Edge of Fury (Edge Security Series Book 7)

by Trish Loye

  “You have a hard time doing spontaneous things, don’t you?”

  She pinched his arm. “I can be spontaneous.”

  His eyes glinted. “Then show me.” He leaned back in for a kiss.

  Much later, Quinn stepped out of the shower, now twice christened by them. She stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Marc was dressed in his low-slung cargo pants and gray t-shirt, his wet hair slicked back and a bit of stubble lining his jaw. He hadn’t shaved this morning, and she’d discovered how much she liked the feel of it.

  “Damn, woman.” He stared at her towel-wrapped body. “Are you sure we can’t stay here one more day?”

  “Get me some food,” she demanded, unable to hide her smile.

  “Do you always get growly when you’re hungry? I bet you were awesome during training.”

  “Go!” She waved at him while laughing. “I’m going to call Carmen and find out when the plane will be ready.”

  Marc stilled, his face serious. He looked as if he were going to say something, and then his fake smile plastered on his face. “One breakfast coming up, ma’am.” He left the room before she could ask him about whatever thought he’d just had.

  But did she want to know? Something tightened around her chest, making it hard to breathe.

  She sat on the bed. This was ridiculous. She’d only known Marc a few days. They’d slept together and shared a mission. That was it. She rubbed at her chest. She shouldn’t make this out to be anything more than a fun night. Hell, he hadn’t even offered his last name to her. She had no way of finding him after they left Cartagena.

  But oh, she wished otherwise. She’d found a man who was her equal. A man who ran toward danger and had the courage to help others. They fit together, both in and out of bed. But it wasn’t to be. She’d finally met a man she could fall for, and he refused to fall. Damn his stupid rules.

  She reached for the phone to call Carmen, starting when it rang before she touched it. She smiled when she answered. “Buenos dias, Carmen,” she said. “I was just going to call you.”

  “It’s Damien.”

  A chill snaked down her back before her training kicked in, and her pulse calmed, her breathing evened. “How’d you find me?”

  Damien huffed. “My man put a tracker on your friend when you were at the apartment.”

  Shit. The trackers they used could be as small as a grain of rice. Easy enough to attach in a scuffle.

  “What do you want?”

  “Come outside now, and we don’t have to hurt your boyfriend.”

  Did he mean Marc? She’d like to see him try. “Bastard.”

  “Come to the lobby. Don’t make us come get you.”

  Us. Of course he had backup. And she still didn’t know whose side he was on. Time to leave. “Fuck you, Damien.” She grabbed her clothes and started to yank them on. Maybe she could find Marc and slip out the back.

  “I have the place surrounded. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

  She pulled a black t-shirt over her head. She needed more time. “Why did you betray the Crown?”

  “Me? You’re the one who went rogue. I’m just doing my duty by bringing you in.”

  Was he telling the truth? Was he being played just like her? Maybe if he brought her in, then she could get the information to Fletcher still. At least Damien would get her out of Cartagena. Unless—

  “What the hell is he doing here?” Damien muttered over the phone.

  “Who?” She did up her cargo pants. Her boots were by the desk.

  “It doesn’t concern you.”

  Dread crawled up her spine. “Who, Damien?”

  “Just a merc. Timmerman.”

  She stilled at his words. Timmerman worked for Pérez. “How do you know him?”

  “Nelson made me work with him before. Bloody detestable man.”

  Nelson knew Timmerman. Damien’s boss really was dirty. That didn’t mean Damien was, though. If Damien really wasn’t working with Pérez, then— “Timmerman is working for Pérez. You’ve led him right to us. Get out of there.”

  “What?” Damien cursed. “He’s got a gun. Get—”

  There was a scuffle of noise. Then a new voice came on the line.

  “Have I finally caught up to the Diabla Rojo I’ve heard so much about?”

  “Let him go,” Quinn said evenly.

  “You have one minute to get out here,” Timmerman said pleasantly. “Or I will kill the desk clerk. Bring your boyfriend.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” she said. “And he’s not here. He left to meet his team last night.” She pulled the two flash drives from the pocket of her cargos. Hot pink and matte black. She put one back in her pocket and the other on the desk.

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not.” She couldn’t let both of them get caught in this trap. Marc would see that the information got to Fletcher.

  “You now have thirty seconds.”

  Marc could handle himself, but she couldn’t let Carmen get hurt. “I’m on my way.”

  “Bring the flash drive.”

  She hung up and yanked on her boots. She took a moment to write a quick note to Marc and then raced down the hall to the lobby. She had no time to wait for Marc as backup. Would he try to follow her, or would he leave and take the information back to his government?

  Even if he did follow her, Marc alone wouldn’t be enough backup. She made a quick call on her cell before entering the lobby.

  “This is Diabla Rojo,” she said to the gravelly voice of the man who answered. “I have information for you about Pérez.”

  Marc carried the breakfast tray to the room and slipped inside. He stopped just inside the door. The silence of the room warned him something was wrong. He set the tray down quietly on the floor and drew his gun from under his shirt. He moved to the bathroom first.

  Empty.

  Then the patio.

  Empty.

  He frowned. Where was Quinn? A piece of paper with scrawled writing was on the desk. The flash drive sat beside it. Quinn wouldn’t have left that.

  Two steps took him to the desk, and he snatched up the note.

  Pérez found me. Don’t try to follow.

  The mission comes first.

  Get the flash drive to Fletcher.

  Q

  His heart started to thud hard in his chest. She wouldn’t have left willingly. He clenched his jaw and crumpled the note in his fist as a savage feeling made him want to punch the wall.

  She’d quoted his words back to him. She expected him to leave the country with the information. To leave her behind.

  His blood pounded in his ears. Why hadn’t she fought? Why hadn’t she trusted him to help her?

  Because she hadn’t believed that he would. She’d thought he would think the information—the mission—was more important than her.

  He gathered his gear as he put in a call to EDGE.

  Cat answered. “Report.”

  “I need backup ASAP.”

  “Where?”

  He gave the location of Pérez’s compound. “I’m en route right now. They have Quinn.”

  “The SRR operator?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Don’t go in until we get there.”

  “I can’t promise that.”

  “Spooky, that’s an order.”

  “You’re breaking up,” he lied.

  “Spook—”

  He hung up. Quinn had left her weapon and ammo behind, confirming to him that she’d been coerced into leaving. Whoever had her would have taken her weapon, so she’d left it for him. His skin crawled with the thought of her voluntarily walking into Pérez’s clutches. An image of the bruises on Anna Bishop’s face and body came to him.

  He had to get to Quinn. They couldn’t be far ahead of him.

  He raced down the hall to the lobby. No one there but Carmen, waiting at the front desk. She greeted him with a smile.

  No distress on her face or in her eyes.
Whatever had happened, there hadn’t been a fight, which meant Quinn had gone willingly to Pérez. That thought chilled his blood. What did they have on her to make her give up?

  “Carmen.” He laid the flash drive on the counter, getting his mission out of the way. “I need you to mail this express.” He wrote down the address of EDGE Security in Montréal, the cover company for the covert military group. They’d know what to do with the information if he didn’t make it out of this. He laid one hundred dollars down beside it and strode toward the entrance.

  “It won’t cost—”

  “Keep the change,” he called over his shoulder.

  He wasn’t surprised when three men stepped out from a black SUV when he left the hotel. From the way they kept their hands inside their jackets, all three had guns.

  Three men.

  He only needed one alive.

  20

  They’d flown on a small private plane from Cartagena to La Dorada, the closest town with an airport, and been met by another SUV with a driver Quinn didn’t recognize. The drive to Pérez’s compound took only an hour from there. If Marc did decide to follow, it would take him at least eight hours by car.

  A lot could happen in eight hours.

  She swallowed. She couldn’t rely on any kind of backup. It looked as if it was just her and Damien. Both of them sat in the back seat with their hands zip-tied behind their backs.

  Damien sported a swelling eye where Timmerman had used the butt of his gun to strike him.

  The SUV stopped in front of the main doors. Four more guards appeared on the wraparound porch, with AR-15s slung over their shoulders. Another two walked around the side of the house. Her heart sank. Looked like Pérez had increased security.

  “Let’s go.” Timmerman slid out of the vehicle.

  He opened the back door for her. She scooted out of the vehicle. “Why does Pérez need us?” she said. “I gave you the flash drive.”

  “No talking,” Timmerman said. “I don’t care if you’re a woman. I’ll hit you just as easily as I hit him.”

  Asshole.

  She and Damien followed him inside. In the marble foyer, Pérez stood at the top of the circular stairs, wearing a white dress shirt and tan slacks. He looked as though he were going to a business luncheon. His gaze narrowed on her. “Dr. McKenzie, my Diabla Rojo,” he said. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again.”

  “I can’t say the same.”

  “Of course not.” He started down the steps. “You betrayed my trust,” he said softly. “You’ll regret that decision.”

  “We have the flash drive,” Timmerman said.

  Pérez waved a hand at one of the house guards who had materialized when they’d entered. “Check it.”

  Timmerman handed over the empty flash drive Quinn had given him. It wouldn’t be long now before they discovered her deception.

  Pérez walked straight to her. She almost took a step back. This wasn’t going to end well for her, but no amount of her begging or fear would dissuade him from punishing her for her betrayal. So she refused to cower from him.

  He stopped too close and trailed a finger down her cheek. “It’ll almost be a shame to cut this creamy skin.”

  A chill went through her, and she swallowed down her fear. “I gave you the flash drive. I don’t know what’s on it. Why don’t you let us go?”

  “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

  “No. Unfortunately, you’re quite smart. You are a bastard, though.”

  Now he laughed. “There’s my Diabla Rojo.” He gripped her chin hard and kissed her, forcing his tongue into her mouth. He tasted of coffee. She tried to bite his tongue and only managed to scrape it with her teeth.

  He backhanded her. Pain exploded in her cheek, and her head whipped to the side with the force of the blow.

  “Stop!” Damien shouted.

  One of the guards put a gun to Damien’s head.

  Quinn shook her head at him. “I’m fine.”

  Pérez grinned. “You won’t be for long.”

  The guard with the flash drive came back, a fearful look on his face. “There is nothing on the drive.”

  Pérez spun to him. “Say that again.”

  “I couldn’t find any information on the drive,” the man squeaked.

  This time the strike sent Quinn to the floor. The pain seared her, knocking all thought from her. God, had the bone cracked around her eye? It certainly felt like it. Someone hauled her to her feet. It took a moment for her to stand on her own.

  “If I deal with you now, I will kill you faster than I want to.” Pérez nodded to Timmerman. “Take them to the basement. You know what to do.”

  Marc figured he was about an hour behind Quinn. The guard he’d left alive had obligingly told him their plans to kidnap him and use him as leverage. And about the plane they had at the Cartagena airport. He dislocated the man’s arm and held it to control him as they maneuvered through the airport to the private plane area. Marc had told the man he would live if he didn’t cry out.

  Once Marc had the plane in sight, it was time to get rid of the guard. But he was true to his word and tied the man up and leaving him in a supply closet. He did a fast preflight and called the radio tower for takeoff. They must have known the plane was one of Pérez’s because no one questioned him.

  The flight to La Dorada was quick and smooth. Again, the radio tower let him land with no questions asked. That, if anything, told him the grip Pérez had on this area.

  There was no waiting SUV here, but it didn’t matter. He left the airport and perused the parking lot before choosing a white pickup. Within moments, he was driving east to Pérez’s compound, taking back roads and trying to come up with a plan.

  He had two guns with two magazines each. The smart thing to do would be to watch the compound and wait for his team, but he couldn’t do that. The thought of what was happening to Quinn right now made the blood rush in his ears and his breathing pick up. He couldn’t wait for his team—who were at least another couple of hours behind him, if not more—but he couldn’t help Quinn if he wasn’t focused. Shit, he hadn’t felt like this since—

  Since he’d found out about Ilona.

  Fuck, how had this do-gooder wormed her way into his life so quickly?

  He squeezed the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened. Now wasn’t the time to think about that or Quinn in Pérez’s hands.

  He had to be cold and calculated. He deepened his breathing, holding his breaths for a four count and breathing out for a four count. His heart rate came down, and he could think again.

  He would get Quinn out, or they’d both die trying.

  He parked the truck near the area Quinn and he had last searched for Anna Bishop. A pang of regret twisted his insides. He’d never told Quinn that Bishop lived.

  Marc shoved the extra mags for the weapons in his pockets and left the keys in the truck. He kept his Sig Sauer in hand and put Quinn’s Glock into his waist holster. The path wasn’t as hard to find, now that he knew where to look. He ran along it silently. It would bring him out into the back area of the compound near the tennis court.

  He had two tactical options: go in guns blazing or covert.

  It was afternoon, so covert was going to be hard. He stopped once the main house came in sight, well within the dense jungle that separated the compound from the neighboring coca fields. He climbed a tree to see over the wall. Two guards patrolled outside. Two more on the roof and one stood at each corner of the house that he could see. He’d wager there were more guards both inside and out.

  How was he going to get to the house without being shot?

  He needed a diversion. Something big. Fuck, he wished he had Cat here with some of her little homemade bombs. He stopped and eyed the house and then the guards on the roof. They had an unobstructed view of the compound, the wilderness and the surrounding coca fields.

  Perfect.

  Quinn choked back a scream as the knife cut a shallow line into her un
protected back. They’d taken her shirt, but left her bra, before handcuffing her to a chain looped through a hook in the ceiling. Her feet barely touched the floor as she swayed, the weight of her body on her protesting shoulders.

  “Tell me what you did with the information,” Timmerman said in a bored voice.

  “Get the fuck away from her, you prick,” Damien yelled from where he sat tied to a chair.

  Timmerman looked at the guard by the door and jerked his head at Damien. The burly guard used his rifle butt to strike Damien in the gut and then in the face. Damien grunted and then his head lolled to one side.

  Fuck. Had they killed him? “Damien?”

  He didn’t answer, but his chest continued to rise and fall.

  The blade once again touched her, an inch below the other three stripes across her upper back.

  “Tell me what I want to know.” Timmerman didn’t wait for an answer before he dug the edge of the blade into her skin and dragged it across her back. She gasped and arched away from the pain, but Timmerman’s hand gripped her shoulder to hold her in place.

  She panted through the pain when the blade lifted. Though that hurt as well. The guards had roughed both her and Damien up before dragging them downstairs. One of her ribs might be cracked, given the pain she felt with every breath.

  Her mind whirled with ideas, thoughts of escape; panic beginning to eat away at her reason.

  She couldn’t give in.

  Timmerman walked around to her front. His flat gaze was cold behind his glasses as he stared at her blood dripping off the knife he held. “It’s a simple question.”

  “I told you. I put it in a safe spot,” she said. “Let us go, and I’ll give you the location.”

  “Do you really believe you’re going to make it out of here alive?” He shook his head in mock sadness. “Poor woman. You’re either going to die slowly, or extremely slowly. It just depends on how moved Pérez is by your begging.” He leaned close. “If I were you, I’d start practicing now.”

  Instead of scaring her, his words pissed her off. Fuck them all. “If I were you,” she snarled back, “then I’d leave. By now my partner has given the information over to our governments and is on his way with backup. You don’t have long to live.”