by Zoe Dawson
No one saw the deadly firepower in his hand as he shoved his way through the brightly lit, writhing bodies.
As soon as he reached the edge of the crowd and the stairwell, his heart stuttered when he saw the light illuminated an exit. Did they go out this way?
Kinley. The anguished cry echoed in his head. He had to find her and Daniel. Cold fury took over.
Which way had they taken her?
He looked up the stairs and back at the door. He had a split second to make a decision that could mean life or death for them all.
They wouldn’t kill them, not right off, he told himself. The cartel was probably searching for information about Montoya, just like they were, but he was sure they wouldn’t be gentle with her in any way.
He took off running, taking the stairs two and three at a time. At the first landing, there was a hallway and several doors, some open, others just hanging by the hinges. He checked every apartment, all gutted and trashed, except for the last one that had some dilapidated sofa in it and an intact coffee table where kids were doing drugs.
Beau swore under his breath, finished checking the other doors and went back to the stairs—knowing he had nine more floors to go and that every minute she was out of his sight put her deeper in danger.
He had no choice but to endure from one minute to the next.
He might have been discharged. But once a SEAL, always a SEAL. SEALs never gave up and he was a frogman to the core, a SEAL with mayhem in mind. Murder and mayhem. He was trained in the art of stealth and killing. He had a warrior’s soul. All in, all the time, and he wasn’t losing her. No way was he losing her. The men who had taken Kinley were going to die.
Kinley’s cheek stung where one of the men had slapped her in the club to get her moving. He shoved her in the middle of the back and Daniel looked mutinous for a moment, but she shook her head.
She still had her gun in the holster concealed beneath her skirt. The one thing about men would always remain true—they constantly underestimated a woman.
She stumbled, going down to one knee, reaching for her weapon.
The guy that looked Middle Eastern grabbed her by the hair and hauled her up. She elbowed him in the ribs and turned, but the contact grabbed her wrist and twisted. She tried to counter, ducking a punch and stepping down hard with the heel of her shoe. Daniel realized what was happening and lunged at the Middle Eastern thug. They tussled, both of them fighting frantically for their lives. A shot rang out. It was loud in the hallway. For a minute Kinley couldn’t breathe.
The Middle Eastern man grabbed her around the middle and hauled her back against his body. Immobilized by the goon, the contact easily ripped the gun out of her grip. Then the man who held her tightly spoke, his accent not Spanish, the language unmistakably Arabic.
She was in the fog again—those men speaking to each other, the gunfire making her run like a scared rabbit, getting turned around. The freezing fog wrapped around her like a blanket. The everyday, familiar sights of the street lay mysterious, hiding, looming out from the whitened haze at the last minute, like images from some half-forgotten dream. Her lungs stinging from the cold, wet air. The fog and fear became one, settling coldly, chilling deep to the bone.
It was the same language. She was sure of it. Panic, stark and razor sharp, skittered across every nerve ending she had. Nausea coursed through her, and she had to fight being sick.
She’d never forget that day, or the man who had murdered her father, trashed their town house and taken his trident. That meant this man who was holding her wasn’t just a Las Espadas, he was part of el Ajeer’s Sons of the Republic. She had no illusions about what they were capable of. Drug lords were predictable and brutal, but el Ajeer’s men were butchers and cold-blooded killers with very little respect for Americans and even less for women.
Beau would be coming for them. She had no doubt. None. All she and Daniel had to do was survive.
Music, subdued but still discordant, coming up from below made the building hum around her, telling her she was still near that underground club they’d dragged them through until she’d started to struggle, and that goon had hit her.
Beau couldn’t be far behind, a few minutes at most.
Daniel rammed the man holding her, jarring her loose. She scrambled to her feet and took off running down the hallway. She got all of ten feet before she was hit from behind.
The contact landed on her, taking her down, and she cried out.
“Leave her alone,” Daniel shouted and there were the sounds of a struggle. Then he had her by the hair again and when he jerked her up, she saw Daniel lying in the hallway, the blood stain growing, his eyes stricken, and his lungs pumping for oxygen. The thug stood over him with a knife.
Kinley realized they were as good as dead unless Beau got here soon. They were now helpless, Daniel in critical condition.
The man screamed at the contact in Arabic. Kinley had no idea what he was saying, but the contact went pale, very, very pale.
Then she caught it, the name—el Ajeer.
Oh, God! He was in Cuba?
Was he coming here?
The Middle Easterner roughly pulled Daniel up, and he stumbled against the man. She tried to go to him, but the contact tightened his hold in her hair.
They dragged her out of the hallway and slammed her into a chair inside one of the trashed apartments. She didn’t know what floor she was on.
She did know she was losing the feeling in her arms. They’d jerked them behind the back of the chair and tied her with a plastic flex cuff. They’d also tied her around the waist and secured both her ankles to the legs of the chair. Like the rest of the building, the apartment had been ransacked, with its few shabby contents in pieces and the walls broken through.
Tall and with mean eyes, the contact had propped Daniel against the wall. The bloodstain had spread and dripped, and it had pooled beneath his hip. She was shaking as she met his eyes and she saw that he knew he wasn’t going to make it.
“I’m sorry.”
“Hang in there,” she said firmly.
The goon who had been carrying her paced about. If he meant to scare her, it was working. She was gasping too hard and too fast, and she made a conscious effort to slow her breathing before she passed out. Her mouth had dried up from the fear, a distinctly metallic taste on her tongue.
Beau would find her. He was coming. She knew it. All she had to do was stall. Hopefully it would be quickly enough to save Daniel. He looked gray, his eyes glassy, sweat running off him in rivulets.
She’d never been in this situation, this helpless. She couldn’t move, and no amount of pleading was going to get her out of this, not with the thug throwing the knife to the contact.
Oh, God. Oh, God.
The contact smiled, his lips thinning cruelly. The blade in his hand gleamed, the edges looking lethally sharp. The rest of his face was just as malicious as the look in his eyes. Cold-blooded killer. She shivered hard and he laughed low and vicious. The goon smiled as he slapped the blackjack menacingly. Both men were sweating like Daniel.
She was drenched. The only sound in the room was Daniel’s harsh breathing and the sound of her own frantic heartbeat in her ears.
“You will tell me what I want to know. If you do not, I will cut you. Be a shame to disfigure that beautiful face. You're going to need those lips to smile.”
His voice was cold and flat as he spoke. The goon used the blackjack to give her stinging slaps on either side of her face.
“Who are you?”
She looked at Daniel, but he was staring into space. She could barely contain her panic. He was dying and there was nothing she could do for him. She was on her own. Stall. She had to stall. “Special Agent Kinley Cooper, Petty Officer Second Class. United States Coast Guard.”
The contact snorted and turned to look at the goon. “You don’t look like no agent to me. What the hell is the Coast Guard doing in Cuba?” He slid his hand against her knee and pushed up her
skirt.
“I’m telling the truth,” she hissed, trying and failing to move away from him. She was immobile.
“Maybe I don’t need to cut you after all. I can think of something much more interesting.”
“No!” The shout came from Daniel as he lunged up from the floor and slammed into the contact, who lost his balance and in turn stumbled into her, knocking her over. Her head hit the floor, stunning her. The breath was knocked out of her. She’d landed hard on her shoulder. Daniel was fighting like a madman, his fists punishing.
The goon went to him, dragged Daniel off and shoved him back, then shot him point blank.
The two men disappeared from her view. Tears filled her eyes at the horror of watching the life drain out of Daniel’s eyes, made it hard for her to breathe as fear clutched her by the throat.
“No,” she sobbed.
The contact materialized, cutting off her view of Daniel. He grabbed her by the hair, dragging her face close to his. “What are you looking for?”
“Diego Montoya,” she rasped out between sobs. “We’re looking for a picture of him to identify him. We think he’s in the US after hijacking a Coast Guard cutter,” she said, quickly.
The contact looked up at the goon. “Bastard is a dead man. He’s in the US.”
She tried to breathe, her gaze darting to Daniel, so pale, so still. Just like her father. The blade glinted in the light from the hallway.
The contact shifted the knife to her throat.
And then he wasn’t there.
Two shots sounded in rapid succession, deafening blasts in close quarters. The contact jerked away from her and the knife clattered to the floor in front of her, followed by the splattering of blood and the sound of two bodies falling.
The goon was screaming. Someone else shouted something she couldn’t make out through the ringing in her ears. She couldn’t see anything but the knife, blood and Daniel.
The contact was dead, she had no doubt, and she was trapped. She tried to pull free, then froze as a dark shadow passed overhead.
The goon’s screams turned to gasping sobs. She heard a struggle, heard the loud crack of bone, then the screams were silent.
Shadows moved and a chill went down her spine. Let it be Beau.
Please let it be Beau, she thought, the words bouncing around her brain as every breath became harder to draw. The smell of blood filled the air, and a sob of pure panic broke free from her throat. She couldn’t breathe, and with her full weight on it, her arm felt like it was breaking. She tried to turn her head.
The shadow passed over her again, stealing the faint light, plunging her into utter darkness. A man bent over her. She could feel the weight of his presence, hear his breathing. Oh, God. If it was someone else after information… With a soft grunt, the man shoved the contact farther away. The faint stream of light from the hall returned, and she saw a bent knee and the drape of a blue shirt. She closed her eyes in complete and utter relief even as every muscle in her body hurt.
She wanted to talk, but her mouth was too dry as she watched blood running across the floor, glistening in the low light.
“Cher, I got you,” he said. “I’ll have you free in a second.” His voice was rough-edged, rock-steady.
Beau.
The second wave of relief made her weak. He sliced through her bonds, first her hands, then her waist and each of her ankles, each cut a single, swift stroke. She tried not to think about the blood on the floor, about what he’d done to save her.
But it was far too late for Daniel.
Beau pulled the chair away from her, but she couldn’t move. Her arms and legs were numb. “Come on,” Beau said, hauling her up to a sitting position. She slipped her arms around his neck, hanging on to him.
“You’re safe. Stay put for a minute.”
He went directly to Daniel and pressed his fingers to his neck. He waited for a moment and then sighed heavily. Silently, he closed Daniel’s eyes.
He went and searched each man thoroughly, heedless of the bloody mess. Every movement was controlled, his actions swiftly executed and efficient. He had both men stripped of their possessions and was back by her side in less than a minute.
“You okay?” he asked.
When she didn’t immediately answer, he cupped her chin and looked directly into her eyes. His were steady, warm, so beautifully blue.
She nodded, a single, automatic movement.
“Good, that’s my cher.”
The murmur of voices coming down the hall made him stiffen and spin toward the door. Her adrenaline spiked, and she tried to get to her feet. He grabbed her around the waist and helped her up, guiding her quickly through an opening in the wall where there once had been a door.
They retreated into the shadows, using the wreckage of the dark room for cover. The only escape route was the shattered window, leaving the interior open to the weather and the wind, blowing the smell of spicy food and the pungent odor of the ocean.
There was no furniture, just piles of trash and junk. Beau hadn’t let her go, kept his arm securely around her waist.
She worked on getting her equilibrium back. She wished she had her gun. The sound of laughter in the hall indicated no threat. Probably some of those punk rockers from the party below looking for a place to do drugs.
She didn’t let down her guard, though, not for a second, because Beau was taut against her. Every muscle in his body was battle-ready for whoever came through the door. She was so tense that she felt like she was going to snap.
In another couple of seconds, Beau’s instincts were rewarded. A new set of voices came down the hall speaking Arabic.
She sucked in a breath.
Her blood ran cold. She would know that voice anywhere, in any language. She heard it in her nightmares, sneaking up on her in the dark, suffocating her in a blanket of white as he laughed and hunted her.
More voices joined in, more than she could distinguish from each other, all of them getting closer to the apartment. She and Beau were horribly outnumbered—and oh, God, he’d killed two of el Ajeer’s men.
An arc of light sliced through the gash in the wall, and a man swore low and mean.
Without thinking she grabbed his arm, dragging him toward the window. In the back of her mind, she felt sick at having to leave Daniel behind. It hurt like hell. Looking out, she swallowed hard. The fire escape was intact but looked far from stable. They had no choice—they were going to be discovered any moment.
Chapter Twelve
Beau followed Kinley out the window and swore, catching her as the structure wobbled beneath them. He had to give her credit for using their only escape route without hesitation and bravery, but this wasn’t a viable option for long.
They were trapped and he couldn’t go commando on the guys back there. So that meant they had to run. Again. The fire escape was a temporary solution.
But he couldn’t risk Kinley. She was hurt and still feeling the effects of being threatened. She wasn’t used to or prepared for this, but so far, she’d held her own ground.
He hated like hell to leave Daniel behind. It didn’t sit well with him to ever leave a fallen man. But in this case, secrecy was their ally. He didn’t want el Ajeer and the Las Espadas to identify them and start hunting for them. They needed their anonymity to figure out another route to the doctor’s identity now that Daniel’s “contact” had turned out to be bogus.
If he’d been alone, he would have gone into stealth mode and taken out every one of them.
The whole metal structure swayed and buckled, grinding metal against brick. They fought for balance on the stairs as they moved down one by one. They had only gone down two floors before he decided that it was time to get off. They couldn’t jump to the ground. They had come from the seventh floor and a five-story fall would probably kill them or injure them badly. There couldn’t be much holding it together with the way it wobbled and rattled, and whatever was holding it together was probably really rusty. The suppress
ed shots from above him that pinged off the outside rail spurred him on. Yeah, it was time to bail.
He busted in a window, using his shoe to clear the glass away, then hurried her through before he ducked inside. More gunfire erupted right near them. Kinley clutched him, losing her balance. What a cluster.
Once she was stable, he grabbed her hand. They moved fast as they jumped through openings in walls and through barely-there doorways, trying to avoid the hallways. Most of the walls separating the abandoned apartments had been at least partially destroyed. Others had doors in them. They had gone quite a ways before they hit the end of the line and had to chance using the hallway.
Kinley was a hell of a trooper. She’d proven herself competent, held out until he’d gotten to her, and those bastards—he wanted to kill them all over again—had hurt her. The echo of the rage was still thick in his chest. As a SEAL he didn’t go into battle with fury. He went into battle calmly collected.
But when he’d seen what they were doing, how they were threatening her with a knife and assault, he’d lost it. Even though Daniel was dead, he owed him gratitude for that last bit of defiance that had given him enough time to get there. The gunshot had led him right to her.
Beau needed to get a grip and keep his head in the game right now. He needed to get his fiercely intense emotions under control. No matter that his heart had almost stopped.
He stopped just inside the door and slammed his back up against the wall, his arms tightening around her waist.
A snick of sound at the back of the room had him whirling around, the HK leveled and deadly, his finger on the trigger.
Two kids stumbled out of the shadows, completely oblivious to the fact that their lives were dangling on a thread.
They’d been making out, according to their flushed faces and disheveled clothes, and Beau felt like his heart was in a vise.
“¡Váyanse!” he growled.
They didn’t need to be told twice. Staring down the handgun’s barrel, their eyes widened. The guy wrapped his arm protectively around the girl and they shot out of the room, heading away from the searching Las Espadas.
