His fingers glided over the weapon. Smooth. Solid. Brock grabbed it, ran through his check of parts and pieces. Loaded, unloaded. Tested the sight. Felt the balance. “This will work.”
He selected a few smaller guns that he could tuck into his waistband and secure around his thighs and grabbed their accompanying ammo. Boxes sat next to the table. “What’s in there?”
Dead Eyes nodded approval for him to lift the top. Flashlights. After bouncing several vague plans in Brock’s head about how he’d take on a house he’d never seen and had no schematics on, he hadn’t come up with much. But flashlights he could work with. He scooped several up and tucked them under his arm. “Think I’m good now.”
Dead Eyes had little to say but offered him an empty box to carry his new cargo. No telling who this man was, but he’d offered the best he had, which was pretty damn good, and Brock was indebted to him.
His plan formed into more vague details as he walked to the car and saw Sarah’s face shadowed in the window. What to do about Sarah. Looking into the box, Brock couldn’t picture any of the firearms shooting as simply as they did on television.
He turned around, caught Dead Eyes staring. “Do you have something… defensive? Point and shoot. Nothing fancy. Very reliable.”
Dead Eyes looked over Brock’s shoulder, toward the Hummer. The man raised his eyebrows, tilted his head, and asked his question without saying a word.
“Yes.” Brock hated to admit Sarah sat in the vehicle. But he’d left it running, and Dead Eyes, for all he lacked in conversation, didn’t seem to miss a thing. “For her.”
Turning on bare heels, Dead Eyes walked to the back of the shack, and Brock followed. After opening a drawer then unwrapping a cloth, his gun dealer handed Brock a simple Glock. Ten-round capacity magazine. God willing, more than Sarah would never need. Lightweight. It would fit in her palm and had a reputation for high consistency—a trustworthy weapon.
“I owe you for this one.”
The corner of Dead Eyes’ mouth lifted. Maybe a grin. Maybe only an acknowledgement. “Be safe.”
That was the focal point of Brock’s quickly expanding plan. Save his marriage. Then rescue the girl. Now, keep safe his wife.
CHAPTER NINE
The last crack of the fiery sun sank over the ocean as Brock maneuvered farther away from the resort portion of Saint Lucia. It’d been a long day that wasn’t slowing down anytime soon. Brilliant, diamond-like stars painted the heavens, and it would’ve been ideal, driving down a winding road, Sarah grasping on to his hand, if they hadn’t been on their way toward his definition of hell.
Brock bet Mia would say his agreeing to bring Sarah onto the job had bad news written all over it. Mia would say he shouldn’t take his traumatized wife into a situation with guns and a kidnapped victim. Anyone would say that, dumbass. It didn’t take a therapist to know this adventure might be too close to what Sarah had just survived.
“I’m a crappy husband,” Brock grumbled and tried to ignore everything that Mia would say he was doing wrong.
“What? Romantic drive. Dinner under the stars.” Sarah squeezed his hand. “What’s not to love?”
Dinner, my ass. He snagged protein bars and Powerades from a convenience store when they gassed up the Hummer. That was before he pulled over to an abandoned area and taught her the basics of point-and-shoot. Funny thing was, she got it the first time around. Not dead-center accuracy, but she held her own with a decent position and solid grip, and she understood his strategy for their job. Sarah had asked solid questions about their maneuvers and how to handle tactical adjustments.
“So…” Sarah let go of his hand and swiveled in her chair. Her seat belt stayed on, thank God. It was still the only decent safety measure that had gone into today’s plans.
“So?” Maybe she had cold feet. He could hide her somewhere near the trafficker’s house. Leaving Sarah armed and sitting in a ditch was far superior to bringing her into danger. Maybe Sarah’s nerves and panic were too much. He didn’t want her to experience another freak-out, but he would take advantage if the situation allowed it.
“If the girls and I come home—”
He gave a quick shake of the head. “You wanna talk about that? Now?” His grip on the steering wheel tightened. He needed to focus on the job, on keeping Sarah safe. Then they could look toward the future.
She ignored him. “If we come home, I want to enroll the girls in a normal school like they are now. They’re enjoying it and thriving.”
“Glad to hear that, but this isn’t the best time to discuss schools.”
“Why not?”
“For one, we’re here.” He had driven up the road and back, pinpointing with a decent level of certainty the coordinates mapped by the Hummer’s GPS readout. “And second, you need to focus. We both do.”
Sarah stared out the tinted windows. They were surrounded by thick foliage on both sides of the road. “I don’t see anything.”
“There should be a house down that driveway. Maybe about a half mile back.”
“Oh.” Her voice faltered.
Hesitation. That was his in. “Angel, why don’t you stay? Sit in the driver’s seat. I’ll get the girl. It’ll be easy. We’ll come out. You’ll be the getaway driver.” That sounds adventurous, right? Sarah could get her fix, be part of the rescue op, and Brock would have a better chance of her making it home without a traumatized breakdown. Hell, he’d have a better chance of her making it home alive.
“Can it, Brock.” Her arms crossed her chest. “I’m coming with you. You said you needed backup. That it’d be safer with a partner. I want to make this job safer for you. You’ve told me what to do, and I’m doing it. I can’t hide.” She glanced out the window and turned back. Her copper eyes were made of steel. “I won’t. It’s a deal breaker. Let me be part of this. Let me see you at work.”
At work? Weeks ago, she’d had an idea of what he did but nothing concrete. Now she sat next to him, readying for an extraction. His shoulders sagged. The gravity of the evening’s events weighed on his chest, suffocating him. He’d gone along with this charade long enough. “No, this isn’t going to work. I can’t risk you. A million things can happen.”
“And you’ve explained how we handle those problems.”
He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. The sweat dotting his temples had nothing to do with the island temperature. The reaction was one hundred percent nerves. “Then I won’t do this job—”
“Think we’ve already decided that you’re saving that teenager.”
Holy hell, they were going to do this. “You remember our plan?”
“Yes. You recited it a hundred times before we got here.”
Sitting less than half a mile from their extraction point, he would explain one hundred and one if he needed to. But she didn’t give him the chance. Unclicking her seat belt, Sarah popped open her door. Brock said a prayer and lumbered out his door, feeling the weight of the Hummer resting on his back. The stakes were too high.
He met her by the trunk to arm up. Sarah held her Glock, as instructed, then took her pile of flashlights.
The black night blanketed them. They had a few thousand yards between the Hummer’s location and their first assessment point. “Stay on my six.”
“Six?”
“My six o’clock. Behind me.”
“Behind you,” she repeated. “Just like we talked about.”
Yeah, he was repeating himself. She had listened. Of course she had. Sarah was smart. Sure wasn’t trying to get herself killed.
They pushed through the thick foliage. Tiny insects buzzed and crawled over them as he pushed toward the house. No complaints and no reactions from Sarah as she kept pace. By the time his eyes were accustomed to the dark, they were at their assessment spot.
Brock focused the binoculars. The two-story house was impressive but locally built. That was a bonus. Nothing caught his eye that would be considered high tech in the surveillance department. A basic
six-foot perimeter fence wrapped around. A few security guards wandered inside, occasionally popping outside for a smoke break, but they acted as if they were taking it easy. All in all, it was a low-key, averagely protected bunker. Brock had infiltrated hardier buildings with tighter security measures.
He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close. He smeller her hair and whispered against her cheek, “Last chance, angel. Man the car? Let me do this alone?”
She must’ve remembered his strict instructions not to speak, and she shook her head.
Well, damn it. Let’s do this. “I love you.”
She nodded again.
All right then. She followed the rules, like he did more often than not. Time to get this mission moved into the done column.
He left her with the binoculars and checked the perimeter of the house to confirm his initial assumptions. Security was minimal. The trafficking group was relaxed, treating this house as a safe spot. Definitely an advantage.
Brock took Sarah’s hand in his, and they maneuvered until it was time to crawl across an open lawn. At his cue, she handed him her package of flashlights and then belly crawled to a row of air conditioning units.
He moved to the front door, set a remote charge, then ducked past a side door to a hedge line. After unbundling the flashlights and then a few laser-sighted scopes, he pushed them into the bushes, using the twigs and branches to hold each in place.
They pointed toward the door, and he clicked them on. The bush was lit up, polka-dotted with white streams of flashlight and the red lasers of the scope sights. The bushes beamed at anyone who exited the side door. It looked like a lot of armed men hid in the bushes with their scopes sighted on the side door. Good.
A few seconds later, Brock was by Sarah’s side and shoving a mixture of paper and garbage into a ventilation point. They had only a few seconds before someone saw the lights outside. “You ready?”
She gave a thumbs-up then held out one matchbook, keeping another for herself. Her fingers grazed his knuckles with the exchange. It stopped his heart and reminded him how much was on the line. But she wasn’t staring doe-eyed at him. Her face was concentrated. Focused. God, he loved her.
All right. Go time. He struck the matches, lit the kindling, and kissed her cheek before running around the corner.
Time ticked by. Each nanosecond an eternity. Sarah was supposed to keep the kindling lit, stuffing more papers in when the burners turned to ash.
Smoke faintly scented the air. It would be overwhelming soon enough with those fast-burn papers, giving off a chemical smell. Brock hit the remote button for the blasting caps. The front door exploded.
Inside, yells and orders to move sounded. With the front door assumed as the breaching point, the traffickers would take defensive action initially. Anyone important would be hustled to the line of waiting cars behind the house, via the closest exit—the side door.
As expected, the side door flew open. Weapons drawn, they fired at the flashlights and scope beams, battling with the bushes. Brock watched for the girl. Watched and waited. No kidnapped girl. Only a semi-guarded man with a flak jacket haphazardly covering his chest was rushed out the door. Must be their head honcho. Not his mark, but damn if Brock didn’t want to take the bastard out. But he couldn’t do so without giving away his location.
By now, Sarah should have been safely positioned on the outskirt of the fence, ready to meet him and the teenager. Vehicles peeled down the driveway, deserting the house. Good defensive move on the trafficker’s part, but bad news for his extraction target. Either the teenage girl was sold already, or she hadn’t lived through the initial pickup.
He needed to double-check. Just to be certain. Even if only to report back a grim truth. Brock ducked inside, sweeping his gaze and clearing each room. No girl.
First floor. Done.
He moved fast up the stairs. No telling if the trafficker’s security team had called for reinforcements or planned to drop their boss someplace safe and were regrouping to battle. Brock continued his fast inspection. Last room. He cracked the door.
The girl.
Thank God.
But why had they left her? Probably dead. No blood. No obvious sign of trauma, but she didn’t move.
Her hands were cuffed to one of several metal hooks in the wall. Brock’s stomach turned, knowing that, at one time or another, each hook had had a poor girl tied to it. Heaven help those girls now. But he could help this one. Working fast, he checked her. Faint pulse. Alive.
She was probably drugged. The smoky haze wouldn’t help her case. He tested the ligatures around her wrists. Secure but pickable. With a few tries, he’d unfastened the locks, and her arms hung dead by her side. Brock threw her over his shoulder and ran toward the stairs.
Two steps at a time, the smoke burned his eyes. He rounded toward the side door and saw headlights flying up the driveway. Then another pair of headlights arrived.
Change of plans—he moved to the front door. The girl began to come to. The light kick of her legs turned into a full-scale thrash. She screamed, and he pulled her off his shoulder, clamping a hand over her mouth.
“I’m the good guy.”
He removed his hand, but her disoriented eyes said she didn’t comprehend. Hands back over her mouth, he cradled her and jumped through the remnants of the blasted front door.
Another set of headlights rolled up and parked in the yard. Problematic. They were too close to his exit strategy, but more importantly, they were parked too close to where Sarah was supposed to be.
Holding the girl to his chest, he tried again. “Everything’s okay. Your parents sent me. We’re getting you home.”
He lifted his hand off her mouth, and she stayed quiet. Good, because he needed to check for Sarah. Fear shredded his guts as the vehicle drove into the yard, using its headlights to scan the area. It stopped, highlighting Sarah’s waiting spot. No.
Where was she? Sweat poured down his back as Brock searched the perimeter. Two men got out of their car, walking toward—movement caught his peripheral. Sarah!
She had smartly moved away from the men and the headlights, but also away from an exit.
Brock focused the disoriented teenager’s gaze on him. “We’re moving again.”
He held his rifle outstretched in one arm and picked the girl up, running them both along a wall. Searching voices floated through the night. Sarah didn’t see him coming and gasped as he swooped in, pulling them all behind the protective cover of another hedge line.
Both women leaned against the thick bush, eyeing him. He put a finger to his lips and peered over the top of the bush. Every light in the house was on. The traffickers knew the girl was gone.
Another vehicle pulled up, and two dogs got out, pulling on their leashes and lurching men Brock’s size around like they were playthings.
Brock dropped to his knees. “We have to go.”
Angry, rabid barks howled through the house. No doubt, they were picking up the girl’s scent. He had enough bullets to mow down incoming attacks but had no idea what kind of firepower the enemy housed. If Brock tipped off their location, the traffickers could easily end their night with a grenade launcher.
Sarah nodded, placing a protective arm around the girl. “Ready.”
The determination in his wife’s eyes made him proud, but there wasn’t time for that. The teenager nodded, barely understanding her role in being saved. The dogs and their handlers returned to the backyard. Rough commands and harsh barks were way too close.
Brock moved them behind the hedges, to the fence. A click sounded as the dogs were released. Running. Howling. Barking.
If he could get the girls away, he could take out the dogs and deal with attacks. Sarah put her hands on the wall. Brock leveraged her foot up and her toss over the fence. She crashed loudly on the other side. Next up, the teenager. He did the same move and heard the same sound on the other side, but he also heard Sarah reassuring the rescued girl.
“Go
!” He made sure Sarah remembered the plan.
A quick check over his shoulder showed the dogs on him. No time to aim his gun. He palmed the top of the fence and pulled up, kicking one leg—
Goddamn it!
Pain seared his leg. The attack dog bit, and razor-sharp teeth shredded into his calf. His uninjured leg kicked behind him, trying to free the steel trap of that dog’s mouth. No luck, no release. He would have to pull the dog over the fence with him and—
White-hot pain clasped his other leg, spiraling from his limb into his chest. He lost his ability to breathe. His eyes and teeth clenched shut. Horrible waves of agony washed through him. The second dog’s latch ground deep into his thigh. Both dogs, easily one hundred pounds each, tore into his flesh, tossing him side to side as their heads snarled and snapped.
Brock growled back at the mauling animals. He heaved himself up, carrying the two hundred pounds of canine that stayed attached. His biceps quaked. His chest thundered, but he could make it.
Both dogs released suddenly. Their retreat did nothing to ease his mangled muscles. Brock’s head swam. Must be the blood loss. He grunted as he deadlifted his leg onto the wall.
Two hands grabbed the back of his shirt. Shit. Arms reaching for the sky, he free fell to the ground. The impact knocked his breath away, turning his world black. His legs screamed in violent pain. Brock opened his eyes and stared into the barrels of two AR-15s.
“Go!” bellowed from his lungs. He pleaded with God that Sarah was already on foot, running toward safety. “Go.”
A boot kicked his temple. Stars exploded and quickly dissolved to black.
CHAPTER TEN
Go. Sarah had already been on the run, dragging the teenager with her, but Brock’s voice somehow echoed into the night. Go. His voice played over and over as she slapped through island undergrowth. Branches sliced at her face, and she had no idea if they were headed toward safety. Instinct pulled her, and that was all she had to go on.
Behind her, all went silent. No more shouts. No more dogs. No more gunshots. It felt like hours had passed since Brock had yelled from the opposite side of the wall. He hadn’t caught up, and in her heart, she knew that he wouldn’t.
The Titan Series: Military Romance Boxed Set Page 85