“Colonel—”
“No. I’m the one who ordered the raid that got Shane killed. I was in charge. It’s my responsibility, Goddammit, and I’m not leaving here until Jack Mankel’s dead.” The words tore out of his mouth as if they’d been ripped from his soul.
His team gave him some uneasy stares, but Mack ignored them. They’d do what he said, or he’d find the strength to march out of there himself. Somehow.
“Well, boys, sounds like the colonel’s made up his mind. Let’s ride this rodeo to the end.” Hunter circled a finger in the air and took the lead. Riser fell in behind the rest, handed Mack his hand gun and took most of Mack’s weight as he limped from the room.
Blood soaked his shirt, the coppery smell of it filling his nostrils. The space down here was getting colder by the second. Mack palmed his sidearm, needing that grounding reminder. He had to fight it. He had to fight the sweet suck of oblivion.
The lights in the hallway flashed, buzzing on and off now from the emergency alarm they’d tripped. They turned left, kept moving, and then hooked a right, watching for an attack all the while.
Barely able to stand the glare from the lights, Mack let his lids hang low, shielding his vision as much as possible. His hands shook; his feet felt like someone had poured concrete in his boots.
Soon, he’d release his stranglehold on the present and float in the air. And yet . . . Marley flitted through his head again, grounding him. He wondered what she was thinking right now. Would she be clutching the handle next to the window in the helicopter’s cab, worried about him? Or was she just biding her time, waiting to get home and thankful to finally be rid of Mack and his team?
They reached the end of the hall, a rat’s maze that dead-ended in a set of double steel doors. Mack blinked until he regained focus. He squeezed his handgun, that small feat sapping his strength even more.
You have to keep going. So close.
He was past the point of ordering his men around; it took all his energy to remain standing. They busted in the door, Riser’s shoulder digging into his armpit as he held him up. Gunfire erupted; there was a scream. A couple of thuds—bodies hitting the ground. Alarm swept through Mack, giving him enough energy to bite out, “Don’t kill him. Let me.”
Shrugging off Riser’s arm, Mack walked himself to the door. There were two dead guards lying on the floor in front of a stark desk. A desk as black as the soul of the man who sat behind it.
Jack Mankel.
He no longer had the look of arrogance and pride, not with Hunter gripping his shoulder, forcing him to stay put in his seat. He looked tired; there were bruises underneath his eyes; his long, black hair was unkempt and dirty; and the right side of his face looked like he’d just eaten a punch.
“It’s been a long time,” Mack said. By sheer force of will, he moved deeper into the room.
“Too long,” Mankel said, using the soft tone of a man who knew he was about to meet his fate.
“Why?” Mack stopped a few feet from the front edge of Mankel’s desk, sweat and blood mixing as it dripped down his skin.
Mankel shrugged, as casual as if they were talking about the weather. “You want an excuse?”
“No, I want a reason. I want to know what would cause you to betray your team, your country. Everything.”
Mankel’s mouth tightened; his eyes hardened. He made as if to move, but Hunter slammed him back into place. “Do that again and I’ll put a bullet in your head myself.”
“You always were more stubborn than the rest.” Mankel yanked his lapels, straightening his wrinkled suit jacket. “Part of it was for the power; part of it was for the money.”
“Fuck that,” Mack said.
“So, the famous interrogator thinks he can read minds now?” Mankel paused.
“Just giving you a few more minutes to enjoy the feeling of being alive.”
“How generous. All right, I’ll play, but only if you agree to take me back to the States, give me a shot at a trial.”
Mack slowly lifted his gun, fighting to keep the trembling at bay as he leveled the weapon at Mankel. “How about you tell me, and I’ll make it quick instead of drawing it out like I planned.”
Mankel steepled his fingers together, a subconscious move of power. And Mack realized he wasn’t through.
“Or I could agree to give you the location of Caroline Cotter—who is not here, by the way—in exchange for your word that you will see me safely back to America.”
Fuck. “Jared, Hoyt—search the place.”
The Crowe brothers disappeared from the room and down the hall as Mack fought to keep his arm straight, the gun seeming to quadruple in weight.
