Betrayed (16 page)

“Where are we going?”

“Away from here.”

“Shane…”

“Yeah?”

The look on his face made it clear that he didn't want to have a conversation with her. Instead, he sat down and picked up a fishing magazine from the table in the main cabin and began reading it.

She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to explain what she'd been thinking. But he looked so closed up that she couldn't get any words out.

Seeing him deliberately ignoring her made her stomach clench, but she struggled to keep her own expression neutral as she took a seat opposite him and tried to focus on one of the gossip magazines there. When she found herself reading the same page over and over, she gave up and looked at the ads.

Jerome Weller tossed restlessly in his bed. Finally, he heaved himself up and staggered to the window where he looked out at the early morning scene. He had not slept well, for obvious reasons. When he'd first said he could deliver the S&D information to an interested buyer, the project had seemed easy. He'd only had to study the personnel files and zero in on Arnold Blake.

Blake had been a spectacular failure.

Yesterday everything had been on track again. But now he thought he had only a fifty-fifty chance of getting that information. And if he didn't? Unfortunately, he'd made it sound like he could deliver, and he'd already taken a down payment. What would the buyer do if he thought he was being stiffed? Jerome tried not to think about that eventuality.

Instead he pictured Alesandro Reyes downstairs in the torture room. The guy was in bad shape because Jerome had taken out his frustrations on the weakling. And when this was over, Alesandro was going to be dead. Jerome was going to make sure he didn't end up the same way. He'd been thinking that if he had to, he could take his money and disappear. He'd always known it might come to that one day, and he already had several false identities set up. It was only a matter of putting those plans in motion. But if he could avoid leaving the comfortable surroundings he'd cultivated for so long, he was going to do that.

He took his time showering, shaving, and picking the shirt and slacks he wanted to wear. When he was a kid, most of his clothing had been handed down from his older brother. When he went off on his own, he'd vowed that he'd only have new clothing—and the best that money could buy. In this case, shirts, slacks, and jackets from a London tailor who had his measurements on file.

Finally, he was satisfied with his appearance, but he was too edgy to eat any breakfast, only coffee with heavy cream and a lot of sugar—his favorite way to drink it. Taken that way, it was almost like candy, but he barely tasted it this morning. Setting down the mug, he went out in the garden and walked the pebble paths of the boxwood maze.

Around nine, he finally got the call he'd been hoping for.

“We know where Gallagher and Reyes are holed up.”

“Spit it out,” he demanded.

“They're on an estate a couple of miles down the river from where we lost them.”

“And they're not going to slip out of your grasp again, right?”

“Right,” the man on the other end of the line said, his voice firm.

“You'd better hope so,” Jerome said, knowing he was transferring some of his own anxiety to the caller.

***

Shane tried to read the magazine he'd picked up, but his attention kept swinging back to Elena. She was slumped in her seat looking miserable. If this had been a normal situation, he would have pulled her into his lap and cuddled her against his chest while he stroked his hand through her hair.

Lord, she'd been so sweet and giving in bed. Could a woman fake such tender emotions? He didn't know, and he didn't want to make himself vulnerable to her again.

She might look miserable, but she was the one who had gotten herself into trouble. Repeatedly. Well, he amended that assessment. The hostage situation hadn't been her fault. Unless there was something going on there that he didn't know about.

He checked the time again. He hated sitting here with nothing to do—with a woman he didn't trust as far as he could throw her, if you wanted to use a cliché. If he hit her with a bunch of questions, could he get the truth out of her? Or was that a waste of time?

He shuffled his feet, wanting to get moving. It would be a good idea to check out the area where they were being picked up to see if there was adequate cover—in case they ran into trouble. After that, he could walk back to the safe house and see if he could find any evidence of who had been there.

And while he was there, he could get some gun oil and work on his weapon to make sure it wouldn't give him any problems. But he couldn't do any of that because he had no idea what the woman sitting across from him would do while he was gone.

When he saw that she was looking at him, he dragged in a breath and let it out. “If you want to take a shower, go ahead,” he said.

“Can I?”

“Yeah. We never did get that river water off.”
And
you
can't get off the boat without my knowing it
, he added silently.

She stood up, glancing at him as she walked by, then disappeared from the room, and he heard water running in the head. She was back in twenty minutes, wearing the same clothes, her hair towel-dried.

“If I shower, will you run off?” he asked.

“I'll be here.”

He wasn't sure how much mischief she could get into while he was getting cleaned up, but he took a two-minute shower, then wrapped a towel around his waist and looked into the main lounge, relieved that she was sitting where he'd left her.

Satisfied that she hadn't run out on him, he went back to the cabin where they'd spent the night and pulled a windbreaker and a pair of jeans out of the drawer under the bunk. The jeans had a tight waistband, suitable for carrying his Sig. And the jacket would cover the weapon. He donned the jeans and put the sweatpants back, then returned to the main lounge, where Elena gave him an anxious look.

“We're going to wipe this place down, then get out of here,” he said.

“Every page of the magazines?”

“We can take them.”

After they wiped the surfaces they'd touched, he said, “Let's go.”

“Where?”

“Not far,” he answered, unwilling to share even the smallest amount of information with her. With the magazines tucked under one arm, he exited the boat.

She had to be curious about who was picking them up, but she simply followed him off the boat, up the pier, and along the road. He didn't walk on the crunchy gravel but stuck to the woods at one side, and she did the same, staying in back of him as he wove his way through the trees and around brambles.

In the woods, he tossed the magazines into a swampy area and pushed them out of sight with a stick.

As they approached the highway, he picked a spot well in the shadows that would give him cover.

***

Elena stayed close to Shane, silent and cooperative. Apparently the meeting place was close to the main road. But she still didn't know who was coming for them. Maybe it was one of the men he worked with at Rockfort Security. She and Shane had apparently arrived early. Or maybe their ride was taking longer than expected to get here. After about twenty minutes, she saw a gray SUV pull off the highway and turn onto the access road to the estate.

Her heart started to pound because she thought she recognized the vehicle. That must mean it didn't belong to one of the other men in the security company.

“Who did you call?”

He didn't answer.

She gulped. “Are you sure this is someone you trust?”

“Yeah.”

When he started to step out from the trees, she put a hand on his arm.

“Don't.”

He turned toward her questioningly. “Why not?”

She gave him a pleading look. “I have a bad feeling.”

“You mean—like maybe you're going to jail?”

“No. It has nothing to do with me.”

Again he only answered with a snorting sound. The feeling of dread increased when she saw the man who got out of the car.

It was Bert Iverson, who had been assistant security chief at S&D when she'd arrived and who hadn't tried for the head job when Ted Winston retired. She'd never liked Iverson, and she didn't trust him. She couldn't explain why, but she'd had that impression the whole time she'd been at the company. If she had to put a label on his behavior, he came across as sneaky. And he had shown up unannounced a lot of times when she was working late. Of course, maybe that was standard operating procedure for a security guy. She might even say the same about Shane.

“Wait,” she whispered.

Shane spared her a glance. “Why?”

“I don't trust him.”

“Yeah, he was probably on your case.” He answered carelessly, as though he didn't credit her judgment. And really, he was right in making the assessment. He'd worked with Iverson, and she'd had only cursory contact with the man. Before she could say anything else, Shane stepped out from behind the tree where he was hiding.

Elena's nerves tingled as she kept her gaze on the assistant security chief. His arm twitched, and she saw him pull a gun. Because she'd been ready for some kind of duplicity, she pushed Shane to the side. And because he wasn't expecting an attack from the rear, or anywhere else, he lost his balance. As he went down, a bullet thunked into the tree where he'd been standing moments earlier.

Knowing he needed time to recover from the tumble, Elena shouted, “Over here.”

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Iverson growled as the gun swung toward her. More bullets thunked into the tree, but she had already ducked to safety.

Meanwhile, Shane rolled back into the shadows as two more bullets hit the ground where he'd been lying.

He found his footing and scrambled up.

“Come on.” He led them farther into the underbrush, back toward the river.

There were no more shots from Iverson, but she heard him moving through the woods. When they came to a duck blind, Shane stopped.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “How did you know?”

She turned a hand palm up. “I've always had a bad feeling about him. I can't explain it.”

“He was always friendly to me. He showed me the ropes at S&D. I thought he was relieved not to take on the top security position.”

“I guess that was part of his job. Or his jobs.”

“Yeah.”

There was no more time for conversation. Iverson was coming through the underbrush, trying not to make any noise. But it was impossible to move silently through the woods, especially since he obviously wasn't alone. He'd brought backup, and other men were spreading out, covering more territory.

Elena tensed for a confrontation. Then something totally unexpected happened. She heard a shot—followed by a man's shrill cry. It was Iverson. “Jesus. What the hell are you doing?”

“You did the first part of your job,” another voice said. “Thanks for finding Gallagher and the woman. Too bad you couldn't finish him off.”

A sick feeling rose in her throat as she heard another shot.

“They…”

“Killed him,” Shane finished. “Which gives you a good idea of what kind of men we're dealing with. But I think we already knew.”

She knew something else, too. They intended to kill Shane, but not her. They wanted her alive because they thought she knew where the SIM card was, although she didn't, not anymore, because Shane had hidden it. But she was sure they would never believe that. If they captured her, they'd try to torture the information out of her—the way they were torturing her brother.

When she drew in a sharp breath, Shane cupped a hand over her shoulder. “Yeah.” The one word told her that he'd followed her logic.

She could ask him where he'd hidden the card, but she wasn't going to do it. Right now, it seemed better if she didn't know. Of course, that left her brother in danger, but since the phone call this morning, she was determined not to do anything that would make Shane think she'd been part of a plan to steal from S&D.

She moved closer to him, watching the woods and listening for the sound of footsteps coming toward them.

“What are we going to do?” she whispered.

“I'm thinking. I'd like to know how many there are.”

The men began to move again. “There are at least two.”

“Yeah.”

“They won't kill me,” she said.

“We know that,” he clipped out.

“What I mean is, if I draw their attention, you can get around behind them.”

She watched him consider the idea.

“I don't like it.”

“Do you have a better plan?” she pressed.

She saw him scrambling for an alternative.

Finally he said, “No.”

“Then how should we work it?”

“Give me five minutes to get into position. Then call out and tell them you're surrendering. Tell them you want to be sure you're safe before you come out of hiding. Tell them I held you captive overnight. That I got angry when I caught you talking to your brother. They know that part's true,” he added in a gritty voice.

She didn't dispute the last comment. Instead she stuck to present reality. “And where do I say you are now?”

“Dead. One of those shots got me, and I bled out while we were trying to escape.”

“Will they believe it?”

“I hope so.” He turned to her and gave her a long look. “You're sure you want to do it?”

“Do we have an alternative?”

“Not a good one.”

“Then go.”

***

Shane gritted his teeth and did what he had to do. His side hurt, but he ignored the pain. Staying down and moving through the woods more quietly than their pursuers, he circled around to get in back of the thugs who were stalking them, the thugs who obviously worked for the man who'd taken Elena's brother captive and beaten the crap out of him.

Of course, the brother wasn't the main event. They were simply using him to get to Elena, and as Shane got himself into position, he could understand why she'd felt obligated to go along with their plans. He didn't like it, but he understood. What if someone were torturing Jack or Max? He'd do everything in his power to rescue them.

Now he considered his own problems. He'd taken a job with S&D thinking he understood the situation, but he hadn't counted on Iverson being in on the scam to steal from the company. There was a kind of twisted logic to it. Iverson had had the run of the place, and he'd probably spent a lot of time looking for what Blake had stolen. And even though he hadn't found it, he had been a source of inside information for the thug who wanted the program.

Iverson had taken a lot of risks, and he'd obviously expected to be well paid for his trouble. Instead he'd ended up lying in the Maryland woods with a couple of bullets in him. The first one had been to take him down, so he'd know he'd always been expendable. That was a particularly nasty tactic, probably on orders from the boss.

All that went through Shane's head as he moved from tree to tree. As he circled around behind the attackers, he prayed that he was right in his assessment of the situation. He was counting on them not killing Elena. But what if they seriously injured her?

That possibility made his gut clench. He could admit now that he'd misjudged her, but all he could do was keep moving until he was behind the enemy.

Once he was in position, he wished he could signal her when to act. But that was impossible now. All he could do was wait tensely for her and silently shout at her,
Now, now.

Or had something gone terribly wrong back at the duck blind?

When he finally heard her call out, he breathed a small sigh.

“Whoever you are out there, don't shoot me,” she begged.

He heard the men fix on her location and turn toward her.

“Ms. Reyes?” one of them asked.

“Yes.”

“Where are you?”

“I want to make sure I'm not going to get hurt.”

“Where is that information you took from Blake's office?”

“I'm not going to tell you unless I know my brother is safe.”

As she spoke, he saw them moving in on her.

“Cut the chitchat. Where's Gallagher?”

“Dead.”

“Like we should believe that?”

“Iverson shot him. He was bleeding badly. He went down. I kept going.”

The man laughed, but Shane didn't.

“Too bad for him. And you. That leaves you in a pretty vulnerable position. Come out.”

“If you won't hurt me.”

“I will if you try to stay hidden.”

He saw her stand up, although she stayed behind the duck blind, which offered only minimal protection.

Before the men could move in on her, Shane got off a shot.

That was a big clue that she had been lying through her teeth and Shane was behind them. In response, the two thugs switched their focus, whirling and discharging a hail of bullets.

He tried to fire again, but this time the gun that had been in the water failed.

With a curse, he ducked low and dodged behind a tree, hearing bullets follow him.

***

As Elena had told Shane earlier, she'd been a very successful softball pitcher in high school. She had thought of that when he'd left her in the duck blind. Knowing she needed a way to defend herself, she had picked up several baseball-sized rocks from the ground. Of course, she hadn't thrown a ball in years. And she'd only thrown overhand for fun. But her pitching arm was the only weapon she had. The question was, could she score on the first shot?

When the thugs turned and started shooting at Shane, she wound up and threw one of the missiles at the closest man, holding her breath until she saw she'd hit him square in the back of the head. He cried out in surprise and went down. Seeing he was out of commission, she threw another rock at the second attacker. This time, she was less successful and only hit him in the shoulder. He whirled back toward her, a look of fury suffusing his features.

“Bitch!”

As the man turned his attention to her, Shane leaped out of the bushes and pulled him down. The thug pivoted and tried to get his gun hand up. Shane banged his hand against the ground as the two men struggled, rolling through dry leaves.

Elena sprang forward, trying to get to Shane. But the man she had downed with the rock was functioning again. He shot out an arm and closed his hand around her ankle, yanking her roughly off her feet. As she toppled over, she managed to hold on to one of the rocks she'd collected. When he pushed his hand into her face, going for her eyes, she twisted around and brought her arm up, trying to crash the rock down on his head again.

But he was ready for her and reared away, anger flashing in his eyes. Knowing she had to take him out, she lunged forward and managed to slam him in the forehead with the rock. To her relief, he went still. She wiggled out of his grasp and, for good measure, hit him again, watching him go limp.

Pushing herself up, she ran toward Shane and the other man. They were still struggling. When the man rolled on top of Shane, she darted in, kicking at the attacker.

The distraction was enough for Shane to sock him in the face. And Elena slammed him on the head with the rock.

When the goon went still, Shane heaved him onto his back where he lay sprawled in the leaves.

“Thanks,” Shane said.

“You, too.”

“Have you ever seen these guys before?” he asked.

“No. Have you?”

“No. But I'd like to know who they're working for.” He studied the men scattered on the ground like fallen logs, then looked back the way they'd come. “They drove here in a vehicle, obviously. We can use it to make a getaway.”

He turned to the man he'd been fighting and reached into the guy's right front pocket.

“Jackpot,” he said as he pulled out a set of keys. After hesitating for a moment, he went through more pockets. The man had a wallet with no identification. But there was a lot of cash. Shane put the money into his own pocket and wiped his fingerprints off the billfold. Then he took the gun from the man's hand.

“What happened to yours?” she asked. “You fired once, didn't you?”

“Yes. Then it jammed. Probably from the river water.”

He got up, wavering on his feet, and she gave him a critical look. “You're sure you're okay?”

“Yes. And we need to get out of here before the cops show up.”

Before she could ask another question, he said, “Nice pitching.”

“Thanks.”

“I thought softball pitching was underhand.”

“It is. But I practiced the other way, too. To see if I could do it.”

He stopped again to pick up his weapon. “We'd better not leave it for the cops to find. And when I get some gun oil, I can have it in working order again.”

They continued down the access road, then stopped when they came to an SUV pulled into a clearing.

Shane opened the door and slipped behind the wheel. Then he inserted the key in the ignition. When the engine caught, he let out a breath.

Elena had already gotten into the passenger seat.

“Check the glove compartment,” he said. “See if you can find out who owns this car.”

She opened the glove box and looked inside.

“Anything interesting?”

“It's like the wallet. There's nothing to tie it to anyone. Not even a registration.”

“Figures. And they probably stole the license plates. I guess if they got stopped by a cop, they'd shoot him.”

She made a strangled sound. “Truly?”

“Just a theory. But I wouldn't discount it. They don't want anyone to know who they are or what they're doing.”

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Farther away. And maybe this time we'll be safe.”

His face had turned gray, and she gave him a questioning look. “Are you hurt?”

“Not bad.”

“You're sure?”

“Yeah. And our first priority is to get out of here,” he said.

“In their car?”

“Only for a few miles. I've got faster transportation.”

He drove to a small airport about twenty miles from the estate where they'd been hiding out.

After pulling up on a strip of grass where other vehicles were parked, he said. “Wait here.”

“Okay.”

“I'll be a few minutes,” he added.

He went into the office and even though he'd warned her, he was gone long enough for her to start worrying. She was sure he wouldn't leave her here. But what was he doing?

When he finally reappeared, she felt some of her tension ebb.

He came back to the car and slipped into the driver's seat.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” He drove the car down the strip of grass and into a hangar where several planes were parked.

“Wipe off any surfaces you might have touched,” he said.