Too Hot to Hold (27 page)

It had ended for all of them quite a while ago, but she hadn’t yelled that back, had concentrated on crash landing.

When she came to, her head was against the console. She’d smelled the gasoline and knew the plane was on fire.

But Smoke, he was already dead.

And now the men who run GOST will think I’m dead too
.

For all intents and purposes, she was. This was her way out, her chance to escape.

But to where? She was so tired of hiding, of running. Of living by someone else’s rules. So no, she was done running—this time, she’d stay and fight.

A hand on her back made her jerk up—it wasn’t a comforting or a friendly touch, but one meant to shove her roughly to the ground. She let it happen, only so she could roll to her back and take down the assaulter with a strong kick to the knee.

A man howled in pain—a local, looking to rob the dead, and she must’ve seemed an easy target.

With her knife at his throat, he knew he’d made a mistake. Five days ago, even five hours ago, she would’ve slit his throat without a second chance. She didn’t believe in those, didn’t believe they did anyone much good. In her world now, it was react immediately, never ask questions and never have any regrets.

But this time, she merely pushed away from the man and began to stumble back through the jungled path that would lead her to the warehouse … and maybe to some answers.

21

Sarah woke with a cough. Her head was heavy, her legs and arms like lead, and she quickly realized that she was tied and lying on a floor. She rolled from her back to her side in an attempt to sit up, opened her mouth to call for Clutch but her throat was too dry. More coughing that left her doubled up.

She remembered being inside the hotel room, remembered that Nick had called to say the article had been transmitted. Clutch had been showering while she watched the windows and the door, weapon in hand. Whoever had gotten them had moved fast—the gas grenade broke the window and worked almost immediately.

She’d tried the door right before she’d collapsed; it had been blocked from the outside.

How long between then and now was anyone’s guess. It felt like days. Years. It felt like she could lay her head back down and just sleep, except Clutch …

Where was Clutch?

The figure in front of her was blurry—whoever it was leaned in and wiped her eyes with a cool cloth and then put some water to her lips. Normally, she wouldn’t let herself drink like this—it could be drugged or worse—but her throat was burning and she needed to speak, to ask what was going on.

“Clutch, please, untie me.”

“It’s not Clutch.”

She knew that voice, blinked a few times, recognized the man standing over her immediately as her most recent contact for an American paper. “Vince, what are you doing here?”

“I came for you, Sarah,” Vince said, his voice lowering an octave, and for a second she just stared at him, her mouth dropping open.

It was the voice that haunted her dreams … the one that she’d heard on Clutch’s phone months ago …

Bobby Juniper, we want you back
.

She’d heard the same one on her phone yesterday when she was in the car with Clutch.

John Caspar’s voice.

“No—no way this is happening,” she said finally, but it was happening.

“I was checking up on Clutch, making sure he kept up his end of the bargain, that he wasn’t sending you messages or calling you,” Vince said. No, not Vince—he was really John Caspar. She’d been fooled by the man who wanted her dead. Driven him, spoken with him, shared meals with him.

She’d talked with him about her past—the first person she’d opened up to about it since she’d told Clutch, thinking it would help her heal faster.

She’d been an idiot. “How?”

He held up her cell phone and pointed to the back. “Tracking device. Very effective, and neither you nor Clutch suspected anything.”

“You went through my things…You bastard.” She’d brought this down on all their shoulders and she cursed herself for her stupidity—for trusting. “Where’s Clutch?”

“He has some jobs to finish. Some choices to make.” Vince—no, not Vince—John Caspar bent down and rubbed his hands over her arms as she tried to squirm away. “I’m just trying to keep your arms from going numb.”

“Then untie me, you asshole.”

He laughed. “It would take a lot to get the fight out of you, Sarah. That’s why I like you so much. That’s why I didn’t kill you when I was supposed to.”

When her family had been killed, she’d been sixteen—pampered for someone who lived in this country. And she’d been scared, so frightened of the noise and weapons that she’d done the only thing she knew at the time—she ran.

This time she knew better, knew that you could never hide from men like this. Knew that she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t fight to the death for her family. For Clutch.

She brought her legs up hard—bound together, they served nicely as a weapon—her slightly bent knees catching Caspar in the face.

He howled and backed away, his nose bleeding. “You’re making a huge mistake, Sarah. Clutch isn’t going to choose you. If you’d agreed to stay with me, you would’ve been free.”

She didn’t bother to tell him that what she’d done had already set her free. Now she could only hope that the same would prove true for Clutch, no matter the outcome.

Tape covered her mouth, stopped her from screaming. Instinctively, Kaylee tried to bring her hands up to pull it off, but found her wrists tied tightly together behind her back. The darkness closed in on her and her breath came through her nostrils in tight, hard puffs. Her head felt heavy and bile rose in her throat as unconsciousness threatened to take hold of her again.

The dirt floor rubbed against her exposed knee where her pants had ripped earlier. She didn’t have a blindfold on, but her eyes refused to adjust to the darkness no matter how stubbornly she tried. Burning gunpowder stung her nose as she attempted to push up to a sitting position. Impossible to do the way they’d trussed her, both legs and arms, and every muscle in her body was numb.

Instinctively, she kicked her legs out straight. They hit a wall. She heard the sounds of loose dirt falling from where she’d kicked, and she tried to maneuver on her back and kicked again.

She was in the ground, in a hole that couldn’t be any bigger than six by six feet. A grated opening above her provided a slight bit of light. Still, everything began to close in and her mild case of claustrophobia promised to overwhelm. She had to get out of here.

She kicked again frantically and heard a muffled groan when she made contact with something soft.

In seconds, Nick was pressed to her tightly, his voice barely there in her ear. “You’re okay—I’m going to untie you.”

Nick was here, she wasn’t alone. She could barely stay still while he worked. Her wrists and ankles were raw but she didn’t care about the burn of the ropes as he pulled them away, didn’t even care about the way her face stung as she yanked the tape off her mouth.

“Easy, Kaylee—it’s okay…just keep it quiet.” His lips pressed directly to her ear, his hands on her arms, calming her. “Don’t draw attention to us—I don’t know how much longer we’ll be alone.”

“No one’s up there, watching us?”

“From what I heard, there aren’t enough of them to keep track of us. I heard them say they’ve got Clutch here too.”

“We’re at the warehouse?”

“I can’t be sure, but I think so. You’re not claustrophobic are you?”

“Never was. But this could make anyone have a panic attack.” She pulled tight to him.

“Keep your breathing controlled—you’ll be fine.”

The only semi-comfortable position they could manage was lying on their sides, bodies pressed against each other. She took some deep breaths before she spoke again. “Is there any way out?”

“Not that I can find, not yet. But they’ll be back for us.”

“How do you know?”

“We’re still alive.”

“My God, Nick, I’ll cancel the article.”

“Don’t you dare—you can’t. First of all, that’s the only thing that’ll keep you alive.”

He pulled away from her and lay on his back, facing the grate.

“Do you think the others are okay? Sarah and Clutch?”

“I don’t know.” He rolled back to her. “No matter what happens, you will not pull the article, or phone anyone to tell them you made it all up. No matter what happens, no matter what you hear.”

“What will I hear? What are you saying?” she asked as the metal grate lifted with an agonizing screech of old rusted metal, and arms reached down to grab for Nick.

“No matter what you hear,” he repeated softly. “It won’t be as bad as you think.”

She reached for him, attempted to keep him there with her, but the person pulling him was stronger. In seconds, she was alone; the grate slammed down and she twined her fingers through the squares in an attempt to pull herself as close as possible, to see and hear what was happening.

She heard the sounds of punches, Nick’s rough groan and the thud of a body hitting the floor, and fought the urge to scream.

Instead, she pushed at the rough metal grate as if she could move it through force.

Dammit, he’d be peeing blood for a week, thanks to the blow across his back that took him to his knees.

Nick would have fought back if Kaylee wasn’t in such close proximity—but the two men had guns and he couldn’t take a chance.

“What do you want from me? I don’t know shit.” Nick roughly brushed some blood away from his lip with the back of his hand before spitting more on the ground.

“You know Clutch. You know Kaylee Smith. And you know about GOST.” That voice wasn’t one of the men who’d roughed him up. No, it was a different man, one with cold, hard features.

“And who the fuck are you?” Nick demanded, was surprised when he got an answer.

“I’m John Caspar. I’m sure Clutch has spoken of me.”

“And I’m still part of the military, asshole. Active duty. Even you don’t have the kind of power it takes to make me disappear.”

“Oh, I have the power all right.” Caspar raised the gun to Nick’s head, placed the barrel against the side of his skull.

“If you think dying scares me, you picked the wrong man.”

“So brave—like a good military man. Too bad you suffered a tragic death in Africa. Happens all the time—the country demands a lot, and this time you couldn’t meet her demands.”

“So do it.” He jerked at his chains as if trying to get at Caspar and failing—but now he knew exactly what kind of hold they had on him, and what kind of reach he had.

“First things first: you need to convince Kaylee to cancel the article.”

“Too late—her boss is running it.”

“Not if he knows her life is on the line.” Caspar called out, “Kaylee, Nick has something to tell you.”

“Kaylee, listen to me very carefully and do exactly what I say. Make sure that fucking article gets run in the morning edition, do you hear me—”

Caspar used the butt of his gun against the side of Nick’s head, shoved him back to the ground.

“I’d rethink what Nick says, Miss Smith, because if you don’t, you’re never going to see him again.”

“She’s smart enough to know you’ll kill her once she makes the call,” Nick spat.

“Right now, neither of you are being very smart.” Caspar motioned to the two men to take Nick away. “I’ll take good care of Kaylee Smith.”

Nick struggled against them, even threw one of them off him, but by that time, Caspar had hauled Kaylee up out of the hole roughly by the arm.

She blanched when she saw Nick’s face—he felt the blood drip from his nose and mouth and reluctantly let the men grab him again.

For Kaylee. But as soon as Caspar moved her out of here, these men were in for the fight of their lives. And they had no idea who they were up against, because Nick had fought for his life more times than he’d cared to count. This time, like all the others, he wasn’t prepared to lose.

Jamie shot up in her seat at the touch on her shoulder.

Chris—it’s just Chris
.

“Are we close?” she asked as she stared out the window, wiped sleep from her eyes.

“We’re here—it’s down this road.” He drove like he did everything, sure and calm and yet somehow fast as hell, and she could’ve sworn she’d heard him singing while she slept. Sure that’s what woke her up with more of a comforted feeling than the normal one of horror she had whenever she dreamed about her parents.

But she pushed that out of her mind because over the bend she saw the warehouse. “Was I talking in my sleep?”

“Sounded more like a nightmare,” he said as he stopped the car and brushed some hair from her face.

God, she hadn’t had one in a long time—the last one had been the night she’d been shot and had woken up in the hospital, half high and alone and not knowing if Mike had made it out of surgery. But she got herself together quickly—she didn’t need to fall apart any more than she’d already done.

She moved away from his touch. “Let’s go.”

He was out of the car and by her side before she was even halfway out of the seat, his weapon drawn.

It made her stop and look around. “It’s quiet.”

“Too fucking quiet,” Chris muttered, his body tensed like a bow.

She tried to do the same, hated that she found her hand shaking when she pulled her own gun.

His palm covered her hand that held the weapon for just a second, warm and reassuring. “It’s personal, but you don’t want to fuck up your shot.”

She wanted to laugh at that, took it as a good sign that once he removed his hand, hers was steady.

“Something’s really wrong.” Chris paused, closed his eyes. When he opened them, she swore the colors were more intense than they’d been.

She grabbed his arm. “Whatever happens, don’t let Sophie stay here. If something happens to me, you take her back with you. Will you do that? No matter what?”

He didn’t answer her, just stared for a second before turning his attention back to the warehouse.

When they heard shots fired inside, both of them took off toward the building at a dead run.

Clutch woke and recognized the steel walls of a warehouse room instantly. Fucking sleeping gas grenade got him when he wasn’t paying attention. His own trick used against him.

“Clutch? You’re awake—Clutch, wake up!” Sarah’s voice carried to him. He turned to his side and saw her, all trussed up against the far wall, a gun pressed to her temple by John Caspar, who cocked a finger at him like a disapproving schoolteacher while Clutch fought the urge to bite that finger off.