The 3rd Cycle of the Betrayed Series Collection: Extremely Controversial Historical Thrillers (Betrayed Series Boxed set)

by Carolyn McCray

  And they were making the most of it.

  * * *

  Van didn’t bother to scream as Sam went against yet another red light. What was the point, since it didn’t help, and Dear God, her throat was sore. Van could see the finish line up ahead.

  The arch was brightly lit against the Parisian sky. Except Van didn’t care. She just wanted this damned race over with. And the most harrowing thirty-two minutes and seventeen seconds of her life.

  She wasn’t sure if Bernadette would ever be the same again.

  Hell, Van wasn’t even sure if she was going to be the same.

  Sam and Lopez were zigzagging through traffic each trying to cross under the arch first. Then suddenly they were side-by-side. Lopez hit their front tire. Sam opened her door, crashing into Lopez’s bumper.

  This was never going to end

  But it had to as the arch came up quickly. Finally.

  The two cars jostled, each trying to pull ahead of the other. Would this nightmare never end?

  The arch was just up ahead, each of the drivers stopped worrying about the other one and just laid on the gas. Sam hit her nitro button and surged ahead of Lopez. Then Lopez hit his and pulled almost even. Was Sam really going to pull this off?

  Then her Nitro gave out just before the arch. Lopez made up the difference. They crossed and Van had no idea who had just won. All of that, and no clear winner?

  Dear God, maybe this night really wasn’t going to end.

  * * *

  Davidson was busy trying to untangle himself from the backseat when Brandt got the text.

  He read it aloud, “Photo-finish. Too close to call. Must see you in person at the Le Truskel in an hour. Lose the cops obviously.”

  Lopez was still speeding through Paris because, well, it was Lopez. Van’s car was keeping pace. They had picked up a few police cars along the way, but they were tiny, striped cars with no real power under the hood.

  Getting thrown in the backseat, yet once again, Davidson only knew that they had taken a sharp right because he was thrown into the left door. He managed to climb up high enough to watch Van’s car take a sharp left.

  The cop cars split up, two on two. Davidson almost felt sorry for the police. This was not going to end well… for them.

  Closing his eyes, Davidson tried to use his sniper training to allow the events to just flow over him. Right.

  Zen did not work when it came to Lopez.

  Davidson didn’t even want to know that they were driving under the Eiffel Tower. But when Lopez turned left and headed straight for the Louvre, he knew they were in trouble.

  At possibly the last moment, Lopez put them into spin and curved around the glass pyramid that served as the entrance to the museum. The cop car didn’t have that kind of turning radius and ran into the guardrail.

  One down, one to go. The other cop car should have been smart and hung back, however they were acting completely idiotic and trying to play chicken with Lopez. Did they not know that the corporal had played chicken with a great white shark and won?

  Apparently not, as they sat there and revved their engine, as Lopez sped toward them. Davidson knew that Lopez would never in a million years blink. Davidson could only pray that the cop realized this and got out of the way before Lopez got there.

  Unfortunately, the cop didn’t seem to realize this. Or at least, not until it was too late to get out of the way. Suddenly the cop put his car in reverse and sped backwards. Of course, Lopez didn’t take his foot off the pedal. Not even a little bit.

  Finally realizing he was doomed, the cop took a sharp right, slamming into light pole.

  Two down, none to go.

  Now they just needed to get to the club in time, which Davidson wasn’t worried about at all.

  * * *

  Van was pretty sure that she should’ve had whiplash since she had been thrown back and forth so many times. It seems that because of the constant movement somehow it was keeping her intact.

  For the most part, Van wasn’t even sure how Sam lost the two police cars. Because quite frankly, Van had her eyes closed.

  Before it should’ve been humanly possible, they arrived at the club. You could hear the bass all the way out in the car. There was a line a block long that wrapped around the corner.

  There was the obligatory thick-necked bouncer with a clipboard, that Van felt always undercut the men’s machismo.

  Luckily they were forewarned that their target spent his evenings at the club. They were dressed for the occasion. While Van loved her camos, she also didn’t mind an excuse to break out her little black dress and four-inch stilettos.

  Bernadette, of course, had an extensive feminine wardrobe. Her dress was red and tight and low-cut. The Frenchwoman certainly knew how to show off her assets. And she wasn’t content with four-inch heels, the redhead had gone with five-inch. Van wasn’t quite sure how the woman managed to stay up, as she teetered out of the car.

  Sam was a slightly different story. That girl was a tomboy if there ever was one. Bernadette and Van nearly had to wrestle the young woman down to get the dress on her.

  Even now, as she got out the car, Sam kept trying to tug down the short leopard print dress. The wheelman was in three-inch heels and was struggling in those. She ran her hand along the car to keep her balance.

  The trio walked straight up to the bouncer, eschewing the line.

  “I believe we are on the list,” Van stated.

  The bouncer unhooked the red velvet barrier without even looking at his clipboard, “For you three, it doesn’t matter. Go right in.”

  Good to know she still had it. She glanced over her shoulder to see Brandt, Lopez, and Davidson walking down the street towards the club. All three of them cleaned up nicely, but Lopez was the only one with swagger. Brandt was a little too stiff and military-looking, whereas Davidson looked way out of his league.

  She continued into the club, despite the fact that a wall of danceable throbbing music nearly pushed her back. Dear God, did she voluntarily used to do this? It seemed impossible, but it was true.

  They made their way across the crowded dance floor, having to save Sam a few times from falling on her butt. Looking up, Van spotted their mark. Bouchard. He, of course, was up in the VIP lounge, where they didn’t serve bottles of champagne. They served magnums.

  At the base of the VIP steps was another bouncer, this time in a nice suit.

  This one didn’t have a clipboard. He had a tablet tucked under his arm.

  “Ladies,” he said as he bowed his head forward.

  “We’re Team B,”

  The man smiled. “Good race. He is expecting you up there.”

  He removed the gold link chain, and indicated they should climb the stairs.

  Sam looked horrified, so Bernadette and Van got on each side and helped her up the steps. Which wasn’t exactly easy as the young woman’s ankles turned out from under her at nearly every step. This is the first time Sam had ever worn heels, and Van believed her.

  They arrived to find two guards, who escorted them over to a large arrangement of couches. There were the usual lowlifes, sycophants, and bimbos.

  Per usual, Bouchard was the best dressed and was fawned over by the group. He was the peacock to their chickens.

  A rather pale and unhealthy peacock.

  “Girls!” Bouchard shouted, raising a glass of champagne, spilling a portion of it on the girl sitting next to him, who only giggled at his rudeness. “Spectacular race. I never saw that coming. No offense,” he said to Sam with a nod.

  Sam was at the back of their group, clinging to the railing for life. “None taken.”

  Van turned to find the men coming up behind them.

  “And you gentlemen,” Bouchard said. “You set the fastest course record ever.”

  “But it was still a photo finish,” Sam asserted.

  “Yes, yes,” Bouchard agreed. “Now you two have put me in quite a spot. “Who to choose? Who to choose?”

 
; He looked both teams up and down. “For my purposes, the choice is plain. However, if there’s any trouble, team A looks ready to handle it.”

  Surprise, surprise.

  The human-trafficking, drug-running jerk was a misogynist.

  Van didn’t even bother to argue.

  Either team he chose could get the job done. Just not exactly the job Bouchard had in mind.

  CHAPTER 2

  Brandt had been in the club less than two minutes and he already wanted to make a break for the door. Did the DJ think they were all hard of hearing? Brandt’s bone marrow could keep the beat to this loud music.

  And why even bother with entertainment? Three-quarters of the dancers were stoned out of their minds. And this was considered fun?

  Brandt didn’t think so. However, Lopez was tapping his foot to the beat and doing only what Brandt could call “stand dancing.”

  “Well?” Brandt urged.

  Bouchard smiled that smile that comes naturally to bottom feeders when they feel like they have a leg up. “You are lucky. I have a big shipment which involves two trucks, so I am going to need both of your teams.”

  Brandt tried to act surprised and grateful, however, he felt like he completely missed the second part. “When do we roll?”

  “Later tonight. I’ll give you the details right before you head out.”

  Brandt began to turn away. “Great. We’ll watch for your text.”

  “Not so fast,” Bouchard said. “How do I know you’re not DEA or Interpol?

  Lopez snorted. “You ever seen DEA or Interpol drive like that?”

  “No, but I am a cautious man, so I will be keeping your third member as a guarantee that you complete the job.”

  Van sputtered, but Brandt held up his hand. “Fine by us.”

  Davidson did shoot him a little look, but the sniper would get over it.

  “Well?” Bouchard asked Van. “The men are ready to ante up, are you? Or do I need to have another race tonight to find the second car?”

  Van frowned. “No. That will be fine.”

  Brandt noticed that the redhead blanched a bit, but didn’t outwardly complain.

  “Is that all?” Brandt asked.

  Bouchard glared at him, but Brandt didn’t take the scowl off his face. He’d complied, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

  * * *

  Van paced the small, make it tiny, hotel room. Actually, probably the most accurate description was a flea bitten hovel. Seriously, she thought she saw a few fleas jumping on the bedspread.

  Lopez didn’t seem to care. He was sprawled out on the bed, not a care in the world.

  “This completely complicates matters,” Van said.

  Stoic as always Brandt shrugged. “Not really. We go with the plan.”

  She spun around on her heel, hoping that she gave him a look that clearly stated, “Are you out of your freaking mind?”

  Again Brandt just shrugged. “There’s no difference, except that Davidson has to get them out of there right after we make our move.”

  “Are you listening to yourself?” Van demanded.

  “Are you? If Davidson was standing here he’d be offended by your attitude.”

  Van bit back her retort. She had faith in Davidson. However, she was worried about Bernadette. She had offered her up to the terrorist without a fight. If anything happened to her…

  “Davidson and Bernadette are the least of our worries. We don’t know the route. We don’t know the time. We don’t know what additional security that Bouchard is going to send. Davidson got the easier of the two tasks.”

  Van ran her fingers through her hair, then regretted it. She had enough hairspray on to choke a horse and now her fingers were all gummy.

  She thought Brandt’s words through.

  Trying to put aside her concern for Bernadette, her ex-fiancé was starting to make sense.

  And Bernadette wasn’t even the same Bernadette as when Van first joined the team. The Frenchwoman had grown tremendously since Van had taken over. The woman could handle herself now in dangerous situations. Plus she was with Davidson.

  And there was no better man to be with in a hostage situation than the sniper.

  Even better because Brandt and Lopez looked like they could kick your ass. Not only could they, but they wanted to.

  Davison had that sweet young continence. Just looking at him, you could mistake him for thin and weak.

  He was neither.

  She bet Bouchard was going to learn that the hard way.

  * * *

  Davidson sat in the VIP lounge with Bernadette on his lap and his arm protectively around her waist. They had been here for hours, watching Bouchard’s gang party down hard.

  There was coke, heroin, and ecstasy, all for the asking. He had sipped champagne through the night to keep up appearances. The same with Bernadette on his lap. Some of the gang looked a little handsy to Davidson, so he had stepped in. By appearing to claim her for himself, he could protect her without having to blow his cover.

  Trust him, he would’ve liked a punch all the men in the lounge already, but he’d have to feign inexperience in combat.

  He noticed Bouchard’s gaze settle on them. Davidson nuzzled Bernadette’s neck, then told her, “Why don’t you go get some more champagne?”

  Bernadette squeezed his knee, “Sure, baby.”

  As she rose to fulfill his request, gave her a good spank on her behind. She did a perfect French squeal as she rubbed the spot.

  Davidson wasn’t all that great as a real-life boyfriend. He still needed a lot of practice. But a douche bag, chauvinist-pig, fake boyfriend he could totally nail.

  He knew that Bernadette was aware that the love of his life was back in DC recovering from, of all things, a pulmonary embolism and secondary stroke. Despite her facial paralysis, she had never been so beautiful to him. All the things that he loved about her before, were only magnified during this crisis. Bunny’s strength, poise and determination shone through.

  The fact he was even on this mission, spoke to how well and intimately she knew him and his job. Bunny wouldn’t allow him to sit next to her bedside when hundreds of other women’s freedom was at stake.

  She had said in no uncertain terms that he was to carry on while she was in rehabilitation. Besides she stated, she had Stark.

  Such was their odd relationship. Here he was with a fake bombshell girlfriend in the midst of the Parisian nightlife. While his real girlfriend was back home being cared for by a guy that had a puppy love so great for Bunny, that you could practically see his tail wagging.

  Bouchard stood up and waved the champagne glass for all to see. “Let’s get this venture underway!”

  So the games were about to begin.

  * * *

  Funny, it was his first mission without Prenner, and Brandt already missed the point man. He had always been a non-variable. Prenner had been rock-steady solid every day of the week. Which, of course, was why he needed to go out and get his own team.

  And this mission had come on too quickly for Brandt to find an adequate replacement. He had an eye on one man, but it was going to take a little wrangling to get him on the team.

  A wrangling that should be well worth it.

  The phone in his pocket buzzed.

  The text from Bouchard read, “Meet us in Bobginy off of the A-85.”

  Short but sweet.

  “Time to go make some noise,” Brandt informed them.

  Of course, Lopez whooped, throwing his fist into the air. No, the weird thing was that someone else was doing it with him, Van’s wheelman. Lopez and Sam bumped bellies.

  Brandt looked over at Van, both of them shaking their heads. This was not going to be a pleasant hour for either of them.

  Van walked over to him. “Are you sure you don’t want to modify the plan to account for Davidson and Bernadette being taken hostage.”

  “Nope,” Brandt answered.

  Van sighed and headed off with Sam.

>   It would take time for Van to trust her team implicitly.

  Davidson would take care of business. She was new enough to her command that she still wanted to control all of the perimeters. Brandt knew from experience that the instinct would get beaten out of her. The missions would do all the instructing she would ever need.

  More slowly, mainly stalling before getting into the car with Lopez, Brandt left the seedy motel room.

  It was late, after all the bars closed. The streets were empty.

  He nodded to Van just before getting into the car. This is going to be their last moment of peace until the mission was over.

  * * *

  Davidson sat watching two large television screens. Bouchard hadn’t even had Davidson and Bernadette tied up, or any other way secured, since the trucks had left.

  Sam was across town acting as a diversion. She was to gather as many cop cars as she could and drag them across Paris, away from the truck’s route.

  In many ways Bouchard’s plan was very similar to Brandt and Van’s original plan. Except, of course, for he and Bernadette being held as leverage.

  Although, with this pathetic lack of security, Davidson could not exactly say he was a hostage.

  Most criminals fell into one of two categories. First up were the just stupid ones. They seldom lasted long. Rarely did his team come up against them. Local law enforcement or Interpol usually took care of this category.

  The second category was intelligent criminals. These were harder to nail, however, the thing at work in this category was their arrogance.

  Bouchard fit squarely in this category. Once intelligent criminals had enough success under their belt, they thought they ruled the world. They got cocky. Which would be their ultimate downfall. Bouchard thought he had some low level omnibus man and a piece of eye candy as hostages. He had no idea Special Forces was in the room.

  That was about to change very quickly.

  On screen, Sam took a turn that headed her back towards the trucks.

  Bouchard straightened in his chair.

  Then Lopez cut around a rail crossing bar and disappeared behind a train.

  That was the signal. Van and Brandt were about to take down the two trucks.