The Sabrina Vaughn series Set 2

by Maegan Beaumont

  He nodded, his neck stiff, head jerking as if on rusty hinges. “Yes.”

  “Would you die for her?”

  He thought of crawling in the dirt, covered in blood while his insides spasmed against the poison that coursed through his veins—David Song trailing behind him with a scalpel clenched in his fist. Looking at her now, he could see she was remembering the same thing. “Yes.”

  “You love her more than you loved my Lydia?”

  There was no reasoning with him. No explaining that Lydia had been a friend, nothing more. That he killed his wife to punish him for something he hadn’t done. “Yes.”

  “Then tell her. Tell her you love her.”

  He opened his mouth to do as Reyes said but something else came out. “I lied. Yesterday morning… I said horrible things. Did things—”

  “It’s okay. Trust me; I’ve done and said worse, the morning after.” Incredibly, she smiled at him, tears shimmering in her eyes, electrifying the blue of them until they almost glowed. “But you better not do it again.”

  Her words did more than offer forgiveness. They told him that she believed in him. That she knew he would get her out of this mess. He smiled back, even though fear was a living thing inside his belly, eating him from the inside out. “I promise.”

  “I lost my bracelet.”

  He flicked a look down at her wrist. It was bare. “Somewhere good I hope.”

  “Pretty good—Esteban’s eye socket.” She winced when Reyes tightened his fist in her hair, giving her a little shake.

  “Tell her you love her, Cartero.” Reyes’ tone gained an edge.

  The moment he said the words, Reyes would pull the trigger and he wasn’t ready. Not yet. “The boy Sabrina found in that house—the one that brought me to San Francisco in the first place. He was the nephew of Sergey Filatov. Did you know that?”

  He flicked him another glance, this one off-kilter. Wild. “You’re a liar.”

  Michael shook his head. “Lying is against the rules.” He paused, waiting for Sabrina to look at him. As soon as he caught her attention, he continued. “Planting a boy matching Leo’s description was his idea wasn’t it… involving Sabrina. But that wasn’t his only plan. Esteban killed and practically dumped that kid in your lap so that Filatov would destroy you.”

  “Esteban is loyal.” Reyes jerked her again and she gritted her teeth to keep from crying out. “He would never defy me.”

  Blood snaked down Sabrina’s neck, a sluggish flow that painted her collarbone bright red. The sight of it did something to him. Grounded him and cleared his mind of everything that he’d been holding on to.

  His parents. His team. Frankie and Lydia. Lucy.

  They were dead but it was not his fault.

  “He would and he did. He’s been working with Pia Cordova for years now. Esteban set us up to destroy each other,” he said, closing his fists, securing the pellet he had hidden there. “He hates you almost as much as he hates me.”

  “I gave him everything—made him a prince. He has no reason to hate me,” Reyes said but even as the words were spoken, Michael could see it. Understanding.

  Michael shook his head. “It wasn’t my baby Lydia was carrying. While you were off, whoring around, Estefan was here—raping your wife.”

  His words did their job and Reyes roared in response. Jerking the barrel of the gun from where it’d been anchored to Sabrina’s skull to point it at him.

  Like he knew she would, she dropped back on her right leg, driving her elbow back and up, smashing it into his nose. The blow sent his shots wide but he pulled the trigger anyway, again and again and some bullets found their mark.

  Michael could feel them punching into his chest and abdomen, shattering his ribs. Stealing his breath.

  Sabrina dropped low, using the hold he had on her hair to pull him down with her. Reyes, struggling to stay upright, let go and she rolled away, giving him a clear shot.

  He lunged forward, tackling Reyes—sending them both sprawling across the desk. The gun was knocked loose, clattering to the ground but Michael didn’t care. He was going to kill Reyes with his bare hands.

  They crashed to the ground, Reyes beneath him and he wrapped his free hand around the man’s throat, squeezing until he opened his mouth to gasp for breath. As soon as he mouth was open, Michael swung, crashing his fist against Reyes’ teeth before dropping the pellet inside.

  “Ben—blow the second capsule,” he bellowed, the heel of his hand slamming into the underside of Reyes’ jaw to keep it shut. As soon as he spoke, Reyes went wild, swinging and pulling at his face and hands. Anything to work himself loose.

  “You got it,” his partner said, loud and clear.

  Seconds later, Reyes began to jerk, his eyes rolling back, froth trying to bubble through closed lips.

  Michael let go, shoving himself away from the sputtering, convulsing mass beneath him. Blood instantly erupted from Reyes’ nose and mouth, spewed into the air but he didn’t stick around to watch the rest. He got his feet underneath him, lurching around the side of the desk to see Sabrina crumpled against the door.

  He picked her up and ran, stumbling and bouncing his way down the hall, Reyes’ screams fading behind him.

  Suddenly, they were outside. He kept moving. Across the grass until they made it to the Blackhawk.

  He stretched her out on the concrete pad and ripped her shirt open, expecting to find a bloody cluster of holes in her chest. She was fighting him, pushing his hands away. Saying something. “We have to go back. Leo and Christina—we can’t just—”

  No blood. No holes. Just four slugs mushroomed against the feather-light fabric of a FSS-issued Kevlar tank.

  “They’re fine. Strickland and Church got them off island.” He looked up, baffled, to find her looking at him. “You’re okay.”

  “I am.” She offered him a halfhearted smile while she struggled to stand. “But I’ll be a hell of a lot better as soon as you get me the hell out of here.”

  93

  The Blackhawk touched down gently in the dirt, as close as he could get it to the hangar without being a danger, and he powered it off. It’d been years since he’d flown but it was just like riding a bike.

  Some things you never forget.

  Sabrina sat beside him, quiet. Had been since he’d lifted her into the helo before climbing in beside her. She’d looked out the window, broken hands clutched to her stomach, as if for safe keeping. Hair matted with blood, long rivulets crusted against her neck.

  “I love you.”

  She turned face toward him. It was dirty and bruised, eyes bluer than the ocean they’d just crossed shining back at him. “I love you too,” she said before popping the door open and jumping down from the Blackhawk. She didn’t want to hear it. His speech about how she was safer with him gone. That she needed to forget about him. Move on. The one he gave her every time he left her.

  He couldn’t blame her. He didn’t want to hear it either.

  Waiting a few seconds, letting her gain a safe distance between them, he followed her across the dirt. She headed straight for Strickland and as soon as he saw her, he turned his back on the conversation he’d been having with Church and met her halfway. They stood close together, talking. Strickland looked at him over her shoulder and for a moment, he thought he caught a smile.

  “He cares for her.”

  He cast a quick glance at Ben who’d come up beside him. “So do you.”

  “You caught me,” his partner said with a wide grin. “You really thinks she’s better off without you?”

  “I know she is.”

  Ben didn’t answer. They stood there, watching Lark pack up his computer equipment and load it onto Ben’s Westwind while Church carried a roll of duct tape into the hangar. “My father is coming,” he finally said, casting an apologetic look between them.

  “For me.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yeah… that’s why you’re gonna be gone when he gets here.”

  H
e shook his head. “Nice try, kid but there’s no place for me to go,” he said, watching as Sabrina allowed Strickland to lead her into the hangar. As long as Shaw had her, he would never risk leaving. He would do whatever Shaw said. They both knew that.

  “Do you trust me?”

  It was the second time Ben had asked him that and he found himself turning his gaze on his partner. He had that look again. The not Ben look that told you he was a totally different person than the one he pretended to be.

  Christina appeared in the open door of the plane. Not Ben’s. The one he didn’t recognize. It’s destination unknown. As soon as she saw him, she smiled and ran down the steps straight for him. He dropped to his knees and opened his arms and seconds later they were filled with her. His heart swelled inside his chest as he let himself hold her and when she laid her head on his shoulder he didn’t pull away.

  “Well? Do you?” Ben said, watching as he stood, lifting Christina with him.

  He looked down at her for a moment before meeting his partner’s gaze. “Against my better judgment—yeah, I do.”

  Ben laughed at him, clapping a rough hand against his back, to move him toward the plane. Toward the unknown. “So get on the plane… and stop calling me kid.”

  94

  Sabrina sat quietly, watching while Church ripped off a long strip of duct tape with her teeth and added it to the several layers she’d applied to her ribs.

  “Thank you,” she said, the words getting stuck between clenched teeth while pain spiraled through her ribcage to shoot down her spine.

  “For what?” Church said, mouth full of duct tape as she did another rip and stick.

  “For the Kevlar. For the tape.” She caught the other woman’s gaze and held it. “For not killing Val like you were supposed to.”

  Church stalled out for a second before she shrugged, looking down at the roll of tape to rip off another strip. “I didn’t do it for you,” she said, avoiding eye contact while she smoothed the tape in place, pushing just hard enough against on her broken ribs to make her jerk.

  “I still don’t like you,” she said, waving off another round of duct tape.

  Church grinned, setting the roll down on the workbench Sabrina was perched on. “Good—because I don’t like you either.” She turned and headed out the door, shooting her a quick smile over her shoulder. “See you around.”

  Sabrina laughed, the pressure of the tape around her ribs making the pain of it bearable. She looked at Strickland. He was leaning against the wall next to the door, he turned his head when Church strolled past, watching her walk out the door.

  “Somebody likes her though…”

  Strickland’s head snapped back in her direction, a red flush creeping up his neck. “I think one of us dating a government spook is enough, don’t you?”

  “We aren’t government,” Ben said from the doorway. “Planes are prepped and ready—we’ll be taking off in a few minutes.”

  Home.

  By this time tomorrow, she’d be back in San Francisco. Back to normal… Back to a life without Michael.

  “You mind giving us a few minutes alone.”

  Strickland looked at Ben and then at her. She gave him a nod and he left, out the hangar and onto the waiting plane.

  As soon as Strickland was gone she looked at Ben to find him watching her and she felt time bend and she found herself back in that dark hospital room, Ben standing in the shadows. Telling her she had a choice to make. That he could fix her life if she’d let him.

  “My father’s on his way here so we don’t have much time,” he told her, moving into the room until he was standing right in front of her.

  “Time for what?”

  “For you to decide.”

  She looked past him, out the hangar door to the pair of planes that sat side-by-side on the tarmac. She’d watched Michael carry Christina onto the smaller of the two. Strickland and Church had boarded the other. “Decide what?”

  “Where you belong,” Ben said.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, even though her heart had begun an uneven knocking against her chest.

  Ben smiled at her. “I think you do. My plane is headed to San Francisco.”

  “And the other one?” she said, looking past him toward the plane she’d watched Michael and Christina board only a few minutes ago.

  “That plane belongs to a very powerful senator who is very happy and very appreciative to have his grandson back… and not too pleased with my father, at the moment.”

  “Maddox?” She looked over his shoulder again, suddenly understanding. “He’s going to help Michael.”

  “Did you know that Montana actually means mountain? They wreak havoc on cell phone reception… especially when you’re living on an eight-thousand-acre ranch, surrounded by them and not a cell tower within three hundred miles.”

  Somehow, he’d done it. Ben had managed to get Michael out from under his father’s thumb. Relief washed through her, “Thank you, Ben. Thank—”

  “Michael is dead.” He gave her what she’d come to call his I’m a very bad man smile. “He was shot several times by Reyes before crashing that Blackhawk behind me in the water between here and the island. We managed a water rescue for the Maddox boy but Michael was lost at sea.”

  “Lark agreed to go along with it?”

  “Agreed?” His smile widened. “It was his idea. He also spent the last several hours developing a scrambling program, just in case. Michael is dead,” he repeated, the smile fading into a look that told her just how much it was costing him to let his friend go. “And you can be too… but you have to decide right now and once that decision is made, it can’t be undone. Not ever.”

  He was making sure she understood. She could have Michael. She could be with him or she could go home. Whatever her decision, there would be no turning back. Whoever she chose to let go would be lost to her forever. It was a hard choice but it was hers—with Ben it always would be. That was the difference between him and his father.

  Home…

  Sometimes it wasn’t a place. Sometimes it was a person.

  She levered herself up from the workbench to stand in front of him. “You’re a good man, Ben—and a good friend.” She stretched herself, despite the pain, to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you… for everything,” she said before walking away.

  “Take care of him,” he said and she felt his eyes on her as she left the hangar and got on the plane.

  Blood of Saints

  A Sabrina Vaughn Novel

  For my “other” Aunt Judy and

  A magical place called Dos Cuervos.

  Thanks for saving my bacon.

  “And in her was found the blood of prophets,

  and of saints, and of all that were slain upon the earth.”

  ~ Revelation 18:24

  1

  Yuma, Arizona

  December 22nd, 1998

  A miracle.

  The girl had been dead and then… she wasn’t. It was a miracle. That was the only explanation for what he’d witness. A resurrection, worthy of Christ Jesus himself.

  He watched, mesmerized as her chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm, exposed to the biting cold of the desert air. Quickening and stalling so those hovering about her became certain each breath she took would be her last. She’d been badly beaten. Her pale skin awash with cuts and bruises, but beneath the damage he could see she was beautiful. So perfectly beautiful he found it impossible to look away from her. Looking at her bare breasts, his gaze trailed down her torso, a flush crept up his neck.

  Father Francisco said something, a whispered plea offered up to St. Rose—the patron saint to which they prayed. “… ¿Qué clase de monstruo haríaunaco saasí?” He looked up, fixing his panicked gaze on the small knot of early morning worshipers gathered around him as he knelt over the girl on the bench. “Call 911. She needs help—rápidamente.” The last of his words punctuated the thick air around them, a staccato jab meant to prod them into
action. The young man next to him managed to break the spell cast by the taboo before them, turning on his heel to run for the gate that guarded the entrance to the small prayer garden in which they stood. There was no phone inside the church—they didn’t even have electricity. From the corner of his eye he could see the flapping white robe as it disappeared around the building, off to find help.

  “Nulo—you found her, yes?” The priest’s dark eyes found him in the crowd, his voice seizing hold of him, jerking his head to the top of his neck.

  He nodded, keeping his gaze averted, the pulsing at his temple keeping time with his hammering heart. “Yes, Father. As soon as—as soon as I saw her, I… I came for you,” he stammered out the lie, sure he would be struck dead, even as he spoke it.

  It had been early. So early, the coyotes still roamed the fields that surrounded the church, unchecked. The moon, low and fat in the sky—the stars just beginning to fade. Officially, no one was allowed to sleep in the sanctuary but Father Francisco was newly appointed and still soft to the poverty of his congregation. At ten o’clock he’d wandered around the small church, extinguishing lanterns and candles, completely ignoring the dark figures hunkered down on hard, wooden pews. It was December and the desert’s temperature often dipped below freezing. They had come in from the fields seeking warmth and though the dark church had little to offer, it was better than sleeping outside.

  The young priest walked up the center aisle, stopping next to the pew he was curled up on. “Nulo…” He said his name quietly, not wanting to wake the others. “If I you don’t see me by sunrise, come wake me.”

  “Yes, Father,” he said, matching Father Francisco’s hushed tone. “Goodnight… and thank you.”

  “There is no need to thank me...” The priest’s face turned toward the back of the church, his gaze trained elsewhere. “I just wish there was something more I could do for you.”