Licensed to Kill

Chapter 8

My breath caught in my throat and my lungs tightened so much, it was suffocating. A nervous cold sweat that I had never experienced before washed over my entire body and I could feel my legs starting to give out on me.

It couldn't be. There was no possible way. It wasn't logical. It couldn't be him. I'd watched him die!

I mentally screamed at myself to snap out of it. It had to be the danger, the chase, the drama of the firefight getting to me. It had to be the lack of backup and not being able to contact my team. Or maybe it was the jetlag. Maybe I'd overexerted myself and my body was reacting negatively to the stress. It could even be the fact that I'd sworn off alcohol for this mission, though my body was so used to having it daily. Yes. That had to be it. It was the addiction fucking me up and making me hallucinate. It wasn't him. That would be impossible.

Yet, the familiar scent of cologne with just a hint of vanilla in it wafted through the air that encompassed us. Mixed with a man's natural musky scent, the smell was more intoxicating than the Jack Daniels I usually passed out on.

My chest felt like it was about to cave in. I recognized that smell, remembered it perfectly. Memories flooded my mind in connection with that smell. I could still remember the way he smelled every time I hugged him, every time we had sex, every time he was soaked in sweat after an extra challenging mission. And I could still remember the way it felt to be in his arms, my back to chest, when he'd come up behind me and hold me and whisper sweet nothings in my ear. It smelled just like this. It felt just like this. And my captor's voice sounded just like his. But damnit, it wasn't possible!

"This isn't real," I said aloud to myself, squeezing my eyes shut as tight as I could and praying that he'd be gone or that I'd snap out of the hallucination when I reopened them. "It can't be real. This can't be real."

I was trying to convince myself, but I wasn't believing me.

Still, I searched for any possible explanation. If it wasn't a hallucination, then it had to simply be another man whose voice sounded like his. People experienced that all the time, right? There was always someone who looked like someone else or sounded like someone else. It was possible, right? Then again, how many people had the same voice and scent, and felt the same when they held you?

"Damnit! No!" I shouted, feeling like I was about to go utterly insane over this.

In the blur of frustration and angst, I hadn't even realized he'd removed his hand from my mouth, but when he slapped it back over my mouth, I realized my outburst had likely alerted our – my – enemies to our location. I had to get away right then!

I jerked out of his grasp with as much force as I could muster, retrieving my pistol from the ground and spinning around, ready to shoot the man. But I couldn't get a clear shot in the darkness. It was pitch black, no moonlight to help me see his face or anything else. It would be pointless to hit him in the vest. I needed to shoot him where it would count – and quickly, as I could hear voices coming closer!

"Don't do it, Tali," the man warned, and his gruff tone brought a pain to my chest. "You can't see what you're shooting. Don't make that mistake twice."

Twice?

Suddenly, I was met with a gruesome flashback to the night in Enrique Bellucci's drug warehouse in Washington, D.C. I remembered every aspect of it like I was still there right that second. The frigid temperature, the sound of gunfire, the way Tess's blood felt sticky on my hands. I remembered every detail. Especially the part I wanted to forget the most. The mistake. I couldn't see him in the dark.