Colder Than Sin (Cold Justice - Crossfire: FBI Romantic Suspense Book 2)

by Toni Anderson

  It was surreal.

  How had she gone from cocktails in a gold dress and Jimmy Choos—shoes that had been abandoned with ease when life-threatening danger presented itself—to hiding in the jungle, crawling in the dirt, wearing a stranger’s gym clothes, praying the bad guys didn’t find either one of them?

  She didn’t want to die.

  She hadn’t realized how desperately she wanted to live until this very moment.

  The chime of her cell phone made her heart stop beating. No, no, no. Terror spread over her skin like an electric shock. She uncurled enough to reject the call and turn the ringer to silent using shaking fingers on the button on the side. Then she wrapped her body around the stupid cell phone and closed her eyes, even though it was pitch black. If she couldn’t see them, then maybe they couldn’t see her, right?

  The men had gone quiet. Haley heard nothing beyond the drumming of blood in her ears. She forced herself to calm her breathing, which seemed as harsh as a siren in the night.

  The systematic rustle of vegetation told her they’d heard the cell and were searching for her. She squeezed herself into an even smaller ball, holding her breath and trying to become invisible. Suddenly the branches were ripped away from over her head, and a strong hand manacled her wrist, dragging her to her feet. The man grabbed both her hands and pulled them behind her back, wrenching them so high she cried out in pain. She wanted to lash out, but the barrel of an AK was shoved into her chest, and she knew if she even blinked wrong, she was dead.

  There were two of them, one tall and angular and the other, short and heavy. They jabbered with one another in a language she didn’t understand. Moonlight glinted off belts of ammo wrapped over their shoulders. The smell of their sweat was rank and overwhelming, as if they’d been wearing the same clothes for days or didn’t have access to a shower.

  They were laughing at her. Mocking her. The man holding her wrapped something around her wrists and cinched it so tight pain shot up her arms. She doubted her blood could circulate. She was taller than both of them, but even with Alex’s self-defense lessons, she was too scared to risk fighting them. The guns were too there. The slightest pressure of a finger on the trigger would mean a bullet, and a painful death.

  She didn’t look around for Savage. He couldn’t do anything for her, and she didn’t want to get him killed simply because she’d been too dumb to turn off her cell’s ringer while hiding from hostiles.

  She might not understand what the men were saying, but she recognized the change in tone, and understood their intent when they shoved her onto her back on the ground and dragged her shorts down her body, off one leg.

  Oh, god.

  She wanted to scream but didn’t want to bring more attention to their little tableau. The furtive way these men were acting suggested they knew they shouldn’t be doing this, and not because it was a moral outrage.

  The position of her arms and hands beneath her back was agony. Despite knowing she should lie still and pretend it wasn’t happening she drew back her leg and kicked the closest guy in the face.

  They’d shoot her anyway after they raped her, so why the hell not? The heavier guy punched her, and a white flash of pain crashed through her brain. Her lip split, and she tasted blood. Her head fell back against the ground, and she lay there, dazed.

  One of them turned on a flashlight and pointed it at her body. Rough hands parted her thighs and both men stared. Emotion choked her. Rage and humiliation wanted to consume her.

  She squirmed and tried to squeeze her knees back together, but the taller man knelt down and forced them apart, planting himself there, fumbling with his zipper.

  No.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  Did she have some sort of victim symbol tattooed to her forehead? She lay frozen in horror and disgust. Shaking. Was this somehow her fault? Could she have behaved differently and none of this would ever have happened?

  Yes, Haley, if you’d turned off the ringer of your goddamn phone this wouldn’t be happening.

  She stared up at the stars visible through the thick jungle canopy overhead. All these years, she’d been running away from this very act, taking control of her sex life while fighting to be taken seriously, to be treated as an equal. And yet these animals had taken one look at her in the dark forest and, once again, she’d been reduced to her most basic animal parts.

  It was hard to see their expressions with the flashlight in front of them, but she could tell they were excited. Duh. The man between her thighs held her down with a heavy hand on her pelvis. Haley’s mouth went dry, and her flesh went cold. She knew what was coming.

  The second man stood behind the first, watching her nakedness with lust, waiting his turn with impatience. Suddenly, he seemed to sag, his neck bending in an unnatural fashion before he floated to the ground.

  The man holding her reached out to touch her with his filthy hand, and she flinched. She hated him with every cell in her body. Despised him. Wanted to kill him but instead lay as inert as stone. Silent.

  He noticed his friend had gone quiet and looked around, but it was too late. Big hands wrapped around his jaw and jerked his head violently to the right. Her attacker went limp and fell heavy across her thigh. Quentin dragged him off and tossed him aside.

  She tried to close her legs, but her movements were stiff and awkward.

  She wanted to hide herself, even though Quentin had seen every inch of her naked body. There was a distinct difference in being naked when she was having consensual sex versus any other time. Quentin seemed to understand she was struggling to cope and quickly pulled the shorts back up her legs and over her hips, treating her as if she were a helpless child. She lay there trembling so hard she didn’t think she could sit up.

  “Are you hurt?” he whispered desperately. “Was I too late?”

  She shook her head, feeling the dirt and twigs beneath her scalp. She felt violated and dirty and full of every form of loathing and disgust.

  Quentin used the attacker’s flashlight but kept the beam of light close to the ground so it couldn’t be seen from a distance. He searched the body of the dead man beside her, found a knife, rolled her unceremoniously onto her side and cut through the cord that bound her wrists.

  Blood rushed painfully back into her hands and fingers and she felt lightheaded as she sat up. But she was free of her bindings and had never felt more grateful to another human being in her life. Not that they had time to celebrate.

  Quentin turned away and began collecting weapons and ammo off the two dead men. Building a small arsenal. Then he undid the one man’s shirt and then his pants and boots.

  He thrust the clothes at her. “Put them on.”

  Her stomach heaved when the warm fabric touched her skin.

  “I can’t.” She shoved them away.

  “You have to.” Quentin crouched beside her, tone resolute. “Your skin is too pale and too easily seen. As is your hair. The next time someone comes looking for us, we might not get so lucky.”

  Her inhaled breath sounded awfully like a sob.

  He grasped her upper arm. “I know you can do this, Haley. I know how tough you are.”

  She thrust his hand away. All his words did was remind her how weak she’d been over the last few hours. But he was right about her skin. It virtually glowed in the moonlight. She grabbed the shirt and quickly pulled it across her shoulders, immediately fading a little into the shadows. She wished she could disappear into the earth, let it swallow her whole. She undid Savage’s too big sneakers and dragged the would-be rapist’s pants up her legs over the gym shorts. She could smell her attacker’s sour scent, and her stomach turned, but she held it together.

  That asshole was dead. She wasn’t. She wanted to remain that way.

  She went to put Quentin’s sneakers back on, but he stopped her and tossed her the man’s boots instead.

  “These are smaller. Wear them.”

  She toed them on. It was funny. She wasn’t normally g
ood at following orders. In fact, she was abysmal at it. Alex and Dermot would be open-mouthed at her interaction with this senior FBI agent. However, what Savage said made sense and arguing might cost them both of their lives, so she didn’t bother. Despite her blunder with the cell phone, she wasn’t an idiot.

  Plus, he’d saved her from a brutal gang rape, not to mention helped her after Cecil Wenck had accosted her. She wouldn’t repay that with some prima donna bullshit.

  “Do either of them have a hat?” she asked.

  Quentin glanced at her. He’d pulled on the other militant’s shirt, even though it was tight cross his shoulders. He searched the guy’s pants, and she thought to do the same with the trousers she was wearing.

  “Found one.” She jammed it over her bright hair. She would scour every inch of her body with bleach when she got home. Maybe shave off her hair and start from scratch. but first she needed to survive this ordeal. Quentin nodded with approval and dragged the two bodies a little deeper into the bushes.

  She picked up an AK.

  “You know how to use that?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He crouched beside her on his knees in the dirt. The fact he didn’t question her abilities made her heart melt a little. “I want you to make your way up the hill, find a dense bit of jungle and hide there until rescue arrives. When it does, when you know for sure they are the good guys, take off your hat and camo shirt and leave the weapon behind. The last thing we need is them mistaking you for a terrorist.”

  She clutched his arm. “Where are you going?”

  He gave her a full smile that dazzled her. She’d been attracted to his looks earlier and wowed by his skill in the bedroom, but she hadn’t realized exactly how devastatingly handsome he was until that moment. And she hadn’t realized how little he smiled.

  “Back to the hotel to check on the situation. See if there is anything I can do that might save some lives.”

  “I’m coming with you.” Though she was terrified. She had a whole new respect for soldiers and law enforcement who kept civilians safe.

  “No.”

  “Yes.” She climbed to her feet. “I’m sick of people treating me like I’m nothing but a receptacle for their junk. Present company excepted.”

  Quentin broke into a surprised grin. “I appreciate the exception.” He turned off the flashlight, and moonlight etched the side of his face. “One of the people I’m hoping to help is my friend Chris Baylor. I realize you two didn’t part on good terms, but as a federal agent, I am looking to save anyone I can, and that includes men like Chris. If you have a problem with that…”

  Haley couldn’t stop the residual tremors that affected her limbs. “I have more of a problem hiding in the woods while other people die.”

  The look he gave her verged on pity, and she hated it.

  “Your lack of training will probably hinder me rather than help me.”

  Like what had just happened with her cell phone? He didn’t say it, but then he didn’t have to.

  Emotion squeezed her throat. Shame too. His honesty was refreshing and unwanted.

  “I can point and shoot,” she argued.

  “We’re going to need stealth and guile too.”

  Haley swallowed. Was it selfish of her to not want to be left alone? Some people thought she was nothing but a selfish bitch, but she could help. She knew she could and wanted to prove it.

  “I’m a good shot and I know first aid,” she told him. She needed to be useful. Not to be a liability. Not to be the victim.

  Quentin cupped her cheek gently. “This is my job, Haley. And right now, I feel good that I’ve helped to keep one person alive tonight. If anything happens to you…”

  She squeezed her hand over his, ashamed of her dependence. “I don’t want you to get hurt either. And I’m scared,” she admitted, though it almost choked her. “I’m begging you not to leave me behind.”

  Chapter Seven

  Quentin knew Haley was afraid. Who wouldn’t be? He didn’t want to leave her but didn’t want to jeopardize her safety either, and he needed to see if he could help anyone else.

  They stared at one another. Different people than they’d been a few hours ago, different even to the strangers who’d hooked up for a round of incredible sex.

  He’d killed two men.

  They’d have raped Haley and put a bullet in her head as soon as they were done. Quentin wasn’t sorry, but he could still feel the moment their necks had snapped in his grip. It was a sensation he’d never forget.

  “I want to help,” she told him, holding the AK in a way that suggested she was competent with firearms.

  He had to admit he was impressed despite himself. The woman in the gold dress and high heels had looked too glamorous to be handling an assault rifle with authority. The woman who’d lain in the dirt had looked too traumatized to try to persuade him to let her come on a high-risk mission. It was hard to believe all these different sides were part and parcel of the same woman, but he had no doubt she was sincere in her desire to help.

  The sound of voices had them both tensing. A group of men headed in their direction, someone angrily barking out instructions.

  Quentin took Haley’s hand and drew her farther away from the beach, up the gully that ran along the bottom of this hillside. His night vision had adjusted so well he could easily make out the forest floor. Haley moved quietly beside him. No crying or panicking the way many civilians would have by now.

  Was this the armed group making their escape before authorities arrived? Sure looked like it. Meanwhile, at the hotel, survivors or critically injured people would need first aid.

  The appearance of those first two hostiles made more sense now. The group had probably left their boats on the beach, and the two guys had been the forward party to get everything ready for a rapid withdrawal. As soon as it was noted that those men weren’t where they were supposed to be, the bad guys might instigate a search. If they found their comrades’ bodies, the broken necks would tell them that not everyone on the island was dead.

  Would they come after them or make their escape? Quentin didn’t know, but he wasn’t waiting around to find out.

  He kept moving through the jungle, going as fast as he dared, choosing speed over stealth in order to put a little distance between him, Haley, and the tangos.

  Up the hill, to the left of the cell tower, they pushed forward until his thighs screamed, and his breath grew harsh. Suddenly they burst out into a clearing. The road, he realized. He steered Haley back into the bush. The road was risky. Too exposed.

  An orange glow lit the sky ahead, visible through the branches and leaves. The smell of smoke was cloying and thick. The hotel was burning.

  Haley’s fingers tightened on his in silent apprehension. The roar of the flames grew louder the closer they got. The fire spit and crackled as sparks flew into the air. The heat made sweat bead on his brow even from a distance.

  They reached the edge of the jungle where it met carefully manicured lawn. One side of the hotel, the side most people had been staying on, was engulfed in red-hot flames. The other half of the hotel seemed largely untouched for now.

  He scanned the surroundings. No one seemed to be moving. No terrorists. No victims. No survivors. Surely not everyone was dead?

  After watching for a full minute, he turned to Haley and leaned close to her ear, so his voice didn’t carry. He thought he heard gunfire, but it was hard to tell for sure over the roar of the inferno. “I’m going to check out the ground floor area near the bar and see if there’s anyone who can be rescued. Stay here—”

  “No.” She shook her head, took off the ugly cap and stuffed it in her shirt pocket, probably so she wasn’t marked as a terrorist in the unlikely event the good guys turned up. He slipped out of the camp shirt for the same reason. He was pretty sure the hostiles had made their escape, but who knew for sure?

  Haley was a grown woman. If she wanted to put herself in danger to save others,
that was her choice, even if he didn’t like it. She wasn’t his subordinate or his responsibility. But after everything they’d been through, the idea of anything happening to her cut sharply through the armor he kept around his heart.

  “Let’s make our way around to the other side of the building via the woods and enter through the garden doors.” That way they wouldn’t have to make themselves more obvious targets than they already were and could look inside the building before they risked revealing themselves.

  He felt her nod and realized he was still holding her hand, but as she didn’t seem to mind and he liked knowing exactly where she was, he didn’t let go.

  It wasn’t exactly date night.

  They ran at a crouch. The going was easier here, still jungle, but jungle that was kept under control by groundskeepers. Quentin wondered if the terrorists had let the locals live. Presumably they’d targeted the foreigners at the security conference to make a mockery out of the proceedings and draw as much attention to themselves as possible. And what was the point of terrifying people if the world didn’t hear about it? Killing locals would make it more likely that people would turn on them and reveal their identities…assuming anyone survived.

  Once they reached the outside of the bar area, they scanned the scene from a distance through the glass. Orange flames licked the edges of the interior. By some miracle of electrical wiring, the fans still swirled lazily, fanning the flames, but the rest of the world had changed in a few short hours.

  “You can still stay here out of danger,” Quentin murmured close to her ear. “Keep lookout,” he suggested.

  She reared back to look him in the eye. “You’ll need help bringing out survivors. I’m coming with you.”

  He dropped her hand to check his weapon and side-eyed her as she did the same. She appeared to know how to handle the AK, so hopefully he wouldn’t get a bullet in the ass. But the night was young. Who knew what was going to happen next?

  “Let’s go.” He ran across the lawn, half expecting the rat-tat-tat of automatic gunfire, but nothing happened. He got to the door that opened out onto the patio. He tried it, but it was locked. A look through the door showed him that someone had secured a cable tie around the handles so it couldn’t be easily opened. The tangos hadn’t wanted survivors to find a way out. Assuming there were survivors.