Sydney parked in a far corner of the garage and sprung me from my prison.
I brushed off my dress and leaned over strapping my heels back on.
“There was a reason I gave you the black dress,” she said, helping to brush off my back.
“Um, because black is my color, obvi,” I said.
She smirked. Then her face grew expressionless. Her gray eyes met mine.
“Ready?” she said.
I searched her eyes for a second before answering, “Let’s do this.”
We stared at one another for a second and then headed toward the elevator.
60
Carmen Miranda
The elevator doors slid open to a room aglow with purple light. The twenty-foot high doors to the ballroom lay directly across from us. As we made our way over, my stomach grumbled as we passed tables of filet mignon, shrimp scampi, and hamburgers.
At the doorway to the ballroom, Sydney and Gia paused.
“Look,” Sydney said and pointed inside at Gia’s celebrity crush, Cameron Stone standing talking to a six-foot-tall, ninety-pound model in a skintight dress. He looked hot. She looked…hungry.
Everything was glittering and dripping gold—the costumes, the jewelry—even the Jurassic-Park-sized bees and butterflies hanging from the ceiling. The room was bathed in a red glow. The walls were covered with red velvet drapes and red lights shone down upon the writhing crowd.
Women wore sparkling gowns. Many sported elaborate dazzling tiaras or feathered headdresses. One woman was dressed like Cleopatra. Another like Carmen Miranda.
Most of the men wore tuxedos. But a few had dressed up: Aladdins, complete with turbans, black-eyeliner, and dangling earrings; a sailor, a King Tut.
Sydney saw familiar faces— Zoe, Cat, Nick, and Tim, but they looked right through the two women, not recognizing them in their masks.
Spotlights swam through the crowd, and the band on the stage at the far end played an Indian tune with dancers swaying to the sultry music.
Sydney jutted her chin at Gia and headed toward the right side. Gia made her way toward the left side of the room.
A man in a jester costume and mask grabbed Sydney by the waist and gyrated. She stopped herself from taking him down, so she wouldn’t attract unwanted attention, but gripped and twisted his wrist so tightly, that he sprang back and held it in his other hand, cringing.
She continued wending her way through the crowd to the wall.
After evading a number of outstretched, groping hands, she was nearly to the wall when the music stopped dead. Everybody stood still. The band on the stage slipped through the door on the back wall of the stage. The same door they’d planned to escape through. Sydney tried to catch sight of Gia across the room, but the crowd was too thick. The doors to the ballroom were flung open and another band trailed in. The women clicked castanets, and the men pounded on tambourines with drum sticks while the band leader kept time with the whistle in his mouth.
The crowd parted to let the band through to the stage, and people clapped along to the beat.
With everyone focused on the center of the room, it opened up the area by the walls and Sydney was able to quickly make her way forward. A few feet away from the stage, a bulky guard packing some serious heat stood near the steps to the stage. An AR-15 hung loosely against his tuxedo from its straps.
Sydney drew up to a sudden halt in front of a long table stacked with fruit, shrimp, sushi, and other finger foods. She plucked a glass of wine from the tray of a passing waiter. She would stage here until it was time.
61
Liquid Courage
Through the mass of wriggling bodies, I could see Sydney in her white dress. Her blond hair pushed back behind her ears. Her red lipsticked lips pursed as a drunk man stumbled her way. With a swift movement, she twisted the man’s arm. He winced in pain and took off nearly at a run, glancing fearfully back behind him.
She smirked.
I drained my Champagne glass and looked around for another waiter. Sure, I was seeking liquid courage. After all, I was about to kill a man who had kissed every inch of my body.
Blessedly, the music came to a halt, and a tall man dressed in African garb complete with a two-foot headpiece took the microphone.
“Welcome! I am Antonio Federaz, the owner of the Copacabana Palace. This is our twenty-fifth year hosting the Wizard’s Ball, and I must say each year the event gets better and better.”
People burst into applause and cheers. “I’m going to turn the emcee duties over to a good friend of mine. You all know him. He’s going to be the first man to live in space. Let’s take advantage of having him here this year because next year, he might be living in a luxury home orbiting the moon.”
The crowd burst into laughter. I winced. Or he could be living somewhere raping and killing more innocent women.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Damien Thornwell.”
The door behind the man opened, and Damien stepped out. My heart leaped into my throat, and I suddenly felt like I was going to vomit.
Zoe and the rest of Damien’s gang were front and center to cheer on their benefactor. I shrank back, pressing against the wall, hoping they wouldn’t turn and see me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sydney weaving through the crowd, getting even closer to the stage. I took a deep breath. But my feet were firmly planted on the plush carpet. Move, goddamn it. I closed my eyes for a second.
Do this.
Then I was moving forward, not taking my eyes off Damien.
All sound disappeared. I could see his mouth moving. I knew he was speaking into the microphone, greeting the guests and cracking jokes. I could tell from the smiling, laughing faces around me, but I’d lost the ability to hear. Instead, a pulsating, buzzing filled my ears.
The weight of the gun thudded against my thigh as I walked.
My eyes were laser-focused on Damien’s. I watched him scan the crowd. He was hiding it, but I could see the fear in his eyes as he searched the mass of bodies in the ballroom. He was looking for me. I knew it. Me and Sydney. He squinted, and I realized that because of the spotlight beaming down on him, he was having a hard time seeing anyone except the people gathered directly in front of the stage.
I stuck to the shadows near the wall as a bright beam of a searchlight swung through the crowd, bouncing from head to head, illuminating, laughing, drunk, or masked faces.
Then I was at the side of the stage, not far from the hulk of the guard holding the assault rifle. His back was to the corner of the stage, his unmasked eyes inspecting the crowd. I paused, waiting.
A man charged toward the front of the stage yelling something about terrorists and some other mumbo jumbo I couldn’t make out. I could tell in a heartbeat, he was harmless. Loony, but harmless.
The guard reacted instantly, charging toward the man and jerking him out of the crowd and off to the side by me. I put my hand to my chest, acting mortified.
Screams filled the ballroom. Damien stopped speaking and cowered behind the podium.
Instantly, several other men were on the protestor and I made my move. Without waiting to see what Sydney was doing, I yanked my dress up to my thighs and ran. Amid the screams and chaos, nobody noticed me at first.
Except Damien.
His mouth formed an “O,” and he shrank back.
He dropped the mic. By the time I had the Sig out of my bag, he’d started to turn. I kept the gun pointed down and pressed to my thigh out of sight. Even so, I fully expected to hear the rat-a-tat-tat of the assault rifle as it pounded bullets into my back.
Right before I leaped onto the stage, I brushed past Stone, knocking into him. “Sorry,” I said and winked at him as I vaulted onto the stage in one fluid motion.
Then Sydney was there too, up on the stage with me, and we were converging on Damien from both sides. The door behind him slid open, and Damien disappeared inside the black rectangle.
I raised my hands above my head just as I saw the guar
d aim the AR-15 at my head. I glanced over and saw that the other guard had a gun pressed against Sydney’s forehead. That’s when I saw Zoe staring at me wide-eyed, her mouth open.
“Drop your weapon. We are Mr. Thornwell’s protection detail. Ask her.” I jutted my chin toward Zoe.
She looked confused. Her brow creased, and her eyes were as wide as moons behind her mask.
“Zoe, damn it, tell him we are Damien’s personal bodyguards.”
She finally spoke. “Yes, they came with us from San Francisco.”
The guards lowered their guns. I tried the door where Damien had gone. It was locked.
I turned to the guard. “Where does that door go?”
“The roof.”
“Can you unlock it?” Sydney asked.
The man shook his head.
“Follow me,” he said. Sydney and I leaped off the stage and followed the guard through another door into a hall where he unlocked a door and stuck a key card into the slot. “This will take you to an elevator to the roof. I have to return to my post.”
Slumping in the elevator, I ripped off my mask.
Sydney did the same. She seemed unruffled, but stood rigid. “We’re too late.”
“Maybe not,” I said.
The elevator door opened onto a vast blackness, pierced by the shimmering lights of Rio in the distance.
I swiveled my head, searching the darkness of the roof for movement.
The helipad stood empty about twenty feet away.
I felt the throbbing vibration of the helicopter in my bones before I actually heard the thumping of the rotor blades. It appeared out of nowhere, a black hammering in the night, whipping the air around us, lashing my hair around my face. As I tried to push my hair back, Damien darted out of his hiding place behind an HVAC unit and raced toward the helicopter.
I raised my gun, but my damn hair blinded me again.
A long triangle of light spilled across the roof from a stairwell doorway near the elevator, and a gunshot rang out. For a split second, I thought it was Sydney firing at Damien until I saw her hit the deck. Thank God it wasn’t the assault rifle, just a plain old pistol. But still.
In one smooth movement, I was lying beside her, my gun pointing toward Damien.
We were sheltered by some type of rooftop vent.
Sydney glanced at me. “Cover me. I’ll take out Damien.”
I shook my head. “No. You cover me.”
“Are you sure?”
“This is something I need to do.”
I’d realized earlier that it was my job to take care of him. I couldn’t live with the knowledge that the prostitute had died because of my denials of Damien’s true nature.
I could barely see Sydney’s eyes in the darkness, but I saw her nod.
“On three,” she said.
At her count, she spun and leaped up, firing a volley at the man in the doorway. At the same time, I scrambled to my feet and raced toward the helipad.
62
Delusional
Damien and I reached the helipad at the same time. He was hunched over to avoid the whirling helicopter blades and reaching for the handle of the helicopter’s door. My forearm came down on his with a crack that could be heard above the thumping of the rotor blades. He howled and reeled back in pain. I took my heel and swept his feet out from under him. Something he was holding went flying. I was hoping it had been a gun or weapon. He landed hard on his back, but was up within seconds, coming at me.
One blow struck my cheek. It sent me spinning back for a second, but I planted my feet and came at him again.
The popping of gunshots by the roof door made me swivel my head. Sydney. Before I could see what was going on over there, Damien had yanked my arm behind me and had his chin pressed deep into my clavicle. Damn. His legs wrapped around mine, disarming any kick I might have thought about. It felt as if my arm were about to snap in two, but I still struggled against him. His breath was hot against my ear.
Rio stretched out before us, glittering in the deep velvet night sky.
“I loved you,” he said. His voice was heavy with anger and betrayal.
“Fuck you,” I spat.
“I really thought that I could stop with you by my side.”
For a second, my heart stopped beating. He thought he could change? Stop raping and murdering for me? He was delusional. “People like you don’t stop, Damien. You’re a predator.”
I strained to see Sydney. We were facing away, but in my peripheral vision, I could see movement in the light from the doorway. I couldn’t tell if it was Sydney or the gunman.
“You made me forget about all of that.”
“Is that why there was a dead prostitute in the closet while you were fucking me?”
“I had to get it out of my system one last time.”
“You’re pathetic.”
“Get in the helicopter with me. We can go away. Nobody will ever find us.”
“You’ll never change. We’ve already told everybody about you. You can’t escape, Damien. You might as well give up now.”
“I don’t want to escape.”
“What about your transfer of funds?”
He burst into laughter. “That’s for my attorney and publicist. There is nothing you can do to hurt me or my reputation. They’re already creating photographs and evidence that you two were terrorists and that I was your target.”
We couldn’t fight against Damien and his million-dollar marketing machine. But we might have one card to play.
“I found the notebook.” It was a bold-faced lie.
His entire body grew stiff. His demeanor changed. Fear raced through me. He yanked on me. I couldn’t figure out what he was trying to do and then I realized he was trying lift me up into the rotor blades. I fought against him. The rotor blades would make mincemeat out of me. Not a way I wanted to go, that’s for sure.
I swallowed. He crouched down ready to push me up.
At the last second I went limp, saying a silent prayer that I hadn’t just signed my own death warrant. But it worked. When I went limp, he lost his grip on me. I slid out of his arms, grabbed him around his thighs and thrust him upward. He easily escaped my grip and came at me with a blow to my head that sent me reeling. He came after me again, but this time I was ready. I leaped up and landed a jump kick on his chest that sent him flying. It wasn’t until I fell to the ground that I realized my kick had propelled him into the rotor blade at the rear of the helicopter.
He died without a word. But his death was not silent. The sickening sound of metal on bone and flesh wasn’t nearly as bad as the bath of blood and brains that showered down on me as I sat crumpled on the helipad.
63
Going Home
Sydney yanked Gia up and thrust her into the open door of the helicopter.
Hopping in the front seat, Sydney held her gun to the pilot’s forehead.
“Get us the fuck out of here. Now.”
The pilot’s eyes looked straight ahead. “Got it.”
The helicopter lifted into the air.
“Take us to the airport.”
Sydney turned to Gia. “Get my phone out of my bag and dial the last number I called. Tell them to get Blue to the airport pronto.”
“Get Blue to the airport immediately,” Gia said into the phone.
The pilot followed Sydney’s directions and set the helicopter down in a private portion of the airport.
After climbing out, Sydney—still pointing the gun—leaned into the open door.
“Who do you work for?”
“Anyone who hires me.”
“You own this bird?” she asked.
“Yes.” His voice shook.
“Do you know Damien Thornwell?”
“Not really.”
“If I let you go, what happens next?”
“I keep my mouth shut?” He sounded afraid.
“That’s right. What else?”
“I never saw you?”
She rea
ched over and ripped out the cord that connected to his headset and tossed it out onto the tarmac. “Listen. Don’t get cute. You don’t owe anybody anything. Tell anyone who asks that you were kept hostage for a few hours and you dropped me off at the other airport. Wait here for twenty minutes and then go home.”
The man nodded.
She lowered the gun. Gia and she ducked and ran toward a plane waiting nearby.
“Do you trust the helicopter pilot?” Gia asked once the car doors had slammed.
Sydney shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll be long gone before he can put it all together.”
The driver drove to a small plane—a jet.
Blue was at the top of the stairs in the doorway of the jet. A woman in fatigues stood next to him.
When she reached the doorway, Sydney leaned over and kissed the pilot on the cheek.
“This is Daniela. An old friend and a damn good pilot,” she said to Gia.
Sydney reached down and scratched Blue’s ears.
Gia reached for the pilot’s hand, but Daniela shrunk away. That’s when Gia looked down and noticed the blood and guts caked on her hands and dress.
Sydney tossed her a towel. “Wipe the guts off your face and neck and then sit back and enjoy the ride. Get comfy. We’re going home.”
Within seconds of boarding, the plane took off, reaching high into the sky.
64
Coffee and Cornettos
I’d never been so damn happy to be greeted by a huge scruffy dog licking my face.
Django hadn’t left my side since Sydney had dropped me off earlier, saying she was going to go check on Damien’s dog at his house. I wondered what story she would give the dog sitter.
After the door closed on Sydney, Django had followed me to the bathroom, staring at me as I washed my face and brushed my teeth. He stood at my side as I stripped out of my bloody, brain-splattered clothes and stepped into the shower. I peeked out the shower curtain, and he was standing there staring at me. Shit. I’d traumatized my own dog.
Taste of Vengeance Page 18