She heard someone screaming and realized it was her.
Ibarra was looking at her calmly, twirling the little hammer. “Tell me who Nemesis is,” he said softly.
Olivia let herself cry, then. She would never give Daniel to Ibarra, but she was so afraid that she could not withstand more of this.
Ibarra sighed. “The bleach, then,” he said.
* * * * *
After the third fingernail and bleach, Olivia left the meat cutting room. She found sunshine and a warm pair of arms around her. “I have you,” Daniel whispered.
“I know,” she whispered back.
And there she stayed.
* * * * *
“Is she unconscious? Or is she dead?” Ibarra demanded, looking down at the blonde’s body. She was motionless, lying on the floor with her eyes open.
“I don’t think she is either. It’s hard to say,” Gomez said. “I haven’t seen anyone do anything like that before.” He dropped the woman’s wrist, letting the hand fall back to the floor.
Ibarra frowned. “What is that sound?”
Gomez cocked his head, listening. “Helicopters?”
Ibarra went to the window and strained to look out one of the broken chinks. He was in time to see the first of the Black Hawks sweep into view at a hundred and eighty miles an hour, scream into position and hold right over the top of the front compound of the hotel. The noise of the vehicles was deafening.
Gomez clapped his hands over his ears at the beating sound. “Sir?” he shouted.
Ibarra straightened up his tie. “Assemble the troops. We’re under attack,” he ordered.
“From whom?”
Ibarra shook his head. Black Hawks were used by dozens of armies in the world, but the one army that didn’t have them were the loyalists. From this angle, he couldn’t see any identifying colors or flags. There was a mystery to be solved. He followed Gomez out of the room, leaving the American woman on the floor. His priorities had shifted.
For now.
* * * * *
Sharpshooters at the open doors of the aircraft immediately spotted all the sentries and watchdogs Daniel had warned them to watch out for. They took them out with laughable ease and gave the thumbs-up.
Immediately, dozens of ropes tumbled down and black-clad soldiers slid down to the ground while the sharpshooters kept them covered.
Daniel, wearing a borrowed overall and headset, was part of the first wave as he knew the layout and because there was no fucking way he was going to sit on his ass and wait while others went ahead of him.
They swarmed into the hotel through the dozen or so entries Daniel had been observing and mentally mapping for weeks. He had spent an hour sketching a full map of the hotel, all four floors. His sketches had been scanned and reproduced for everyone, including the Americans. They’d all studied the plans and memorized them.
Now the special ops guys took point position. This was their specialty, this type of work. Besides, they were spoiling for some fun, they’d said. They were all volunteers, willing to run into a burning building because Colonel Davenport asked them to. The lieutenant colonel, an Army Ranger called Elkson, also said that it was known, on the QT, that Davenport’s daughter was in that building and that didn’t sit well with anyone at all. There were Navy SEALS, Rangers, a Marine or two and other hard-looking, closed-mouthed military personnel who didn’t feel it was appropriate to name their affiliation, but had come along for the ride anyway.
When Elkson had suggested the U.S. personnel take point, Duardo had considered it for about two seconds and agreed. Elkson’s people had the equipment and expertise. Duardo’s didn’t and he was wise enough to acknowledge that, but he’d pulled Daniel to one side afterward. “You’re going in with them,” he murmured.
“I wasn’t planning on being anywhere else,” Daniel said.
Duardo rolled his eyes. “This is still nominally a Vistarian operation. I want your foot to be the first one to hit the ground.”
Daniel hesitated. “You know I haven’t been active in the field for years, right?”
“You just said you planned on being on point anyway.” Duardo shoved his SIG into Daniel’s arms and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll pick it up.”
He was picking it up fast, all right. Just sliding down the rope was bringing back basic training with a vengeance. Being under fire tended to reboot old skills in a hurry. Daniel fired from the hip as he ran across the parking lot, aiming at the guard hiding behind the closed half of the double door at the top of the grand staircase. The bullet went straight through the door with a quiet “whomp”.
The guard toppled backward and was still.
The SIG was a beautiful piece of lethal equipment. Daniel decided that Duardo was never getting it back.
He ran up the steps. He heard the others follow him.
Once inside the hotel, he headed straight for the dining room. It was breakfast time. If the Insurrectos were true to form, then everyone would have been rounded up and herded into the dining room by now to be force-fed their morning meal.
His mission was personal; to find Olivia. The others had their own assignments.
Daniel had four others assigned to him as backup and they followed him like ghostly shadows.
Duardo and his team reached the dining room at the same time, from the rear entrance. Jesus, Duardo was good.
Both teams hit the dining room together, as if it had been rehearsed. The guards all reacted, bringing their machine guns up. Daniel took one in the shoulder, bringing him down. Duardo took one with his Colt, a stomach shot, which was just plain mean. The lieutenant who followed Duardo everywhere took a third guard in the shoulder, as the black clad invaders spread out into the room, circling, their guns trained.
Almost in concert, the Insurrectos dropped their submachine guns and held up their hands.
“Dear lord, Daniel, look at you, boy!” It was Hans’ deep voice from among the hostages. He was standing up, staring at him.
Daniel looked around the tables. “Where is Olivia?”
Hans frowned. “She isn’t here?” He looked around. “She isn’t here!”
Daniel pushed through the tables. “Where is Olivia?” He grabbed Theresa’s arm. “Do you know?”
Theresa shook her head mutely.
“Señor?” A waiter behind the buffet lifted his finger.
Daniel rounded on him. “What?”
“Daniel!” Duardo said. His tone was one of warning. He’d taken off his helmet and balaclava. The guards were all rounded up in one corner and one of the non-coms was taking away all their guns and piling them on a table.
The hostages were standing up, staring.
“Does this mean we’re free?” Theresa asked slowly.
“Yes,” Duardo told her. “But we’ll need you to stay here for just a few more minutes while we clear the rest of the hotel of Insurrectos.”
“Who are you?” Hans asked.
“We’re real Vistarians,” Duardo said. “I am Colonel Eduardo Peña y Santos of the Army of La Vistaria de Escobedo. We are here to make sure you can go home today.”
Theresa cried, big tears running down her cheeks as she stared at him.
Daniel turned to the waiter. “What is it?” he asked, reining in his impatience.
“I don’t know,” the waiter said in soft Spanish. “But during the night, late. I thought I heard screaming. A lady screaming. And now, Ms. Olivia is missing.” He licked his lips and looked at Daniel, his eyes troubled.
“Where do you sleep?” Daniel asked, just as softly. He didn’t want to rain on anyone’s parade. The hostages were all looking at Duardo as though he was their savor. In a way, he was. Daniel didn’t want to spoil that.
“On the second floor, above the service areas.”
The earpiece in Daniel’s ear gave a quiet electronic blip. “Daniel, you need to come down to the basement, pronto.” It was Nick Escobedo’s voice.
Daniel pressed the intercom switch. �
��Kinda busy.”
“Now. No arguments.” There was a whiplash authority in Nick’s voice that made the hairs on the back of Daniel’s neck stand up. “Ask someone for directions to the old meat cutting room.”
The earpiece gave a second blip that said the one-to-one communication had been cut.
Daniel looked at the waiter again. “Any chance you know where the old meat cutting room is?”
The waiter’s face paled. He nodded.
“Colonel. Sir.” Daniel barely glanced at Duardo. “I, ah, need to go.”
“Go,” Duardo said.
* * * * *
Daniel’s four shadows were still with him, but he barely noticed. The corridor seemed to be filled with people, whom he pushed and shoved aside.
They were just rolling her into a blanket when he got there.
Nick rose to his feet and got in Daniel’s way, holding him back. “She’s alive, Daniel. She’s alive.” He wrenched Daniel’s chin around so he was looking at Nick. “I’m right. That’s Olivia Davenport, yes?”
Daniel made himself nod. “What did they do to her?”
Nick blew out his breath. “Shivs under three of her fingernails, followed by bleach. That’s the only physical damage we can see. Only she’s in some sort of coma…”
One of Daniel’s shadows pulled off his helmet and balaclava. “I’m a field medic, sir. I’ve seen this before. If you’ll let me treat her?”
“Let him,” Daniel said hoarsely.
Nick stepped aside.
The young sergeant knelt by Olivia’s still body and pulled a flat, wide pack out of a pocket on the thigh of his coveralls and unclipped it. When he opened it, it was a full, well-equipped medical kit. He pulled out an already-filled syringe, broke the seal, pulled back the blanket over Olivia and plunged it into her thigh.
For the first time, Daniel got to see the damage to her hand and that she was naked.
He sank down next to her and gently pulled the blanket back over her.
The sergeant picked up the wrist of her undamaged hand and looked at his watch. “Yeah, it’s working,” he said, watching her face. “Right about…now.”
Olivia drew in a breath and blinked her eyes, looking around. Fear and pain filled them almost immediately, but then she saw him.
“Daniel,” she breathed. “You came. I knew you would.” She smiled at him.
That smile knocked the stuffing out of him. She was the one in pain. She was the one who had survived God knows what to be here for him.
Nick’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “We have to get her home.”
Daniel boxed up his reaction and held it tight inside him. He picked up the hand the medic had been holding. “We’re getting you out of here, Olivia.”
“That would be nice,” she breathed. Her eyes fluttered.
“I gave her a pain killer. A strong one,” the sergeant said softly. “She’ll be out of it for the trip home.”
“Thank you,” Daniel said.
* * * * *
For the first time in weeks, she heard waves and seagulls and felt fresh air on her face.
Olivia blinked and looked up at the carved wooden beams above her head, then down at her feet. The bed she was lying on was huge, ancient and hand-carved. Beyond it, rows of old mahogany shutters stood open, letting in fresh air and beyond those lay blue sky.
Instinct told her this was the big house on the beach at Acapulco. Somehow, by some small miracle, Daniel had arranged to have her delivered here and not some American military emergency post.
She relaxed and looked to her left and realized that part of the answer lay next to her. Daniel, still wearing the black operational overalls and boots, was sprawled on the bed next to her, soundly asleep.
Someone had dressed her in a light cotton robe and she could feel that she was clean and fresh beneath it. Between the White Sands and here, she had been nursed and tended to with the most considerate care.
Olivia had been putting it off. Now she lifted her left hand and looked at it. Just the effort of lifting it set off a minor throbbing. The first three fingers were lightly bandaged, hiding the damage. She bit her lip. She would have to find out later.
Daniel’s fingers stroked the back of her hand. “You got this protecting me again, didn’t you?” He was awake once more.
“You might have fared far worse, rushing into the hotel to rescue all us useless hostages. It evens out.”
He lowered her hand gently onto her stomach, then got off the bed and stretched. He unzipped the coverall. “You can’t keep pulling that bullshit on me, Olivia. I’m way past the point where I’ll actually buy it anymore.”
Her insides jumped. Her heart lurched. She maintained a calm façade. “I’m being perfectly straightforward,” she said with as even a tone as she could manage.
His boots dropped to the ground one after another. So did the coverall. He wore the trousers and shirt beneath that he’d left the hotel in. There was blood on his arm and a bandage around it, just where the muscle bunched into a vee.
He started undoing buttons on the shirt. “Truth for you is as layered as it is for me. I thought we were such polar opposites yet we’re the same, you and I. You got pissed at me about my masks and layers. What about yours?”
She stared at him. “Mine?”
He dropped the shirt. His shoulders gleamed in the soft light of the afternoon. His trousers rested just where the ridge of abdomen muscle dipped down to his pelvis and Olivia could feel her body tightening just at the sight of him. It wasn’t fair. He was pissed at her for some reason she still couldn’t fathom and her thoughts were scattering to the four winds because he was standing there with no shirt.
Damn it.
“Your layers,” he confirmed softly. “Were you ever going to get around to telling me your father is the Chief of Staff to the President of the United States?”
Her stomach dropped. “I never tell anyone that,” she breathed. “I haven’t spoken to him for nearly six years. Until I picked up the phone and yelled for help last night he and I hadn’t exchanged a single word since Jerry and I separated six years ago.”
Daniel tilted his head. “Never? Not a word?”
“Nothing.”
“More and more like me with every passing second.” His hands rose to his trousers and Olivia swallowed as he unfastened them. He stood for a moment lost in thought, the trousers barely hanging from his hips.
Olivia’s breathing quickened.
He dropped the pants absently, stepped out of them and moved around the bed.
She drew in a shuddering breath. She wanted him with a desperate neediness that seemed incredible given her current condition.
Daniel lifted a big, shallow pan of water and carried it over to the windows and balanced it on a chair there. He spread a towel on the floor. “This house is so old it doesn’t run to ensuites,” he explained, dipping a cloth and soap into the water.
He washed himself, in front of the window and in front of her.
Olivia thought she might go mad as she watched the cloth travel all over the curves and dips of his body, making it glimmer in the rays of the sunset. He would rest a foot on the chair and run the cloth from his ankle to his hip, from the outside or along the inner thigh. Then his back and his backside. His arms and chest. She was breathing hard by the time he leisurely reached for a fresh towel and dried himself off, running it over the same limbs and joints.
Then he dropped the towel and prowled over to the bed. From the look on his face, she knew that partly, he had been teasing her.
He climbed onto the bed beside her once more and this time, his thigh rested over hers.
“Tell me what it is you want, Olivia. No lies. No layers. We are both too good at games. We have to get rid of them if we’re to stand any chance of being together.”
Her heart jolted. She looked up at him, hope soaring.
His eyes, the blue eyes of a hot summer day, looked back. Calm. Unflinching. “Yes, I’m talking abo
ut love. I love you. I love you so much that when I realized you’d called in the Americans and left yourself vulnerable I…well, Nick Escobedo is the only man alive who has ever seen me throw up in sheer panic.” He ran a finger down the strip of flesh peeping between the fronts of the robe, making her shudder. “I think I fell in love when you smashed that goddam coffee cup, but definitely when you turned up in those Vistarian boots and the silver buckle. It was as though you were calling yourself mine for the world to see. I just couldn’t admit it. I was too scared.”
He picked up her undamaged hand and kissed the knuckles. “So, no games, Olivia. What do you want?”
“Use Spanish. If we’re to play no games, we do this in Spanish.”
“If you want,” he said, switching to Spanish. “Why?”
“You’re you, in Spanish.”
“You’re not. This is not your language.”
“I want it to be.” She took a breath. “You asked what I want. That’s what I want. Marry me. Now. Today. As soon as we can arrange it. I want…” She took a quick breath. “You speak as if you know Nicholás Escobedo well. That will help. I want asylum, Daniel. More. I want to become a citizen of Vistaria as soon as the papers can be pushed through. If marrying you will make it go faster, then good. I want a Vistarian passport as soon as one can be processed. If you can arrange for me to talk to Nicholás Escobedo, then I want to offer my services as diplomatic or consular official to Vistaria. I’ll work my ass off to make sure the loyalists get a seat at the UN table.”
She shrugged as Daniel stared at her. “I know it’s a lot to ask….”
“Okay,” he said.
Olivia sucked in her breath.
He kissed her. His lips lingered. “Keep still,” he said, his lips moving against her mouth. “You’re injured.”
She struggled to keep still. “You can’t just say ‘okay’ like that. No arguments? Not even to marrying me?”
“No.” His mouth brushed hers once more. “Shall I tell you what I was going to say I wanted?” His hand slithered down her body.
“Yes, tell me.” She was breathless again.
“I was going to tell you I wanted you to marry me now, today, sooner. I want you to come live here in Vistaria and get away from your cantankerous family and your odorous ex and live among my family and my friends instead. I’m going to have to finish this war and help Nick and Duardo win back Vistaria and I want you with me. I want you to go on being devious and political and powerful and full of games and layers and masks, but with everyone else. For me, I want to know if I put my hand in your pocket I’m going to find lace panties and no bra, and they’ll be just for me, my secret, underneath the staid suits.”
Hostage Crisis Page 24