Attie felt the blood drain from her face. She couldn’t speak. Didn’t like hearing Seth’s name spoken on Carlos’s lips. Somehow he had found out who they were, who they worked for. How, no one knew.
“Did you know that I was planning to expose the two of you the day you tried to escape?” Carlos asked, watching her through those dark eyes.
Something cold and dark slipped down her spine as the words sank in. Carlos had known the truth before Noah ordered their extraction. He had been planning on killing them. That was what he did to traitors. She had seen enough of Carlos’s private justice to know that.
Dear God, Noah’s orders saved their lives. It was her fault that Seth was dead.
“You knew?”
“Of course. Did you think you could hide from me?”
Her mind reeled. “So you knew about us before Seth showed up unassigned?”
“Yes, and that is why I took great pleasure in slitting your partner’s throat just as the sun rose the morning after you were put in my cells. It was almost poetic.”
Attie stared at Carlos, hating him more now than she ever had before. And hating herself for being too stubborn to know when to quit. Her determination to prove herself had gotten Seth killed. She had blamed Noah all along for something that was her fault.
She reeled from what he’d just said. The morning after? He killed Seth the morning after? That meant…oh, God, she hadn’t really heard the whispers or the sounds of torture. She’d imagined it. Everything she’d believed until now had been wrong. The whispers had been in her mind and not reality.
Everyone had been right. Uncle Jed, Brendan, Noah, ATCOM. They all tried to tell her Seth had already been dead when they rescued her. That the whispers she heard were her way of coping with her imprisonment.
Looking down, she held out her shaking hands. They were covered in blood. Noah, Seth, the agent they lost. All because she was too stubborn to see the truth. Too weak to face the past.
With sudden clarity she realized the whispers had been her survival mechanism. Seth had been her lifeline and if it hadn’t been for him, she never would have survived the brutal punishment.
All this time she’d been blind to the truth and so caught up in her own guilt that she couldn’t see what was right in front of her. Noah had saved her life by following his instincts and sending Seth in. He had done what he could with the information he received and she had blamed him for it. God, she was a fool. All this time. All the misery. And now it was too late.
Weary, Attie pushed her plate away and stared at Carlos. “I hate you,” she said, her voice low and raw.
Carlos smiled. “He told me I would never break you.”
Attie lunged across the table, wanting to strangle him with her bare hands. She didn’t care what he did to her anymore. When he killed Seth and Noah and took Brendan, he’d destroyed her life. All she could think was to destroy his.
She shouted at him as she went for his throat, but he wasn’t going to let her near him. Someone grabbed her from behind and dragged her forcefully off the table.
Carlos motioned for his guards to remove her and the next thing she knew she was being towed from the room.
“I’ll kill you, Carlos,” she shouted as the door closed behind her. “I swear you won’t make it out of this mountain alive!”
* * * *
“What the hell is going on?”
Gabe rubbed the back of his neck, frustration mounting. They’d gone in circles all day, finding nothing. No sign of Noah and Attie. No sign of Santiago. No sign of Brendan. It was like they’d disappeared.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Rogan said, angrily closing his laptop. “They have to be here somewhere. I’m still picking up the device.”
“Maybe Noah’s pack is here.”
Rogan shook his head. “We would have found it. No, they’re on this mountain somewhere.”
Colin took a swig of water and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hidden lair?”
Gabe pursed his lips, looking around him. They were back where they started. “Maybe,” he murmured.
Kyle stood uphill, staring at the mountain wall in front of them.
“I’d pick up something on the structure,” Rogan said. “If there was one here, we’d know it.”
“Could be underground.”
“I’d still pick up something. There’s nothing.”
Gabe was at a loss. Where to go next? Noah and Attie were here; they just couldn’t find them. In all his years as a Ranger and an agent he’d never come across anything like this before. There was always a lead, a trail to follow. A breadcrumb.
“We can call the chopper and have Newberry do an aerial scan.”
Gabe shook his head at Rogan. “Too risky.”
“Then we’re out of options,” Rogan said. “What are we supposed to do?”
“I don’t know,” Gabe said, watching Kyle stare at the rock.
“What’s his deal?” Rogan asked, following Gabe’s gaze.
Colin answered. “Who focking knows. Probably gauging how much C4 he needs to blow up that piece of rock.”
Gabe wasn’t so sure. He’d seen that look on Kyle’s face before. He was onto something. The man didn’t talk much, but when he did, it was important.
Chapter 22
Attie stalked the eight-by-eight cell. She never thought she’d be in this place again. Antonio had done a good job designing the room to resemble the prison cells Carlos had beneath his estate. The one he’d held her in. Tortured her in for three days.
All part of Carlos’s game. She tried to fight it, but it was getting harder and harder. The waiting was wearing her down. She knew he would come. And he would bring his tools of the trade. Probably the same ones he’d used on her before.
Fear clawed at her, but she forced it back. She had to keep a clear head if she was going to get out of here alive and with her brother. Noah was gone. It was up to her now. She had to stay strong.
Dropping down on all fours, she started an exercise routine that would keep her mind focused. The lights hadn’t been turned out yet so she was okay for now. Soon Carlos would turn them off because he knew how much she hated the dark. In the dark she was defenseless and he would use that to weaken her. He would be disappointed to find history would not repeating itself.
When Carlos came for her she would be ready.
Her boots had been removed, leaving her without her knife, but she still had her mind and her training. She was good in hand-to-hand combat, though she didn’t want to go one on one with Carlos again. It only reminded her how she’d lost Noah.
Sometime later she was breathing heavily and sweating from the workout she’d put her body through. But she felt better. Stronger. More in control.
This waiting stripped her of her patience and made her restless. She wanted to get this over with.
“Come and get me, Carlos,” she shouted to the empty room. I’m ready.
The lights went off without warning.
It was time.
Attie took deep, cleansing breaths as blackness enveloped her. The air lodged in her throat as she struggled to breathe.
Use your other senses. Trust them.
Antonio’s voice floated through her cell and her head snapped up. She knew he wasn’t in there with her, but it sounded like he was. He had been preparing her for this. The man was an enigma she couldn’t explain, but she was grateful to him as she focused on her breathing and started listening for things she couldn’t see.
Water running through pipes above her. The gentle whisper of air as it drifted into her cell through a vent in the ceiling. She was still in control of her surroundings. No need to fear anything in this room.
Sheri, Max’s personal secretary, had invited her to go to a yoga class with her a couple times, but Attie had refused. Yoga was not her style. She was more interested in going a few rounds with a punching bag or sparring partner instead of one on one time with a foam mat. Now, she was wishing maybe sh
e’d gone along and learned the relaxation techniques. Helped find her inner peace.
Before it turned into another regret, Attie pushed the thought away. Maybe, when she returned home, she would give Sheri a call and take her up on the offer.
Breathing normally, Attie turned to face the door. In her mind’s eye she imagined the cell, where the door was, where she stood and how far away she was from it. How many paces it would take to reach it. She played through her mind how she would attack when Carlos came through the door.
He would expect her to be defenseless in the dark. The element of surprise was on her side, so she lowered herself into position to attack and waited. Her heart beat like a drum. She could hear it in the darkness, but it didn’t scare her. It gave her strength, reminding her she was still alive and in control.
She was no longer the hunted.
She was the hunter.
* * * *
The door whispered as it opened for her visitor.
She sprung and attacked the man as he came through, hitting him full force and knocking him backward out of the cell. He grunted when he hit and she immediately went for his jugular. But he blocked her hands and rolled her over to gain the upper hand. Her hands brushed something on his face, covering his eyes. She recognized the Night Vision Goggles and cursed as he shoved her back inside the cell. Bastard never did play fair.
Hinges creaked as the door closed. Crouched in a fighter’s stance, she smelled Carlos’s sweet cologne, heard the scuff of his shoe on the floor directly in front of her. Relying on her senses, she struck out in a roundhouse kick that would take any man to his knees. She connected with his ribs and adrenaline surged.
The return blow to her midsection was expected but she didn’t move fast enough. He hit her with enough force to knock the breath out of her, but it didn’t keep her down. If she kept moving, he wouldn’t be able to reach her.
In her mind she envisioned the cell and moved around it, imagining Carlos as her punching bag. She delivered kicks and jabs with two out of three striking the target. She received more in return, but held her own until the lights were suddenly turned on. She blinked and went still.
Carlos tossed his goggles aside. A steel box sat inside the door. She froze with recollection of what was in that toolbox. She shook her head and backed up until she bumped into the wall.
“You remember, don’t you, mi amor?” Carlos asked softly.
“How could I forget?”
“I was hoping you hadn’t.” As he spoke, he slipped on a pair of leather gloves and Attie’s stomach dropped to her feet. She wasn’t up for this. She couldn’t let him torture her again. She had barely survived last time.
“When is this going to be over, Carlos?”
He smiled. “Soon. Very soon.”
“I want to see my brother.”
“Soon, I promise.”
He knelt down, opened the toolbox, pulled out a long, metal device and slowly rose.
He stalked toward her.
* * * *
Someone was pressing a cool cloth to her forehead and speaking softly to her. Attie pried her heavy eyelids open and grabbed the hand touching her cheek, but her strength fled and her hand dropped back down to her side. Her mind couldn’t wrap around where she was or who helped her.
She stared into the dark eyes of an elderly woman with wrinkled skin. The woman started speaking in Spanish and patting her arm. Comforting her. She was a healer, here to help her get better. It hurt too much to think. Carlos would only send a healer for one reason: to finish what he’d started. He hadn’t wanted to kill her, just punish her. The same as he had a year ago.
Everything came back with painful clarity and Attie stifled a sob as pain wracked her heart and body. Carlos had taken her back to that prison cell. She could feel the marks on her body, the pain, and smell the blood.
She’d put up a good fight. But as before, he’d gotten the best of her, using weapons against her she had no hope of defeating.
Attie tried to sit up, to push the woman away, but she didn’t have the strength. Or will.
He won. She couldn’t do this anymore. She’d lost a fellow agent, her lover, and now her brother. Carlos wouldn’t let him live. It wasn’t in his nature. He would kill Brendan to punish her.
Too exhausted to stop the woman, Attie fell back against the pillows and looked around through eyes that swam with tears. A bedroom. Small and quaint and smelling like herbs. She didn’t remember being brought here. The last thing she remembered was Carlos’s vow to never let her go before she slipped into oblivion. Which meant one of two things. He was going to kill her or he was going to try and keep her. If Carlos wanted to keep her he would, through death, or worse, through life.
She would die before she ever became his again.
The old woman rubbed a hand over Attie’s belly. Attie glanced down to see she was naked beneath the sheet, and shook her head in confusion.
“Bebe,” the woman said.
Attie went very still. Baby? There was no way to know if she was pregnant. It was too soon. She shook her head. The movement sent a wave of nausea and dizziness through her.
“Bebe,” the woman repeated, and pressed the cloth to Attie’s forehead.
Attie didn’t have the energy to argue. All she wanted was sleep, and to forget about the pain in her heart and body. She couldn’t think about a baby right now. She had to heal so she could get to her brother. The woman was old and probably senile.
She slipped into a restless sleep, her thoughts disturbed.
* * * *
The old woman visited her frequently and treated her wounds. The subject of her alleged pregnancy wasn’t mentioned again, but the woman looked at Attie with tenderness that was almost her undoing. It made her miss her mother and wish she was home on the ranch.
Carlos didn’t visit, but she knew he watched her.
Her dreams were troubled. They weren’t her normal nightmares. They were scattered with Uncle Jed, Brendan, her parents, Noah and childhood friends. It was almost as if she remembered only the good times in her life and none of the bad.
She dreamed of celebrating her birthday with her parents when she turned seven and blowing out the candles on a giant pink cake. Brendan had put candles on that re-lit every time she blew them out and got quite a laugh out of her efforts.
She drifted in and out of events in her life. It had been a long time since she’d remembered the past. It made her feel melancholy. She could only assume the old woman had given her something to make her sleep and dream like this.
She was taken back to the time she’d learned to ride a horse on the ranch and discovered rock climbing with Brendan. They had a lot of fun together over the years.
The tail end of the dreams involved Noah, most upsetting of all. They were in a house she didn’t recognize cooking dinner together. Noah was wearing a white apron tied around his waist that was a little more than feminine and standing over the stove stirring something in a pan while she stood next to him chopping vegetables on a wooden cutting board.
They were talking and laughing about something and exchanged an occasional kiss that tended to linger. She woke up with a start and found herself alone in her room. Bone-deep loneliness and regret filled her, so she turned into her pillow and let the tears fall. She had been holding them in for over six months. She cried for the man she had come to love and lost. She cried over what she’d endured at the hands of this madman in the past and present. Over losing Seth and for involving Brendan in this sick game. She let her tears cleanse her soul and comfort her, when all she wanted was to close her eyes and never wake up because the pain consumed her.
And when the tears were gone she climbed out of bed, stiffened her resolve and didn’t allow herself to recall the dreams after that. She spent her time getting stronger and waiting for Carlos. She focused her attention on what she had to do and not what she had lost.
Carlos may have broken her, but she wasn’t beaten. She could put herself
back together again. Carlos wanted her on her knees, begging for mercy. She had never begged a day in her life. Not the first time he tried to break her, and not now.
Her pain was buried deep, saved for later when she could process it. Noah had taught her how to categorize pain, where to shove it down deep and how to use it. He’d taught her how to survive.
Now, she would use those skills.
Carlos would not win this game. And he wouldn’t know he had almost won. As long as she still had breath in her body, she’d fight. For her brother and for her country. Because Carlos Santiago needed to be eliminated. She’d almost done it once. This time she would succeed.
She would beat him at his own game.
* * * *
“Are you ready?”
Attie glared at Carlos and allowed him to lead her into a darkened room. She stiffened, then relaxed. Why bother to hide it? Carlos already knew about her fear of the dark. He used it against her whenever he could.
Their footsteps echoed as they walked. She sensed movement around her, though she couldn’t pinpoint it. She stopped dead in her tracks when she heard the cry of a cat. Not a house cat but a large, predatory cat. The cry was followed by the sound of splintering wood. Good God, Carlos was going to pit her against a wild animal?
Girding herself for a fight, Attie waited.
Beside her Carlos squeezed her shoulder. “This is the last test. Due to unexpected circumstances I was forced to alter the game a little, but it has only made it better.”
Tension built in the air. She could sense Carlos’s excitement and knew this was going to be big.
“Here we go. Look in front of you and don’t look away. I want to watch you.”
Attie turned her attention to the room in front of her as the lights slowly came on. Dim at first, so all she could see were silhouettes. Then, degree by agonizing degree she was allowed to see what waited for her.
A caged arena came into view. Steel bars stood ten feet in the air on all four sides and across the top. No way out except for a padlocked door. Inside were three silhouettes.
The Maze (ATCOM) Page 23