L. Nicolello - Dead No More

That moment of inattention was her undoing. With a roar, Jackson charged. She snapped to attention, sidestepping his assault. He spun and jabbed out his arm, his fist connecting with her jaw. Light exploded behind her eyes. As she blinked back the pain and squared off again, his other fist made contact with her lower back, just below her kidneys. Lily swallowed the cry in her throat, swung again. He deflected her fist and drove his into her stomach.

Lily tried to stumble away, doubled over in agony. But Jackson was faster, grabbing her by the shirt and lifting her off her feet. With a snarl, he slammed her into the window. It shattered. Knifelike shards of glass bit into her back. Pain ripped through her. A shadow crossed Jackson’s face—was it regret?—but quickly disappeared. She clutched his wrists. He pushed her hard until half her body dangled out the window.

“You should have said yes.”

“Don’t do this.” Cold panic encased every cell in her body. Dear God, he’s going to drop me. The blood in her veins crystalized. She tightened her grip. “Jackson, please. Don’t do this.”

“Sorry, Lil.” He twisted his arms, dislodging her hold, and let go.

CHAPTER TWO

Five Days Later Monday, August 20, 3:00 p.m.

SOFT BEEPING PULLED at Lily from the dark recesses of her mind. Where was she? She shifted slightly, then gasped as pain ripped through her back. She groaned and forced her eyes open. Bright light blinded her. Where were her reflexes? Why was she taking so long to move? She concentrated, tightening her focus on the room around her.

Ben’s tanned, weathered face hovered over her. Worry shone in his brown eyes, pulling his crow’s-feet even deeper. She wasn’t surprised he was here—wherever here was. In some serendipitous moment just before her parents had been killed in action, he’d sworn that if the unimaginable happened, he’d step in.

He’d been there ever since.

“Easy, Lil.” He leaned over and stroked her hair.

“Where am I? How long have I been out?”

He hesitated.

“How long?” The words came out in a pathetic squeak.

“Five days.”

“What?” How the hell had she been unconscious for five days?

“You’ve been in a coma. Intel screwed the pooch. Your backup ended up in the wrong place, on the other side of the damn city. When they finally found you, you were in seriously bad shape. You’d fallen from a three-story window, Lil. They had to shock your heart twice in transit.” He shook his head and looked away. “Jackson didn’t make it.”

“Didn’t make—” She choked on the words. Why did Ben think Jackson was dead ? She clenched her fists. The bastard wasn’t dead. He’d betrayed them and slipped off into the dark.

“They found blood—Jackson’s, yours, Amed’s—on the scene. The team worked around the clock to piece it together. The mission was compromised. They knew you were coming. Killed their mule, tried to kill you. From the looks of it, Jackson put up quite a fight.” Ben rubbed his hands over his buzz cut, got up and paced. “They took him and the case. We tried activating his tracker, but they found and disabled it. The trail went cold. There was nothing we could do. I’m so sorry, Lil. We lost him.”

“I didn’t fall,” she whispered.

He turned and his eyes narrowed, the warrior he’d once been pushing to the surface. If Lily hadn’t known Ben since she was old enough to walk, she’d be terrified at the fierceness staring her down. “What do you mean, you didn’t fall?”

Why was her throat so parched? And why the hell was he staring at her as if she’d sprouted two heads in the past five minutes? Hadn’t he heard what she’d just said?

She reached for the IV in her arm and yanked at the tubes, desperate to get out of her sterile prison. She’d been down too long—she had to find Jackson. “I didn’t fall. Jackson threw me out that window.”

“You sure?”

Lily laughed and then cringed, the soft movement shooting daggers into her side. Damn, she hurt . “Believe me. I’m sure. I looked into his eyes as he dropped me.”

“He dropped you?” Ben’s face darkened, his voice stone cold.

“He said, ‘Sorry, Lil’ and let me go.” She pushed herself up and grit her teeth as pain poured over her, followed by a wave of nausea. She clawed at the tubes sticking out of her arm. “The case. Jackson had the case. Where is it?”

“Easy.” Ben caught her hands in his larger, calloused ones and held tight. “Are you absolutely sure it was Jackson who pushed you?” He frowned. “Your injuries were pretty severe. The doctors said they could have adverse effects on your memory.”

“My damn memory is fine.” Her voice rose, and she struggled against his strong hold. Why didn’t Ben believe her? She remembered everything, down to the tiny specks of brown that had shimmered in Jackson’s green eyes before he’d let her go.

Before he’d tried to kill her.

“Ben. Where is the damn case?”

“It disappeared. And until this moment, I thought—” He shook his head. “ We thought that Jackson was dead. If he isn’t, then he’s gone to the wind, with the case.”

She stopped fighting. Jackson had betrayed them, betrayed her. He was a traitor, and she’d let him get away.

She’d failed.

The heaviness of guilt crushed her until she could barely breathe. She’d never been unsuccessful on an assignment before. Lily closed her eyes and slipped back into the welcoming darkness.

Jackson hadn’t died. He’d gotten away.

And she’d let him.

* * *

SEETHING, LILY PACED beside the director’s long window overlooking the city below.

“Let me get this straight. You want me to stand there, lie through my teeth to the team and pretend Jackson died a heroic death, when he actually betrayed this agency and our country?” That wasn’t the only thing he’d betrayed. She clenched her fists. She’d trusted Jackson with her life.

Worse yet, she’d loved him.

“You do remember he threw me out of a three-story window, right? He tried to kill me. I was in a coma for five days.” She stopped her march and stared out into the dark night. There was no way in hell she’d honor that man for betraying her country. No matter what the director wanted. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t do it. I won’t go to Jackson’s funeral.”

“It’s not a request, Andrews.” The director spoke slowly, quietly. “It’s an order.”

She spun around. “Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not. You’ll stand beside his grave, and you’ll mourn your partner. End of story.”

“With all due respect, sir, I—”

He lifted his hand and cut her off.

“Do you know what it would do to this place if people found out that our top operative turned? That we had a traitor within our midst and didn’t know it?”

Lily didn’t need to be reminded. Only the elite of the elite within the intelligence community made it through Unit 67’s doors, and only after being hand-selected, black-hooded and whisked away in the middle of the night.

There was no application, no interview process.

On paper, 67’s operatives embedded themselves among the rest of the alphabet agencies, but that was not their true directive. The small group of men and women Lily shared a building with had one common goal—to flawlessly execute their missions and allow the other government agencies to safely accomplish their jobs. Unit 67 was called in whenever the CIA didn’t want to get their hands dirty, paving the way for them to ride in on their white horses and step into the spotlight.

Their mission success didn’t make the news because humanity couldn’t handle the hidden darkness walking among them. Which suited 67 just fine. They were ghosts, even among the other spooks. Unit 67 didn’t exist to the world. And they didn’t make mistakes.