Elite Ops Complete Series

by Lora Leigh

  And getting out of it was suddenly imperative.

  She came to a slow stop and watched as the shadow materialized from the last, hidden shelter in the maze. He wasn’t tall, perhaps an inch taller than she was. He was burlier, darker. Thick black hair fell in slick waves to his neck as dark, cold eyes stared back at her in satisfaction.

  “Alberto Rodriquez,” she said quietly. “Now, how did you get on the estate?”

  Raymond Greer had excellent security. Alberto couldn’t have slipped onto the property; he had to have had help.

  White teeth flashed in an icy, cruel smile as thin lips curved upward.

  “You have made enemies, my dear,” he said quietly. “Let us see now, what name did you use in Colombia? Maria Estova, yes? Ahh, who could have known that our dear faithless Maria was in truth one of America’s richest heiresses. I must say, I was rather shocked.”

  She just bet he was.

  “So how much would it cost me to convince you to turn around and make your way back to Colombia?” she asked, though she was rather certain no amount of money was going to accomplish that.

  “I do not know,” he mused. “What price do you place on a brother’s life?”

  His brother, Carlos. Carlos wasn’t nearly as intelligent as Alberto, but he had been more bloodthirsty, less cold, just as merciless. If possible. And she had a feeling Alberto wasn’t willing to accept any price for the part she had played in his brother’s death.

  “Carlos made his choice, Alberto,” she stated as she stepped back. “You know that as well as I do.”

  Carlos had made the decision to fight the night she and her team had swarmed through the drug-processing warehouse Carlos had set up. It had been his decision to fight rather than be arrested. It wasn’t as though he wouldn’t have been released just as quickly as he was arrested. He just would have lost millions of dollars in cocaine and heroin.

  “Carlos trusted you.” Alberta smiled at that. It wasn’t a smile of amusement. “You were his good friend, were you not, Maria?” He gave a mocking grimace. “Ah, Bailey. Not Maria.”

  “Bailey,” she agreed, wondering how quickly she could get to the knife beneath the leg of her sweats and if she could reach hers before he reached his.

  “You know you’re not going to get away with killing me,” she informed him calmly. “This isn’t Colombia, Alberto, and I’m not one of the innocent young women you and your men kidnap off the streets. Others know you’re in the area. You’ll be hunted down.”

  He laughed at that. “Ah you have the same naive belief in your people here as you had in your men in Colombia,” he accused snidely. “Would you be surprised to know that one of your good friends here sold you, my dear? That I was searched out, paid to come here and eliminate you. They had no idea I would so gladly do it for free.”

  Warbucks. Now what had she done to piss him off? Or was this one of the infamous tests that his employees were forced to endure? He liked games. He enjoyed playing with both employees and enemies. There was no difference in his eyes, it seemed.

  “Really?” She didn’t have to pretend curiosity, but she was having to fake the calm. “And who would that be?”

  He chuckled at the question. “You would like to know badly, yes?”

  “Badly would describe it.” She stepped back farther. If she could get ahead of him, take the right turn, then she might have a chance of losing him in the maze.

  “You know, I have been studying this maze for several days,” he stated with a smile. “I know it well by now. As well, I would say, as do you.”

  Okay, nix that idea. Evidently someone hadn’t just hired him, but had also gone out of their way to prepare him.

  “Well, since you intend to kill me anyway, you could be nice enough to just let me know who hired you,” she suggested reasonably. “Consider it a last request.”

  “But I was never one to provide last requests.” He sighed. “It tends to allow the soul to rest in peace. Do you imagine I would wish your soul to rest in peace, Ms. Serborne?”

  She arched a brow. “Well, I could haunt you rather than drifting around miserably,” she promised chillingly. “How would that feel, Alberto? To have my ghost fucking with your daily life?”

  He laughed at that. Okay, so he wasn’t spiritual. Surprise there.

  Reaching behind his back, he withdrew what he was well known for. A long, wicked-looking knife that gleamed in the cold sunlight as she bent and removed the small knife she had strapped to her leg.

  Damn, she should have listened to John and carried the gun.

  His smile was bright, a bit amused, and filled with triumph as he twirled the knife beneath the thin, weak rays of the sun.

  “You were not as proficient with the knife as you were with other weapons,” he reminded her. “Poor Ms. Serborne. Looks like today is the last day you breathe. I hope you have enjoyed the time you have spent upon this earth.”

  “Well, I was starting to,” she sighed. “I hope you enjoy what John Vincent is going to do to you when he catches up with you.”

  He did pause at that. He was a criminal, of course he knew who John Vincent was. Even more, he was an international drug-dealing, arms-buying and -selling bastard. There was no way he couldn’t know who John Vincent was.

  “I had heard perhaps you were sharing his bed,” he said with a nod. “It is too bad. But Vincent, he is a businessman, yes? He will not risk his business to come after one lowly Colombian drug dealer. You will be forgotten, just as I’m certain his past lovers have been forgotten.”

  “Wouldn’t bet on that.” She stepped back again.

  She was going to try to run for it. He knew it, and she knew it. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him. She wasn’t nearly as experienced with a knife as he was, and he had a lot more muscle on his frame when it came to a fight.

  Bailey dug her feet into the thick snow beneath her, turned, and took off. If she could get far enough ahead of him, she might have a chance.

  She heard his laughter behind her and knew she had given him exactly what he wanted. Alberto loved the hunt as well as the fight.

  She tore around the first turn, raced down the connecting corridor, and felt perspiration begin to run down her back as she looked back to see how close he was.

  He was too damned close. So close that it was apparent he was only playing with her. Pushing her legs harder as she gripped the knife with her other hand, she raced around the next turn, then dug her feet harder, shot past the next turn, and struggled to maintain her speed as she went through a short corridor before turning again.

  She gained a little distance. He was having to work to catch her now, but she couldn’t keep this up for long. There was no way she could actually race through the maze and make it back to the house with him this close on her ass.

  If he caught her, there was no way she could hold out for long in a knife fight. She was, quite simply fucked. And praying.

  “BAILEY SEEMS RATHER CALM about allowing you to handle the negotiation phase of our little endeavor,” Myron commented as he handed John a drink and took a seat next to the warmth of the fireplace in the library.

  Sipping at his drink, John lifted his brows as though in surprise.

  “Negotiations are my strong suit,” he informed the other man. “Bailey’s coordinating possible transport and drop areas as well as monitoring underground chatter concerning new sales up for bid. Talk in this business can be deadly,” John reminded him.

  Myron nodded slowly. “As I understand it, she was quite adept at coordinating the missions she was placed on. She was a good agent.”

  John waited silently, sipped his drink, and wondered where the other man was going with this. Raymond was silent, watching the exchange in interest rather than participating in it.

  “Bailey proves to be exceptional in any endeavor she undertakes,” John assured the other man.

  “She’s been quite helpful as well,” Myron stated. “She’s covered for us in several operations
that could have been endangered. Without knowing who Warbucks truly was.”

  John simply stared back at him now.

  Myron’s lips twitched in amusement. “I’m quite certain she knows that my alias is Mark Fulton. I wasn’t as careful as I should have been in the early days of this venture, as Warbucks has pointed out quite strongly several times. I’ve been aware that she knew who I was for several years now.”

  “Where is this leading?” John asked him calmly. “Bailey really doesn’t give a damn who you are. Her concern was in protecting this little society she loves so dearly, not any one man.”

  “And that is commendable. Very commendable.” Myron nodded as he glanced at Raymond. Raymond gave a small nod.

  As Myron’s lips parted to say more, there was a heavy, imperious pounding on the door. Turning to the panel with a glare, Myron stalked to the door and swung it open as John and Raymond came to their feet.

  Jerric pushed past Myron, his icy gaze finding John.

  “Bailey’s in the garden under attack. West end of the maze in corridor seven-twelve,” he stated. “Catalina saw everything from our window.”

  John didn’t wait for permission. Fear pumped hard and fast through his system as he moved quickly from the room and motioned Travis to follow him. They were running down the stairs and tearing through the empty ballroom to the French doors within seconds.

  Bailey was being attacked. Only one person would dare to attack her here, only one man was insane enough to believe that he could get away with it.

  Alberto Rodriquez.

  “JERRIC.” MYRON’S VOICE was a smooth, silky drawl as Jerric—aka Micah Sloane—turned to head back out of the room. “You interrupted a very important meeting.”

  Jerric kept his expression cool, composed. His gaze didn’t even flicker at the carefully voiced warning.

  “Why would you do such a thing? I would think you would consider Bailey’s death advantageous to your gaining the contract that is about to come up.”

  Yeah, having the last member of his family exterminated would be as advantageous as taking a hole in his head.

  “I owe him.” Jerric stuck to the cover they had developed over the years. Friendly enemies. There were a lot of those in this business. “This repays the debt.”

  “And that debt would be?” Myron asked carefully.

  “The explosion in Afghanistan designed to kill myself and Catalina,” he stated. “John warned me of the hit.” His lips quirked mockingly. “I’m standing here today because of him.”

  Myron’s brows lifted in apparent surprise. “Interesting. The man is said to have unusual morals where this business is concerned.”

  Jerric nodded abruptly but remained silent. To say more would only raise suspicion in Myron and do more harm than good in the acquisition of the contract John was after. His silence implied an unwillingness to make John appear the stronger broker of the two of them, though. That knowledge should be clear-cut. John had been set up as the stronger of the two brokers, just as the real John Vincent had worked strenuously to cement his own reputation.

  “You trust him then?” he asked Jerric.

  “With a deal.” Jerric nodded abruptly. “I wouldn’t cross him, though. It could be deadly. And letting his woman die would definitely be considered crossing him.” He paused as though waiting on them to speak. As though he were curious about the meeting that had been in progress until his interruption.

  “Thank you for that clarification.” Myron nodded, glancing at the door in a silent signal that the other man could leave.

  Jerric nodded abruptly before turning on his heel. The door closed quietly behind him.

  MYRON TURNED TO RAYMOND, watching as the other man retook his seat and stared back at Myron coolly.

  “Are we going to check out this attack?” Myron asked him.

  “Of course we are.” Raymond lifted the remote on the side table, pressing a programming button as he pointed it toward the quiet noise of the television in the corner.

  Instantly surveillance cameras flipped into view. Another button and the large screen was suddenly filled with a battle of knives between Bailey and a heavyset Colombian.

  “Rodriquez,” Myron murmured as he watched the struggle. He frowned then. “How did he get on the property?”

  “I was rather curious about this myself,” Raymond stated. “Did you sell out her identity?”

  That was a strict no-no. Myron glanced at him in surprise. “Warbucks would kill me,” he murmured. “He’s been very particular about keeping her alive.”

  “Considering he killed her parents, that’s rather a surprise.” Raymond glanced at the screen in boredom.

  Yes, it was a surprise, Myron agreed silently. But Warbucks still had a bit of conditioning to acquire, as well as a bit of self-preservation. Bailey Serborne should have been killed years ago despite the financial toll that her death would have exacted. So her fortune went to charities rather than the four men who oversaw her business concerns? It wasn’t as though Warbucks needed the damned money.

  Was it guilt? Myron wondered. No, Warbucks didn’t know guilt. It could be no more than greed, pure and simple.

  But that greed was one of the reasons Myron enjoyed his job so much. Because he was greedy, too, and he received his cut in a timely, safe manner.

  He took his chair to watch the fight as it played out. It would be interesting to see if John could reach her in time. Even more interesting would be learning exactly who betrayed her. Unfortunately, he might have a pretty good idea there—and it would be so simple to use it.

  CHAPTER 19

  SHE WASN’T GOING TO MAKE it.

  Bailey felt the slice of Alberto’s knife across her upper arm, the fire-and-ice pain lancing through her body as she felt the blood gush from the wound.

  Jumping back, she stumbled, slid on the slick layer of snow underneath as she felt Alberto’s foot land heavily on her rear, throwing her face-first on the ground.

  Rolling, she tightened her grip on the knife and barely evaded a foot to her abdomen. Another quick succession of rolls gave her just enough room, just enough time to jump quickly to her feet and sprint out of the way of the knife heading for her stomach.

  She was running out of energy. Even the adrenaline pumping through her veins wasn’t pouring enough strength into her smaller body to fight off the much bulkier, more muscular Alberto.

  Panting for air as she held her knife ready, her body braced as he faced her across only a few feet of distance.

  “Playing with you is fun.” He grinned. “Arousing.” His free hand dropped to his crotch, and he gripped it firmly. “Maybe I make you bleed some more, then fuck you as you bleed out.”

  The idea was clearly an exciting one for him.

  “Don’t make me puke on top of everything else, Al,” she sneered. “We both know you can’t handle the sight of it. You have a weak stomach.”

  He shrugged, smiling again as he waved his knife in her direction.

  “You, gringa, have been a worthy adversary,” he praised as he circled her like a hungry coyote. “The hunt has been a good one. Yes?”

  “You cheated,” she told him, breathing hard, trying to find the energy that she knew she was going to need for the next attack he made.

  “Cheated?” He glowered back at her in outrage. “How did I cheat? I found you. I gave you the chance to fight. You have failed.”

  “You were hired to come after me, remember?” she mocked him. “You didn’t find me on your own, Alberto.”

  “Eh, a minor thing.” He rotated his wrist, twirling the knife in her direction again. “Very minor. I will count it a victory anyway.”

  That was just her luck.

  She watched him closely, knowing he would rush her any second and when he did, he would likely kill her.

  Where the hell was security? She knew there were monitors placed throughout the maze to allow Raymond’s security team to keep an eye on it during the house parties. The richest men in
the world congregated here for two weeks of the year. They couldn’t afford a crack like this in their surveillance.

  “When I kill you, I will send a prayer up to Carlos,” he told her. “He will smile down at me.”

  “Smile up at you, you mean.” She smiled herself, a tight curve of her lips that mocked his statement. “I rather doubt Carlos made it into heaven, Alberto. He’s burning in hell and waiting on you.”

  Could have been the wrong thing to say.

  She managed to jump from the first thrust of the knife, the blade barely missing her abdomen before he came back with another parry.

  Bailey managed to grip his wrist and moved to break it. Unfortunately the fingers that wrapped in the long strands of her hair clenched and jerked, hauling her back as she maintained her hold on his wrist.

  “You bastard!” she screamed furiously, kicking back, her foot connecting with his knee and nearly throwing him off balance.

  His hand loosened in her hair for just a second. Just long enough for her to jerk her head back and away from him as she fought his wrist, struggling to keep the knife out of harm’s way. As well as her throat. She made a mental note to ensure that if he actually managed to kill her, she would haunt him until he took that knife to his own throat. The bastard.

  “Little bitch,” he snarled as she managed to ram her fist into his nose. “Cunt. Whore.”

  Filthy-mouthed prick.

  She didn’t have the energy to hold back that knife and curse him at the same time.

  A second later she was flying through the air, landing on her back heavily and staring up at the sky as the wind left her body in a rush.

  Oh God, that hurt.

  She wheezed through the pain as she tried to roll to her side to get back to her feet.

  She didn’t have the time. Within a breath that she didn’t have, Alberto was straddling her, one hand locked in her hair to pull her head back, exposing her neck as she flailed about with her hands in an attempt to latch on to his wrist again.

  She couldn’t do anything with him. He was too big. Too strong. He was smothering the breath from her chest as he sat on her, strangling her air even as he prepared for the killing stroke of his knife.