Manckie arched an eyebrow. He pressed a button that was on the wall, and the garage door slid down, sealing them inside. “Sure.”
He’d bet his life that they had a car and men on Pete and the sisters. He’d rather go it alone than risk losing them, so the two Black Raven agents who were outside needed to stay there. “Ragno. All good here. Keep my back-up outside for now.”
“Got it.” As always, she knew exactly what he meant, even with his instructions abbreviated. “Keep talking,” she said. None of the cool left her voice. “Tell me what you can, as you can. I’m trying to get a read from our agents who are in the house.”
As the garage door shut, the man who called himself Manckie lunged in his direction just as Sebastian pulled his Glock out of his holster. Sebastian was ready. He crouched, jumped to the left, and dodged the man’s frontal assault, but the man managed to smack the Glock out of his hand. It clattered on the garage floor, out of grabbing range.
Fuck.
No need to panic.
He loved his Glock, but his body was just as lethal of a weapon. They were centered in the empty parking space of the garage, with room to move. He turned to face ‘Manckie,’ positioning himself with knees bent, arms up, and leaning forward. The fact that the man was fighting with his fists and not a gun told Sebastian this man wanted him alive, as bait. Sebastian wanted the man who was impersonating U.S. Marshal Manckie alive, but not necessarily well—he needed information, and that wouldn’t be forthcoming from a corpse.
His left side was closest to the man. He used his left arm to deflect fake-Manckie’s blows while counter-striking with his right arm, all the while creeping closer and closer to his weapon. Just in case he needed it. The man’s chest was solid. His punches were rapid-fire fast. He landed a glancing blow on Sebastian’s chin. Sebastian had dodged most of the force, but the man’s power was still enough to make him see stars.
Son of a bitch.
A busted jaw was going to feel nice with the headache that never went away. He shook off the pain, dodged another blow, and repositioned himself into a low crouch.
“Stop fighting now and you won’t be dead like your agents,” fake-Manckie said, gathering his breath and eyeing Sebastian’s position. “They cried like girls when they begged for their lives.”
Sebastian didn’t waste time on a retort. Cried like girls? That fucking comment reduced fake-Manckie’s time on earth. Information would have to come from another source.
Sebastian sprang into a low forward lunge, every inch of his body and force targeting the man’s knees. He could hold his own in standing hand-to-hand combat, even with men like fake-Manckie, who were as large as he was, but he fought best when his opponents were on the ground. He hit the man’s knees with his left shoulder and drove forward. The momentum knocked the man off his feet and flat on his back. Sebastian’s fast lunge and the force of the fall onto the hard concrete momentarily stunned the man. He placed one knee on Manckie’s chest, below the rib cage, and directed his body weight into the man’s lungs. His other knee was on the ground, with the toe of his shoes digging down onto the concrete for leverage.
His position had the benefit of putting Sebastian within a few inches of his Glock. He thought about grabbing it with his right hand and ending Manckie’s life the easy way. No. Too good for him. Just as Manckie’s shock wore off, and the man started to struggle to get up, Sebastian held Manckie’s head in both of his hands, his fingertips and nails pressing hard past hair and into the man’s flesh. Brown eyes glanced into his. Sebastian saw sudden, wide-eyed fear.
“Yeah,” Sebastian said, knowing that the man who had just taunted him with news that his agents had begged for their lives would do the same if given the opportunity. “Now who’s brave?”
Two more men appeared in the doorway and ran in his direction as he pounded fake-Manckie’s head against the concrete floor. He finished by twisting the man’s large head with all of his force. Neck bones and cartilage snapped, just as another man landed on his back with enough body weight to knock him off his knees. He was chest-to-chest with now dead fake-Manckie, and sandwiched into him. The man who was on him should have started punching. His first mistake was that he didn’t. The momentary pause gave Sebastian enough time to catch his breath and watch as another man approached from the doorway of the house, a gleaming knife in hand.
“There were three. Now two,” Sebastian said.
“Good,” Ragno said. “Keep working. Our agents on the inside aren’t answering.”
Sebastian drew a deep breath as he used his arms and feet to lift himself, along with the man who was on his back and punching his ribcage, off of now-dead fake-Manckie. Attaining plank position wasn’t easy but once he was in it he had the upper hand. Almost. There was one problem, and that problem was still carrying a glistening knife with a six-inch blade. It would have been easy to get rid of the man on his back, if it weren’t for the guy with the knife. He had to do something though, so he defaulted into the surest thing he knew, even though it would leave him momentarily exposed to knife man.
He lifted up and rolled to the right. The man who had been on his back was now underneath him. He head-butted the man’s forehead with the back of his head, as he grabbed his Glock off of the floor. His action prompted punching, scratching, and clawing, but Sebastian didn’t stay close to the man for the abuse. He leapt to his feet, and, as soon as he steadied himself, he landed four fast kicks into the guy’s ribcage, then backed away from him. He had his right hand on his Glock, just as knife man lunged and landed a slashing blow on his right bicep. The blade ripped through the leather jacket, his shirt sleeve, left a trail of fire along his skin, and royally pissed him off, giving him the fuel that he needed to embrace the suck and to get power from the pain.
With his left hand he two-finger jabbed into knife-man’s eyes. He shoved the man aside before he had an opportunity to land another slicing blow. Knife-man’s hands were at his eyes, and the other man was on his knees, getting up. As they readied themselves for their next moves, Sebastian lifted his Glock and fired at knife man’s forehead.
“Now one. He’s my keeper.”
The final man had a weapon at his hip, and reached for it.
Sebastian aimed for damage, not death. He pointed his Glock at the man’s right kneecap and fired. As the man jolted and yelled in pain, he fired another shot into the man’s left kneecap.
The man fell to his side, clutching at his knees, and howling. He didn’t resist as Sebastian pulled his gun out of its holster. Sebastian undid his belt, kicked the injured man in the side until he turned so that he was on his stomach. He used his belt to bind the man’s wrists. A zip tie would have been better, but he was strong enough to manhandle the leather belt into a suitable restraint, especially with the man’s knees in such bad shape. The man couldn’t walk, and now he couldn’t use his hands. No longer a worry.
“Ragno,” he said, as he checked the bodies for weapons. Three guns between them and knife man had a backup knife. “Call in Cleaners. More agents. I also want one of our interrogators on the scene. Someone highly skilled. We need medics. Let the marshals know what is happening here.”
“Will do.”
He went into the house and through a clean laundry room, pausing as odors of urine, stale sweat, and blood reached him. Blood splattered the walls and floors of what had once been a mostly white kitchen with gleaming stainless steel appliances. In the corner of the room, a table and chairs were pushed to the side, and three men lay on the floor. Two were face down. One was face up. Pieces of their heads had been blown away. He had no doubt they were dead, even without touching them.
“Ragno,” he said, lifting his wrist and turning it so that the dial of the watch faced the room, and touched the button that turned on the video camera. “Rough footage coming. Three men dead. Two I don’t recognize.” He moved closer. “Presumably the men who aren’t wearing the Black Raven logo are Philip Manckie and John Stamfield, the marshals who were in
charge of the safe house.”
He didn’t waste time looking for identification. Ragno could confirm their identities with the marshals through the video footage, or the next group of Black Raven agents and marshals who’d arrive on the scene would figure it out. He bent to one knee, to the man who was face down. The man’s shirtsleeve had the black bird logo that symbolized Black Raven. He turned the man’s face to him. A bullet had entered the man’s forehead and exited the back. His face was still intact.
“That’s Paul Deal,” Ragno said. “Two years in Black Raven. Formerly a marine. Just returned from a lengthy Black Raven stint in Iraq. When he’s stateside he lives in Omaha. Near his mother and father. Not married. No children. Thank God.” She paused. He could hear her breathing as she struggled for composure. He gave her a second, as he fought to control his temper. Blinding anger wouldn’t be good for anyone at the moment. Sebastian didn’t recognize Paul Deal, but that didn’t make his death any easier. He also had never met the two marshals who had been killed, but he was equally irate at their deaths.
“You ok?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He gently let go of his agent’s head, stood, and glanced around the kitchen. “Agent Lewis isn’t here.”
Sebastian turned away from the three dead men, and walked through the kitchen. He found him after going through a large living room, down a short hallway, and inside a door.
“Holy shit,” he said. For a moment he froze. He’d seen death in all forms, but the blood bath that confronted him was a shocking display of violence and depravity.
“Sebastian. Wrist up,” Ragno said. “Keep the camera rolling.”
He didn’t realize he’d dropped his arm to the side, or that he’d turned off the camera. “Brace yourself.”
“Is he alive?”
“Don’t know. Naked. Spread-eagle tied to a bed. Castrated,” Sebastian seethed with anger as he restarted the video footage for Ragno and approached the bed. Something crunched beneath his foot, “Oh fuck,” he paused, looked down, and was relieved that he had only stepped on a discarded finger. He was thrilled beyond words that he’d killed knife-man, but wishing the man’s death hadn’t been so clean, efficient, and painless. “Face up. Every finger on his left hand severed. Three on his right hand. Hundreds of thin slashes all over his body. Fuck. Whoever did this was having fun. Sheets are dripping with blood. Neck’s got a thick gash. Wait. He’s still bleeding.” Sebastian lifted the man’s still-warm wrist. He glanced at the gash where he thought he’d seen blood pumping out. His eyes had played tricks on him. Maybe. “There’s no pulse, but I think he’s just bled out. Send this footage to forensics and get them here. Call Zeus. ASAP. We need his brains on this. This is more important than him babysitting the marshals.”
“Will do,” Ragno said, “Now we know why Agent Lewis kept talking to us as though everything was fine. He was tortured into it. Wait.” Her pause lasted only a few seconds, which he used to make sure the camera recorded everything in the room. “Get in a vehicle. Move fast. There’s a situation outside. It’s escalating. Go. Go. Go!”
Chapter Eleven
9:10 p.m., Monday
Relief flooded through Skye as Pete drove away from the safe house.
Finally.
“What’s happening?” Spring asked. “Why aren’t we going with Sebastian? I thought he was bringing us there.”
“He’s going in to make sure it’s safe,” Skye said.
She turned to her left and watched Sebastian walk into the brightly lit garage of 211 Orchid Street, the house she never planned to enter. If she did, they were doomed. Once she and Spring were inside, she wouldn’t have the opportunity to get away from the combined force of marshals and Black Raven agents. And get away she must, because she needed to get to the lake house on Firefly Island in just eight hours. She might not have the fighting capabilities, weapons, or skills of these men, but she sure as hell had the ability to disappear and never be found again. If only she could get away from their immediate grasp.
Her eyes met Pete’s eyes in the rearview mirror, which he had adjusted so that he could see her. Sebastian’s younger, quieter sidekick was an obstacle, but he was shorter, lighter, and seemed like less of a hard-ass. He broke eye contact with her as he stopped at a stop sign, then slowly drove away.
She faced forward, her eyes caught Pete’s again, and she tried to appear nonchalant as she worked her left boot off with the toe of her right boot. Throughout the ride from the airport, she had visualized how she was going to use her boots—her only weapon—on the men in the front seat. Kicking wouldn’t work. Their heads were partially blocked from her by the front seat headrests. Besides, by the time she had lifted her legs and raised them into a kicking position, they’d have noticed. Using one of the boots as a club could work, but first she had to ease the boot off her foot, and it was hard to do with only her other foot for leverage, because her heel was…stuck. She pressed her toes harder against the stubborn boot. Not one centimeter of movement. Hell. She was going to have to bend down and use both hands.
As she bent forward, Pete glanced in the mirror at her. “Everything alright?”
She nodded and straightened in the seat. When he refocused on driving, she started working at the boot again with her foot, and tried not to grimace with the effort. “What’s going on?” she asked, keeping her voice normal. “Why are you driving away?”
“Just giving time for a routine site check,” Pete answered as he drove further away from the house. “Making sure everything’s safe.”
“Seems like that would have been figured out earlier, since you guys have been calling it a ‘safe’ house all day.”
No way. There was nothing routine about what was happening. Throughout the day, she’d grown accustomed to Sebastian’s low monotone voice, even while saying words that signified tension. Throughout the high-intensity day he had seemed calmer and calmer as he dealt with adversity, until a few seconds before stepping out of the car.
He’d suddenly sat erect, with tension emanating from him. In the visor’s mirror, she’d only been able to see his lower face. His lips were pressed in a thin slit. And since Spring was a master at picking up nuances from people—especially her sister—she was also aware the very second that things changed, and she had sat up, her eyes focused on Sebastian. Skye had forced herself to mentally block his tension, telling herself that none of his problems were hers. Her problem was getting away, and his tension and subsequent absence from the Range Rover spelled nothing but a lucky break for her, no matter what it spelled for him.
It was a lucky break she needed to capitalize upon. As Pete turned out of the residential section of the neighborhood and onto a street that had four lanes of traffic, Skye glanced at her watch. Two minutes had gone by since Sebastian had entered the garage. How much longer for him to check the house, talk to the marshals and his agents, and call Pete back? One more minute? Two? Dammit. She had to act now.
Without Sebastian in the SUV, the interior was darker, because the light from his iPad wasn’t on. There was also an odd silence. They’d driven to the jet from the hospital, he had sat across from her on the jet, and they’d been in the Range Rover for almost an hour. He was a large man, but he wasn’t loud. Yet there was a constant hum of energy around him, whether it was finger clicks on the keyboard he used with his tablet or the low voice he used in phone conversations. He stretched, he shifted his long legs, and he often touched the fingers of his right hand to his right temple and dropped his hand when he realized what he was doing. Without Sebastian there, without his serious eyes on her and Spring, she felt less…safe, as though whatever was going to happen wasn’t going to end in her favor. Odd, because he was who she needed to run from. Away.
She had to get away, and Sebastian’s absence gave her a small window of opportunity that she better not blow. This might be her last chance to make a run for it.
Finally. Her heel was almost free. She pressed harder against the back of
the boot with the toes of her right foot. She just needed one more little bit of give, and precious seconds ticked away as she worked towards that goal. There. With a profound surge of relief, her heel slipped out of the damn boot. She used both feet to lift the boot into her lap.
“All good,” Pete said, talking to someone who was mic’d to him, his eyes trained, for a second, on the rearview mirror and the traffic that was behind their SUV.
“What are you doing?” Spring asked, her gaze on the boot that now rested on Skye’s lap.
“Don’t worry, honey,” she said, focusing on Pete and waiting for an opportunity to strike. “Everything’s fine.” He was a quarter mile from the next stoplight. Curbing impulsiveness wasn’t a strength of hers, but as she gripped the boot, she took a deep breath. Her father’s words of wisdom resonated in her mind.
Figure it out.
She came up with a plan. She’d hit him on the temple like she meant it. Grab Spring’s arm and encourage Candy to follow. Run like hell. At the stoplight, a strip mall had a three-story Barnes & Noble, a Starbucks, and a two-story Cheesecake Factory. The parking lot was crammed with cars. Two women and a dog could easily get lost in plain sight there, but the light didn’t turn yellow. He drove right through it.
Pete sat up, erect. “Where are our men on the inside?”
Here we go. More news that wasn’t good. At least not from Black Raven’s perspective. Great from her perspective, because maybe if the news became terrible, maybe, just maybe, Pete would stop glancing at her in the rearview mirror every other second.
The busy four-lane street seemed to have every chain store she’d ever seen. She had used the stores as landmarks on the way into the neighborhood, and they ticked by as Pete drove faster. Applebee’s. Chick Fil-A. Kohl’s. Bed, Bath & Beyond. None of the locations seemed as prime as the huge strip mall they’d just passed. Maybe it was a better option to keep the SUV, once she immobilized Pete. Sweat dripped down the back of her neck. Her heart pounded as she tried to think through another plan, one that didn’t involve having the luck of getting a red light.
Shadows (Black Raven Book 1) Page 17