Rules of Engagement (7 page)

Jake stashed the grocery bags with the pharmacy bag on the front passenger seat of the 4Runner, relocked the doors and took off down the street at a normal pace. As he turned the corner, he glanced at the reflections in the expansive windows of the sporting goods shop and saw a figure that teased his memory. Crisp blue jeans, black vest over a red and green plaid shirt and dark baseball cap about twenty feet behind him. The light bulb lit up. It was the driver of the white Chevrolet Malibu that he’d allowed to go by before crossing the street to the grocery store.

Of course, this town mainly catered to tourists, and Baseball Cap could just be sightseeing or making a beer run. Jake’s gut, however, disputed that logic.

He lengthened his strides, jaywalked across the street, turned another corner and kept going until the number of potential witnesses thinned.

The next block ahead was dark and nearly pedestrian free. A streetlight was burnt out, shrouding most of the buildings and sidewalk in shadows that blended not quite seamlessly with the night. He scanned the darkened buildings without turning his head, looking for an opening and finding it. Past the third building sat a bar that wasn’t yet in full swing.

Jake came up alongside the bar and quickly turned into the narrow alley that was just wide enough to accommodate the width of two Dumpsters. With his eyes already adjusted to the lack of light, he noted that the only covers were a dark-colored, nondescript van parked several feet inside the alley and a Dumpster farther away. He quickly made his way to the van. It was parked with the front facing the street, so Jake hid himself behind the back, crouching down a little so the top of his head wouldn’t peek over the vehicle and using the tires to block the view of his feet. He would much rather have waited for his unwanted company on the roof of the vehicle, but the darkness wasn’t dense enough for him to risk it.

He stood there in the dark, breathing deeply and silently, heart pounding heavily, every muscle loose and ready as he waited motionlessly.

Long, timeless moments passed and Jake started thinking that maybe he was overly paranoid, but he still didn’t move.

He analyzed and dismissed the non-threatening sounds of people going about enjoying the evening. The slow, uneven click of heels on concrete. A woman’s husky laughter. The heavier tread of male footfalls. Then the rapid beat of hurried footsteps.

These footsteps were different from the rest. They were brisk, purposeful.

Adrenaline rushed through his veins and his senses heightened.

The footsteps rushed past the alley opening. He waited, knowing his tail would double back once he realized that Jake was no longer in front of him.

More seconds passed.

Then those same footsteps hurried back to the alley. Baseball Cap paused hesitantly, probably trying to peer into the shadows of the narrow alley. The footsteps resumed, cautious and measured as they approached the van.

Jake’s fingers curled and uncurled reflexively. Chances were good the man closing in on him was armed and he had to address that first.

Jake counted the footsteps. Close. Closer…just one more.

Then he saw the tip of the gun, matte black and pointed at an angle toward the ground. Jake moved, slower than he would’ve liked, but fast enough. He managed to hook his arm down over his opponent’s forearm and twist away, clamped it tightly against his side and squeezing even as his fingers captured the wrist and dug in between the tendons. While Baseball Cap’s fingers went numb, as he knew they would, Jake jerked his elbow up and back, smashing it into the face behind him.

A startled cry of pain, then the gun fell to the gritty cement with an oddly loud clatter. Jake kicked it away even as his grip on the wrist tightened painfully. He glided forward a pace, turning as he did so, and delivered a vicious kick to the groin. With a breathless gasp, Baseball Cap fell to his knees, his free hand cupping his injured area. Beneath the rim of his cap, the man’s face went starkly white under the blood dripping from his broken nose.

Jake swiftly searched him. Unlike Katarzyna, he didn’t have any handcuffs on him. Making do, Jake unceremoniously lifted the other man, shoved him against a wall, sealed a hand over his mouth and, without flinching, very efficiently, very dispassionately, twisted the captured wrist until he heard something snap. The howl of pain was muffled.

Jake kept his hand clamped over Baseball Cap’s mouth until the sounds died down to the whimpers of an injured animal. When he loosened his grip, the other man slid down the wall to huddle on the ground, cradling the broken wrist against his chest.

Jake bent down, ripped off the baseball cap and bored into the other man’s eyes with his own. “Let’s talk.”

Minutes later, a ball of ice in place of his gut, Jake reached for his cell phone, keyed in ten digits and, since the connection wasn’t secure, left a brief message in a tone with barely leashed fury and fear. “She’s here.”

* * * * *

Katarzyna’s body was heavy with a lethargy that didn’t encourage movement. It took more effort than it should’ve to lift her head and straighten her aching neck. Her arms were tingling with numbness. She tried to draw them forward—and heard the familiar rattling of metal on metal.

God, she hoped the handcuffs weren’t her own. If any of the men she worked with got wind of her being restrained with her own handcuffs—not once, but twice—she’d never live it down.

The rest of her was tied to a straight-back chair, which explained why she wasn’t an ungainly heap on the floor.

Biting back a moan, which would’ve been pitiful out loud, she forced her weak limbs to test the bonds. They were secure. Memories of waking up tied to Jake’s bed stirred, but she didn’t think her current situation was his idea of kinky sex games.

No light pressed in on her lowered eyelids, but she lifted them anyway and saw only a claustrophobic blackness. Despite the drowsiness abating at a mere snail’s pace, Katarzyna could feel panic stirring at the edges of her consciousness. She closed her eyes and pushed the elemental fear back. It felt like trying to force her way through an ocean of molasses.

In bits and pieces, the haze drifted away, dissipated, allowing the memories to return. After Jake had gone on the supply run, there’d been a knock on the door. She’d answered it and found two genetically engineered goons who’d screamed Euro trash, despite the jeans, plaid shirts and hiking boots. One of them had smiled as he said her name. Before she was able to respond to the alarm that had sounded inside her head, hands had reached for her and she’d felt a pinprick on the side of her neck.

Katarzyna tried rolling her shoulders. Whatever had been in the syringe hadn’t completely worn off yet. She still felt like she’d taken an extra large dose of Nyquil.

Slowly, sounds filtered to her ears. She caught snatches of low voices speaking in a language she didn’t recognize. Not quite Russian, she decided. Ukrainian, perhaps?

Definitely not someone she’d busted in the past, now out for a little vengeance. And it sure as hell hadn’t been random, not if they knew her name. But how—

Fear suddenly made her pulse pound. It wasn’t about her. She was only the bait. Three bullets to the chest and Jake Duquesne was still alive. They’d come to rectify that.

Katarzyna’s hands were suddenly like swimming pools. She curled her fingers, balling her hands into fists that felt too small.

Jake was going to come for her. There was no question of that. And they would be waiting for him.

* * * * *

Jake slowly eased the unconscious man down to the ground, careful to keep the noise to no more than the barest whisper of cloth against the damp vegetation covering the ground. The second sentry, young and bored, had been easier than the first. As far as he could detect, there had been only the two walking the perimeter. His former lover was either getting sloppy or she didn’t consider him to be as dangerous as he’d once been. Either way, it was to his advantage and he wasn’t complaining.

Worst case scenario, she was lulling him into a false sense of security.

Jake searched the body, stripping it of weapons and transferring them to his own. He unbuckled the unconscious man’s belt, slid it through the belt loops with a sibilant hiss and used it to secure his hands.

The two-way radio next to the body crackled and an accented voice asked Vilem to check in.

Shit.

Jake twisted off the volume on the hand-held. He couldn’t fake the voice since the only sound he’d heard from the guard had been a muffled grunt.

Stealing along the generous shadows, Jake crept closer to the edge of the trees and the cabin that sat in the clearing beyond it. Baseball Cap had required a little more persuasion before giving up the location of his team’s temporary headquarters, since the broken wrist hadn’t been sufficiently convincing. The sprawling, two-story structure was larger and better appointed than Ella’s, but then, it had to sleep six. A large, dark SUV was parked to the side.

The cabin was dark except for a spill of light coming from the back. Jake scanned the surrounding area, searching for points of entry. He would—

The front door of the porch swung open. And his mouth and throat went dry. His heart slowed, each individual beat loud in his ears and hard in his chest.

A tall man stood in the doorway, limned by the weak light from inside the cabin, Katarzyna held in front of him like a shield. Her body was limp, looking heavy and awkward, and her head slumped forward.

The hollow sensation inside his chest was strange, especially paired with the lead ball in the pit of his stomach weighing him down. To stay upright, Jake had to brace a hand against a tree trunk. Then he saw her chest move and relief rushed through him.

“Give yourself up,” called out the man hiding behind Katarzyna. Jake tore his eyes away from her—and caught the glint of light on polished metal. Katarzyna’s captor brought up his hand and pressed the muzzle of a semi-automatic to her temple. “You have to the count of five.”

Fear threatened to overtake the fury boiling in him and Jake drove it back.

“One.”

His brain raced, trying to find a scenario that wouldn’t end up with both him and Katarzyna going down the mountain in black body bags, if they went down at all. Mother Nature had a way of keeping secrets.

“Two.”

Even if he gave himself up, they would kill her anyway.

“Three.” The voice rose with tension.

But would they make her suffer for associating with him first? More than she already had?

“Four.”

Could he prevent that?

“F—”

“Stop!”

Jake stepped forward, breaking away from the cover of the trees, his hands up. He let the gun dangle from a finger, swing once, then drop to the ground. It landed with a dull thud.

“Let her go,” he demanded, his tight voice carrying on the chilly air.

“Now, now, Simon,” chided a female voice flavored with the slightest trace of a Eastern European accent. “Josef said nothing about releasing your little plaything.”

A tall, slim woman with dark hair and pale skin stepped out from behind Katarzyna and her captor, followed by another buff, blond man who could’ve been Josef’s twin. Ilena Tkachuk usually preferred her men big, dumb and blond. Jake had been an exception.

She affected a pensive look. “Or do you prefer to use your real name, Jacob Duquesne?”

Strangely, finally seeing his enemy in the flesh settled a mantle of icy calm over him. She was beautiful and as deadly as a viper, just like he remembered her. He narrowed his eyes. Perhaps it was a trick of the light spilling from the open doorway, but she was the same and wasn’t the same. Her features were just a little off, the skin a little tighter, her lips a little less mobile. Plastic surgery. She hadn’t escaped their last encounter unscathed, after all.

“You look well for a dead woman, Ilena.”

She acknowledged his statement with a tip of her head and instructed, “Put your hands behind your head and take two steps forward.”

Slowly, he laced his fingers behind the back of his head, moved forward and moonlight washed over him, making him too easy a target. “Better?”

“Much.” Her lips stretched into a semblance of the smile she usually reserved for the bedroom. “I like the Southern accent. It’s very sexy.”

“Why are you here?” he asked neutrally, like they were merely acquaintances bumping into each other on the street. “Indulging in vengeance is rather unprofessional of you.”

Her eyes became slits. “I never let an insult go unanswered. The competition would see that as a weakness.
I
see that as a weakness. You blew up my home and left me for dead. That qualifies as an insult.” She smiled again, sending chills through him. “I plan to return the favor.” She flicked a careless glance at Katarzyna. “With interest.”

Her voice softened to something even more dangerous, more female. “Although, watching you with her the last few days, she might be grateful. You were very rough with her…none of the charm, none of the finesse you showed with me.”