“Luke, get out of there.” Zain started the SUV’s engine below.
“I can’t. I’m being watched.” Luke’s voice was pitched so low it was hard to hear over the coms.
“I’m signaling Jer we’re on the move.” Mason could only hope the CIA was in range. Jerry couldn’t tell Mason anything for sure, but he’d wanted the full report on their movements and current location, down to their exact longitude and latitude.
“Limo is pulling out.” Travis’ shadow shifted out of the corner of Mason’s eye.
Mason dropped through the fire escape’s opening, grasping the ladder and riding it down a few feet before leaping off onto the pavement next to the SUV.
“Twenty yards and moving fast,” Travis said.
Mason flattened himself against the building wall.
He hated this plan.
“Ten yards.”
Zain revved the SUV’s engine.
The limo lights illuminated the darkened street, casting long shadows in its path.
The SUV shot forward, ramming the front of the limo and pinning it between the truck and one of the cars parked alongside the curb. Metal screeched and at least one tire hissed.
“Go,” Mason bellowed.
He sprinted, hopping over the hood of one car, until he was at the rear door of the limo, gun drawn. Travis on the other side.
“Hands up! Hands up!” Mason jerked the door open and shoved the rifle inside, pointing it inside.
Hannah’s tear-stained face stared up at him. The silver blade of a knife pressed against her throat, a man’s hand dug into her hair.
The knife at her throat got Mason’s blood boiling.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said low, only for her ears.
“You don’t want to do that,” Travis said to the man.
Mason grabbed Hannah’s arm and pulled. Whoever the buyer was, he held on for a moment. Out of the corner of Mason’s eye, he could see Zain at the driver’s side, tossing a gun onto the pavement.
Finally, the buyer released Hannah, but he kept his gaze on Mason.
Hannah pushed up on shaky legs and wrapped her arms around him, a sob shaking her body. As much as he wanted to hold her, console her, this was still a precarious situation. He pushed her behind him, using his body as a shield and backed up a step.
“You made the right choice.” Mason itched to pull the trigger, but there was already enough blood on his hands. This guy, whoever he was, it wasn’t Mason’s place to dole out justice, no matter what he felt.
“Move,” Zain yelled.
A shot pinged off a nearby car.
Mason turned, pushing Hannah in front of him, one hand on her back at all times. They sprinted around the limo and down the street. Travis lagged behind, laying down just enough cover for Mason and Zain to get Hannah going.
They got her.
She was safe.
“Luke?” Mason yelled.
Nothing.
Mason couldn’t make out a reply. There was too much noise.
“Travis, get over here, now!” Zain’s voice was a little distorted in the headset.
Zain already had another SUV idling, waiting for their escape. Mason dove into the back seat, nearly crushing Hannah in the process. Travis barreled in, nearly squashing them all, but they were alive. All of them.
Mason wrapped his arms around Hannah, squeezing her as tight as he dared.
They’d succeeded.
He closed his eyes, breathing a silent prayer.
It was over, for now. There were still others to rescue—but he had her.
“They got Luke,” Travis said, shattering the moment of calm.
Rogelio hauled back and punched the mystery man in the gut.
“Who are you?” he asked again.
“Your uncle.” The man spat a mix of blood and saliva on the floor.
The gunfire outside had died down, but the damage was done. The people in the next room moved around, the concerned noises they made sounding a lot like lost revenue. And somehow, Cruz was going to pin this on him.
People were already calling for cars, getting ready to leave, and the auction wasn’t over yet.
Someone’s head was going to roll over this, and Rogelio didn’t want it to be his. He needed answers, now. A person to blame.
“Who do you work for?” He grabbed a handful of the man’s jacket.
“Your mamma.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Cruz strode into the room.
A cold sweat broke out under Rogelio’s arms. He didn’t have anything to show for the few minutes he’d had with the mystery man.
Fuck.
“Boss—”
“Shut up,” Cruz snapped. He came to a stop a few feet from the prisoner, a sneer on his face. Never a good sign.
“You must be that asshole Cruz everyone’s been talking about.” The black man grinned. One of his eyes was a little swollen, giving him a lopsided expression.
“Who the fuck are you?” Cruz grabbed the man by his jacket, shoving him back, out of the hold of the men at either side.
The black man stumbled, and Cruz kept coming, yelling in the man’s face, landing a punch to the guy’s stomach and jaw. If Rogelio didn’t intervene soon, they wouldn’t have a suspect to question. Cruz’s fits of anger left bodies in his wake.
“Boss, boss?” Rogelio followed, working out how to extract the man from Cruz’s grasp. They needed answers. Not another body.
Cruz wheeled, teeth bared like an animal.
Rogelio back peddled, hands up. Fuck. He’d never forgotten how he’d been promoted. His former boss had taken three bullets to the face for failing to perform his job to Cruz’s expectations. Rogelio didn’t intend on going out the same way.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the black man move. The hair on the back of his neck lifted in an ominous manner. A metallic ping echoed over the other noise.
It all happened in seconds.
Rogelio’s bad feeling intensified. He ducked on instinct, covering his head with his arms.
A blast went off, the concussion of it causing him to stumble. A body sailed over his, feet kicking him in the side. Acrid smoke stung his nose and eyes.
Flash bombs.
This was the worst fucking day.
“What?” both Mason and Hannah said at once.
“Your headset must have malfunctioned,” Zain muttered.
“Luke?” Mason tapped the com unit.
Nothing.
“I can hear him.” Travis’ lips were pressed tight together.
“Oh no...Luke Stiles?” Hannah covered her mouth with her hand.
“We have to go back for him.” There was no question in Mason’s mind. “Get Hannah somewhere safe, then we go back.”
“No, he’ll be dead if you wait. We have to go in now. Cruz will kill him.” Hannah twisted to face him. “Give me a gun.”
“No way.” He’d literally just got her back. The last thing Mason was going to do was escort her back into that hellhole.
“I’m a great shot. You’ve said so yourself. I don’t go in. I stay outside. You get Luke back, we leave.”
What about the others?
He kept that question to himself.
“We can use all the help we can get.” Zain passed a handgun back to Hannah.
“No.” Mason grabbed the gun, but Hannah got to it first. “Are you crazy?”
“Do you want Luke to die?” Zain turned the wheel, winding a path through the city, making some sort of circle around Cruz’s building.
“I can do this,” Hannah said. “Let me do this.”
“You’ve never shot at a person before. The one time you did, you nearly had a panic attack.” Has she forgotten holing up in the bathroom, already?
“That was before they sold me to a psychopath.” She shuddered.
“Killing them won’t make it better.”
“Losing Luke, because of me, won’t make it better, either.”
“Guys,” Z
ain snapped. “Hannah and I will take up positions on the southeast corner of the facility. We will shoot anyone that comes out—wait. Can you hear that?” He held his prosthetic hand to the side of his head, as if he could push the com further into his ear.
“Luke set off a flash bomb. We have to go back now.” Travis pounded the window with his fist.
“Where the hell did he hide a flash bomb?” Mason gaped at his cousin.
Zain turned the wheel hard, pointing them back toward the building. The street was clogged with parked cars. They had to stop almost a full block away.
Travis was right. They didn’t have time to hesitate and argue about the plan. Zain and Travis went first, leaving Mason to stick close to Hannah. He hated this plan from beginning to end. He’d just gotten Hannah back, and now they were about to be apart again—and even worse, she was going into danger with them. It went against every bit of his training, all of his instincts.
“Stay here.” Mason skidded to a stop at the corner, Cruz’s complex just across the street. This was madness. He gripped Hannah’s arms, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, the bruise on her cheek. When this was over...he didn’t know what he’d do.
Hannah launched herself at him, one hand wrapped around his neck, her mouth on his.
The kiss lasted maybe a second before she shoved him away.
“Go. Get Luke.”
Mason pointed at Zain.
“Keep her safe, understand?”
“Will do.” Zain grabbed Hannah’s arm, hauling her up close to the wall. The handgun looked so out of place in her grasp.
“Let’s do this.” Travis strode ahead of Mason.
People were running this way and that. Bursts of muzzle-fire lit up the windows. At least two were busted out already. Men in suits and women in evening gowns scampered for cars or took cover behind anything bigger than a garbage can.
They made it all the way to the entrance across from the building where they’d broken in that morning before any opposition appeared.
Two men stepped into the doorway, guns up.
Mason and Travis fired in unison, the bodies dropped, and they never slowed down.
Mason entered the building first, Travis at his back. A man sat behind a desk, a glasses-wearing, no-combat sort of person. He squeaked, held up his hands, and jabbered so fast Mason couldn’t understand him.
Travis shot the guy with a non-lethal tranq dart, the only one they had. Smoke leaked out from under the door, stinging Mason’s nose. Something was on fire, and in a place this big, with people they knew were trapped—that wasn’t a good sign.
Mason jerked the door to the next room open. Four women shrank back as far as their manacles would allow.
“Travis, keys. We need keys.” He advanced through the room, leaving the women to Travis, and opened the second door.
A wall of fabric, spots of it on fire, crackled right in his face. Mason crouched low, staying under the haze of smoke and blaze, and found an opening.
A group hunkered down behind a portable bar were firing across the room at a cluster of Cruz’s people. Cruz’s people in turn shot at that group, and to Mason’s right, where a single shooter hid behind a brick column.
Luke.
Of course.
Only that guy would manage to start some sort of Mexican civil war during a rescue op.
Mason took aim and fired at who he could only guess were Cruz’s people.
“Luke!” he yelled.
A shot grazed off the concrete at Masons’ feet.
Mason sprinted back behind the flames, skirting the firefight, but they followed him, bullets ripping through the fabric and flame.
“Get out of there, man,” Luke yelled, his voice almost drowned out in the roar of the blaze as it caught the upper floors on fire.
Mason darted around the other side of the curtain, just to Luke’s right.
Mason had a clear sightline into Cruz’s cover.
He shot. Aimed. Shot again, pushing forward, picking them off.
About the time he hit the third or fourth one, they turned and saw him.
A man in a suit with an ugly snarl on his face turned, gun up.
Mason pulled the trigger first.
A flood light shone through the open doors, blinding Mason.
The unmistakable sound of a helo’s blades beating the air.
The flames danced, sent into a frenzy.
Some sort of back-up?
More of Cruz’s people?
Mason turned, aiming at the lights pointed in his face.
“CISEN!”
“CIA!”
“Aw, fuck.” Mason dropped the rifle and held his hands up as men in heavy tactical gear swarmed the place.
The cavalry had arrived, armed with guns and fire extinguishers. Late. But they were there.
Hannah handed out another cup of water, but her heart wasn’t in it.
Where was Mason? Travis? Zain? Luke?
The CIA agents had swept them up unilaterally, uninterested in their reason for being there. She’d been put with the other American prisoners. To a one, they’d been rescued from the fire and the buyers. It was enough of a relief—she could cry. If she’d had enough moisture left in her body. There was no doubt she was dehydrated and running on fumes.
But where was Mason?
She’d been rescued, only to become a prisoner again. This time of her own government.
A man in slacks and a CIA vest opened the door to the large holding room, or whatever it was they were keeping them in.
“Hannah Stevens?” he called out.
“Here!” She held her hand up.
Wait—did she want him to know who she was?
Too late now.
“Come with me?” He waved her to the door.
She followed, her bare feet cold on the tile. The sequins scratched her arms and thighs. In a few places the dress had rubbed her raw—but she was alive. He held the door for her, and closed it after her.
“Sorry about that. Come this way?” He put a hand at her back and guided her through the twisting hallways. Despite the late night, the place was busy. People on phones. Others at white boards.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“This is the CISEN and CIA joint task force building. At least until tomorrow morning when our partnership on this project is dissolved.” He brought her to a back service elevator.
“I don’t understand.”
He called for the lift, then turned to look at her directly for the first time.
“We‘ve been after de la Cruz for a while.”
“Is he going to jail?” She hoped he got the maximum penalty.
“Cruz is dead.”
She stared at the man, shock warring with joy and sadness over the loss of any life.
The elevator dinged, arresting her attention.
“So...what now? Am I under arrest?” She shuffled into the lift. Was this a good idea?
“No, and shit. Sorry. I’m Jerry. I knew Mason back in the day, which is how I got tied up in all this.”
“You—what? I still don’t understand what’s going on.”
“That’s okay.” He grinned. “Mason’s a good guy.”
Well, it was nice to know the guy knew which way to vote. Not that his assessment of Mason mattered to her. She’d lost all sense of objectivity where he was concerned the moment he said he was coming to Mexico.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
Cruz was dead. Her nightmare was over. Why was she still so numb?
“You’re going home,” Jerry replied.
But where was Mason?
The lift opened into what looked like some sort of underground garage before she could get another question out. A couple cars waited in front, blocking her view of the rest of the space, but she could see a cluster of men.
One man turned—Mason.
Her heart jumped up into her throat and the tears she hadn’t been able to shed leaked out of her eye
s.
He was there.
He came for her.
He saved her.
And he’d waited for her.
Mason crossed the distance in the blink of an eye and scooped her up. She clung to him, the nightmare finally over.
At least until her father found out.
Mason had never seen anything more beautiful then Hannah’s face. He squeezed her close, blocking out the scent of smoke that clung to her hair. If he had his way, she’d never be anywhere near trouble again.
“Now.” Jerry’s voice broke Mason’s one-track mind. “I don’t have to say this again. You were never here, got it?”
“Got it.”
Mason gently put Hannah down, but kept an arm around her waist. He was not letting her out of his sight—or grasp—until she was home. Hell, he’d even go to the bathroom with her if it meant keeping her close. Nothing else was happening to her.
“Jer, did you get a chance to look at the logs?” Mason asked. He knew they had a tight window to make it out before the CIA net closed too tight and they were stuck as part of the proceedings. Neither the Mexican government or the CIA would look too kindly on their rescue attempts, especially if Abraham got brought up.
“Yeah, that’s some record.” Jerry nodded, hands in his pockets. “We already have a couple guys digging into them.”
“Pass along our information to the families. We may be able to cut a deal, help them out.” As good as it felt to help all the women they had—there were still others out there.
“You think the CIA can’t do it?” Jerry’s gaze narrowed.
Mason wasn’t in the mood for Jerry’s leg pulling. They both knew what the score was. “Some of those people live in non-extradition countries that won’t play nice with you. Just let us know if we can help.”
“Will do.” Jerry waved. “You’ve got a plane to catch, and she needs shoes.”
“Shit.” Mason bent and picked Hannah up without permission. He’d known she was barefoot. What had he been thinking? And why the fuck had Jerry let her walk through a building without any damn shoes on?
“I can walk.” Hannah looped her arms around his neck.
Her eyelids were drooping, and one side of her face looked a little puffy. Hadn’t the medics looked her over?
“Humor me.” He carried her to the SUV waiting to ferry them to the airport and set her carefully on the middle seat before climbing in to sit next to her. Shoes were waiting in the floorboard. A pair of flip-flops someone had offered up.
Dangerous in Training (Aegis Group, #2) Page 22
