by Maya Banks
“You flying the chopper Rio brought?” Steele asked Donovan.
Donovan jerked his thumb toward Nathan. “He knows more about choppers than I do. I can fly pretty much anything, but he can fly them better.”
“Let’s go then.”
They did a quick weapons check, tested their radios and receivers and then lifted off. Steele ran down the checklist in terse tones until everyone was clear on their assignments.
The helicopter buzzed low, clipping the tops of the canopy of trees and then burst into the clearing where the compound was sprawled. The atmosphere inside the chopper was tense. Expressions were focused and grim. Rifles rose, gripped tightly as they prepared to do the helo drop inside the walls.
“On my signal,” Steele barked.
The chopper swooped in and hovered several feet off the ground. Below them, men scattered in all directions, taking cover.
“Go! Go! Go!” Steele shouted.
They dropped from both sides of the chopper, rifles up. From the corner of Steele’s eye he saw the men in the guard towers start dropping like flies. The snipers were doing their jobs.
They fanned out, chaos surrounding them. A heavy explosion rocked the ground, and smoke and pieces of stone blew into the courtyard. The staccato of gunfire filled the air. Hoarse shouts, a few screams. Fuck, there were women.
“Watch for the women,” he barked into his mic. “Take as few casualties as possible. I want a sweep of the entire house. Find Maren and make sure she’s covered.”
Without waiting for confirmation, Steele moved through the courtyard, his eyes peeled for any sign of Maren. Many of Mendoza’s men were on the ground, facedown, hands cupped behind their heads as KGI and Resnick’s team yelled for them to get down and stay down.
“Guard towers clear,” P.J. radioed. “We’re moving in to be your secondary.”
Steele hurried toward the glass doors that had already been shattered by gunfire. Once inside he stayed to the walls, moving stealthily through each room. When he got to the large living room in the center of the house, one of Mendoza’s armed guards appeared carrying a machine gun. As soon as he signaled his intent to shoot, Steele dropped him. He stepped over the body and hit the stairs.
No one was upstairs. It was quiet and the rooms were empty. He made quick work of the bedrooms and the two bathrooms and came upon what appeared to be Mendoza’s study last. Finding it empty, he swore. Where the hell was Maren?
“Report,” he said into the mic. “Upstairs is clear. No sign of Maren.”
There was a lengthy silence, and then one by one the others checked in. No sign of Maren or Mendoza.
“I’m coming down,” Steele said.
“Downstairs is clear,” Donovan reported.
Steele took the steps two at a time and burst back into the living room where Donovan, Sam and Dolphin were standing.
“Where the fuck is she?” Steele demanded. “We have to be missing something. Bastard must have a hidey-hole he stashed himself and her in when we hit the ground.”
“The outside is secure. Kyle Phillips and his team along with the rest of ours are rounding up the riffraff now,” Donovan said.
“This was too damn easy,” Sam growled. “I would say they were expecting us, but judging by the panic and chaos when we started shooting, Mendoza’s guards were caught with their pants down. Doesn’t sound at all like the man Resnick described.”
Steele had a very bad feeling about this, and his gut never steered him wrong.
Resnick burst in, and for once he didn’t have a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He looked pissed and frustrated.
“We got nothing out there,” he said. “Grounds are secure. Apart from the guards in the tower, we have minimal casualties. They couldn’t give up fast enough when the shooting started.”
“Pull in everyone who isn’t standing guard over Mendoza’s people,” Steele ordered. “I want a thorough sweep of the entire area.”
An hour later, the members of KGI gathered in the living room all wearing grim expressions. Dolphin bounded down the stairs with Baker and Renshaw on his heels just as Rio and Terrence appeared from the kitchen area.
“I found this,” Dolphin said, holding out a folded piece of stationery. “You better read it, Steele. You’re not going to like it.”
Steele snatched the paper from his teammate’s hand and quickly opened it, scanning the contents.
Mendoza knew about KGI from one of his men. They knew everything about me, including my connection to KGI. Mendoza told me we were leaving and that his current personnel were expendable. He was counting on you to get rid of them for him. All I know is that he’s going to Paris for plastic surgery and then he’s relocating to start over again. He’s promised not to hurt me if I cooperate with his plans. I’m scared out of my mind, but I don’t have a choice but to do as he’s ordered me to. He wants me to oversee his recovery after his surgery. If you find this, please know I would have done anything I could to prevent this from happening. I hope to see you again and I’m putting all of my faith in you not to give up and to find me again.
Maren
The paper shook in Steele’s hand. The others crowded around to read and Sam took it from Steele, his expression growing more furious as he read.
“Son of a bitch!” Steele swore.
He wanted to put his fist through a goddamn wall. This was bullshit. He knew he shouldn’t have waited for the other teams to be pulled in. Now, because he’d waited, Maren had slipped through their fingers and was enduring God knows what at Mendoza’s hands.
The handwriting had been shaky and unevenly scrawled as if she’d been in a hurry, and as her letter stated, scared out of her mind. She’d taken a big risk in even writing it. If Mendoza had discovered it, she could have gotten herself killed.
He didn’t want to imagine her in such circumstances. A pawn, powerless in Mendoza’s grasp. She was a beautiful, intelligent woman. He didn’t believe for a moment that Mendoza’s interest in her was purely professional. It made him sick to think of her frightened, intimidated, threatened.
He had to get a grip before he lost his fucking mind. He was torturing himself with all the possibilities. He had to turn it off. Had to find the calm, rigid exterior that had carried him through so many missions before.
“Shit,” Resnick muttered. “This isn’t good. It isn’t good at all. Our chances of finding him again are slim at best. This was the closest anyone has been able to get to him. He’s always one step ahead of the game. Every time we get close, he disappears again. This has been going on for years.”
“He’s going to Paris. What can you dig up, Resnick?” Sam demanded.
Resnick ran his hand through his hair and then promptly dug out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He lit one and inhaled deeply before blowing out a long plume of smoke.
“Hell if I know,” he admitted. “The last three surgeons he used—that we know of—were found dead the day after his surgery. If he’s going to Paris to have the surgery done, whoever the unfortunate bastard is who does it will likely be dead within twenty-four hours. Mendoza is careful and leaves nothing to chance. You saw what Maren wrote. The asshole left his men with their balls hanging in the wind. He expected you to do his dirty work and eliminate everyone who worked for him.”
“I want every last one questioned,” Steele said. “I want a full report of everything they say, any information they can provide, no matter how insignificant it may seem. And I want to know the last time Mendoza was seen here and when he disappeared. If he’s already on his way to Paris with Maren, then our time is running out. Resnick, you get me whatever you can find on the type of plastic surgeon in Paris that Mendoza might use. I don’t give a shit who you have to blow to get the information.”
Then he turned to Dolphin.
“Have my team meet me at the chopper. Tell them to get moving now.”
Dolphin nodded and turned away. Steele surveyed the group gathered in the living room and
eyed Sam unflinchingly.
“My mission. My way. This is personal. He fucked with one of our own. I’m going to take this bastard down with or without your say-so. I’d rather do it with KGI, but if you give me any grief over this, I’m walking and taking my team with me.”
Sam’s eyebrows rose, and he exchanged glances with Rio and Donovan, who seemed equally taken aback by Steele’s heated proclamation.
“It’s yours,” Sam said slowly. “But you keep me in the loop every step of the way. I want to know when, where and how at all times. Maren is important to all of us. I’m not going to hang her out to dry on this.”
“Fuck no,” Rio muttered. Then he looked up at Steele. “If you need backup, call me. My team will be available the minute you give us the word.”
Steele nodded. “I appreciate that and I will call if I need the help. This is too important to fuck up.”
“I’m going with you,” Donovan said quietly. “That’s not negotiable.”
“Fine, as long as you remember—”
Donovan cut him off before he could finish. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Your mission. Your way. Don’t worry. I’m not going to step on your toes.”
“As long as we understand each other. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to meet with my team so we can pull the hell out of here and hop a plane.”
“Don’t worry about us,” Sam said dryly. “We’ll handle the cleanup here.”
Steele didn’t respond. He was already on his way out the door.
His team was waiting by the chopper, and they looked expectantly at him when he walked up.
“What’s the deal?” Cole demanded. “Where the fuck is Maren?”
“I’ll get to that,” Steele said shortly.
He looked intently at P.J., who was standing with a worried frown on her face.
“Maren isn’t here. Best we know is Mendoza has her and is on his way to Paris for plastic surgery. Apparently he wants Maren’s skills to aid him in his recovery.”
“Fuck,” P.J. muttered.
“We’re going after her, but P.J., I need to know if you can handle this.”
Her brows furrowed and she shot him a what-the-fuck look.
“We don’t know what we’re going to find,” he said softly. “Mendoza has had her in his possession for a while now. He’s keeping her with him, and by her own admission, she’s scared out of her mind. Maren doesn’t scare easily, so in my mind she has a reason to be afraid of this asshole. I need to be sure you can handle this. You aren’t going to piss me off if you stand down from this mission.”
There was a fierce glitter in P.J.’s eyes. Cole’s arm automatically went around her in support, and he squeezed her shoulders.
“I’ll be fine,” P.J. said in a quiet voice. “Maren has seen most of us through our worst. No way I’m going to wimp out on her when she needs us the most. And if that asshole has hurt her in any way, I’ll remove his balls myself.”
Cole grinned and Dolphin muttered a hooyah.
Steele nodded. “Okay, now that we have that out of the way, we’re pulling out and hauling ass to Paris. Resnick’s going to dig up any intel he has on plastic surgeons who have the skill level required for extensive restructuring and get it to us as soon as possible. In the meantime, we’re going wheels up.”
CHAPTER 19
MAREN quietly entered the bedroom where Mendoza—or rather Tristan Caldwell, as he’d renamed himself—was resting. He stirred when she approached. She’d long since gotten over her surprise at how lightly he slept, even when he was fresh out of surgery and drugged on painkillers. He was alert and aware, but then he seemed to have good reason to fear being killed in his sleep. He’d doubtless made many enemies in his lifetime. Or maybe he didn’t fully trust her not to try to murder him. She wished she had the courage, because if she did she’d be sorely tempted.
“Ah, you’re here,” Tristan said.
He reached for her hand but she moved it away, lifting it instead to the dressings over his face. It had been twelve weeks since his surgery and the bulkier bandages had been removed, and now only the smaller gauze rested over the healing incision sites.
His surgery hadn’t been minor. His entire face had been reconstructed, his nose and cheekbones restructured. Even his chin. It had to have been horribly painful. She couldn’t imagine doing this on a regular basis. But even with the longevity of his recovery, he’d made faster progress than she could have imagined.
“They’re looking good,” she said briskly.
She was careful to never let their conversation stray from his health. She had no desire to build any sort of rapport between them. She treated him as she would any patient. Distant and professional. Never mind she was being held captive and subject to the whims of a crazy man.
“You’ve taken very good care of me, Maren. I’m not surprised that I’m healing so rapidly. When do you think the rest of the bandages can come off?”
“I’d give it another week,” she said.
They could probably come off now, but she was in no hurry. She feared what would happen when he considered himself fully recovered. Though he’d kept his promise not to touch her, he’d grown increasingly bolder. She could tell he was growing impatient with his recovery and was ready to make his move.
She flinched when he put his hand over her belly. She forced herself to remain still and not pull away. She didn’t want to anger him, but neither did she want him touching her.
He’d been nothing but gentle with her, and it puzzled her. His touches had become more intimate, and even his speech had been nonthreatening and almost . . . tender. Like he wanted her to like him. No matter how gently he treated her, she wasn’t going to succumb to Stockholm syndrome. She wanted out. That wasn’t going to change no matter how nice he was to her.
“Shouldn’t you start showing soon?” he asked.
They were fast venturing into territory she didn’t want to go into. She moved to the side so his hand would fall away. “Soon,” she agreed, unwilling to say more.
“Does the father know of the child?”
She narrowed her eyes as she looked down at him, making eye contact for the first time. He wore colored contacts now, turning his eyes a smoky blue. She’d never seen him without them since the day after his surgery, when he’d put them in. His hair was now dyed blond and with the plastic surgery, his face had dramatically changed.
“No,” she replied, thinking that answer would please Tristan.
And it did seem to please him. Satisfaction brimmed in his eyes, but they also burned with a possessive light that sent a chill up her spine. She had to give him some credit, as much as it pained her to do so. He’d seen to her needs, made sure she was provided for and accorded her respect and demanded the same of his staff. It was as she’d been treated at his compound in Costa Rica. Pampered guest instead of the prisoner she was.
“Just as well since he’ll have no contact,” Tristan murmured. “You’re mine, Maren. And so is your child.”
She froze, her hands suddenly trembling. She snatched them away from the gauze after securing the tape once more and put them down at her sides so he wouldn’t see the effect his words had on her. She bit her lip to keep from responding to his declaration. Nothing would be gained by her outburst.
“I’d like to have dinner on the terrace tonight. Tell Armand so he can arrange it. You’ll attend, of course,” he said.
As if she had such a choice in the matter.
“I’d like to rest now,” he said dismissively. “I’ll expect you back in the morning. I’d like the bandages off then.”
She started to protest but knew it wouldn’t do any good. He did what he wanted and he’d probably already figured out that she was taking her sweet time about removing the dressings.
She walked to the door and when she opened it, Armand was standing outside to escort her back to her room—or rather her prison.
It wasn’t bad as prisons go. It was the height of luxury and comfort. She had everyth
ing she could possibly want or need. Except the one thing she wanted most. Her freedom. She was tired of living in fear. Of tiptoeing around Mendoza/Tristan and worrying each day that he’d break his promise and force himself on her. Or worse, decide to rid her of her child.
She made herself sick with worry. She was paranoid about every meal she ate, every drink she was offered. Always afraid that he’d give her something to make her miscarry. It was no way to live, and it was wearing on her. She didn’t trust his smooth demeanor. She worried that he would catch her off guard and strike when she was at her most vulnerable. So she steeled herself and remained aware at all times. And it was fast wearing her down.
She was underweight, and fatigue was kicking her ass.
Armand pushed off the wall and fell in beside her as she walked back to her room. At her door he paused and then reached down to pick up a bag she hadn’t noticed before.
“I thought you could use these,” he said.
Her forehead crinkled in confusion as she peeked inside. She pulled out a book and saw that it was a pregnancy step-by-step manual complete with pictures and a month-by-month analysis of pregnancy.
The bag also contained several bottles of vitamins and a large selection of packaged treats, as well as gourmet chocolates and an entire box of a variety of tea bags. There was also a pair of reading glasses to replace the ones she’d left behind.
She was dumbfounded by his kindness. Or was it Tristan who’d arranged it? Somehow the thought of him giving her anything made her stomach knot.
“Did he send this to me?” she asked in a low voice.
Armand shook his head. “I picked them up for you. You haven’t been eating well. I thought the teas and the packaged snacks would make you feel more at ease.”
She gaped at him, shocked that he’d read her mind and realized her fear of being drugged.
“Thank you,” she murmured, at a loss as to what else to say.
