If You Only Knew

by Dixie Lee Brown

  By the time the plane landed, he was keyed up and itching to get in the fray. He retrieved his checked bag, containing his disassembled firearm, and hailed a cab at the curb outside LAX. The driver dropped him at the Best Western on Sepulveda. As soon as he arrived, Ty noticed the Bobbsey Twins sitting at an outdoor café across the street from the motel, but he went through the motions of registering as Chris Knight anyway.

  Boris Khavin and Mikhail Lenevski, dubbed the Bobbsey Twins by Ty’s ex-partner because one never went anywhere without the other, served as Andre’s gatekeepers. No one got anywhere near Andre unless they went through these two jokers. The fact Ty and Bree had gotten close enough to put a pair of bullets in him six years ago almost guaranteed the Twins weren’t feeling too charitable toward him at the moment.

  Ty took his room key, but rather than go upstairs, he asked the motel clerk if he could leave his bag in the office. He received a frown in spite of his forced cheerfulness, but the woman grudgingly accepted the bag he handed over the counter, and he took a seat in the lobby. After a phone call to Joe, letting him know he’d arrived on schedule, Ty picked up the newspaper from the table in front of him and settled back to wait.

  Thirty-five minutes later, Boris and Mikhail took seats on either side of him. Their deadpan expressions were just as he remembered. He’d learned the hard way that their lack of outward emotion meant nothing. They were smart and unpredictable, which made them exceedingly dangerous.

  “How are you boys doing?” Ty glanced up long enough to turn another page in his newspaper before he continued to read. The Twins both had patches of black hair atop balding heads and dark brown eyes, but that was where the similarity ended. Boris was the taller at six feet; Mikhail came in at a mere five-foot-eight. Boris was thin and wiry with a scraggly mustache, while Mikhail was muscle-bound with broad shoulders. Of the two, Boris was smarter, which made him more dangerous, but Mikhail could flatten a man with one blow. It was never a good idea to underestimate either of them.

  Boris jerked the paper from his hands. “You would do well to show some respect.”

  Ty steepled his fingers in front of him. “Not much respect due a man who has to kidnap a woman to get what he wants. By the way, Mikhail, that nose looks broken. She’s a handful, isn’t she?”

  Mikhail scowled. “You are lucky the bitch is still alive. If you fail to provide what Andre wants, it will be my pleasure to kill her.”

  Mikhail was trying to goad him into losing his temper, and though Ty had prepared himself for that, it almost worked. He forced his anger aside, snorted a laugh, and turned his attention to Boris. “So, what’s the plan? How long before I see her?”

  “The car is out front. It is not far, but I would not count on Andre letting you see her.” Boris stood and motioned for him to follow.

  The car was a late-model Lexus. Mikhail searched him for weapons, confiscated his cell phone, and shoved him into the backseat, sliding in beside him. Ty always felt undressed without his gun or at least a knife stuck in his boot. Situations like this were exactly the reason Joe drilled the team so hard on hand-to-hand combat. The ability to defend yourself, procure a weapon from the enemy, or even kill with your bare hands had never seemed so crucial as they did on this mission. He was virtually walking into the lions’ den with nothing to work with except what he could take away from the lions. Ty had every confidence in his ability to take what he needed.

  As the car pulled away from the curb, Mikhail tossed Ty’s phone from the window, then smirked. Ty held his tongue with no small effort. Mikhail was a highly paid bully, no doubt trying to elicit a response that would give him an excuse to do what he really wanted to do—kick the shit out of someone. Ty had learned two things early in his career—always try to arrange it so the someone wasn’t you, and if you were going to get the shit kicked out of you, give as good as you got.

  Boris was all gas, brake, and horn for the next forty-five minutes. Ty leaned back and did his best to ignore the near-misses as the car careened through heavy traffic. He gritted his teeth and said nothing. They exited the freeway and wound through the streets of West Los Angeles until they entered a quiet, tree-lined residential neighborhood. Finally, Boris pulled over and parallel-parked in front of an older, two-story house. Ty opened the door and stepped onto the curb, ignoring Mikhail’s threatening glare.

  The house was charcoal gray. A large porch ran all along the front. Most of the houses on the block looked the same, and all were well-maintained. A three-man crew mowed the lawn and cleaned the flower beds as Ty walked up the sidewalk, flanked by the Bobbsey Twins. A warm breeze rustled the rosebushes and brought with it the smell of someone’s backyard barbeque. Somewhere nearby, people were going about their lives oblivious to the danger that lurked so close by.

  Ty studied the landscaping crew. Their black hair, dark eyes, slim and toned physiques, together with sinister expressions that followed his every move, gave them away. Russian to a man, unless he missed his guess, and probably didn’t know a perennial from an annual. No such thing as coincidence—Joe’s favorite expression.

  Boris knocked twice and then walked into the house. Ty followed slowly, studying the interior. The rooms he could see were virtually empty. What furniture did remain here and there was draped with sheets. No one lived here. This was just a temporary holding cell for Rayna. If Ty agreed to find Bree, Rayna wouldn’t be here when he got back. Andre would make sure he didn’t know where to look for her.

  The joke would be on Andre, though—Ty didn’t plan on leaving here without her.

  A door opened in front of him. Andre stood there dressed in black, his dark, curly hair cut short. A scornful smile made a joke of his proffered hand. Ty ignored it until Andre’s arm fell to his side.

  “You made good time. The woman must mean more to you than I thought.” Andre swung the door wide and motioned him in.

  “I don’t take lightly to my friends being threatened.” Ty walked forward into what appeared to be a library. Row upon row of shelves stood empty, just like the rest of the house. A card table, strewn with papers, served as a desk in the center of the room.

  Andre motioned him to a chair. “We have much to discuss.”

  Ty made no move to sit. “We have nothing to discuss until I know Rayna is all right.”

  Andre hesitated for a moment, then smiled. “Of course. You are concerned about your friend. I will take you to her and give you a few minutes.”

  He turned and walked from the room they’d just entered, and Ty followed him into the kitchen, where he stopped in front of a closed door.

  “She may have . . . some bruises, but I assure you she was much harder on my men than they were on her.” Andre appeared almost apologetic.

  What was that about? The Andre Ty knew didn’t apologize for anything. “I saw your men. Rayna always could take care of herself, but if you hadn’t decided to involve her in something she had nothing to do with, she wouldn’t be here, bruised or drugged. Pray she’s okay, Andre. I’m not the forgiving kind.”

  “I mean her no harm.”

  “Then let her go.”

  Andre turned back to the door and produced an old skeleton key from his pocket. “I will—when you have done something for me.” He put the key in the lock, turned it, and swung the door open.

  A set of wooden steps descended into gray obscurity, broken only by the light from one window. Fresh air wafted around Ty’s face and carried the smell of newly mowed grass. He detected no sound or movement in the room below.

  “What the . . .?” Andre pulled a string that hung from a bare bulb above their heads, illuminating a ten-foot circle directly in front of them, and then rushed down the stairs.

  Three steps from the bottom, he stopped and yelled something in Russian. When Boris and Mikhail appeared, Andre turned on them with murderous rage. “She’s gone! Search the grounds and find her. And then find out who was supposed to be watching her.”

  Ty stepped down beside him and follow
ed his gaze. The glass in the small window had been broken, and shattered pieces littered the workbench below.

  Andre bounded down the remaining steps and performed a hasty search of the small space, swearing every few feet.

  “It appears your hostage has flown the coop.” Ty’s gaze returned to the window. He vaulted onto the workbench and peered out. A quick bump of his elbow broke out the last remaining shard of glass, and he caught it before it fell, shoving it quickly into his pocket. “Looks like a black sweater on the grass. She must have dropped it.” He jumped off the bench and started for the stairs.

  Andre scowled. “Where are you going?”

  “Rayna is out there somewhere in a drug-induced stupor with a torn dress and no shoes. She doesn’t know where she is or who to trust. Where do you think I’m going?”

  “Het! You will stay. I will find Rayna, and then you will find someone for me. Yes?” Andre brushed by him and ascended the stairs. The key scraped in the lock, footsteps receded, and silence fell over the basement.

  Ty allowed himself a grim smile as he fingered the glass shard he’d broken from the window. He hopped back up on the bench and scanned the yard and the street beyond. The three members of the landscape crew each took off in a different direction on foot and in a hurry. Andre must have put the fear of God in them. Andre and Boris climbed into Boris’s car and pulled away. Good. That left only Mikhail guarding the house.

  Ty waited until the car was out of sight before he jumped down and spoke softly. “They’re gone. Now would be a good time for you to come out of hiding so we can get the hell out of here.”

  Chapter Four

  * * *

  RAYNA POPPED FROM the flaps of a large box against the wall and struggled to climb over the side. With halting movements and eyes that didn’t quite focus on him, she shoved herself onto the carton beside the one she’d been hiding in. He hurried to catch her in case she fell, reaching her as she flung her legs over the side and slid off the edge with a small squeak. Before he’d even set her on her feet, she latched on to him around the neck and hugged him as though her life depended on it.

  Her eyes shone with the drug’s effect, and her pupils were dilated. Her body trembled against his, unleashing waves of protectiveness in him that destroyed any ability he might have had to stay detached. The drug likely still influenced her emotions, and she’d been scared and traumatized. It didn’t matter—he wanted to believe some part of her was glad to see him.

  He wrapped her tightly in his arms and inhaled the sweet scent of roses that always clung to her hair and skin. As though she’d never left him, her presence—her need for him—filled that gaping hole in his chest. Hard telling how long he would have held her like that, but all too soon she pulled away.

  “How did you know I was still here?”

  He gently touched her lip where the skin was torn and swollen, and he bit back the angry epitaph that came instantly at the thought of someone hurting her. Barely resisting the urge to pull her back into his arms, he retrieved the two-inch glass shard from his pocket. “I broke this out before Andre saw it. If you’d have gone through that window, there’d have been blood on this glass.”

  A deep sigh escaped her, and she groaned. “Great. If you hadn’t been here, they’d have figured that out too.” Her jaw set in a firm line, she pinned him with a glare. “What are you doing here, anyway? I said not to come.”

  “You said it wasn’t worth it for me to come. Maybe it’s not worth it to you, but trust me, sweetheart, it’s worth it to me. Besides, I don’t take my orders from you.”

  Just like that, the mirage of the perfect life they might have had was gone. Damn it to hell. His relief at finding her safe made him forget for a moment that she’d cut him loose. He no longer had the right to hold her in his arms and feel her molded against his body. The thought of kissing her senseless until she forgot her fears and focused only on him was nothing but a fantasy. He turned toward the stairs before his disappointment could give him away. An irrational anger reared up within him . . . at her . . . at the situation . . . but mostly at himself. God, man, get a grip.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here before Andre and the rest of those scumballs figure out what really happened.” Ty took the stairs two at a time and listened for the soft padding of her bare feet as she followed. On the top landing, she brushed against his arm, and a familiar jolt of longing landed in his gut. Shaking it off, he bent to whisper in her ear, “Stay behind me and keep moving. If I go down, you don’t stop.”

  Her nod was nearly imperceptible as her eyes searched his. Was it concern for him that made her breath catch as she held his gaze? Or more of the drug’s handiwork? Either way, now wasn’t the time to give in to the soft question in her eyes, so he used the anger churning just below the surface. Slamming his foot into the door, he splintered the casing and the wood around the lock sending the door flying outward into the room beyond.

  He surged through the opening and spotted Mikhail running toward them, his hand inside his jacket where Ty had seen the bulge of a shoulder holster. He launched himself at the Russian and took him down hard. The man was quick for his size, and he rolled away and came right back to his feet. He drew his gun, but didn’t follow through. No doubt he had orders to keep them alive. Ty kicked the weapon from his hand, and it slid across the room as he swung around and landed a right cross on Mikhail’s jaw.

  He didn’t even wobble—just grinned and continued to advance. Ty’s reach was longer, and he dealt an uppercut to the Russian’s chin, then danced out of his way. The man still showed no reaction to the beating he was taking. Ty didn’t need to be told he’d be in serious trouble if Mikhail touched him with one of his powerful fists.

  The shot rang loudly from close at hand. Mikhail jerked and fell backward, surprise and pain twisting his features. Blood seeped down the front of his shirt from a large hole in his left shoulder.

  Ty spun around. Rayna lowered the gun and stumbled toward him. He took the weapon from her outstretched hand. “Nice shot.”

  She was an excellent shot and could have hit the man anywhere she chose, so he had to assume the shoulder was what she’d been going for. He’d have done it differently, but then he was still pissed that Rayna had been kidnapped and subjected to harsh treatment.

  He turned back to Mikhail, sitting braced against the wall, trying to staunch the flow of blood from his wound. “The good news is you’re going to live. The bad news is you need to be quiet for a while.”

  Mikhail glared defiantly.

  Ty swung the barrel of the gun into the side of his head and he collapsed, sliding sideways to the floor. Rayna came up behind him as he rifled the unconscious man’s pockets for his cell phone and lifted the extra magazine from his holster. Gingerly, he flexed his right hand. Now that the adrenaline had receded, he was beginning to get a good idea how sore it would be.

  “Are you okay?” The concern in her eyes echoed her question as her hand on his shoulder trembled. Her inner turmoil was no doubt the only thing keeping her from collapsing in total exhaustion.

  He’d seen battle-weary members of Joe’s team with that same look. The stilted movements and eyelids that blinked independently of each other. She was shutting down, and he had to get her out of here before that happened.

  “Let’s go.” Ty stood, grabbed her hand, and pulled her with him through the house and out the front door. He hesitated a split second before he headed for the back of the house and the alley beyond. When in doubt, always take the alley.

  Rayna held back, and her faltering steps slowed him. Being barefoot wasn’t helping the cause either. Ty shoved the gun into the belt at his back and swept her into his arms.

  “What are you doing? Put me down.” She squirmed and pushed against his chest.

  “I’m trying to get us both out of here alive, so stop fighting me. You can get as far away from me as you want when this is over.”

  The look she shot him was surprised, hurt, and angry. S
he opened her mouth as though to respond, then closed it and looked away.

  Instantly sorry for hurting her, he wished she’d call him on it so his disparagement would somehow be justified.

  A car roared to life at the end of the alley and rolled toward them. Ty studied it closely. It was a dark blue, late-model Toyota—probably a rental car, by the look of it. Not Boris’s car, but it was a little too coincidental that it appeared in this alley at this particular moment. He switched directions and hurried back the way he’d come, but stopped short when he recognized Boris’s Lexus as it turned into the other end of the alley and sped toward them.

  The driver of the car behind them revved the engine and laid on the horn.

  “What the hell? It can’t be . . .” Ty turned to stare at the windshield of the Toyota that was now speeding toward them. The sun’s glare kept him from seeing who was inside, but the scene had a certain familiarity about it. What were the chances? Almost negligible. Still, if there was any chance at all, he needed to get the hell out of the way.

  “Can you run?” He glanced down at Rayna’s anxious face.

  “I think so.”

  He set her down in the grass, then took her hand, and they raced toward the vehicle with the blaring horn. When they passed it and kept on going, the tires squealed and slid on the blacktop as the driver slammed on the brakes and skidded the car around.

  When the vehicle pulled alongside them again, the driver slowed and threw open the front passenger door. “Get in, damn it! They’re gaining on us.”

  Ty’s suspicions were confirmed by the voice he’d recognize anywhere, and he slid into the front seat, jerking Rayna onto his lap. He slammed the door and his old partner, Nate Sanders, hit the gas, sending the car lurching forward.