“I think you know what she is, Michael, but I’ll indulge your curiosity a bit. Her parents were Russian counterintelligence, embedded in the US in the early eighties.” While Shaw spoke, he watched the woman he knew as Mary step between Sabrina and the Pip. She continued to speak, jerking her chin in his direction. “When the Cold War ended, they were abandoned here by their government, eventually rooted out and killed by the CIA. Korkiva—or Courtney, as she likes to be called—is more than a bit disgruntled over the desertion.”
He could literally see the fight drain out of Sabrina and she nodded, casting another look at the limo over her shoulder. Even though he knew she couldn’t see him behind the tinted glass, she seemed to look right at him, her mouth moving soundlessly.
It’s okay.
She turned and allowed herself to be led toward Ben’s plane, mounting the steps before disappearing inside. He didn’t need to ask where Shaw was taking her.
“He’ll kill her,” he said as he watched the Lear’s hatch close and its stairs fold up. “He’s been planning this from the moment he learned about her.”
As soon as the plane started to taxi down the runway, Shaw popped the locks on the limo door. “You’re correct. Reyes will kill her … but not right away. You have time, though not much. Ms. Vaughn’s fate very much depends on the choices you make within the next twenty-four hours.”
“You’re not calling the shots anymore, are you, Shaw?” Michael said, remembering his conversation with Reyes the night before. How he’d thanked him for killing Cordova, like he’d done it for him and him alone. “Sucks to be someone’s bitch, doesn’t it?”
Shaw smoothed a palm down the crease of his five-thousand-
dollar hand-tailored pants, his expression telling Michael he was fighting for control. “I have every intention of sending you after her and the Maddox boy; but before that, there’s something I need you to do.”
“You need me to do?” he said, even though he knew exactly what Shaw was talking about. “Cut the shit and just tell me what Reyes wants.”
Shaw stepped a foot onto the tarmac as soon as the Pip opened the car door. “It’s very simple, Michael: you need to finish the job you started,” he said, still unwilling to admit that he’d lost control of the situation he now found himself in. “If you want to save your Sabrina, you’re going to have to kill Pia Cordova.”
Sixty-Two
Ben knocked again, rapping his knuckles against the thick glass set into the back door that led into Sabrina’s kitchen. He looked at the kid standing next to him, Sabrina’s dog at his side, and smiled. “Kruto, malen’kiy chelovek,” he said. Be cool, little man—even though cool was the last thing he felt. He should have known his father was already stateside. The asshole prided himself on being ten steps ahead of everyone around him.
Why the hell wasn’t Sabrina answering?
The kid mumbled something, so soft he wasn’t even sure he was speaking so much as breathing.
“Ty chto-to skazal?” Did you say something?
The boy looked up at him, concern ghosting across his face. “Rebenok plachet.” The baby is crying.
Ben went still for a moment, head cocked toward the door. The modifications made to Sabrina’s house made it nearly impossible to hear anything going on inside. A small bomb could be detonated within its walls and no one on the outside would even know, but …
“Vy uvereny?” You sure?
The boy just nodded, tilting his head toward the door.
“You better be sure,” he muttered to himself as he pressed his thumb to the small scanner mounted next to the doorframe. Val hated it when he just barged in.
The scanner let out a small beep a few seconds before the door lock clicked and he pushed it open. Lucy was crying; her screams were shrill and laced with panic.
He closed the door and re-engaged the lock as quietly as possible. Sabrina’s car keys were hanging on the hook next to the back door and her backpack was dumped onto the table.
Reaching into his coat, Ben wrapped his hand around the grip of his Desert Eagle. He looked at the boy standing next to him and pulled it out, the weight of it cool and heavy in his hand. “Podozhdite zdes’,” he said. Wait here.
He started across the kitchen, pushing his way through the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the dining room. The room was empty and he walked through it slowly, gun tilted at an angle that would ensure an easy fire if needed, and into the living room. Things took a jump from mildly alarming to what the fuck in an instant.
Next to a puzzling collection of flutes and a half-empty magnum of Cordon Rouge, Ben saw Sabrina’s service weapon, along with her backup piece. Both were lying on the coffee table, their magazines removed. Propped against one of them was a business card. He picked it up.
Chapel Photography
Courtney Tserkov’
415-555-9321
You’ll love the way I shoot
“Sabrina,” he shouted, darting into the foyer and pounding up the stairs. As soon as he made the landing, he started up the set of stairs that led to her room, but he stopped short when he saw what was in the second-floor hallway.
It was Val, face down at the end of the hall, halfway between her bedroom and Lucy’s.
Shit.
Ben quickly altered his route, charging down the hallway, clearing rooms as he went. “Val? Val, what happened?” he said, even though he knew she wouldn’t answer. Holstering his gun, he hunkered down next to her. No blood. No obvious signs of trauma. He rolled her over gently, careful to stabilize her neck as he checked her pulse. Her heartbeat was strong and steady. Her chest moved, her breath deep and even, as if she were sleeping. Hearing him, Lucy started screaming even louder, her confusion and distress obvious. He stood and entered the room.
“Hey, Lucy-goose,” he said softly. As soon as she saw a face looming over her crib, the baby’s screams broke off into a round of hiccupping sobs. Ben reached for her, picking her up gently. The moment she made contact with his chest, her sobs tapered off into a series of shuddering breaths, her face buried in his neck, tiny hands holding on to his shirt. “That’s right—it’s okay. You know me. It’s gonna be okay. I’m here.” He was talking nonsense. Nothing was okay. Not even close.
Val let out a faint groan, her hand fluttering on the carpet as she tried to sit up. “Aleks, mne nuzhna vasha pomoshch’,” he shouted, with no real hope that the boy would come. Lucy still in his arms, Ben crouched next to Val again, smoothing his free hand over her face. It was red and welted, like she’d been laying with her face mashed into the carpet for hours. “Val, I need you to wake up. Tell me what happened. Where’s Sabrina?”
Val tried to open her eyes but screwed them shut against the bright light of the hallway. “Lucy … where’s Lucy?”
“She’s here. She’s fine. I need you to tell me what happened.” He did his best to keep the panic from his voice. Movement swayed in his peripheral and he looked up to see the kid standing at the top of the back stairs, less than a yard away, his face completely void of anything resembling emotion. Ben plastered an encouraging smile on his face. “Eto normal’no. Oni v poryadke. Mne nuzhno, chtoby vzyat’ rebenka, chtoby ya mog pomoch’ yey. Khorosho?” It’s okay. They’re okay. I need you to take the baby so I can help her. Okay?
In answer, Alex reached for Lucy, lifting her out of his arms carefully, hands planted firmly on her neck and back as he brought her to his small chest, and Lucy settled in without protest. Alex turned and stepped over Val’s splayed-out legs and into the nursery, where he settled into the rocking chair beside the crib. Lucy firmly anchored in his arms, he began to pilot the chair back and forth, humming an unfamiliar tune. For the first time since they’d found him, the kid looked at total peace.
Just when Ben thought it wasn’t possible for this situation to get any stranger …
Val let out another groan. �
��The light is really bright, Ben. Kill the switch, willya?” she said, her speech slightly slurred.
Ben thought about the champagne bottle on the table downstairs. “Are you drunk?” It sounded crazy, but it wasn’t any crazier than any of the other scenarios racing through his head. He stood and bent over, picking her up to carry her into her room. Looking over his shoulder, he could see the boy, still rocking the baby, still humming like he’d been possessed by a babushka.
“Ostavaytes’ zdes’,” he said—stay here—without waiting for an answer before carrying Val into her room and placing her on the bed. The room was dark and cool, and she visibly relaxed. “Where’s Sabrina?” he said, his tone harsh enough to have her looking up at him, puzzled.
“What? Sab—” Her expression clouded with confusion. “I don’t know.”
“What the hell does that mean?” He didn’t need answers as much as he needed confirmation. He’d already guessed what’d happened.
“It means I don’t know.” She looked up at him, panic rapidly replacing confusion. “Is she in trouble?”
“Shit,” he said under his breath, looking up at the ceiling for a moment to give himself a moment gather his thoughts. “What day is it, Val?”
“Uhhh …” Her voice trailed off, helpless for a moment, and he looked down at her to see that panic had settled in deep. “Sunday?”
It was Wednesday, but he nodded. “Was your friend here? Courtney? Did she come by this morning?”
Nausea rippled across her face. “My—” She lunged up and turned, vomiting over the side of the bed. Directly onto his boots. “Sorry.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, shaky and pale, even in the darkened room. “What the hell is wrong with me?”
She looked like she’d downed a fifth of tequila. He thought of the champagne flutes on the table downstairs. One had been empty, the other half full. “You’ve been drugged. The photographer, was she here?”
“Wait, stop for a minute.” She laid back on the pillows, a hand pressed to her eyes.
“I can’t wait, Val. Sabrina is gone and so is your new friend.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and showed her the business card he found. “Who poured the drinks?” he said, starting with the most important questions first.
“Drinks? Friend?” Val’s hand fell away from her face and she looked at the card, comprehension finally taking root. “What happened, Ben? Where is she? Where’s Sabrina?”
The questions pressed down on him, and his shoulders slumped beneath their weight. But only for a moment. He dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed. “If I had to guess? Halfway to Colombia by now.”
Sixty-Three
Sabrina looked out the window of the plane and continued to do the same thing she’d been doing for past six hours. Figure a way out of this mess. No one said where they were taking her or what they planned to do with her when they got there, but judging from the length of the flight and the terrain below, she knew exactly where she was headed: Colombia. Home to Alberto Reyes. As for what they planned to do to her … the scenarios running through her head were less than pleasant.
Courtney’s phone chirped and she answered, shooting Sabrina a quick glance as she angled her body away from her so she could talk without being observed.
She spoke quietly into the phone for a few minutes before moving down the aisle toward Sabrina. “For you,” she said, holding her cell out in front of her.
Sabrina took the phone. “Please tell me they’re okay.”
“They’re both fine,” Ben said. “You wearing the boots I gave you?”
“Of course,” she said, looking up at Courtney, wondering if she heard his question.
Ben sighed into the phone. “Good. Look, I’m sorry. I should have known—”
“Stop,” she said, unwilling to let him take the blame. “This isn’t your fault. Just take care of them, okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” Ben said, but he wasn’t very convincing.
“I’m serious, Ben. They’re the priority here. If something happens to them—”
Courtney reached out and took the phone from Sabrina’s hand, and she had to press herself into the seat to keep from launching herself at her.
“There. Satisfied?” she said a few moments before she smiled. “Why, Mr. Shaw, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” Courtney hung up and pocketed the phone before taking a seat in the plush leather chair across from her. “We need to have a little talk, you and me,” Courtney said, leaning into the space between their seats, elbows braced on her knees.
Sabrina cut her a short look before turning back toward the window. “I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
“Just listen, then,” Courtney said. “Those one million and one escape plans you’ve got running through your head? Forget every single one of them. There’re men—men with guns—who are going to meet us. They’ll use zip-ties to restrain you, put you onto a helicopter, and take you directly to Alberto Reyes. I need you to let them.”
“Why?” she said, a humorless smile touching at the corners of her mouth. “Do you get a bonus if I’m delivered alive?”
Courtney sat back, absorbing the bumps and jolts of the Lear’s obvious descent. “You think I work for Reyes?”
She shrugged. She wasn’t entirely comfortable with the chiding tone that the other woman used on her. “Is it so far-fetched?”
“Well, yeah, considering we’re sitting in Benjamin Shaw’s private plane.”
Now Sabrina looked her full in the face. “If you expect me to believe that Ben had anything to do with this, you’re crazier than I thought.”
They landed, bumping along a strip of dirt running down the middle of a clearing, surrounded by dense jungle. As soon as the plane rolled to a stop, Courtney stood, forcing Sabrina to look up at her. “Huh. I wouldn’t have figured you for a blind loyalist.”
“And I wouldn’t have figured you for a murdering bitch,” she said, cocking her head to the side. “I guess we were both wrong.”
The door to the cockpit opened, the pilot poking his head out. “The helo is five minutes out,” he said, casting his gaze past the woman he was talking to. Something passed over his face and for a second, Sabrina could have sworn it was regret. “They want her waiting on the tarmac.”
“Okay. Give me a minute will you?” Courtney said over her shoulder, and the guy behind her nodded before retreating into the cockpit. “Hate me or love me, Sabrina—I really couldn’t give a shit which—but if you’re smart, you’ll trust me and listen to what I’m telling you,” she said once the door was shut.
Sabrina stood slowly. “And why would I want to do that?”
“Because you aren’t being handed over to Reyes so much as you’re being activated,” Courtney said, tossing her a tank top.
“Activated?” The word rocked her back on her heels and she stared down at the wad of fabric she suddenly found in her hand. “What are you talking about, activated?”
“Mr. Shaw feels like it’s time you started earning your keep,” Courtney said. “You need to put that on.”
Sabrina rubbed the fabric between her fingers for a moment. It was made of lightweight neoprene. Some sort of mesh between the layers. “I’ve already got clothes on, but thanks,” she said, her tone laced with sarcasm.
“Do yours stop bullets?” Courtney lifted her shirt to reveal a garment identical to the one she was holding. “Put it on.”
For once in her life, Sabrina did as she was told, turning and stripping off her button-down and undershirt to pull the tank on. It lay thick and cool against her skin as she wrestled back into her shirt. She turned back to find Courtney looking her up and down like she was trying to find something.
“Where is it?”
The back of her neck went hot. “Where’s what?”
“The weapon you’ve got stashed.”
Her
gaze zeroed in on the Glock 33 Courtney had strapped to her hip. “Maybe I planned on taking yours.”
“We really don’t have time for this. Tell me where it is because they’re gonna look—hard—and if they find it, we’re both dead.” Courtney rolled her eyes at her reluctance to fess up.
She could hear the faint whoomp of helicopter blades cut through the air, getting closer by the second. “I have a six-shot LCP hidden in the sole of my left boot. Two extra magazines in the right.”
Courtney smiled. “How very James Bond of you. Only use it if you absolutely have to. Once you start shooting, the gloves will come off, and Reyes isn’t one to dick around.”
The cockpit door opened again. “They’re less than a minute out and asking why she’s not waiting.”
“Alright. Tell them we’re headed out now.” Courtney took her by her arm and gave her a tug. “Let’s go.”
The woman guided Sabrina down the center aisle of the plane to the hatch, letting go of her to pop the door lock. They stood there, side by side, while the hydraulic motor dropped the stairs onto the dirt runway. As soon as they were deployed, Courtney drew her gun and jerked her head. “After you.”
Sabrina did at she was told, taking the stairs slowly. About five hundred yards out, she could see a helo, coming in fast. “You haven’t told me what I’m supposed to be doing. If I’m not being marched to my death, then why am I here?” she said as she walked toward the concrete pad about fifty yards from the plane.
They came to a stop just as the helicopter touched down. Two men climbed out, each wearing dark fatigues, AR-15s strapped to their chests. The one at the head of the helo held the door open while another man stepped out. He was no taller than her own five-ten, but even beneath the Armani suit, she could see a wiry strength that would prove formidable in a close-contact fight. His dark hair was threaded with just enough silver to be considered distinguished. The emeralds in his cufflinks winked in the late afternoon sun and he flashed them; whether it was intentional or habit, she couldn’t tell. The designer sunglasses he wore hid his eyes, but she didn’t have to see them to know they would be small and cruel. As soon as he saw Sabrina, his face split into a broad grin.
Promises to Keep Page 24
