by Eve Langlais
No matter. He’d get out through his room. Except, his door also appeared blocked from the outside.
Someone had infiltrated the premises and blocked them in.
Mother humping fuckers.
Grumbling about nervy little bastards that wanted to get him in trouble—because he was sure Kacy would flip when she found out—he carried Darren back to the room and right out to the balcony, where he dumped him on the floor. The cold tile against his face did more to revive Darren, and he mumbled, “Fuck me, how much did I drink?”
Speaking of drink, Marcus could use one, but his job wasn’t done. He headed inside and found Kacy, his head spinning at the gas he’d now inhaled too much of. He heaved her into his arms, princess-style. Her head lolled to the side, but she managed a mumbled, “Go away. I don’t want to like you.”
Like who? Me, or someone else? He dearly wanted to know.
Returning to the balcony, he stepped outside and, just as he knelt, heard a sharp crack. A sound he knew all too well from his years in the military.
A shot whistled past where his head had been just a moment ago and shattered the stone beside the balcony.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he griped. Someone was shooting at them? What the hell had happened to their supposed security?
Ping. Pow. Crack.
The shots pinged off the stone balustrade ringing the balcony, but he knew it was only a matter of time before a shot got lucky. He peered back inside, to where the gas awaited, or out here where bullet holes did.
Rock, meet hard place. Fuck.
He needed another exit.
“Don’t move,” he said to the pair still lying comatose on the marble floor. He crept back into the room, holding his breath. The fresh air had helped combat some of his earlier dizziness. He waddled to the fireplace, hearing the occasional crack of gunfire.
Then the more reassuring baying of dogs. However, he couldn’t know how long it would take them to find the intruder.
A pity he didn’t have a sniper rifle. He could have solved the problem of the shooter himself. Mental note to self—get one.
His fingers fumbled for the latch on the fireplace, swinging it open on its hinges, revealing the secret escape hatch. He just didn’t know how he’d go down the narrow ladder with two of them at once. In a stroke of good luck finally, he did find the gas valve, which he quickly turned. It wouldn’t clear the tainted air, but it would at least stop new gas from escaping.
Leaving the escape route open, he returned to find them both stirring but remaining flat.
“What happened?” Kacy slurred, her gaze cross-eyed as she struggled to open her lids.
“Gas leak in the fireplace and someone is taking potshots.”
That widened her eyes, and her lips muttered a curse as another bullet shattered stone. “How the fuck did that happen? We were in the room almost the entire day.”
Except for dinner.
More evidence of a mole. Maybe even more than one.
Pow. A shower of more stone as the missile shattered the façade.
Darren pulled himself toward Marcus. “We have to get out of here.”
“The bedroom door is barricaded. We’ll have to use the fireplace exit. I’ve already got it open. Get yourself moving. I’ll distract our shooter.” Because Marcus had snared the gun in Darren’s nightstand on the way back. It wasn’t the rifle and scope he’d used in the military, but when he stood and aimed it— pop, pop, pop—it gave the other shooter pause.
He ducked down and peered back to see Kacy and Darren crawling across the bedroom, one of them making retching noises.
Crack. A shot hit stone, and shrapnel peppered Marcus, a sliver of it slicing his arm.
A mere scratch that he ignored. He directed the barrel between the stone pillars, not aiming at anything in particular, just shooting wild to give them more time to escape.
When he looked back, Darren appeared to be gone, and Kacy was crouched by the entrance to the fireplace. He tucked the gun into the waistband of his track pants and scuttled after them.
Noticing him approaching, Kacy slid down the hole.
The smell of gas still lingered in a cloying manner. Marcus peeked down the hidden shaft in the fireplace and noted them climbing, not as quickly as he’d like, the poison they’d inhaled still affecting them. They were in no condition to confront anyone.
So…taking a page out of Kacy’s book, Marcus decided to set the stage and divert attention. Popping down the hole, he held on to the ladder as he hit a switch on the inside. As the trap to the fireplace swung shut, he pulled his gun and fired through the narrowing crack at the nightstand, shattering the bulb of the lamp. It caused a small spark, enough to ignite the gas.
Whoosh!
Chapter Twelve
The house shook overhead, and Kacy held on as she realized what Marcus had done.
He’d bought them time.
Unfortunately, the client didn’t exactly see it that way.
“You blew up my house!” Darren yelled, the sound bouncing around the interior of the shaft.
“I only blew up your bedroom. And the proper reply is, ‘thank you,’” Marcus replied.
“Thank you? Did that gas kill off what brains cells you had?”
“Because of Marcus, we’re all alive,” Kacy interjected. “Surely that’s worth the cost of a little renovation, so say thank you and get moving.”
“But if I say thank you, do you know how conceited he’ll get?” Darren glowered upwards, and a peek above her showed Marcus looked smug.
“I saved your life,” the big man sang. “And now we’re even.”
He’d saved Kacy’s, too, because she’d missed the tampering on the fireplace.
How? There was no smell of gas when she’d gone into the room. She would have noticed it. The natural gas companies used a product called mercaptan to give a sulfuric smell to the gas to warn of leaks.
She’d passed out breathing it, judging by the phone still clutched in her hand. But Marcus had caught it.
“Good job,” she said as she waited for Darren to move so she could continue the climb down.
The compliment brought a smile to his rugged face. “You’re welcome,” he hollered down to Darren. “See, she knows I’m the man, so suck it up, buttercup. I’m finally ahead of you.”
“Not for long,” Darren replied rather ominously.
Men and their need to constantly one-up each other.
“We need to plan our next move,” Kacy noted.
“How about we worry about getting out of this tunnel alive first? I’m pretty sure the explosion didn’t hurt the sniper outside. He might still be around.”
Good point, and she didn’t think of it. Stupid gas addling her brain. “How long before the fire trucks arrive?”
“Not long. By now the sprinkler system on the top floor will have engaged, and once that happens, they are automatically called.”
“What about the local law enforcement?” Most cases of fire saw at least one car dispatched in case there was arson suspected.
“I expect they’ll show up not long after.”
Reaching the bottom of the shaft and a narrow, stone-block tunnel, Darren paused, mostly because Kacy grabbed hold of him. “Hold on a second. How much farther?”
“The tunnel’s exit is about thirty yards ahead. There’s a flagstone at the far end of the pool deck that lifts.”
“I’ll go ahead and make sure it’s clear.” Marcus squeezed past, his big body brushing against hers, and she was glad she’d fallen asleep fully dressed because he hadn’t, and the bare flesh of his chest rubbing against the fabric of her shirt was enough to make her nipples harden.
She bit her lip as Marcus squished past Darren. It almost didn’t work; the space wasn’t very large.
Marcus went ahead, pulling a gun from his waistband, barely visible. Which made her frown. “How come we can see in here?” She hadn’t noticed any obvious light sources.
“A biol
uminescent paint. It reacts to the presence of carbon dioxide and provides a faint light. It’s expensive but more reliable than running electricity or banking on bulbs.”
Very cool. She’d have to mention it to Harry. “Stay behind me.” Kacy slid past Darren and couldn’t help but note that her body didn’t react at all. Not a bit. Her attraction really was for only one man.
A big man, who moved quickly ahead of her.
She increased her pace to catch up but didn’t run. Let Marcus exit first. If someone waited, better Marcus find out than their client.
The faint sound of sirens filled the tunnel as, ahead, Marcus opened the trap door to the outside. She could see his lower body on the ladder, and then heard the more ominous pop of a gun being fired—not by Marcus.
She sprinted, cursing as Marcus’s legs disappeared and all outside sound was cut off. He’d closed the door.
Hitting the ladder, she climbed, only to quickly find herself confronted by the concrete slab on huge hydraulic hinges.
Where was the catch to open it?
Darren must have read her mind because he arrived and said, “To your left.”
Fingers fumbling in the dim light, she found the recessed lever and yanked. Without a sound, the lid lifted, and the noise of fire engine sirens filled the air. But aside from that, she didn’t hear a thing—no Marcus and no gunman.
“Stay down there,” she ordered Darren before slithering out of the hole. A tug on the lip of stone brought it back down where it clicked into place.
For a moment, she lay flat on her stomach, listening. Then she heard it, even amidst the sirens. Pop.
Pop.
Close by and yet not aimed at her. Where was Marcus?
Jumping to her feet, she ran, heading for the pool house, only to realize as she looked up that she’d found the gunman. Perched on the rooftop of the cabana house, he lay flat and took aim at the water slide made of cement and shaped to look like natural rock.
The shooter had yet to notice her.
Crack.
The single shot fired from the slide confirmed her guess as to Marcus’s location. While he kept the shooter occupied, she ran for the cabana and leaped, grabbing at the lip of the roof.
The wailing fire engines kept anyone from hearing her scrabble for purchase. She dug the tips of her fingers into the terra cotta tile and swung her legs. Climbing things was easy for her. First in her class when it came to getting into places at the academy.
Keeping herself crouched low on the roof, she padded across the stone layers, sneaking up behind the gunman. But he must have heard or sensed something because he rolled and shot at her!
She lunged to the side, hitting the roof hard, but immediately crawled toward him before he could take aim again. Diving onto the gunman, Kacy grabbed for his gun, pushing it away, but not before he fired another shot.
Kacy wrestled with the guy. He was a slender fellow with a wiry strength.
But she played dirty.
Her knee found the nice, soft, squishy underside of his balls. Before he’d had time to gasp in pain, she kneed him again, and his grip loosened on the gun enough for her to yank it from his hands and toss it. That left her hands free to grab him by the dark hood covering his head and smash it against the roof. It took only a few hard blows before he went limp.
Good.
But she couldn’t stay here on the cabana with him forever. Red lights lit the sky. The firemen had arrived.
Wrapping her fingers in the fabric of his hoodie, she tugged him to the edge of the roof and rolled him off.
Crunch.
That didn’t sound good. She hoped she hadn’t killed him, though not because of any kindness on her part. Dead people were hard to question.
As she went to lower herself from the roof, arms wrapped around her legs, but she held off kicking when Marcus rumbled, “I got you, little pint.”
Normal Kacy would have told him to fuck off, that she didn’t need his help. New Kacy, the one who didn’t understand her burgeoning attraction to the giant meathead, let herself slide down into his capable grip. And he took full advantage, letting her feel every hard ridge of his body as he slowly lowered her to the ground.
“Nice job,” he stated.
“I’m surprised you didn’t take care of him yourself.”
He shrugged, and his white teeth gleamed in the shadowy yard as he claimed, “I don’t climb.”
Kacy, on the other hand, did, and Marcus was tall enough she could totally use him as a tree.
Naked came to mind.
Now was not the time, though.
“I’ll get the client.” She ordered. “You stash the body for later.”
They needed to present themselves to the arriving fire crew before anyone noticed anything amiss.
She led Darren out of the hidden tunnel and had him seated on a reclining chair by the pool, hunched over, pretending he was sick when the first fireman rounded the corner of the house.
If the guy dressed in full gear thought it odd that Marcus suddenly appeared a few minutes later, he didn’t remark on it. Then again, Kacy kept him plenty distracted by exclaiming in a mixture of English and Spanish about how scared she was. And how sick the gas made her feel. Oh, and could she have more of that oxygen? Was he single? She had a cousin.
Babbling wasn’t her thing, but in this case, she had to remain in character. In character meant a girl terrified and yet excited by what had happened. Not a cold-blooded operative itching to get back to the cabana to question their captive.
The firemen and the policemen who showed up didn’t question them too much. Marcus stuck to the truth, more or less. He told them he’d been checking on his boss and his boss’s girlfriend when he smelled gas. He’d gotten them out of there just before something ignited everything.
The officials seemed satisfied, although one of the cops did say, “We also got a report about gunfire. Did you hear anything?”
“No idea what you’re talking about, officer. But with the swamp nearby, it’s not uncommon for poachers to try and net some of the gators at night.” Darren remained composed, despite the attempt on his life.
If money greased any palms, Kacy didn’t see it. What she did know was as soon as the fire was controlled—thanks to sprinkler systems in the house and fire-retardant walls—and Darren had reassured them that they would stay the night in the cabana out back until the premises could be inspected, the fire trucks and cops left.
About time.
The moment they found themselves alone, standing on the front step of the house, Darren muttered, “Where are all the guards?”
Marcus cursed. “I heard the dogs earlier when the shooting started.”
Nothing since. Entering the house, the front foyer damp and dirty from the firemen, Marcus made a beeline for the nearest security panel and began pressing the surface. Nothing happened, the power having been cut off to the house.
Marcus cursed as he stomped barefoot and disheveled to the small command center inside. The screens were blank, the chair empty, but he was after the handheld set on the desk. It worked off batteries and crackled when he depressed the tab on the side. “Calling unit one.” Nothing. “Calling unit two.” More silence. “Fuck.”
“Do you think they’re all dead?” Darren asked.
“If they’re not dead, then they’re either out of commission or were the ones who betrayed you.” Kacy didn’t pussyfoot around the truth.
“Probably dead. The guy I stashed in the cabana was on duty tonight as the fourth unit,” Marcus revealed.
Betrayal from within.
“What do you say we go ask him some questions?” Kacy had some anger issues that needed to be worked out. She’d almost died tonight. And not in a blaze of glory. She’d almost succumbed to poison.
Before heading out back, she had Marcus arm her. The man at least had the common sense to keep weapons stashed around the house. A gun in hand made her feel better. Fuck anyone who might be watching.
Right now, keeping Darren safe was the only important thing. That and finding out who was behind the attempted hits.
Answers wouldn’t be forthcoming, though. Entering the cabana, Marcus cursed. “Where the fuck is he? I had him tied to that chair.”
A chair that still held traces of the curtain ties that Marcus had used to bind the fellow, but the guard-turned-traitor was gone.
“Now what?” Darren asked.
“I think it’s time we consider getting you into a safe house. This place is compromised.” Kacy hated to admit defeat, and yet, she’d come close to losing her client.
“Like hell,” Darren snapped.
“She might be right,” Marcus rumbled. “Whoever is after you went all out tonight.”
“And?”
“And I think we need to put you somewhere where you can lie low until we figure out who’s behind it.”
“I’ll make some phone calls.” Harry would help Kacy find a place for Darren. She just hated to admit that she’d failed.
“You’ll have to cancel your trip,” Marcus stated.
“Like fuck am I hiding or canceling anything.” Darren paced the living room of the cabana—which she should note was not only much more luxurious than her apartment, but bigger, too. “I am not letting these assassination attempts control my actions. Besides, where the hell else are we going to go?”
Anywhere but here would work. Kacy could think of innumerable options to keep a client safe. But Darren seemed determined to ignore common sense.
“How are you going to travel? In case you hadn’t noticed, we have nothing to pack. Our bedrooms blew up with all our shit,” Marcus noted.
“First off, our bags were already packed and by the front door. So long as they didn’t get soaked or trampled, we’re good to go. And if we’re missing shit, then we can buy new stuff. Again.”
Rich people and their money. They really thought nothing of dropping a few hundred, or in this case, thousands of dollars on clothing. Darren had already bought a new wardrobe for Kacy the previous day, having packages delivered with all kinds of expensive garments in her size—which she’d warned him she wasn’t paying for.