by Jo Davis
Emma stood and stretched. “I have to hit the powder room. Would you be a sweetie and get us another bottle of white?” she asked him, smiling impishly.
“Sure. Be right back.” He needed an excuse to get up and do something, anyway.
Picking up his glass, he headed to the kitchen for another bottle and to dump the remnants of his wine. Now that his worry about Michael had returned, no way could he take another sip. Ridiculous, because the man had everything under—
Three steps into the kitchen, he froze. Two legs clad in dress pants were sticking out from behind the big island. “What the . . . Simon?” Hurrying over, he plunked down the glass, skirted the island, and crouched beside the elderly gentleman, wincing some at the pain in his healing leg. “Simon? Shit!”
With two fingers, he pressed the side of the man’s neck, holding his breath until he found a pulse. It was slow but steady. But his relief was short-lived. “Dammit.”
Blood. A small pool of it around the man’s head. Had he slipped and fallen, then hit his head on the island? Or had a stroke or a heart attack and then fallen? Christ, he had to call an ambulance. Now. Bolting to his feet, he spun and reached for the phone on the counter.
And found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. A weapon held by a very smug Robert Dietz.
“Don’t make a sound,” Dietz whispered, a maniacal grin plastered on his face. “Turn around. Any heroics, and I shoot you like I did that worthless security man, then the others.”
Seething with hatred, he put his back to the man, keeping his hands visible. “What did you do to Simon? He needs help.”
“Gave him a headache. Perhaps he’ll recover to seek another employer, since his present one will be deceased.” Cold metal pressed into his temple. “Walk.”
Slowly, he walked into the living room, fervently wishing he had a way to warn the women. When they came in, Katrina was still on the sofa, waiting for more wine. Emma hadn’t returned, and he hoped she saw what was going on before she came back.
Katrina must’ve sensed their movement, and swiveled in her seat. “Took you long enough to find—” Her eyes widened and she gasped. “How did you get in here?”
“Your security man was good enough to override the alarm system before I put a bullet in him for trying to hit the silent alarm.”
As Bastian was forced to move around the end of the sofa, he caught Katrina’s gaze and glanced desperately at Emma’s wineglass. She nodded imperceptibly to let him know she got the message. Dietz shoved him into a chair, and while the man was distracted, she deftly snatched the empty glass, laid it on the floor, and pushed it underneath the sofa with her heel. Smart girl.
“How do you plan to get away with this? Michael will be back soon, and he’ll know something is wrong the minute he arrives,” she declared, a little louder than necessary. In his self-important glow, Dietz didn’t seem to notice.
“Oh, we have a while yet. I sent him on a couple of fool’s errands to buy myself some time. We’re going to have such fun together.” He laughed at his own sick joke. “What should we do first, I wonder? Shall I tie up lover boy here and make him watch while I fuck his lovely whore? Or just shoot you both in the head and wait to see Michael’s reaction before I kill him, as well?”
A furtive movement from the hallway leading to the powder room shot Bastian’s adrenaline into overdrive. He had to make sure Emma knew their captor’s identity without a doubt, and how he’d gained access to the house. “You’re a big man, aren’t you, Dietz? Shooting a guard and knocking out a helpless old man? And you had to do it all by your lonesome, since Michael broke up your group of Liberation assholes and, oh yes, blew Tio’s brains out.”
The shadow in the hallway retreated just as a blow connected with the side of his head. He slumped, gritting his teeth through the waves of pain, riding it out through sheer will. He couldn’t pass out and leave Katrina to this lunatic’s mercy.
How much longer could he keep baiting the fucker before Dietz made good on his threat and pulled the trigger?
He took comfort in the fact that Emma was, even now, calling in the cavalry.
“For your information, I’m not alone,” Dietz hissed. “My men are waiting for Ross. He’s going to have quite a surprise in store.”
“If you say so.”
Hurry, Michael.
As they sped the last few miles toward the estate, Blaze’s cell phone rang. Blaze snatched it off the dash and barked a hello. Michael listened anxiously to the one-sided conversation.
“Slow down, angel. What?” Pause. “Dietz? Shit!” Pause. “Okay, you did good. Now get out of the house and—What do you mean you can’t?” Pause. “All right. Stay out of sight. We’ve got a team on the way to intercept them. I love you too, angel.” He pitched down the phone. “Fuck!”
“Tell me.” Michael could barely breathe.
“Dietz got in the house. Emma said he shot John and knocked out Simon. He’s holding Katrina and Bastian at gunpoint in your living room.”
“Fuck!” What a nightmare. When would this be over? “Why can’t she sneak out?”
“She overheard Dietz say he’s got a handful of his former Liberation flunkies guarding the grounds. Dietz doesn’t know she’s there, so she’s better off staying in the house, out of sight.”
“I agree—if she’ll actually stay hidden and not try to play the kick-ass heroine.”
“She does, and I’ll put her over my knee and spank her so hard she won’t sit without a foam donut for a month.”
Michael knew the Dom wasn’t kidding. “I’ll call Lawrence and let him know the situation, have him pull the team that he sent to the warehouse and send them to my estate instead. Since Lenny was supposed to wait three hours before calling to give me the false lead on the warehouse, Dietz will believe he’s got time to move. Hopefully that will make him overconfident and he’ll be slow.”
“True. But I think we should still dispatch teams to both addresses Lenny gave us, in case Dietz has men there. We can catch them all in one swoop.”
“You’re right.” Damn, he wasn’t thinking straight. “I want Lawrence’s team with us, though.”
“And phone McKay so he can bring extra medics for the injured.”
He placed the calls to both men, and warned Lawrence that Dietz’s men would be waiting. They’d have to go in quiet, dispatch the soldier wannabes, then sneak into the house and take Dietz by surprise. Nice and simple.
Right. By the time they parked about a mile from his house on a side road, his nerves were jumping like he was hopped up on crack. Lawrence and his team of six agents were waiting, making a total of nine of them. Those were good odds. At least that’s what he told himself to take his mind off his gut-wrenching terror of something happening to the people he loved.
It didn’t work, but he showed none of his fear as he ripped off the horrid wig and ball cap, leaving them behind in the car. He and Blaze approached Lawrence and the others, who waited for instructions.
“How many men does he have?” Michael asked without preamble.
“We’ve spotted a dozen, so we’re nearly even number-wise,” Lawrence said. “In reality, we have a big advantage over those Liberation dumb-asses, who are so poorly trained and lack any real military experience.”
“But they’re dumb-asses with guns, so they’re still dangerous,” Blaze cautioned.
“Point taken. And although they lack experience, they have a good positioning around the house. There’s one stationed on each corner. The other eight are spread in a rough circle on the outer perimeter of the property. Take them soundlessly if you can, and if the worst happens, have your NVGs on so you know who the fuck you’re shooting at. Closer to the house you might not need them, since the area is lit, but that’s your call.”
Blaze wouldn’t wear the goggles, Michael knew. He claimed they screwed with his field of vision. Everyone else took a pair and Michael fixed his in place, then palmed his gun. They started off, and when they reached
the edge of his wooded property they began to fan out. Blaze stayed about thirty yards to his left as they stepped as quietly as possible through the foliage. Until now, Michael had never realized that the wooded area that gave him privacy also provided cover to his enemies. When this was behind them, he’d have to see about thinning out some of the trees.
To his right, a soft grunt sounded and he looked to see one of his agents lowering one of Dietz’s flunkies to the ground. His men knew countless ways to kill with their bare hands, in the proper situation. One down, eleven to go.
Well, twelve. Counting Dietz, the bastard.
Eventually they’d spread out enough that he could only see Blaze, but as they reached the edge of the trees and came to the sculpted lawn, the continued silence meant the op was going as planned. It might even have gone flawlessly . . . had he not stepped on a branch that gave with a loud snap, alerting the soldier twenty yards ahead to his presence.
The man spun and opened fire. Michael hit the ground, cursing as bullets pelted the scant cover around him. Propping himself on his elbows, he returned fire and took the man down, but the damage was done.
Gunshots erupted all around the perimeter, an all-out battle now.
Taking off in a sprint, keeping as low as he could, he began to fight his way to the house.
Fifteen
Bastian’s face throbbed and blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He was running out of insults to hurl at Dietz as he tried to stall for time. Any minute, the asshole was going to put a bullet in his brain and be done with it. If only there were a diversion. He needed a split second with the man’s attention focused somewhere else, and he’d make his move.
“Do what you want to me, but Michael’s going to kill you for this,” he taunted. “He’s going to fillet you like a stinking fish.”
“Shut up.”
“Just sink his knife in and watch your eyes pop out of your head—”
“Shut the fuck up!” he snarled.
Another blow whipped his head to the side and he thought, This is it. I’ve pushed him too far and now he’ll kill me. Dietz’s face was twisted into an ugly mask as he slowly raised his arm.
Just as gunshots split the air from somewhere outside.
Dietz spun in surprise at the noise, and Bastian launched himself from the chair without even thinking twice. He tackled his enemy and they crashed onto the coffee table, rolled to the floor.
“Katrina, run!” he yelled. She did, and he hoped she didn’t look back.
Half on top of Dietz, he pinned the man with his weight and struggled to wrest the gun from his outstretched hand. But Dietz bucked, knocking him sideways, and jammed the gun between them. Panting, Bastian grabbed his arm and fought for control of the weapon. When the tide began to turn in his favor, the bastard used his free hand to slam Bastian’s head into the floor, twice in rapid succession.
Stars glittered in his vision and Dietz’s weight was gone. He was sure the man would shoot him now, but heard footsteps instead. Blinking, he realized the man had fled.
Katrina!
Pushing to his feet, he staggered to the dining table, where he’d discarded his shoulder holster with his weapon in it. If only he’d had it on. But, then, Dietz would have taken it.
Weapon firmly in hand, he ran, heedless of the pain in his leg, in the direction his nemesis had gone, out the front door. Into hell.
Flashes of gunshots punctuated the night. Ahead, Katrina was racing across the lawn, toward the relative safety of the trees. But she wasn’t going to make it—Dietz was on her heels.
Bastian ran, shouting.
“Katrina, run!”
Heart tripping, she did, with one goal in mind: getting help for Bastian. Bullets flying meant Michael was here, and she had to find him.
Outside, however, she paused at the bottom of the steps. She couldn’t run out into the middle of the battle like an idiot. Breathing hard, she peered into the darkness around the perimeter of the house, beyond the area illuminated by the security lights. She listened to the gunfire, noting where the sounds were coming from. Much of it was happening to the sides and rear of the property, it seemed.
There was nobody close to the house, so she figured the men Dietz bragged about had gone to meet the threat of Michael and his agents. Seizing the opportunity, she struck out across the lawn in a zigzag pattern, going from tree to tree. Pausing first, then continuing on.
She’d gotten about a third of the way to her destination when she looked over her shoulder and saw Dietz barreling out the front door, weapon in hand. He flew straight for her at a full-out run, exercising none of the caution she had in crossing the open space.
With a frightened cry, she shot from her hiding place in a deadly foot race she knew he was winning. Footsteps pounded behind her and then his heavy weight slammed into her back, driving her into the earth. She couldn’t stop her skid, barely registered the sting in her hands and knees before her forehead smacked the ground.
And consciousness faded away.
Michael saw them, and his heart stuttered.
Dietz was after Katrina, bearing down on her. Michael ran, but he wasn’t close enough to stop the bastard from catching up, taking her to the ground. Where she lay unmoving.
The man was lying on top of her. Michael couldn’t shoot without the risk of hitting her instead. So he sprinted the remaining distance and launched himself at Dietz in a flying tackle, just as the man started to rise.
He hit hard, and his gun went flying as they struck the ground together. Grabbing Dietz’s shirt, he drew his fist back and delivered a punishing blow to the monster’s face. A satisfying crunch of bone and a scream from his enemy were music to his ears, and he struck again.
“I’m going to fucking rip your lungs out, you son of a bitch,” Michael hissed.
“You’ll try.”
Dietz rallied, pushing up, and rushed him. Bowled him over backward, got in a few good licks to Michael’s ribs. He grunted, aware the man had lost his gun, as well, and was glad. A fair fight, then, if there was such a thing.
A fight to the death.
They rolled over the earth, punching and kicking, each trying to gain the upper hand. Michael almost had him—right up until the man aimed a well-placed kick to his stomach, laying him flat on his back. Dietz pounced, and the speed with which he wrapped his hands around Michael’s throat left him stunned.
“Now who’s going to die?” The face above him was stark with madness, the grip unbreakable.
Michael tried. Every self-defense trick he knew, to no avail. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
“Good-bye, Ross.”
Precious seconds ticked and the world began to fuzz at the edges. He was in complete disbelief that he was going to die this way, the life choked from him by the man he hated.
Sounds faded. Sparks burst in front of his eyes, and then he saw nothing.
The ground disappeared and he fell into a black void. Wind rushed past him, and he ceased to be. All that he was, forgotten.
And then he simply vanished into mist.
They were too far away, near the tree line.
Bastian saw her go down, and fear pushed him faster. Michael and Dietz were fighting, out for blood. His lover seemed to have things under control.
But that’s the nature of a disaster: it happens so quickly. Before a man can blink, the fickle bitch called fate steps in and turns the tables.
Destroys lives.
In a blink, Dietz had Michael pinned, hands around his throat. Strangling him. Bastian closed the distance, half limping now, and the scene took on a horrible clarity. Suffocating, just like in his nightmare. Only it was Michael, not him, who couldn’t draw a breath.
Screaming. Someone was screaming as Michael went limp, head falling back. Dangling from a monster’s hands. “Noooo!”
Dietz jerked upright, releasing Michael. He bolted to his feet, eyes wide, and scrambled backward as Bastian’s arm went up. The man was fucking dead,
and the knowledge was etched on his face as Bastian pulled the trigger. Over and over.
As the bullets plucked his clothing, Dietz’s body jerked, doing a macabre sort of marionette dance before finally crumpling to the ground. He didn’t move again.
Bastian was hardly aware that the other gunfire had stopped, or that his agents were jogging toward them. Part of him registered profound relief to see Katrina sitting up, rubbing her head. But Michael wasn’t moving.
Dropping to his knees, he shook his friend. “Michael?”
Too still. He placed his hand under the man’s nose. No warm puff of breath. No life.
“Oh . . . Oh, God, no.” Gathering his lover in his arms, he worked to position him, used a finger to part his lips. Then he placed his mouth over Michael’s and gave him air. “Come on, breathe. Don’t do this to me.”
“Bastian?” Katrina whispered.
“Help me,” he begged her. Or was he begging Michael? She scooted up to sit to one side and pushed on Michael’s diaphragm.
“Give him another one.”
Another breath. And she pushed again. In and out, breathing for him. His face was so pale, his lashes dark against waxen cheeks.
Clutching him tightly, Bastian began to sob. “I killed him for you, just like I promised I would. Remember? I got him for you. For all of us. Please come back. Michael, please.”
He looked at Katrina. Tears streamed down her face and she held one of Michael’s hands between hers, rubbing as though she could warm life into him. How could this happen? How? His body was numb, but his mind all too aware of the horror.
Bending, he gave another breath. Another.
A hand on his shoulder. “Bastian, you have to let him go,” Blaze said hoarsely.
“No.”
“This isn’t—”
“Wait!”
Under his hand, Michael’s chest heaved. And his lover sucked in a huge breath and began to cough. All around them, the men exclaimed in excitement and relief. But he and Katrina didn’t pay attention to anyone but Michael, who at that moment opened his big brown eyes. It was the most beautiful sight Bastian had ever seen.
