Page 35 of Delta: Retribution

Trace let out the longest, saddest sigh. “I’m not going to find them.”

She bit her lip, uncertain of what to say.

The sky was turning purple, and the movie’s laugh track played along with the laughter from the crowd.

“But.” He cleared his throat. “They brought me to you. I was in Germany because someone saw something, and I wanted to know if it was the missing link to what I needed. Those tags have dragged me all over the damn world. And they dropped me off in front of you.”

Her throat felt tight. “If you want to find them, then find them, Trace.”

“That’s mission impossible. Two pieces of metal in a million square miles of sand. But it was my only focus in between jobs. At least, until I was benched and met you.” His gaze fell over her shoulders; his eyes tightening. Very slowly he sat up as his fingers tightened around her forearm. His eyes continued to dart purposefully. “Before, when you mentioned that the loose ends on your project were tied up, what did that mean?”

“I meant I left. I was done. There was a clause that let me out of the contract, and I took advantage of it.”

“Fuck.”

“What?”

He untucked a gun she hadn’t noticed from the back of his belt, laying it between their paper plates, then let go of her to grab his cell. He dialed and held it against his ear. “Brock, I’ve got tangoes.”

His eyes searched.

She tried to turn around, but Trace caught her eye and barely shook his head. Her heart raced. They were coming for her again. Sweat tickled her temples, her neck. Her lungs stuttered, making her feel as if she couldn’t breathe.

“I’ve got a four count in direct view. No telling behind me.”

Another long pause, and she would’ve killed to hear what Brock was saying. Two large men approached Trace from behind.

“Behind you. Twenty feet away,” she whispered. They were outnumbered. She didn’t know how many bullets were in a gun, but a shootout at Screen on the Green would endanger lives.

He nodded to her, calm as the setting-sun sky. “Whatever you do, follow my directions.”

Her hands were shaking, teeth chattering. “Okay.”

“Take a breath, Mar. This will be a piece of cake.”

The two men were a few feet away, and Trace swiftly tucked the gun back under his shirt.

“If we get separated, do what they say.”

Mouth bone dry, she nodded again, her eyes unintentionally locking with a man standing directly above Trace.

“Let’s not make a scene.” The man beckoned to her in with a familiar exotic accent. “You’re surrounded.”

Trace stood between her and the man. “This won’t end well for you.”

“Come with her or not, I don’t care. But we leave now.”

“If you’re after intelligence, it can be bought.”

She knew that was a lie, that Trace wouldn’t sell anything against his country. So he was buying time?

“Why buy the milk when you can get the cow for free. Isn’t that the saying?” The man laughed.

“Hey!” she growled at him.

Trace shook his head. “That was uncalled for.” His fist connected with the man’s face before she had time to process what he was about to do. Seconds later, two other men were on him, punches flying, grunts echoing in the air, as nearby moviegoers screamed and scampered away.

A hand slapped over her mouth and yanked her up. As if Trace had an eye on her, he stopped, hands flying up. “Alright, alright, we go.”

He wiped blood off his lip. The man next to him chuckled, saying something quietly to Trace. Again, Trace’s fist flew. The guy went down.

“For real this time, I’m done.” He reached for her hand, eyeing the guy whose hand was clapped over her mouth.

Campus security officers had arrived on their bikes and were making their way through the crowded hill. Maybe they could help. But didn’t they just carry mace or something?Oh. Her stomach dropped. It was a disaster.

“Let’s go before these morons start a shootout and kill everyone here.”

The hand over her mouth released, and someone said, in a thick South American accent, “You’re making a smart decision.” Marlena, Trace, and the group of men stepped over the man Trace had punched—who was still facedown on the ground.

Marlena’s hand found Trace’s, and he gave it a squeeze. “Smile, Cinderella. Instead of a fairy godmother, we’ve got a team of whoop-ass coming our way.”

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