Whimpered when she saw the gleam of the blade in his hand.
His thin lips stretched in a cold smile and he raised the knife, brought the point close to her cheek. She closed her eyes, waiting, jerked back when the tape was ripped from her mouth.
"Call him."
TR sucked in a quivering breath, slowly opened her eyes and turned her head. Instead of that deadly knife, the man was holding up a phone.
Her phone.
"Call him." It was an order, barked in a voice that shuddered with anger and excitement. TR swallowed, raised her bound hands.
"I—I can't." And oh God, was that her voice, so weak and quivering with fear? Yes, but the man didn't care—about her voice or the fact that her wrists were bound with duct tape. He shoved the phone into her hand.
"Call him."
TR jerked back, nearly dropped the phone. "W-who?"
"MacGregor. Call him. Now."
"M-mac?"
Light gleamed off the blade of the knife as the man swung it toward her. She jerked back, whimpered when the cold metal rested against her cheek once more. "Call him. Now."
TR started to nod, stopped when that cold blade pressed even harder against her skin. The phone started sliding from her clumsy grasp and she nearly dropped it again, caught it at the last second. Her hands were tied, how did he expect her to make a call?
But she found she could. If she held the phone sideways, she could press her thumb against the home button, could unlock it with her thumbprint. She twisted the phone again, ignoring the pain in her wrists as she slowly spun it with her clumsy fingers. As she stretched her index finger and hit her contacts list. Mac's was the second number in her favorites list, right under her mother's.
She looked up at the man, still unsure what he wanted her to do. He motioned with his free hand, the other still holding that lethal knife against her face, and nodded toward the phone. "Call him. Talk to him."
TR pressed the small icon next to Mac's name—and oh God, it was just a generic icon, not a picture, she didn't even have a picture of him!—then slowly raised the phone, getting it as close to her ear as she could. She heard ringing, saw the excited smile on the man's face and knew he heard it, too.
It rang again. Three times. Four. Five—she swallowed back a burst of panic. Oh God, what if the call went to voicemail? What if he didn't answer? Would the man kill her? Yes, he would. She saw that clearly in those unholy eyes. He would kill her and she would never hear Mac's voice again, he would never know what happened to her—
"Yeah. What's up?" Mac's voice emerged from the phone's tiny speaker. Larger than life, reassuring. Normal. Controlled.
Too controlled.
"M-Mac? It's...it's TR."
"Yeah, babe." There was an edge to his voice. Sharp, deadly. Or was she only imagining it? Was Mac sitting calmly at the office, waiting for her and Chaos to get back?
Oh God, Chaos. Where was he? Was he dead? Had he died trying to protect her? They needed to find Chaos, needed to get to him before it was too late.
Tears streamed from her eyes as she forced the words from her mouth, her voice trembling. "Mac, you need to get Chaos. P-please. I think—"
"Easy, babe. Calm down. I'm right here. Everything's okay."
But it wasn't, it might never be okay again and she didn't know how to tell him that, didn't know if he even knew what had happened. She opened her mouth to tell him but the man ripped the phone from her hand, pressed the speaker button and held it between them.
His voice was calm, showing none of the eerie excitement that danced in those eyes as he watched her. "No more games, MacGregor. You know that I have her."
There was a long pause then Mac spoke again—only it wasn't her Mac. The man speaking was cold, hard. Fury laced his voice, along with an unspoken promise of retribution.
"Who is this?"
"Who I am does not matter. What matters is what I want."
"And what's that?"
"You, MacGregor. Just you."
"Then why take the woman? If it's me you want, all you had to do was say so."
"Because taking her ensures your...cooperation."
"Let her go and I'll still cooperate."
"Tsk, tsk, MacGregor. No, I think I'll keep her. As incentive, you see. To make sure you show up."
A long pause. "Tell me where and I'll be there." Mac's words were clipped. Sharp.
Deadly.
But the man didn't seem to notice. He leaned back, his lips stretching in another cold smile. His eyes never left TR's, holding her a prisoner as much as the bindings around her wrists and ankles.
"Are you familiar with the property your little friend here has been investigating?"
Another pause. "Yes."
"There's a stone barn on the south side. Meet me here. You have two hours."
"I'll be there."
"And MacGregor?"
"Yeah?"
"I expect you to come alone. You are the opponent I need to defeat. My last worthy opponent."
The man moved closer, that smile growing wider as he pressed the flat of the blade against TR's cheek. She tried to move away, tried to swallow the whimper of fear so Mac wouldn't hear but couldn't, not when the blade was so cold. So close.
The man raised the phone, held it directly beneath her mouth then leaned in with that inhuman smile. "If you don't come alone, if you bring anyone with you, the woman will pay."
The man's hand twisted, slicing the blade across her cheek. A flash of cold, of disbelief and shock. And then...pain. Searing, burning pain as warm blood washed down her face.
TR screamed.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The woman will pay.
Mac listened in horror as a sharp scream split the air, felt his heart stop when the scream abruptly ended. He stared at the screen, his mind registering the disconnected call moments before his heart did. He tightened his hand around the phone, rage boiling inside him as he spun around, as he hurled the phone against the wall of the van. It shattered, pieces of glass and plastic and metal flying around him.
His harsh breathing filled the heavy silence. Rough, ragged, filled with rage.
With fear.
He ignored the look from Daryl, closed his eyes and tried not to picture TR writhing in pain, her body broken and bloodied. Tried to drown out the sound of her scream.
What had the son-of-a-bitch done to her? It didn't matter—he would pay.
But first, he would suffer.
The back door of the van opened and Jonathan Reigler climbed in, his face shadowed in black. He exchanged a knowing glance with Daryl then sat on the edge of the bench seat and pulled his earpiece out. Had he heard?
Yes, he had. Even without the earpiece, he would have heard.
"There's nothing around the perimeter. No cameras, no wires, no security measures at all."
"You're sure?"
"Positive. The area's clean."
Daryl frowned. "What about inside?"
"There's nobody else in there, just the two of them."
The three men exchanged confused glances. Daryl was the first to speak. "That makes no sense. Who the hell is this guy? What does he want?"
"You heard him: me."
"And he thinks you're just going to walk in there?" Daryl shook his head. "No, I don't like it. There's got to be something else going on, some kind of set-up." He turned back to Jon. "And you're sure there's nobody else in there? Nothing else showing up on thermal imaging?"
"Positive."
Mac stood, reached for the automatic rifle. "I'm going after her—"
Daryl grabbed him. "Not yet. You can't just go barging in there. Not until we come up with a better plan."
"I need to get TR—"
"And you won't do her any good if this is some kind of a trap and you end up dead. Now sit down."
Mac hesitated. His mind knew Daryl was right—barging in there with guns blazing was a rookie move and could cost TR her life. But his heart—
; His heart was afraid he was already too late. If that was the case, then he didn't care about dying.
So then separate the two. Force himself to focus on what needed to be done, not what he wanted to do. Treat this like a mission. Take the emotion out of it. Do it the right way, the way he'd been doing things for the last thirteen years.
He closed his eyes, forced everything from his mind but the mission. A steely calmness stole over him, settling on his shoulders, in his gut. They would go in as a team, as they had so many times before. Concise, coordinated. Lethal.
He opened his eyes, met Daryl's gaze with his own direct one, and nodded.
Daryl inclined his head then pulled out the rough sketch Jon had made on his first pass around the property. "There's only the one door, which is going to be a challenge. Not knowing the exact layout doesn't help either." He looked over at Jon. "Do you know where she is?"
"Right now, the northwest corner." He tapped his finger against the paper. "Here. The target had been over here—" He pointed to the center area of the sketch, "—until a few minutes before the phone call."
Daryl studied the sketch. "I wish to hell we knew what we were dealing with inside."
"Honestly? I don't think there's anything there. I think it's just what it looks like: an old barn." Jon tapped the sketch again with the blunt tip of one finger. "And if that's the case, our target is hanging out right in the open."
"Why do you think that's what it is?"
Jon shrugged, a ghost of a smile curling his mouth. "Farm boy, remember? The barn is constructed a lot like the one at my parents' place. The front is open. For equipment and shit. Here, along the back and side wall, are the stalls. They could be open, or they might even be enclosed. TR's being held in the one in the corner. Breeching it will be a breeze."
"Can you do it from the outside?"
"Yeah. A small charge, a baby boom. In and out and done in one. That's it."
Daryl studied the sketch again. "I can't believe it would be that easy. Who the hell is this guy and what the hell is he up to? We know he's armed thanks to the surveillance video Chaos's buddy got for us. But no security? No back up? I don't get it."
Mac tightened his hand around the rifle, the urge to go, to get in there now, growing. "I don't either but we're wasting time."
Daryl folded the sketch, jammed it in the side pocket of his black tactical pants. "Okay, let's do this. Reigs, you grab TR. We'll wait, go in on your call."
Mac grabbed Daryl, stared at him for a long second without blinking. "He's mine."
Daryl exchanged a look with Jon then both men turned to him. Nodded. "He's all yours."
Mac killed the inside light and opened the back door, jumped out and adjusted his comm set, settling the soft mic over his throat. The sets would allow them to communicate using a series of clicks. It would also allow them to hear anything coming from the transmitter TR wore around her neck.
Had she picked up on his message earlier? Did she know they were here? That he was coming? Mac didn't know, worried that she hadn't been paying attention, that she hadn't picked up on anything he'd said.
It didn't matter. He was here.
He was coming.
And not even God himself would be able to help the fucker now.
Chapter Thirty
Easy, babe. Calm down. I'm right here. Everything's okay.
Mac's voice. Quiet. Reassuring.
But there was something different about it. Something...cold. Determined. Mac, but not Mac.
TR's eyes fluttered open, closed, opened again. Her head was spinning, the room was sideways—
No, not the room. She was sideways, laying on her side on the cold, dirty floor. But it wasn't dark, there was a sliver of light seeping through the door the man had left open. Just a crack, just enough to let that tiny bit of saving light in.
TR pushed herself up, gasped in pain when her cheek stuck to the floor, the blood beneath her face thick and sticky now. She closed her eyes, pushed again, hissed in pain as she righted herself. Held her breath until the pain eased, until the room stopped spinning. How long had she been lying there on her side? She didn't know. Not long, though, the blood was still wet.
She closed her eyes and rested her head against her bent knees, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Pulled in a deep breath, held it, released it. Another one—
She could breathe. Yes, she could breathe. The tape over her mouth was gone, the man had never replaced it.
The realization filled her with a faint glimmer of hope—but only for a fleeting second. The tape was gone for now, but what about later? When the man came back? Would he put more tape over her mouth? Would he use that knife on her again, to slice at her flesh, piece by piece?
Yes, he would. Of that she had no doubt. She was going to die. She knew that, had seen the truth in the man's eyes, in the insanity that danced and twirled in their depths when he smiled at her. Laughing as she screamed. Delighting in her pain.
She raised her bound hands, gently pulled at the hair sticking to her sliced cheek. At the chain of the necklace that had become tangled in her hair.
The necklace—
TR frowned, reached for the necklace and fingered the pendant.
It wasn't her necklace.
It wasn't a necklace at all.
Easy, babe. I'm right here. Everything's okay.
Oh God, why hadn't she realized it before? It wasn't just an expression—Mac was here. He knew where she was because of the trackers. Had heard everything, even before the man had made her call him.
He was here. He was coming for her.
And he would die. Because of her. They would both die. That was why the man wanted her—to draw Mac to him. She didn't know why, didn't even know who he was, but she knew what he wanted.
Mac.
And as soon as Mac got here, the man would kill her.
And then he would kill Mac.
She had to warn him. Had to tell him not to come, tell him it was trap. She was already dead—she knew that, accepted it—but she couldn't let Mac die.
She ripped the necklace off, wincing as the chain cut into her skin, then held the pendant close to her mouth. Where was the man? Would he hear her if she started talking?
She slid away from the wall, peering through that small crack in the door, searching. There, at the far end of the room. He was just standing there, twirling that knife in his hand, watching something out of her line of vision.
And whistling.
She could hear it now, just the faintest sound, too faint to make out what it was.
But he was whistling.
Her stomach lurched in fear. Disgust. Disbelief. She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath, held it until her stomach settled, then slid back, bracing herself against the wall.
She cupped the pendant in the palm of one hand, prayed for the strength to keep her voice calm, and raised it to her mouth.
"Mac." Her voice shook, broke. She closed her eyes again, imagined Mac's face only inches from her. Pictured his deep eyes, so intense, so mesmerizing. His smile, always so hesitant, like he wasn't really sure how to smile.
Imagined his arms around her. Holding her. The feel of his warm breath brushing against her ear. The way his touch made her feel alive.
"Mac. I—I know you're here. Please, don't come after me. He—he has a knife. A gun, too. He shot Chaos. And he's going to kill you."
Tears mingled with the blood on her face and she reached up to wipe them away. Took a ragged breath. Kept talking.
"He's going to kill me, Mac. As soon as you get here, he's going to kill me and then he's going to kill you. So please, don't come after me. I—I don't want anything to happen to you so please, stay away." Her voice broke again and she pressed her lips together to silence the sobs. Waited a few seconds before speaking again.
"I'm not strong enough not to scream, Mac. When he cuts me again. And...I don't want you to hear that. I—I don't want you to remember me that way. So I'm going to t
ry to break this so you don't have to listen but if I can't...promise me you won't listen. Please. I wish I was stronger, like you, but I'm not. I—I'm sorry." She took a shuddering breath, pictured his face in front of her once last time and felt a small smile curl one corner of her mouth. "I love you, Mac. I fell in love with you that first day I met you and I'll still love you when I'm gone. Always."
She tossed the pendant by her feet, raised her bound legs, and brought the heels of her boot down on it. Over and over, until she heard it splinter and crack.
Then she curled onto her side, closed her eyes, and waited.
Chapter Thirty-One
I'll still love you when I'm gone.
The words ripped through Mac, tearing him to pieces. Shattering. Shredding. Pain, sharp and biting. Agony blinded him, doubled him over until he couldn't fucking breathe.
No, not agony. Rage. Thick. Hot. Searing him. Obliterating all reason, all sanity.
He straightened, stared through the red haze clouding his vision and saw Daryl staring back at him. Shaking his head. Warning him.
Fuck that.
Mac slipped around the corner, silent as death, the rough wall of the barn at his back. Closer, to the edge of the open door, years of training holding him back when all he wanted to do was charge inside.
The fucker was inside, pacing. Whistling.
The fucker was whistling.
One shot. One shot and the fucker would be dead. Mac had a clear aim, could take that shot and end that fucker's life. Right here. Right now.
No. It was too clean. Too quick.
He eased the rifle down, rested it against the wall. Ignored Daryl's hiss coming through the comm set, telling Reigs to standby. Reached behind him to check the weapon resting at his back, to check the Ka-Bar sheathed against his thigh. A quick search around the interior—all clear, except for that fucker standing in the middle, fucking whistling—then he straightened, his steps deliberately heavy, gravel and dirt crunching beneath his heels.
Fuck!
The harsh growl came through his comm set. Mac reached up, ripped it off and tossed it behind him.
The Protector: MAC: A Cover Six Security Novel Page 22
