Wolfsbane (47 page)

This was her chance. Heart racing, Dani shoved from the bed and wedged herself between the nightstand and wall. Staring at the sleeves that hung at her elbows, she wanted to crumble. Blend into the corner and fall apart. Instead, she saw the cord to the lamp. A spark. Could she get a spark from that somehow?

A scraping jerked her around.

In the wall near the secretary desk, a panel slid back. Catalina emerged, face radiant. “It’s time.” She rushed to the bed and produced a key.

Confusion entombed Dani as the woman joined her. “Time for what?”

“To get out of here. You must come with me. I can help you.”

“If he catches us—”

“He will not.” Catalina raised her chin and her brown eyes shone. “I’ve made sure.” She nodded to Dani’s cuffed hands and slipped the key into the catch.

The shackles fell away and with it the suffocation of captivity.

Catalina looked at Dani’s bare torso.
“Un momento.”
She rushed to another room.

Seizing the chance, Dani darted into the bathroom and searched the cabinets. If Catalina could get them out of here, then she could fry Bruzon, make sure he never hurt another girl or person again. Frustration coaxed out a foul mood as she considered the contents of the cabinet. He had everything in there—bandages, rubbing alcohol …

Aha!
She snatched the bottle and hurried into the bedroom. She flung back the glass doors and reached into the firebox. With a yank on the coiled cable running from the wall, she angled the cord toward the
front. She dumped the flowers on the floor then carefully poured the vinegar and hydrogen peroxide in.

A gasp from behind. “What are you doing?”

“What I do best—blowing this place up.” Once the flame started, it’d ignite the peracetic acid she’d made by combining the two chemicals. That would then rupture the gas line. It’d go global within minutes if not seconds.

“Why would you do this?”

Dani jerked and looked at Catalina. “To make sure he never hurts anyone again.”

A rush of air preceded the girl dropping to her side. “You cannot!”

“How can you say that? Look what’s he done to you, to me.”

She clapped a hand on Dani’s forearm. “Please.” Wide eyes begged her. “I have family here. Friends. They are
good
people. And killing him does not make the pain in here”—she tapped Dani’s chest—“go away.”

Maybe
. But a sense of vindication and justice would be gained. Still … she didn’t want to be a killer, and as much as she didn’t want to admit it, Catalina was right—the pain wouldn’t go away. Might dim it a bit, but she’d have to live with the murder of every servant in this house for the rest of her life.

Defeated, Dani gave a slow nod.

“Hurry! Before he returns.” Catalina stood and held out a blue button-down. “Here. Put it on as we go.” With a prod, she nudged Dani into the passage.

Chilled and damp, darkness enveloped her.

CHAPTER 31

C
rack!

Lightning snaked through the sky and turned night to day for three long seconds. At least, for Max and the others who stood exposed and illuminated for those three seconds. Holding his position by a small shed, he leaned against it and squinted against the bright flash. Ahead five meters, Midas scrambled for cover behind a transformer box.

Within seconds, darkness snapped across the compound.

M4 cradled in his arms, Max hustled through the trees. Shadows skittered to his three o’clock and gave him peace of mind knowing the others were on target.

Screaming sirens pierced the night.

The alarms shoved him against a tree. At his six, Aladdin gave a firm nod.
All good
. Peering around the bark, Max scanned the estate, assessing potential hazards and routes. The lights on the pool could reveal one of his men. Gazebo and patio furniture could provide concealment.

Floodlights flicked on. Shouts erupted. Concealed in the shadows on the courtyard’s perimeter he looked across the chlorinated water and checked both sides of the house as thunder growled through the heavy clouds. VFA soldiers poured out of every door and crevice. They darted north—the front of the house.

They know we’re here
. Max’s heart raced. Hold up. No. All the firepower was headed away from Nightshade, not toward them.
What’s going on?

Use it. They had the perfect distraction.

He keyed his mic. “Cowboy, you got thermals?” With Cowboy and Legend hidden in the hills, they had their sixes covered.

“Roger.”

“What do you see?”

The void of night held them hostage as they waited for Cowboy’s assessment. “I’m blind. Walls must be dense concrete or thick metal.”

Via hand signals, Max sent Canyon, Squirt, and the Kid ahead, praying the HUMINT provided by Lambert was solid, that beyond the back wall of the house sat another structure, one that most likely held the girl. They moved quickly, the swish of their tactical pants barely noticeable with the chaos tumbling out of the mansion.

Using the bound-and-cover tactic of clearing, the guys moved swiftly as Max held his position outside, monitoring the direction from which they’d come. As a trio of “clear” came through the coms, Max knew he’d been right. Somehow, Lambert had gotten bad information.

Minutes delivered the Kid, Squirt, and Canyon back to the point of entry. Their plan had contained the contingency that the girl wouldn’t be here. Next step: the main house. That meant the most danger, too.

With a split-second assessment, he picked his next source of cover—a dozen feet northeast of his present location. He darted into a cluster of trees.

Thwap! Thwap!

Bark leapt at him, biting his cheek. He ducked and dived at the tree. “Taking fire!”

“What is happening?”

“The demons of hell have been unleashed.” Humberto stormed through his home and rubbed at his temple where a headache roared to life. What was that god-awful smell?

Behind him, the telltale scritch of Michael Roark’s expensive shoes sounded. “I thought we were safe here. You said—”

“It seems someone is trying to interrupt my schedule.”

“What schedule is that?”

Bruzon snickered at the edge of the foyer, his hand on the brass knob leading to the pool patio. “Come, Michael. You are a naive fool but you’re not that stupid. The nukes.”

The man’s face paled. “What nukes?” He shuffled forward. “You said it was a ruse.”

“And you said you’d get me the money I needed.”

“I did get you that mon—” He clamped his mouth shut. “No! What’re you planning to do?” He shook his hands in front of himself, eyes wild. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

“Why?” Bruzon let his laugh echo off the marble floors. “Are you afraid
of what you’ve helped bring about? Tsk-tsk.” He laughed again at the way the puffed-up American had fed right into his hands. “Michael, I will be sure to thank you before I launch. And for the pleasure of your daughter.”

The man’s face reddened. “You can’t do this to me!”

“But I already did.” Bruzon looked to Navas, who’d paced them and waited quietly, as he had for so many years. He gave a somber nod and turned as the man withdrew a Smith & Wesson revolver.

“No!” The senator lunged toward Humberto.

Even as Navas caught him, wrangled him into a stranglehold, Humberto could not help but admire the stealth and skill of his man.

With a nod toward the french doors, Navas said, “Toss him to the American dogs. They can finish him.”

An idea. A good one. Except … “No, they are more likely to drag his sorry carcass back to America and put him on trial.” He sneered at the man. “And this one will squeal like a stuck pig.” He lifted his chin. “Finish him.”

As Humberto stepped into the frenzy of the attack, the loud bang of the revolver followed him. He smiled. It’d been too easy. The Americans were just too easy.

As Canyon rushed for cover, two lithe women crouch-ran along a hedgerow. Hidden from the gunmen—and if he judged the angle right, the rest of the team—the women made swift progress. Shadows, the cacophony of battle, and the lightning stabbing the tortured sky made it difficult to see the women. But … He squinted. They both had long, dark hair. A grunt ricocheted across his hope of finding Roark. Dark hair. Brown eyes. Like 98 percent of women in this country.

But then it hit him where the women were headed. Toward the hidden complex the Old Man told them about. Which was also the same direction away from the estate and away from the city. Why would they head that way?

One of the women tripped and went down. The other skidded to a stop and rushed back—her face clear. And beautiful.

“Roark!” Her name leapt from his lips before he could stop it. He jerked back into the shadows, eyeing the building, the shooters, hoping he hadn’t drawn their attention and fire.

To his nine, dark shadows coalesced into men. Bruzon and Navas—that no-good
traitor!
—running straight for the women.

He darted a look to Roark, who tried to help the other woman from
the ground. Had she seen the men? Couldn’t have. She wasn’t moving fast enough. What if Bruzon caught her again? Or Navas? Canyon’s breath lodged in his throat.

Shouts. He snapped his attention back to the house, to the men. Bruzon hollered, but the din engulfing the grounds swallowed his words. Navas lifted a weapon and aimed it at her. Adrenaline raced through Canyon’s limbs as he watched the scene unfold. If Roark didn’t wake up, she’d get shot. Killed.

Panic flung his heart out into the open—and apparently, his body went with it.

But it was too late. Bruzon raced up on Roark. Slipped an arm around her throat and hauled her backward, away from the second woman. Screams pierced the night.

Canyon snapped his weapon to the ready. “Bruzon!” Aligning his sights on Navas, he waited for the guy to swing toward him.

Bruzon came around, Roark caught in a choke hold as a gun swung toward Canyon. “Let me leave or I’ll kill her.”

“Let her go!” Canyon locked his gaze on the man. If Canyon fired, though, he could hit Roark.

“No. She is why you’re here. She is why the general came, yes?” Bruzon’s face beaded with sweat. “We both leave and she lives.”

“Not happening!” Frogman’s voice came from two meters to Canyon’s left. “Let her go. We will take you down.”

“You won’t because you want her to live.”

“You’re dead, Bruzon.” Frogman inched forward, his M4 trained on the psychotic man.

Canyon’s hands grew slick watching Roark, her frantic—but controlled—fear as the man negotiated the space between the team and the house.

When Bruzon shifted and started back toward the patio, Canyon fired a warning shot over the man’s head. “Stop!”

A spark flew—and flared blue.
What caused that?

“We have a sniper ready to put a bullet in your skull, Bruzon.”

“You won’t kill me. Your dirty secrets will be exploited.”

Where’s Navas? Where’d he go?
Canyon tried to use his peripheral vision to locate the traitor, but the guy had bled into the darkness.

“Frogman,” Cowboy’s quiet, formal voice cut into the chaos. “Line of sight is obstructed.”