Cool air caressed her skin.
They were outside.
Something metallic jangled to her left followed by a sharp snapping sound.
A hand grabbed the bag and her hair, pulling both. She grit her teeth and said goodbye to that hair.
The world came back into focus.
Her light deprived eyes took a moment to adjust to the bright lights aimed at what looked like a regular chain-link fence. Beyond the gate a dark, three story building rose up out of the night.
Where were they?
She glanced up and down the street. Few lights were on. Darkness reined here. She couldn’t even see what facility they were at.
A hand shoved her forward, and a man barked an order at her.
“Okay, okay.” She held up her bound hands and moved where he indicated.
They weren’t at the front of the building. That much she could tell just from what doors were aimed this way.
A metal door with no windows, likely an emergency exit, swung open and two men stepped out. They were dressed like the others in dark jeans and long sleeves, bandanas over their faces like some sort of Wild West bank robber.
She glanced back and caught sight of Brenden not far behind her.
They were the only two whose faces weren’t covered.
She swallowed and a familiar numbness settled in her chest. Fear didn’t help. Panicking wouldn’t solve things. But if she was numb, if she blanked out those feelings she just might be able to get through this. Unlike these men she was familiar with medical facilities. She could usually find a way around. And she spoke the language of drugs.
Her escort hustled her through the side entrance and into the stairwell. A red light flashed next to the door, but the alarm wasn’t sounding. The men rushed her past the stairs and onto the first floor.
The scents spoke to her.
There was the familiar sterile odor she was accustomed to. Then the low level hum and unmistakable smell of coolant.
This was a medical warehouse.
Drugs made by various subsidiaries would come here to be stored before going to their final destination, be that a hospital, clinic, pharmacy or direct to customer.
Holy shit.
Brenden was right.
With a couple vans these people could steal millions of dollars of drugs and she doubted even a tiny percent would go to those poor people who truly needed them.
Shit.
Priscilla had assumed they were going to hit up a pharmacy. Some place with a smaller stash of drugs. Yeah, it would suck to be part of that, but she could live with a couple dozen stolen bottles of drugs. This was so much bigger than that.
Stealing from here meant hospitals wouldn’t have the drugs they needed. Patients wouldn’t get their medications. The ripple effect would be disastrous.
“Priscilla?” Brenden’s deep voice brought her out of the hamster wheel in her head.
She turned and looked up at him, wishing she had an answer.
He spoke slowly, voice pitched low. “He wants to know where the insulin is.”
She glanced to the left and found the same guy as before staring at her. How long had they been viewing her personal breakdown?
She looked back at Brenden. His steady gaze was her lifeline. He’d said they’d be okay. She had to trust him.
“It’ll be in the refrigeration units,” she said softly.
Brenden glanced at the men, one of the younger ones translating.
Polo Shirt barked an order and waved his hand.
“Show us,” the young man acting as translator said.
“Give them what they want,” Brenden muttered.
She had no other choice.
Priscilla walked toward the closest door and opened it. She couldn’t read the signs on the doors so she’d have to rely on the packaging themselves.
The room was chilled to the point she shivered just walking into it. She knelt next to an opened box and paused.
What the hell?
A white packing label mostly covered up the red stamp on the side of the box. She could still make out the S at the beginning of the code. The 1615 was clearly visible beyond the label.
Brenden knelt next to her, the others moving in after them. “What is it?”
“This?” She tapped the box. “It’s a SA-0071615.”
“And that means?”
“It should have been rerouted to a South African facility to be destroyed.” She reached in and grabbed a box. “These are antivirals. Flu drugs. Look?”
Priscilla tapped the stamp on the bottom of the box that displayed the expiration date.
These drugs were a good two months past their use by date. There was no reason she knew of why they’d be here, in a facility set to distribute the drugs.
Polo Shirt barked a few words.
Priscilla hunched and leaned toward Brenden. “I can’t—”
“Give them whatever they want,” he said.
The translator spoke over them. “Insulin?”
Priscilla glanced at the man. “Not in here.”
The man in the polo shirt gestured to the boxes and several bandana wearing men closed in, grabbing what they could.
“Wait,” she blurted out, all while her brain screamed at her to shut up.
“What?” the translator demanded.
Brenden muttered something.
If she told them, would it matter?
It wasn’t like these people were going to try to do some good. They wanted to milk people for every penny they were worth. Then again, if these drugs were sold soon, even past date and weakened they could save lives.
“Make sure you’re taking full boxes.” She pointed at some others, still bearing the SA-0071615 code, but whose seal hadn’t been broken.
The same pair who’d walked her into the building pushed her out of the room. Brenden kept pace with her. He’d rolled his sleeves up and while there was still dried blood on his face and clothes, he’d cleaned up a little. Now he strode along with her.
“What do we do?” she whispered.
“Stay close to me. They’re thinning out. Where to next?”
Priscilla tried the next room. Only one corner had boxes with the code stamped on their side. The rest were packaged normally.
Still no insulin.
They tried a few more rooms, pausing to answer questions. Sometimes Polo Shirt would point out things to take, other times he asked questions. Any time she said something was for viruses, infections or some sort of day-to-day medicine he grabbed a couple boxes. Stuff he could probably sell without much problem.
She had her hand poised on the door to yet another room when a young man jogged up to Polo Shirt holding one of the very boxes of antiviral Priscilla had looked at when they arrived.
Shit.
She glanced at Brenden who was already watching the exchange with a grim look on his face.
Polo Shirt’s head whipped around and their gazes locked.
He knew.
“I can explain.” She held up her hands.
The man began yelling, and he took three steps toward her, a vein in his neck popping out and his eyes bulging. She braced herself—
Suddenly Brenden stepped blocked her view. She heard a grunt, a cut off cry and then nothing. At least not from the men right in front of her.
She peered around Brenden. “What—”
“Stay behind me,” he snapped.
Holy shit.
She glimpsed the red tinged, eye bulging face of Polo Shirt with a gun pressed to his jaw. Somehow Brenden’s wrists were free. He stared down the two men with their guns half raised.
“Tell him he’s leaving with us. Your guys can have whatever they want. We’re leaving as agreed, and he’s our insurance. Got it?”
The translator spoke, his words wooden.
“Priscilla, stay behind me. Back up slowly. Find us an exit.” He took one step backward.
She’d never have seen this coming, but that didn’t stop he
r. She wanted to live. She wanted to get out of here.
“Keep coming.” She grabbed the back of his slacks and guided him toward the double doors leading out of this hall way of cold rooms.
“You guys stay there,” Brenden said.
They inched closer to the doors.
The others were too busy cleaning out what they wanted to notice the drama unfolding at their end of the hall.
Polo Shirt spat words and she saw his hand come up.
The two gunmen edged closer.
“Do you really want to lose your life over this?” Brenden asked.
Priscilla shoved at the double doors and stuck her head into a darkened lobby. The evening breeze whistled through a busted out glass window and the body of a security guard lay on the tile, a pool of red surrounding him.
“Oh my God.” Priscilla stopped, horrified by the picture.
“Priscilla,” Brenden’s voice had an edge to it.
She choked back her feelings and kept going. Brenden hauled Polo Shirt through the doors.
“Check his pockets. See if he has keys,” he said.
Priscilla gave herself a mental shake. She’d been in a worse position than this. She could not fall apart. This was her fault. She had to help fix it.
She patted the man’s pockets and found a set of keys. She closed her eyes and pulled them out, resisting the urge to shudder at the contact.
“Here.” She jangled them.
“Okay.” Brenden set his back against the metal door. “Go to the windows, press the button, see if we have a ride.”
She could do this.
Priscilla hunched, staying low and skirted the body of the guard. The front of the building was actually a corner of it. The two exterior walls of the lobby were floor to ceiling glass, straight up to the roof. She went to where glass met wall and peered out at the side lot.
A line of vans were waiting, an assembly line of people moving boxes at a quick clip.
God, she’d walked right into this. How stupid could she be?
Priscilla jabbed the keys.
The second van in the row blinked.
“We’ve got a ride, but there’s a lot of people out there.” She turned back toward Brenden and froze. Polo Shirt’s face was an unnatural red, his eyes bulging. “What are you...?”
Brenden was killing him.
And she was standing here watching it happen.
Polo Shirt went limp. Brenden eased the man to the floor.
“He won’t stay out long.” He jogged toward her. “Come on.”
“He isn’t dead?” She stared at the limp body.
“No. Come on.”
Brenden took her by the hand and led her out into the night. With the lights totally cut off, they were swaddled in darkness. He led her toward the fence and keeping low they jogged to the first van.
A few men on foot were a dozen or so yards away watching the street. Not them.
“Okay, keys?” Brenden held out his hand. “I need for you to get in and secure yourself, got it?”
“Y-yeah.” She watched his hands move over the gun without even glancing at it.
Priscilla knew how to fire and she was a decent shot, but she wasn’t that good.
He paused and stared straight into her eyes. “We’re going to get out of here.”
She felt those words. Deep inside of herself. Despite knowing the odds still weren’t in their favor she nodded. There was just something about him she wanted to trust, beyond all reason.
“Stay here, count to ten, then follow. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
“Good girl.”
Good girl?
She blinked at the words, but didn’t have time to comment, not that she knew what she’d say.
Brenden moved around the van. Despite his big size he was so quiet she didn’t hear so much as a crunch of gravel.
She counted off, starting at ten, going backwards.
Priscilla got to three and couldn’t wait any longer. She darted around the front of the van only to stop short.
Brenden knelt over yet another body.
He glanced up at her, his face hid in shadow.
“Fast counter, I see.” He rose to his feet.
Had he known that man was there? Was he trying to spare her seeing him do these things?
She kept staring at the lump of a body on the ground.
“Hey? Priscilla?” Brenden gripped her arm.
“Sorry.” She glanced up.
A bit of movement at the back of the van caught her attention. She glanced up as a familiar figure stepped into view, his head bent and staring at his phone.
The asshole who wouldn’t give a kid any water.
Her tormentor.
Priscilla reacted, her body taking control while the rest of the world faded away. In one smooth move she sidestepped Brenden. Their jailer must have sensed his impending doom. At the last second he glanced up, locking eyes with Priscilla.
She reached out, grabbed his shirt and yanked him into the space between the vans. In that moment she found her calm. Falling back on years of training really did help. She twisted his arm and kicked his legs out from under him, sending him to the ground. Driving her knee into his ribs she forced the air out of his lungs.
“How’s it feel to be on the receiving end?” she snarled.
Brenden was at her side in an instant, grabbing the man’s other hand. “Get in the van.”
“No, he—”
“Pris.” Brenden leaned in close.
She tore her gaze from the back of the man’s head and looked at Brenden instead.
“If we want to get away, we have to go now. Beating this guy into a pulp isn’t going to make things better. It’ll feel good, but what if we get caught?”
Priscilla shoved up, relinquishing the asshole to Brenden, who secured the man’s wrists and gagged him.
“In the van.” He nudged her toward the open side door.
Priscilla crawled in, familiar boxes piled to the roof of the vehicle. She closed the door then crawled up to the passenger seat.
Brenden cranked the engine. “Hold on.”
She grabbed the side door as the van shot forward. Boxes rattled and shifted behind them. The van turned and the figure of a man stood illuminated by the headlights.
“Look out!” She threw up her other hand.
The engine roared.
She never heard a sickening thump.
The van swerved, and she heard an unmistakable pop pop pop.
“Keep your head down,” Brenden ordered.
She hunched her head and peered out at the street opening up before them. “Are they following us?”
“Not yet. Watch the mirrors. Tell me if you see anyone following us, okay?”
“Okay.” She didn’t like the sound of that.
Brenden took a right and then a left. He barreled past slower moving traffic, driving the van at a break neck speed.
Priscilla held her breath for what felt like minutes, but all the headlights behind them were cars they’d passed.
She heaved a sigh of relief. Except it was one moment too soon.
Two SUVs whipped around a corner ahead of them and slammed on their breaks, giving Brenden no choice but to follow suit. Priscilla screamed as boxes hit the dash, the contents flying out to rain down on them.
“Oh my God,” she chanted.
The SUV doors opened and two men got out.
Brenden reached over and grabbed her. “Priscilla, it’s okay.”
“They’re coming. Oh my God, they’re coming.” She pushed up in her chair, as if she could crawl away from them.
“Priscilla.” He tugged her around to face him. “They’re my team.”
“Your-your what?”
“My team.” His brown eyes flicked over her face. “My name is Brenden Taylor. I was sent here to rescue you.”
Rescue you.
Her?
4.
THURSDAY. EMILIANO Rio, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
.
Brenden felt only marginally better after a thirty second shower and a change of clothes. He was grateful the others had opted to give him a room to himself just off the suite where they’d be set up with Priscilla for the night. Sometimes he had nightmares, nasty things that left him out of sorts for days. They were worse when he didn’t at least try to keep normal hours.
Technically speaking, he did not have PTSD or any other neat explanation for what kept him up at night. No head doc he’d seen had come to that conclusion. Whatever kind of fucked up he was didn’t fit their neat diagnosis. He was really lucky to have this team. They didn’t need long explanations for things.
He dragged the washrag over his face as someone pounded on the wall.
A muted voice that sounded like Vaughn called out, “Briefing.”
“Can’t use a fucking cell phone?” Brenden muttered.
He tossed the rag down and rolled his shoulders.
It wasn’t the briefing he was dreading. It was being in the same room with her.
Priscilla hadn’t exactly taken the news she was rescued well. He’d stepped back out of the picture and let Melody and Grant handle her while he transferred boxes to the SUVs. Agreeing to haul the damn boxes with them was about the only way she’d cooperate and go with them.
Whatever it took to get her on the plane tomorrow that was what mattered.
Brenden grabbed his phone from the charger and headed out the door and down to the entrance to the suite. He swiped his key card and let himself in.
The atmosphere was artic. He nearly shivered at the chill.
Grant and Melody stat on the toy sized sofa to his right. They both glanced up at him, uniform expressions of concern and annoyance on their faces. For him? Or was something else going on?
Priscilla paced into view. She’d changed from her dirty slacks and blouse into a pair of yoga pants and T-shirt, the standard fare they brought with them on rescue ops to offer female assets. She whirled toward him, her dark eyes flashing with anger and stared at him.
“Where the fuck have you been?” she demanded. Her hazel eyes locked on his, so full of anger.
What the hell had he done?
At least he wasn’t the source of concern this time.
“My room.” Brenden moved away from the door, deeper into the suite.
He caught a glimpse of Vaughn, Nolan and Riley at the dining room table. Nolan had two boxes of tissues in front of him and a trash can at his side. His cold hadn’t gotten better from what Brenden could tell.
Dangerously Broken (Aegis Group Lepta Team Book 4) Page 4