Don't Breathe a Word

by Christie Craig

  “She’s still not on camera,” Charlie informed him, “but we didn’t expect them to have visual proof that they’re kidnapping innocent women. My best hunch is that they’re going to be keeping her far away from the business as they can physically get.”

  “Sublevels.” Knox nodded. “Places as big as this have them so they don’t disturb the daily guests. Kind of like an underground little world. The question is, Which direction do we need to go?”

  Charlie let out a triumphant shout. “North.”

  Logan walked, not even questioning her judgment.

  Steele and Wright followed, and it was Wright who questioned. “Does someone want to explain to me exactly how we know to go north? I recall failing middle school geography, but I think there are three other directions.”

  Charlie’s singsong voice hinted at the smart comment about to come. “Logan, did your new friend question my judgment?”

  Logan chuckled. “He doesn’t know you like I do, darlin’. Humor him.”

  She sighed. “Fine. Take all the fun out of this. I say north, Detective Wright, because I see a few hotel guests lingering where they shouldn’t be, and them, along with a bevy of thick-necked goons escorting them, disappearing through the same lone door.”

  “And beyond the door?” Steele asked.

  “Nothing. I’m blind. So let’s use our deductive reasoning, boys. Shall we?”

  Cade snorted a laugh. “Don’t question the English lady—duly noted.”

  “That’s what I tell Navy all the time, but trying to get it through his thick, bald head is like trying to squeeze a watermelon through a cheese grater.”

  Logan smirked, thankful for a little glimmer of humor in this fucked-up situation, because the closer they got to the north end of the building, the more security there was to avoid.

  They played it carefully, Charlie instructing them as she watched the live—real—feed. Escorted by security, couples decked out in their finest evening wear disappeared behind an unmarked door. A minute or so later the guard would reemerge and leave the way he’d come, only to bring another couple.

  People went in, but not many came out.

  A muffled shriek turned Logan around to the sight of Knox Steele, one hand over the mouth of a busty bleach blonde and his other clutching a key card that looked a hell of a lot like the one the guards used to get into the mystery room.

  Knox slapped the card into Logan’s hand. “Look what I found sneaking around the corner. And she’s practically giving us a personal invitation.”

  Logan recognized her immediately. Anger toward the woman who’d played a part in separating him and Rachel burned through his veins. “Stella, right? You’ve missed your jail cell at LVMPD so much that you committed a kidnapping to get back there? Let’s get you topside and hand you over to your friends in tan. And this time, they won’t be so eager to let you out of their sight.”

  She struggled in Knox’s hold, her muffled rambling difficult to translate. Logan nodded to the security operative to carefully relinquish his hold on her mouth. “What was that?”

  “What the hell is wrong with you people?” Stella hissed. “It’s like none of you have any damn sense of self-preservation. First the brunette, now the damn redhead. You’ll never get through that door without being detected. The second you stride in without an escort, they’ll shoot you.”

  Logan stroked his chin. “Then I guess we need an escort.”

  His meaning registered and her eyes widened. “Your little girlfriend has been a thorn in my side ever since she strutted into my damn house. No way in hell am I risking my ass for hers. I’m not the self-sacrificing type.”

  “You help us, and I’ll make sure our police friends know it. Maybe helping us shut down Carson will put you in their good graces.”

  Stella glowered, but contemplated silently before rolling her eyes. “Whatever. I’ll do it, but I hope that bitch is worth it. Because if Carson doesn’t shoot you, the hired gun he has on retainer will.”

  “That woman is worth everything.” And a hell of a lot more.

  Logan wasn’t looking a gift horse in the mouth. For some reason Rachel had given him a chance, and he wasn’t letting it slip by without grabbing it—and her—with both hands.

  And his heart.

  All the drama and hurt in his life had been nothing compared to the idea of losing her. He wasn’t letting that happen.

  “You sure about this, man?” Wright asked, his concern evident. “You’d basically be going in there blind.”

  “As sure as I am about anything.” Logan licked his palm and slicked his hair back away from his face in his best sleazeball impression and then slid his gun into the band of his pants.

  They couldn’t storm into the room, guns blazing. They didn’t know the layout or the number of civilians present. And hell, half Carson’s goon squad could be stationed just on the other side of the door. An all-out breach wasn’t smart, so they had to opt for the complete opposite: quiet and unobtrusive.

  It went against every fiber of Logan’s being, but he needed to bring down Carson, ensure Rachel and Carly’s safety, and avoid getting his ass shot in the process. If he stormed the room like a commando, one if not more of those things would be compromised, and he wasn’t willing to risk its being Rachel’s safety.

  “Here. Put these on.” Wright tossed him a thick pair of black-framed glasses. “If they work for Clark Kent…”

  “Later, you’re going to have to explain to me why you have a pair of glasses in your pocket.” Logan chuckled and slipped on the frames before taking Stella’s arm from Steele. “You make one wrong move in there, twitch, or grimace, and I can guaran-damn-tee that God himself won’t be able to help you.”

  “This is your funeral, buddy. You better not make it mine too,” Stella grumbled, buzzing them through the door.

  The phrase “drug den” didn’t come close to describing the level of debauchery in the room. Naked bodies swayed to the pounding music. Those not dancing had taken entertaining to an entirely different level. One woman, head thrown back in pleasure, lay sprawled naked on a table as people snorted white powder off her body.

  The thought of Rachel’s being subjected to any of this shit made Logan see red.

  “Where would Rachel be?”

  “My guess would be with the boss, and if that’s the case, then she’s already fucked up.”

  “Where’s your boss?” Logan growled.

  Stella tipped her chin toward the far corner.

  Logan located Dean Carson immediately, deep in conversation with the eerily silent man from the chapel. His gaze shifted to the ratty mattress pushed against the far wall. One woman, her hands bound and chin dropped to her chest, hovered over an unconscious brunette—Rachel and Carly.

  Nausea gripped Logan’s stomach like a damn fist.

  “Charlie,” he murmured into his comm, “you need to get LVMPD here like you did me—ASAP. And make sure paramedics are joining the party.”

  Charlie sucked in a breath. “Bloody hell. Rachel or Carly?”

  “Rachel’s sitting upright for now, but from a distance Carly’s doesn’t look too good.”

  “All right. I’m on it.”

  Charlie immediately started coordinating a bigger strike than Logan could do alone or with the help of his new D.C. friends. There were too many unknown factors. Too many ways for everything to go straight to hell. And as much as he wanted Rachel safe and in his arms, he wouldn’t risk her life by going off half-cocked.

  But God help anyone who got in his way.

  * * *

  Rachel didn’t move, afraid too much jostling would worsen Carly’s injuries. Cradling her friend’s head in her lap, she counted each shallow breath and watched the time increase in between chest rise and falls.

  Carly had been through a lot. Her left cheekbone, blackened and asymmetrical, was probably broken if not shattered entirely. The eye on that same side was puffy and swollen shut. One arm, cradled against her che
st, hung slightly lower than the other, and with every faint move, Carly moaned.

  Rachel pushed a strand of hair off her friend’s cheek and brushed a kiss over her cool forehead. “I’m so sorry, Carly. I’m going to get you out of here. I don’t know how, but I am. And then you’re coming back to Pennsylvania with me.”

  “Ra-Rach.” Carly groaned, sucking in a sharp breath.

  “Sh. Don’t try and talk if it hurts.” Her gaze skidded over to the drug buffet, and even though it killed her to ask, she did. “Carly, have you…Did he—”

  “No,” Carly whispered. “No drugs. Just…b-beat me to hell. Did y-you g-get it?”

  Rachel smiled wanly. “Yeah, we got it. Don’t worry. Soon he’s not going to be able to hurt you or anyone else again.”

  Carson’s familiar growl pulled Rachel’s attention across the room to where the bastard spoke in hushed tones to the two men Rachel recognized from the Elvis chapel. None of the three men looked happy, which meant things might be looking up for Rachel and Carly.

  “Darlin’,” a familiar voice drawled.

  Rachel’s head snapped to her left. Sitting in a plush chair, legs crossed and looking completely at ease, was a sexily nerdy Logan. She rubbed her eyes, thinking she’d somehow dreamed him up while still awake.

  “Are you okay?” Logan murmured, his gray eyes crashing into hers. Worry lines wrinkled his face as he looked to Carly and back up to her. “Carly?”

  “I’m fine, but Carly…” Rachel swallowed down the emotion. “I don’t know what he did to her before I got here, but she’s not in good shape. Her breathing’s getting really shallow.”

  Logan scanned their surroundings. “We’re getting some reinforcements in place, and once everything’s set to go, we’re shutting this the hell down and getting you and Carly medical attention.”

  A commotion broke out across the room. A door burst open, and smoke spilled into the room as people shouted and scrambled in all directions. Armed figures stormed inside, barking orders and fanning out.

  Cops.

  Backup.

  “Let’s go.” Fingers bit into Rachel’s shoulder, making her cry out and release her hold on Carly.

  Carson was dragging her toward a second exit when a small explosion erupted. More smoke filled the room, accompanied by a series of harsh flashes of light. Rachel coughed, unable to see Logan through the haze. Carson resumed hauling her backward. She dug her feet into the concrete, trying to slow him down as she screamed Logan’s name.

  Carson pushed a gun to her head. “Scream one more time and it’ll be the last thing you do, bitch. Now move your fucking feet.”

  Rachel hesitantly obeyed, realizing that he was leading them to another service elevator. It lurched into movement, going up and up. The doors slid open, and he dragged her onto an open rooftop.

  The sun momentarily blinded her. She blinked against the harsh rays, taken off guard by the wall of heat slamming down on them. The last time she’d been outside, it had been full dark. The city below them was uncharacteristically quiet—except for the steady roar of the black chopper hovering a few dozen feet above the rooftop.

  “Looks like our ride’s already here,” Carson gloated.

  “You’re not going to get away with this. It’s already over, Carson. The cops are on to all your sordid little backhanded deals.”

  “I don’t need to get away with it. I just need to get away. Your boyfriend’s a little preoccupied downstairs and will be until after we’re long gone. He didn’t come for you. He’s—”

  “Right the fuck here, asshole.” Logan’s voice sounded like music to Rachel’s ears.

  Carson spun them around, and there stood Logan. Two armed men Rachel didn’t recognize flanked him—and all had guns aimed in their direction.

  “Take a step closer to the helo or clutch that gun any tighter and you’re going to get a firsthand demonstration of how not distracted I am,” Logan threatened, his voice low.

  With his eyes trained on the man holding her hostage, Rachel had never seen Logan look so deadly, as if he wanted the other man to move so he could fire off a shot.

  “Goddamn hero types.” Carson burrowed his gun deeper against Rachel’s temple. “You move, Captain America, and your girlfriend’s brains get splattered all over the damn rooftop. I don’t care who the hell you think you are, you aren’t faster than a bullet.”

  “If anyone’s brains are getting splattered, it’s yours.”

  “You think I don’t know how to use this gun?” Carson screamed. Spittle flew out in all directions. Eyes wild and frantic, the man who’d earlier tried baiting her with his eerie calm disappeared, replaced by someone a lot more unhinged.

  “No. I know that my reflexes are a hell of a lot faster than yours. Seriously, Carson, there’s no place for you to go. You think the cops flooding the place are here for a damn stroll? You’re done—along with anyone who’s ever dirtied themselves by getting into bed with you. If you don’t come along quietly, how long do you give it before one of your business associates considers you a liability? Because my guess is that it’s not going to take long.”

  Behind her, Carson’s body tensed. The gun against Rachel’s head shifted. Rachel didn’t think. Summoning the countless hours spent watching Logan and the others train, she twisted and dropped to the ground. A crisp series of pops followed, and suddenly she wasn’t alone on the ground.

  Carson dropped beside her, blood blossoming on his arm and knee.

  His gun lay only inches away, forgotten as he howled in pain. Rachel picked it up, gripping it with shaky hands as she tried lifting it toward the bastard who’d hurt her friend.

  “Darlin’.” Logan’s voice barely shimmied its way into the rush of images flashing through her head. Hands raised, he stalked toward her with determined steps. “Sweetheart, you need to give me that gun.”

  “He hurt her, Logan.” Tears streamed down Rachel’s cheeks, dripping off her chin and onto the ground. “She found out who he was and she tried leaving him…and then he hurt her so that she couldn’t. Who does that to another person?”

  “A really bad one.” Logan reached her and dropped down to his haunches. His hand settled over hers, lowering the gun and expertly sliding it out of her tingling hands. With his other he cupped her cheek and tipped her eyes up to his. “But he’s not going to hurt anyone else ever again. I promise.”

  “And Carly…”

  “Paramedics are with her and already doing their magic.”

  Logan pulled her into his lap at the first soft sob. She clutched the front of his shirt until her fingers ached. By the time the sobs finally dissipated, his shirt was soaked through, and another set of paramedics had arrived for a still-howling Carson.

  “I’m one big, hot mess,” Rachel hiccupped.

  “Yeah, but you’re a damn sexy hot mess,” Logan teased, brushing her hair back. “And you’re my hot mess.”

  Rachel’s throat went dry as she prayed he meant it and feared that he did at the same time. Lowering his head, Logan brushed a ghost of a kiss over her lips. “Baby, we’ve both got a handful of issues to work through, but the nice part in this entire fucked-up situation is that we don’t have to do it alone anymore. We’ll help each other heal. That’s what you do for me, Rachel Kline. You mend things inside me that I didn’t even know were broken.”

  Rachel wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “I feel the same way. I’m done running away from everything, Logan. Now I’m running toward it…toward you.”

  Logan grinned. “I like the sound of where this is going. Tell me you love me as much as I love you and there’s no getting rid of me.”

  “Good—because I do love you. And I can’t wait to see where this goes.”

  “I already know.” Logan dropped a kiss onto her nose.

  “Care to share it with me?”

  “Eventually.”

  Epilogue

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  Fools Rush In Chapel


  Six months later

  Prehistoric butterflies danced an Irish jig in Rachel’s stomach, and had since she’d woken up that morning. Any concern over being back in Sin City for the first time since the ordeal with Carson had quickly vanished as a new flurry of concerns swooped in.

  “No! Stop! Don’t put that in your mouth! Violet Mae, put that down right now!” A shrill, childish giggle immediately followed Elle’s soft scolding.

  Behind Rachel a swatch of pink toddled as fast as her little legs would carry her, white rose petals clenched in her fist. Elle scooped up her daughter, barely managing to pry the flowers from her hand before she tried eating them again.

  “And here I thought breastfeeding was a key component to getting back to prepregnancy weight, when in reality all I needed to do was give birth to Trey’s little spawn,” Elle joked, tickling the one-year-old’s stomach. The room filled with childish squeals, making them all laugh.

  Penny rubbed her swollen belly, looking every bit eight months pregnant. “I’d volunteer to birth an entire horde of little Ortegas if it meant seeing my feet again. Or hell, putting on my shoes without using one of those long-stick shoe horns would be fantastic.”

  Charlie tossed Penny her hand-wrapped bouquet of white and yellow daisies and winked. “You’re already scheduled for an eviction, so stop being so dramatic.”

  “Says the woman who disappears when she turns sideways—and it’s called an induction, not an eviction.”

  “So you’re kicking that little person out with drugs instead of a note on the door. Same diff.” The pink-haired operative slid Rachel a small smirk. “You look absolutely gorgeous, love. Logan’s going to lose his marbles when he sees you walking down the aisle.”

  “Everyone ready? We need to get this show on the road.” A familiar gasp made Rachel smile. “Oh. My. Heavens.”

  Rachel turned toward the older woman she now called friend and twirled. “What do you think, Edith? Is Charlie right? Is Logan going to lose his marbles?”