“Mine,” he whispered against her neck. His mouth moved from her neck to her shoulder, down across her collarbone, pausing for a taste from where her pulse beat far too quickly, and on. His lips found her nipple and surrounded it with wet heat that dragged a sob from her lungs. Against her skin, she felt his grin.
His teeth took hold of her left nipple, gently teasing and scraping, while his fingers pinched her right.
She twisted beneath him, arms circling the breadth of his shoulders, then sliding down his back. She clenched her fingers into the muscles of his butt. He jerked in response, the blunt head of his cock sliding inside her a fraction. But he wasn’t ready for that. He pulled back, sliding off the foot of the bed, and grabbed her ankles to haul her back with him. He positioned her on her forearms and knees, open to where he stood behind her.
Instinctively, she tensed, unaccustomed to giving up so much control. And what he must have been seeing—her mother’s voice whispered horror in her head: My God, Tara Jean, the size of your butt—but then Jake was nudging his way inside her, and all thought vanished on a wave of scorching heat. He planted a hand flat in the center of her back, forcing her upper body down onto the bed, and pleasure screamed through her. She wiggled, trying to take even more of him, and heard him grunt, felt him begin to thrust.
Each thrust shoved her forward, rocked the bed, rubbed her sensitized nipples over the covers until she was sobbing, begging for him to finish her. And when he did, when he sent her flying over the edge and into a million tiny pieces, she felt him go as well, heard him call her name. Her real name. Tara.
That ridiculous, southern froufrou name she’d hated from the age of twelve had never sounded so good.
• • •
Holy hell. He hadn’t meant for that to happen. Sure, he’d checked for cameras and so had Tara, but he’d never meant to let his guard down while inside the compound. He’d set his goal to protect Tara and then had promptly lost his mind and taken her like a fucking caveman. He’d even called her by her real name. Not that that should surprise anyone who might have heard it—Jason Norman and Tara Jean Black had been lovers, so her pre-Chosen name would be likely to come to his lips.
He crawled up the bed and drew her along with him, anchoring her to his body. Nerves fired under his skin. He had to get her out, had to keep her safe. He pulled a pillow over their heads to muffle their voices.
“Tara—”
“They probably keep the drugs in Owen’s room, right?”
He gritted his teeth. He wanted to talk about them, not the op. But she kept talking. “Or maybe Deborah’s. She has to have access to them to add them to the tea. No way he does that himself.”
He swallowed, forcing his mind back to the job at hand. “Those are the best bets. Owen’s room will present the biggest challenge. But I can’t see him taking personal responsibility for the drug program. He would want to be consulted at every step, but not be hands-on, so it makes sense that Samuel and Deborah control distribution and experimentation. If the drugs are in his room, they have access.”
“I think he’s too crazy for that,” Tara said. “He really believes forces of evil conspire against the Chosen and against him as their leader. He’s not going to want people—even his acolytes—tromping through his room.”
A foreign sound intruded. A wail, like the fire alarm, but closer and higher pitched.
“What the hell?”
Tara stared at him, still holding the pillow over them. “It couldn’t be. Not yet. Could it?”
“Fuck.” If the raid had started, they were in serious trouble. Doors slammed and footsteps clattered in the hallway and down the stairs.
“I’ll take Deborah’s room, you take Owen’s,” Tara said, sitting up.
“No. We stick together. Deborah first.”
Deborah’s door was locked, and they didn’t have time to pick it. Jake kicked it and it slammed inward. If the alarm turned out to be a misfire, they’d have to run. No hiding their true purpose now. But he couldn’t risk Deborah or Samuel returning to destroy the evidence, leaving nothing for them to analyze. He’d set the Trojan horse program to download anything on the network, but depending on how paranoid or security conscious those involved were, the formula might not have been stored on a device with network connectivity.
“There was a laptop here,” Tara said, standing next to a desk at the far wall. “She didn’t even bother to unplug it—the cable’s still here—she just grabbed it and took off.”
Jake studied the various vials and jars and bottles in the refrigerator and in the glass-fronted cabinets. Some were labeled. Most were not. The labeled drugs—antibiotics, painkillers, and sedatives—came from both sides of the border.
An explosion shook the house and knocked several of the vials over. A second later, the odor of smoke drifted up.
“Fuck. They’re burning it down.”
Tara tore the comforter off the bed. “Here. We should get as many of the meds out with us as we can.” She spread it on the floor and he dumped containers in by the armload. As he worked, Tara rolled, so that within seconds they had a secure, log-shaped package.
“Owen’s room?” Tara asked as he hoisted the roll in his arms.
“Yeah.” But when they stepped into the hallway, the smoke was too thick. He grabbed Tara’s hand and ran for the stairs.
“The office,” she said, coughing. “We should check—”
“Go!” That direction was clearer anyway. Smoke and fire engulfed the front of the house, but the back, where Owen’s office lay, was merely hazy.
• • •
They hit the office at a good clip, and when Jake stopped dead in the doorway, Tara ran smack into his back. Her eyes were watering, but as she peered around him she could make out what had halted him. The office, while untouched by fire, had been completely dismantled. The massive cherry desk had been pushed closer to the door, and papers lay strewn everywhere. A piece fluttered by, caught by a breeze from the open window, and she reached out to catch it as Jake stepped over to the spot where the desk had once sat.
“Dammit,” he said, bending down. Tara heard a creak. “Trap door.”
She was stepping around the desk to see what he’d found when a loud crack, the unmistakable sound of a gunshot, ripped through the room. Jake stumbled backward two steps and went down.
“Jake!” She dove over to him. “Oh God, no. Don’t you do this to me. Don’t.” Blood covered his face, and when she grabbed him beneath the armpits and began dragging him toward the window—the only likely exit—it quickly soaked into her shirt. He was losing too much, too fast. “Don’t be dead,” she ordered. “Don’t you dare.”
She shoved the window all the way open until it jammed at the top, and she did her best to lift Jake’s unresponsive weight up and rest his midsection against the frame. Leaning out, she screamed for help. Where were the damned government agents who’d started this whole mess? She’d have to drop him, but at least she could arrange it so he hit the ground feet first.
She was lowering him as gently as possible when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She let go of Jake and tried to duck away from Samuel, but she was caught in the corner with no way to move, and he slammed a baton into her skull and the room went dark in a blast of pain.
• • •
CONSCIOUSNESS RETURNED IN fragments. A pounding head. The swell of nausea in her stomach and the back of her throat. A thrumming sound. The odor of oil. The occasional splash.
A boat.
Her hands and feet were trussed, and a blindfold had been tied over her eyes. A tight itch across her mouth extended out to her cheeks. Duct tape.
What the hell had happened? She shoved aside the ache in her head and tried to remember. The raid. The fire. Jake. Goddamn them, they’d shot him. For that, she’d kill them. She had no idea how, but that didn’t matter. B
efore, she’d been content to wait for the good guys to round up the black hats, to throw them all in jail. But no more.
Where the hell were they taking her? And why? Why hadn’t Samuel murdered her outright in the office?
There weren’t that many places to go by boat from the compound. They had to be headed for Mexico. The boat bumped, then rocked as someone stepped off.
“Get her on her feet,” Samuel said. “She’s awake.”
Rough hands grabbed her arms and pulled her to her feet. If she struggled, she’d fall overboard and drown, so she let them move her. She felt herself dragged up to a solid surface.
“Get the trucks,” said Francis. “We’ll wait here.”
A few minutes passed in complete silence. Were they hiding from police? Should she make noise? But right now, at least, she was safe. Right now, they weren’t interested in killing her, which was more than might be said for whoever might find them. If they were, indeed, in Mexico, the police weren’t the only men out patrolling.
The rumble of several motors brought her to attention. She felt the air move across her face as one of the trucks pulled up in front of her. Hands pushed her forward and others lifted her into the back of what she assumed was a pickup. They forced her to the floor, and rough cloth covered her.
“Stay still, or I’ll put a bullet through your fucking skull, just like I did your boyfriend’s,” Samuel said. Behind the blindfold, tears burned, but she squeezed them back, grateful that the duct tape wouldn’t let them see her lips tremble. Weights were piled atop her body. They felt like bags of produce. Potatoes? Oranges? A booted foot kicked her hard in the side, and the truck jolted into motion.
They were stopped twice, and both times a foot rested casually on the side of Tara’s face while the truck driver answered questions she couldn’t quite hear. Both incidents ended in laughter. The apostles had cultivated friendships with whoever controlled these roads. She and Jake had hypothesized about the Chosen being in bed with the cartels. Evidently, they’d been correct.
“Did the Leader say what to do with her?” asked a voice she didn’t recognize when the truck slowed for a third time.
Christ. Owen had escaped, too? Had the damned raid caught none of them? What had the feds been doing?
“Put her in one of the basement rooms. Chain her. If she gets out, you’ll pay in blood.” Francis. So far, she recognized him and Samuel. But there had been several others on that boat with them. Did they have a full compound in Mexico, similar to the one they had in Texas, with workers blind to the reality of the operation? And how did they plan to explain her presence if Owen had the faithful as his housekeepers on the other side of the border as well?
She was hustled out of the truck and half carried into a house. There, the bindings around her ankles were cut off and the blindfold removed. A swarthy man stood to her right with an M4 pointed at her head. He smiled.
Chapter Ten
JAKE WAS TWELVE. He’d been playing catcher—and doing a damned fine job of it despite his parents’ objections to his fascination with sports—until one of the kids on the opposing team let go of his bat at the end of a swing and it clocked Jake in the noggin. They were going to be so pissed. He’d have to miss school.
“Jake?”
That wasn’t his mother. That was . . . Lucy.
He wrenched his eyes open despite the pain in his head. He winced at light’s reflection off the white and stainless surfaces surrounding him. Machines beeped and hummed. Tubes ran to his arm and under the light hospital blanket that covered him.
“Tara . . . ”
“We’re looking for her. Are you okay?”
“What do you mean?” He struggled to sit up, setting the machines into overdrive. A nurse hustled in.
“Agent Nolan, you’re awake!” She leaned over his bed, peering into his eyes. “And you’re looking much better. But you need to stay calm.”
“Like hell.”
“Jake, please.” Lucy took his hand. “We’re working on finding her. Until we do, you need to get your strength back.”
“How long have I been out?” Frustration ate at him. Where was Tara? What were they doing to her?
“Almost twenty-two hours. We found you outside the main building, which burned to the ground. You’d been shot in the head. They airlifted you here for surgery.”
“Fuck. Twenty hours? There was a trap door . . . ”
“Yeah. The task force guys found it. Led to a tunnel. A big one. Looks like they had vehicles in it. First tunnel led out to the greenhouses, and from there out under the walls. They found evidence of several boats. Far as we can tell, they’ve gone to ground in Mexico.”
Jake reached for the IV to pull it out of his arm.
“Stop that!” Lucy and the nurse spoke in concert.
“Mexico’s a big country. I called in a favor. Got a friend figuring out where she might have been taken. Until we know, we can’t move. So relax and get better.”
“I can’t do that. For Christ’s sake, Luce. She’s on that damned drug, too. Did you get anything from the computer?”
“We did. Both the formula and the antidote. They rounded up the women and they’re dosing them at about a half dozen different hospitals. Too many to fit in just one.”
“The pregnant ones?”
“We found nine women in different stages of pregnancy. No one has any idea what detoxing will do, so they’re being monitored extra closely.”
“Aurora?”
“Who?”
“Never mind. She was one of the girls. Nice kid. I was hoping you’d found her.”
“I don’t know all their names. But your DEA friend Kevin has worked with us nonstop to identify them all.”
“And Elizabeth? His girlfriend?”
“She’s here. With a couple of the other pregnant women. She’s been a tremendous help keeping them as calm as possible under the circumstances.”
“Who escaped?”
“We don’t know. Owen died in the fire. That’s certain. He was facedown when they got him out, so he could be identified by sight. Some weren’t so lucky. Aaron was shot trying to run away. He’s still in critical condition. Most of the guards gave up without a fight once they knew they were dealing with the JTTF. They were just hired guns, not willing to go to jail on a terrorism charge. A few of the Chosen were injured but only three seriously enough to require hospitalization. The ones we could get to agree were bussed here to El Paso where there are counselors and LEOs helping them figure out what to do next.”
The door opened and Ethan stuck his head in. “They’re here.”
“Thank God.” She squeezed Jake’s hand. “I am going to step outside. Ask nicely, and maybe this lovely lady will take out the cannula and catheter.”
“Well, you ready?” the nurse asked as the door shut behind Lucy.
Nausea boiled in his stomach and everything he looked at too long wore a white halo, but he nodded. The sooner he was free of tubes, the sooner he could go after Tara.
“The doc says you can try standing up,” the nurse said after she freed him. “Just hold on to this IV stand, and ease your way over to the side of the bed.”
He did. The world spun a little faster but eventually settled. Weight on the IV stand, he pushed to his feet.
“You can take a little walk. Your friends are just outside, past the nurses’ station in the waiting area. You can sit with them if you like.”
Hell yes, he liked. The nurse helped him put on scrubs underneath his gown, and he shuffled out, feet sticking to the floor in the nonslip green socks she had given him to go with the scrubs.
In the waiting area, Lucy and Ethan sat huddled with a man whose dark hair was liberally streaked with silver. A light-haired man with a crew cut dressed in black cargo pants and a black T-shirt stood at parade rest behind them. Although he listened to t
he conversation, his eyes never stopped moving. Who, exactly, had Lucy brought in?
Then the older man turned in his direction, the light catching on a silver guitar pick earring, and Jake knew. The older man stood and held out a hand.
“You must be Jake. I’m Nash Harper.”
Jake took Harper’s hand. Everyone in the law enforcement community knew—or at least knew of—Dwight “Nashville” Harper. He ran one of the biggest, best-funded private security organizations in the country. And he had contacts everywhere. Although his public background information said he’d served in the Army, scuttlebutt claimed he’d really been CIA.
“I didn’t realize you and Lucy were friends.”
“A book she wrote helped my cousin immensely. I owed her a favor. She called to collect. I’m a bit disturbed she didn’t call sooner—I understand she had trouble of her own over the past few months.”
Ethan slung an arm over Lucy’s shoulders. “We handled it.”
The corner of Nash’s mouth quirked up. “So I see. But this requires, shall we say, a different skill set?”
Jake would gladly smack that half grin off the bastard’s face. Harp Security Enterprises might be entirely legit, but rumors flew about the kinds of activities they engaged in. He’d heard blackmail, theft, hacking . . . all kinds of accusations, though nobody had ever proven any of them.
Blondie leaned forward, feeling the vibe Jake wasn’t trying to hide, but Harper shook his head. The smile disappeared.
“This woman is important to you. Asset protection and recovery is our area of expertise. We will find her, and we will bring her back.”
“Not without me.”
Harper cocked his head. “Let me be blunt. I’ve investigated you thoroughly. That’s my business. What I see is that you’re a very smart, very driven individual, just the kind I like to have on a team. But nothing in your background indicates skills in tracking, SERE, or combat. You’d be more use to us staying here.”
“Not going to happen. If you leave me behind, I’ll find my own way and probably fuck up whatever plan you put into action. I can hold my own.”
Lost Page 20