by Ronie Kendig
Back to the plaster, Max sidled up to the corner where yet another hall presented itself. T intersection. Not good. They’d have two routes to address in tandem and not get killed.
First things first. The hall that banked to the right. It could hold numerous tangos. Or none.
Canyon “Midas” Metcalfe pied out, starting at the left and sweeping in an arc to the right. He pied out as far as possible, moving forward to increase his angle of fire farther into the dead space, Marshall “the Kid” Vaughn right behind him. The former Army Ranger had grown up a lot since the team’s first days together.
Keeping tabs on Cowboy allowed Max to slip into position at the corner, trusting the man would alert them to trouble before anyone ended up exposed. He signaled back to Legend to cover the far corner where they were blind to make sure more tangos didn’t pop up.
Finally, Midas stopped pieing. He paused, squeezed his eyes, then shook his head and continued.
What was that? With the muzzle of his weapon almost flush with the corner, Max knelt. More rustling brought up the rear as Alpha and Bravo fell into place. He felt the presence of Legend and Aladdin at his six. He nodded his readiness.
“Move!” Midas hissed.
Simultaneously they entered the dead space. A sniper, Cowboy’s movements were stealthy and silent as he hurried forward. Max stayed on his knee, pivoting around the corner, sighting shadows, dust, smoke, searching for—
Tat-tat-tat!
Cowboy fired before the dust cleared enough for Max to spot the tango flipping around the corner at the other end of the corridor. “Tango down.”
Using hand signals, Max sent Bravo Team snaking down the hall in a bound-and-cover approach. They’d already met with resistance, so caution should be exercised more than ever.
With the others executing their plan, Max prompted his team to proceed. On his feet, he hustled forward. At the T intersection he waited, knowing Legend had swept to the opposite side. Max and Legend cleared their immediate areas along their respective walls, starting from the corner and continuing to the farthest. For Max, that meant staring down a door marked STAIRS. The hostages should be up there.
Poised to the left of the door, Max nodded to Aladdin, who provided cover for their six.
Like before, they teamed up and provided protective cover as Max busted open the door. His heart rammed into his lungs as he sighted figures at the opposite end of the hall. He got a bead on the closest.
“Friendly, friendly!” Cowboy’s whispered call stayed Max’s trigger finger.
He blew out a breath. Stairs now. It’d been an easy insertion so far. No doubt they’d meet heavy opposition up that stairwell. Max stalked onward. Up the stairs he went, sweeping his weapon side to side, checking for ledges where bad guys could take out the team. He knew from instinct, from training with these men, that Legend was one step behind him, covering.
Despite their efforts to remain stealthy, the iron stairs rattled as the guys followed. Reaching the point just before he could be engaged from above, Max turned around and covered overhead, searching for an opening, an opportunity for someone to take his head off or add another hole. Sure enough, a clear angle.
Tension mounted. Quick and quiet, he blew out another breath. Another step. He ascended stepping backward. Ever so carefully … backward … covering the side and above. Legend still covered him and a sea of tactical gear snaked upward. Fluid. Smooth. Man, he loved this team. At the top, Max shifted to cover overhead as Legend remained front oriented.
Groan!
Max snapped his weapon to the right as something flew up. He fired. The tango collapsed. “Tango down.”
Like an undammed river, the team flooded onto the second level. Left and right engagements ensued with multiple “tango down” calls. Partitions and cubicle walls created a nightmare of a logistical challenge. As chaos fell quiet, he heard it.
Whimpering and grunts carried through the air.
The sounds drew him onward. Adrenaline sped through his veins. Bravo Team swept wide left, coming around the back side of the stairwell.
Alpha team cleared right. Then left. The place is like a maze. With each advance, the rooms brightened. A window? Light? Hopes rose. Had to be close now. Another L intersection. He stepped around—
Snapped back, his pulse drumming. Held up a closed fist, eyed the team. Nightshade had grouped into strategic positions, all within a dozen feet of each other. Working in teams they protected the hostages but also themselves—no friendly fire.
His split-second recon revealed the scene that faced them. A brightly lit open space. Though the floodlights worked to blind him, he used hand signals to relay the layout, as he could decipher it: Two tangos guarding three hostages. In the corner. Guns to the hostages’ heads.
Legend nodded.
Max whipped into the open.
Flashes of movement. Max nailed a tango to the right of a hostage. He buttonhooked as more gunfire rattled off and cordite filled the air. Smoke and dust spiraled through the blinding setup.
A shadow flickered to the extreme left. Max turned.
So did Legend.
In the second it took Legend to turn, panic spiked through Max.
As if in a slow-frame action shot like a cheap movie, he saw the scene unfold. Saw Legend’s finger coiled in the trigger well. Saw the shadow take shape. And saw who it was.
“No!”
Tat-tat-tat! Tat-tat-tat-tat!
Max lunged, slammed Legend’s weapon down. “Hold your fire!”
The reel skipped into real time.
Aladdin stepped from the far side.
“Hold your fire. Hold fire!” Max made sure the entire team saw his raised fist. “It’s over.” Well, at least the drill. The fury roiling off Legend was a totally different thing. When Lambert intro’d the new guys, Legend had been more than clear about his feelings regarding John “Squirt” Dighton and Azzan “Aladdin” Yasir, especially the latter.
“Fool!” Puffed up and tensed, Legend cursed. “What’re you doing over there?”
Shrugging, Aladdin pointed to the walled space from which he’d appeared. “Half dozen tangos waiting in ambush for the team.”
It seemed Legend’s chest and biceps swelled. “You should be with the team!” He stormed forward. “With them, protecting them.”
When Legend clenched his fists, Max leapt in front of him. “Hold up, stop.”
“I just saved every man on this team.” Aladdin raised his arms. “What’s your problem?”
Brows slamming down and whites of his eyes practically glowing, Legend took another step forward. “You want to know my problem?”
“No, no, he doesn’t.” Midas rushed into the fray as he pulled Aladdin back.
“Legend,” Max snapped. Waited for the big guy to acknowledge him.
Finally, brown eyes came to his. Though tamed the storm still raged. “I told you.” Lips tight, nostrils flared, Legend scowled. “He’s trouble. He don’t know how to work with a team. Bravo Team is dead because he wasn’t there to back them up.”
“They’re not dead.” Aladdin wasn’t backing down. He’d worked solo for too long and didn’t know when to yield. “They’re alive because I detected an ambush and intercepted.”
It sure sounded like Aladdin had moved closer. The man had brains, right? He wouldn’t be that stupid, stepping into the cauldron of Legend’s fury.
“This team works together.” Legend came forward as if Max didn’t exist. “If you can’t work with the team, following protocol, maybe you don’t belong. Know what I’m saying?”
Angling to the side, Max realized he had essentially been sandwiched between the two, who were ready to throw down. “Hey!” He sent a fierce warning through his expression to Aladdin. “Stand down.”
Aladdin’s green eyes flickered to Max. The tension in the man’s face reduced, though not much.
“Look at this, ladies and gents. The assassin knows how to take orders after all.”
A
laddin went rigid. “I just executed four tangos who would’ve split your heart in two. That is, if you have one.”
Air behind him swirled. Images of his friend killing the newest team member flashed through his mind. Max flipped around to Legend. “No. Don’t. I’ll handle it.”
Hands out to the side, Griffin all but snorted. “I’m good. I’m good.”
Max glanced to Aladdin. From his periphery he saw—but could do nothing to stop—the hammer of a fist sailing into Aladdin’s jaw. Thud! Aladdin stumbled back.
Max shoved Legend away. “Stand down!”
Legend took a step back. “I’m good—better.” He grinned, then flicked a narrowed gaze to Aladdin. “I nearly killed you, fool. Why Lambert accepted you, why you agreed, I don’t know. What I do know is that the men on this team”—Legend shifted, indicating the other four hanging back—“they’ll put it on the line for you.” With a swagger, he moved backward. “Tell me, Lone Wolf, will you do the same for them?”
“I did—I saved their lives!”
“No.” Max tried to harness his own anger. “You abandoned your team. Who had Midas’s six while you were playing hero?” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re a team. Nightshade. Looking out for each other is number one because without that commitment, we cease to exist.”
“So you don’t care about the six tangos.”
Max walked over to the plastic dummy dangling from a spring-loaded axle. He stuffed a finger through a hole in the head of one, where clearly Aladdin had killed the tango. “This guy?” He patted the dummy’s head. “No, because I knew he’d be there.”
Aladdin grunted his disapproval.
“This exercise was to find out—would you be where we expect and need you to be?” Max let the smirk slip from his face. “Don’t fail the team again. Or you’ll be gone.”
Roark Residence, Virginia
New Year’s Eve
Pain turned her inside out.
Darkness held her captive. Pushing her down, farther … farther …
Fire shot through her pelvis. She screamed—but no sound came out. Instead, gushes of water poured into her throat. She coughed. Gagged.
A sickening, sweaty body pressed on her.
“No!”
Dani bolted upright in bed. Shuddering, she searched the darkened room for the predator, for the man bent on stealing her virtue. But … it was too late. That was gone. She had nothing left for him, or anyone else.
The massive room closed in on her. Billowing curtains around the four-poster bed danced like ghosts. A ceiling fan circled lazily over the sitting area. Marble shone brightly against the light she’d left on in the bathroom. All taunting her. This had been the room of a spoiled, naive rich girl. A girl now gone. Dead.
Everything in her trembled. She drew her legs to her chest and hugged herself tightly. Would the shame ever go away? Tears stung her eyes. Slipped past her tight hold and scalded her cheeks. A sob erupted.
Outside her door, light scampered and grew brighter as footsteps thudded to the threshold. Was it Alexandra or her father? She thought about the soft, quick steps. Her sister.
She cupped a hand over her mouth to stifle the cries, ignoring the chill seeping into her bones. If Alexandra heard her crying, if she heard her moving around, she’d come in. Try to act like she knew what to say. Comfort her with empty words.
As quietly as possible, Dani lay back against the pillows and drew the covers over her chest. When had it gotten so cold?
Facing away from the door and peering out through the slit in the heavy baroque curtains, Dani spied the moon. Full and brilliant. After two weeks in the hospital, she’d come home. Life blurred past, Christmas a vague memory—what gifts had she given or received?—and here she lay, still wishing she hadn’t survived that tormented water. Back in the States a month, but even now she still didn’t want to be home. Where things were normal. She didn’t want to go on as if nothing happened. Didn’t want to face her friends. Her family. Her niece and nephews. Her father. Anybody.
She watched light invade darkness until it eventually overtook her. Out there, beyond the curtains and small balcony, the world continued as if no tragedy had ever taken place. As if she didn’t matter. She was insignificant. The emptiness of the word mirrored the emptiness within her.
A knock at the door made her blink.
“Danielle, I’m coming in,” Alexandra called, softly but firmly.
Soon came the creak of the heavy oak door, a click of the lock, then soft padding over the wood floor … then stifled steps as Alexandra walked on the handcrafted Persian rug. The lower portion of the bed near Dani’s feet sunk down under the weight of her sister. Warm pressure rested on her ankle.
What? Was her sister going to once again tell Dani that she knew she was hurting? That while Alexandra had never been … violated—her sister was apparently unable to even say the word rape—she understood the depression, yet she didn’t want to watch her waste away?
“You might want to get dressed,” Alexandra said, a surprising strength in her words. “Because in five minutes, I’m sending someone up. He dropped by, brought flowers.”
He? Dani whipped around, disbelief and shock overtaking her empty mood.
Alexandra pushed off the bed, a triumphant expression on her face. “Five minutes. If you don’t want Chief Petty Officer Metcalfe to see you with hair tangled, clothes wrinkled, and bad breath, I’d suggest you clean up.”
Panic beat a wild rhythm in her chest. “No.”
Already at the door, Alexandra didn’t hesitate.
“Alexandra Norah! Don’t—”
The door closed.
Dani darted to it, her head spinning. She braced against the wall, waiting until the hazy darkness faded. She caught her breath—just in time to hear Alexandra speaking in a singsong voice and telling the guest it’d be just a few minutes.
Slapping her hand against the elaborate paper lining the wall, she groaned. Anger morphed into rage. She spun, staring at the bed. If he came up here … he could …
No. She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t stay here with him. If she hurried, she could head this off. Get rid of him before he ever made it to her door.
Fury pushed her to the closet. She stared at the twenty-by-twenty space with its tufted, round bench and chandelier. Row upon row of color-organized clothes hung in obscene order. Cedar drawers. Shoes lined one wall. Gowns another.
Had she really been this spoiled? Why was it just now hitting her? Shirking the annoyance, she tugged a pair of jeans from a drawer. She then stuffed her legs into them, surprised at how they hung off her hips. Six months in captivity did a lot for a girl wanting to lose a few pounds. Nothing a belt wouldn’t fix. She strapped one on and flung on a sweater. In the bathroom, she snatched the brush from the marble vanity, raised it—and froze.
There in the full-length mirror hovered a phantom. A girl she no longer knew. A girl with shattered dreams and faded bruises who looked like a bad makeup job. A girl who once believed in happily ever after. Who was a bit naive but every bit as stubborn and determined.
Oh, God …
Laughter from somewhere in the house broke into her awareness.
Dani jerked the bristles through her hair and tied back her long brown strands. She hurried to the door, whipped it open—and stood before a man.
Her heart hitched. She gulped the fear, her gaze diving to the floor. Friend not foe. Friend not foe. She pushed her gaze back to his.
A slow smile spread over his face, lighting his bluish eyes. He gave a curt nod. “I don’t know if you remember—”
Dani eased past him, then closed the door to her room. “Coast Guard, right?” She tucked a rogue strand of hair behind her ear, trying to forget that he had carried her almost completely naked body to safety.
“Yes, ma’am.” He raked a hand through his short black hair. “I … uh … just wanted to check on you. See how you were improving.”
If she was right,
he’d checked on her twice a week, every week. Eight times. “I’m fine.” A sure, tight answer that kept her from having to go into the truth. Or go into anything all. Could she get rid of him? “Look …” She saw the hope in his gaze and lost the gumption. How could she be cruel? He’d rescued her. Kept watch over her.
Didn’t matter. The last thing she wanted in her life was a man. “You can go back to your superiors, tell them I’m fine. You did your job.” She feigned a smile. “You should get a gold star or something.”
His expression fell. She could’ve sworn she heard it thunk against the floor. “I’m sorry.” He glanced down. “I’m not here because of my job.”
Was he blushing? Dani’s nerves jitterbugged over the realization. Being in the narrow hall closed off her throat and brain. She stumbled toward the light at the end of the tunnel … er, hall. The balcony. Chief Petty Officer Metcalfe remained with her, his steps even and steady.
“Some place your dad has.”
Her gaze darted to the paintings that had captured his attention. “Yeah. I guess.” It was called overkill. And she hated it.
Stepping into the brilliance of the sun, Dani was startled at how good it felt. A shudder rippled through her.
“Are you cold? Should we go back inside?”
“No,” she snapped, glancing toward the dark hall—and her mind plunged into the prison she’d spent so many months being dragged through. Screams. Banging. Sizzling sounds of electrical torture.
Her feet felt like bricks. Her heart careened into her stomach. Hearing hollowed.
A face burst into her vision.
With a yelp, she shoved the man back. Fight!
He grabbed her arms.
Dani yelled and writhed.
“Miss Roark, please! It’s okay.”
Shock rippled through her at the urgency in the voice and her own name. She stilled and stared back at pleading blue eyes. She wasn’t in the prison. She was at home. He wasn’t here to hurt her. Humiliation crowded out her panic. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Leave. Get away. You’re an idiot.
