Ronan turned his back to them and pretended to sweep something into the porter’s dustpan while he spoke into the mic. “Ready to loop that footage, Clay?”
“Ready when you are,” Clay said.
“Nick?”
“Gordon’s about ready for another drink,” Nick said.
The couple disappeared into the VIP room and Ronan turned around, taking swipes at the floor with the broom while he marked the two cameras.
“Keep us posted. And remember to keep your head down when you get here.”
“Copy,” Nick said.
Ronan made his way down one side of the hall, taking his time for whoever was watching on the other end of the security cameras.
They would be made eventually. Jesse Martin would ask to see the footage when he realized Gordon was gone, and there was no way for Ronan and Nick to hide their faces from the cameras without drawing attention to themselves before they nabbed Gordon. They would have to deal with those consequences later.
It wasn’t the way Ronan liked to work: taking risks, putting off predictable problems until later, but this was their last night to get Idrisov before he returned to Chechnya. There was no time to find a way around the cameras. The loop was the best they could do, and it would show Ronan methodically sweeping the hall until Clay cut the loop.
“Drink is locked and loaded,” Nick said in his ear. “We should be to you in ten minutes max.”
“Ready and waiting.”
The laxative Nick had put in Gordon’s drink would act fast, forcing Gordon to the bathroom. That was Ronan’s one and only chance to inject him with the sedative that would make him look like any other drunk being assisted into a cab by the casino’s staff.
“Loop is queued,” Clay said. “Just say when.”
Ronan made a show of turning at the end of the hall and sweeping the elevator lobby so whoever was monitoring the cameras wouldn’t get suspicious. He could only cover the same territory so many times.
“Our friend is looking a little green around the gills,” Nick said.
“Martin hasn’t left the car yet,” Declan said.
“Gordon’s typing into his phone,” Nick said.
A man in a suit flanked by two big men, their jackets bulging with concealed weapons, passed Ronan on the way to the VIP room. Not for the first time, he hoped things didn’t go south. If they’d been in Vegas — land of tourists, coddled celebrities, and strung-out gambling addicts — it wouldn’t have mattered.
Here there was firepower all around, hidden under suits and tuxes.
“Martin just got out of the car,” Declan said. “He’s on his way in.”
“He better hurry. Gordon’s going to shit his pants,” Nick said.
“I hope he waits until we get him to the warehouse,” Declan said. “I didn’t sign up for diaper duty.”
Ronan ambled back to the hall outside the VIP room. He was bending over to sweep imaginary dirt near the door when Martin bumped into him on his way in.
“Excuse me, sir,” Ronan said, keeping his head down. He almost enjoyed playing supplicant to these assholes knowing that in three hours he’d have Mark Gordon tied to a chair in a warehouse on the Marseille waterfront.
Ronan reached into the zippered pouch under his jacket and removed the syringe as he watched Martin’s broad shoulders disappear into the VIP room.
“Martin just got here,” Nick said. “Gordon’s heading for the door.”
“I’m ready for him,” Ronan said.
Gordon lurched out of the door and looked frantically at Ronan. “Bathroom?”
“That way, sir.” Ronan pointed down the hall and waited for Gordon to come closer to lean the broom and dustpan against the wall.
Positioning his body so that Gordon — in so much of a hurry he wasn’t thinking about anything but getting to the bathroom in time — bumped into him.
Ronan wrapped his arms around Gordon’s waist. His flak jacket was bulky under his suit, and Ronan caught a flicker of surprise in Gordon’s face as he brought the needle up to Gordon’s neck.
He made a halfhearted grab for the weapon holstered under his jacket but it was too late. The sedative was fast-acting, enough to knock out a man twice Gordon’s size. He slumped against Ronan’s side just as another couple in black-tie attire rounded the corner.
“It’s all right, sir. We’ll get you to your room and you’ll be right as rain before you know it,” Ronan said, propping Gordon against him. He gave the couple a rueful smile as he passed them in the hall. “The good champagne always creeps up on you,” he said, affecting a British accent.
“Poor dear,” the woman murmured as she passed. Her accent sounded Russian, or maybe Bulgarian.
Nick, Declan, and Clay could hear the exchange over the comms system. They’d know Ronan was coming. They’d be ready.
The whole thing had taken less than thirty seconds.
16
Julia looked at Elise next to her in the backseat of the Rover as they pulled up to the warehouse in Marseille. She should have known better than to expect a clue about Elise’s feelings. Her sister had gotten too good at hiding what she was thinking.
She hadn’t wanted Elise to come. She’d even been willing to forgo a visit to the warehouse herself if it meant protecting Elise, although she wanted nothing more than to lay eyes on the bastard who’d helped keep her sister a prisoner onboard the Elysium.
But Elise had made it clear she was going. Julia had argued the point until Elise had looked at her with so much raw emotion it almost brought Julia to her knees.
“If I don’t deserve to see him, no one does,” she’d said.
“You sure you want to do this?” Julia asked softly. She was aware of Declan, silent in the driver’s seat, waiting for Elise to answer the question. She knew he would drive away without a second thought if Elise changed her mind.
“I’m sure.” She got out of the car.
“I guess we’re doing this,” Julia said to Declan as she opened her door.
The warehouse was a long steel structure, its facade obviously neglected. Four cargo bays stood at one end of the building, their roll-up doors so rusty Julia could only guess it had been decades since trucks had pulled up to load or unload product.
She had no idea how Ronan had come to procure the warehouse, but it had been a good choice: a couple miles from the cargo docks that serviced Marseille and the surrounding area, the place was all but deserted, the air laced with metal and brine. Except for the sound of traffic beyond the chain-link fence that surrounded the facility, it was quiet.
“Come on,” Declan said, walking past them toward the warehouse. “I’ll show you the way in.”
They circled around the building to a metal door on the other side. A digital keypad, obviously new, stood in contrast to the deteriorating condition of the building. Declan typed in a code and an electronic click sounded from inside the door.
He opened it and stood back. “Ladies first.” Elise hesitated, and Declan spoke again, more gently this time. “It’s okay. Ronan’s in there with Nick, and trust me when I say that Gordon can’t hurt you.”
Julia took Elise’s hand as they crossed the threshold.
The warehouse was what Julia had expected: a cavernous space with concrete floors and a metal ceiling, abandoned manufacturing equipment that Julia couldn’t identify looming at the edges. It was dark, so dark Julia had to peer through the inkiness to see the man tied to a chair in the center of the massive space.
“Hey,” Ronan said, appearing like a wraith out of the warehouse’s shadows.
“Hey.” Julia stretched to kiss him.
He looked at Elise. “You sure about this?”
She nodded.
“It’s your show,” Ronan said. “He’s extremely secure, so don’t worry about him getting loose or hurting you. He can hardly move.”
“Can he talk?” Elise asked.
“He’s gagged, but I can remove that for you.”
“Le
ave it,” Elise said.
Ronan nodded. “He probably can’t say much at the moment anyway.”
Julia knew what he meant, even if he had been guarded about what they’d been doing to Gordon in the three days since they’d kidnapped him from the casino. Ronan had come home every night with bloodied knuckles, his face set in an expression of quiet rage that almost scared her.
It wasn’t until they went to bed — the fire that burned between their bodies consuming everything but what was between them — that he transformed into the man she knew.
She couldn’t help wondering how Nick and Declan were sharing the job of working Mark Gordon. They were both at the warehouse as much as Ronan, but neither of them exhibited any of the signs of brutality she saw on Ronan’s hands, on his face, and she wondered if making Gordon talk was a job assigned to Ronan for reasons she didn’t understand.
Ronan made a twirling gesture with his hand and a spotlight shone on Gordon from some unseen source. Nick, probably.
Every nerve in Julia’s body was on alert as Elise walked toward the chair. She knew Gordon was tied up, but in the time they’d been tracking him — trying to narrow the drone footage to one man and then planning a way to capture him — he’d become a monster in her mind.
Now Julia reminded herself that he was just a man, tied to a chair after days of being beaten, incapable of hurting Elise.
Julia stepped closer as Elise approached him. He was slumped over, hands tied behind his back, feet tied to the legs of the metal chair. His hair was thinning at the top, something she could only see because his chin was resting on his chest, his head lolling forward like a rag doll.
There were brown stains on his shirt — blood, Julia assumed — along with sweat stains and dirt. His pants were black, making it impossible to see if they were stained, but as she got closer she was assaulted with the unmistakable smell of urine and feces.
Elise stopped three feet in front of him, her gaze frozen to his bedraggled and beaten figure. No one spoke, the moment stretching like elastic in the silence of the warehouse, going on and on until it began to feel like they were out of time, floating through space in the steel box of the warehouse.
She wondered what Elise would say to the man who had kept her captive aboard the Elysium, wondered if she’d been planning for the moment or if she was playing it by ear, if she’d come to say anything at all or if she’d just come to prove to herself that Gordon was paying for his crimes.
She didn’t know how much time had passed when Elise turned on her heel and started for the warehouse doors. “I’m ready to go back to the house now.”
Declan hesitated, his eyes on Julia like he expected her to follow her sister. When she didn’t, he started after Elise. “We’ll wait in the car.”
Julia waited for the sound of the door to swing shut to move closer to Gordon. She leaned down, trying to get a look at his face, wondering if he really was out cold or if he was just playing dead.
She itched to get her hands on him, and she paced in front of him, trying to bring the surge of anger under control.
“Julia.” Ronan’s voice was quiet behind her.
She held up a hand without turning to look at him. She didn’t want him to reason with her right now. Didn’t want to see the expression on his face, which would either be sympathy or a rage to match her own: sympathy would do her no good and rage would only give her permission to do the things she wanted to do.
She stopped in front of Gordon and reached for a handful of his greasy hair, using it to pull back his head. His eyes were so swollen she couldn’t tell if they were open, his face a mass of cuts and abrasions, dried blood covering almost every surface, his lips cracked and scabbed.
She imagined a knife slicing through the corded tissue of his neck, imagined the press of his forehead against the gun she’d started carrying whenever they left the house in Cap-Martin.
Would Ronan stop her?
It was a foolish thought. A reckless one. They hadn’t gotten any information from Gordon yet. Killing him now would only hurt their cause.
But that didn’t mean she didn’t want to do it.
She let go of his head, let it fall forward onto his chest again. She braced herself for Ronan’s concern, but when she turned toward him he was standing with his arms folded, an expression that might have been admiration on his face.
“You good?” he asked.
“I’m good. How close are you to getting something out of this asshole?”
A smile threatened the corners of his mouth. “Hard to say. Still working through our repertoire.”
She started for the door, briefly resting her hand on the bulge of his bicep as she passed. “Don’t stop now.”
17
Ronan swung, relishing the crunch of Gordon’s bone against his knuckles. His hands had gone numb a long time ago. He’d gotten used to the impact over the past three days, had come to enjoy it. It was evidence of the work he was doing to vindicate Elise.
To free Julia.
Gordon groaned, his head falling back to reveal broken teeth and split lips. Ronan leaned his own face close to Gordon’s ruined visage. He’d gotten used to the stench, hardly noticed it anymore.
“I’d just as soon kill you,” Ronan said, hoping Gordon could hear him.
Ronan had to hand it to the bastard: he hadn’t talked yet.
So far Ronan had deployed standard interrogation techniques — beatings with fists and various objects, sleep deprivation with the aid of the spotlight, even assault by noise, playing an assortment of grating music and miscellaneous sounds at full volume through the night.
None of it had moved Gordon to talk about the men behind Manifest.
He’d spent the day contemplating the other techniques at their disposal, techniques not sanctioned by official governments. Techniques that almost always made men talk, even men like Mark Gordon.
“Hey.”
Ronan turned around to see Nick pacing in the shadows. He turned away from Gordon to meet his brother.
“What?” Ronan said. He was in another place now. A place where there was no room for reason. No room for family. No room even for Julia.
“Have you checked his vitals lately?” Nick asked.
“No,” Ronan said.
“Should you?”
“You want to do this?” Ronan asked.
It was a rhetorical question. Ronan had taken charge of the interrogation because he was the only one with the experience — and the stomach — for the job. Nick and Declan worked behind the scenes, making sure Ronan had food, making sure he didn’t kill Gordon, protecting Julia and Elise.
“No,” Nick said. “I’m just saying that if you kill him everything we’ve done will be for nothing.”
“Not for nothing.” Ronan had gotten a surprising amount of satisfaction from the work he’d been doing, Elise’s kidnapping at the forefront of his mind, the locked doors onboard the Elysium flashing over and over again.
“You know what I mean. We need information. It took us three months to ID Gordon. If you kill him we’re back to square one,” Nick said.
“I’m not going to kill him,” Ronan said. “Yet.”
“You sure about that?” Nick asked. “Because if so, you might want to check — ” He stopped mid-sentence.
“What?” Ronan asked.
“Get your weapon,” Nick said, moving toward the shadows, his eyes on the door. “And find cover.”
“What do you hear?” But Ronan was already moving, picking up his weapon from the table where he’d kept it while he worked over Mark Gordon.
He moved quickly to untie Gordon, too broken and dehydrated to try and get away as Ronan dragged him into the shadows behind some hulking piece of abandoned equipment.
He propped up Gordon and checked out Nick’s position behind an old metal tank.
Nick put a finger to his lips and pointed in the direction of the warehouse’s door.
It flew open with a clang, something R
onan heard rather than saw.
Fuck.
The sound was followed by boots on the concrete floor. Ronan recognized their pattern, the formation used in military operations: one man taking the lead and acting as a scout, the other falling into step behind him. He marked four men. They didn’t speak as they moved, and Ronan could almost see the hand gestures they’d be using in lieu of speech.
Four against two wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t insurmountable given the fact that Ronan and Nick had the upper hand. Right now, Gordon’s men — and Ronan was sure they were Gordon’s men, Khasan Idrisov wouldn’t care enough about hired muscle to risk his own people — probably didn’t know if Ronan and Nick were still in the warehouse, if Gordon was dead or alive.
He glanced at Nick and held up four fingers, then gestured to make it clear that he would take the lead.
Nick nodded, and Ronan quietly positioned Gordon in front of his own body, glad all over again that he’d beaten Gordon to within an inch of his life.
The footsteps had gotten quieter, separating as the men fanned out to the edges of the warehouse space, checking in the shadows and behind the equipment to clear the room.
It would be harder to take them when they were split up, but lucky for Ronan and Nick, they had Mark Gordon.
He listened, marking the footsteps as they came close, then looked at Nick, who knew enough to realize Ronan had his hands full.
Nick started the countdown, lifting up three fingers, the concentration on his face making it clear he was marking the steps of Gordon’s men too.
3…
2…
1.
Ronan stood, weapon aimed in the direction of the footsteps closest to him, Gordon positioned in front of his body. He homed in on a black-clad figure thirty feet away and fired.
The warehouse erupted into an explosion of light and sound as Gordon’s men realized they’d walked into a hornet’s nest.
Ronan watched the man he’d fired at slump to the floor, blood leaking from his forehead right about the time he felt two of the man’s rounds hit Mark Gordon’s flesh with the thwack of wet meat.
Murphy’s Love: Murphy’s Law Book Three Page 7