Wolfsbane (44 page)

He chuckled. “Finders, keepers, pal.”

I’ll kill you
. Gray seeped across his eyes, closing out the world. Closing out life.
God … help me!

In the void devouring him—a shout.

Navas glanced back.

With all that Canyon had left in him, he threw a hard right into the guy’s face. Navas flipped backward … off Canyon. Crumpled in a pile on the floor of the jungle.

Hauling in deep, painful breaths, Canyon rolled onto his stomach. Fingers dug into the warm earth as he sucked in more and more air, his lungs screaming against the deprivation.

Crawling onto all fours, he coughed and looked at Navas. On his belly, the traitor lay unmoving, blood spilling into the earth from his nose.

Nose for a nose, pal
. Canyon dragged himself to the man’s prone figure. Wrapped his fingers around the weapon, lifted it, and slammed it into Navas’s temple.

Struggling to his feet, he wavered. Stilled. Then forced a foot forward as he tucked the weapon at the small of his back. He stumbled to his brother. “Range.” Raw fire lit down his throat as his hand dropped heavily on his brother’s shoulder. “Range.”

No response.

Hoisting Range up again proved harder, but Canyon did it. He trudged back in the direction from which Navas had come, searching for the Jeep he’d seen the guy driving. It only took a few minutes to get Range into the passenger seat. Revving the engine, Canyon’s mind
thumbed through the information Navas had revealed. He drove away from the trees.

Frogman. Nightshade. The team. Roark. He’d failed them. Though he tried to make it right, he failed again. Failed better.

Bruzon had Roark. Sickening and infuriating but no surprise.

The big surprise was the general Navas mentioned. White haired. Old man. The only white-haired general interested in Roark would be Lambert. But that didn’t make any sense. Coming down here would blow the team’s cover. It would put Lambert in trouble.

Correction. It put Lambert in the direct line of fire of the VFA.

If Canyon went after Roark, the rebels would kill Lambert. But if he went after Lambert, Roark could disappear forever.

Bruzon’s Estate, Venezuela 22 May

“Out!”

Handcuffed, drenched from the rain, and frantic, Dani writhed against the guard as he shouted at the servant by the fireplace. He wrangled Dani into the room. Metal pinched her wrists as she struggled to free herself, growling.

“I said get out,” he shouted.

“Sí,
señor.”
The servant girl gathered rags and a bucket from around the fireplace, placed a huge arrangement of lilies and other flowers in front of the sparkling glass doors, then hurried out.

Dani kicked and jerked as he hauled her across the marble floor. “No, let go!” She stuffed her foot against the bedpost, wedging herself between him and the bed.

The man’s curse skidded along her neck as he gripped her around the waist and hoisted her off the floor.

She arched her back and whipped her head against his.

Another curse.

Then he released her. She tripped and pitched forward, colliding with the nightstand.
Think!
Pain darted through her temple. Spots danced across her vision. Her arm jerked to the side.

Shink
.

When she looked up, horror gripped her by the throat as he yanked her other hand. He’d anchored her to the post at the head of the bed. On her feet, she jerked against her binding. “No, don’t do this.”

He pivoted and left her alone.

No, no, no. She couldn’t do this again. Bent almost in half, stretched over the nightstand and her hands chained to the headboard, Dani refused to touch that bed.

Where was God? Where was Canyon?

It’s a miracle Bruzon hasn’t touched me yet
.

Perhaps, but he would. Soon. He was on his way up here right now.

She thrashed, trying to break the post that held the chains. No good. Her gaze skimmed the room, searching for a way out, a way to get free.

Her gaze hit something shiny … a letter opener sat on the small desk. Iron resolution carved a painful path down her soul.

And there was only one way to get that opener. Digging her nails into the knots of the laces on her boots, Dani stole a peek over her shoulder, checking to verify the door hadn’t opened. She freed the knot, loosened the laces, pried off the boot, then tugged off the sweat-and-rain-soaked sock.

Black dirt dug in and around her toenails. She swung her torso around. Holding the tall post, she stretched her leg toward the secretary desk. Canyon might’ve left—
abandoned
her—but her promise to him still stood.

Her toes scraped the edge of the desk. Straining, she stretched closer. Cold metal brushed her toe. Yes! A little closer. If she let go of the post, using her fingertips for balance against the headboard, she’d reach it. She propped herself and once again arched toward the desk with her toes. Her sister had always taunted Dani about her big feet, about the second toe that was bigger than the others, but it had its usefulness.

Her toes curled around the letter opener. She wiggled until it sat wedged between those two odd-sized digits and squeezed them together. Slowly she brought her leg back around and gripped the opener. Alexandra could laugh all she wanted. This letter opener was her way to freedom. In her hand, it took on new meaning.

Thumb caressing the tiny teeth of the blade, she knew for this to end, she’d have to end it.
I told you I’d kill myself first
. Anything rather than be taken by the brute again.

Forehead resting on her arm, Dani fought the onslaught of tears. Why? Why had Canyon not rescued her in the facility? She’d told him she loved him, accepted him, believed him …

Fifteen thousand tears could not erase the raw ache pulsing through
her body. Defeat threatened her standard kick-butt refusal to become a victim. Shackled for thirty hours to a post while the sun blazed, the rain pelted, and the night fell left her courage wilted like the flowers in front of the fireplace.

She turned the blade so it faced her. But then … the problem presented itself. She’d have to get on the bed since her hands wouldn’t stretch this far to reach her torso. Even if she moved the nightstand, there’s still be too much of a gap.

On the bed
.

With a furtive glance to the door, she placed a foot on the bed. Checked the door again, her heart thundering like the storm outside. It had rained nearly the whole stupid little adventure. Just like her life—all rain and no sunshine.

My own personal sun
.

A sob racked her, remembering the gift Canyon had given her. Hand closed around the choker, she felt the cold necklace her father had given her there as well. Two pieces of her heart … shattered.

Dani climbed onto the bed. Feet situated firmly gave her the resistance necessary. Was suicide a sin? While she may not wish to inhabit this world any longer, she didn’t want to burn in hell for eternity.

“It is the most atrocious of acts, mija.”

“Why, Mama?”

“Because it breaks God’s heart to see His child throw away the most precious gift He has given—life!”

Cheeks wet, Dani wavered, her knees feeling worse than putty as she swayed, both internally and physically. She pressed her temple to the headboard and sniffled. Tears dripped off her cheeks and fell onto the white pillow, each drop a piece of her identity. With a soft moan she wished for a miracle but knew she was on her own.

Just like before. Like always.

“You are not alone.”

The whisper caressed her wounded soul.

“Oh, God …” she whispered, her throat burning. She wanted to believe that. Oh, did she ever! With every desperate, frantic beat of her of heart. Maybe God was watching out for her. Dare she hope?

But if she didn’t do this, she’d be his prisoner. How could God expect her to stay where nobody loved her? Where she wasn’t wanted? Where a man abused her so violently? Surely He didn’t expect her to again be captive and subject to the whims of a sadist.

Voices from the hall sneaked under the threshold.

Now or never
.

Resolve surfaced. Dani sucked in a shuddering breath and regained her position. “Forgive me, Father.” She wiped the tears and drew in a shuddering breath.

With a resounding click, the latch released.

CHAPTER 29

Y
ou’re a dead man.”

Muzzle pressed against the back of his head, Olin Lambert strained to see in the mirror over the hotel desk where he sat. He’d expected an attempt on his life; Bruzon had been too friendly earlier. And that Navas …

Still, the feel of the steel barrel and the animosity pouring off the man’s words tensed Olin’s muscles as his mind darted to his wife. Charlotte. Poor Charlotte. She had believed in him when he wasn’t worth believing in.

Could he negotiate this man down? “Whatever you were promised …” Not that he’d pay or bargain his way out of this, but he had to try something. The team. Danielle. Again he tried to peer into the mirror, but the darkness and all-black attire concealed the intruder’s identity.

“I ought to kill you for what you did.”

The man had a point to make. Wanted to spill his guts about it. Olin hesitated, his gaze skidding over the pocked and marred wood desk. “Tell me what I did.”

“You blew our cover, Old Man.”

Two phrases—
our cover
and
Old Man
—brought Olin’s eyes up. Like an old movie, blue eyes glistened in the darkness. “Midas?”

Midas grabbed the back of his collar and jerked Olin up. “You compromised the team.”

“No!” He shook his head. “No such thing has happened.”

“They’re coming for you. Navas told me.” Midas nudged the weapon. “If they take you, they’ll torture your old butt till they drag out our identities.”

“Never—
never
will I betray the team.”

Weight rammed into the back of his neck. “Too late! Navas knew about you, knew where you were staying.”

“Because I told them. They think I’m on a diplomatic mission.” The man was stoked on fury. Olin had to bring him down, distract him.

Midas flipped him around, pressed his arm against Olin’s chest, and aimed the gun at his temple. “Stop trying to turn this on me. You’re screwing everything up. They know you’re after Roark and they know about the team.”

“No.” Olin breathed in deeply as Midas drew the weapon back. “That’s where you’re wrong. They know nothing of the team. Danielle—that can’t be helped.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because … because her father is here. He’s behind this snafu.”

Midas lowered his weapon. “Go on.”

“Michael Roark is obsessed with one thing: furthering his career. Bruzon, I believe has been helping him. Before I flew down, Sokoleski broke—he gave proof that he’s been working with Bruzon to supply missiles and fissile material. And his right-hand man—”

“Navas.”

Olin paused, frowned. “How do you know about Navas?”

“I trained him. Guess he’s gone rogue.”

“You can say that again. Bruzon doesn’t eat, sleep, or drink without consulting Navas.”

“It still doesn’t add up.”

“Sure it does. Bruzon—”

“Why are you here, Old Man?” Midas’s breath skidded along Olin’s cheek.

“I told you. I came down here because of Danielle, because of a promise I made to her mother.” Olin pressed his palms against the armoire, not wanting to frustrate Wolfsbane more. “When I found out the team had been locked down, I played my diplomatic card to find her.”

Midas flung him around. Torment wreaked havoc in those blue eyes. But amid that torment lurked a raging beast. Gun in hand, Midas shifted and shook his head. “No. That doesn’t add up. You wouldn’t even put your tail on the line for us.” Seemingly bolstered by his own realization, Midas straightened and pointed the weapon at Olin again. “Bruzon knew we were coming.” His stormy eyes bounced to Olin’s. “Tell me it wasn’t you. Did you turn on us?”

“Of course not!”

“Bull!” Canyon lunged forward. “Nightshade is black ops. We don’t exist in your paper-clean world. You could walk away, wipe your hands, and nobody would be the wiser.” Like a schoolyard bully, Midas was on him, clenching his shirt in a fist. “Somebody betrayed Roark and ratted us out. Betrayed the team, exposed our locations. I’m going to make sure they eat a bullet. If it wasn’t you— Why. Are You. Here?” He shoved him.