In Enemy Hands (15 page)

A faint, purple bruise darkened her cheek. “What did he do to you?” he demanded.

Her frantic eyes searched over his shoulder. “It’s nothing. Please, just hurry. We have to get out of here.”

Dante ran to the balcony doors and flung them open, searching for another escape route. The house was built on the edge of a cliff and Dante found himself staring into the black, swirling waters of the river below.

At the very least, it was a fifty foot drop.

When Dante heard the angry shouts outside the bedroom door, he realized he was too late. Gary Vandergriff and one of his gunmen exploded through the doorway.

“Execute him!” Vandergriff shouted.

Dante’s brain cataloged the next few seconds in slow motion.

A burst of gunfire.

Nadia’s scream.

The impact of the bullet slamming him against the railing.

The wood splintered, and he pitched backward into nothing.

G
et in position.

Dante’s military training took over before his mind could adjust to what was happening. With some effort, he straightened his body against the force of the freefall while the wind whistled around him.

Head back. Feet down. Arms crossed.

His shoulder felt funny, numb almost. The pain would come a little later, he had no doubt.

It’s only a jump
, he told himself when he glanced at the rushing black water beneath him. All he could do was hope there were no surprises beneath the rippling surface. No hidden rocks to crush his legs or snap his spine. Adrenaline raced through his veins, telling him that he was alive.

Invincible.

Hopefully, that would hold true once he hit the water. He braced himself for the shock. Running water was always cold, even in the heat of summer. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

The water closed around him like a cold, wet fist and Dante resisted the shock of it, the almost overwhelming urge to expel his breath.

He sliced through the water neatly. Expertly. Exactly like he’d been trained to do. The pressure squeezed his body, but after that initial jolt he was able to adjust to the temperature.

When Dante fought his way back to the surface, he discovered his true struggle would be against the current. For a moment, he let the choppy water carry him while he surveyed his surroundings. Then he began to swim, fighting his way to the rocky shore. His left arm hung uselessly, lacking the strength to be effective against the pressure, but he knew the bullet hadn’t done that much damage. He could still flex his fingers.

Besides, he didn’t have time to die. He had to rescue Nadia.

Still, Dante was beginning to wonder if sheer stubbornness was going to be enough this time. The rocky shore seemed like an optical illusion. The harder he swam toward it, the further away it appeared.

Finally, his fingers skimmed the surface of a huge rock. He clutched at it, hugging himself to it while he fought against the water that threatened to peel him away. With a lunge, Dante hoisted himself atop the rock and lay there for a moment, thankful to be breathing, even though he was having to work at it.

In basic, he’d learned to ignore the pain. To lock it behind a wall and move beyond it. Right now, he was even grateful for the sadistic SOB he’d trained under.

The few. The proud. The tortured.

He could remember his sergeant’s favorite saying.

Pain is just weakness leaving your body
.

Dante had always thought it was a stupid saying, but right now he couldn’t get the words out of his head. After flopping onto his stomach, he rose to his knees, then to his feet. He stared with resignation at the steep, rocky incline and rubbed his hands against his thighs before he began the slow climb to the top. Slick, sharp shale dug into his palms and tore through the knees of his pants.

Slow and steady. He had to take it slow and steady.

He had to adjust for his injured arm, making sure his feet were set in before he moved upward. Instead of sounding further away, the roar of the river increased the higher he climbed.

Just when Dante began to establish a steady pace, the rock he was using for leverage crumbled away under his palm.

Dante skidded down the rock face, clawing desperately for a handhold. Something caught him at the waist, and ripped a gash through the skin all the way to the top of his ribs. He gasped, making a gurgling cry of pain while he scrambled for something to hold on to.

Dante hooked his hand around a root. His body swung hard into the rock face of the cliff, banging his injured shoulder into the wall. A bright red splash of pain exploded behind his eyes, and for a moment Dante could see nothing. He dangled helplessly for a second before he found a crack to jam his boot into.

He glanced down at the raging river below, glanced down at his battered body. Blood soaked through his shirt and dripped down his pant leg from the cut on his torturously stinging side. The scrape hurt worse than the bullet hole.

His good arm began to tremble when he reached for the next hold and Dante was forced to rest. He crouched on a narrow ledge and laid his face against a smooth, cold rock and gasped for breath.

Again, the moonlight-filled river drew his eyes. It was some eighty feet below, and although he’d never feared heights, he couldn’t help but feel insignificant when he stared into its vastness.

For an instant, Dante was almost hypnotized by the dull roar and the sheer beauty of it, the white, frothy caps atop the swirling blackness. He was so exhausted. It would be so easy to just close his eyes … but then he remembered Nadia’s bruised face. Her stunned, elated expression when he’d burst through that bedroom door.

Gritting his teeth, Dante resumed the climb. Sweat trickled down his face, down his chest. He had to pause sporadically to wipe damp palms on his pants.

Then, suddenly, he was at the top. He peered over the rock overhang and saw a gray ribbon of highway a few yards away.

With a grunt, Dante shoved off with his boot and launched his upper body over the top. For a few seconds, he simply hung there, lacking enough energy to pull the rest of his body over. Then Dante dug his fingers into the soft earth and clawed his way out.

He might’ve passed out. He wasn’t sure. One minute he was pressing his face into the cool, soft grass, and the next someone was nudging him over with their boot.

Lights shone in his face, blinding him. Pushing off on his elbows, Dante sat up and shielded his eyes.

Had Vandergriff’s men somehow found him already?

His tension melted away when a familiar face shoved its way into the light.

“Ronnie!” he said.

The punch caught him in the jaw, knocking him back onto the grass.

Everything went black.

“He’s dead.” The gunman shoved his weapon back into the holster and turned to his boss.

“Are you sure?” Vandergriff peered over the balcony. “Because I couldn’t tell where you hit him. I thought I saw him bobbing in the water, but I can’t see anything now.”

“I’m sure. I hit him in the chest.”

Nadia couldn’t move.

Shock froze her feet, stilled her heart as she pictured Dante sinking lifelessly to the bottom of the river.

Hatred dropped over her like a blanket and she considered rushing Vandergriff, taking them both over the railing. Even if she died with him, it would be worth it to rid the world of that monster.

He was barking instructions at a man he called Peterson and neither of them seemed to be paying any attention to her. A redheaded man stood outside the doorway, blocking her way, but he turned his back to her and quietly spoke into his walkie talkie.

She gauged the distance between them and wondered if she could knock Vandergriff over the balcony before the redhead could put a bullet in her back. Maybe the fall wouldn’t kill them. She might even escape him in the water. It was a chance she was willing to take. She tensed, ready to charge.

Then she saw the phone.

It lay on the gray carpet, at the edge of the flowery bedspread. It had to belong to Dante. He’d probably knocked it off its clip when he’d tried to free her.

She edged toward it, her heart pounding like a jackhammer in her chest. In her peripheral vision, she saw Vandergriff start to turn.

Nadia fell to her knees, palming the little phone when her hand brushed the plush carpet. She was counting on the bed to block Vandergriff’s line of sight. There was nothing she could do about the redhead at the door except pray that he wouldn’t turn around in time to see her. In one smooth motion, Nadia grasped the cell phone, shoved it into her boot, and began to wail.

“Dante!” she sobbed. “You killed him!”

Nadia didn’t look up when Vandergriff strode around the bed. She kept howling, remembering what Ronnie had taught her.

Use being a female to your advantage. Make them underestimate you, then kick their ass.

Vandergriff seized a fistful of her hair and yanked her to her feet.

“Will you shut up?” he yelled, and threw her backward onto the bed. He wanted to sound annoyed, but Nadia saw the gleam in his eye. He was enjoying her pain, thriving on it.

That was okay. She planned on enjoying his too.

Real tears wet her cheeks, but they were strong tears. Tears of rage, not tears of defeat. Too bad Vandergriff wouldn’t know the difference until it was too late. She would bide her time, wait for an opportunity …

Then she would take him out.

“You see what happens to people who cross me, little girl?” Vandergriff said, looking pretty puffed up and self-important for someone who hadn’t even pulled the trigger.

Wait till you see what happens to people who cross me
, Nadia thought, and almost smiled.

Payback was a bitch.

Dante groaned and opened his eyes.

He found himself staring down the barrel of a .44.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t blow your brains out,” Ronnie said. “Tell me you didn’t take Nadia to Gary Vandergriff.”

“I did,” Dante said. “But you have to believe me. I didn’t know-”

“Aahh.” With a strangled cry of rage, Ronnie smacked the gun against his own forehead, then jabbed it in Dante’s face. “I trusted you, you miserable son of a bitch.
She
trusted you.”

Dante held out his palms. “Please … give me a chance to explain.”

“Explain what?” Nick Branson demanded, stepping out of the shadows.

The change in him shocked Dante. He looked like he’d aged twenty years in a matter of hours.

“Explain how you seduced my daughter into believing your lies? How your employer Vandergriff shot you when you were trying to collect your blood money?”

“No! It wasn’t like that. When I figured out what was going on, I went back for her. I never meant to hurt her.”

A pair of headlights came around the curve and swerved in behind the Humvee. A door slammed and Nick cursed when his wife hurtled out of the passenger side.

“Waynie, I thought I told you to keep her home.”

“I tried, boss, but she wouldn’t listen-”

“What happened?” Maria asked, her eyes wild. She blanched when she looked at Dante. “Where’s Nadia?”

When no one said anything, she hammered Nick’s chest with the heel of her hand. “Nick, where is our daughter?”

Nick caught her wrists. He looked so crestfallen, so devastated, that Dante’s heart clenched.

What had he done? What was happening to Nadia?

Maria searched her husband’s face and what she found there made her crumple right before Dante’s eyes.

“No, no, no,” she moaned. She cupped her hands over her face and slowly shook her head.
“He
has her? He has my baby?”

Branson reached to touch her and she glanced over his shoulder at Dante. If he hadn’t understood the full implications of his actions before, the sheer terror on her face hammered it home.

“What happened? Did he ambush them?”

Branson pointed at Dante, his face a mask of hatred. “He did it. He took her to Vandergriff.”

“What?” Maria whirled to face him and Dante wished it were darker. Wished that he couldn’t see the pain on her face so clearly in the moonlight.