Ninety-Three
For a moment, neither of them moved.
“He had a gun,” Leo said, his words tumbling out faster and faster, chased by fear and panic. “Mr. Reyes let me go and she told me to run so I—” He stopped abruptly, eyes wide and terrified. “I left her.”
She. Sabrina. Leo was talking about Sabrina.
He could hear boots pounding down the stairs—all attempts at stealth thrown out the window. Seconds later, Strickland and Church appeared with Christina in tow.
She was older, but he’d recognize her anywhere. Seeing her caused his heart to stutter in his chest, but he held it together, looking to Strickland for help. “Take Leo,” he said as he moved, down the stairs. In the direction of the shots.
Strickland scooped Leo into his arms and followed. “We’ve got to help her, she’s probably been shot. Church can—”
“No. We stick to the plan,” Michael said, making the landing, running down the last set of stairs. “He won’t kill her. Not until I’m there to see it.”
“Are you trying to reassure me? Because really, you suck at it,” Strickland said, Leo straddling his hip, free hand wrapped around the .40 he’d given him in the laundry room. “I’ll go with you as backup—”
“We stick to the plan,” Michael said, hitting the first floor at a dead run. “You and Church take them and head for the boats!” He moved from room to room, leading them toward the veranda closest to the seawall.
He spoke into his comm. “Ben, Church and Strickland have secured the Maddox boy and are headed your way—” He put his boot through one of the French door’s window panels, splintering wood and shattering glass and opening a hole big enough for them to crawl through.
“Got it,” Ben said, his voice tight with worry. “We’ll be waiting.”
He turned to Church. “Keys are in a lockbox in the boathouse. Let me know when you’re away. ” He looked at Christina and tried to smile. “I’ll be right back … I promise.”
Ninety-Four
Michael headed for the only place Reyes could be—the place where he’d said yes and started this whole mess.
The double doors leading to the study were closed, but even from here he could hear Reyes talking. “He’s coming, Sabrina—can you hear him? Cartero is coming for you …”
Michael stood to the side, reaching out to push the door open. It swung wide. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, steeling himself against what he was about to see. Trying to quiet the feeling that this time would be no different than the last.
He rounded the corner and stood in the doorway, empty hands held at shoulder level. “I’m here,” he said, staring at her; her face was pale beneath the bruises and blood that littered it. “Are you okay?”
She smiled, flashing blood-smeared teeth for just a moment before the effort made her wince. “Never better.”
Reyes stood behind her, the barrel of his gun dug into the base of Sabrina’s skull. He heard the distinct clack of the hammer being drawn back. “Your weapons. Toss them into the corner, now.”
He did as he was told without hesitation, pulling guns and knives from holsters and sheaths, tossing them away from him until he was stripped bare. His finger brushed against something small and hard and he rolled it into his palm, concealing it in the web between his thumb and pointer. When he was done he held his hands up at shoulder level, palms out. “That’s it. I’m clean.”
“Let’s play a game, shall we?” Reyes said, surveying the weapons that littered the floor between them.
“Games are a waste of time, Reyes,” he said, his eyes darting around the room. Not much had changed. Reyes’s wide, heavy desk still dominated the room, a sideboard next to the door housing crystal decanters full of liquor. Behind him was a pair of leather couches facing each other across the low table between them. “Just let her go so you can kill me—that’s what you really want, isn’t it?”
“What I really want is to watch you suffer … and then kill you.” Reyes shifted to the side, letting him see his face. “First question: Do you love her?” Reyes said, his voice snaking out from his hiding place behind Sabrina. They stood in front of his desk—or rather, Sabrina stood. Reyes leaned against his desk, using it for support. The arm that held the gun on her was tucked awkwardly against his side. He was wounded. Sabrina’s expression confirmed what Reyes’s posture told him: she’d shot him.
He nodded, his neck stiff, head jerking as if on rusty hinges. “Yes.”
“Would you die for her?”
He thought of crawling in the dirt, covered in blood while his insides spasmed against the poison that coursed through his veins. Of David Song trailing behind him with a scalpel clenched in his fist. Looking at her now, he could see she was remembering the same thing. “Yes.”
“You love her more than you loved my Lydia?”
There was no reasoning with him. No explaining that Lydia had been a friend, nothing more. That he’d killed his wife to punish Michael for something he hadn’t done. “Yes.”
“Then tell her. Tell her you love her.”
He opened his mouth to do as Reyes said, but something else came out. “I lied. Yesterday morning … I said horrible things. Did things—”
“It’s okay. Trust me; I’ve done and said worse, the morning after.” Incredibly, she smiled at him, tears shimmering in her eyes, electrifying the blue of them until they almost glowed. “But you better not do it again.”
Her words did more than offer forgiveness. They told him that she believed in him. That she knew he would get her out of this mess. He smiled back, even though fear was a living thing inside his belly, eating him from the inside out. “I promise.”
“I lost my bracelet.”
He flicked a look down at her wrist. It was bare. “Somewhere good, I hope.”
“Pretty good—Estefan’s eye socket.” She winced when Reyes tightened his fist in her hair, giving her a little shake.
“Tell her you love her, Cartero.” Reyes’s tone gained an edge.
The moment he said the words, Reyes would pull the trigger and he wasn’t ready. Not yet. “The boy Sabrina found in that house—the one that brought me to San Francisco in the first place. He was the nephew of Sergey Filatov. Did you know that?”
Reyes flicked him another glance, this one off-kilter. Wild. “You’re a liar.”
Michael shook his head. “Lying is against the rules.” He paused, waiting for Sabrina to look at him. As soon as he caught her attention, he continued. “Planting a boy matching Leo’s description was his idea, wasn’t it? Involving Sabrina? But that wasn’t his only plan. Estefan killed and practically dumped that kid in your lap so that Filatov would destroy you.”
“Estefan is loyal.” Reyes jerked her again, and she gritted her teeth to keep from crying out. “He would never defy me.”
Blood snaked down Sabrina’s neck, a sluggish flow that painted her collarbone bright red. The sight of it did something to him. Grounded him and cleared his mind of everything that he’d been holding on to.
His parents. His team. Frankie and Lydia. Lucy.
They were dead, but it was not his fault.
“He would and he did. He’s been working with Pia Cordova for years now. Estefan set us up to destroy each other,” he said, closing his fists, securing the pellet he had hidden there. “He hates you almost as much as he hates me.”
“I gave him everything—made him a prince. He has no reason to hate me,” Reyes said, but even as the words were spoken, Michael could see it. Understanding.
“He doesn’t want to be a prince; he wants to be king.” Michael shook his head. “It wasn’t my baby Lydia was carrying. While you were off whoring around, Estefan was here—raping your wife.”
His words did their job, and Reyes roared in response. Jerking the barrel of the gun from where it’d been anchored to Sabrina’s sk
ull, he pointed it at Michael.
Like he knew she would, she dropped back on her right leg, driving her elbow back and up, smashing it into his nose. The blow sent his first shots wide, but he pulled the trigger anyway, again and again, and some bullets found their mark.
Michael could feel them punching into his chest and abdomen, shattering his ribs. Stealing his breath.
Sabrina dropped low, using the hold he had on her hair to pull him down with her. Reyes, struggling to stay upright, let go and she rolled away, giving him a clear shot.
He lunged forward, tackling Reyes, sending them both sprawling across the desk. The gun was knocked loose, clattering to the ground, but Michael didn’t care. He was going to kill Reyes with his bare hands.
They crashed to the ground, Reyes beneath him, and he wrapped his free hand around the man’s throat, squeezing until he opened his mouth to gasp for breath. As soon as his mouth was open, Michael swung, crashing his fist against Reyes’s teeth before dropping the pellet inside.
“Ben, blow the second capsule,” he bellowed, the heel of his hand slamming into the underside of Reyes’s jaw to keep it shut. As soon as he spoke, Reyes went wild, swinging and pulling at his face and hands. Anything to work himself loose.
“You got it,” his partner said, loud and clear.
Seconds later, Reyes began to jerk, his eyes rolling back, froth trying to bubble through closed lips.
Michael let go, shoving himself away from the sputtering, convulsing mass beneath him. Blood instantly erupted from Reyes’s nose and mouth, spewed into the air, but he didn’t stick around to watch the rest. He got his feet underneath him, lurching around the side of the desk to see Sabrina crumpled against the door.
He picked her up and ran, stumbling and bouncing his way down the hall, Reyes’s screams fading behind him.
Suddenly, they were outside. He kept moving, lurching across the grass until they made it to the Blackhawk.
He stretched her out on the concrete pad and ripped her shirt open, expecting to find a bloody cluster of holes in her chest. She was fighting him, pushing his hands away. Saying something. “We have to go back. Leo and Christina—we can’t just—”
No blood. No holes. Just four slugs mushroomed against the feather-light fabric of an FSS-issued Kevlar tank.
“They’re fine. Strickland and Church got them off the island.” He looked up, baffled, to find her looking at him. “You’re okay.”
“I am.” She offered him a halfhearted smile while she struggled to stand. “But I’ll be a hell of a lot better as soon as you get me the hell out of here.”
Ninety-Five
The Blackhawk touched down gently in the dirt, as close as he could get it to the hangar without being a danger, and he powered it off. It’d been years since he’d flown, but it was just like riding a bike.
Some things you never forget.
Sabrina sat beside him, quiet. She hadn’t spoken since he’d lifted her into the helo before climbing in beside her. She’d looked out the window, broken hands clutched to her stomach, as if for safe keeping. Her hair was matted with blood, and long rivulets crusted against her neck.
“I love you.”
She turned her face toward him. It was dirty and bruised, eyes bluer than the ocean they’d just crossed shining back at him. “I love you too,” she said before popping the door open and jumping down from the Blackhawk. She didn’t want to hear it: his speech about how she was safer with him gone, that she needed to forget about him and move on. The same one he gave her every time he left her.
He couldn’t blame her. He didn’t want to hear it either.
Waiting a few seconds, he let her gain a safe distance between them before he followed her across the dirt. She headed straight for Strickland and as soon as he saw her, he turned his back on the conversation he’d been having with Church and met her halfway. They stood close together, talking. Strickland looked at him over her shoulder and, for a moment, he thought he caught a smile.
“He cares for her.”
He cast a quick glance at Ben, who’d come up beside him. “So do you.”
“You caught me,” his partner said with a wide grin. “You really think she’s better off without you?”
“I know she is.”
Ben didn’t answer. They stood there watching Lark pack up his computer equipment and load it onto Ben’s Lear while Church carried a roll of duct tape into the hangar. “My father is coming,” he finally said, casting an apologetic look between them.
“For me.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah. That’s why you’re gonna be gone when he gets here.”
Michael shook his head. “Nice try, kid, but there’s no place for me to go,” he said, watching as Sabrina allowed Strickland to lead her into the hangar. As long as Shaw had her, he would never risk leaving. He would do whatever Shaw said. They both knew that.
“Do you trust me?”
It was the second time Ben had asked him that, and he found himself turning his gaze on his partner. He had that look again. The not-Ben look that told you he was a totally different person than the one he pretended to be.
Christina appeared in the open door of a plane. Not Ben’s, but the one he didn’t recognize. Its destination was unknown. As soon as the girl saw him, she smiled and ran down the steps straight for him. He dropped to his knees and opened his arms, and seconds later they were filled with her. His heart swelled inside his chest as he let himself hold her, and when she laid her head on his shoulder he didn’t pull away.
“Well? Do you?” Ben said, watching as he stood, arms still around Christina.
He looked down at Christina for a moment before meeting his partner’s gaze. “Against my better judgment, yeah, I do.”
Ben laughed at him, clapping a rough hand against his back to move him toward the plane. Toward the unknown. “So get on the plane … and stop calling me kid.”
Ninety-Six
Sabrina sat quietly, watching while Church ripped off a long strip of duct tape with her teeth and added it to the several layers she’d applied to her ribs.
“Thank you,” she said, the words getting stuck between clenched teeth while pain spiraled through her rib cage to shoot down her spine.
“For what?” Church said, mouth full of duct tape as she did another rip-and-stick.
“For the Kevlar. For the tape.” She caught the other woman’s gaze and held it. “For not killing Val like you were supposed to.”
Church stalled out for a second before she shrugged, looking down at the roll of tape to rip off another strip. “I didn’t do it for you,” she said, avoiding eye contact while she smoothed the tape in place, pushing just hard enough against Sabrina’s broken ribs to make her jerk.
“I still don’t like you,” she said, waving off another round of duct tape.
Church grinned, setting the roll down on the workbench Sabrina was perched on. “Good, because I don’t like you either.” She turned and headed out the door, shooting her a quick smile over her shoulder. “See you around.”
Sabrina laughed, the pressure of the tape around her ribs making the pain of it bearable. She looked at Strickland. He was leaning against the wall next to the door, and he turned his head when Church strolled past, watching her walk out the door.
“Somebody likes her, though …”
Strickland’s head snapped back in Sabrina’s direction, a red flush creeping up his neck. “I think one of us dating a government spook is enough, don’t you?”
“We aren’t government,” Ben said from the doorway. “Planes are prepped and ready—we’ll be taking off in a few minutes.”
Home.
By this time tomorrow, she’d be back in San Francisco. Back to normal …
Back to a life without Michael.
“You mind giving us a few minutes alone?”
<
br /> Strickland looked at Ben and then at her. She gave him a nod of assent, and he left, exiting the hangar and boarding the waiting plane.
As soon as Strickland was gone, she looked at Ben to find him watching her. She felt time bend, and she found herself back in that dark hospital room, Ben standing in the shadows. Telling her she had a choice to make. That he could fix her life if she’d let him.
“My father’s on his way here, so we don’t have much time,” he told her, moving into the room until he was standing right in front of her.
“Time for what?”
“For you to decide.”
She looked past him, out the hangar door to the pair of planes that sat side by side on the tarmac. She’d watched Michael lead Christina onto the smaller of the two. Strickland and Church had boarded the other. “Decide what?”
“Where you belong,” Ben said.
“I don’t understand,” she said, even though her heart had begun an uneven knocking against her chest.
Ben smiled at her. “I think you do. My plane is headed to San Francisco.”
“And the other one?” she said, looking past him toward the plane she’d just watched Michael and Christina board.
“That plane belongs to a very powerful US Senator who is very happy and very appreciative to have is grandson back … and not too pleased with my father at the moment.”
“Maddox?” She looked over his shoulder again, suddenly understanding. “He’s going to help Michael.”
“Did you know that Montana actually means mountain? They wreak havoc on cell phone reception … especially when you’re living on an five-hundred-acre ranch surrounded by them without a cell tower within three hundred miles.”
Somehow, he’d done it. Ben had managed to get Michael out from under his father’s thumb. Relief washed through her, “Thank you, Ben. Thank—”
“Michael is dead.” He gave her what she’d come to call his I’m a very bad man smile. “He was shot several times by Reyes before crashing that Blackhawk behind me into the water between here and the island. We managed a water rescue for the Maddox boy, but Michael was lost at sea.”
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