by Zoe Dawson
Now she looked agitated, and he so wanted to still her hand with his own but touching her again wasn’t a good idea. Touching led to kissing.
“No. They didn’t make any demands.”
“Maybe there wasn’t time for that,” she said, looking hopeful.
If it was a money thing, maybe they wouldn’t try again, and the threat would go away. She was scared. That was a given. Anyone would be scared when there were unknown foreign men trying to capture you. He wanted nothing more than to neutralize this threat to her, but he also didn’t want to sugarcoat the danger she was in either. She was just too smart for that and talking down to Sky wasn’t an effective way to get her cooperation. “There’s a very slight possibility that they were after money, but I don’t buy it.”
“Then, what do you think?”
He leaned forward, capturing her gaze and lowering his voice. “This is just my theory, and I haven’t proved anything concrete right now. I’d like to get my hands on one of the men who took you to get a confirmation, but I think that they kidnapped you for a singular purpose.”
“Linked to my research then, if not the actual research?”
“Not necessarily. It could be related to your background of knowledge.” There was no way he was going to drop the ball on this case. One way or the other, he was going to get to the bottom of this. He’d examine later why it suddenly meant a hell of a lot more to him than a normal case would. “Kidnappings are, for the most part, the result of a long and carefully orchestrated process. They don’t happen in a vacuum. There are almost always some indications or warnings that the process is in motion prior to the actual abduction. Do you remember anything out of the ordinary?”
“I have to confess that I’m pretty vigilant,” she said. She took a forkful of her salad and chewed. “I have reason to be. Not only because of my sensitive and classified research.”
The torment in her eyes made his heart jump a bit. “You’ve been abducted before.”
She hauled in a tight, unsteady breath for a memory that had to be pretty terrifying.
Her gaze didn’t waver, though, and he admired her for that. She was direct and intent. “Yes, when I was six, after I entered kindergarten. The Chinese authorities got wind of my ability. Without my parents’ knowledge, they tested my IQ. They then showed up one day out of the blue and took me right off the sidewalk in front of my house to a place that looked like a barracks. It was a special program.” She had dropped her fork, her face scored by the same deep torment.
His gut twisted for her, understanding a little bit more about her life. Kidnapped at six, isolated, thrust into an adult world as a child, too smart to not understand that she had the potential to be exploited. No wonder she hated being controlled.
“How did your parents get you back?” His fists clenched, thinking about her being taken and used like a human computer. Bent and twisted for the Chinese government’s use.
“Amnesty International. They made a huge stink. My father was Filipino, and my mother was American and a lawyer. She fought it hard and there was quite a bit of fallout. The Chinese government relented and let me go home. Six months later, my mother was killed in a car accident. My father was charged with the murder. He ran, and through some family channels in the Philippines, he smuggled me out to a good friend in DC, and they changed my name. But my father was caught, arrested and convicted. He died last year still in prison. I wanted to get him released, but he insisted that I was to go on with my life.”
Vin should stay detached. Step away from the raw emotions churning in him, but he couldn’t. Even though he’d had so much practice at it while serving in the Marines. Snipers didn’t have emotions. They were blank. The mission was it. That’s all it boiled down to, and it was a hard-and-fast, never-take-your-eyes-off-the-ball rule. He reached out, curled his fingers around her hand and squeezed. “That must have been very difficult for you.”
She stilled against his touch. “Being exploited…it’s something sure to set me off.” She worked her hand free and sat back as if his touch was way too distracting. “Anyway, my father’s friend took me in and homeschooled me. She watched me like a hawk. I grew up always looking over my shoulder.”
There was more there in her eyes, a complex emotion that tugged at his heart. He wanted her to feel comfortable enough with him to talk about it. “You saw no signs that you were being watched or followed?”
“Nothing that looked out of the ordinary to me.”
“As we have noted several times in past analyses, one of the secrets of counter-surveillance is that most criminals are not very good at conducting surveillance. The primary reason they succeed is that no one is looking for them. But that wasn’t the case here. We’re dealing with pros.”
“They were very organized. In and out of my house very fast. I hid in the attic, but that Death Head leader of them heard me make a creaking noise, and he…he came up the ladder. I was trapped. I tried to fight, but he was too strong….”
“The hypodermic…” he trailed off and fell silent, getting angry all over again at the thought of anyone hurting her. “In deliberate—as opposed to opportunistic—kidnappings based on financial or political motives, the kidnappers generally follow a process that is very similar to what we call the terrorist attack cycle—target selection, planning, deployment, attack, escape and exploitation.”
She nodded, biting her lip. “We know they had a particular purpose. We just don’t know what it is.”
“I bet they were beyond pissed when you jumped out that window.”
A small smile curved her lips, her eyes flashing. “He was shouting his head off and probably called me a bitch.”
He chuckled. “That took guts, lady. You were quite fierce.”
“Yes, I was. You had to cuff me.”
He smiled again, and they shared that moment of triumph when he’d rescued her right out from under them.
She looked thoughtful, as if the wheels were turning in her head. “Kidnappers, like other criminals, look for patterns and vulnerabilities that they can exploit. Their chances for success increase greatly if they are allowed to conduct surveillance at will and are given the opportunity to thoroughly assess the security measures employed by the target,” she said. “They had to have been watching me. I never saw them.”
She was a fast study.
“For a high-level target like me and their apparent skill, they must have been a team of specialists.”
He nodded. “These guys must have been good if you didn’t see them. Military good. I’m still betting on mercenaries.”
“That is downright terrifying to think such elite men are after me. I wouldn’t have a chance against them. I know I’ve been contrary, Vin, but I’m glad you’re here.” She looked at her watch. “I should get back.”
He’d finished all his lunch, but she’d left most of her salad and all of her soup.
“How about you eat a little more? The world isn’t going to crumble in the next fifteen minutes if you take the time to eat.”
“You managing me again, Vin?”
“What if I was?”
“I’d tell you that I’m capable of taking care of myself better than you could imagine.”
“But you’re going to eat anyway, right?”
“Did you go to charm school to learn that?”
He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face at the slight give in her voice. “Yes, ma’am. I was at the top of my class.”
She laughed and shook her head. “I bet you were.”
At the end of the day, when they got back to the loft, Miller and Strong were already there ready to relieve him so he could sleep.
After taking care of their stomachs, she retreated to her room with her laptop in tow. He watched TV with the two agents and then turned in himself while they watched over them both.
He wasn’t sure what woke him up. But the moment he was awake, fully awake, a trick he’d learned as a sniper, something didn’t feel ri
ght. Something was wrong.
He pushed himself out of the bed soundlessly and slipped on his clothes. Reaching for his firearm was automatic—a Sig Sauer DAK with a reset trigger that required very little pressure to fire. Racking the slide and chambering a round was deliberate, something he usually did before he fell asleep. Marines were always prepared.
But he’d been thinking about Sky and her unmentionables—on her, off her. He’d hoped to hell this wasn’t indicative of the way things were going to be—that he’d be so preoccupied he wouldn’t be able to think straight. When he was guarding someone, he did not fall asleep without his gun cocked, locked, loaded and less than an arm’s length away.
He started toward her bedroom door when he saw Miller’s body sprawled in the hall, his throat open and blood still spreading away into a pool around his head.
Adrenaline instantly drop-loaded into his veins, switching on every survival and protective instinct he had. He tightened his hold on the Sig, bringing it up, wrapping his right hand around his left on the gun’s grip, his gaze raking the area.
He went into sniper mode. He couldn’t think about Miller’s pretty wife or his two kids who would have to grow up without their father. He released everything except his senses, his reflexes honed to a razor edge.
The hall was clear, and Skylar’s door was closed. He ran his gaze over Miller again and caught a glimpse of a polished shoe just jutting out from the edge of the wall. They got Strong, too, he realized.
He listened for a breath, for a step, for any little snick of sound that would tell him where the killers were, where Sky was, hopefully still here.
Damn. If she’d been taken from the loft, the odds of him finding her this time were small. They would have made sure of it.
Then he heard it, the sound of keys on a keyboard being pressed, and relief flooded through him.
Vin saw a shadow slide across the window in the living room, and he moved to intercept, silently, quickly, across the open wooden floor. He was waiting for the bastard, his knife now in his hand, when the guy came around the wall.
Shooting him with the Sig would have done the job, but the gun was loud. The noise would alert any other kidnappers who were in the loft or outside.
The loft was big, took up a lot of floor space with many closed doors.
The five-inch deadly combat blade was just as efficient and far quieter, but there was always the possibility that the guy would fight back. Which he did, instantly countering Vin’s attack.
Vin could feel the man’s desperation as he struggled, but Vin had no sympathy and no remorse. The son of a bitch was fighting for his life, just like Vin would have. But this guy had killed Miller and Strong in cold blood.
The kidnapper got in a good hit with his elbow, catching Vin right in the damned bullet graze on his side. White-hot pain flashed over him like a brand. Stars sparkled in front of his eyes, but he didn’t make a sound, didn’t let go, and didn’t let up. The guy bucked and struggled, until Vin body-slammed him hard into the doorjamb and stunned him enough to wrestle him to the floor. He got in one deep cut to the guy’s gut and jerked the blade upward—hard.
As added insurance, Vin grasped the kidnapper’s head and twisted, hard and fast, breaking the guy’s neck. The sound was clearly identifiable. He heard the snap loud and clear.
So did Sky.
Her gasp brought his head around.
She was standing in the ambient light from her open bedroom door, staring right at him, frozen in shock. The look of horror on her face did absolutely nothing to ease the rush of adrenaline coursing through him, jacking him up. He knew he looked fiercely violent, kneeling on a guy he’d just brutally killed. The guy had gone down, and except for whatever screwup had tipped the guy off and the resulting grappling around, Vin had taken him down almost without a sound. If there were other gunmen in the loft, they didn’t know he was on the hunt.
But they would have heard her soft cry. It was quite audible, and when he saw a shadow materialize behind her, he drew his Sig, his knee still firmly in the dead kidnapper’s back.
Sky’s eyes widened, the blood draining from her face. He would have to make the time to explain to her that when a man pointed a gun at her, that was her cue to run, duck, drop down and grab some real estate. The deer-in-the-headlight-stare would only freeze her in place for a kill shot. But it was all over before she could have moved. The kidnapper brought up his own automatic weapon, but Vin was already squeezing the hair-trigger twice on his weapon, rapid-fire—precise heart shots. The guy dropped like a stone behind her.
Well, that would do it. He’d just alerted anyone in the vicinity that someone was discharging a firearm—more likely any backup baddies waiting for their buddies to capture Sky and haul her out of there.
Aiming at the unmoving guy’s head, he rose to his feet and, standing between the man and Sky, fired off another bullet. He wasn’t taking any chances.
In the next split second, he grabbed her arm, rushing her down the hall and away from the light before she could get her mouth closed. Holding her close, he shielded her off to his right side, and, as he passed, he squeezed off another head shot into the first kidnapper he’d killed. Neither of the bastards were ever getting up again.
Turning her around, he hustled her toward the front door. He took a few precious minutes grabbing their coats. Jamming his feet into his shoes, he urged her toward hers.
Shrugging into his coat, his hand on the knob, he waited until she had her boots on, then her coat. He pulled her out into the hall and raced toward the elevator, but stopped dead when it dinged, her small body slamming into his back. Reinforcements?
He wasn’t going to wait to find out. He headed toward the stairwell, but when he started to go down, he heard voices. They had effectively blocked all paths out of the building. There was only one way to go. Up.
He switched directions, and she stumbled with a soft cry. The voices got more agitated, and it was easy to clearly make out the Russian.
Clasping her hand tightly in his, he gave Sky a quick glance. She was still in shock, her face white, her expression dazed.
He was moving too fast for conversation, which was just as well. The last few minutes had been pretty intense. He was in full-out battle mode, and all his survival instincts were kicking in. In the back of his mind he was aware this situation was completely outside her realm of experience. But there was no time for questions, emotions, fear or her shock right now. It was time to move and keep moving until he had her safe. If they were caught…well, he didn’t want to think about that.
When he hit the door to the roof, he pulled her behind him and waited, listening, and trying damned hard to hear anything beyond her breathing. Sky was hyperventilating. There wasn’t anything he could do about that now, except say under his breath, “Try to calm your breathing.”
She started and made an effort. He heard nothing behind the roof door or anything that indicated they’d placed someone on the roof.
It really didn’t matter. He had no choice—he was going through.
He’d cased this whole area from top to bottom. He knew where the ladder to the fire escape was from the roof. He knew there was a renovation of the second half of the building going on, and that building butted up against this one.
He could only hope they didn’t have the roof covered. If he was planning this job, he would have made sure there was no way for his quarry to get away. That meant a sniper.
He pulled the door open just a crack and swore. It was snowing—no, dammit, that was freezing rain, the soft whoosh of the tiny ice balls loud in the night. The roof looked icy. A gust of frigid wind blew into the hallway and froze him to the bone.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black knit hat. He slid it over her head and cupped her face gently. “We’re going out. Hold on to me.”
She nodded, terror in her eyes, but he felt the courage in her fingers as she grabbed his forearm and squeezed.
He couldn’t
hesitate. They were right behind them. He grabbed her hand and stepped out onto the roof, slamming the door behind them. He tried to jam the lock by hitting it three times with the butt of his pistol. His eyes on the fire escape ladder, he took off at a run, hoping like hell they didn’t go careening off the roof, or this would be over very quickly.
The cold went through her, knocking her backward on her feet. She gulped in a great lungful of frozen air, and the pain of it almost dropped her to her knees.
The roof was slick with ice, and she felt almost sick with the sudden, awful cold, but he wouldn’t let her slow down for an instant to catch her breath.
Lungs burning, heart pounding, she held tight to his hand. He wasn’t even breathing hard, and she could hardly breathe at all. He still had the gun in his hand, hadn’t once let down his guard and was aware of everything. She trembled, her stomach roiling after what she’d just seen.
Then she heard a ping above the sound of the rush of sleet. When he grunted, something wet and warm splashed on to her face.
Someone was shooting at them! Vin was hit!
He dragged her behind him, turning in one fluid motion, and the gun in his hand recoiled three times. There was a cry, and then he was running again as if his blood wasn’t decorating her face.
She was trying with all her might to keep her terror at bay, but he never hesitated; everything he did was calm, collected and precise.
Sure-footed, he raced across the roof, through a maze of air conditioners, ventilation equipment and a blinding, swirling mess of sleet, keeping her firmly in tow as she lost traction several times, but he steadied her. She had to keep her feet under her, or they would be caught. She didn’t want to think what would happen to Vin.
A banging came from behind them and then a crash as the sound of the door thumping open had him making a sudden, lightning-quick change of direction. Her boots slid again, and she slipped, landing against him with enough force to send them both tumbling.
“Hold on!” he ground out through clenched teeth, falling into a slide and taking her with him, his arm coming around her.
