The jet helicopter lifted with a lurch, flying barely over the top of the cruiser, then picking up altitude as they swung in a wide arc and flew over the woods where smoke rose from Gabrielle’s poor Jeep.
An arm circled her shoulders.
She turned to ask Carlos where he thought they were going, but her teeth were chattering so hard she was afraid she’d bite her tongue if she spoke. Shock had set in and cold clothes weren’t helping. Her whole body vibrated.
Carlos was warm, though. Why wasn’t he cold?
Who cared? She soaked up heat and comfort from his imposing body.
Gabrielle couldn’t believe she’d been so naïve as to think Durand Anguis was her biggest threat.
Warm breath brushed along the skin of her neck when Carlos leaned his face near her ear and spoke. “Just do what they say. I’ll figure a way out of this.” He rubbed the hand on her shoulder up and down her arm, then brushed a lock of hair off her face with a finger.
Her brain stumbled at the endearing action. How was she supposed to interpret his moves?
“So who is she, Carlos?” Turga raised his voice over the roar of the motor.
“I told you.” Carlos cupped her face and kissed her gently again. Had that been to soothe her or convince their kidnapper? Lifting his gaze to Turga, Carlos pulled her close, possessively. “Just been dating.”
Emotions scurried to find a home, but she couldn’t sort through the rash of reactions his touch and kiss provoked.
Carlos was trying to divert their attention from her so the least she could do for now was play along with his charade. She slipped an arm around his waist and hugged against his chest, her gaze jumping to catch their kidnapper’s assessment.
Turga made no sound or action to indicate his thoughts.
Moving his free hand to the arm she’d wrapped across his chest, Carlos rubbed up and down slowly then kissed her hair.
She was in over her head in this deadly game, but playing along with a man who looked like Carlos was no hardship. She’d sworn off hot men for relationships, which hadn’t been difficult since her lifestyle made dating unrealistic. Pretending with Carlos was safe. But marrying a male icon ten years ago who was just last year listed as one of the world’s top fifty most desirable men had been emotional suicide.
To-die-for faces and ripped bodies hadn’t appealed to her since divorcing that jerk Roberto.
But she did feel an odd pull toward Carlos that she could only attribute to the situation she was in. His very presence screamed strength and confidence.
Now that was attractive and tempting.
She believed he just might get them out of this.
Indecision camped out in Turga’s gaze. “You don’t keep women for more than one night.”
“Got comfortable.” Carlos leaned down and kissed her cheek, so tenderly her insides turned mushy. His arms tightened around her and her heart skipped a beat. She’d never felt protected or cared for. Not the way she did at this minute.
Even though Carlos was pretending, he was doing a better job than her miserable ex-husband had on their wedding night.
But Carlos was not with law enforcement.
Like that really mattered right now given their dire situation?
“We shall see.” Turga didn’t say another word until they landed fifteen minutes later in the parking lot at the rear of a building with a FOR LEASE sign on several doors. The pilot left the rotors spinning slowly and climbed out.
Turga jumped down from his seat, his rifle slung over his shoulder and the handgun pointed at her. This whole scene was too bizarre to comprehend. Guns, grenade launchers, jet helicopters. Deaths.
She couldn’t think about that and function.
Gabrielle waited on Carlos to climb down first, then he turned to help her. When he lowered her to the ground in front of him, he pulled her into a quick hug and whispered, “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Rather than risk losing a grip on her emotions, she nodded. She didn’t know this man, didn’t know why he had come for her or whom he worked with, but he was diverting all danger from her.
“Enough. Walk,” Turga ordered.
As they backed away from the helicopter, the pilot peeled black vinyl off the tail section that had covered the aircraft registration numbers. Carlos kept his arm around her waist and guided them both to the closest doorway.
Gabrielle wanted to assure him she was ready to fight with him. She kept her voice low. “I’m okay. I can do this.”
“Open the door,” Turga ordered.
Carlos squeezed her waist in reply and gave her a look of admiration that warmed her. He released her to extend his hand and turn the knob, then held the door for her to enter. She stepped out of his grasp and walked boldly through the doorway.
The first thing that hit her was an overpowering metallic smell that gagged her.
The second was the image of a bloody body hanging thirty yards away against a wall.
Her knees buckled.
FIVE
CARLOS CAUGHT GABRIELLE-if that really was her name-under her arms before she sank to the floor.
He’d found Lee.
Gabrielle was making those gut-wrenching noises.
She’d been doing so good, holding up far better than he’d have expected from any civilian. He turned her to face him and held her against his chest. “Breathe through your mouth.”
Carlos felt the cold barrel of his own 9 mm poke his neck.
“Keep moving,” Turga said.
Carlos held her arm as she stepped along with him, slowly, not a drop of color in her face. “Don’t look at him,” he told her, wishing he could vanish the image of Lee strapped to the wall spread eagle.
Lee’s head rolled to one side. He was alive.
Classic Turga location. This would be one of no less than three spots in the area his men would have scouted out for this night.
His men must have found Lee with Baby Face while Carlos had been out in the lake with Gabrielle and assumed Lee had shot Baby Face and knew what the electronics felon was after.
At least Turga and his men weren’t a professional snatch team that would have known to cover his and Gabrielle’s heads with pillowcases, then separate them. Turga was the equivalent of a vulture and he hired bottom-feeders.
Carlos had met him a few months ago when Turga tried to hire Carlos for an operation he declined. If he’d accepted the first time, Turga would have been suspicious, so Carlos had expected a second meeting. Just not this way.
When the chopper pilot entered the building, Turga waved his weapon, indicating a spot where he wanted Carlos and Gabrielle, over to the side. Once Turga was satisfied with their position, he spoke quietly to his pilot.
Carlos averted Gabrielle’s gaze from Lee’s naked body, covered in lean muscle and bloody gashes. His face had already swollen to a hideous shape.
Tattoos scrolling across his shoulder and down one arm explained why Joe had taken him in. BAD didn’t recruit from colleges like the CIA and the FBI.
BAD would be more likely to hold a job fair at a prison.
Joe had drawn Carlos in from the street by offering him a chance to legally use his skills at things like breaking and entering. BAD needed an expert on South America, someone who could move around the country undetected.
One thing about Joe, he had timing down to an art. Having refused to choose a gang in San Francisco, Carlos had been living on borrowed time since he poached on all territories back then.
But Lee had clearly taken a different path.
Lee’s inked designs belonged to a Chicago gang known as the Firing Squad, which dealt in interstate drug trafficking, car thefts, shakedowns, and money laundering. A tight group no one undercover had been able to break into.
To become a member, a man had to pass only three tests.
One was to be under the age of twenty.
The second was to be vouched for by a member with five or more years in the gang.
The
final and defining test determined if he could kill to survive. The gang pledge had to challenge a member of a rival gang to kill or be killed in thirty days. Sort of the street version of international athletic competition, but in this one the gold chain went to the last one breathing.
The losing opponent won a one-way ticket to hell.
Once the challenge was made, Lee would have had to remain inside the city limits and keep a visible profile for a month with no support.
If he lived, he was in.
The chances of survival were so small it was laughable.
But Lee had made it or he wouldn’t have the ink, because no tattoo artist was stupid enough to ink a gang design without authorization.
But Lee must have turned the corner somewhere. Joe had seen something decent in the kid to bring him into BAD.
Maybe the same thing that had caused Joe to prevent Carlos from going to prison and give him a chance no one else would.
Dammit, Lee couldn’t be over twenty-five.
Why did that seem so young when Carlos was only thirty-three?
Because he’d lived a hard thirty-three years.
Someone moved into view close to Lee. Just as Carlos had suspected, Turga had backup inside the building. Bald, not quite six feet tall, another stocky, dark-skinned Turk.
This guy had tortured Lee.
He would die first.
Carlos glanced around for a place to put Gabrielle so he would have his hands free. The only chairs were next to a table beside where Lee hung. Carlos wasn’t letting Gabrielle anywhere near that animal who had tortured the BAD agent.
What had Lee given up?
Carlos would know soon enough.
“Sit over here.” He moved Gabrielle to a crate and she followed without a word. If she went deep into shock where she wouldn’t respond, getting her out of here unharmed would be tough if he got a break.
He’d deal with that when the time came.
If the time came.
Deep voices murmured behind him. Carlos had to find out what Turga wanted and determine what, if anything, he could negotiate. But he couldn’t leave Gabrielle yet.
He cupped her face with both hands, forcing her to look up at him. Violet-blue eyes stared back with the full force of her terror. But he’d expected a glazed look, so that was promising.
Before he could say another word, a howl of pain from where Lee hung clawed the air.
Carlos clenched his jaw.
Gabrielle jerked. Her face changed from pale to a sick green, but she was holding up damn good for a woman obviously not trained for this. He’d seen men in similar situations completely shut down by now.
“Keep your eyes on me,” Carlos instructed her, then waited on her nod before he turned around. The pilot was gone.
“Why was he with you, Carlos?” Turga asked, indicating Lee. “You share your dates?” Mockery dripped from his tongue.
“Just hired some muscle to watch my back while I stopped in to see her. We were on our way to a job. I caught Baby Face at Gabrielle’s house looking for me. If you’d have waited five minutes, I’d have been back around the house. This”-Carlos pointed at Lee’s battered body-“wouldn’t have been necessary.”
Turga merely smiled. “You paid this kid to back you up? You insult me.” He scowled and turned to his torturer. “What you find out, Izmir?”
“This one claims the same thing.” Izmir shrugged. “Said he made some quick cash to help. Hired to watch the woman’s house. Took some work, but he did give me Carlos’s name.”
Carlos would not fault Lee for that. In fact, he commended him on keeping the story straight and only using a first name. This way they were corroborating each other’s story.
Turga jerked his head in a sign for Izmir to come to him. When Izmir reached Turga, they spoke quietly.
Turga was a poacher, an opportunist who waited for someone like Baby Face to make a deal and do all the work before Turga showed up at the last minute to snatch the prize out from under everyone. His success depended on timing. Right about now, he was trying to figure out if he’d made a mistake by jumping too soon before he found out what Baby Face was after.
Turga would have given Baby Face one chance to tell him, then cut his throat since he was too damn big to carry out easily.
Carlos glanced at Lee, who lifted his head an inch and angled his face toward Carlos, but there was no way to tell if he could actually see anything out of those bloated eyes. Carlos gave him a slight nod he hoped translated into a promise that he’d make that bastard pay.
Lee moved his chin up and down a fraction, just enough to let Carlos know he had seen something.
Carlos glanced at his watch. How could he use the fact that it was eighteen minutes to six?
“Ask him more,” Turga ordered.
Izmir walked to a table next to Lee where a couple towels were piled. To clean up his hands when the blood got too sticky?
You will pay, asshole.
Izmir lifted a pole with a loop on the end like the kind used to catch a snake, except the loop on the end was a wire that ran to a machine plugged into the wall. Carlos flinched, guessing at what Izmir had in mind. The bastard moved the loop toward Lee’s genitals.
“Stop!” Carlos ordered.
“You want to talk?” Turga asked with so much humor Carlos shook with the need to rip him to pieces.
“Turn him loose and we’ll talk,” Carlos offered in as even a voice as he could muster.
“Don’t think so.”
“You’re going to kill all of us, Turga. I’ll give you what you want if you leave the kid alone.”
“So you’ll tell me your deal with Baby Face? I know it was big score, something that electronic ferret lucked into.”
So Baby Face had found Mirage for someone else he planned to shop her to and Turga didn’t know.
Hard to imagine that the woman behind Carlos was the infamous electronic informant, but to be honest he’d seen stranger things.
He made a production of checking his watch, then sighed. “Okay, here’s the deal. Baby Face offered me a cut to help him make a risky trade. He wanted professional backup, not the clowns he normally dragged around. He had to contact someone by six tonight or the deal was off. I was out of the country. Just got back and found out he was offered more money to deliver sooner, and I know who has the money. So he was trying to snake me on the deal. You cut the kid loose,” Carlos said, nodding at Lee, “and I’ll tell you the deal, names, everything. In trade, no torture, just a bullet between the eyes.”
Turga glanced at his watch and back at Carlos, his eyes twitching as if he couldn’t decide whether to kill Carlos or make a deal. He finally cursed something in Turkish.
“If you lie, you look worse than him when I get through with you.” Angling his head at Lee, Turga’s face creased with confusion, the time element now causing him grief. “Not like Baby Face to pick up an asset himself. Don’t fuck with me, Carlos. Only reason she not strung up yet is I’m still not buying this girlfriend bit. I no risk damaging merchandise in case she is what Baby Face selling. If not, she all mine.”
Carlos forced himself not to charge Turga. Fury rode up his back, demanding immediate payment for Lee’s bloody body. And, yes, for Gabrielle’s terror even if she had put herself in this predicament.
“Take him down and I’ll tell you what Baby Face was really after and how to cut the deal…or risk missing Baby Face’s deadline.” Carlos delivered that with a venomous finality that assured he was through negotiating.
Turga finally nodded at Izmir, who grumbled, then tossed his stick to the ground. He produced a switchblade and cut Lee’s ankles loose, then his wrists.
A hiss of pain and moans escaped when Lee fell to his knees before his arms and head slapped the floor. He didn’t move.
Carlos had covered several steps toward Turga while his attention was turned.
When Turga cut his gaze back, he waved the 9 mm. “Stop there.” A jingle played, interrupting t
he tense silence. Turga dug a cell phone out of his front pants pocket and answered with “What you find out?” After a pause, he smiled and said, “He put out a bounty? No, no, we’re old friends. I contact him soon. Good work. You almost as good as Baby Face.” He closed his phone and shoved it back into his front pants pocket.
“I thought we were going to talk.” But Carlos knew deep in his gut that call had complicated things.
“Yes, yes. First, you tell me what she knows about this Mirage Durand Anguis has bounty on.”
Hell. Wait. Turga thinks Gabrielle only knew something about the Mirage.
Carlos offered his most arrogant smile. “That’s what I was trying to tell you. Durand made Baby Face a new offer for more money to deliver her to him. Durand’s far more persuasive than Izmir when it comes to making someone talk.” He ignored the feminine gasp behind him and continued, “Baby Face figured he’d save what he was going to pay me and make a bonus amount by picking her up. Not a bad plan even for Baby Face. As you said, he doesn’t normally do his own dirty work.”
“So she has information?” Turga’s smile gleamed with anticipation.
“You’re smarter than that.” Carlos doubted the possibility, but hoped a threat would force Turga to hesitate. “Touch her and Durand will take your balls off with a pair of pliers.”
Turga shrugged. “So, no reason to keep you alive, eh?”
That was a tricky one. Carlos needed a minute to come up with an answer. “Go ahead and shoot me.”
Turga smiled, shoved the gun inside his waistband, and swung the rifle up.
“But it will cost you,” Carlos said quickly.
That unglued the bastard’s smile. “What you mean?”
Good news? Turga’s greed outweighed his intelligence.
“Let’s sit down and talk.” Carlos started forward, angling toward the table and chairs, gaining another two steps closer to Turga.
“Stop. We discuss nothing until Izmir tie your hands so you no make one of those moves you famous for.”
“Me famous?” Carlos laughed, keeping his eyes on Izmir, who grabbed a length of cord he snapped with pleasure and headed for him.
“I hear stories.” Turga scowled. “I would keep you alive if not so risky. Bet someone has price on your head, too.”
Whispered Lies Page 7