by Sara Craven
Eric considered how the game had run this far. “It’s almost as if he doesn’t know what to do next and he’s just hoping we’ll bump one another off so he won’t have to complete the deal.” He scoffed. “He even let me keep the gun.”
“Oh, he’s saving you for me,” Dawn said with a smirk. “He’s sure I’m the bullied little wife who’ll be damned glad to get rid of the big, bad overbearing husband. Probably means to slip me a ring full of poison for you or something like that.”
“Exactly. He wants me to finish off the others, then you get to take care of me. But, the question is, how does he think he would profit by all that?”
“Maybe he plans to have another auction.”
Eric shook his head. “But why? We are the primary buyers. The big money. If he eliminates all of us, he goes with the second-string. Plus, he’s got all the big boys mad as hell because their prize negotiators are missing and presumed dead.”
“Not a bad presumption in some cases. So what do we do now?”
“Find Clay and get him to call in the cavalry with his transmitter. We’ve done about all we can do here.”
A shot rang out somewhere below. Eric rushed out into the hallway and headed for the stairs. “Something’s going down now! C’mon!”
“What do you think…” She was almost running to keep up with his long strides, but he couldn’t afford to slow down if they wanted Quince alive later to give them some answers.
Eric handed her the pistol. “Here, take this.”
She huffed, speeding up as he did. “And what will you do, point your finger and go bang? Keep the damned gun.”
“Won’t need it,” he assured her. “Wait here.”
“Like hell,” she muttered, staying right behind him as he pushed into Quince’s study.
Chapter 14
Mohandra had the guard’s automatic to Quince’s head, apparently demanding access to the information they had come to bid on. Eric merely granted him an impatient look and marched directly over to Quince’s desk and began opening drawers.
It had the desired effect. Mohandra redirected his weapon immediately, pointing it at Eric. “What are you doing?” he demanded in Arabic.
“What do you think? Ah, and here it is!” He lifted a disk out of the lower right-hand drawer and plunked it down on the desk. It was labeled a list of artworks, probably for insurance purposes. “You want to bid on it, Ali? Or will you simply take it and run? And if you run, where will you go to avoid my wrath? Kill me and even Bin Laden’s best caves will not be deep enough in the ground to hide you. My people are everywhere and you know it. Put down that weapon and let us conduct business.”
“I think not,” Ali growled, shoving Quince away from him and approaching the desk.
Eric kept his gaze trained on the Arab, his peripheral vision noting Dawn’s quiet moves. She was directly behind Ali now, her weapon drawn, almost touching the back of his head.
Could she fire? Eric knew she had never killed before. Shooting man-shaped targets was one thing; taking a life was quite another. He couldn’t afford to doubt her now.
“Put down the weapon,” she demanded, touching Ali’s neck with the barrel. Surprised, he whirled, but she was faster, ducking the spray of bullets that took out several glass shelves lining the wall above her head. Eric leapt on him from the rear, pinching the nerve in Ali’s wrist that controlled his gun hand. The weapon hit the floor and bounced. Dawn scooped it up and backed away.
But Ali didn’t go down easily. Eric took a sharp blow to the ribs and a fist in the face before he clipped the Arab with a right cross that ended it all.
“Kill him!” Quince ordered in a near scream, pointing frantically at the unconscious man.
“No,” Eric replied, catching his breath. “He will go home in disgrace. It is enough.”
“No, no, it’s not enough. He…he would have killed me!”
Eric turned on him. “Did that possibility never occur to you when you brought us here? That some might not hold to your fancy rules of etiquette?”
“But…but I have what all of you need and if you kill me you can never have it!”
“You are not dealing with mere greed here, Quince. Ali fights a holy war and you are his enemy. He takes what he wants. It’s his way.”
“And yours as well?” Quince asked, straightening his tie, brushing back his hair and recovering a little of his equilibrium.
“Mine as well,” Eric agreed. “But I am a shade more civilized and a good deal more intelligent.”
Heavy booted footsteps thundered down the corridor and two of the guards burst in. “Secure this man and confine him,” Quince ordered.
Dawn had sunk into a crouch in the corner of the room, the two weapons on the floor behind her and out of sight. Eric stood and backed away while the two bound Ali and hauled him away. Odd, that Quince had not ordered them to kill the Arab, Eric thought.
Quince left soon after the guards, citing his need for a drink.
“Are you all right?” Eric asked Dawn.
“Fine,” she said, getting up from her crouch and handing him the Uzi. She tucked the pistol back into her pocket. “We’re building a little arsenal here and no one seems to care.”
“You should have shot him,” Eric said firmly. “You can’t afford to hesitate.”
She frowned and propped her free hand on her hip. “I didn’t hesitate. I opted to take him alive.”
Eric laughed at that. “He could have killed you with that volley. Or Quince. Or me, for that matter.”
She worried her bottom lip with her teeth for a second, then admitted. “I couldn’t shoot a man in the back of the head with no warning.”
Eric blew out a frustrated breath. “Fair enough. You did fine.” That’s when he noticed her hands shaking, only a slight tremor. “Come here,” he said softly and opened his arms.
She stepped into them and put her head on his shoulder. He caressed her hair and rested his hand on her neck, massaging it gently. “Will you be all right here if I go out for an hour?” he whispered.
She nodded. “I’ve got the pistol.” “Next time, don’t think. Just shoot, okay?” “A thousand pardons, Jarad,” she said with a wry twist of her lips. “Be careful yourself.”
“Stay out of everyone’s way until I get back.” Eric didn’t like leaving her, but he needed to locate Clay and get the team in here. Things were falling apart fast and would collapse with a bang once Quince found out his prize was missing, but he was so shaken up right now, he’d be busy hitting the bottle. God only knew where the Russian or Cal Markham were, but they had no reason to bother Dawn.
Staying out of the way sounded good to Dawn. She’d had about all the excitement she could stand for the day. If she wasn’t supposed to be converted, she’d be joining Quince in the lounge for a good stiff drink. Having your hair parted with a few Uzi rounds tended to make a girl pretty thirsty. Maybe she would go anyway and have a glass of juice or something and keep an eye on Quince.
She patted the pistol in her pocket and tried to walk without a betraying wobble in her knees.
Quince greeted her with more aplomb than she expected. Great recovery time, she had to give him that much. “Would you care for a brandy?” he asked, sipping his own.
She made a face. “I don’t dare, but thank you for thinking of me.” With a sigh, she helped herself to a bottled fruit juice from the small refrigerator behind the bar.
“Where is Jarad?” he asked. “And how is it he trusts you to wander around alone all of a sudden?”
Dawn took a deep draught of the juice and swallowed before answering. “He was upset and went out for a walk to cool his temper. He does that.”
Quince nodded knowingly, his lips pinched in thought. Then he pointed to her with his snifter. “You handled yourself better than most women would under fire. How do you explain that?”
Dawn shrugged. “Jarad’s training.”
“I’m not certain I buy that explanation, Aurora,” Quince
told her frankly. “What you did seemed too…professional.” He sighed, his gaze never leaving hers. “Perhaps you are not his wife at all.”
Dawn laughed bitterly. “Believe it. He gives me lessons in self-defense. He’s paranoid about some man accosting me and dishonoring him, you know that. Do you think for a moment Jarad would hire a woman to watch his back? Besides, if I were here for that, he would have me out there with him now.” For a minute, Dawn was afraid she had over explained, protested too much.
Quince shrugged. “Quite right.” He smiled, toying with his drink, looking into its depths. “So, have you given any more thought to our plan to free you?”
“What do you have in mind?” Dawn decided to stop playing it coy. He had seen her in action and knew she was no shrinking violet. “It appears you are systematically eliminating all of those you asked to come here. One has to wonder why and whether any of us will be allowed to leave. Why should I trust you?”
He rolled the snifter between his palms. “I have eliminated no one.”
“Then, let us say you have encouraged their elimination at every opportunity. Share with me why that is, and I might be inclined to trust you further.”
He leaned forward then in an attitude of strict confidence. Dawn held her breath, certain he was about to give her his reasons. “These men, your husband included, represent the most evil elements of human society, Aurora. Whatever their reasoning, based on ideology or hunger for power, they are terrorists, bent on destruction. Why should you care—”
She interrupted. “And if I am not misinformed, you are providing them a means to do more of it,” she reminded him, “for which you will be amply rewarded. Tell me I am wrong in this.”
He assumed a wounded expression that looked sincere. “Rest assured, my motive is not fueled by greed. Look around you, woman! I have enough.”
“Then why did you ask them here? Why would you offer them whatever it is they are so eager to get? I know it is something to further their respective causes, something valuable and secret.”
“Something they must never put to use,” he added succinctly, reaching across to take her hand in his. “Help me.”
She tried to pull away, but he held her fingers fast in his. “This was a trap? You brought them here to kill them?”
Gunshots popped outside and the window of the lounge shattered. Dawn dived for the carpet, seeking shelter between their chairs. Quince fell on top of her, shielding her body with his.
“Let me up!” she cried, struggling to reach her pocket where she had hidden the pistol. But Quince held her immobile. Heavy as he was, she couldn’t dislodge him. “Get off!”
He scrambled to one side and yanked her by her arm. “Stay on the floor. Crawl behind the bar!” he ordered. More shots rang out.
No fool, Dawn did as he suggested. The heavy mahogany structure offered the safest haven in the room. By the time they reached it, she had the pistol out and the safety off.
Had Eric’s team arrived? She hoped to God that was the case and that this wasn’t some other force attempting to take over the island. Especially since the thing everyone would be after was securely tucked between her breasts inside her lacy underwire bra. That gave a whole new meaning to Victoria’s Secret.
The click of footsteps sounded on the tiles of the foyer, then on the stairs. No way could they exit the lounge without being seen by whoever was on the way up. Were there others waiting? She and Quince were trapped behind the bar with nowhere to run and only four rounds for defense. “Do you have another weapon?” she whispered.
“Not in here,” he admitted. “You’d better give me that,” he said, reaching for the gun. Dawn batted away his well-manicured hand and leaned to peek around the lower edge of the bar.
He tugged at her shoulder. “I said—”
“Shut up, Quince!” she snapped, her patience thin and her nerves on edge.
Eric had guessed right; Quince didn’t know what to do next. He had gotten in over his head. How could that be? Given the rep Interpol credited him with, she didn’t know. He was supposed to be the big deal maker, the mercenary even the baddest boys in the business bowed to. He had talked a good game up to a point, but she sensed he was shaking in his Italian leather mocs right now, too frightened to take the little peashooter away from a girl half his size.
“Back off and give me some room.” She elbowed him out of her way. “And for God’s sake, be quiet.” Dawn realized she’d abandoned her Spanish accent along with her cover as a helpless little woman. Come to think of it, Quince’s voice had changed, too, under pressure.
Someone was coming down the stairs now and in a hurry.
“Dawn?” Eric called out.
She released a deep breath, only now aware she’d been holding it. “In here! Behind the bar,” she answered.
He appeared then, a welcome sight as he dodged into the room, wheeling left, then right in a shooter’s crouch, the AK-47 he carried braced to fire. He landed behind the bar with them. “Ali must have signaled a boatload of friends,” he announced. “They just came ashore.”
“Impossible!” declared Quince.
Eric shot him a dry look. “I didn’t get a head count, but two are down outside.”
Dawn’s heart stuttered when she saw blood on his shirt. “You were hit?”
“No.” He looked past her, his gaze focused on the open doorway. “They won’t wait long to breach the house. They’ll be coming in to find Ali. Among other things.” He glanced at Quince. “Where’d your men take him?”
“There’s a basement below the kitchen.”
“With outside access?” Eric demanded.
“No.”
“Any way out of this place without using the front or back door or the French doors onto the terrace?” The downstairs windows were barred, decoratively, but also efficiently.
Quince shook his head. Then he swallowed hard. “The place is wired to blow. If we can get out after they come in to search the house, we can get them all.”
Eric sighed. “Where did you train, Quince, Utopia? They won’t all come in. Some will be out there waiting for us to show. And they’re armed to the teeth. Besides, you have employees in here. Conroy, the cook—”
“I’m blowing it anyway,” Quince declared, muttering as if to himself. “Ali’s people can’t be allowed to get what they’re after.”
Eric tossed Dawn a questioning look and she answered by patting her cleavage. He smiled. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”
“And if they shoot us?” Quince snapped. “What then? All they have to do is locate the safe and figure out how to crack it.”
Eric’s worried gaze locked with Dawn’s as he repeated, “The safe?”
“Yes! It will only be a matter of time until they find the hidden office. It only took me two hours!”
Dawn’s heart sank. The little aluminum device between her breasts suddenly felt cold, not comforting as it had moments ago. If the flash drive with the radar-shield plans was locked in Quince’s safe, what was she carrying around in her bra?
Eric was glaring at Quince now. “Why would you have had to search for the office in your own house?”
Quince backed away in a crouch and looked behind him as if hoping to discover an escape route opening up.
“I’ll get answers, Quince, but now’s not the time,” Eric said. “I locked the front door when I came in, but that won’t keep them out for long. We need to set up a defense.” He motioned to Dawn. “Make sure the kitchen entrance is locked. Find Conroy and the servants and put them in the walk-in fridge where they’ll be safe. Quince and I will go for the weapons.”
He turned to Quince. “Where are they?”
“The study,” Quince answered. “Why are you doing this?”
“You have to wait for answers, too,” Eric told him. “Just keep in mind that you aren’t all that necessary to me, so your best bet is to cooperate. Let’s go.”
Dawn rushed down the hallway to the back of the house, her pist
ol ready. Conroy and the others weren’t likely to follow her orders without it.
When she neared the kitchens, she approached the door with caution, edged up to it, then whirled into the opening in firing position. She sensed she wasn’t alone, but saw no one. Carefully, she crept into the room, shifting the direction of her aim every couple of seconds.
This reminded her of a training exercise back at The Farm, where target villains appeared at random right along with pop-up friendlies. Conroy, the cook and the other servants were around somewhere, probably hiding behind something just as she, Eric and Quince had been doing in the lounge. She thought about calling out a warning.
“Drop it,” said a quiet voice, devoid of its usual lilt.
“Sean?” she asked, turning. “Is that you?”
“Me and my Uzi, love. Lay down your gun.”
She didn’t do that, but she did lower the pistol, trying her best to look relieved to see him. “Where have you been? I am to find Mr. Conroy and the others and put them somewhere safe. Will you help me?”
He chuckled. “Appealing to my gentlemanly instincts, Aurora? I have so few of those. Put down the pistol or I will shoot you where you stand.” She had to believe he meant it.
She placed the gun on the countertop. “There are men here on the island who intend to kill us all. Why are you treating me as the enemy?”
“Because everyone here is an enemy, love. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
She sighed and shrugged. “All I want is to board a boat and leave this cursed place. Why Jarad brought me here with him is a mystery.”
He laughed. “Not to me. You handle a weapon like a pro, which I always assumed you were. There are no innocents among us.”
“Such bitterness, Sean,” she said with a sugary smile. “What now? You’ll get rid of me the way you did Carlotta?”
“Not yet. Let’s go and find your husband and our friend, Quince, shall we?”
“All right,” she agreed with one last longing look at the abandoned pistol on the counter. She was facing Sean and also the window near the back door where shadows moved quickly and quietly. Ali’s men. In seconds, they would burst through the unlocked door and she and Sean would be cut down as surely as she stood there. “Sean, they’re coming.”