Colton's Deep Cover--A Romantic Suspense

by Elle Kennedy

Please, God, don’t let it be her.

  Standing flat against the wall, he peered into the corridor. Crap. A bulky man clad in camo pants and a bomber jacket stood guard in front of one of the doorways in the hall, a sleek black Glock in his hand.

  Tate ducked out of sight. “Guard at the door,” he said in a barely audible voice. “Need to take him out.”

  “How?” Derek whispered.

  He set his jaw, his gaze scanning the floor. When he spotted a splintered piece of what looked like a chair leg, Tate bent down and picked it up. Taking a breath, he threw the piece of wood at an aluminum ladder leaning against the wall a few yards away.

  Derek jumped as the ladder toppled over with a deafening crash. “What the—”

  A second later, the guard burst out of the corridor. Just as he turned the corner, Tate came up behind the beefy man, clapped a hand over his mouth and slammed the butt of his gun into the back of the man’s head.

  Unconscious, the guard dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

  “Nice,” Derek murmured, looking impressed.

  Tate offered a small grin, which faded the moment he made his way to the doorway the guard had been covering.

  “Vitals are stable,” came a crisp female voice.

  Inhaling, Tate opened the door and peered into the room.

  And nearly keeled over in shock.

  He felt like he was watching a macabre episode of some medical television drama. An impromptu operating room had been set up in the high-ceilinged space. Overhead surgical lights illuminated a large operating table surrounded by stainless-steel tables bearing surgical instruments, an anesthesia cart and various blinking monitors.

  Three people occupied the room, all wearing lime-green scrubs, white surgical masks and booties on their feet. One sat near the patient’s head, the anesthesiologist, Tate deduced. The other two hovered over the table, talking in hushed whispers. Moreno and his nurse.

  “Retractor,” the surgeon barked.

  The female next to him placed an instrument in his gloved hand.

  Tate’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach as he watched Moreno lean forward. The silver instrument he held gleamed in the overhead lights, flickering like a mirror in the sun as he lowered his hand to his patient’s face.

  The patient.

  Tate couldn’t see the patient.

  Wait…there. Moreno shifted, revealing a still figure lying on the table. Her face was red and swollen, unrecognizable. A white plastic cap covered her hair.

  Tate’s mouth went dry. God, what color was her hair? Hannah had such beautiful red hair. What color was the girl’s hair, damn it?

  “Scalpel,” Felix ordered.

  As the nurse placed a silver blade in Moreno’s open palm, Tate snapped out of his panic-induced trance and sprang into action.

  Charging toward the table, he raised his gun and yelled, “Philadelphia Police Department! Put your hands in the air!”

  A shocked silence fell. The only sound in the room came from the monitor next to the table, a sharp, steady beeping indicating the patient’s heartbeat.

  And then chaos broke out.

  “Oh, God!” the nurse shrieked.

  The anesthesiologist jumped off his chair and tried to make a run for it, only to halt like a deer in headlights when Derek raised his own weapon and shouted, “Don’t move!”

  The man froze.

  “Step away from the table!” Tate snapped at Moreno.

  He rushed forward, keeping his gun aimed at the surgeon and nurse and leaving Derek to handle the remaining man.

  Thanks to the mask he wore, Tate could only see Moreno’s eyes, those dark pupils that suddenly flashed with fury.

  “You’re making a big mistake,” Moreno roared. “I’m conducting surgery, for God’s sake!”

  “In a warehouse?” Tate said, his voice dripping with disbelief. Without awaiting a reply, he waved his gun at the surgeon. “Step away from the table, Moreno. Now.”

  Those dark eyes warily shifted from Tate’s face to the barrel of his Beretta. After a long beat, Moreno moved away from the patient.

  “Stand against the wall, hands on your heads. All of you,” Tate ordered, indicating with his gun where he wanted them to go.

  The trio shuffled toward the wall, Moreno cursing up a blue streak every step of the way.

  Reaching into his pocket, Tate fished out his cell phone and tossed it to Derek. “Speed dial two. Tell Villanueva I need backup ASAP.”

  Derek caught the phone and started dialing.

  Tate went for his pocket again, pulling out the FlexiCuffs he’d shoved in there. As he restrained Moreno’s hands behind his back, the surgeon twitched with outrage.

  “I’ll have your badge for this!” Moreno spat out.

  “You’re in no position to make threats,” Tate replied coolly.

  “Villanueva’s sending a team,” Derek called. “I’m going to check on the patient.”

  Tate secured the plastic cuffs around the wrists of Moreno’s nurse, then did the same to the anesthesiologist. As he ordered the trio to get on their knees, he saw from the corner of his eye Derek rushing to the operating table. The gasp that followed made Tate’s blood run cold.

  “Do you recognize her?” Tate’s throat tightened. “Is it Hannah?”

  “I can’t tell,” Derek yelled. “But damn it, Tate, she needs to be in a hospital.”

  Unable to turn his back on his prisoners, Tate was forced to listen to Derek’s indecipherable mumbling. “Fracture of the zygomatic bone…swelling in the nasal region… Jesus, Tate, her cheekbone’s collapsed into the maxillary sinus.”

  “English, Doc,” Tate said in frustration. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Broken nose, fractured cheekbone, more facial trauma I can’t assess.” The beeping from the monitor maintained a steady rhythm, but Derek’s tone was urgent as he said, “I need you in here.”

  It took Tate a second to realize Derek hadn’t spoken to him but into the phone. He must have called Chloe.

  “You’re making a dire mistake,” Moreno muttered from his spot on the floor. “Your interference could very well cost my patient her life.”

  “Shut up,” Tate snarled. “I don’t think you understand how much trouble you’re in, Doctor.”

  His mocking tone set Moreno’s eyes ablaze. “You have no idea who I am, do you, Detective? I’m Felix Moreno. I’ve got more money than you’d ever know what to do with and I can squash your pathetic little career with one phone call. You have no idea what you walked in on, the kind of trouble you’ll be in once the people in charge find out—”

  Moreno halted midsentence, a wheezy breath bursting out of his mouth.

  Tate heard the footsteps from behind, turning in time to see Chloe skid into the room carrying Derek’s black medical bag.

  Moreno’s dark eyes widened as they focused on the woman in the doorway. Looking like he’d just seen a ghost, he whispered, “Chloe?”

  CHAPTER 12

  Chloe stayed rooted to the ground. Ten feet away, her husband crouched on his knees with his arms behind his back. Green scrubs clung to his large, muscular body and a surgical mask dangled around his neck. A chill snaked up her spine when she caught sight of his familiar face, those chiseled, angular features, the cleft in his square chin, the flawless olive skin and familiar dark eyes—eyes that were wide with sheer disbelief.

  On the other side of the room, Derek stood by an operating table that seemed unbelievably out of place in this cold, damp room. His brown eyes sought her out, but she shifted her gaze back to Felix, her palms tingling.

  Her first instinct was to cower, to crawl inside herself the way she always did when faced with Felix’s rage. Instead, she reined in the impulse and forced herself to
walk toward him, her head high.

  “Hello, Felix,” she said coolly.

  His jaw opened and closed. “Chloe. You’re…alive.”

  The shock hanging on each word didn’t fool her. This sick bastard had been toying with her for more than a week now. Sending the blood-soaked dress. The DVD. The cake. He’d known the wedding keepsakes would drive her mad with terror, had probably laughed about it, patted himself on the back for his successful torment of his wife.

  “Drop the act,” she snapped. “We both know this isn’t a surprise to you.”

  His dark eyes sizzled with fury. “Don’t speak to me in that tone, you little bitch!” He staggered forward as if to charge at her, but the sharp wave of Tate’s gun made him freeze. He focused on Chloe, that perfect face of his hardening. “You faked your death?”

  “You already knew that,” she said bitterly. “Isn’t that why you’ve been sending me all those delightful presents?”

  He shook his head. Over and over. As if truly bewildered. But Chloe didn’t buy the pretense, not one damn bit.

  “I mourned you!” he growled. “And this entire time, you were alive? Hiding from me? Laughing at me behind my back?”

  He looked so insulted she had to laugh, which only triggered another explosion. “I won’t let you get away with this, you hear me? You’re going to pay for this, Chloe.”

  “Give it up, Felix, you can’t hurt me anymore.”

  “I can do whatever I want! I’m your husband,” he roared. “And I’ll damn well punish my wife for her betrayal!”

  Chloe’s gaze drifted to the unconscious girl lying on the operating table. Derek was monitoring her vitals, but Chloe knew he was listening to every word being said.

  “You’re sick,” she whispered, shifting her gaze back to Felix. “So much sicker than I ever knew.”

  Felix laughed, long and slow. “You’re the sick one, Chloe. Defective. Weak. Pathetic.”

  The pang of sorrow she experienced was no match for the rivaling jolt of fury that spiraled through her. “I am not weak,” she said quietly. “I managed to escape you, didn’t I?”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “That’s right,” she continued. “I escaped you, Felix. I’m free now.” Now she laughed, gesturing to his cuffs. “Too bad you can’t say the same.”

  As if on cue, the doors of the warehouse burst open and a team of law enforcement officials streamed in. Brusque shouts bounced off the walls, and footsteps thudded on the floor. Paramedics rolled in a gurney, hurrying toward Derek and the patient, their voices urgent as they assessed the situation.

  Derek stepped aside to give the emergency workers room to work. His brown eyes locked with Chloe’s, and in that moment, she didn’t care that he couldn’t admit his feelings for her. Didn’t care that they’d probably say goodbye.

  No, the only thing she cared about was getting away from the despicable man she’d married and being with the man she loved.

  As she took a backward step, her husband snarled. “Don’t walk away from me.” When she kept walking, his voice became even more enraged. “I’m your husband! You can’t walk away from me, Chloe!”

  “Watch me,” she murmured.

  She walked straight into Derek’s arms. They embraced briefly, his strong hands caressing the small of her back. Then they turned to watch the scene before them.

  As Felix was carted off, he continued shooting incensed looks over his shoulder, scowling at Chloe. Halfway to the door, the scowl became a smile. A fat, smug smile that sent a shiver of fear straight to her bones.

  “This isn’t over!” Felix called out. “Don’t forget who I am, Chloe. I have money, power—you really think I’ll go to jail for trying to save an innocent girl’s life? I’ll be back, Chloe! I’ll be back and you better be ready to—”

  His voice faded as the cops hauled him out of the warehouse.

  Chloe stared at the door for a long time before turning to watch the paramedics wheel the patient away. She winced when she glimpsed the girl’s face—red and purple, swollen to the size of a melon, completely unrecognizable. They’d take her to the hospital, where she’d undergo surgery in a real O.R. with a surgeon who wasn’t a psychopath. Thank God.

  Next to her, Derek remained oddly silent.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I should be asking you that,” he said gruffly.

  A uniformed officer holding a radio stalked in their direction. “I’m going to need you to leave the scene, folks,” he barked. “Forensics needs to do a sweep.”

  Taking her hand, Derek led her out of the warehouse, keeping one arm around her trembling shoulders. Chloe couldn’t believe everything that had happened. Seeing Felix again. Watching him being carted off in handcuffs.

  And his final, Terminator-esque threat continued to haunt her mind.

  I’ll be back, Chloe.

  Fear coated her throat, but she breathed through it. No, Felix would not follow through on his threats. He was going to jail.

  Outside, the sun had already set, the parking lot bathed in darkness. Cruisers with lights flashing and unmarked vehicles were parked on the gravel. Derek’s brother stood near a police van, in deep discussion with two of the officers who’d arrived on the scene.

  Beside her, Derek stayed quiet, a frown now marring his mouth.

  Chloe studied his face. “What’s bothering you?” she asked uneasily.

  His cheeks hollowed as if he were grinding his molars.

  “Seriously, what’s wrong?” She clutched his hand. “It’s over, Derek. Felix will go to jail for his part in…in whatever the hell went down tonight. He can’t hurt me anymore.”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart. I’m not convinced he was behind those twisted gifts.” He shook his head, visibly upset. “He seemed genuinely shocked to see you alive.”

  “He’s a damn good liar,” she said curtly.

  Doubt continued to flicker in his eyes, but before he could respond, Tate strode over to them, a hard but victorious expression on his face.

  “You can take my car back to the ranch,” he said. “I’m heading to the hospital with one of the uniforms.” Then Tate smiled and extended his fist. “Thanks for being my partner in crime, Doc.”

  Derek bumped knuckles with his brother. “Anytime, Detective.” He suddenly sobered. “Any idea who that girl is?”

  “Not Hannah Troyer or Mary Yoder, judging by the hair color,” Tate replied, sounding relieved. “And I caught a glimpse of her arm as she was being wheeled out—she has a large birthmark, just like one of the missing girls from Ohio. I’ll have to check the case file to be sure.” He swallowed. “We’ll run a DNA sample because we can’t identify her face, but the good news is, she’ll live.”

  Chloe thought about that girl’s battered face and flinched. She couldn’t believe Felix had been involved in those disappearances. She still didn’t understand his part in it, but after tonight, she had no doubt that her husband had been sicker and shadier than she’d ever imagined.

  * * *

  Tate dropped by early the next afternoon, just as Chloe and Derek had settled in the kitchen for a cup of coffee. They’d spent most of the day marveling over last night’s shocking developments, and Derek had been checking periodically with the hospital for updates on the Amish girl’s condition.

  She’d been identified as Miriam Schwartz, a seventeen-year-old girl who’d been reported missing from an Amish community in Ohio two months ago. Miriam would undergo several more plastic surgeries to correct the damage to her face, and she’d yet to regain consciousness after this morning’s surgery. The police and the Feds hoped that once she came to, she’d be able to provide them with information about her captors and two-month-long ordeal.

  “Thanks,” Tate said, accepting the coffee Derek handed him. He join
ed them at the table and wrapped his fingers around the mug. “So, I spent the morning interrogating your husband, Chloe.”

  The amazed look in Tate’s light blue eyes brought a wry smile to her lips. “He’s a real piece of work, huh?” she said.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever met a more arrogant human being,” Tate answered. “He truly believes he’ll walk away scot-free from all this.”

  Dread climbed up her throat. “But he won’t, will he?”

  “No way in hell. Even if he cuts a deal, which he’s trying to do, he’ll end up serving substantial jail time. Most of the missing girls are underage, some as young as fourteen, and our justice system takes crimes against children very seriously.”

  “I still don’t understand what Moreno’s part in all this was,” Derek spoke up with a frown.

  “I can shed some light on that.” Tate rolled his eyes. “Moreno’s been singing like a canary all morning in the belief that if he sells out his cohorts, he’ll save himself. Five months ago, he heard about this potentially profitable business investment. He was doing a consultation in New York at the time, and a mutual friend put him in contact with the ringleader of this sex ring.”

  Derek’s breath hitched. “Wait, Moreno’s met the ringleader?”

  “Not quite. They only communicated over the phone. All Moreno knows is that the man lives in Manhattan.” Tate took a quick sip of coffee. “Anyway, Moreno liked the idea of fattening up his wallet—”

  Chloe barked out a humorless laugh. “Of course he did. The only thing he loves more than power is money.”

  “He also poured some of his own cash into the ‘project’ to help get it off the ground,” Tate explained. “He was promised a cut of the profits and was assured that the girls involved were in high demand.”

  She shook her head, battling equal parts confusion and disgust. “Amish girls are in high demand?”

  “Apparently so.” Tate looked equally disgusted. “Sweet, innocent, pure as the driven snow. Perverts can’t wait to get their hands on these girls and indulge in their darkest fantasies.”

  “And Felix helped kidnap them?” Chloe said in dismay.