HOT Addiction: A Hostile Operations Team Novel - Book 10 Read online

  “Simple encryption,” the man sitting in front of the computer said.

  Annabelle jerked her gaze to him like he’d thrown her a lifeline.

  “You’re in?” Dex asked before she could find her voice.

  “Yep. Just need to hash it out with my equipment. I’ve reset the password so we won’t have trouble getting in again.”

  “Is there anything there? Anything pointing to the money?” Annabelle’s heart was in her throat as she moved toward the table.

  The man—Billy?—winked at her. “It’ll take a little bit of time to sort through everything, but I’ll find it.”

  A phone rang and Annabelle jumped. But it wasn’t her phone, and it wasn’t Dex’s. It belonged to the other guy—the tall, handsome one who had a Cajun accent. Matt—but Dex called him Richie.

  “Girard,” he said, his voice clipped. “Hey, cher. … Yeah, got a lot going on today. … Can you fix some gumbo? I’ll call you later and tell you where to bring it, yeah?” He laughed, a rich sound filled with happiness. Annabelle envied that. She wanted to hate him for that happiness, but she couldn’t. She was too numb to feel anything other than fear for her child. There was no room for anything else. “Love you too, cher. Bye.”

  “Damn. Evie’s cooking?” It was Dex speaking.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll have her bring it to HQ when we get back there later.”

  “Hey,” Billy said, and everyone looked at him. His mouth curved in a broad smile. “Got something.”

  “The bank account?” Hope rode hard through the chambers of her heart.

  “No… but I do have a name.”

  13

  “Dmitri Leonov,” Mendez said, holding up a file folder two inches thick. “Former KGB, rumored to have the Russian president’s ear. It’s entirely possible he was sent by the Russian government to procure Archer’s technology. He’s also something of a gun for hire, so he might be working for a private contractor who wanted to buy the tech for their own purposes.”

  “That would be some valuable technology if it worked,” Lieutenant Colonel Bishop said. “Recharging spy and combat drones using radio waves? It could revolutionize warfare.”

  Mendez looked grim. “Whoever controls that kind of technology could crush enemy defenses with repeated attacks. No limits on flight time. Just rotate the controllers in and out back at HQ and run a nonstop campaign. Fewer drones could command the airspace. And then there are the other applications—recharging just about everything without generators, solar panels, or the need to stop and plug in somewhere.”

  “Sounds like a spy novel,” Garrett “Iceman” Spencer drawled.

  “It does, but Archer Industries purportedly figured out how to make it work. So we have a revolutionary technology, a dead American, a Russian spy, half a billion dollars in missing money, a dead FBI agent, three hostages, and no idea where the money is yet—am I right?”

  The colonel sounded about as pissed off as Dex had ever heard him. Billy must have heard it too because he jerked his gaze from his computer, nodding hard. “Yes, sir, that’s right. I haven’t found any evidence of the bank account numbers so far.”

  Dex wanted to punch something. They’d left the safe house earlier and come to the Hostile Operations Team headquarters where they had better access to equipment and resources. Not to mention it was the kind of place where nobody was getting to Annabelle.

  HOT HQ was located on a military base in Maryland. It was a nondescript, high-tech building sitting behind concertina wire and some of the most sophisticated security measures on the planet. Annabelle was here but in an area that didn’t require a top secret security clearance to enter. Evie Girard was with her, which Dex was grateful for. Matt’s wife had shown up with a pot of gumbo and a cheery smile. Somehow she’d gotten Annabelle to eat, and the two of them were talking when Dex left.

  But if they didn’t get those account numbers and find the money, Dex didn’t know what would happen or if they’d ever get Annabelle’s daughter back alive.

  Mendez dropped the folder on the table and opened it. He took out a photo and passed it around. “Dmitri Leonov, aka Mr. Lyon, aka Leo. We’ve run a search on Molly Carter’s calls—the ones from Leonov all came from a burner, but we’ve got records of Ms. Carter’s texts and we’ve pieced together that she met Leonov on a dating site. He must have targeted her because of her connection to Annabelle Archer.”

  “Why not just go straight for Annabelle or her daughter?” It was Richie this time. “Why target her friend on the off chance he’d need her?”

  “He likes to toy with his prey,” Dex interjected. They swung curious gazes his way, but he’d been thinking since Annabelle told him about the first call from Lyon. “Annabelle said that Eric was mauled by lions. This guy didn’t call himself Mr. Lyon because it’s an anglicized form of his own name. He did it because he’s a sick fuck. The same with calling himself Leo when he met Molly Carter. It’s a game to him.”

  Mendez nodded. “That’s right. Leonov gets off on terrorizing people. It’s not just about the money to him. It’s about the game. Molly Carter is another form of leverage. That’s why he targeted her. He might also have needed her in order to learn everything he could about his target.”

  Mendez sounded like a man who knew what he was talking about. Dex wondered if he somehow knew this Leonov. The guys had told him how Mendez spoke fluent Russian when they’d brought Grigori Androv into HQ last month. Shocked the shit out of all of them.

  Lieutenant Colonel Bishop spoke. “If he’s the one who shot Eric Archer and threw him to the lions, then yeah, it’s not just about money. Though why didn’t he force Archer to return the money instead of killing him that way? He could have saved himself a trip over here, right?”

  Mendez had his hands on his hips. “You’d think so, but we’re dealing with a madman. Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?” They all snorted—except for Dex, who didn’t like the idea of a madman having anything to do with Annabelle. “There’s also the possibility that Archer wouldn’t give him what he wanted and he lost control. This doesn’t bode well for our hostages—so we need to find this asshole ASAP.”

  Dex’s blood froze. If anything happened to Charlotte Archer, he didn’t want to have to face Annabelle and tell her he’d failed. Not when he’d promised her HOT would fix this and get her child back safely.

  Mendez glanced at him as if he sensed Dex’s discomfort. “All right, here’s what we have to do—Double Dee, he’s got your number, so you’re going to need a new phone for coordinating with the team. But let’s leave that one on and put a tracer program on it. Let’s turn Ms. Quinn-Archer’s phone back on and see if he calls that number, also with a tracer. Meantime, find those account numbers, Kid. We’re running out of time.”

  *

  “We need a picture of your daughter,” Dex said softly. “And Molly and her daughter, if you have one.”

  Annabelle slipped her phone from her pocket, her fingers trembling as she pulled up pictures. She’d been sitting in this room with the lovely Evie, chatting about pregnancies and kids and things she couldn’t even remember, and eating some amazing food. She hadn’t forgotten that her daughter was a hostage, but she’d felt calmer—and Evie had been very sweet and kind, taking her hand and squeezing it when she got upset.

  Now Evie sat with her arm around Annabelle’s shoulders as if they were old friends. Annabelle was glad for it because she found it comforting. She scrolled through the pictures and pulled up one of Charlotte. She was missing a tooth, her hair was wild and red, tumbling down her back, and she had freckles. Annabelle sometimes thought she looked a little like Katie Davidson, but then she told herself she was seeing things.

  Dex frowned hard, and her stomach dropped. His gaze tangled with hers and held. “She has your eyes and chin.”

  She did indeed. She might also have Dex’s cheekbones and nose, but Annabelle was never sure. Some children were spitting images of their parents. Others took time to tease out the
traits. Annabelle sometimes saw Eric in Charlotte. And sometimes she saw Dex.

  “She does.”

  He sent himself the picture. She heard it go, and then he handed her phone back.

  “And now Molly and Becca.”

  She found a picture of them. They looked so much alike, and her pulse throbbed at the idea they were victims of Eric’s greed. And her stupidity. How could she not have known what he was up to?

  Dex took the phone and transferred the picture before giving it back to her. “Thanks. And leave it on, okay? Lyon might call you.”

  There was a commotion at the door. A woman who made Annabelle’s breath stop in her chest strode in like she owned the building. After a painful moment of not breathing, Annabelle’s lungs started working again. She knew this woman. Gina Domenico? The superstar? Was that even possible?

  She was gorgeous and blond—and she wore a determined expression. A man entered behind her—tall, dark, handsome, lethal-looking. A bodyguard, maybe?

  But no. Annabelle shook her head. The whole thing was ridiculous. What would a pop superstar be doing here? Except it was uncanny…

  Gina—or the woman who looked like Gina—walked over to where she sat. “Are you Annabelle?”

  Annabelle could do nothing except nod. The Gina look-alike squatted beside her chair. “Oh honey, let me hug you.”

  Her arms opened wide, and then Annabelle found herself enfolded in a perfumed hug. She glanced up at Dex, who looked ready to fight the world on her behalf. It made her chest tighten.

  “Sweetie, I’m so sorry. And I understand, believe me. My little boy was kidnapped.” She sniffled. “But these guys and gals got him back. Saved my bacon too, let me tell you. And hell, saved so many people I don’t even know about. But honey, without them, I wouldn’t be here to tell you any of this.”

  Annabelle could only gape.

  “Baby,” the man who’d come in with her said, “you might want to at least tell the poor woman your name.”

  “Oh my goodness, of course.” Gina-not-Gina—because it just wasn’t possible that a global superstar would be right here, right now—held out her hand. “I’m Gina Hunter.”

  Annabelle took her hand, still gaping, and lifted her gaze to Dex. He was grinning. “Yeah,” he said. “She’s who you think she is.”

  “Sorry,” Gina replied. “Yes, Gina Domenico—that’s my stage name—but Hunter is my married name. Jack”—she waved behind her—“is my husband. He was HOT, but now he’s my head of security.”

  “Uh,” Jack said. “Baby, we’ve talked about that. You aren’t supposed to say that word.”

  She blinked. “What word? Oh. Oh my goodness. Right.” She smiled broadly. “Anyway, this place—these people—they are the answer to your prayers. They will get your little girl back. And she’ll be fine.”

  Annabelle didn’t know what to say. “Thank you.”

  Gina hugged her again, whispering fiercely in her ear. “I know how hard this is. I really do. You are allowed to be pissed off and scream and cry—and don’t let any big, muscled alpha asshole tell you what to do or think, though they will. Listen to them, but don’t be afraid to speak up when they try to bulldoze you. Because they will, honey, believe me.”

  With a last squeeze, Gina was on her feet. She went to hug Evie.

  “Thanks for coming,” Evie said.

  “You bet,” Gina replied, smiling that famous smile of hers. “I couldn’t stay away when you told me about Annabelle. No mother wants to go through this kind of hell, but if she has to, then she should be able to talk to people who understand better than anyone.”

  “So what’s the plan?” her husband asked Dex.

  “We’re waiting for a call right now,” Dex said. “We don’t know where he is. He killed an agent in the safe house in Kentucky. We’re searching security footage for any identifying plate numbers.”

  “He’s not working alone.”

  “No, we don’t think so either.”

  Annabelle snapped her gaze to Dex. “He has help?”

  “He has to. Attacking the safe house and extracting the hostages took more than one person.”

  Her belly tightened at the thought. Right now she would give Lyon anything—anything—to return her child. But she didn’t have what he wanted, and time was running out.

  She started to say something but her phone rang. Dex’s expression was serious. He nodded. “Answer it, Belle. Keep him on the phone as long as you can.”

  “Hello?” she said, her voice shaky. She hated that, but there was nothing she could do about it.

  “Mrs. Archer—have you made progress?”

  She licked suddenly dry lips. “I’ve managed to get inside Eric’s computer—but I don’t have the account numbers yet.”

  Dex had told her to tell Mr. Lyon the truth if he called. For now.

  “That’s too bad.” For the first time, she could hear the barest hint of his accent. She’d thought he had one before, but she’d been too upset by everything he’d said to pay attention. Now she was listening closely—and she heard it. It was slight but definitely Russian. There was the thickening of the voice during certain vowels, the rolling undertone.

  “I need more time. I’ll find it.”

  Her heart performed a drum solo in her chest and her throat was tight. Gina came over and put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing. It was enough to focus her on the task at hand.

  “You have three hours. If you don’t call me with the numbers, you won’t like what happens next.”

  “If you hurt my daughter or my friend and her daughter, you’ll never see a penny of that money.” Her words were rapid-fire ammunition. She wanted them to pierce his maddening arrogance.

  Mr. Lyon chuckled and her blood turned to ice. “I like a woman with fight in her,” he said. “But you’ve inconvenienced me, Mrs. Archer. You called the FBI, and I don’t appreciate that. Now you threaten me when it is I who hold all the cards. Be careful, my dear, or you will have reason to wish you were the one who is dead.”

  14

  “Anything?” Dex asked. He’d left Annabelle with Evie, Gina, and Jack, then rushed back to the secure area where his team was working. The room was a beehive of activity.

  Billy looked up from the equipment he was monitoring. His fingers flew over the keyboard. “Yeah, I think so. I’ve found a file with numbers. I’m tracing them now, hoping for a routing number to a bank. Once I know that, I can start homing in on the account numbers.” He snorted. “Eric Archer wasn’t an idiot. It’s all here, but it’s locked down. Took me a while to break the encryption.”

  The door opened abruptly and someone barked, “Atten-shun!”

  Everyone shot to their feet as Colonel Mendez stalked into the room.

  “As you were,” Mendez said, and they went back to work though they kept an eye on the ranking officer in their midst. “Did we get a trace on Leonov?”

  Iceman cleared his throat. “No, sir. He didn’t stay on long enough. But we did find the cell tower the call went through—it’s in New York City, sir.”

  Mendez did not look happy. “So either he’s moved his hostages or he wasn’t in Kentucky today and someone else has them.” Mendez stood there for a second, nodding his head as if he were thinking to himself. “No, I’m going with the theory he’s moved them. Start planning for an extraction. The instant we get any data on his exact location, we need to be prepared to go in. Let me know the second you find that money, Kid,” he finished before turning and walking out again.

  Dex gaped after him. A HOT mission on US soil? That wasn’t typical. They all knew it too. Gazes clashed and jaws dropped.

  Richie recovered quicker than the rest of them. “All right, team. You heard the man. Time to get our shit together and prepare to infiltrate enemy territory.”

  *

  Mendez’s secure cell phone rang as he strode down the hall. It was Sam. He answered her with a clipped, “What do you need?”

  “Well, my goodness, someone�
��s cranky today,” she said in that throaty purr of hers. “You promised me a call when you had Annabelle Archer, Johnny. I haven’t heard from you yet.”

  Mendez rubbed his forehead as he stepped into his office and closed the door. “There were some complications.”

  Like finding out who the Russian was. That had been a complication for sure. On more than one level.

  “Complications?” Sam’s voice was cool. It managed to piss him off.

  “It happens, Sam,” he growled. “Not everything works out the way you expect it to.”

  “Don’t I know that,” she grumbled.

  She wasn’t the only one who’d sacrificed her happiness in the pursuit of this nation’s ideals. It was something they all did. Something they had to do because they were driven deep down to uphold everything that mattered in this world.

  “You didn’t tell me the Russian was Dmitri Leonov.”

  Sam huffed. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

  His gut twisted. He could almost feel his blood pressure rising. And that was something because he never got rattled. “It matters to me.”

  Because he knew Leonov. Quite well, in fact. He’d once worked with the man, long ago in what seemed like another life. He’d been young and filled with patriotic fervor. Leonov had been the same, only for Russia. He’d had certain ideas…

  “I know he killed Valentina Rostov, or had her killed—but that’s the way it worked back then, Johnny. You know that as well as I do.”

  Mendez hadn’t heard that name spoken in years now. He still thought of her, of course—but she was gone forever and he rarely dwelt on the past. Except right now he could see her beautiful face—the cascading red hair that framed it, the piercing blue eyes, the pink lips that he knew were soft and sweet.

  “He probably did. So?” It took everything he had to sound as though he wasn’t affected by that name. To sound as though he didn’t want to split Leonov wide open and eat his motherfucking heart raw.

  She blew out a breath. “I thought you had a fling with her during the posting in Moscow. That’s what I heard anyway. My mistake.”

  “It matters because I know Leonov and how he operates. Keeping me in the dark does neither of us any good.”