Intrusion (29 page)

“Please be there, Margaret,” she chanted. “Please be okay.”

With each passing ring, Audra’s grip on the phone tightened.
Come on. Pick up the phone.

The tenth ring cut off mid-tone. “He—hello?”

“Margaret? Is that you?”

A pause. “Audra?”

“Oh, thank God. It is you.” Tears of relief slipped down her cheeks. “I was so worried that something happened to you and—Margaret, I really need your help.”

“Where are you?”

“At a motel in Buckeye. I…I could use a ride.”

***

Forty-five minutes later Margaret pulled into the parking lot.

Audra yanked the door open and slid into the minivan. She pulled the older woman into her arms, the weight of the familiar embrace brought tears to her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re all right.” She let go of Margaret to wipe her cheeks. “Peterson has Cam. He’s going to kill him if I don’t bring him the armor.”

Margaret frowned, driving away from the motel. “Jonathan Peterson? But Russell—”

“Is dead.”

Margaret’s hands shook against the steering wheel. “Dead?” Her voice quavered. “How?”

Audra reiterated what little she’d heard. “It’s all over the news.”

“I haven’t turned on the TV. I couldn’t. Not after what I’d done.” She explained how Coburn had held her hostage and how she’d escaped from Coburn Industries hours before Audra and Cam had broken into the facility. “I didn’t know where to turn. I was so afraid that Russ would find out what I’d done and come after me.”

“What have you done, Margaret?”

“I took the armor.” She said the words so softly that if Audra hadn’t been leaning forward in her seat she’d have missed them.

Margaret swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “God, I can’t believe Russ is dead. After what he did, I know I shouldn’t care. I trusted him and he…but I still loved him.”

And love had its own rules. A lesson Audra had only succeeded in learning in Cam’s arms. Longing stole her breath. She wanted his arms around her right now. Wanted to hear the tender rumble of his voice and feel the weight of his grey eyes on her. She wanted him to push her into sharing her life with him and she was so worried she wouldn’t have the chance to tell him.

“I don’t know why Coburn did what he did,” Audra said gently, “but he wasn’t the only one after the armor. I think Jonathan killed Russ. And he’ll do the same to Cam if I—”

“You need to go to the police.”

“No. No police. Cam will end up dead for sure.”

“And so will you.” Margaret braked for a red light and turned to stare at Audra with wet brown eyes. “Don’t put yourself at risk this way.”

“I have to.” She reached over and touched Margaret’s arm. “I love him.”

“All the more reason to involve the police, Audra. Cameron would not want you in harm’s way. Delivering the armor without any backup goes too far.”

“I’m not going to deliver it. I’m going to wear it.” Where had that plan come from? The words had just popped out of her mouth, but now that she thought of the idea, it stuck. “And you’re right. I need the police. But not right away. If you go to the police in my stead I’ll have time to negotiate Cam’s release with Jonathan before they arrive.”

Margaret floored the gas pedal and the minivan shuddered up to speed. “We don’t even know if the armor will perform the way it’s intended to. It hasn’t undergone the final testing.”

“I know.” But she also knew her armor better than anyone. It was strong. And though she hadn’t tested the completed suit, she had done exhaustive tests on each of the components. “It’s a chance I’ll have to take.”

“You’re determined to do this, aren’t you?” Margaret braked at another stoplight and stared straight ahead. Her teeth grazed her bottom lip.

Audra held her breath. “Please, Margaret. Say you’ll help me.”

With a sigh, Margaret flipped on her blinker. “We’d better pick up the armor.”

“Where is it?”

“The only safe place I could think of. The dry cleaner’s.”

Chapter Twenty

Cam’s head felt like an exploded mortar shell. He forced his eyes open, the fluorescent light above him searing his retinas with their death rays. Something warm and wet trickled into his ear. Blood.

Where the hell was he? The smell of gasoline and oil filled his nostrils, making his stomach heave, but at least it jolted his memory. Garage. Dumb ass plan gone wrong. Audra on the phone, her voice broken.

Stupid. So damn stupid.

He’d gone off like some turtlehead rookie, thinking he could single handedly save the day, and instead wound up putting Audra in danger.

Nice going, dickwad.

He only hoped she’d heed his plea and stay far away from this place. Surely she’d realize he wasn’t worth the risk. She was far too smart to try to save his sorry ass. She’d go to the police for protection and they’d keep her safe while he did his best to get himself out of this mess.

He tried to swallow past his parched throat. No use. Cold concrete pressed against his cheek. Was he lying down? Why didn’t he remember? He attempted to wiggle his hands but they were numb from their position behind his back. In fact, his entire body felt numb. Except the parts that were screeching with pain.

He struggled into a sitting position, sweat breaking out on his forehead. His body shook and he sagged against the golf cart, the muscles in his gut contracting with violent force.

Don’t give into it. Suck it up.

He inhaled a long breath and braced himself for the huge dose of nausea he knew was on the way. It rolled over him in massive churning waves forcing him to frantically swallow the bile rushing into his throat.

Get it together.

As soon as Peterson realized Audra wasn’t bringing the armor, he’d tell his men to dispose of Cam. He didn’t have much time. He had to be ready to fight. No, he had to start the fight. Catch them off guard. It was his only chance.

He tugged on the thick chain that bound him to the golf cart. If he could just loosen the sucker enough to slip his hands through it…

Cam gave several vicious tugs to the metal, but it was no use. The goons had wrapped the chain too tightly about his wrists. He clenched his jaw and tried again, succeeding in wrenching a discordant creak from…somewhere.

What the hell?

He twisted his body, trying to get a closer look at the chain. As far as he could tell it appeared intact, but what about the noise? He followed the path of the chain as it wrapped around the golf cart’s bumper.

The bumper.

The six-inch wide strip of metal that wrapped around the rear of the cart didn’t look all that sturdy. Could he yank it off?

He scooted closer to the cart, curled his fingers around the bumper’s edge and pulled. His biceps strained, teeth scraping against each other. The metal creaked some more and even jerked in his hands.

Good. Keep going. Just a little more.

He held his breath and yanked harder, satisfaction flooding through his chest when the metal separated further from the cart.

He had this. One more.

Come on, put some muscle into it.

He repositioned his hands for better leverage, dug his fingers into the ridge of the bumper and pulled with every last drop of his strength. It disengaged in his grip, catching him off balance and sending him tumbling to the floor. His shoulder smacked concrete, the bumper scraping the cement.

The impact knocked his breath for a loop, and he struggled to draw in air as he slid the chain off the bumper and laid the metal aside. He slipped the chain from his hands, shaking them to restore circulation.

Damn it, he needed to feel his hands. He tested a fist, opening and closing his fingers rapidly. A tingle shot up his fingers. Good enough. Palms to the floor, he braced himself and tried to regain his feet. A bolt of pain sizzled across both swollen knees and he collapsed back to the floor.

Shit! How was he going to get out of here when he couldn’t stand?

Stop griping, and just do it.

He swung his arm out and caught the edge of the golf cart. Using it as leverage, he hauled himself to his feet inch by excruciating inch, gritting his teeth against the ache that savaged his legs.

Yeah, it hurt like hell. But he was doing this so Audra would not have to risk her life for his. He’d rather face losing her because of his own stupid actions then losing her to a bullet from Peterson’s gun.

He refused to allow that possibility to become reality.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted something silver and shiny. He turned his head and his gaze lit on a roll of duct tape sitting on the shelf.

Perfect. The desperate man’s cast.

He snagged it into his hands. Bracing his weight against the golf cart, he wound the tape from calf to thigh then repeated the procedure for the other leg. He pushed away from the cart and tested the makeshift brace. It still hurt like hell, and made him look like some sort of Storm Trooper reject, but at least it provided enough structure to keep him on his feet.

Now for a weapon.

He hobbled over to the shelf and scooped a pipe wrench into his hand. Palming its mass, he shuffled to the door. His hand found the knob and turned. Locked. No surprise there. He patted his pockets, searching for the lock pick kit he always kept on him. The lock would be a cinch to—

Aw, screw it. He swung the heavy wrench back then slammed it down on the doorknob. It bent at an awkward angle, a crack fissuring along the top. He twisted the metal until it broke free the rest of the way, then he tossed the knob aside and opened the door.

He stepped outside, the bright sun casting its sharp glare on him from high in the sky. What time was it? How long had he been out cold? He snaked his way around the side of the garage, keeping his back to the wall.

“Where is he?”

He froze. Was that Audra’s voice he’d just heard? He shook his head, trying to dislodge the blood that clogged his ear. Damn it, was his hearing playing tricks on him? He cocked his good ear and listened for her again.

Nothing.

He started to continue toward the front of the house, but after two steps he halted. No, he couldn’t leave. Not until he knew for certain she wasn’t in the house somewhere. He retraced his steps around the side of the garage. Rounding the corner into the backyard, he scanned the deck.

Empty.

“You’ll get the armor when I see him. Here, in front of me. Unharmed.”

Audra’s sharp voice wrung the blood from his heart.
Him.
He choked on the saliva that flooded his throat. His brave, stubborn, scientist had just risked her life to save his.

***

A bead of sweat ran down Audra’s temple. She curled her fingers into fists to stave off the tremors. The armor in its hardened state hugged her skin beneath her clothes, but forced her to move stiffly. Could they tell she was wearing it?

Peterson’s brother aimed the gun at her heart. “We show you Mr. Scott when you show us the armor.”

She dug her feet into the carpet and tried to pretend indifference. “Then I guess we’re at a stand still, aren’t we?”

Her stomach fluttered, creating a wake of unease up her throat. Had Margaret been able to convince the police to investigate? Audra needed to find a way to stall long enough to give them time to get here. But what if the cops didn’t believe Margaret and refused to show up?

She sucked in a breath, but before she had the chance to fully draw it in, Peterson’s brother grabbed her around the throat.

“Your time is up. Where is it?”

“Miloje, enough.” Peterson shoved a hand through his hair. “Bring Mr. Scott here.”

Miloje scowled. He tightened his fingers against her neck for several beats and then released her. She gasped for breath, and as Miloje moved away, the sound of shattering glass burst the tense atmosphere. Cam fell into the room, slivers from the sliding door’s safety glass raining down on him. A pipe wrench flew out of his hand. He sprawled across the carpet, his face planted in the fibers, coughed once and then went still.

“Cam!”

Dried blood caked Cam’s face and he had duct tape around both knees. She wanted to run to him but Miloje blocked her with the threat of his gun. Her heart rammed into overdrive and didn’t start to slow down until Cam finally lifted his head and looked at her with his turbulent grey eyes.

He sported a rug burn across his cheek, and she knew he was fighting the pain in his body, but somehow he managed to lift his mouth into a cocky smile meant just for her.

“Nice of you to save us a trip out to the garage, Mr. Scott.” Peterson had the audacity to crack his own smile at his lame joke as he bent to retrieve the wrench.

“Go to hell, you little piss ant.”

Peterson chuckled and then let fly with his fist. It connected with Cam’s jaw, sending his head snapping backwards. He hauled Cam off the floor and slapped a pair of handcuffs around his wrists.

“Stop it!” Audra took a step forward and stretched out her hand. “Please. Jonathan, why are you doing this?”

He clenched his jaw. “I’m only doing what is necessary to get my armor.”

“But it’s not yours. It belongs to the United States Government.”

“It’s time, brother,” Miloje said as he strode over to a stone fireplace and snatched a gas can from the rug. “We have a plane to catch.”

Peterson nodded. “I will ask one more time. Where is my armor?” His accent became even more pronounced as his impatience grew.

“I—” she broke off, straining to hear any sound of approaching sirens, but outside, all was calm. Where were the police? Shouldn’t they have arrived by now? “The armor is—I—I couldn’t get it.”

She was tempted to confess to wearing it, but whether they succeeded in getting the armor or not, they were going to kill her. At least she still had a chance of surviving a bullet—unless they aimed at her head.

Miloje yanked at her wrists, twisting her arms behind her back to secure them with handcuffs. The metal pinched at her wrists, the bite far worse than when the police had taken her into custody.

Bile crawled up her throat but she forced it back down. She would not give them the satisfaction of vomiting from nerves. Miloje began dousing the room with fuel. The fumes rose up and choked her, making her eyes water. She blinked her eyes furiously, watching in horror as Miloje emptied the last of the can on the walls. Gasoline ran down and soaked the carpet inches from her and Cam.