“Lock that shit down, Cooper,” Luke growled, “and show some fucking respect.”
But Maddie just scoffed at Ian’s insinuation. “Gee, I don’t know, Ian . . . From what I hear from the other guys, your hand is probably otherwise engaged . . .”
Ian chuckled. “Ah, honey, don’t you listen to their jaw jackin’. They’re just jealous ’cause they’re all hat and no horse—”
“Stay on task,” Jack cut in, his British accent, normally just a hint of what it had once been after so many years of living in the U.S., growing thicker in his irritation.
The thought of Maddie being with another man made him want to put his fist through a wall. But as Maddie had reminded him not too long ago, he’d given up the right to an opinion where she was concerned. He’d been the one who’d walked away all those years ago.
Jack inhaled deeply, sucking in the damp, heated air that was the calling card for Mexico at this time of year, then rubbed the back of his neck beneath the dark waves of hair clinging to his nape, in an attempt to remove the thick paste of perspiration and grime that had gathered there. The pungent odor of his own sweat assaulted his senses, pissing him off even more.
God, I hate the tropics.
And the heat didn’t help his already low tolerance for bullshit. Normally, he didn’t mind a little trash talk among his team in the Alliance when they were on a mission. He knew when it came down to it, he could count on them. But he didn’t have the patience for it today. If they fucked up this mission, his months of tracking Jacob Stone would be for nothing.
And the trail ran out here, with one Tad Ralston. If Jack didn’t get anything out of the congressional aide, then he had nothing more to go on, thereby bringing an end to their attempt to link Jacob Stone to the Illuminati and finally convince the Grand Council that their old enemies were a threat once more. Without Stone, the Alliance lacked the proof that the Illuminati had not been eliminated as they’d thought, and were in fact growing in strength, preparing to make their next move.
“Any progress on that facial rec, Ian?” Jack demanded, his tone harsher than he’d intended.
“Nothing yet.” Ian sauntered over to a vacant bar stool and flashed a wide grin to a gorgeous brunette and her friends. Livingstone’s gaze drifted away, apparently satisfied that Ian wasn’t a threat.
“Heads up,” Luke announced, his voice carrying that no-bullshit, steely edge Jack relied on.“Ralston’s moving your way.”
Jack glanced up and down the street, studying the sun-bronzed faces of the locals who scurried about, tending to their shops and barking sales pitches at sunburned tourists who weren’t discerning enough not to buy the cheap, brightly painted souvenirs that were actually made in China. A few minutes later, he saw a man fitting Ralston’s description hurrying toward the hotel, his gaze darting about nervously, his shoulders hunched a little as if expecting to be jumped at any moment.
He knows he’s being followed . . .
There was no way he was on to Jack’s team. They were far too experienced in surveillance, too accomplished at hiding in plain sight—it was the reason the Templars had survived after the order was dissolved in the Middle Ages and the Alliance had been formed to continue their mission to guide and protect.
No, Mr. Ralston was afraid of someone else.
Rising to his feet, Jack dropped a handful of pesos on the table for the waitress. “Here we go, folks. Maddie, love, you’re on.”
Jack didn’t miss the way Livingstone’s body stiffened with sudden interest the moment Ralston came into view. As the guy lurched to his feet, his gaze trained on the congressional aide, Jack picked up the pace, quickly darting through the network of café tables to intercept him.
“Livingstone’s on the move,” Jack barked, not bothering to keep his voice low.
He glanced back and forth between Ralston and Livingstone and saw Ralston’s horrified expression of recognition before he sprinted toward the hotel’s front door.
“Shit,” Jack spat, bumping into one of the waitresses and sending her tray of drinks flying. He muttered a quick apology as he grabbed her shoulders and moved her out of his way. “Ralston’s running.”
Finally clear of the tangle of café patrons, Jack double-timed it to the hotel entrance, reaching the door just as Livingstone’s hand grabbed the brass handle.
The guy’s eyes narrowed menacingly. “Out of my way, asshole.”
Livingstone was one hell of a lot bigger than he’d appeared from across the café. He towered over Jack’s six feet and had at least fifty pounds of muscle on him. But even more interesting was his thick accent; Russian if Jack had to hazard a guess.
Jack gave him a guileless grin. “Why must we resort to name-calling? You just met me.”
Without warning, the guy grabbed Jack by the front of his shirt and lifted him off his feet, sending him flying backward with ease before taking off around the side of the hotel. Jack grunted with the impact as he ass-planted in the hotel’s flower beds—but not before catching a glimpse of the tattoo of a pyramid surrounded by a stylized starburst and the all-seeing eye on the man’s forearm.
Jack hissed a curse as he scrambled to his feet and ran in the same direction the other man had gone, drawing his weapon from where it’d been hidden at the small of his back. He was just turning the corner when a bullet zinged past his head, narrowly missing him as it hit the bricks of a neighboring building.
He darted behind a trash Dumpster, taking cover. “Change of plans, Maddie. Get Ralston the hell out of here.” He peeked out from behind the Dumpster and fired off two rapid shots before pulling back as bullets zinged off the metal Dumpster, sending up sparks. “And take care, love. Livingstone’s Illuminati. His friends are probably already heading your way.”
“More bad news, Jack,” Luke cut in. “About half a dozen dudes carrying big fucking guns and not giving a damn who knows it just showed up. And they look seriously pissed off . . .”
* * *
