by Lucy Monroe
Though growers were getting more sophisticated at hiding the heat signatures from their grow lights, it was still one of the top ways to identify an indoor cannabis farm.
She also discovered a pretty nice lock-picking kit and some locks on a table near Neil’s computers. Someone had been practicing his skills and left his tools to come back to later. Maybe Ethan? It didn’t really matter who.
Rachel grabbed the picks, rolled them neatly into their case, and slid the bundle into the remaining empty side pocket of her cargo shorts.
Now it was just a matter of transportation. Finding the keys to the Land Rover took precious minutes, but luckily Cowboy had left them in the command center.
Which made them easily accessible if Kadin or Neil—or, in this case, Rachel—had needed to take the Australian-made SUV.
She found Lavigne’s house using the GPS memory on the Land Rover, driving by the entrance to the property rather than stopping when she came to it. She noted the trees lining the long drive and thought, unlike Kadin, that they would make adequate cover for approaching the house.
They’d have to.
She parked the vehicle behind a stand of trees on the other side of a small hill less than a quarter mile from the house. It was a risk, but Rachel knew that while parking farther away would lessen her chances of being discovered, it would also make escape less likely if she and Jamila were on the run.
She didn’t even pretend she was only there to make sure everything was okay. She knew in her gut it wasn’t. She was there to find Jamila and get her out.
As she went to close the door after climbing out of the Land Rover, Rachel spied a communication earbud in the center console. Cowboy must have left it.
Rachel put it into her ear, turning it on and receiving no buzz to indicate that the others on this frequency weren’t active. Neil must have left the command center’s receiver on.
She left the earbud on and in her ear. Once her disappearance was discovered, Neil might think to come on to the comm-link. At that point, she and Jamila would very likely need the others’ help.
Rachel made her way from tree to tree, stopping at the last oversized oak nearest the front of the mansion. The house was surrounded by a six-foot stucco wall, but the iron gate stood open. Not exactly the kind of tight security she expected, considering the jammer in use and the possibility they had a kidnapped savant on the premises somewhere.
Which probably meant there was video surveillance. Sure enough, there was a camera in evidence, and it was pointed at the entrance to the mansion’s grounds. However, unless there was a camera she couldn’t see, there were no eyes on the area around the wall.
Interesting. Overconfidence? Arrogance? Most likely.
And the false sense of security created by living in such an isolated area.
She used Neil’s thermal-imaging camera to determine that, inside the house, a group of people congregated in one room. Even accounting for servants, the head count and size of each signature seemed to indicate that Jamila and the others were all there, including Lavigne. In addition there was a signature that would indicate by size it was a woman who moved around the room.
Probably serving dinner.
Jamila was okay. For now.
The relief Rachel felt didn’t even dent her sense of impending doom. She skirted the house, staying out of the line of sight of the fixed cameras on the walls. She verified her findings with Neil’s camera from the back side of the compound.
She also discovered that there was indeed the heat signature of a person in an outbuilding behind the house. Another man stood outside the structure, no doubt the guard.
After Rachel made her way back to her watching position in the front of the house, she monitored the movement of the heat signatures as dusk settled over the landscape. It was just going dark when three of the diners rose and left the room.
Rachel tucked in closer to the tree and was unsurprised when Jamila’s aunt and uncle exited the house a few minutes later. The fact that Dr. Massri was with them gave Rachel pause, increasing her sense of dread.
Perhaps even he did not want to be in the house when Chuma did whatever it was he planned to do.
And Rachel’s gut was sure Chuma had plans.
The three remaining inside the house, presumably Jamila, Chuma, and Lavigne, rose and headed out of the dining room. The signatures were so close, Rachel was sure at least one of the men had a hold on Jamila.
As their signatures began to elevate, Rachel realized they were heading upstairs. A cold stone landed in the bottom of Rachel’s stomach.
There was no good reason for an unmarried woman to be taken to the second level of this man’s home. Not in this culture or the one Jamilla came from in Egypt.
“Rachel.” Kadin’s voice barked in her ear.
“Yes.”
A sound suspiciously like a sigh of relief came over the comm-link. “Get your ass back to the safe house.”
She didn’t bother to say no. He had to realize Rachel wasn’t going anywhere without Jamila. “I believe Mr. Giroux is in an outbuilding on the back side of Lavigne’s estate. There is one guard at the door.”
“If you extract Jamila, you’ll compromise TGP’s investigation.” Kadin’s words showed he knew exactly where Rachel was and what her priority was.
“If I don’t, Chuma will destroy her.”
“Not at dinner.”
“They’re not eating anymore.”
“Massri’s car just passed my checkpoint.” Cowboy’s laconic tone came over the comm-link. “Three passengers in it.”
“Why didn’t you contact me when you saw Rachel go by?” Kadin demanded.
“I didn’t see her. I was scouting the surrounding area for a good approach. I saw the Land Rover from a distance. I assumed it was you going in for surveillance early.”
Why were they talking about stuff that didn’t matter?
“Rachel.” There was a quality to Kadin’s tone she couldn’t quite read.
He sounded almost desperate.
But he wasn’t the one with something to worry about here. Jamila was, and she didn’t even know it. The three figures had reached the top of the stairs and were walking along what had to be the upper hallway.
“What?” she asked, not really listening for a response.
She was too focused on the small screen of the thermal-imaging camera.
“You’re flushing your career down the latrine here, angel.”
What difference did it make to him? “That’s my problem.”
“Come back, angel. We’ll figure this out. Make a plan.”
“I’ve got a plan.” She was getting Jamila out of there, and if Abasi Chuma had to die in the process …
Rachel didn’t plan to lose any sleep over it.
“Wait for us to get there. We’re your backup, Rachel.”
“There’s no time.” The images had stopped in a room on the second floor. “They’ve taken her upstairs.”
The heat signatures separated, one man taking a position by what was probably the door, the other closer to the smaller heat signature that had to be Jamila. He wasn’t touching her. Yet.
“Listen to me, Rachel. I need you to wait for us. Do you hear me?”
Of course she heard him. Neil’s toys were impeccable.
“Angel?”
“Rachel, you crafty bitch, you stole my equipment.” Neil’s voice came over the communications link.
“I needed it. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to apologize for, unless you don’t wait for us to get there to move in. You know better than to go into a hostile environment alone.”
The heat signatures remained static, as if they were talking. Rachel willed them to stay that way.
“I won’t let her down.” Not like Linny.
“You can’t help her if you’re dead,” Kadin said, the sound of another Land Rover starting up.
“Where are you, Rachel?” Cowboy asked, his Texas twang unmistakable. “Exa
ctly.”
She told him, seeing no reason to withhold the information.
“I’ll be there in five minutes. Wait for me.”
“You’re not that close. If you were on surveillance, the Land Rover wouldn’t have been in the alleyway behind the safe house. Your comm-link wouldn’t have been in it.”
“I’m with Abdul’s man.”
“The earbud?”
“Was left in the Land Rover on purpose,” Kadin said, a strange quality in his voice. Almost like fear.
But Kadin Marks didn’t fear anything, did he?
“That seems sloppy.”
“Yeah, well, I thought you might go off the reservation. You used to be impulsive.”
She had been. “I’m not anymore.”
The snort of laughter in her ear wasn’t Kadin’s. Neil’s, maybe?
“I’d hoped you had enough training to take precautions when they were offered,” Kadin growled.
“That was kind of you.” He’d been watching out for her.
Even if he saw her as nothing but an old obligation, he’d taken that obligation seriously.
Kadin cursed creatively. “I wasn’t trying to be kind. I wanted to make sure you didn’t fry your own ass, Rach.”
She didn’t answer, her attention caught by what was happening on the small screen of the thermal-imaging camera. The two heat signatures were reading as one, which had to mean they were very close together.
Suddenly, the smaller heat signature went flying across the room, stopping against a wall. It slowly righted itself, the other form looming over it by the time Jamila was standing with her back to the wall.
Rachel’s heart stalled and then sped up, her breathing going shallow as she dropped into that ultra-calm, no-matter-the-circumstances place she had to be in to do her job sometimes. “I’m going in.”
“No, damn it, Rach. Wait for Cowboy.”
She ignored Kadin’s order and the ranting that came after. She ignored Cowboy’s promise that he was almost there, his voice breathless, as if he was running full tilt.
She did a scan of the house again, verifying where possible guards or servants were.
Lavigne had to be pretty confident that the house was secure, because there were only four other people in the house, and two of them were moving around what had to be the kitchen because of the heat signature the oven was giving off.
Probably diligent servants baking bread for the next day.
The other two were nowhere near each other. One was on the ground floor, in the same position he had had been in the first time she’d done the scan. The other man-sized heat signature was also stationary, but in a room off the kitchen.
They weren’t expecting trouble, then.
That worked for her.
“I’m leaving the camera in my current location,” she told Neil over the comm-link. “You’ll want to retrieve it.”
“Rachel, just wait one damned minute more.”
She shook her head, knowing they couldn’t see the gesture. But it didn’t matter.
Whatever was happening to Jamila couldn’t be allowed to continue. “He threw her across the room. He’s too close to her now.”
Jamila was an innocent, not a government agent trained to cope with pain during interrogation.
Rachel could not allow her to go through anything like the horror she had experienced.
Rachel placed the camera on the ground and then approached the entrance as if she had a reason to be there. She went through the open front gate with her head down, the traditional Moroccan female attire her only camouflage.
Chapter Nineteen
Rachel’s only hope for success was that the guard watching the video monitors would mistake her for a local woman come to visit one of the servants working in the kitchen.
Rachel didn’t allow herself to feel relief when she reached the back door unmolested. There was still a locked door, two floors, and the men inside this house between her and Jamila’s safety.
Making use of the lock-picking kit she’d found in Neil’s command center, Rachel had the back door unlocked within seconds. She eased it open quietly, not wanting to alert the two workers in the kitchen or the man currently reclining (maybe even sleeping) in the room off of it.
She couldn’t be sure of how the surveillance was set up and wouldn’t bank on her illegal entry going unnoticed. Though the back door hadn’t looked alarmed, that didn’t make it so.
She rushed through the mansion, following where her instincts led based on the pattern of movements she’d seen the people inside making earlier. She reached the stairs and ran up them on silent feet, her focus split between her surroundings and reaching the room she knew held Jamila.
Rushing down the hall, she ignored the possibility that interior cameras were feeding her location to the guard on the first floor. She couldn’t do anything about that right now.
Before she’d worked out in her head which door was the most likely to be her target, Jamila’s scream came from the room directly to Rachel’s right.
Rachel yanked the gun from her waistband and took off the safety.
Remembering the man standing either against or near the door as indicated by his heat signature, Rachel took aim and shot a starburst pattern right through the door. The silencer did its job, the bullets piercing the wooden door louder than the shots had been.
A man’s shout of pain from the other side said she’d hit her target but hadn’t killed him. But no hue and cry came from the first floor, the mansion’s size working in Rachel’s favor.
She shoved the door open.
It wasn’t even locked. These men knew that none of the staff in this household would be coming to a screaming woman’s rescue.
Abasi Chuma was scrambling in a drawer beside the bed when Rachel got inside the room. His hands closed over something before he spun to face her.
The Jordan-made Viper was black and deadly and pointed directly at her. She didn’t pause, didn’t give warning. She just shot him. Another starburst, this time in a man’s chest.
Blood sprayed. Chuma fell back on the bed, his trousers around his hips, his sex grotesquely hard.
It would set in rigor that way, because he was dead. He would not be getting up again or hurting another woman as he’d hurt so many already.
Rachel scanned the room for Jamila and Lavigne.
The other woman was lying on the floor, her clothes torn mostly off of her, bright red marks showing livid against her olive skin in several places, blood smeared down her chin and on her thighs.
Rachel didn’t let herself react to the proof of what Chuma had been doing. How fast he had acted in the space of time it had taken Rachel to get inside the house and up the stairs.
She simply turned to assess the threat of the other man.
He was awake but moaning in pain, his bloody hands pressed over a wound in his chest. “Help me! You must help me,” he coughed out.
“Like you helped her?” Rachel asked, no inflection in her tone.
Yeah. That was going to happen. In another lifetime, maybe.
She bent over the man, and he looked relieved, as if he really believed she’d do anything to save the likes of him. Using a technique she’d learned after joining TGP, she applied pressure to the vulnerable spot on his neck that had him passing out within a couple of seconds.
With any luck, he wouldn’t waken for several minutes to call for help.
Rachel rushed over to Jamila, pulling the other woman to her feet. “Come on. We have to go.”
“Who are you?” Jamila asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Rachel yanked down the veil that covered her features. “We have to leave, Jamila. Now.”
“Tanya? But you … you disappeared.”
“I’ll tell you about it later.”
Jamila looked down at herself. “I can’t. I’m … He …”
Rachel scanned the room and took in Chuma’s suit jacket, which had been tossed negligently to the floor.
She grabbed it. “Put this on.”
“It’s his.” Jamila shrank from it.
“Not anymore.”
Jamila’s features hardened, and she nodded. “Give it to me.”
Jamila pulled on the jacket, covering her nudity before turning to spit on the dead man on the bed. “This is what you deserve.”
Rachel would rather hear the vicious anger in the other woman’s voice than defeat.
“Come on,” she said, though. They didn’t have time for more closure than this.
Jamila didn’t reply, and Rachel grabbed her arm, yanking her from the room. They’d deal with the trauma later. First they had to get out of there.
The silencer on the gun had done its job, and the hallway was empty. Rachel pulled Jamila along the hall and down the stairs. Their luck ran out at the bottom. A man came out of a room filled with monitors off the bottom of the stairs.
His eyes widened comically at the sight of the djellaba-clad Rachel dragging Jamila behind her. His hand darted toward his shoulder holster.
Rachel didn’t hesitate. She simply took aim and fired, winging him.
He spun back from the force of the hit, but he’d been trained well by somebody, maybe military, because he came back around with the gun in his hand. Rachel jumped in front of Jamila, her gun still pointing at him.
He got a shot off before she did. She felt the heat and pain of the bullet grazing her skull.
Rachel dove for the floor, yanking Jamila down, too, before rolling onto her stomach and taking aim again. She squeezed off a shot that went wide, but another shot sounded, and crimson bloomed on the guard’s chest before he fell to the ground. This time he did not move again.
“He wasn’t a professional,” Cowboy drawled as he offered a hand to Rachel to help her up. “A professional would have known to shoot for the torso. The kill shot can come after you’ve incapacitated your opponent.”
“Right,” she agreed.
Abasi Chuma was dead, and she felt no remorse about that fact. It had been him or her—she’d seen that in his eyes. And he’d already hurt Jamila.
There hadn’t been a choice.
Rachel spun to help Jamila. “Come on, we have to go. There’s another guard off the kitchen.”
