Operation Summer Storm (4 page)

“No!” Tréago’s sharp retort caused the diners at the next table to glance over at him curiously. Forcing an apologetic smile to his thin lips, he lowered his voice and spoke harshly into the phone, “You are to bring her to me first. I’m not sure how much she knows, and I want to be sure the…material she possesses is disposed of once and for all.”

“Yes, sir; we’ll check back once we have her.”

* * * *

Not long after the two men stormed out of the hut they returned, and Summer was told she’d be taken back to her motel. The trip was more comfortable this time, with only two men in the front to escort her and seemed to take far less time than the earlier one.

She felt as though she were on a roller coaster. The sudden turn around today should have been a relief…somehow though, she knew nothing was ever what it seemed with these men. She’d just have to wait and see what their next move would be.

With no appetite that evening thanks to her unexpected trip to the countryside, Summer opted instead for a bath. Sinking into the hot water, her thick, honey-blond hair twisted on top of her head in a loose knot, Summer relaxed in the clouds of fluffy white bubbles, sighing as the water worked its magic on her tired body.

Unfortunately it wasn’t enough to hold her attention for long and her thoughts once more turned to her sister. It didn’t take a detective to realize the evidence Michael held—the first-hand knowledge he had of the mission during which those men were killed—made him a very real, very tangible threat. Why hadn’t he just taken what he had to the police? This lust for a story that drove both Michael and Willow was something Summer had never understood. Willow seemed to thrive on the adrenalin rush it gave her to nose about and dig up information.

Although there were only eighteen months between the girls, it seemed more like eighteen years. Summer liked things quiet, predictable, and safe. She was content with her nursing career, in a nice, safe, city hospital. She was happy.

“I am, damn it,” she said aloud, breaking the silence in the small room and wondering where that stray thought had come from.

She was twenty-eight and had a good job. It may not be as glamorous or exciting as Willows career, but so what? She had her own flat...she tried not to think of Willows sophisticated unit in the city. Stomping down further twinges of jealousy, she searched for other positive things in her life. A small frown crossed her face as she struggled to think of something…anything...

She had her job.

Summer sighed in despair. It was bordering on pathetic when you had to try to convince yourself your job was worth mentioning twice. Willow on the other hand, lived out of a backpack most of the year and was never on the same continent for more than a few weeks at a time.

Summer thought about the letter Willow had left. There had been no warm, fuzzy farewell, as Summer had half-hoped, just her sister’s no-nonsense, straight to the point instructions. She’d felt momentarily distraught; the whole if-something-happens-to-me letter had been so formal…not a touch of sibling affection in it.

With a frustrated growl, she heaved herself out of the bath and sloshed water over the edge onto the floor. She was not going to sit there feeling sorry for herself. Willow was who she was and it did no good to sit and brood about it, especially now. Willow needed her. That was all that mattered.

Too restless to get ready for bed, she threw on the first set of clothes she came to—a pair of cut off denim shorts and a white T-shirt before settling down to watch an in-house movie in her room.

She was halfway through one of Mel Gibson’s
Lethal Weapon
movies when the flash of a shadow outside caught her eye, moments before her door burst open and two balaclava-covered men stormed into her room. With a scream locked in her throat, Summer scrunched up against the headboard as the men advanced upon her. She kicked out and caught one of the assailants squarely in the chin, but was swiftly restrained by the second intruder. Helplessly overpowered, she was quickly bound, gagged and thrown over a shoulder. The whole thing had taken less than three minutes from the time they stormed her room.

The concrete pavement flashed by in a blur beneath her as she frantically squirmed and tried to scream. This couldn’t be happening. Her breathing labored as she fought the panic which surged within her.

Within moments she found herself dumped into the boot of an old car. Its darkness felt as heavy and thick as the air she tried to breathe. Tears dribbled down her face, soaking the horrible tasting material which covered her mouth. Her shoulders ached and her arms, tied behind her back, throbbed in agony.

It had all happened so fast.

Is this how Willow had felt?
She wished her sister were here with her now, what if she never had the chance to see her again?

The noise of the road beneath the car echoed in the dark confines of the vehicles boot. This was not how it was supposed to end. How had Tréago found her? The thought of what awaited her when she faced the man was enough to make her feel nauseous.

After what felt like an eternity, the car slowed and rough, unsealed road soon replaced the smooth sound of bitumen beneath the car. Summer tried to stay calm, but with each passing minute she knew her chances of survival were growing slimmer.

I don’t want to die. I haven’t even lived yet.
Tears of fear and frustration continued to flow unchecked. However, as the miles passed, the fear of not knowing what awaited her began to outweigh the actual fear of dying. The coarse carpet under her cheek itched and scratched against her skin; each bump jarred her tied hands.

Eventually the bright red blaze of the brake lights glowed eerily in her compartment, and gravel crunched beneath the wheels as the car rolled to a stop.

The whoosh of the boot opening almost stopped her heart and rough hands lifted her from her hiding place to haul her over a shoulder. With each step, she bit back a sob as her ribs painfully jarred with the constant jostling. Her abductors footsteps pounded across rough ground; then they were inside and the room tilted as she was dumped, unceremoniously onto a hard chair.

Terrified, she felt tremors rake her body as she looked up at her captor. He stared down at her through an evil looking ski mask—her eyes wide with terror, fixed upon him fearfully. With a slow, deliberate movement, he removed the mask and she found herself face to face…with Tate Maddox.

“Lesson one,” he told her in a steel-edged voice. “Never let your guard down.” Leaning forward he removed the gag and nodded for someone behind to untie her hands.

Shaking uncontrollably, the color drained from her face and waves of nausea rolled through her stomach. She would not give him the satisfaction of being sick all over the floor. After a few moments, she had herself back under control and was able to hold his unflinching gaze with one of her own.

“Take the fear you just experienced, multiply it by a thousand and you still won’t come close to going through what would happen if we were Tréago’s men or Cambodian guerrilla’s. We spared you the rapes and beatings but I think you get the picture.”

If she was supposed to be eternally grateful by that show of benevolence they were sadly mistaken.

“Do you understand now why you can’t come with us?” Tate towered over her, a tall menacing presence, as he waited for an answer.

“What I understand,” Summer’s voice sounded husky from her earlier screaming, “is that you’re wasting precious time with your stupid games when you should be finding my sister.” She fixed him with a look of undisguised loathing.

His jaw clenched; his large fists bunched at his sides as he turned away—pausing, as she spoke in a low steady voice.

“Make no mistake—if you ever do that to me again…I swear to God I’ll kill you.” Something had changed inside her. She’d believed she’d stared death in the eye and knew she’d do whatever it took to ensure it never happened again.

Before tonight, he may have simply laughed her remark off. The way he held her gaze now though—that long measured stare, told her that he understood.

“We move out in a few hours. Get some rest while you can.” He turned and left the room.

Looking about her, she realized, through the darkness, that it was the same room she’d been in earlier that day. Her terrified mind hadn’t registered the fact earlier, something that would have prepared her for the relief of discovering it hadn’t been Tréago after all. It did nothing to calm her shell-shocked emotions though, and she wondered if she’d ever be able to stop shaking.

* * * *

Outside in the dark, Tate stood bracing his body against the railing. He looked up and saw Del as he walked toward him.

“I thought she’d back out,” he muttered in disgust.

Del gave his friend a slap on the back. “Well, she proved she isn’t going to fold in a hurry,” he said, rubbing his chin gingerly as he recalled the swift kick he’d been too slow to intercept. “At least that’s something.”

“How the hell do we take a civilian in on a job?” Tate demanded.

He’d seen the precise instant when a look of complete hatred replaced the terror in her eyes and for a split second felt guilt rear up and kicked him in the gut. She needed to be taught a lesson—shown that her stupid idea of tagging along with them was completely unreasonable, not to mention unprofessional. The fact that she had their balls in her hand and knew damn well she could apply the pressure because she had the evidence they needed, was like a burr beneath his skin; it rubbed and irritated and was as much an insult as it was an inconvenience.

Desperate times had called for desperate measures—but he wouldn’t lower himself to torturing the information out of her. He refused to become the type of animal that could blur the line between right and wrong. He wasn’t that kind of man and never would be.

Del gave a brief shrug. “We’ve done it before, back in the service.”

“This is a woman, for God’s sake.”

“We’ll manage—we always do.”

Tate didn’t share his friend’s optimism. He had a very bad feeling about this—a very bad feeling indeed.

* * * *

Summer was shocked she’d managed to sleep. The rattle of coffee cups and bodies moving around the small hut jolted her back into consciousness. She sat up and rubbed her arms. They were sore after being tied behind her in the car ride over the night before. She watched the three men moving about the small cabin. One of them came around to stand in front of her. He appeared to be the youngest of the double-crossing-black-hearted-bastards.

“Name’s Tupper,” he held up a coffee cup in silent enquiry.

She’d planned to remain aloof and uncooperative this morning in retribution to last night’s fiasco but the desire for strong, fragrant, coffee, over-powered her pride. She gratefully nodded in response.

Carefully she swung her legs over the side of the bed and made a mental inventory of her limbs. They seemed to be working, albeit, a little more tentatively than usual thanks to last night’s rather unconventional mode of transportation.

“I remember who you are,” she told him quietly as she accepted the cup, mindful of its hot contents.

“Feeling better this morning?” he asked, making conversation.

Summer sipped at her brew, awkward in the company of three strange men. From their point of view she was a blackmailing two-timing-double-crosser. In the same position, she doubted she’d be friendly either but they surprised her by sending a brief nod in way of greeting.

“Then you’ll also remember that this here’s Maloney—he’s the old guy of the team, and Del,” Tupper lent close and whispered, “Del thinks he’s a bit of a ladies’ man; better watch out for him.”

The ladies man in question watched her with an expressionless face void of any real emotion which made Summer more than a little nervous. Watch out for him? Summer intended to give the guy an extremely wide berth! However, she was grateful for the formal introduction as opposed to the sarcastic roll call of names Tate had thrown out the previous day.

She noticed they were dressed casually, looking like an everyday bunch of tourists. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but considering the region they were in and the lack of tolerance the government showed foreigners in regards to obeying laws—it probably didn’t do you any favors to draw attention to the fact you were hired mercenaries...or worse, a unit of Marines on the run. Then he walked through the doorway.

Summer’s heart bounced against her rib cage. Tate sent her a cursory glance, barely a flicker, before barking out a list of jobs left to do. The men rinsed out their cups and got back to work. Standing to one side of the room, she tried to keep out of their way but jumped when he came to a stop in front of her.

“You’ve got five minutes or we leave without you,” he growled.

Summers jaw clenched, at his abrasive tone, “Where are we going?”

“Back to town to collect your things, then to the airport,” his tone was clipped, his manner, rigid.

“To go where?” When he looked as though he were going to ignore her, she added, “Look, you don’t have to like me, but you had damn well better tell me where we’re going and keep me informed.”

“Have you heard of Los Cavernas?” he asked.

Summer blinked. “The island where Michael was heading to meet you?” she said, recalling the information from the file.