Dangerous Choice KO PL

by Barbara Freethy

  "Once we open the door, we pull out the hostages and we leave as fast as possible," Damon continued. "I have no doubt Vincent intends to play this out to the last detail, which means there will be a blast somewhere, fire, smoke, debris. No one stays behind. No one goes back in. No one falls out a window. We do this together."

  "Together," they echoed, and then they headed up the stairs.

  Damon led the way, followed by Bree, Wyatt, Parisa, and himself at the back. It had been almost five years since they'd met, since they'd done a mission together—all five of them in the same place, but it felt like they'd worked together yesterday. They'd always had the ability to read each other; it was what had made them a strong team.

  When they hit the third floor, the door flew open, and shots rang out. Damon ducked, then fired, as they all dropped back, weapons drawn, waiting for a shooter to appear as had happened in the training mission.

  When the shots ceased, Damon said, "There's no one in the hallway. There's a gun rigged to fire, probably a pressure sensor on the floor." He walked into the hallway and examined the gun. "It's empty. Let's go."

  They continued up the stairs until they reached the top floor. As expected, the door was wired with explosives.

  He kept an eye on the stairs behind him, while Wyatt and Parisa worked on dismantling the device.

  "We'll get in," Bree said with confidence. "Vincent would never want it to end here in this stairwell. It's not exciting enough for him."

  "Good point."

  A moment later, Wyatt said, "We've got it. The door is disarmed. But there's probably another gun waiting to be triggered."

  Damon grabbed one of the backpacks they'd brought with them and tossed it through the door. When it hit the hallway floor, more shots rang out. They waited until the rounds were spent. Then they moved through the door and down a dark hallway that was lit by the beam of Damon's flashlight.

  "Anyone here?" Damon yelled.

  "We're here," a male voice called out.

  "Jared?" Parisa said with relief. "Are you all right?"

  "We're okay, but the door appears to be wired with explosives," Jared replied. "Don't get too close."

  He was immensely relieved to know they were all right. "Is everyone there?" he asked, impatient to hear Tara's voice.

  "It's me, Sophie, Avery, and Nathan," Jared replied.

  His heart stopped. "What about Tara?" he yelled.

  "We haven't seen her," Avery called back. "She's not with us."

  Tara wasn't there? Where the hell was she?

  "We'll find her," Bree assured him.

  "Okay, I think I've got this one disarmed," Wyatt said, dismantling the device connected to the door. "Everyone move back as far as you can." He turned to look at the rest of them. "Are we good?"

  He trusted Wyatt, as did everyone else. If he was ready to open the door, then they were all ready.

  He held his breath as Wyatt turned the knob and the door opened.

  But as they ran into the room, a blast knocked them to the ground, chunks of ceiling falling down around them in the smoky darkness. The explosion hadn't come from the device on the door. It was somewhere else. And he doubted it was the only bomb set to go off.

  He scrambled to his feet, as the others reunited with their significant others, exchanging desperately grateful hugs.

  "Everyone all right?" he asked, fighting back the urge to start running wildly through the building. He couldn't act without thought. That's exactly what Vincent wanted.

  "We're okay," Jared said, although as Damon flashed a light on Jared's face, Diego could see a multitude of cuts and bruises. "I got those when they grabbed me," Jared said in reply to Damon's unspoken question.

  "Let's get out of here," Damon said.

  "You're sure no one has seen Tara?" he asked.

  "Maybe they didn't take her," Avery said hopefully.

  "No, they took her. She's here somewhere."

  "Let's get everyone out and then we'll look for Tara together," Wyatt said. "We'll find her."

  They'd no sooner left the apartment when another blast sent them sprawling once more. Vincent was definitely teasing them, like a cat with a mouse.

  Scrambling to their feet, they ran down the stairwell that was now thick with smoke and heat from fires burning somewhere in the building.

  Finally, they reached the ground floor, and rushed through the front door. The cold evening air was a welcome respite. Flynn's team was now right outside. The other team was keeping back interested, curious neighbors.

  "Everyone out?" Damon asked.

  "I'm the last," he said, meeting Damon's gaze. "But I have to go back and find Tara. She's probably in another apartment."

  "You can't," Bree said. "It's what Jamie did."

  "I think that's the point," he said grimly. "One of us has to go back, and it has to be me, because it's Tara, and it's because I didn't stop Jamie."

  "Jamie went back in because he thought he heard someone, but there was no one there," Parisa reminded him. "Tara might not be there, either. It's a trick."

  "It might be, but I can't take the chance that it's not."

  "Firefighters are on their way," Wyatt said, as the sirens split the air.

  "They can't go inside," Diego argued. "We know there are more bombs. It has to be me."

  "We'll all go," Damon said.

  He turned toward the door, took one step inside the building, and then was knocked back off his feet by a rolling blast of fire that landed him on his ass.

  "Tara," he yelled, scrambling to his feet.

  Wyatt and Damon held him back.

  "You can't go in there," Damon said. "The stairs will be gone now."

  He fought his way out of their grip, but the fire coming through the doors told him they were right. He couldn't get back in. The building was ripping apart, much like his heart.

  * * *

  Another explosion rocked the ground beneath her feet. Tara could feel the heat. She could smell the smoke. She had to get free, but she was trapped in a chair, her hands locked behind her back by a plastic tie. She'd been struggling to get off the chair for the last half hour, ever since she'd woken up, strapped to it in the middle of some dark, almost empty apartment. She had no idea where she was or who had brought her to this place, but she knew she was in trouble.

  The Salazars must have had Tracy on their payroll. She'd betrayed her own agency in God knew how many ways.

  But who else was involved? Had Bethany and Mateo also been kidnapped? What about Diego? Where was he?

  The frustrating, agonizing questions ran through her head as she fought not only the chair but the desperate panic rising inside her.

  Wrenching her arms first one way and then the other with as much energy as she could knocked her off-balance, and she crashed to the floor. More pain swept through her shoulder as she landed hard, and for a second, she thought the crack she heard was her arm breaking, but as she moved again, a piece of the wood on the chair came loose.

  Joy swept through her. She turned on to her side and finally managed to get her arms free of the wood. They were still behind her back, but now she could get to her feet.

  Once she was up, a bout of dizziness hit her. She didn't know what she'd breathed in earlier, but she was still feeling the effects of those fumes. She blinked several times, focused her gaze on the front door of the apartment. When the lightheadedness passed, she moved around the small room.

  As she'd thought, she was in a studio apartment that had a bath and a small counter area serving as a kitchenette. The only furniture in the room was a card table and two wooden chairs, including the one she'd been sitting in. There was a bucket on the floor near the front door. Moving toward it, she saw more plastic ties, duct tape, some kind of metal device that she couldn't identify, and a packet of wires. They looked like the kind of items you would use to make a bomb.

  That sent another chill through her.

  Turning around, she moved toward the window that had
seemed so far out of reach just minutes before.

  When she got to it, the scene across the street took her breath away. The building was completely on fire, flames shooting high in the sky, and down below were a crowd of onlookers, many of whom were wearing FBI jackets. She couldn't make out who anyone was, but she thought she saw Bree, maybe Wyatt…Diego had to be there, too.

  As she squinted, she saw a blonde hug a taller man, and she realized that was Damon. There were other civilians, too.

  Was one of those Avery? Was she with Wyatt?

  Why was everyone down there and she was up here?

  And then it hit her. This whole scene reminded her of Diego's story of Jamie's death. The abandoned building, the hostage rescue—the explosions. Jamie had gone running back into the building, searching for one more person, sure there was a hostage in trouble. But then the building had blown up. And Jamie had fallen out of a window and died.

  Her heart stopped as she saw a man pacing in front of the building across the street.

  It was Diego. She was sure of it. She could almost feel his fear. He was looking at the flames like he was seeing a ghost.

  It suddenly made sense. He thought she was inside. He was going to go back in—exactly the way Jamie had done. He would die trying to rescue her.

  She had to stop him. She ran to the door and tried to open it with her hands still behind her back, but there was a bolt, and after a few frustrating minutes, she gave up.

  She returned to the window. If she could break the glass, maybe someone outside would look up and wonder what was going on. Although there was so much noise with the fire and the crowd, it was possible no one would notice. But she had to try.

  She ran toward the bucket on the floor. She managed to grab the handle and carry it toward the window. She angled one way and then the other, trying to hit it against the glass, but she couldn't make it happen. She needed to use her hands.

  Tears of anger filled her eyes. She blinked them away. She couldn't quit. She had to stop Diego from going into that building. She also needed to save her own life, because clearly no one knew where she was. And it was quite possible there were more explosives, and this building was blowing up next.

  She took a deep breath and squatted a little lower so she could raise the bucket high enough to hit the glass. She swung it as hard as she could back and forth, trying to get momentum, and then it struck the glass. The first hit only broke one or two pieces. She tried again until glass rained down in a shower on her head. Cold, smoky air hit her in the face. She stuck her head out the window screaming for help.

  Finally, one head turned. Someone pointed in her direction.

  Relief ran through her. They'd seen her. She screamed again.

  And then the door to the apartment burst open.

  She whirled around, hoping it was someone who had come to help her.

  But cold fury came off the man striding into the apartment. He was an older man with pepper-gray hair and dark eyes, and he was, oddly enough, wearing a very expensive suit.

  And then she realized who he was.

  "Vincent," she said. "You're Vincent Rowland—Jamie's father."

  "I see you're up to date." He grabbed her by the arm. "And you're trying to mess up my plan with your scrappy attempt to get some attention. But it doesn't matter. They might have saved each other, but they won't save you." He hauled her toward the window, and at that moment, she realized what was going to happen next.

  She could not let him push her out the window. She tried to butt his chest with her head, but that didn't seem to make a dent in his intent to shove her through the shredded chards of glass. She was running out of time, so she made the move she'd made a few days earlier. She kneed Vincent in the balls.

  Vincent let out a groan of rage as he instinctively doubled over. She kicked out at him again, freeing herself from his grip. She took one step toward the door, and then Vincent grabbed her arm once more.

  She screamed as she struggled to get away from him again.

  But he was pulling her closer and closer to the window.

  And then a shot burst out and his weight on her arm dragged her down to the floor. She pushed Vincent aside as blood poured out of the hole in his head. His eyes were shocked wide open, as if he couldn't believe his plan had failed.

  She stared at Vincent in confusion. And then Diego pulled her up and into his arms.

  "Diego," she breathed.

  "You're all right," he said, hugging her tight. "You're okay now. God, Tara, I was so scared."

  "I was, too."

  She heard more footsteps, more voices, and lifted her head to see the room filling with Diego's team: Wyatt, Bree, Damon, and Parisa. They were all there. They hadn't let Diego come in alone. She should have expected nothing less.

  "Are you all right?" Bree asked with concern.

  "Diego shot Vincent." She looked back at Vincent sprawled on his back, his leg twisted awkwardly beneath him, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "He is dead, right?"

  Damon was checking Vincent's body. He gave a nod and said, "He's dead. He's never going to hurt anyone again. This is finally over. His revenge is done."

  She looked back at Diego. "I was so afraid you would go into that burning building to find me. He was playing out the scene from the training mission, wasn't he?"

  Diego nodded. "Yes. And when you weren't in the room with the other hostages, I knew he'd stashed you somewhere else, but I thought it was in that same building. I thought the bombs going off…" His jaw tightened. "I didn't know how to get to you."

  "I wasn't there."

  "Thank God."

  "But you said there were other hostages? Who?"

  "They kidnapped everyone we love," Bree explained. "Nathan, Jared, Avery, and Sophie. They were in an apartment across the street."

  "Thank God you broke the window," Diego said, drawing her gaze back to him. "It was genius."

  "It was desperate. Luckily, Vincent had left me alone. I guess he figured I couldn't do anything. My arms were tied around the chair, but I managed to break the chair and get free. The window was tougher."

  "You're amazing."

  "No. You're the one who is amazing. You saved my life again."

  He gave her another fierce hug and then said, "Let's get out of here."

  When they got down to the street, she was enveloped in more hugs from Avery and Nathan and two people she was meeting for the first time—Sophie and Jared. The women looked fine, as did Nathan, but Jared looked like someone had beaten the crap out of him.

  "You're hurt," she said.

  "I've been knocked around worse than this," Jared said lightly.

  "You fought hard to get away."

  "Not hard enough. I'm glad you're all right, Tara. Diego was going out of his mind."

  She smiled back at Diego, as he put his coat around her shoulders.

  "You're an honorary FBI agent now," he said.

  She gave him a shaky smile, feeling a bit weak now that the adrenaline was wearing off. "I think I'll stick to teaching high school Spanish."

  He smiled back at her. "The bureau's loss."

  "I think the bureau is probably going to be happy to see the end of me. When I woke up in the room alone, I thought it was the Salazars, because Tracy came and got me out of the conference room. It wasn't until I heard the explosions and I saw the fire across the street that it clicked, that it was the story you'd told me playing out again." She paused. "Where is Tracy?"

  "I don't know," Diego said grimly. "But the entire bureau is going to be hunting her down. If she's still alive, we'll find her."

  "Why would you think she wasn't still alive?"

  "Because Vincent has made a habit of getting rid of the people he's used in his plans. But we'll see if Tracy was smarter than he was."

  * * *

  With Flynn's team and a team from the field office cleaning up the scene, Diego and his group were free to leave. There would be more interviews in the morning, more official stat
ements to make, but for the moment they could take a minute to catch their breaths.

  He took Tara back to the apartment they'd spent the night in. The rest of the team followed shortly thereafter, bringing pizzas, salad, beer, wine and soft drinks with them.

  Sitting in the living room with chairs from the dining room table set up around the couch, the ten of them were quite a sight, covered in dust and soot, but they were all alive, and that was something. He felt incredibly lucky.

  "I think we should have a toast," he said, raising his beer bottle. "First—to Jamie, our fallen teammate, one of the best guys any of us has ever known. He was not his father, and I won't have his memory tarnished by Vincent's actions."

  "Here, here," Wyatt said.

  "Second," Diego continued. "To all of us, for stepping up when it counts, for having each other's backs, for never being unwilling to break a rule or make a bold choice. I know I missed a few important moments, but from here on out, I promise to step up."

  "We all step up when we can," Bree said. "We don't judge each other, Diego."

  "I know. But I still want to do better. So, to us. Cheers."

  "To us," the rest of the group echoed, as they clinked glasses and bottles.

  "Well, I'm glad Vincent is dead," Bree continued. "I think it was probably the only way we could have stopped him."

  "But it will take some time to unravel all the people he used along the way," Damon put in. "He had connections in every office. We might have taken down one of the most conniving and evil moles the bureau has ever seen."

  "We'll get all of his friends," Wyatt vowed. "The rats will scurry into hiding, but we'll drag each and every one of them into the light of day."

  "Now that we've exposed Vincent for who he is, the entire bureau will be dissecting every move he made in the last five years," Parisa put in. "I'm just sorry so many people had to die in his quest for revenge. He always had a fall person, someone who was allegedly the bad guy. And he was so normal at times. I think back to the memorial services we attended. I thought he was a grieving father, who actually seemed to care about us."

  "It was a pretense," Sophie said. "I feel bad for Cassie—for Jamie's sister. She's now lost her father, too, and I know she wasn't a part of this." Sophie paused. "I'd like to make a toast as well—to my dad. He was the first of Vincent's victims. He wasn't completely innocent himself. He made mistakes, but he didn't cause Jamie's death, and he was torn apart by it, just as we were."