by Gina Wilkins
“Not at the beginning,” she assured him. “I lost a scarf my grandmother gave me and I was going out to look for it. Then I heard Novotny and some other man talking about artillery—and then I saw you—and then Bennett hit you—and then when I tried to run for help, Bennett caught me and threw me in here with you.”
He seemed to follow the broken story with only a minor effort. He grunted, and she took that to mean that he understood at least most of her explanation.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She hid her abraded hands behind her back. “I’m fine. But what about you? You’re bleeding, and you’re so pale. Shouldn’t you sit down? What if you have a concussion?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” he muttered, moving toward the door. He looked at the latch, then tested it. It was still securely locked from the outside. “Damn.”
“Do you think these boxes have guns in them?” Celia asked him in an exaggerated whisper. “Are they the artillery Chuck was talking about?”
He flicked a glance around the tiny room. “Yeah.”
It seemed to her that Bennett had made a big mistake locking them in a room full of weapons. “Maybe we could use one of the guns to get out of here. We could fire it in the air and someone might hear. Better yet, we could shoot the lock off the door,” she exclaimed on a sudden inspiration.
Reed rolled his eyes. “You’ve been watching too many action movies,” he said. “These aren’t harmless little pellet guns, Celia. You don’t fire an AK-47 in an eight-by-eight concrete room.”
“An AK-47?” Celia repeated, looking warily at the boxes. “Is that as bad as it sounds?”
“Not as bad as what Novotny had hoped to find in here. But bad enough. Be quiet.”
She opened her mouth to protest the summary command, then closed it with a snap when she heard the noise that had caught his attention. Someone was standing outside, talking. Bennett and Perrelli?
Celia tensed, turning to Reed. What would they do now? Shouldn’t they at least try to defend themselves? Why didn’t Reed look more nervous? And how did he seem to know what was going on even though she still hadn’t told him everything she’d heard?
“Shouldn’t we get one of the guns or something?” she whispered, moving as far as possible away from the voices. As though that slight distance would protect her.
Reed ignored her. He straightened his shoulders, pushed his hair off his forehead and moved to one side of the door. “Scream,” he said.
She frowned, utterly baffled by the order. “What?”
“Scream,” he repeated, giving her a sharp look. “Now!”
He spoke that with such forceful command that Celia found herself obeying without further hesitation.
She screamed.
Celia’s scream was still echoing in the tiny room when the door burst open and Bennett rushed through. “Would you shut up?” he demanded, glaring at her. “You—”
She watched in utter disbelief as Reed, wounded and half Bennett’s size, proceeded to knock the man senseless, using nothing but one swinging foot and the back of one downward-slicing hand.
Bennett fell with a heavy thud. He didn’t move again.
Celia stared at the inert body, then back up at Reed. “How did—?”
Perrelli came in swinging. Reed ducked, turned, kicked out and followed with the now familiar slash of his hand.
Perrelli landed on top of Bennett. Not quite out, he groaned. Reed silenced him with a vicious thump on the head. Perrelli collapsed like a deflated balloon.
Celia felt her jaw drop. Just how would a mild-mannered tax accountant know hand-to-hand combat?
Before she had a chance to ask, Reed grabbed her arm. He pushed her toward the open doorway, a little gentler with her than Bennett had been earlier. “Out,” he said.
When she didn’t move as quickly as he wanted, he placed a hand in the center of her back and shoved. She stumbled, but remained on her feet.
Reed hardly spared her a glance. He closed and locked the storage room, then jerked a chin toward his right. “Move it.”
He sounded very much like a man who was accustomed to having his orders obeyed without question. Celia didn’t like it. Not only that, she was beginning to have serious doubts again about his professed career.
No tax accountant she’d ever met had behaved quite like this man.
A long line of flowering bushes—Celia didn’t know what they were called—lay between the storage buildings and the back of the darkened restaurant. Reed headed for the bushes at a run, dragging Celia with him.
There was a muffled shout from behind them, then a funny popping sound. With another hissed curse, Reed almost threw Celia into the bushes, then dove in behind her. He landed on top of her with enough force to drive most of the remaining breath out of her lungs.
It suddenly occurred to Celia that they were being shot at. The very possibility was almost too bizarre to accept.
Things like this just didn’t happen to her!
Spitting palm fronds out of her mouth, Celia clawed her way to her feet, then turned to run again, only to stumble into someone else’s arms.
This time, she thought furiously, she wasn’t going to be taken so easily. She struck out. With some satisfaction, she heard her opponent grunt when her fist connected with a firm jaw. The arms that had held Celia fell, releasing her.
“Damn it!” It was a woman’s voice, husky, but most definitely feminine.
Startled to realize that she’d hit a woman, Celia hesitated, then prepared to strike out again. Whoever this woman was, Celia had no intention of meekly surrendering. She wasn’t going back into that storage room again!
Reed caught Celia’s wrist from behind. “Chill out, tiger, this is the cavalry,” he murmured, sounding almost amused. “My partner, Kyle. Kyle, someone’s behind us. He’s armed, and he’s using a silencer.”
“I know. It’s Novotny. Don’t worry, Mike’s taking care of him.”
Her arm still caught in midswing, Celia squinted, trying to see the woman through the shadows. Reed’s partner? She caught a glimpse of a long, slender body clad in dark clothing, hair twisted behind her head. Colors weren’t visible in the darkness, but Celia glumly suspected the woman’s hair was red. Bright, glorious red.
Cautiously avoiding Celia, the woman touched a hand to Reed’s blood-streaked head. “You okay, Reed?” she asked with such obvious concern that Celia’s teeth clenched in sheer, raging jealousy. She almost swung again. Reed held her firmly.
“Yeah.” Reed released Celia’s wrist as he spoke, but kept his hands on her shoulders.
Maybe, she thought seethingly, he knew that if he released her, she’d go for the woman’s throat.
“What happened to Bennett and Perrelli?” Kyle asked, still ignoring Celia.
“Locked in the storage room.”
“Yeah, okay. At least we’ve got enough evidence on them already to hold them, even if we still don’t have enough on Alexander. If only we’d caught them together, making the exchange. This isn’t the way this was supposed to go down.”
“I know.” Reed spoke stiffly. “I screwed up.”
Kyle shrugged in the shadows, and spoke dismissively. “So, join the club. It was your turn this time.”
Only half hearing the conversation, Celia was trying desperately to assimilate everything she’d heard thus far. This woman was Reed’s partner—in what? And who was the Mike who’d supposedly taken care of Novotny? She pictured the affable waiter from the restaurant. Surely not…
But then, nothing that had happened during the past hour or so made any sense to her just then.
“Where’s Alexander?” Reed asked, his hands still resting lightly on Celia’s shoulders as he questioned Kyle.
“Last I checked, he was in his suite. I haven’t seen Chenault for a while, though.”
Celia twisted her head to look up at Reed. “Is Damien involved in smuggling stolen military weapons?” she asked quietly. “The stuff from
Brownsville,” she added in a murmur, remembering something Chuck had said.
Reed and Kyle both stiffened. “How do you know about the merchandise from Brownsville?” Reed asked, his fingers tightening on her shoulders.
Celia shrugged, though she didn’t manage to dislodge his hands. “Something I overheard.”
Speaking more urgently now, Reed asked, “Was it Alexander you overheard talking?”
“I don’t know. It was dark—not long before Bennett caught you at the storage room. I heard Chuck talking to someone about the stuff from Brownsville, but the other man spoke so softly I couldn’t identify the voice. It took me a bit to figure out what they were talking about. I couldn’t believe it at first, even though Cody always said—”
“You didn’t hear Alexander’s name mentioned?” Reed broke in to ask.
“No.”
“Damn.” Reed looked at the other woman. “Unless one of the others talks, we still don’t know for sure.”
“Damn it, Reed, who are you?” Celia asked, the question exploding from her in frustration.
He patted her arm, absently. Dismissively. She almost bit him.
“Let’s go check on Alexander,” he said, still speaking to Kyle. “Mike and Leahy can take care of the others for now.”
Leahy? Celia didn’t even want to know.
Reed caught Celia’s wrist and tugged, letting her know that he wanted her to accompany them. She thought of resisting, but she didn’t really want to be left behind at this point.
“Reed,” she whispered urgently, staying close to his side. “I insist that you tell me what’s going on. Who are you? What are you really doing here? Why are we going to check on Damien?”
“Be quiet, Celia. We don’t know who else is involved in this.”
His curt order infuriated her. Though he still had her wrist shackled in his hand, she took a swing at him with her free hand. “Damn it, Reed, I rescued you from those guys when they knocked you out and locked you in that room! The least you could do is answer my questions.”
Reed stumbled. “You did what?”
Kyle snickered, obviously having overheard every word. “She rescued you,” she repeated helpfully. “When those guys knocked you out and locked you in a room.”
“They caught me off guard,” Reed said defensively. “I was…er…thinking of something else for a minute. It’s never happened before, damn it, and no one knows that better than you!”
“Good thing your PYT was around to rescue you, wasn’t it?” Kyle asked a bit too sweetly.
PYT? Celia didn’t think she even wanted to ask. Nor did Reed give her time. “She didn’t rescue me,” he said. “She got herself thrown in there with me.”
Celia started to make an indignant protest. After all, if it hadn’t been for her scream, Reed would probably still be lying in there bleeding.
Again, Reed interrupted before she could speak. “Just shut up and come on. Both of you.” His tone didn’t encourage any further teasing.
He turned and stalked away, leaving the women to follow or not, as they chose. Celia followed resentfully. When this was over, she told herself firmly, she and Reed were going to have a very long talk.
And she fully intended to tell him to shut up and listen to what she had to say!
Chapter Fourteen
Damien’s windows were open, the lights on. From a hidden vantage point outside, they could see him in the sitting room, reading a book, sipping a drink, looking completely unaware that anything was going on outside his comfortable surroundings. Celia wondered why he was still awake if he wasn’t expecting something to happen tonight.
She studied the handsome face of the man who’d been her friend for almost a year now. She remembered the pleasant evenings, the shared laughter, the gentle kisses and playful hugs.
She had always defended Damien against those who’d maligned him. Had she really been so wrong about him?
“Damn it,” Reed growled. “I wish we could be sure whether he’s involved in this or not.”
Celia looked at him with a quick surge of hope. “You aren’t sure?”
“All we have to this point are rumors,” Kyle admitted. “Circumstantial evidence. Deliveries at locations where Alexander and his entourage have been. Business meetings scheduled in close proximity to survivalist groups who are in the market for weapons—such as in your area of central Arkansas. We know some of his people are involved, but if he is, he’s kept a damned low profile.”
“You mean, Damien may be completely unaware that there’s gunrunning going on in his organization?” Celia asked, just for clarification.
“He has to be involved,” Reed told her coolly. “Do you really think his staff could carry on something like this right beneath his nose?”
Celia thought about it a moment. “Yes,” she answered simply.
Reed snorted. “Yeah. Sure.”
“No, Reed, I’m serious. It’s entirely possible. Damien trusts his staff completely—especially Mark Chenault. He fully believes in delegating responsibility to leave him free to handle the big stuff. I’ve heard him say it dozens of times. He doesn’t question every move his staff makes, wouldn’t monitor their every activity unless he had reason to suspect something. And maybe he hasn’t had a reason before now.”
“Let’s just watch him for a few minutes,” Kyle suggested. “Maybe he’ll do something incriminating.”
“Like what?” Reed asked sarcastically. “Use an Uzi for a bookmark?”
“Why don’t you just ask him if he’s involved?” Celia asked reasonably.
Even in the dim lighting that reached their hiding place, she could see that the looks Reed and Kyle gave her were the same they might have given a naive, and rather simple, child. And they infuriated her.
Without responding to Celia’s suggestion, Reed turned back to Kyle. Moments later, they were arguing about what to do next, the quarrel conducted in curt whispers.
Hands on her hips, Celia watched them. She didn’t know what it was these two did, exactly, or who paid their salaries—though she was beginning to suspect she did—but at the moment, she wasn’t overly impressed.
She looked back at Damien’s window. While she watched him, he smiled at something he read, turned the page, scratched his chin and kept reading.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, knowing that no one was listening to her. “Damien’s no more a gunrunner than I am.” Why would he be? She knew for a fact that he wasn’t particularly interested in political or social causes. He had more money than God, already. He was too unrepentantly self-indulgent to risk spending time in prison, which he would probably detest with every atom of his pampered being.
He was adventurous, but he took his chances in sports—mountain-climbing, skydiving, racing motorcycles. He worked very hard to make his resorts successful, taking pride in their popularity. He wouldn’t throw it away just for kicks, which had to be the only reason a man of his resources would get involved in something like this.
She wavered there in the darkness for a moment, feeling rather alone and a bit scared. What if she was wrong?
Her answer came from that same courageous corner of her mind that had made her believe in Reed.
She wasn’t wrong about Damien.
Straightening her shoulders, she headed for his door, leaving Reed and Kyle still plotting behind her.
She heard Reed hiss her name just as she reached the glass-paned French door that led from Damien’s suite to the beach walk. It was too late for Reed to stop her from tapping on the door. “Damien?” she called softly. “It’s Celia.”
Reed had been racing toward her, but he ducked back when the door suddenly opened. Celia could hear his muttered curses drifting on the air, and knew she was in for a heated lecture later.
She would worry about that when it became necessary.
“Celia?” Damien couldn’t seem to believe that she was outside his suite in the wee hours of the morning. “What the hell? Is something wro
ng? Are you all right?”
He was already pulling her inside, his expression so worried, his tone so sincere that Celia knew again she had to be right about him.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. She left the door ajar behind her and kept Damien close, her voice clear enough to carry outside, but no louder than usual. “I have to talk to you.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked again, his blue eyes searching her face. “Is it that Hollander guy? Has he done something to upset you? If he has, just tell me. I swear I’ll make him sorry he ever—”
Though Celia had let him ramble for a moment—she figured Reed deserved to hear that—she stopped him then by placing a hand on his arm. “It’s not that, Damien. It’s something else. Something I overheard. And I’m afraid it’s going to upset you.”
Knowing Reed and Kyle would be straining to listen, she told Damien everything. The conversation she’d overheard between Chuck and an unknown man, Bennett and Perrelli’s attack on Reed, her own capture and subsequent escape.
By the end of her explanation, Damien was looking at her as though she were demented. “Gunrunning?” he said. “Jim? And Chuck? Celia—”
“You don’t believe me.”
He threw up his hands. “How can you expect me to believe this? Sweetheart, it’s very late. Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?”
“No, I wasn’t dreaming. Jim Bennett grabbed me and threw me in a storage room! Look at my hands.” She held her hands out for his inspection. Her filthy palms were deeply scraped, and smeared with blood—her own and Reed’s. She’d been trying to ignore the painful stinging. She knew her knees were bruised and scraped, as well, from her contact with the concrete storage room floor.
Damien caught his breath. He took her wrists gently in his hands, examining the painful-looking wounds. “We have to clean these,” he said. “They look terrible. How did you hurt them?”
Celia exhaled gustily. “You aren’t listening. Jim Bennett threw me in a storage room—a storage room full of guns. I hurt my hands when I landed on the concrete floor. Now Bennett and Perrelli are locked in there, and Chuck’s probably tied up somewhere, but there may be others roaming around that we don’t know about. Mark—or Evan—even Enrique, any of them could be involved.”
