely saw Daedalus, but it didn’t limit his control. Distance only magnified it. He had fashioned himself into a god, and faith in his power didn’t necessitate his presence. For anything hands-on, Omega stepped in.

Wiping a hand over his square, clean-shaven jaw, Omega approached, radiating the lethality of a python on the hunt. Skintight black tee over a powerhouse torso. Dark pants highlighted the cruel ability caged within his muscular frame. The sound of thick-soled, heavy boots striking the pavement echoed in Cobalt’s chest. Omega circled Cobalt, the way a serpent would an injured mongoose, then finally stopped and held out his palm.

Gaze fixed on the jagged white scar on Omega’s bottom lip, Cobalt put a manila envelope in his hand. A sheet inside contained detailed information to help them find Harper and Stone in the event the electronic tracker was lost.

“Her father is in ICU at Saint Margaret’s. The address is inside. He’s her closest relative. She seems devoted to him. I believe she’ll go there.”

A smirk laced with strychnine spread across Omega’s face. “We’ll have coverage on the hospital, and we’ll close in on the tracking device signal.” He strutted toward the car. “For your sake, we better get the girl.”

Panic sliced through Cobalt like a hot blade. But bleeding out, entrails in hand, wasn’t an option. The only recourse was to fight, tooth and nail, by any means fucking possible.

“I took out insurance.” A neighbor held a sealed envelope containing enough information to bury Daedalus. If Cobalt didn’t retrieve the envelope in person in one week, it would be mailed to someone who wouldn’t rest until the scales were balanced. “I burn, Daedalus burns.”

Omega halted. Didn’t turn. Didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Cobalt almost shit standing right there. Maybe it wasn’t too late to take it back and pretend it was a sick joke.