Page 78 of Fighting for Scarlett

Not going to happen.

Nobody messed with his girl and got away with it.

Thankful for the overcast winter night, and the rough seas, since both would help to disguise their approach, he locked his gaze on the boat they were fast approaching.

To the best of their knowledge, Warren didn't have any training in hand-to-hand combat, and he had no weapon registered in his name. Not that either meant that the man wasn’t going to be armed or try something stupid.

Part of him was hoping Warren did something stupid. If he didn't unleash some of his anger and helplessness soon, he was going to lose his mind.

Just because he had never worked a mission with Rocco and his team before didn't mean they didn't move as a cohesive unit. Pulling the zodiac up close enough to board the small boat Warren had fled on when he realized that the walls were starting to close in on him, they jumped onto the deck.

All was quiet.

Almost eerily so.

If the tension rolling through Rocco’s team was anything to go by, the guys felt it too.

This was not a boat meant to be driven long distances, so he had no idea what Warren’s plan had been. If he’d been hoping to just hide out long enough for the heat to die down, or if he’d thought it could make it all the way to a country he could hide out in. Maybe he thought he’d wait out here a couple of days and then head down into Mexico to meet up with his buddy Raul, who they hadn't been able to track since he’d fled his jungle estate.

Since Warren hadn't done a particularly good job of covering his tracks, Tate half expected this to be some sort of trap.

But no one shot at them as they approached the cabin, and there were no explosions like the one that had almost killed him and Scarlett this morning.

Just silence from the boat and the roar of the wind and waves around them.

Because these guys knew how personal this was for him, they had his back as he made entrance to the boat’s living quarters.

Nothing moved as he took the few steps down below deck. Weapon ready, he scanned the area, but when he didn't see signs of Warren, he moved further into the space, Rocco and the others at his back.

Something felt off, and he was beginning to wonder if this wasn’t a trap so much as a false lead. Something to focus everyone’s attention on so that Warren could slip away somewhere else. The man might be a scientist, but he was working with a wealthy weapons dealer, surely, people would have made sure he didn't leave such an obvious trail.

Too obvious.

With the small living and kitchen area cleared, Tate headed for the closed door at the other end of the room. It likely led to a bedroom and a bathroom, there was no space for anything else, and if Warren was on this boat, and it wasn’t a red herring, he had to be in there.

As soon as he opened the bedroom door, he knew why he’d had such a bad feeling.

Warren was on the boat, but he wasn’t hiding from them or preparing an assault for the second they stepped through the door.

He was lying on the bed bleeding out.

The man must have realized they were onto him because he’d slit his own wrists.

Blood was everywhere, and it was already drying in places so he hadn't heard them board the boat then rushed in here to end his own life before they could arrest him. How had he known he’d been discovered? Not many people had been briefed on this mission. In an attempt to keep closed any avenue the mole might have set up to keep apprised of the goings on at Prey, they had limited the number of people being kept informed on this op.

Still, despite their best efforts, Warren had been expecting them.

And tried to outsmart them.

Trusting the men at his back, Tate lowered his weapon and ran toward the bed. Kneeling on the mattress beside Warren, he pressed his fingertips to the man’s neck and felt the faint throb of a pulse.

“He’s still alive,” he called out to the others, then grabbed one of the pillows on the bed, yanked off the pillowcase, and wrapped it around Warren’s left arm. Clamping a hand over the wound to keep pressure on it, he muttered, “Oh no you don’t. You're not getting out of everything this easily.”

If they were going to clear Scarlett’s name, they needed proof. Proof that only Warren could give them.

“Hey, wake up,” he yelled, slapping Warren’s face. On the other side of the bed, Rex stripped the other pillow of its case and used it to wrap Warren’s right arm.

A moan was all the response he got, but he wasn’t giving up.

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