Black Tie

by Lynn Raye Harris

  She looked like Lara Croft, tomb raider, and Tallie’s brain tickled in recognition.

  “I know you,” she said, and then wanted to bite her tongue when she remembered what Brett had told her.

  Forget you ever met her. Forget her name, forget her.

  “Ah, so you do remember me.”

  Tallie’s heart pounded. She wondered if the woman would draw one of the weapons and fire. But why? Robert hadn’t brought her here for this woman to shoot her and end the misery before it began.

  “I, um, could be mistaken.”

  Natasha came over and lifted Tallie up with a firm hand beneath her elbow.

  “You could be. But you are not.”

  Tallie studied her. “You don’t look the same.”

  Natasha smiled. “That is the entire point. Now come. We’re getting out of here.”

  “I—what? Did Brett send you?”

  Natasha snorted. “Send me. No, dear girl, he did not send me. Those boys couldn’t find their asses with flashlights and a map, I dare say. Or at least not soon enough to make a difference.”

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  Natasha leaned in, putting her pretty face in Tallie’s. Anger flashed across her features.

  “There are some who will tell you I am the monster—and I am, Tallie Grant. I definitely am. But the people I’ve killed have deserved it. I’ve never killed an innocent, no matter what others say. Not ever. But that is what will happen to you if you do not come with me.” She shrugged. “It is up to you, however. If you wish to wait for Roberto Broussard, I will not stop you. But you must decide quick, because he is on his way home.”

  Broussard’s mountaintop monastery was in a remote area of the Catalan Pyrenees. It had once belonged to the Benedictine order, but had fallen into disuse and disrepair decades before and was sold. Broussard had gotten it from a Madrid businessman who’d gotten it from a businessman before him. There’d been plans to turn it into a hotel retreat at one point, but those had never come to fruition.

  For Broussard, it served a dual purpose. First, it was a place where members of the Gemini Syndicate could hold secret meetings when necessary. And second, it housed the men and women that Broussard took there for his own disgusting reasons.

  Brett gripped his assault rifle as BDI’s stealth helicopter winged its way toward the mountain. They’d considered HALO-ing in, but decided that stealth was the way to go. There was no such thing as a completely silent helicopter, but this wasn’t a military mission and Broussard didn’t have a command center with 24/7 ops on the watch for an invasion.

  He was a wealthy surgeon with a mountain retreat where it was rumored he did dirty things. That wasn’t typically the kind of place likely to be assaulted by a team of commandos.

  Until now.

  BDI had managed to get a schematic of the fortress. There was a central courtyard surrounded on all sides by wings of the structure. There were four towers as well, one at each corner, and a church that had been deconsecrated. Leading up to the monastery, there was a twisty road that made its way along torturous switchbacks to a spot about two hundred feet below the gates.

  There was also a medieval bolt hole that wound down through the mountain and came out on the road below. They’d considered the tunnel and discarded it. It would take too long, and they didn’t know whether or not it was in good repair. They’d also considered the road, but they’d need headlights and they might be noticed at some point before they arrived.

  Finally, they’d decided that dropping out of the sky onto the roof was their best and fastest option. The commandos would rappel down to the roof and the helicopter would lift away. Then they’d skirt the roof until they could enter one of the towers. They’d make their way systematically through the structure, checking wings and towers as they went.

  It wasn’t a military target, but that didn’t matter. This is what Black Defense International did.

  The hard jobs. The dirty jobs. The jobs the military wasn’t going to get involved in because targeting a civilian wasn’t what they did.

  Brett gazed at his teammates on this op. Ian, Colt, Jace, and Ty were all quiet, all thinking. They wore black assault suits and they’d grease-painted their faces. They were armed for bear and willing to use those weapons to achieve their objective—and then some. There was no messy paperwork involved for mercenaries, no justifying what they did to a military commander.

  The only person they had to answer to was sitting across from Brett, and Ian Black was as determined to rescue Tallie as any of them. By whatever means necessary.

  Brett didn’t know what lay in Ian’s past, but whatever it was, it made him extra angry when human trafficking was involved.

  “Drop zone approaching,” the pilot said into their earpieces. “Prepare for jump.”

  It wasn’t technically a jump, but he was still dropping them high above the structure. They stood and slung their rifles behind them as the craft descended.

  Ian watched the pilot and co-pilot. When the co-pilot flashed a thumbs up, Ian turned and threw a line out. “Go time, kids,” he said, his teeth flashing white in his dark face as he shot them a crazy grin. The kind of grin that said he loved this kind of shit, even if he didn’t love the reason for it.

  Jace threw the other line out the opposite door and they rappelled down to the roof until all five of them were standing on the terra-cotta.

  It was cold in the Pyrenees after dark in early December, and there was frost on the roof that made the terra-cotta slick in spots. They’d have to pick their way carefully over to the tower where they’d drop over the edge of the roof and onto the second-floor colonnaded walkway that ringed the buildings. From there, they’d breach the tower and enter the interior.

  They reached the tower without incident and Ian sent a hand signal. Jace dropped over the edge first. Colt was next, then Brett, then Ian and then Tyler. The tower was before them, the medieval doors darkened from centuries of exposure. Jace reached the doors first and pushed the handle.

  The door creaked open on ancient hinges, thankfully. No need to pick the lock. They stood, listening for any sound, and then Ian took point and motioned them all in.

  The tower wasn’t a small structure with a single stairway leading up or a room at the top that housed the princess. It was a large tower with one staircase leading up and rooms on each floor. It’d been modernized with electric lighting, at least.

  Brett had half expected guttering torches.

  They moved silently through the tower, checking the rooms for occupants. Whenever they found anyone, they immobilized them with steel-toothed zip ties and tape over their mouths. They herded four people—three women and one man—into a room on the first floor.

  “Where is Roberto Broussard?” Ian asked.

  Eyes darted back and forth. Ian peeled the tape off one of the women. “Señora? Where is Broussard? And where is the woman he brought here today? Small, blond hair. Shoulder length,” he added, tapping the edge of his hand against his shoulder.

  The woman darted a glance at the other three. They all looked scared. Maybe a little ill.

  “No lady,” the woman spat. “Señor Broussard not here either.”

  “She’s lying,” Brett growled.

  “I am aware of that,” Ian said mildly. “Señora, if you wish to survive this night, you’d best tell me how many people are being held against their will and where they are. Because I’m getting them all out of here—and then I’m blowing this whole rotten facility to kingdom come. If you don’t want to blow with it, you’ll tell me what I want to know. Understand?”

  Her eyes had widened as Ian spoke. She nodded her head emphatically.

  “Now start with the blond lady. Where is she?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  There was never really any doubt that Tallie was going with Natasha. She’d met Natasha once before, and the woman had been nice to her even if she’d managed to set Brett’s hackles on end.

  R
oberto Broussard, however, had creeped her out from the beginning. Even before she knew he was planning to abduct her.

  “Smart girl,” Natasha said to Tallie before she led them from the room and back toward the stairwell that Robert—Roberto—had dragged her up hours ago.

  Natasha moved on silent feet while Tallie felt like she was clomping her way through the echoing hallway with its old marble tiles and mosaics.

  She was still wearing the low-heeled boots, torn leggings, and sweater she’d been wearing when she’d met Sharon for lunch yesterday—or was it the day before? She had no idea what time it was, or what time it was supposed to be. Her purse and phone had been left behind in the house with Sharon. Her coat was there too.

  She noticed the lack of a coat the instant they stepped out onto the colonnaded walkway ringing the interior of the fortress. It was utterly dark out, but there were lights in the courtyard below. In the distance, she heard a sound. A steady, thumping sound. She stopped to listen.

  Natasha must have noticed it too because she halted, turning, a hand straying to one of the guns on her hip.

  “It is a helicopter,” she said. “Broussard is returning. We have to get to the tunnel.”

  “Tunnel?” Tallie’s heart hammered a million miles an hour. She remembered walking through a tunnel with Brett in Venice. That seemed like a lifetime ago now.

  “You heard me. Now move, Tallie—unless you want to be caught?”

  Tallie’s feet started to move of their own accord. Natasha jogged down the long walkway, Tallie on her heels. Her knee was sore from the fall, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her from keeping up.

  They reached another stairwell and Natasha took the stairs two at a time. Tallie scrambled after her, nearly plowing into her back when she hit the bottom and discovered Natasha at a standstill, both weapons drawn and pointing at a group of black-clad men who’d drawn their own weapons and were aiming at her in return.

  One of the men dropped the barrel of his rifle as he looked past Natasha. Directly at her. But who was he, with his dark face and his eyes hidden behind what seemed to be night vision goggles?

  “Tallie?”

  Oh, god. She knew that voice.

  “Brett,” she said on a half-sob, unable to keep the emotion from her own voice. “You’re here.”

  He shoved the goggles up. “I’m here, baby.”

  Her heart slammed her ribs. The blood threatened to rush from her head and make her faint. It was him. Brett had come for her.

  Natasha suddenly grabbed her as Brett took a step toward them, wrapping an arm around her throat, one gun pointing at the men, the other held loosely against Tallie’s body. Tallie should have fought, maybe, but she was so stunned she couldn’t move.

  Someone spoke in what Tallie thought might be Russian.

  “No, you put yours down, Mr. Ian Black,” Natasha answered in English.

  “Tasha,” one of the other men said. “Please.”

  Tallie didn’t think she’d met this one yet. But he clearly knew Natasha as well.

  “Hello, brother,” Natasha said, and Tallie blinked. Brother? Natasha’s arm around her neck wasn’t all that tight. It was almost as if she were playing the part that was expected of her.

  Tallie didn’t really think Natasha wanted to hurt her. She remembered what the woman had said about not ever hurting an innocent, no matter what anyone thought. But did Tallie fit her definition of innocent? That’s what she didn’t know for sure.

  “I swear to God,” Brett growled, “If you hurt her, I’ll kill you myself. Even if I have to hunt you to the ends of the earth to do it.”

  Natasha trembled, but Tallie didn’t think it was fear. Excitement maybe. Natasha was like a stick of dynamite. The primer cord was burning its way to the source. If it got there, Natasha would explode.

  “Please,” Natasha said dismissively. “I am the one who found her, you moron. But I will not be taken by you people. Not tonight. Not ever again. Miss Grant and I are walking out of here, boys. Alone. I’ll release her when I’m sure you aren’t on my tail.”

  Ian took a step forward. He dropped the barrel of his rifle and motioned the others to do the same. “We’re on the same side, Natasha. But why are you here?”

  Her grip on Tallie’s neck loosened even more. Tallie wasn’t going to break away though. She was positive that Natasha meant her no harm. And positive that any fast movements on her part would put them both in danger as Natasha and the men reacted to each other.

  “Because I owe Señor Broussard a thing or two. And I have come to pay up.”

  Ian frowned. “What did he do to you?”

  “To me?”

  Tallie felt Natasha tremble again. It wasn’t excitement this time. It was fear. Or rage.

  “He did nothing to me. It is what he has done to others.”

  The helicopter was drawing closer, the beating of the rotors echoing through the mountains.

  “There is a tunnel,” Natasha said. “Unless perhaps that is your helicopter coming to pick you up?”

  “Not ours,” Ian said.

  “Then it is Broussard, returning from Barcelona.”

  “The tunnel is passable?” Ian asked.

  “Yes. You know where it is?”

  “We do,” he said.

  “Then perhaps you should go, Mr. Black.” She unwrapped her arm from Tallie’s neck and pushed her toward the men. “And take her with you.”

  Tallie stumbled toward the men, toward Brett’s outstretched arms, but then she stopped and turned to look at Natasha.

  Natasha stood there proudly, exposed, but she held both guns trained on the five men who outgunned her and outweighed her, daring them to attack.

  Brett swept Tallie back into his embrace, tugging her out of the path of the bullets.

  “No,” Tallie said, fighting him. “Don’t hurt her. Don’t you dare.”

  Natasha must have heard her because she laughed, but it wasn’t a derisive sound. Was it the laugh of a friend?

  “Tallie Grant,” she said, “You have heart and beauty and brains. Go with your man and have many babies together. You will not be in danger from the people who took you and sold you. Not ever again. I promise it.”

  She backed away from them slowly, guns up, ready to fire—and then she whirled away and disappeared into the darkness.

  “You can’t leave her here,” Tallie said as they started to move away from the direction that Natasha had gone. “She helped me.”

  The helicopter grew louder still. Brett looked up. They were still beneath the colonnade.

  “We have to get you out of here, Tallie.”

  “I know that. But get her too. Take her with us.”

  “She doesn’t want to go,” the man Natasha had called brother said. “She has her own mission. And we have ours.”

  Colt snorted. “Besides, you can’t trust her. She fucking shot me. If she comes with us, I might be tempted to shoot her in return.”

  “In twenty minutes, this mountain is going to be crawling with commandos,” Brett said in her ear as he hustled her toward the opposite side of the fortress. “Spanish special forces, coming to rescue the people Dr. Broussard has trapped inside. And when they do, they will arrest him and everyone who works here with him. It’s best if we aren’t around when it happens. Too much explaining.”

  Behind them, Ian swore. They stopped moving and turned as one to look at him.

  “Boss?” Brett asked.

  “I’m going after her,” Ian replied. “Get the fuck off this mountain, kiddos. I’ll join you soon.”

  Ian slipped toward the courtyard as the helicopter began its descent.

  He must be crazy. Natasha Orlova was perfectly capable of taking care of herself—and she wasn’t in the least bit interested in anyone helping her. But if she was still here when the Spanish commandos arrived, she’d get swept up in the raid—or killed outright because she wasn’t the type to surrender.

  He’d told Broussard’s servan
ts that he was going to blow the mountain, but that wasn’t true. The monastery, no matter what disgusting purposes it’d been used for in the past few years, dated to the sixth century. Parts of it did, anyway. And Ian wasn’t the sort to destroy historical sites.

  No, he’d used his connections to get the Spanish commandos involved. They were incorruptible, and Dr. Broussard wasn’t going to disentangle himself easily. Oh, Ian didn’t think he’d spend any real time paying for his crimes. But that was okay because Ian would make sure he went down permanently when the time came.

  The helicopter touched down and the door opened. A man in a tuxedo stepped onto the cobbles. He hesitated, no doubt confused at the lack of servants, but he started for the entrance to the monastery when it was apparent no one was coming.

  Ian could see him in the light. Roberto Broussard was about six-foot, his hair slicked back, his tuxedo shiny and expensive, his watch glinting gold in the lamplight. He’d been to a function in Barcelona that was designed to raise money for children who needed cleft palate surgery. The man was a monster and a hypocrite and Ian hoped like hell he got a taste of his own medicine when he ended up in a Spanish prison for the night. If there was any justice in this world, he’d spend a few nights there before he got released.

  Broussard was almost to the doors when he stopped suddenly. The helicopter was still perched in the courtyard, the rotors slowing as the pilot shut it down for the night.

  Ian edged around the perimeter, trying to see what had made Broussard stop suddenly. As if he couldn’t guess.

  He didn’t have long to wait before she came into view. Natasha Orlova, looking like Lara Croft, two long pistols with silencers pointed at Broussard’s heart. Or maybe it was his head.

  Ian didn’t know what she planned—but he didn’t have long to wait. Roberto Broussard dropped before Ian heard the shots. Silencers weren’t entirely silent, after all. The pilot must have noticed because the rotors spooled up again as he started the engine, no doubt intending to make his escape.

  Ian started for the helicopter. The pilot was busy watching Natasha as she strode toward him and he didn’t see Ian approach from the other side. The man reached down, grabbing a pistol and aiming it at Natasha as she got closer.