Wolfsbane (34 page)

“Get your dirty hands off me,” she bit out as two guards lifted her off her feet and hauled her the last couple of yards to the cell. With grunts, they thrust her into the dank coffin.

No! She would not let this happen again. She spun and dove toward them.

A meaty hand collided with her cheek. The impact knocked her backward. Adrenaline shoved her forward. Dani leaned back and nailed the guard with a roundhouse. Though he stumbled, his overweight form barely jiggled from the kick. He glowered then squatted, prepared to launch at her.

“No la tóque. ¡Ella es Bruzon!”

If, as he said, she was Bruzon’s, then even she knew the general would deal cruelly with anyone who touched her. That had been his way when she’d been his captive before. As sickening as the thought was, it gave her hope because apparently Bruzon wasn’t in the area, or he would’ve been here to claim her. That meant she had time.

Time to find Canyon.

Forget him. He called her insane and
apologized
for sleeping with her. Even now the words seared in her memory. She’d loved him, gave him
everything
. He didn’t even want her to tell Range that she loved Canyon. What did that mean?

Hands tied, Dani dragged her gaze to the man in the doorway. She remembered him from last time: Bruzon’s right-hand guy. A violent,
uncaring brute. Extremely loyal to the general and no one else.

With a quick breath, she blew the strands of hair from her view. She held her ground, glaring at the reeking, overweight guard, wishing—daring—him to try something. Feet apart, she stood ready to fight again. Just as she would at every opportunity.

“¡Deje solo!”
As the cell emptied at his order to leave her alone, he locked his gaze on her.

“Navas.”

He cocked his head and offered a hint of a smile. “Miss Roark. Nice to have you back.”

“I’ll escape. You know I will. Let’s not waste our time with formalities.”

This time, he grinned. “I can see why he lost focus and fell for you. He always liked the tough ones.” He chuckled. “Thanks for the help.”

Bruzon. Bile rose in her throat at the thought of that perverted old man. She’d spent enough days as his prisoner. She wasn’t about to do it again. This man before her should know that mentioning Bruzon would only make her more willing to fight for her freedom. If he had the brains he seemed to have, he’d know Bruzon didn’t matter to her … which was exactly the point.

He wasn’t talking about the general.
“Thanks for the help.”

Canyon.

Dani’s heart lurched. “Where is he?” She took a step forward, remembering the way they’d dragged Canyon’s limp body from the room, blood leaving a trail from his broken nose. She’d never forget the resounding crack that echoed as he thudded onto the floor, unconscious. “Did you kill him?”

Navas smiled. Laughed. Then backed out.

Clank!
The door slammed shut. A steel frame slid into place, sealing her in the room, cutting her off. She banged against the hard plastic window that blurred her view. Even though it wouldn’t do any good, she wanted to scream at the man—he’d never care.

Scream for Canyon—he’d never hear her.

Scream at God for the injustice.

Turned around, she slumped against the door and buried her face in her hands. Cold cement pulsed aches through her bare feet and up into her ankles, beneath the still-damp jeans and burgundy shirt she’d slipped on just seconds before the guerillas burst into the room.

Weighted by the memory, Dani pushed herself to the corner—refusing the cot with its pillow and blanket, no doubt lice infected. She
slid along the wall to the floor and hugged her knees, remembering what had been the most wonderful night of her life. Giving herself to Canyon … being in his arms, feeling his passion fueled her own until all her reservations, all her fears evaporated. He’d been so tender, so loving … not like … not like Bruzon.

“I suppose you think I’m no better than Bruzon.”

He’d apologized. Said he messed up. Why did Canyon feel being with her was a mistake?

Okay, yes—unequivocally, it’d been wrong for them to make love, unmarried. She knew his beliefs, knew her own though she hadn’t attended church since her mother’s death. Did it bother him more that he felt he violated God’s law, or that he’d violated the family-invoked law about not cutting in on Range?

Or had he regretted being with
her?
She hated herself for wanting to be with him, should’ve known that only left her feeling used up. Empty. Give a man your heart, become a pawn. Like her mother. Like her sister. Dani
knew
better.

She clenched her eyes shut as the memories collided, tumbling over one another. Bruzon. Canyon. “No,” she ground out. The difference had been night and day. One brutal and violating. The other passionate and loving.

“He always liked the tough ones.”
Navas’s words skidded into her turmoil, plying new fears from her. That man knew Canyon. It hit her then. He was the contact, the one Canyon met in the bar—Brick?

Which meant it was a setup. But … how? Nobody knew they were in the area except, well, the whole governing body who’d tasked her with proving her own innocence. Yet only General Lambert knew their precise location and the date they’d left. And then she and Canyon had slid off the side of a mountain, been tossed down a river, then crawled back in the jungle. How on earth could anyone ever figure out their location?

Olin wouldn’t betray her. He’d been like an uncle to her, a close friend to her mother. Dani had seen more compassion and concern in his eyes than she ever saw in her own father’s. Not that her dad ever mistreated her. Unless you considered being inattentive and a workaholic mistreatment; in which case, he’d be a model example.

And now? Now she was right back where all this started. The four stained gray walls were a long way from home. She’d vowed to never come back, knowing—
knowing
—she’d end up in Bruzon’s clutches again. No. What she feared was ending up in his
bed
again. She’d kill
herself before that happened this time.

Then why are you sitting here moping?

A strange noise howled through the prison, drawing her gaze up to where the sound drifted through the tiny vent. What was that? As if she had to ask. It was entirely too familiar. Torture. A shudder rippled through her. What if … what if that was Canyon?

Fresh determination washed through her. She’d get out of the cell, find Canyon—they could sort out what happened at the hotel later—and escape. She’d done it once before. She could—and would—do it again.

Dani glanced around the cell, eyes fastening on the cot.
Morons
.

Bruzon’s Facility 7 May

Warmth slid across his brow. Over the bridge of his nose, a dark droplet raced into his eye. Canyon blinked, gritting against the pain that radiated through every cell of his body. Arms outstretched and tied down, he clenched his fists. Thigh muscles tightened, he tensed against the fire that shot through his leg.

“How many men on your team?” Navas stood in the corner, arms folded.

Fury that he knew the man torturing him fed his resistance.
Calm down. Relax, you’ll last longer
. He allowed the tension to defuse. Focused on Roark—no. No, he couldn’t do that. It’d only strain his focus, wondering where she was being held, was she hurt, was she being ferried to Bruzon?

“Midas.” The man moved closer and planted a hand beside Canyon’s head. “Just tell me what I need and you can go.”

Eyes on the blaring light overhead, Canyon refused to be baited or lied to. He knew how this worked.

“With the girl.”

His gaze diverted to his captor.

“That’s what you want, right? To leave with the girl?” Navas nodded. “Thought so.”

Canyon cursed himself for giving away his feelings for Roark, for giving anything to this traitor. “I trained you,” he said through gritted teeth. “We were a team.”

“And now we aren’t.” Navas indicated to someone out of range. “You
killed his son. Think he’s just going to let you walk out of here alive?”

A hum filled the air. Movement to the side as Navas stepped back. Electricity spiked through Canyon’s arms. The acrid odor of burning flesh snaked into his nostrils. Canyon jerked his attention away. Locked his jaw as every muscle vibrated from the bolts of electricity. His teeth rattled. He worked to make sure he didn’t bite his tongue off.

Navas’s jaw tightened. “How many men?”

Limp, Canyon shook his head and let himself whimper. Finally, he wet his lips, closed his eyes, and with a grunt he said, “Six.”

Navas stilled, surprise rippling through his dark complexion.

“Oh, wait.” Canyon spit blood from his mouth. “I forgot about Grumpy.” He met the man’s gaze. “Make it seven.”

Navas pushed away and stalked from the room.

“Finish him,” someone said.

A hood whooshed over Canyon’s head. Darkness devoured him. Splashing sounded nearby. Waterboarding!

“You’re a traitor, Juan Navas! May God have mercy on—”

The hood plastered against his face. Oxygen sucked out. Water rushed in. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t get away. The cold deluge continued. Canyon writhed, trying to get away. But couldn’t. It went in through his nose. He turned his head. But there was no getting away. He choked. Gagged—mistake! It let more water in. His lungs were filling.

Can’t breathe …

He regurgitated. The vomit had nowhere to go inside the hood.
Drowning—in my own vomit!
The smell nauseated him. He retched again. Water still soaked every available space. He choked on that acidic bile and water. Somewhere … from something or someone, a demonic howl seared the air.

No, it wasn’t someone else. It was him—his soul screaming.

Lambert Residence, Maryland 8 May

“My team’s in.”

“Thank you.” Olin replaced the phone on its cradle. Surrounded by mounds of papers, files, and top-secret information, he stared at nothing in particular—unless you counted the past. Would that he could turn back the hands of time, undo mistakes, undo long-cemented
fractures in his character. He’d learned from them, but not soon enough to prevent the damage, the carnage eating him like a disease.

Rubbing his knuckles over his lip, he allowed himself to mentally trace the steps the teams should take to extract Nightshade and Danielle. Go into the facility with so much stealth and force, the Venezuelans would never know what hit them or why—at least, not until it was too late. Nightshade would be recovered, and no one would be the wiser about who the men were or why they were there. Danielle would safely return to Virginia, and he’d make sure the pundits couldn’t touch her again.

He leaned forward and withdrew his wallet from his back pocket. Opening it, he ignored the whisper of his conscience that urged him to avoid slipping into the past. All the same, his finger dug into the innermost fold and plucked out a tattered photo. Even twenty-plus years later, those brown eyes glistened at him.

Someone … someone had set up the team. Someone knew where they were going and had people in place to make sure the mission failed. To make sure Danielle didn’t come back. That’s what this was about, wasn’t it? He’d always been able to smell a trap, a job meant to cover someone’s fat behind after they’d stepped in a big pile of—

“You’re up late tonight.” Draped in a silk nightgown, Charlotte oozed gracefulness as she leaned against the doorjamb.

He’d always vowed Grace Kelly had nothing on his wife, but tonight, the concern etching deep lines in her brows smothered him with guilt. In his line of work, she knew better than to ask specifics. But they’d constructed their own codes around the truth to help her know what he was dealing with.

“Yes, forgive me?” Olin tucked the photo beneath a stack of papers and glanced at the clock, his fogged-in brain struggling to comprehend the time. Three? Was it really that late?

“Every time.” Charlotte hesitated near the door, her easy smile turning upside down. “Is everything okay?”

Tonight, it was no use hiding behind codes and half truths. She knew, thanks to the media, what was happening down in Venezuela. “It’s Danielle.”