Special Ops Exclusive by Elle Kennedy Read Free Book Online Page A

lodged into the wall above Nick’s head.
    He made it to the lobby, throwing the door open with such force that it slammed into the wall with a loud crash. Ignoring the startled looks of the clerks at the front desk, Nick tore out of the hotel. He didn’t turn around. Didn’t check to see if anyone was behind him.
    “He’s on the move!”
    The male voice had come from the passenger side of the unmarked black van parked at the curb. A second later, a man in camo pants and a black tee flew out of the van and gave chase.
    Damn it.
    Nick ran faster, dodging people left and right. He made a conscious effort to keep his gun tucked beneath his shirt, but the man chasing him didn’t deem it important to conceal his weapon. Several passersby gasped when they glimpsed the gun in the goon’s hand. A woman screamed, and then several shrieks pierced the air as more people on the sidewalk became aware of the gun-wielding man running by.
    Goddammit! Nick didn’t dare turn around, but he knew his pursuer wasn’t too far behind. Fortunately, the Liberty happened to be two blocks from the city’s renowned antiques market—which was precisely why Nick had chosen that particular hotel. The market was an enormous maze of endless booths and tables and curtained kiosks, the perfect place to disappear.
    Relief poured into him when the marketplace came into view. Less than a minute later, he was lost in a crowd of antiquers. A glance behind showed his frustrated pursuer elbowing his way through the throng of people.
    Everything about the man said mercenary. The clothes, the shaved head, the military precision of his movements.
    Nick reached a large area where hundreds of carpets hung from various clotheslines. He ducked behind a dusty Persian rug and began weaving his way through the canopy of carpet, which provided perfect cover.
    He didn’t turn around, didn’t slow down, just moved through the market with quick methodical strides, not stopping until he was certain he’d lost his tail.
    He ended up at a corner bar twenty blocks from the antiques market. His mercenary friend was nowhere to be seen, and the back of Nick’s neck wasn’t tingling anymore, a sure sign that he was no longer being hunted.
    The bar was deserted save for the stocky bartender and a lone patron at the far end of the counter. Both men eyed Nick in suspicion as he approached the counter.
    “What can I do for you?” the bartender asked in Spanish.
    Nick responded in the same tongue. “A pint. Whatever you’ve got on tap.”
    As the burly, olive-skinned man moved away to pour the beer, Nick slid onto a tall stool, positioning himself so that he wasn’t close to the front window but still had a line of sight to the door. The small television hanging over the bar was turned to a local news channel, the male reporter on the screen covering the downtown riot that was going strong. The looting had started in the wee hours of the morning, and there was now talk of Cortega seeking aid from the Brazilian army to control the mobs.
    “Crazy people,” the bartender muttered, his disapproving gaze fixed on the TV. He set a tall beer glass nearly overflowing with foam in front of Nick.
    Nick paid for the beer and thanked the man, then fished out his cell phone and called Tate.
    “They found me,” he murmured, keeping his gaze trained on the door. He kept a close watch on the people beyond the plate-glass window, but the merc with the shaved head was nowhere in sight.
    “Who?” Tate asked sharply.
    “Mercs. They broke into my hotel room, then chased me for ten frickin’ blocks.”
    “You sure they were soldiers for hire and not U.S. military?”
    “They were too bold to be military. The one on the street was waving a gun around in front of pedestrians. He wasn’t trying to be covert. If Uncle Sam had sent these guys, they would’ve used some stealth.”
    “Did you lose the tail?”
    “Yeah. I’ll head to another hotel, hole up there until Salazar gets in