by Sheila Kell
It was as if every person on the plane held his or her breath awaiting Devon’s response. He inhaled deeply, held it, and then slowly released it. Calm began to infuse itself through his muscles. Instead of issuing a rebuttal, he turned to Jess. “I’m fine.” About as fine as he could be in the situation, but he wouldn’t screw up. Rylee had reminded him that following orders was required. He wasn’t in charge and considering his bouncing emotions, that was probably a good thing.
“Okay, tell me what you got from the pictures and let’s get our plan together.” Jess nodded and smiled at him. That show of confidence, because that was his brother’s “I trust you” face, soothed the fraying around his nerves. “And this time, Dev will be beside us in the field.”
I’m coming, Rylee. Hang in there for me.
THE CLICKING OF the lock on the door rang loudly in the room, bouncing from barren wall to barren wall. They’d found nothing they could use to fight with. If only they’d been strong enough to break apart one of the beds, they’d have had something to use as a weapon. Instead, they only had the force of them combined.
Rylee’s plan was when the guard came in carrying a tray of food, she would jump on his back, and when he dropped the tray to grab for her, two girls would run forward with a sheet and trip him. While down, Rylee would then restrain him using strips of the sheets from their beds. She didn’t mention that it wouldn’t be that simple and there’d probably be fighting in there. She thought it best to not worry the girls.
It wasn’t a grand plan or even very well thought out, but they didn’t have time to make up some masterful strategy that required more than they had at hand.
Nervous energy pulsed around the room. A light flamed in the girls’ eyes that spoke of the craving of their upcoming freedom. They’d wanted to be a part of the takedown.
Rylee tried not to fidget too badly. She didn’t want the girls to get injured, but she couldn’t bring down a man as big as they described by herself. Hence starting her attack from behind. Of course, by the time they were done describing the men, their guards were ten feet tall and broad as a barn. Being taught to take down a man as an agent had been standard, but she’d never mastered one significantly larger than her without a weapon of some sort. Hell, she’d even take a fork. Inspiration struck. She’d have one of the girls grab one from the tray and toss it to her. Risky because she’d have her focus off the man. To escape, she’d give it her best shot with whatever happened.
“To your cots,” a deep voice boomed in broken English. Based on the girls’ description that had to be Ricardo.
They were supposed to stand at their cots when someone entered with the food. Like hell.
A man poked his dark head in the room, and slid inside, empty-handed. From behind the door, Rylee stepped forward and to her horror, another man slipped in behind the first. She froze. Fuck! I can’t take two at once without a weapon. And they are broad as barns.
The first man turned to her and narrowed his eyes. Displeasure at her not being by her cot written solidly across his features. “You’re awake,” the man she suspected was Walt said. “Good. The boss wants to see you.”
That was not something she’d expected since none of the other girls had met Robert. Then again, the man had been stateside until, she guessed, recently. Unless there was another boss. That got her blood boiling. One sicko was more than enough.
Looking at the girls and nodding, she played the submissive because she didn’t want them to inject her with anything again. “Lead on.”
Walt nodded toward the empty door and she followed Ricardo out the portal. Noticing the outline of a weapon at his lower back, she considered whether she could grab it fast enough. If he carried, that meant Walt carried. Was she quick enough? The door slamming startled her and she watched the lock keeping the girls away from freedom being engaged.
Rylee constantly scanned and took inventory of everything around her. The house was decorated quite richly with the exception of the room she’d been held prisoner. Carver must like nice things and needed to sell girls to get them.
Down one hallway, a right turn and she’d yet to see a doorway to freedom. When they turned yet again, she kept her bearings so she and the girls wouldn’t get lost. There was the problem of what to do once they were free. She’d seen no more evidence of guards, but she found it hard to believe there wouldn’t be any. They were bound to be outside.
Once again, she considered her opportunity to snatch the weapon when Ricardo stopped and turned to a set of double doors. She almost plowed into him before she halted her steps. Walt opened one of the doors, and he waved an arm telling her to enter. Good, no goons were going with her. Maybe she could take Carver, and then what? There were still these two men to take care of.
The room she entered stunned her. She’d never have expected such opulence in Belize. Decorated as a parlor of sorts, the golden walls and large floor-to-ceiling windows brightened the room. Even the heavy burgundy and cream curtains at the windows and double patio doors didn’t take away from the light feeling. Had it been another time, she’d have wanted to curl up on the light burgundy suede chaise lounge.
In one of the Louis XIII chairs, sat a young woman who raked her eyes over Rylee as if sizing her up. Well, two could play at that game. Rylee raised her brow and looked the woman over slowly. When she raised her eyes back to the woman, she snorted to show she didn’t feel threatened.
“Rylee Hawkins. Or should I say Hamilton.” The man’s smooth voice came from her left. “Or was that a ruse to get into my house?”
She turned. Standing in front of a gigantic picture of an artist’s work that looked familiar, but couldn’t focus the brain cells on remembering, stood a man with his hands in the pockets of khaki slacks, wearing a white, short-sleeved button-down shirt. Tilting her head, she ignored his question and commented, “Robert Carver, I presume.”
His laughter grated on her every nerve, making her prefer fingernails scratching across a chalkboard. Pulling a hand from his pockets, he waved her to the seating area. She acquiesced and sat in the second Louis XIII chair.
All she could think to do was gain information for the FBI when this was over. It might not matter, but she had to do something. However, if the two left her alone, she would pick up one of the candlesticks, which probably cost a small fortune, and take on Walt and Ricardo. Maybe she could sneak something out with her. She scanned the tops of the tables and cabinets in the room.
“I’d like you to meet my associate. She’s here to see to your”—his mouth twisted into a vile grin—“comfort. Jackie, this is Rylee Hamilton.”
Her stomach somersaulted. Jackie? The Jackie? Son of a fucking bitch. That only made matters worse. It amped up her grief, the pain so raw she expected to see her heart bleeding on the floor. It also revved up her anger. His fucking employee killed Devon.
“Are you the Jackie who killed CIA operative Greg Donovan?” Her calm voice belied the turmoil within her.
The woman smiled proudly. “You’ve heard of me.”
Heard and want to run a fucking fireplace poker through your black heart, she thought. “Devon mentioned you,” she said instead, nonchalantly.
That agitated Carver. “What”—the man said as he picked imaginary lint from his shirt—“exactly did he tell you?”
“I’m hungry. Do you have any food?” Rylee asked just to piss him off.
He narrowed his eyes, then looked at Jackie and nodded for her to leave, presumably to get food.
As if on cue, her stomach rumbled. She could use a bite, not knowing when she’d last eaten.
Once the door closed on the woman, he turned back to her. “What did he tell you?”
“Everything.” Sitting straight, she crossed her legs and assumed a casual pose. “Why did you have Greg killed?” It was a shot in the dark, but why the hell not?
Carver cocked his head and surprise washed across his face. Walking near her, he assumed the seat Jackie had vacated. “He knew?”
/>
“Yes,” she lied.
The man scrutinized her. “I don’t believe you. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have let it go.”
“Did Greg figure out what you were doing?” Don’t let him sidetrack you, Rylee. Stay focused and get the evidence. A confession works. For Devon.
“You know, it was dumb luck Devon went with Greg that night. Greg was supposed to be alone.” He sighed as if it pained him to regale her with the story. “Greg found out about my—what’s the right word?—branching off before I left the agency. He just needed proof. Jackie offered that. He’d just not done enough investigation to know she worked for me.”
“So you had Jackie kill him.”
“What did Devon Hamilton know?” he asked, sidestepping her question.
“Oh,” she said flippantly as her defensive mechanism against the agony of thinking of his passing and that fact they were there was her fault. She’d pushed to search and she’d not told him she was being hunted. Although she didn’t know that… for sure. “Do you mean like you selling girls into sexual slavery to the highest bidder?” She raised her eyebrows. “Yeah. He knew that.” And to rub salt in the wound, she couldn’t stop. “And, he told his brothers, so your ass is cooked. In fact”—she looked at her watch and then back at him—“I’d expect them any minute.”
Carver’s head swiveled to glance around the room as if HIS would jump out from behind the furniture. Then he roared with laughter and slapped a hand on his thigh.
That didn’t work as she’d planned. She’d wanted him on edge. “Did you have Dave killed?”
He sobered and actually looked a bit sad. “No. That was retaliation from Louis Blakney, one of his buyers, for his father ratting the man out. But, Chuck did tell me how you were there. We didn’t share that bit of information with anyone.”
Jackie took that moment to return with a plate of cheese and fruit and handed it to Rylee. She accepted and began nibbling, all the while praying the food wasn’t laced with anything.
“After she gets her fill,” Robert said to Jackie, “get her in a bath and ready. Hogan is here.”
Rylee clasped onto the name Hogan and mulled it over in her mind to see if she recognized it. When she didn’t, her heart plummeted to her stomach, and it roiled at the invasion. How would she help the girls escape now?
RYLEE’S mind spun with possibilities of escape. The challenge lay in getting the girls out as well. If the buyers weren’t due in, she could get out and bring back help. With their time constraint, she couldn’t chance it though. She might not make it back in time. She also couldn’t chance some asshole trying to carry her away. Like this Hogan.
Glancing down at her foot, she noticed one of her hiking boots was untied. She also noticed her thoughts were slowing. That was when she realized they had drugged her. Her heart stuttered. She shouldn’t have accepted the food, but she’d felt weak and knew the fuel would be needed. Besides, it was hard to drug fruit and cheese. Okay, given the world they lived in, not so hard.
Her footsteps in the hallway felt sluggish and heavy. Stopping to tie her shoe, she placed her hand on the wall to steady herself. Looking up into Jackie’s smiling eyes, she considered trying to rip the woman’s throat out.
“Problem?” the bitch cooed.
It had to have been in the water. Jackie had opened it in front of her, or so she’d pretended. She hadn’t tasted anything though. “What’d you give me? GHB?”
Surprise lit the woman’s eyes. “Ah, I’d been told you were smart. Come on, let’s go.” She grabbed Rylee’s forearm and tugged her down the hallway. Jackie was damned strong for someone smaller than her.
The pulling continued until Rylee tumbled into a luxuriously decorated bedroom decorated with cream silks over a large canopy bed. Her captor didn’t allow her to stop and gather her wits, or tie her shoe, she dragged her into a bathroom that was larger than the two in her apartment combined.
When Jackie did release her and walked to the huge tub, Rylee stepped backward to test her strength and her captor’s reflexes.
“I do toss knives very well, so don’t try me. My father will be disappointed if his merchandise is damaged.”
That stopped Rylee short. Her father? “Who’s your father?”
Removing her hand from beneath the running water, she stood and faced Rylee fully. “Hogan. My father.” She sniffed as if detecting a foul odor. “I don’t know why he chose you though.”
She didn’t either. There was no telling what Keith Westbrook had said to pay her back for helping ruin him. A sudden need to sit fell upon her and she collapsed to the ground.
Heaving a heavy sigh, Jackie shook her head. “I told that bastard it was too much. I should’ve known when it worked too quickly.”
She wanted to get up, wanted to move, but her body wasn’t reacting to her commands. Devon would’ve told her to fight it and she tried, but she wasn’t strong enough. Feeling like nothing more than a puppet, she allowed Jackie to undress her and then help her up and into the steaming water.
Wet warmth infused her and a shudder racked her body. A delightful shudder, and it made her sick. In her mind, she knew she shouldn’t be here, that she should move, but… it felt so… good. Moaning, she leaned her head back and accepted the comfort of the bubble bath.
Dozing off, her mind warned her to remain alert and look for opportunities. It just told her too late.
When she woke, her heart leapt into her throat.
A man stood in the bathroom doorway, in a casual pose, but rubbing his crotch through his slacks.
Out of reflex, her hands flew to her breasts where most of the bubbles had evaporated. “Who… who are you?” Her eyes flew around the room, frantically searching for a weapon and finding none. There had to be something in one of the drawers.
“I’m Hogan.”
The man, with his slightly graying dark hair and lean build, didn’t jog her memory of any faces she’d seen. Searching the contours of his face to see if it sparked any recognition, she decided that he could be considered handsome. If unaware of his sickness.
“Doll, you were supposed to be ready for me.”
Rylee narrowed her eyes, which should’ve been spitting fire. “Only one person gets away with calling me Doll, and it’s not you,” she informed him.
With his lips twitching suspiciously, Hogan advanced toward her. Rylee couldn’t heed her impulse to fight or flee so she shrank back from his angry eyes. “Don’t push me,” he said in a low, throaty rumble. “Doll.” He spun on his heel as the bottom dropped out of her gut. “Jackie!” he bellowed.
Rylee couldn’t see him any longer or make out what was being said. What she did notice was that she was coming to herself, not fully, but a little would have to be enough. Hearing a door slam, she expected to see Jackie in the next minute.
The woman did not disappoint. “Get the fuck up.” She held out a large cream-colored towel.
To her relief, she found she could push herself to a standing position. It took some work, but she was on her feet again. Before accepting the towel, she stepped out of the tub onto a plush rug. Drying her body, slowly to delay, she tested her strength by twisting the towel into a tight rope. Pulse pounding, but feeling confident enough, she called on Jackie, who was rinsing out the tub. “Can you help me? I’m just so weak.”
“Oh my God. How pathetic,” the woman ranted but stepped closer.
Before she could retrieve the towel, Rylee swung it to loop around Jackie’s neck, slipped behind her and crossed the ends to pull tight until the woman choked.
Jackie went up on her toes and grasped at the towel. Rylee tightened her hold and crossed the ends more. The next thing Rylee knew, Jackie must’ve reached down because a blade sliced across her forearm.
“Ow,” Rylee cried and loosened her grip enough that Jackie got free. Fuck. Rylee’s heart pounded and her limbs trembled more than she wanted. She was at a disadvantage. How could she have forgotten about the knife? Because my mind is fucked up w
ith drugs.
“You bitch!” Jackie heaved deep breaths, gulping loudly.
Rylee took the chance and sped to the vanity, flinging open drawers, searching through for anything she could use as a weapon. She completely ignored the blood running down her arm. Drawer one. Nothing. Her courage sank a notch. Drawer two. Nothing. It dropped to her midsection. Drawer three. Absofuckinglutely nothing. Her stomach absorbed the drop of courage within her.
Jackie approached her slowly and Rylee grabbed the only thing she could find that was useful—a towel. She twisted it up fast, hoping to use it to help deflect any blows while she skirted around to the door. If only her body kept pace, she’d make it to the door.
The first strike happened and she interfered enough that Jackie pulled back. They circled each other, her eyes never leaving Jackie’s to ensure she didn’t miss what her eyes projected. Another lunge and Rylee stumbled back, a pain in her right side. She looked down and saw blood cascading down her side.
A noise rang through the halls. Oh no! Hogan’s on his way back. This is it. I can’t do anymore. I’ve failed.
OCCUPYING A BREAKROOM in a hanger, the men, somehow, made do with the limited space. At least with Mike and Rob standing guard, there were two less bodies crammed into the room. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. They didn’t want to advertise their presence with Arthur, so they’d remained where the plane had taxied except when two of his brothers and Devon had driven close enough to Carver’s plantation for him to scan and find the security footage of Robert’s house. Devon hadn’t been able to stay in long enough to rewind so he got what they needed and they’d returned.
He’d wanted to go in right then but calmer heads prevailed. He hadn’t seen Rylee or the girls. For some reason, Devon had expected a camera in the room with them. Probably an oversight because a sick fuck who sold females would probably get his jollies watching them too. Then again, if his preference had been men, maybe not.
They’d pieced together the house from the footage. It was obvious which room the girls were kept because a very bored guard either paced or stood in front of the door. Finding that door was where Devon would be. Jess had approved his being with the group who split off in that section of the large house.