Rich: Benson Security 5

by Janet Elizabeth Henderson

  “That smell. Patchouli.” Rachel shook her head, trying to clear it. “I thought it was incense, but it was your perfume. I remember now.”

  “You were very rude about my taste in perfume back then. You said I smelled like a hippie. That was why I doused myself in it for our little party.”

  Thick, clawing fog filled Rachel’s head, making it hard to think. “The men?” She could barely get the words out. Nothing made sense. Nothing.

  “Were happy to help—for a price that would set them up for life. You cost them their jobs. And unlike everyone else around you, they weren’t keen to forgive your behavior.”

  “And Terrance?”

  “I suspected you might have found out about him.” Her cousin sipped her champagne. “It was a tad telling when he didn’t turn up for work. I suppose we can thank your security contacts for rooting him out. I have to say, Rachel, they were a very annoying addition to our game.”

  “This isn’t a game.”

  “It is for me. I got tired of you winning and decided to change the rules. And it worked perfectly for over a decade—until you turned up again. Why couldn’t you just stay away? Why did you have to come back and make everyone start comparing us again? Without you around, people could see that I was more than a match for anything you could do. I’m more talented, more attractive, more pleasant to be around. But for some reason, as soon as you enter my orbit, you draw all the attention. Why is that?”

  “Maybe because they sense I’m the sane one?”

  Samantha’s laugh was ice. “I don’t know why everyone’s so willing to forgive you for being such a bitch.”

  “I’m the bitch? I don’t arrange for people to be raped. Or drug them.” She stilled. “You’ve done it again, haven’t you? Put something in my drink.”

  “Of course. How else would I get what I want?”

  Rachel looked around as fear made bile surge in her throat.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Sam said. “I haven’t paid any men to play with you this time.”

  Ringing sounded from Rachel’s handbag on the table beside her. She tried to reach for it, but her limbs wouldn’t cooperate. The ringing stopped, and the phone pinged, letting her know a text had come through.

  “I expect that’s your hunky fiancé.” Sam put her glass on the bar. “What does he see in you?”

  “Sanity?”

  “Typical, even drugged out of your mind, you have to have the last catty word.” She strode toward Rachel, put her hands under her arms, and tugged her to her feet. “I am really sorry about this. When you weren’t busy trying to show the world that you’re better than me, I actually enjoyed your company.”

  “What are you doing?” Rachel said as Samantha dragged her toward the pool.

  “What I should have done the first time,” she said. “Making sure you don’t annoy me again. Poor Rachel, she got drunk and fell in her pool. Her cousin, Samantha, tried to save her, but it was too late. It’s such a tragedy.” Her smile was vicious. “But don’t worry; I’ll console Harvard in his grief.”

  And then she jumped into the pool, taking Rachel with her.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Cold water rushed over Rachel’s head as she sank beneath the surface. The shock of it threw her situation into stark relief. The cousin she’d thought cared about her was trying to kill her. And she might just succeed.

  Gathering what little strength she had, she kicked upward. Her only hope was to break away from Samantha and call for help before the drug rendered her helpless.

  Again.

  As her fingers broke the surface of the water, a hand clasped her ankle and pulled her back down into the deep center of the pool. She forced her eyes open, to see Samantha grinning maniacally as the skirt of her dress billowed in the water around her. It was as if Rachel was looking at a strange underwater fashion shoot. Her cousin’s beauty and the surrealness of the situation made it hard to fathom. And with that thought came the dull realization that the drug she’d been given was making it difficult to think clearly.

  She had to escape before she couldn’t think at all.

  A rush of pure adrenaline coursed through her and, with herculean effort, she punched and fought and kicked until the hold on her ankle loosened. Lungs burning, she swam the short distance to the surface, her clothes weighing her down and her shoes long gone.

  Hope surged through her as air hit her face, only for it to be dashed as hands clasped her shoulders and pulled her back under. She’d barely had time to take in a breath before she was trapped underwater again, with Samantha holding her down.

  She tried to twist out of her cousin’s grasp, but the drug slowed her movements, and it seemed impossible to break free. She was going to die in that pool. In the water she stared at every night. Even if she got out of there alive, she’d never be able to look at the pool again. It was one more thing her cousin had stolen from her.

  Which made her furious.

  And rage gave her a renewed burst of strength. Desperate, she kicked out, catching her cousin’s thigh and sending her toward the bottom of the pool. It wasn’t far, but it gave her a few seconds to escape. Rachel didn’t hesitate. She clawed her way through the water, scrambling for the side. But as her fingers clutched the tile, harsh hands shoved her face into the hard edge of the pool.

  She screamed, blood filling her vision before she was sucked back under. Barely managing to close her mouth before she took in water. Her lungs were aching. Her energy failing. Each movement felt heavier, more lethargic than the one before. Part of her just wanted to give up. To sink into peace. To make it stop.

  But the rest of her was desperate to live.

  For the man she’d found who made her love him.

  For Harvard.

  Summoning every last bit of her strength, she wrenched herself from Samantha’s hold. Only this time, she didn’t immediately rush to get out. Instead, she aimed a kick at her cousin’s stomach and almost cheered when she felt the impact. Samantha doubled over, and Rachel surged to the surface, where she grasped the side and pulled herself up.

  The water wrapped around her, clinging to her like greedy hands. Determined to keep her submerged. With a cry of desperation, she hauled the top half of her body onto the tiles outside the pool. Gasping for air, she struggled to get her legs to follow. They felt as though they were filled with lead. And her fog-filled mind struggled to communicate with them.

  “No,” Samantha yelled, grabbing Rachel’s ankle. “This time, we end it.”

  Rachel saved her breath, not bothering to reply; instead, she kicked back with what strength she could muster. It took three attempts but, eventually, her foot connected with Sam’s face, sending her back into the water.

  With a cry of rage, Rachel hauled the rest of her body out of the pool, then dragged herself across the tiles to the small table where her handbag sat.

  “You selfish bitch,” Samantha screeched. “Can’t you do something for someone else, just once? Stop fighting me. Make this easy on both of us.”

  Rachel glanced back to see Samantha climb out of the pool. Right beside that smiling gnome Sebastian had given her. The strange sight of her would-be killer and that freakish sculpture almost made Rachel question reality. Maybe she was already drowning, and this whole thing was just a hallucination. The walls moved in and out around her, her limbs barely moved, and her brain was a shattered mirror—reflecting pieces of thoughts rather than letting her think any one thing clearly.

  “I should have given you a higher dose,” Samantha snapped as she stalked toward her.

  Rachel swung back around to the small table and tugged at the handle of her bag. It toppled to the floor, spilling its contents everywhere.

  “Trying to call your fiancé for help,” Samantha scoffed, her talons encircling Rachel’s ankle again. “It won’t make any difference. He won’t get here in time.”

  Rachel ignored her cousin’s taunts, focusing what strength she had left on getting what she needed. Th
ere. Under the lounger. She just had to reach it.

  Her arm stretched, and her fingers skimmed the butt of the gun Callum had given her.

  And then she was moving again.

  Being dragged on her stomach, back to the water.

  “No,” Rachel shouted.

  Her legs too weak to kick anymore, she was shivering from the cold and the drugs. All she could do was scrabble for anything that might slow her cousin down.

  Her hand hit something solid. Cold. Her phone. She grabbed it, twisted, and threw. The phone smacked Samantha on the cheek, and she yelped. It was enough to make her loosen her hold.

  Rachel lurched forward, sliding on her belly and reaching for the gun as Samantha screamed with frustration. The gun slipped into her hand, and with one last burst of adrenaline, she fired.

  And missed.

  For a second, Samantha looked stunned, and then she laughed. “At last, I’ve found something you can’t do.” She reached for Rachel’s leg.

  “No,” Rachel shouted before squeezing the trigger over and over. But between her shaking hands and her blurred vision, her aim was completely off.

  “I don’t know how I’m going to explain the bullet holes,” Sam said calmly, as though they were having a polite conversation. “But I’ll think of something.”

  With nothing but hope and desperation, Rachel aimed and took her last shot.

  And it hit.

  Almost…

  The bullet skimmed the side of Samantha’s head, leaving a line of red across her temple. Stunned, she staggered back, her hand lifting to the wound. The look of absolute horror on her face when her fingers came away bloody might have been comical under other circumstances. But nothing about this situation was funny.

  With pure stubbornness to drive her, Rachel dragged herself across the tile toward her cousin. And while Samantha stood there in bewildered shock, Rachel kicked at her knee.

  It was weak. But it was effective.

  Samantha’s legs buckled, and she staggered backward. With a scream, she hit the gnome, and together they tumbled into the pool.

  Rachel didn’t wait around for her to surface again. She had to get somewhere safe to wait for Harvard. He would come for her. She knew it.

  Half crawling, half dragging herself across the floor, Rachel made it through the open doorway and down the few steps to the hall. There was no way she could stand; her strength was gone, and she was close to losing consciousness. All she could do was pray she managed to stay awake until she made it somewhere that Samantha couldn’t get to her.

  The stairs down to the bedroom level were harder to negotiate and Rachel bumped and slid her way down them, landing in a heap at the bottom. She moaned with pain but didn’t stop moving. There was no time to lose. Crawling, she made her way along the hall to the door that led out of her apartment. The emergency door with the small hallway between it and the outside exit. With trembling fingers, she tapped in the code to open it. It took three attempts but, at last, the door gave way. She toppled through, and the door slammed behind her, locking automatically.

  And that’s when Rachel crumpled, letting the darkness at the edge of her consciousness claim her. All the while, hoping Harvard would find her.

  Rachel’s apartment was eerily silent as Harvard slipped inside. He signaled to Lake and Callum, and the three of them spread out to cover the room. They checked the kitchen and dining area, keeping their weapons up in front of them, missing nothing.

  There was no sign that Rachel had even been there. Only the fact the concierge had seen her arrive with her cousin and hadn’t seen them leave made Harvard believe they were still inside.

  “Garage is clear,” Ryan said through his earpiece. “Joe’s stationed at the front door. So far, no sign of Rachel or her cousin.”

  “Stay in position,” Harvard whispered.

  Lake cleared the room, and the men moved down the hall, checking off each room as they went. Soon, the only area left was the pool. As they flattened themselves against the walls on either side of the door, Harvard lifted his fingers and counted them down. On three, they moved.

  They were through the door in seconds. Spreading out in standard formation, the men covered all angles and each other’s backs. There was no one in the room, but the tiles around the pool were soaked with water.

  Lake made a low clicking sound and motioned at something lying on the floor. Cautiously, they crept forward to get a better look. Harvard’s heart slammed in his chest—it was Rachel’s handbag, its contents scattered over the tiles.

  They spread out around the room, checking each area.

  “Clear,” Callum whispered through their comm as he pointed to the changing room.

  “Clear,” Lake murmured, indicating the bathroom.

  Harvard moved silently, keeping his gun up as he checked behind the bar. Nothing. “Clear,” he reported. They had to be downstairs.

  He turned toward the other men and started to signal for them to head out and downstairs when he caught sight of something in the pool.

  No. Not something.

  Someone.

  With a roar, he lunged for the water. Only to be held back by Lake.

  “It isn’t her.”

  Harvard tried to shove him aside, but Callum appeared beside his partner, and both of them barred his way.

  “It isn’t her,” Callum snapped. “It’s Samantha.”

  Harvard took a deep breath as their words registered. “I’m okay,” he gritted out.

  After taking a moment to make sure, they stepped aside. Harvard gazed over the edge of the pool, staying calm, as he was trained to do. Her blonde hair drifting around her, a woman lay face down, pinned to the glass bottom. They couldn’t make out what kept her from floating, but it was clear she was alone in the pool.

  Blonde hair.

  Yellow dress.

  Samantha.

  “Gun,” Callum barked from beside one of the loungers, pulling Harvard’s attention from the body. “It’s the one I gave Rachel.” Using the edge of his shirt, he picked it up and sniffed. “It’s just been fired.”

  “Several times.” Lake pointed to the holes in the wall and ceiling.

  “I told her to practice,” Callum said as he put the gun back where he’d found it. “But she never bloody listens.”

  Harvard turned from the pool. “Downstairs,” he ordered, but the men were already moving.

  “Stairs are wet,” Harvard said as he led them down to the lower floor. “She came this way.”

  They moved steadily, sweeping the area with their weapons, barely making a sound. He signaled toward the master bedroom. With Lake and Callum at his back, he assumed breach position and entered the room. They came in behind him seamlessly, spreading out to cover the space and each other. Every room had to be cleared. They didn’t know if Samantha had acted alone.

  Only once they were sure the room and master bath were clear, did Harvard look up at the pool. Samantha floated above them, her eyes wide and unseeing, her hair spread out around her. She had a gash on her head and a bruise on her cheek. So beautiful, yet so incredibly evil.

  Lake grunted and pointed at Samantha’s dress. Tangled in the folds of her skirt was the ugly concrete gnome that usually sat beside the pool. It acted as an anchor, keeping her pinned to the bottom.

  For a second, they just stared at the gnome and the woman who looked more like an ethereal mermaid than a rapist and would-be killer.

  What a waste.

  With a shake of his head, Harvard turned to his team. “Move out,” he ordered, and they moved, quickly clearing both guest rooms.

  There was no sign of Rachel.

  “Is there a panic room in this apartment?” Harvard asked Callum.

  It was Lake who answered. “No.”

  There damn well would be one in the house he’d share with Rachel, that was for sure.

  Lake crouched and pressed his hand to the hall carpet. “Wet,” he said. “What’s behind that door?”

&
nbsp; “An emergency exit, but I don’t have the code to access it.”

  “Fortunately, we run the security in this building.” Lake touched his throat mic. “Joe, emergency override on Rachel’s lower floor exit.”

  “On it,” came the reply.

  A minute later, a buzz and a click signaled that the door was unlocked. Callum took backup position as Harvard held up his gun. As soon as Lake opened the door, Harvard was through it.

  And he almost tripped over the woman he loved.

  “Rachel!” Harvard tossed his gun into the corner and fell to his knees beside her. Pressing his fingers to her throat, he felt for a pulse. “She’s alive. Callum, we need an ambulance.”

  “Already calling,” Callum said gruffly.

  Harvard gently checked her body for breaks and wounds. His main concern was a gash to her forehead, but at least it had stopped bleeding. He only hoped the blow that caused it hadn’t given her a concussion. Apart from that, all he could see were bruises and scrapes. Gathering her into his arms, he sat with his back to the wall and waited for the ambulance.

  “Drugged?” Lake asked.

  “That seems to be Samantha’s MO,” Harvard said. “So, I’m guessing yeah.”

  “Ryan,” Callum said into his mic, “collect all glasses from the pool room. We’ll need to take them to the hospital with us for drug testing.”

  “You got it.”

  “She’s going to be okay,” Callum said.

  “Yeah.” Harvard brushed her hair out of her face. But it was no thanks to him. He’d left her vulnerable and missed all the signs that Samantha was a danger to her. He made a silent vow that it would never happen again.

  “She’s safe now,” Lake said as though reading his mind.

  “And she’s staying that way,” Harvard promised.

  “Ambulance crew on their way up,” Joe said in Harvard’s ear. “How’s our girl?”

  “Some superficial wounds and a gash to her head that’s worrying,” Lake answered. “But we don’t know what drug’s in her system.”

  A couple of minutes later, Ryan appeared at the end of the hall, the ambulance crew close behind him. He held up a clear plastic bag with two empty glasses inside. “Marked where they were for the cops.” He looked at Rachel, then turned to the medics with steel in his gaze. “Anything goes wrong with her care, or her condition deteriorates between here and the hospital, I’m holding you responsible.” And then he stalked back along the hallway. “Meet you at the hospital,” he called over his shoulder.