“Please don’t let him hit me again,” she pleaded, settling back on her heels at his feet. “I’ll do anything for you, Hector.”
He stroked her hair, smiling down at her. “I’ve missed you, little pet. Maybe I will keep our friend from hurting you…if you help me.”
She forced herself to look hopeful. He was going to ask how to get to Tony so he could kill him quietly. This was manageable.
Tony wouldn’t be back in their little rented villa by the time they could get that information out of her. He was also a trained professional, and they all knew there was a possibility their locations could be compromised at any time in just this way.
He wound his fingers through the short curls he hated so much. “Tell me, little pet, how you’re going to help me kidnap little Danny Rossi.”
Danny? Charlotte felt a sudden lightning bolt of awareness and she knew what it was. She’d heard the guys talk about it. It was the FUBAR moment, when you realized that things were officially beyond “blown to shit” and now “fucked up beyond all recognition”. It usually meant somebody was about to die. And since she wasn’t exactly the player with the power in this little game, there was a better than average chance it would be her.
“You see,” he continued, “I can’t afford for your friends to keep interfering with my business. If I have little Danny in my control, I have the Devlin Group in my control.”
The poor kid had already been kidnapped once this year. Fortunately, he’d been treated well and had bounced back like a champ, but there was no way in hell Charlotte was going to be a part of putting him through that again.
Hector’s fingers tightened in her hair, causing real tears to spring to her eyes again. “Our friend, Konrad, was able to tell me a lot of things about the Devlin Group, but he doesn’t seem to know where the Rossi family lives. So let’s start with that, little pet.”
This was going to hurt. “No.”
He slapped her, open-handed, across the face. “The address.”
“No.”
He slapped her again, other hand and other side of her face. Then he wiped both of his hands on his pants. “Konrad, wait outside for a moment.”
The German grumbled something, but went out into the sitting room, closing the door behind him.
Hector crouched, bringing his face almost level with Charlotte’s. “You are the only woman I ever showed my true self to, Sofia. You know why I have to do the things I do.”
“You sell children into sexual slavery to save your mother some embarrassment, Hector. Guess what? Not worth it. And guess what else? Nobody actually gives that much of a shit about your family anymore.”
His face changed and, though Charlotte braced herself, the blow sent her sprawling.
“Enough of this, Charlotte Rhames. Let’s not pretend anymore. You’re going to help me find your boss’s little boy.”
“Fuck you, Hector,” she snarled, crawling as fast as she could around the bed.
She pulled herself to her feet and faced him. “I’m not telling you shit.”
“Yes,” he said solemnly, “you are.”
He went to the door to retrieve Konrad and Charlotte made her move. She hauled the heavy piece of porcelain from under the mattress and ran back around the bed. Before Hector was fully aware of what she was doing, Charlotte threw the tank lid, mustering every ounce of strength she had to put into it.
The porcelain hit its intended mark, and then Hector’s fist hit the side of her head. She landed on her hands and knees, the world swimming in fire bursts of color. He kicked her in the hip, rolling her onto the carpet.
“It’s time to make her talk, Konrad.”
Oh Tony, I’m so sorry.
Chapter Six
Tony’s phone vibrated and he pushed the open comm button on his earpiece. “Casavetti.”
“Tony,” Marge said, “I’m monitoring the somewhat crappy satellite feed we managed to line up over Schinias, and we just had a toilet tank lid come smashing out a third floor window of Anetakis’s house.”
“A toilet tank lid?” What the hell?
“Confirmed.”
He pulled out his handheld and called up the plans Charlotte had sketched out from memory. “Which window?”
“Ocean side, center of three.”
She was in his bedroom. Son of a bitch.
“Photo captures from windows confirm at least eight different armed individuals in the house,” Marge continued. “No sign of civilians, but we can’t see into the interior.”
He didn’t care. If it moved and wasn’t Charlotte, it was getting shot.
Marge took a deep breath. “The least activity has been observed in the windows on the west side, but it’s not going to be easy to get to them.”
“I’m going through the door, Marge. This will be one of those messy, non-stealthy Plan B jobs.”
He was checking his gear while he talked, not that there was much of it. With their cover already pretty well blown, he was back in jeans and T-shirt. Over that he wore a vest made from the latest and greatest in lightweight bulletproofing material. Leg coverings of the same material—like chaps, only stopping at the knee—offered some protection to his femoral arteries. The vest had two easy access pockets—one containing his phone and handheld, the other containing three magazines, each holding fifteen rounds. One magazine in each of his back pockets. A full magazine in his piece, and a chambered round.
A Smith & Wesson Military & Police .40 and ninety-one rounds were all the gear he needed.
“At least let me call Gallagher and get him on comm with you,” Marge pleaded with him.
“It’ll be all over before then.” They’d tried this the Group’s way and Charlotte was in trouble. Now they’d do it Tony’s way.
“I don’t have experience with this,” she argued, and he heard a rising note of panic in her voice. He was going to have to shut her off.
“You’ve done great with this job, Marge. But this next part really isn’t your thing and I’m going to disconnect. If you don’t hear from Charlotte or me in thirty minutes, have Gallagher call Christopher Savakis and fill him in on everything we know.”
“Good luck, Tony.”
He thanked her and then hung up on her. It seemed horribly ironic to him that he really, really wished Charlotte Rhames were on comm with him right now. He sucked in a deep breath. The only way to make sure she was on the next job was to go in there and get her out.
Mental snapshots of her flipped through his mind. The outrageous flirt who’d met him at the airport. The all-business exec admin standing next to Alex Rossi. And one last vision—his favorite. Her sleepy smile as she peeked out at him from under the wool blanket on the jet.
Charlotte was in the third-floor master bedroom. Between Tony and her stood two dogs and unknown number of armed subjects. He had to bypass those subjects swiftly enough to reach Anetakis before he could seriously injure or even—God help them—kill Charlotte.
No sweat. Right.
He wasn’t a praying man, but he sent out a reminder to whatever was out there in the cosmos of all the innocent lives he’d saved over the course of his career. He’d never asked for anything in return, but now he wanted one thing—one life. If Charlotte came out of that house unharmed, the books would be balanced as far as he was concerned.
Tony sucked in a deep breath, threw open the door of a minivan he’d borrowed and hit the ground at a dead run. He launched himself over the low stone wall marking the boundaries of the Anetakis villa and heard the dogs.
All muscles and teeth, they came at him. Two shots and he kept going. A shot blew out the glass of the patio door and he zigged, returned fire, then zagged.
He went through the door and dove right, firing at the movement to his left. Dropped, fired straight ahead. He gained his feet and ran, jumping the fallen subject blocking the hall.
The image of the floor plans was seared into his mind and he went to the kitchen. Two more subjects dispatched. After the kitchen
, he turned left down a narrow hall. A bullet whizzed by his ear, and he twisted as he threw himself to the ground, firing. There were three of them, and bullets plowed into the walls over him.
His left hand was already in the pocket as he emptied the gun into them. He stood and turned, flicking the magazine release switch. It fell to the ground and he slammed the full one home.
Finally, the utility staircase. A little tight for comfort, but he wasn’t waiting for the goddamn elevator. He took the stairs quickly but calmly. He reached the landing for the second floor and dropped. Seconds later the door burst open and a man entered the stairwell, firing down at him.
The angle was tough, and the shots went over Tony. He didn’t miss when he shot back. Two more men came through the door and were dispatched before Tony resumed his climb.
Third floor. Steps behind him. He turned. Waited.
Fired.
A fresh clip, and then he went straight through the door. A shot was fired, but the shooter had assumed he’d go right and low and missed. Tony shot him, then swung the gun.
A bullet tore through his upper arm, knocking him backward. The S&W clattered on the marble and Tony dove and rolled. It came up in his left hand and he fired.
He sucked a deep breath through his teeth, pushing himself to his feet. The bullet had missed the bone, but the shock made him a little shaky. He took a few deep breaths, thought of Charlotte and waited a few seconds for the endorphins to kick in.
One last door. He kicked it open, registered Hector Anetakis holding a weapon to a kneeling Charlotte’s head, then he scanned the room.
He whirled and fired, taking down the shooter who’d come up behind him. A few steps to the right, removing himself from the open doorway, and then he aimed the gun at Anetakis’s face.
“Drop your weapon,” Tony ordered, barely registering the blood running down his right arm and dripping onto the carpet.
He couldn’t tell if Charlotte was conscious or not. Anetakis was holding her head up by her hair and he couldn’t see her eyes. Her body was covered in bruises, and there blood on her face—so much blood.
He wanted to run to her, to take her into his arms and carry her out of this nightmare. Instead, he tried to block it out—block her out—and concentrate on not getting them both killed.
“I’ll shoot her,” Anetakis said, and Tony was aware of the tremor in his voice.
“I’m sorry,” Charlotte whispered.
No, it was the son of a bitch behind her who was about to be sorry. Tony’s breathing was fast, but still controlled. Hector Anetakis, however, was practically hyperventilating. The man’s hands were also trembling and his finger was on the trigger.
One bad twitch and Charlotte was dead.
“Put the fucking gun down, Anetakis. If you don’t, you’re a dead man no matter what.”
Tony saw the capitulation in the other man’s eyes. Anetakis didn’t lower his weapon, but he was already giving up. Without his checkbook and his layers of security, the man was all hat and no cattle.
“I don’t want to shoot my Sofia,” Anetakis said. “I just want to leave.”
He didn’t bother lying to the man. “Put. The gun. Down.”
“Will you promise me one thing?”
The only promises Tony had in mind involved Anetakis’s funeral. “Depends on the one thing.”
“Will you try to protect my mother?” Tears gathered in the Greek’s eyes and spilled out onto his cheeks. “My sisters and their families, too? I don’t want them to know my father was a failure. Or what I had to do to keep them from knowing.”
Tony hadn’t seen that coming. “We’ll try.”
Anetakis nodded, making gathered tears fall from his chin. “I don’t want to be this man any more.”
He slowly moved his gun away from Charlotte’s head, and when the angle was clear, Tony fired twice. The Greek’s face exploded and Tony advanced. Fired one more time.
Hector Anetakis was dead. Charlotte was still kneeling, her body mottled with bruises and blood.
Tony ripped the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her. “Do you have any abdominal injuries or broken ribs?”
“Ludka was here. He did…this.”
Shit. If Ludka had been there, he was gone now. They’d either encounter him on their way out or find him later. Right now Tony just wanted out of this joint.
“Answer my question, Charlotte. Abdominal injuries or broken ribs?”
She shook her head, licked at her split lip. “Don’t think so.”
He pulled her to her feet, cocooned her in the blanket and bent at the waist to pull her across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Conscious of how tall she was, he went sideways through the door, with the S&W in his left hand.
He was starting to feel the gunshot wound to his right arm, and Charlotte’s weight wasn’t helping. The elevator was on the ground floor when he called it. He took a few steps back and pressed close to the wall, so he was ready for the two men who stepped out and he dropped them with one shot each.
Once more on the ground floor, he made his way toward the kitchen. A bullet hit him in the leg and he stumbled, almost dropping Charlotte. Despite the chaps, that shot was going to leave a mark. He recovered and pushed up off his knees, scanning for the shooter.
There, behind the center island.
It took him half a damn magazine just to take out that last guy. Tile shattered and flew as they exchanged gunfire, but finally the other guy looked at the wrong time and Tony shot him.
They met no further resistance and he buckled her into the back seat of the minivan. He wanted her next to him, but it was bad enough the right side of him was soaked in blood. A battered, naked woman wrapped in a blanket sitting in the front passenger seat would attract attention.
Once he’d pulled away from the curb, he turned on his earpiece. “Call HQ.”
The master number was ringing through to Marge’s phone for the time being. “Tony?”
“We’re both alive and out of the house, Marge.”
“No way!”
He almost laughed, and wondered if they’d actually done an official office pool regarding their chances. “I can’t believe it either. But it wasn’t easy. You need to find us a secure hotel room and a discreet doctor.”
“Did he…” Marge’s words tapered off as she floundered for the right one.
“You’ll be updated on our status when we know it, Marge. But you can update Anetakis’s status to dead.”
“Okay. I’ll need five minutes on the room and the doctor.”
When a voice came back on comm, it was Gallagher’s. “Will she be okay?”
“Like you said, she’s a tough cookie.” Tony was encouraged to hear a snorting sound from the backseat. It implied she was not only still conscious, but might have survived with her sense of humor intact. “This was a big fuck up, man.”
“One target’s down and you two are still breathing.”
“Well, hoo-fucking-rah for the home team. I’ll send you pictures of her face, asshole, so you can factor that into your success ratio.” Silence crackled and the raging anger drained out of him as quickly as it had struck. “Shit, that was out of line. Sorry, man.”
“Hey, forget it. I zapped directions to a hotel to your handheld. You didn’t break it, did you? Or lose it again?”
“For chrissake, I lost one, years ago. Let it go.” Tony pulled the replacement unit from his vest pocket. “It’s still ticking, and your message is coming through now.”
“The doctor will be about ten minutes behind you. His info and the photo from his license are attached to that message. Marge has him on another line so we can tell him what to expect.”
“Charlotte’s got a shitload of bruises—all over her body. There’s less blood than I first thought, and it’s not all hers, but her mouth and nose were bleeding. The bastard really worked her over.”
“And you?”
“I’ve got a bullet hole in my right arm, and I’m going
to have a bruise the size of Texas on my thigh.”
“Call me when you’re settled and give me an update. And when you’re ready I’ll call Rogers and have him fire up the bird and get you home.”
“I’ll send Charlotte, but I’m not leaving until Konrad’s dead.”
“There will be another time.”
“He put his hands on her, man. He hurt her, and I’m going to fucking kill him for it.”
Chapter Seven
Charlotte was just starting to nod off when the van door slid open. Tony fumbled with her seat belt, and then hefted her into his arms. It was her favorite place to be, she decided groggily.
Then she heard him suck a breath through his teeth. He’d been shot in the arm, he’d told Gallagher. And he was limping when he turned around.
She tried to tell him she’d walk, but she honestly wasn’t sure if she could or not.
“I’ll carry her, sir,” she heard a man say. Peeking through the folds of the blanket, she saw a very concerned man wearing a tag that said Hotel Manager.
Tony held her a little tighter. “I’ve got her. Just get the door.”
She was aware of their passage through what looked like the service entrance of a small boutique hotel, then what was definitely a service elevator. Finally, the manager unlocked a door and stepped back to allow Tony to carry her into the room.
He laid her gingerly on the sofa and peeled the blanket away from her face. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead and smears of blood that might have belonged to either of them.
“I’ll be right back, darlin’.”
“No.” She needed water…and Tony.
“I’m just going to the door. I’m not leaving the room.”
She stayed cocooned in the blanket, too hot and too thirsty, and listened to him talk to the manager.
“Here’s a picture of the doctor who’s coming. Nobody else comes to this floor. Nobody.”
“I’ve been apprised of…well, not everything, but enough to understand your needs. The owner and I have agreed I will stay in the hotel for the duration of your visit with us. No matter what you need or when you need it, ring for me. I’ll be the only hotel personnel you come in contact with.”
On the Edge Page 7