by Jami Alden
Even in her blurry state she knew she had to do this carefully. Her clumsy fingers pulled at the tape holding the needle in a vein in her left wrist. She wondered briefly why it wasn’t in her inner arm but brushed the thought aside, needing all her meager brain power if she was going to have a chance at pulling this off. She grasped the needle between fingers that had all the dexterity of two hot dogs and pulled very gently until the needle slipped from her skin.
She very carefully took the tape and placed it back over the needle. Light footsteps sounded outside the door. Alyssa hastily smoothed the tape and tucked her wrist close to her body. She closed her eyes and tried to even out her breathing. She heard the door open, the squeak of rubber-soled shoes on the room’s hardwood floor.
The nurse—or whatever she was—adjusted the bag on the IV and straightened out the plastic tubing. Alyssa struggled to keep her breathing steady as she felt liquid drip onto the back of her hand, roll down onto the blanket beneath. By some miracle, Louis’s lackey didn’t check the needle. Through cracked lids, Alyssa watched her pull a bottle and syringe from her pocket. She filled the syringe with the liquid and pumped it into the IV line.
Another surge of moisture ran down Alyssa’s hand. The trill of a cell phone echoed through the room. The nurse answered, and though Alyssa couldn’t understand, it sounded like she was trying to reassure someone. The universal tone of “yes, yes, everything is fine.”
Alyssa wondered if it was Louis. Panic gripped her stomach at the thought. She wondered how close he was. When he would be back.
She breathed a sigh of relief as the nurse left. But relief quickly turned to frustration when she realized she could still barely move. Whatever they had given her needed more time to wear off before she could move. She’d managed to avoid one dose. It had to be enough to get her back on her feet long enough to make a break for it. With the wetness rapidly spreading on the blanket, her IV slip wouldn’t go unnoticed next time.
If she could only move, she thought she had a decent chance of getting out of there. Though she’d heard a dead bolt slide after the nurse left, no one seemed to be watching her all that closely. Though the passage of time was a little vague, she didn’t think the nurse was coming in more than every few hours or so, and she hadn’t seen or heard anyone else.
Of course, there was always the possibility that Louis was there waiting, ready to pounce at any time.
The thought spurred her into action. Or, at least, attempted action, as she still couldn’t make her legs and arms obey her demands to move. So she craned her head, studying the room, and tried to identify her best options for escape.
There were three windows in the room, none of them barred. She had no idea what floor she was on. Louis’s face flashed in her brain, and she vividly recalled his bruising grip on her breast, the nauseating slide of his hand up her thigh. As soon as she could move she was getting out of there, even if it meant risking a broken neck.
Derek kept his mouth shut, his gaze focused on the dusty skyline of downtown Reno as Ethan piloted the Cessna through its final descent into the Reno airport. Other than his steady communication with the tower, Ethan remained blessedly silent, as he’d been for the entirety of the forty-five-minute flight over the Sierra.
Once Andy had tipped him off about the Tahoe house, it had been a cakewalk to find the address of the Van Weldt family retreat on the northeast shore of Lake Tahoe. According to the building plans, the lodgelike home rested on three secluded acres behind heavy iron gates. The perfect place to hide away.
Or keep someone hidden.
Ethan taxied the plane to a private hangar while Derek checked his gear. In addition to the equipment he would need to disarm the estate’s alarm system, he had his Sig Sauer .45 with two extra clips and a Taser capable of delivering a million volts fully charged and ready to go.
If the shit really hit, Derek would rely on the Sig, but he and Ethan had agreed they should do what they could to keep the body count low.
Ethan gave the plane a quick once-over and told the ground crew to turn it around as quickly as possible. “I’m not sure when we’ll be back, but we need to be clear to go as soon as we get here.”
Derek watched as Ethan checked the clip in his Beretta and slipped it into the shoulder holster he wore under his fleece jacket.
“You know where we’re going, right?” Ethan asked as they climbed into the unremarkable sedan that awaited them at the hangar.
“Yep.” Derek started the car and focused on following the highway as it changed from straightaway to curvy mountain road. Images kept trying to force their way into his head. He had no idea what he would find. Would she be hurt?
Dead?
The very real possibility had been dogging him, twisting his guts in knots since he’d left her place. She could be dead, and he would bear no small blame. Because he hadn’t believed her. He’d made his judgment, delivered his verdict. She was a needy, emotional mess, a woman he needed to avoid at all cost no matter how much something in him demanded he grab hold of her and never let go.
Christ. She could be dead already, and one of her last memories of him would be of him summoning every shred of meanness in him to push her away, all because he was too much of a goddamned coward to deal with how she made him feel.
“It’s going to be fine,” Ethan said, his laser-sharp blue eyes mirroring back Derek’s dread. “You’re going to find her, and she’s going to be fine.”
Derek nodded, not believing it for a second. He knew what Ethan was really saying, even if he didn’t say it out loud. Derek had to believe Alyssa was fine if he wanted to stay sane, to keep his cool. He did what he always did before a mission. Took all that fear, all that anxiety, all the emotion that held no use for him, and shoved it out of his mind, out of his body. Boxed it up and buried it so deep even he didn’t know where to find it.
After the longest thirty-minute drive Derek could ever remember, the heavy iron gates of the Van Weldt estate came into view. Gates shut tight—autumn leaves and pine needles littering the driveway—the place looked deserted. Not surprising, because from what he’d found out, the family used the place only from December to September. After that it was cleaned up and locked up tight for the fall.
A fact Blaylock had obviously counted on. He couldn’t risk any surprise visitors popping in and finding Alyssa held captive.
Or dead.
Derek shoved the thought aside as he parked the car several hundred yards from the estate. He and Ethan set out at a swift clip. Late autumn air bit through his lungs, and the scent of pine rose as needles crunched underfoot. It was late afternoon, the brilliant blue mountain sky darkening as the temperature dropped.
Derek pulled a pair of binoculars out of his bag and scanned the front entrance. Two men stood out front, one next to the front door, one closer to the gate but still far enough back to be invisible from the road. He recognized the telltale bulge of shoulder holsters under both men’s jackets.
Skirting the main gate, Derek and Ethan bushwhacked their way to the lake. The mansion held prime position on a small private beach. Only one man stood guard out there, a stocky guy of medium height; his gaze was hidden by aviator frames as he stared out at the lake and paced back and forth.
Careful not to pop so much as a pine needle under his foot, Derek made his way through the brush until he came to the edge where brush met sand. He waited for the guard to amble his way back to his position. When he came into reach, Derek reached out and snagged him one-handed. He pressed the Taser to the guy’s neck and covered the guy’s mouth to muffle his startled grunt. The guy seized as electricity coursed through his body. His eyes rolled back, and he slid to the ground, down for the count. They quickly bound and gagged him and dragged his still-twitching form into the bushes.
Derek had studied the floor plan on the plane and decided their best way in was through the mudroom off the kitchen. He quickly disarmed the alarm system, and the dead bolt slid free. They crept inside, ke
eping eyes peeled for any sign of Alyssa.
Or anyone else, for that matter. The interior of the house was silent, the only dim light from the fading sun outside.
The place seemed deserted.
Dread clenched at his gut as they moved silently through the empty kitchen, through a formal dining room, great room, and to the main entryway. Still nothing. No lights, no sound to indicate anyone was in the massive log home.
Then he heard it. Ethan’s head snapped up, indicating he had, too. The low murmur of voices. A laugh track from a TV. It was coming from a hallway off the main entryway, the one that led to a separate wing. They inched down the hall, and the laugh track grew louder.
They followed the narrow staircase at the end of the hall and paused before passing the open doorway on the right. The TV was in there, blaring some lame sitcom. Over the noise, he heard a feminine giggle and a woman’s scolding voice. A man laughed and murmured his reply.
In French.
Abbassi. A red haze filled Derek’s vision, and he moved toward the door.
A strong hand wrapped around his forearm, and he met Ethan’s warning stare.
Derek drew his gun slowly and held it up in front of him. But when he snuck a glance around the doorjamb, it wasn’t Abbassi he saw, but a shorter, slighter guy with slicked-back blond hair. He sat on a love seat next to a woman, murmuring to her as he traced his fingers along her dark cheek and slid his hand along her slim thigh. The woman didn’t seem to mind, laughing and playfully slapping at his hands while making no attempt to get away from him.
Derek would have left them to their flirting if two things hadn’t tipped him off. One was the nurse’s scrubs the woman wore.
The second was the Glock 9mm lying forgotten on the coffee table in front of the couple.
Derek pounced on the gun like a mountain lion, scooping it up before either had time to move. The man sprang to his feet, only to sit back heavily when faced with the barrel of his own gun.
“Where is she?”
The man sneered and spat and said something in French.
Derek smashed the butt of the gun against his temple. The woman shrieked as he slumped, unconscious. The scream died in her throat as Derek pressed the barrel of the gun against her forehead. “Alyssa. Where is she?”
The woman threw up her hands and babbled The only word he could make out was Abbassi.
“Abbassi put you up to this?” he said as he motioned her up from the couch toward the door.
“Oui, Abbassi. Louis Abbassi.” And she was rambling again, no doubt explaining how she was just an innocent bystander and had no guilt whatsoever. As she talked, her hand inched toward the walkie talkie clipped to her waistband. Like a striking snake, Derek snatched it off and tossed it to Ethan.
Derek cocked his gun. “Alyssa. Where is she?”
The woman spared a worried glance for her companion, who lay limp, a trickle of blood tracing down his cheek as Ethan secured his hands and feet with plastic flexicuffs.
Derek lifted the barrel to the center of the woman’s forehead. “Where. Is. She?” She damn well understood the intent if not the words because she frantically gestured to the door and took a cautious step.
“Show me,” Derek said. Ethan left the bound thug unconscious on the sofa and flanked the woman’s right. She led them down the hallway and stopped in front of a door. Though the door was old and weathered, a shiny new dead bolt had been recently installed.
When she reached for her pocket, Derek stopped her with a dig of the gun into her ribs. She froze and lifted her hands while Ethan fished out a key ring. The dead bolt slid free with a soft thunk, and Ethan opened the door. Derek trained his Sig on the woman as he stepped inside, while Ethan stood watch outside in case the guards at the front heard the commotion and came in to investigate.
The room was dim, lit only by a single lamp on the dresser. Derek quickly took in every detail from the rumpled sheets on the twin bed to the IV pole and bag next to it. And no sign of Alyssa.
He whirled on the woman, grabbed a fistful of her scrubs, and slammed her up against the door. “Where the fuck is she?” He punctuated the question with another slam against the door. Her lips were moving, but he couldn’t hear her through the rage roaring through his brain. Strong hands gripped his arms, and he registered Ethan’s voice shouting his name.
“Derek! Derek! Calm down. I think she went out the window.”
He looked across the room as Ethan’s words registered. Jesus, he was fucked if he’d missed a big detail like a wide-open window with the cold autumn air blowing in.
He released the woman, who slid down the door in a daze, and sprinted to the window. He peered into the dusky light. His heart lodged somewhere in his throat as he made out the small crumpled figure several feet below. The house was built into a slope, and below the bedroom’s window, a small deck jutted out. Below that was another ten or so feet to the ground.
“Alyssa!” He called her name, thought he saw her stir, but couldn’t be sure. He swung his legs out the window and jumped, careful not to land on top of her. The deck shook when he landed, and she flinched at the impact, crying out in fear, her arms and legs flailing as she tried to scramble away.
“Alyssa,” he said more softly and gathered her against him. Small hands shoved at his chest as she tried to twist away. “Alyssa, it’s Derek.” She was still out of it, her movements awkward and thick, but she finally registered his voice.
“Derek?” Her cold fingers came up to cup his face.
“Yeah. It’s me. I’m here.” He swallowed back his fear, his anger, everything. He could lose his shit later. Right now he had to get her out of there.
“What are you doing here?” she slurred as he pulled her tighter against him.
He winced as his arms came into contact with her icy limbs. She wore only a short-sleeved nightshirt, and her feet were bare. The temperature had dropped into the forties after the sun went down. He had no idea how long she’d been out there, but her legs and arms were like ice.
He unzipped his fleece jacket and wrapped it around her and then ran his hands over her cold body to check for any breaks. Other than the drugs, she seemed to be uninjured. He buried his face in her hair and took a long, bracing inhale.
“She okay?” Ethan called down.
“Yeah,” Derek said, his voice thick and strained as it pushed past the baseball in his throat. “Take care of Nurse Ratched, and let’s get Alyssa the fuck out of here.”
“Already taken care of. But someone’s trying to get her on the radio, so we need to get out of here before the two meatheads from the front come in to investigate.”
Derek hoisted Alyssa in his arms and carried her through the house and met up with Ethan at the side door. They backtracked to the car from the beach and through the woods, Ethan scouting ahead in case anyone showed up unexpectedly.
Derek swallowed back his regret that Blaylock and Abbassi were nowhere to be seen. He relished the chance to tear them both to pieces for what they had planned to do to Alyssa.
“You’ll have time for that later, man,” Ethan said, hearing Derek’s thoughts as clearly as his own. He squeezed Derek’s shoulder as he placed Alyssa in the backseat of the sedan. “You got her out. That’s the important thing.”
Derek nodded. Alyssa curled up in the corner of the backseat and fell asleep, and he couldn’t resist reaching out and smoothing her tangled hair back from her face. She was safe. That was all that mattered.
Abbassi’s and Blaylock’s faces flashed in his brain—Abbassi’s smug and slick, Blaylock’s bland and weak. He would get them. Soon. But first he needed to get Alyssa someplace safe and make sure she knew Derek would never, ever let anything happen to her again.
The plane was ready to go when they got to the airport. Alyssa roused when Derek lifted her out of the car and buckled her into one of the jet’s leather seats.
“I can’t believe you came for me,” she said, a wide, blurry smile on her face. “I didn�
��t think anyone cared.” Her words were slow, slurred, as the drugs worked their way out of her system. “You came for me,” she repeated.
His chest constricted, and his throat bubbled with crazy promises, but she fell asleep again before he could vow that he would always come for her; no matter what, he would never leave her alone. He leaned down and kissed her, ran his finger over the thick fringe of eyelashes resting on the high curve of her cheek.
He turned back to get settled in his seat for takeoff and caught Ethan’s knowing stare. “You are so fucked, dude,” Ethan said with a smirk and a shake of his head.
Derek didn’t even bother to argue as he buckled himself in. “Not as fucked as Abbassi and Blaylock are going to be when I get my hands on them. When we get back, we need to find out everything on both of them and that whole fuckin’ family. I want to know what they’re hiding that’s so goddamn important it’s worth killing for.”
Andy grabbed another dress off a hanger and shoved it into the duffel bag. There was no way Alyssa’s size-two dress would ever fit Andy’s substantially larger frame, but Andy knew the dress, along with the other barely worn designer dresses and shoes in the suitcase, would make her a hefty chunk of change on eBay.
Though she already had a sizable sum in her online savings account, thanks to Richard’s bonuses, she knew she needed to get every dime she could. She didn’t have any doubt Derek Taggart would come after her if she didn’t get the hell out of town, and fast.
She grabbed another pair of shoes, shoving away the pinch of guilt when she thought of Alyssa. She hoped Derek was wrong. Richard wouldn’t really kill her, would he? She was uneasy not because she really cared about Alyssa—so the world would lose another brainless, useless celebrity who did nothing but take attention from people who really deserved it. No, Andy just didn’t want to take any of the blame when a celebrity turned up dead.
She shook off the fear. Even if Alyssa was in serious danger, Derek would get to her in time.