Rhapsody (The Teplo Trilogy #2) (37 page)

"Yeah, got it. Oh, thank fuck."

Lillian's heart settled in the vicinity of her throat at Jason's prayerful curse and relieved smile. He caught her eye and nodded.

"Thank God," she whispered.

""I'm texting it now." He snapped his fingers at Michael who handed over his cell. His fingers flew across the buttons before he tossed it back to Michael. "I'm sending him to check it out."

Michael bounced on his feet like a little boy getting a lollipop for being good at the doctor and shoved the phone in his pocket before snagging his keys from the countertop.

"Tell Warner to meet him there. No. I don't know. Tell S.P.D. to stay on them. Find out where they're going. Hold back and don't engage until absolutely necessary. Yeah, send the other unit to sweep up Anton as soon as we know where he's at."

"Hey." Michael bumped her shoulder. "Riley is a stubborn son of a bitch. They aren't getting rid of him this easily, Little Mama."

"I know," she said. She did know. Tristan wasn't going to die. She wasn't going to let it happen.

Crap, she had to stay calm, breathe.

"Yeah, we're going in as soon as Kincaid is in place," Jason said into the headset attached to his ear. "Establish a perimeter behind the Maddox house. Kincaid doesn't know how many are still inside, if any." He lifted his gaze to Lillian after a minute. "You're sure about this?"

She swallowed hard and nodded, curling her hand around her phone as Jason handed it back to her. There were three addresses in the phone. The penthouse, the club, and another a little over half a mile away.

Tristan.

She stroked her finger across the screen as if it were a physical connection to him. She knew it wasn't, but the little pins on the map were the closest things she had.
Please let him be okay
, she prayed again.

"Kincaid, get to that address and find that entrance. Warner has his guys on the way to back you up." Jason pegged him with a hard glance. "Don't walk in there until they get here. And stop anyone who tries to walk out."

"On it," Michael responded with a serious nod. He glanced over at Lillian and smiled. "We'll get him back, Little Mama."

"I know," she said again. "I know."

He seemed to deliberate and then, "Here." He held out the little canister he'd set on the table to remove his shirt. "Take this. It's tear gas. Pop the pin and toss it at the cocksuckers if you have to."

Lillian's fingers clenched around the bottle. She had no idea if she'd even have to use the tear gas, but it made her feel a little bit better to know they had Michael looking out for them, too. "Thank you," she whispered.

He winked.

"Kincaid, you have ten minutes to get there before we walk through those doors," Jason warned him.

He gave them both a jaunty little wave and disappeared out the back door.

Ten minutes.

It felt like a lifetime.

Through sheer force of will, Tristan managed to keep himself alert, but he was fading fast.

"Paulo is an idiot, but he was right about something," Elijah said, sneering down at him. "Missing your ballerina's reaction when she finds you will be a damn shame. Watching her come while you had your hand in her panties on the dance floor was fucking hot."

"Fuck you," Tristan mumbled, wishing for the thousandth time that he could kill the motherfucker. Paulo, too. The fact that they'd seen what he did to Lillian made him homicidal. Unfortunately, killing them slowly wasn't in the cards at the moment. One way or another though, the bastards were going to die. Making it happen had become his new goal in life. Even if he didn't make it out of here alive, he'd find a way to destroy Elijah, Paulo, and Malachi for thinking about her.

He'd haunt the sons of bitches for eternity if he had to.

The thought brought a smile to his lips.

"Adios, Riley," Elijah laughed and then kicked him hard in the back of the head.

The last thing Tristan saw was him and the redhead walking away.

Chapter Nineteen

"Stay behind me," Jason cautioned as they stepped up onto the sidewalk outside the club exactly ten minutes later. Sirens blared in the distance, screeching closer, but not close enough yet. The sun beat down overhead, the sky a clear blue.

A raging storm would have been more appropriate.

"I will," she promised, stepping up behind him. Her gun was a comforting weight in the palm of her hand. She held it steady though she was certain it probably should have been shaking beneath the weight of her nerves. Nothing shook or trembled or raced though. Outwardly, she was still and quiet.

Jason depressed the door handle with his elbow.

"Ready?" he asked, his foot on the door and his gun aimed.

"Ready," she responded, tightening her grip on the weapon in her hand.

Things didn't slow down or speed up as they always seemed to do in the movies. There were no garbled shouts, and no heavy, thudding pound of her heart. There was only the sun beating down on her back, the gun in her hand, and the darker shadows of the club, but the scene reminded her once more of the curtain being raised on a set stage.

There was no music, but as Jason pushed the door open wide, using it for cover as he assessed the situation inside, she was Giselle, fighting the
Wilis
for Duke Albrecht's life. She was Swanilda trying to win her love, Juliet rebelling in order to follow her own heart, and Princess Odette sacrificing her life so Prince Siegfried did not remain forever cursed. She was every role she'd ever danced, channeling every bit of strength each one had found in the face of adversity. Giselle's courage, Swanilda's guile, Juliet's determination, and Odette's heart. She wore them all like armor now.

There was a certain identifiable choreography to every move they made now. Every single one was designed for survival. Hers. Jason's. Tristan's. If they were fast enough, smart enough, they might make it.

She had to believe they would.

As Jason stepped into the club, motioning for her to follow, she noticed three things at once. First, the door to the room that Tristan had tried so hard to find a way into stood wide open as if beckoning them onward. Second, they were alone in the club. And third, the stench of gasoline overpowered the place.

She took one last breath of fresh air and followed Jason's lead.

Michael threw the Rover into park and hopped out in front of the abandoned warehouse painted with the same address Jason had given him. Sirens wailed in the distance as Warner and his men raced closer, but that was a secondary concern right that second. He stopped on the sidewalk and glanced around, trying to put the pieces together.

There was a dark blue sedan parked across the road, but who knew who it belonged to? The car was the only thing of interest in sight, though. The few businesses in the area were empty, weeds growing wildly all around. The other warehouses were exactly like the one in front of him, empty shells, long ago abandoned. Nothing so much as moved on the road.

He turned back to the warehouse, seeing nothing that screamed
this is what you're looking for
. The metal shell was rusted and battered. Broken glass gaped in the windows. Gang signs were tagged across the front, the doors boarded up. But Riley's cell had pinged here, so unless the system was making shit up, whatever he'd found had to be here. Either inside or on the property.

He eyed the warehouse warily, knowing full well that if someone were inside, he was a sitting duck out here. Little Mama had his vest and he was down a hand. Screw it though, right?

This was the shit he lived for.

He checked the earpiece in his ear, fumbled his gun from his holster and jogged across the yard. It took him no time at all to find what he was looking for. After all the bullshit these bastards had caused, he'd almost expected the entrance to look like some sinister door to Dracula's lair, but no. The way in was your every day, average cement and steel storm drain with a steel door halfway down the culvert like a storm shelter. Nothing unusual at all about it.

He squatted in the dirt outside and grimaced, quickly amending that opinion. Someone had shed blood and been dragged through it. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out whom that someone was.

Riley.

"I found it," he said into the earpiece attached to his radio. There was nothing really funny about the situation, but fuck if he didn't feel like laughing anyway. When shit could get worse, it would. And shit could always get worse. So there was no point in bitching, he'd learned that lesson a long time ago.

"We're in," Jason responded.

"Warner and his men have a five minute ETA," Davis said.

Michael gritted his teeth, did a sweep and headed into the shadows of the tunnel to wait for back up to get there. He paused halfway down and listened as a scratching sound echoed from the other side of the door.

He hurriedly ducked back out of the culvert and plastered himself against the side as the door creaked open.

"Fuck," he mouthed as Elijah and the little redheaded bitch slipped out.

The blond had a gas can in hand, pouring it out as he went.

"How long?" the redhead asked, flicking a lighter on and off in her hand.

Elijah looked at his watch. "Long enough," he grunted and tossed the gas can. "Now that Vetrov's son and his group of psychos are gone, we're in the clear. If they don't get busted, your cousin will kill them the moment their planes land. Torch the place and let's get the fuck outta here, babe."

"Kincaid?" Jason's voice came through the earpiece.

He couldn't afford a response as the crazy bitch smiled sweetly at Elijah and struck the lighter to the fluid. It went up with a soft whoosh.

"It'll hit the chemicals in the tunnel in a couple of minutes, and that'll ignite the rest." Elijah laughed. "I love a good explosion. Too fucking bad we couldn't take care of Vetrov alongside the DEA agent and his bitch."

"Kincaid?"

He mouthed another curse as they started walking away, murmuring back and forth about Vetrov and how much Francisco hated the bastard, acting as if they didn't have a care in the world. That was alright though. Fuckers were about to have a care. A really big care.

"Stairs," Jason muttered as he led Lillian into the storage room. It had taken Tristan weeks to get inside, and they'd left the door wide open for him and Lillian. He didn't believe for a minute that walking out would be as simple though. Whatever Vetrov had in store would be hell.

And he'd brought Lillian in with him. He hadn't really had a choice. As loathe as he was to admit it, they needed her more right then than they'd needed her at any point in the past. He could guess how this was going to play out, and Tristan wasn't in any shape to get himself out under his own power.

Lillian was going to have to help drag him out. And damn the bastard that put stairs here because if Tristan was in worse shape than they hoped, they were going to have hell getting him up them with her leg.

She didn't complain as they started down though. In fact, she didn't utter a single word. She simply gritted her teeth, adjusted her grip on the Beretta in her hand, grabbed the railing with her other and made do with what she had, hobbling down like a champ.

She was a little lioness off to fight for what was hers. Jason couldn't wait to officially welcome her to the family. There was no one he'd ever met as suited to his friend as the ballerina now walking along at his side.

He motioned for her to stop as the stairs opened up into a cellar. The boards were gone, and the scent of gasoline hung heavier in the air. He and Lillian entered carefully. The room was empty, but a makeshift door had been cut into the cinderblock wall at the back of the basement. It stood open, granting access to the tunnels. The bastards had cut clean through to the city's drainage system. It opened up on the other side in a four-way where one tunnel ended and three others began. Industrial work lights hung overhead, illuminating the area, allowing Jason to see exactly how carefully Vetrov had hidden his little lab.

Aside from the homeless and the sporadic work crews, no one ventured that far into the drainage tunnels, leaving Vetrov with the perfect set up. The lab wasn't in
Teplo
, though they were able to access it from the club. And all they had to do to hide it was push the door they'd created closed. If they did, no one would be the wiser. The tunnels led out far enough from the club where no one would have connected any activity on the surface to
Teplo
.

They hadn't wired the lab to blow, either. The bastards had doused every inch of the place with gasoline and stacked a table full of volatile chemicals right in the middle. If the stuff in those bottles ignited, the resulting explosion would ravage the tunnels, the street above, and leave nothing but a hole where
Teplo
now sat. Lillian would be damn lucky if her house didn't go up, too.

Fucking hell.

"Tristan!" she cried.

Jason swore and grabbed her arm as she started to move past him toward Tristan, who was on his back on the far side of the table. Even from a distance, he looked bad. Really bad. Blood oozed from cuts on his hands and his face. His clothes were grimy, soaked with blood and dirt. Fury roiled through Jason as he saw exactly how much damage the bastards had done to his friend. He was so battered, he was almost unrecognizable. Thank fuck Davis had an ambulance on the way because Tristan was going to need one. Desperately.

"Wait a minute," he demanded as Lillian struggled to free herself from his grasp. His eyes roved around the makeshift lab and noticed no one. His hackles went up. He glanced back at the tables. "Kincaid?"

No answer.

"Kincaid?"

Lillian tore free from his grasp and limped hurriedly toward Tristan. Jason couldn't contain the grimace as she threw herself to the cement beside him, heedless of her leg.

"Tristan, baby," she whispered, reaching out for him.

Jason followed, keeping his gun up to give her cover in case they weren't alone. He rather suspected they were though. None of Vetrov's people would risk getting caught in here with all those chemicals ready to explode. Tristan was a decoy exactly as Kincaid had feared, here to keep everyone occupied while they scurried off like rats.

"He's breathing," Lillian said, brushing her hand in the air above his swollen face. "Thank you, God, he's breathing."

"Don't try to move him," Jason warned, crouching beside her and grabbing for Tristan's wrist to get a pulse. It was weak, unsteady. His breaths came in abnormal gulps and watery exhalations. Jason's mouth compressed into a thin line when he saw the rip in Tristan's shirt where a knife had slipped between his ribs. "We're going to need that ambulance to move faster," he said into the earpiece connecting him to Davis and Kincaid.

"How bad is he?" Davis asked.

"Bad," he answered, beyond pissed off.

"Five minutes," Davis responded. "Can you move him out?"

"Oh my God," Lillian choked out. Tears streamed down her face as she hovered over Tristan, scared to even touch him. She pointed to his arm, her hands shaking visibly.

Ah, fuck.

"Lillian, look at me, darlin'," Jason coached as her eyes hovered on the jagged edges of the bone protruding from Tristan's arm in two different places. She blanched visibly, paling, but didn't look away from his mangled arm. "Look at me, Lillian."