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When the operative was tasked with providing her safe passage to Moscow, she’d thanked the woman the intelligence world knew as the “Rocket,” by putting a bullet in her brain—or so she’d thought.
“Shit,” Gunner gasped when he saw Raketa’s body lying in a pool of blood.
He ran forward and checked for a pulse, nodding at his teammates when he found one.
That she was still alive meant the bullet had either grazed her skull, or was still lodged in her brain. If it was the latter, the chance she’d survive was slim. Without immediate medical attention, however, it would be certain.
Raketa’s eyes fluttered open when he whispered her name.
“Fuck,” she said, trying to sit up.
“Stay still,” he whispered, motioning for his teammates to go ahead.
As risky as it was, he called for backup. “Send a medic,” he said into his radio mic.
“Who shot you?” he asked, trying to get her eyes to stay focused on his.
“Lena,” she groaned. “You have to find her. She’s…”
When she lost consciousness again, Gunner closed his eyes and said a silent prayer, all the while keeping his finger on her still active pulse.
When the medic arrived, he knew he had to leave her with them, as hard as it was to go.
Later, he learned that the shot had only grazed Raketa’s scalp, resulting in enough bleeding that Lena had believed she’d successfully offed the woman.
They’d spent that night pounding out the anxiety of their professions on one another’s bodies, and then in the morning, she left while he was in the shower, waiting for her to join him.
Several weeks went by before he heard from Raketa again, and then, she’d wanted to make a deal. She told him she knew who had kidnapped the victims of his then-current op, and where they were being held. In exchange for that information, she wanted his help with an op of her own—leaving the employ of United Russia, or in other words, defecting.
Agreeing was what landed him in the bowels of hell, otherwise known as Baku, Azerbaijan, trying to find where a Russian black market arms’ dealer had her held prisoner, and more importantly, why.
—:—
Makar Petrov was a cold-hearted sonuvabitch, but Raketa doubted he’d kill her. He’d had plenty of opportunity to do so over the course of the last three months.
She would’ve gladly killed him, though. If it weren’t for Rauf “Topor” Evasov, she would’ve ended Petrov’s life last summer, but she ended up his captive instead.
Raketa still cursed the emotional reaction she’d had that day when she saw Petrov put a gun to the head of a woman who shared her DNA. Letting her guard down, not pulling the trigger for fear she’d kill the woman rather than the man who was her target, was what allowed Topor to knock her out, and load her onto Petrov’s plane.
The circumstances of her incarceration certainly weren’t what most would consider a hardship. Petrov had ensconced her in an apartment within his compound in Old City Baku. She was free to come and go within its ancient walls, which dated back at least to the twelfth century, although some contended they were constructed as long ago as the seventh.
She could probably live out the rest of her life here; Petrov would keep her safe from United Russia, who’d put a price on her head of over a million dollars. But there were two reasons she couldn’t do that.
First, she’d never work in intelligence again, unless it was for Petrov, and then it would have to be done within the confines of the Old City because she’d never be allowed out again in his lifetime.
The other thing was, she’d never see Gunner Godet again. The last time she saw him, they were in the midst of an op involving hostages. There’d been no time for her to tell him how sorry she was for the way she’d left the last time they were together.
“You shouldn’t be here. What the fuck are you doing here?” Gunner scowled through what was obviously a drunken haze when she found him sitting in the otherwise empty bar.
“To see if you’re—”
“Don’t,” he barked back at her.
“Izvini,” she muttered. “I know Lena meant something—”
In a flash, Gunner stood and grasped her neck with his hand, holding it tightly enough that it was difficult for her to breathe, but not enough that he cut off her air supply entirely.
“Never say that name again. Do you understand me?”
