Defending His Hope, page 18
“As long as it fucking takes,” Ripper snaps. “Romeo’s keeping an eye on things with the drone. We’ll see anyone coming or going.”
It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. Not until Hope is safe in my arms again.
22
Hope
My neck aches. I try to reach up to touch it, but my arm won’t move. Each beat of my heart throbs all the way to my eardrums. Not good.
Pain prickles along the back of my scalp as someone wrenches my head back—or up. Simon’s face blurs in and out of focus. Can’t see his eyes. Need to see his eyes. Need to know how angry he is. How much he’ll hurt me.
“Nap time is over, Hope. Who brought you back to Salt Lake City and where are they now?”
I’m so dizzy. Tugging at my left hand does nothing. The right is half numb. Squinting, I think…shit. My wrists are zip tied to the arms of a metal chair.
“I need an answer.”
Answer? I don’t remember the question. It’s harder than it should be to lift my gaze to his. “Huh?”
“Rex, please remind Hope of the rules.”
Rules? What rules?
Fingers dig into both sides of my jaw, right under my ears. Weak, gasping breaths are all I can manage. A spiderweb of agony covers my entire face and trails down my neck.
“Huuuurrts.”
Simon leans close enough even my blurry vision isn’t enough to hide the rage in his eyes. With a jerk of his hand, he tells Rex to stop, and my head lolls forward.
He grabs me by the chin. “Who was on that plane with you? I know you couldn’t afford to charter a private flight here by yourself. You had no money. Nothing. So who is he?”
“The best lies have a grain of truth to them.”
“Wyatt,” I whisper. “His name is Wyatt.”
My answer must please Simon, because he pats my cheek gently. “So it is him. The man who killed Brix, Matteo, Preston, and Tommy. Wyatt Blake. Former Navy SEAL. Retired with a Purple Heart and the Navy Medal of Honor.”
He knows.
“Where is Mr. Blake now?” Simon asks.
How long has it been? The last thing I remember is falling—being dragged—down the stairs. I must have passed out. That’s how they got me into this chair. But after that? I can’t give up Wyatt’s location if I haven’t been here an hour. Ripper needs time to work.
I shake my head—big mistake. The room takes on a shimmer as a thousand stars explode in my vision. It’s so bright, it hurts. Or maybe that’s just the head injury.
Rex digs his knuckles into twin points just above each of my breasts. My scream echoes off the walls until I run out of air. He lets up for only a second, then starts in on me again.
Tears stream down my cheeks. My nose is running. Everything hurts. I writhe, desperate to get away, but the zip ties are too tight.
“Enough.” Simon pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and swipes at my face. “Disgusting. I can’t stand to look at you in this state.”
“Then…don’t. Where’s…Bettina?” I have to stall. Otherwise, I might not survive.
With an eye roll, Simon steps back and tosses the handkerchief on the floor. “Tell me where Mr. Blake is now, and I will let you see that pitiful excuse for a maid. Keep fighting me, and Rex will move on to the more painful pressure points.”
More painful?
“The Grove Motel.” I hang my head, like I can’t believe I just gave up the man I love. “He…didn’t want me to go. I snuck out.”
“What room?”
My silence earns me what feels like an eternity of pure agony. Rex. His thick fingers just below my throat. Digging into—under?—my collar bones.
“Room…room thirty…one.” Did I say that out loud? I must have. The pain starts to fade. I can’t smell Rex’s too-fresh breath.
Simon nudges my chin up. Narrowed eyes regard me with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. “Now we are getting somewhere. Does he know where I live?”
I manage a short nod. Got to distract Simon. Make him think what the team wants him to think. “He’ll kill you.”
His laugh sends a shiver down my spine as he turns his gaze to Rex.
“Send Rudy and Orson to the motel. Chad too. Put an end to this too-stupid-to-live Neanderthal and bring his body back here. Hope should be able to say goodbye to her lover.”
“Simon, don’t!” I cry. Leaning as far forward as I can, I pray he’s as predictable as West hoped. “You don’t need to do this. He’ll never get to you. Not with all your security. He’s harmless!” I don’t have to fake my tears. Every one of my nerves feels like it’s on fire, and the more I struggle against the zip ties, the more my wrists and ankles burn.
“No one who knows my name is harmless,” Simon snarls. His hand flies, catching me across the cheek. The taste of copper fills my mouth. “You cost me millions in bribes. I almost lost everything because of you.”
He’s pacing now, back and forth so quickly, I can’t follow him. It’s too hard.
“I got the FBI investigation shut down—that was another two million by the time I was done—but all the businesses you used to hide my money over the past three years have been red flagged.” He mops his brow with a fresh handkerchief.
I’ve never seen him this out of control. This Simon could do anything. Snap and kill me in seconds. Give me to Rex or Kyle or Orson and tell them to do their worst. Slit Bettina’s throat just for fun.
He snaps his fingers, and I jerk. Rex and Kyle flank my chair. Each grab an arm—mine, of course, so it hurts more—spin me around, and shove the chair up to a folding table.
I lift my gaze, and suddenly it doesn’t matter how much pain Simon causes me. Because ten feet in front of me, Bettina lies on the floor. Her chest stutters with each breath. Fresh scratches, bruises, and—oh my God—cigarette burns line her inner thighs. Her short uniform dress is ripped open all the way from her neck down to the hem, and though she tried to cover herself, I don’t think she’s wearing panties.
“Bettina!” I whip my head around, searching for Simon. Fuck. I’m so dizzy now, I want to throw up. “What did you do, you bastard?”
He swoops in from my left side. “I promised you she’d suffer.” His thin lips curve into a smile, and too late, I start to suck in a deep breath. I know what’s coming.
Simon wraps one hand around my throat, squeezing so hard, I can’t get any air.
My arms and legs jerk violently, desperate to break free, but the plastic ties are too strong. Simon is too strong.
Burning. My chest. Lungs. Prickling pain in my eyes. Can’t think. Air. Need air.
Please.
Simon’s stare bores into me. Spasms rack my entire body. He’s so angry. No control.
“Boss!” Rex shouts, and Simon jerks his hand away.
He’s saying something. Lots of somethings. But all I hear over my own heartbeat is unintelligible ranting. Across from me, Bettina struggles to move. What is she doing?
Deep, heaving breaths leave me exhausted. I barely have the energy to keep my head up. More shouting. Rex. Simon.
“Not until we find the SEAL!” Rex says, getting right in Simon’s face. “This is your fucking plan, boss. Stick to it!”
Simon pulls out his phone and jabs the screen. “Fine. Get the laptop. I’m unlocking the internet.”
The internet. Why?
Rex places a sleek, black computer in front of me, opens it, and presses his index finger to the sensor.
“Simon?” I peer up at him, confused. Bettina manages to sit up, but the motion exposes more of her torso. I doubt there’s even an inch that isn’t bruised.
“You are going to fix your mistakes, my dear, sweet Hope.” He reaches into his pocket for a folded piece of paper. “This is a list of clean companies. Ones the FBI haven’t flagged. You will distribute my assets among these nine entities, and you will do it before the sun comes up.”
“I c-can’t. My head…”
The punch comes out of nowhere. Hard and fast and right to my jaw. Blood fills my mouth. Too much. Spitting it onto the floor, I struggle not to pass out.
“This is your last warning,” Simon snarls.
When he curls his lip, he looks like a demented clown, and the thought almost makes me laugh. Until Rex stalks over to Bettina, kicks her, and presses his boot to her throat.
Simon fists my hair and forces me to meet his gaze. “I’d let my men have their fun with you until there was nothing left, but finding another accountant I can control will take me weeks. Do your job, or your pretty friend dies.”
“I need…my hands,” I whimper. “And…time. It’s hard to think. Stairs…my head hurts so much. Please, Simon. Don’t…hurt her.”
“One hand,” he snaps. “And you have three hours.” Before he straightens, he twists my hair so hard, I cry out. “Rex will make sure you don’t do anything you’re not supposed to. All the bank logins are on that paper. Go anywhere else online, and Bettina loses an eye.”
Rex pulls out a switchblade. It snaps open inches from Bettina’s face. Her hoarse whimper brings a fresh round of tears. She squeezes her eyes shut when he traces a line from her lips all the way up her cheek, but thank God there’s no blood.
“Be good, my sweet Hope.” Simon heads for the stairs, and Rex slips the blade under the zip tie around my right wrist. He’s not careful. When the plastic snaps in two, blood slicks my skin.
Asshole.
I need a distraction. If I can get Rex to leave the room, maybe we’ll all make it out of this alive. If not…maybe I can at least find a way to get a message to the team.
Wyatt
“Got movement,” Ry says, his deep voice somehow even rougher over comms. “Three men in a black sedan. The two assholes from the park and another.”
“Base to Alpha Team.” Wren. It’s five in the morning here. An hour earlier in Seattle. I cringe, still hiding behind a tall hedge. Ry’s gonna be pissed.
“Base, you should be offline.”
Yep. Called it.
“Third man is one Chad Ravens. Two arrests for harassment, both charges were dismissed, and a third for stalking. That one is still open.”
“Where the fuck did he come from? He wasn’t on the list. And why are you awake?”
“Because someone won’t stop kicking my bladder,” Wren retorts. “And because you’re on mission. If you think I’m ever going to sleep when you’re out there—”
“Cut the chatter. Both of you. Romeo, get in position. They’ll be at the motel in five minutes,” West mutters. “Charlie, what’s your status?”
Charlie? Shit. Rip’s dog. Of course he’d pick that for his code name.
“Close. I think. When we’re back, we’re going through this code line by line. We can use this tech. Base, I need your help with these last couple of functions.”
“You got it, Charlie,” Wren says. “Send it ov—fudgenuggets!”
I tense, sitting up straighter and flexing my screaming muscles. Wren doesn’t swear. Fudgenuggets is serious.
“Base?” Ry asks. “Report!”
“I have a way in. Yankee? Hotel’s alive. She’s transferring money from the companies the FBI red flagged to half a dozen other accounts. From inside the target zone.” Wren’s so excited, her words are falling all over one another. “Each transfer has a three- or four-letter code attached to it, and I think…hang on.”
Thirty seconds. Sixty. Ninety. Fuck. How long until I lose my shit and demand an update?
Do not yell at the pregnant woman working her ass off for you and Hope. You’re not that much of an asshole. Remember?
“Base to Alpha Team. She is definitely sending us a message. So far, it reads: ‘Basement. RD. Internet open.’ Charlie, keep working. I’m going to send a spike to Arrens’ computer and see if I can take down the whole system. Without knowing anything about his firewalls, this could be quick, or it could take an hour. But at least we have a backup plan. Base out.”
“Dumbasses neutralized,” Ry says quietly. “No resistance. Sent confirmation of Yankee’s death to the Target via text. You’d better be close, Charlie. He’ll expect these three back in fifteen minutes.”
“I am.” There’s a quiet confidence in Ripper’s tone that wasn’t there before.
We’re getting Hope back. And Simon Arrens is going to die for what he’s done. To her and everyone else he’s ever hurt.
23
Hope
Two hours and twenty-seven minutes. Where are they?
Rex hasn’t left me alone or turned his back the whole time, and I’m terrified he’s going to notice the codes I’m attaching to each transfer. Or that I’ll forget what letters to use next.
My head feels like someone’s using it for basketball practice. Hell, there isn’t a single part of me that doesn’t hurt.
“I need water,” I croak. It’s not a lie. I’m parched.
“When you’re done.” He jams two fingers down on my left wrist—along the bone—and I yelp. My vision goes white from the pain.
“Can’t finish…with you…doing…that…”
The pressure eases. “Whiny little bitch,” he says under his breath.
“Asshole,” Bettina hisses. Sitting up against the wall, she looks so frail. But fire burns in her brown eyes. “Eres tan feo que hiciste llorar a una cebolla.”
A laugh bubbles up in my throat until Rex growls something unintelligible and stalks over to her. Shit. Stop him? Or use the distraction?
“Is that the best you can do?” he snarls. “I’m so ugly I make an onion cry? I can make you that ugly in seconds!”
She screams and kicks at him, catching him in the ankle.
Now. Move, now, Hope.
It’s awkward as hell to reach down to my right foot, but as Rex kicks Bettina in the hip, I dig into my shoe. The narrow, serrated file West slipped under the insole isn’t enough of a weapon for me to overpower Rex, but it’ll get me out of these zip ties. If I have enough time to use it.
Bettina’s whimpers put an end to that plan too soon. I can’t let him keep hurting her. Sliding the file up my left sleeve, I call his name.
“Stop! Or the next transfer I make will send a million dollars directly to the federal government.” He won’t understand there’s no way I can actually do that. The threat is effective enough. Rex shoves Bettina to the floor.
“If you try anything…” he warns, stalking back to my side.
“I know. More pain. You’re so creative.” The slap sends my head whipping to the side.
Shut up, Hope. Just a little longer and Wyatt will come for you.
The laptop screen flickers. Huh? The code I’d entered on this transfer, nin30, letting someone—Wren, I hope—know that Simon’s due back in the basement in thirty minutes, changes.
In10.
Ten minutes? They’re going to be here in ten minutes? I can hold out for ten more minutes. I have to.
Another flicker, and the code disappears. Quickly, I add OK to the transfer note, then send it off. Four accounts left, and now…nine minutes. Curling the fingers of my left hand, I close them around the tip of the file.
They’re coming for me. I have to be ready.
Wyatt
“In position to cut the power.” West’s words in my ear are the best fucking thing I’ve heard all day. We’ve been in position for over an hour and a half. Any longer, and I was going over the wall on my own, damn any consequences.
“Base, you good to go?” Rip asks.
“Base is ready. Count it down, Charlie.”
The brief silence is long enough for me to close my eyes and visualize my target. The south wall of the compound. Twelve feet up and over. A drop onto grass. Then fifty feet to the front door. Thermals better fucking work or we’re breaching the house blind.
“On my mark,” Rip says quietly. “Three. Two. One. Go.”
The floodlights illuminating the outer wall flicker—Wren’s infiltration of Simon’s network—and someone shouts. “What the hell was that?”
I take off at a dead run, covering the distance in under a minute. The wall looms tall above me. The instant everything goes dark, I throw the small grappling hook up and over the wall. It lands with a quiet plink, catches, and I start to climb.
The power comes back on with a dull hum of equipment, lights, and a blaring alarm from inside the house. “Yankee. Eight o’clock,” Ry says in my ear. Spinning around, I fire a single shot from my silenced MK-23. It finds its mark in a tall, black-clad man’s neck, and he goes down.
“Three heat signatures in the basement, two more heading that direction. Breach!”
Thank fuck Ryker agreed to stay in the van. He’s calm in a way I could never be. Not with Hope’s life at stake. Glass shatters to the east, and I break down the front door with a hard kick. Asshole was so confident in his security, he didn’t bother to reinforce the lock.
Raelynn sweeps into the great room from the north. “Clear. On your six, Yankee.”
“Multiple hostiles in and around the garage.” This from Graham. “I count eight.”
“Five now,” Inara says. “On my way.”
The door to the basement doesn’t budge, even when I give it a second and third kick. “Out of the way,” Raelynn hisses. I turn to argue, until I see the det cord coiled in her gloved fingers.
Thirty seconds later, we retreat behind the wall of Simon’s office. She tugs at her black knit cap, then pulls out the detonator.
“Fire in the—” Bits of plaster pelt us as bullets land in the drywall between us. “Sheeiiit.”
We drop and roll. The small, plastic control box slips from her hand. With one bad bounce on the marble floor, the cover pops off.
No!
I need to get to the basement. Right fucking now. “Cover me!”
She fires—a good six shots—but whoever’s on the other side of the wall must be weaving, because we’re still pinned down behind a heavy oak desk taking hits every few seconds.
The detonator pieces almost slip from my hands. I have to get my shit together. Hope’s life depends on it. “Need an assist,” Raelynn says. “South-east corner office.”
It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. Not until Hope is safe in my arms again.
22
Hope
My neck aches. I try to reach up to touch it, but my arm won’t move. Each beat of my heart throbs all the way to my eardrums. Not good.
Pain prickles along the back of my scalp as someone wrenches my head back—or up. Simon’s face blurs in and out of focus. Can’t see his eyes. Need to see his eyes. Need to know how angry he is. How much he’ll hurt me.
“Nap time is over, Hope. Who brought you back to Salt Lake City and where are they now?”
I’m so dizzy. Tugging at my left hand does nothing. The right is half numb. Squinting, I think…shit. My wrists are zip tied to the arms of a metal chair.
“I need an answer.”
Answer? I don’t remember the question. It’s harder than it should be to lift my gaze to his. “Huh?”
“Rex, please remind Hope of the rules.”
Rules? What rules?
Fingers dig into both sides of my jaw, right under my ears. Weak, gasping breaths are all I can manage. A spiderweb of agony covers my entire face and trails down my neck.
“Huuuurrts.”
Simon leans close enough even my blurry vision isn’t enough to hide the rage in his eyes. With a jerk of his hand, he tells Rex to stop, and my head lolls forward.
He grabs me by the chin. “Who was on that plane with you? I know you couldn’t afford to charter a private flight here by yourself. You had no money. Nothing. So who is he?”
“The best lies have a grain of truth to them.”
“Wyatt,” I whisper. “His name is Wyatt.”
My answer must please Simon, because he pats my cheek gently. “So it is him. The man who killed Brix, Matteo, Preston, and Tommy. Wyatt Blake. Former Navy SEAL. Retired with a Purple Heart and the Navy Medal of Honor.”
He knows.
“Where is Mr. Blake now?” Simon asks.
How long has it been? The last thing I remember is falling—being dragged—down the stairs. I must have passed out. That’s how they got me into this chair. But after that? I can’t give up Wyatt’s location if I haven’t been here an hour. Ripper needs time to work.
I shake my head—big mistake. The room takes on a shimmer as a thousand stars explode in my vision. It’s so bright, it hurts. Or maybe that’s just the head injury.
Rex digs his knuckles into twin points just above each of my breasts. My scream echoes off the walls until I run out of air. He lets up for only a second, then starts in on me again.
Tears stream down my cheeks. My nose is running. Everything hurts. I writhe, desperate to get away, but the zip ties are too tight.
“Enough.” Simon pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and swipes at my face. “Disgusting. I can’t stand to look at you in this state.”
“Then…don’t. Where’s…Bettina?” I have to stall. Otherwise, I might not survive.
With an eye roll, Simon steps back and tosses the handkerchief on the floor. “Tell me where Mr. Blake is now, and I will let you see that pitiful excuse for a maid. Keep fighting me, and Rex will move on to the more painful pressure points.”
More painful?
“The Grove Motel.” I hang my head, like I can’t believe I just gave up the man I love. “He…didn’t want me to go. I snuck out.”
“What room?”
My silence earns me what feels like an eternity of pure agony. Rex. His thick fingers just below my throat. Digging into—under?—my collar bones.
“Room…room thirty…one.” Did I say that out loud? I must have. The pain starts to fade. I can’t smell Rex’s too-fresh breath.
Simon nudges my chin up. Narrowed eyes regard me with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. “Now we are getting somewhere. Does he know where I live?”
I manage a short nod. Got to distract Simon. Make him think what the team wants him to think. “He’ll kill you.”
His laugh sends a shiver down my spine as he turns his gaze to Rex.
“Send Rudy and Orson to the motel. Chad too. Put an end to this too-stupid-to-live Neanderthal and bring his body back here. Hope should be able to say goodbye to her lover.”
“Simon, don’t!” I cry. Leaning as far forward as I can, I pray he’s as predictable as West hoped. “You don’t need to do this. He’ll never get to you. Not with all your security. He’s harmless!” I don’t have to fake my tears. Every one of my nerves feels like it’s on fire, and the more I struggle against the zip ties, the more my wrists and ankles burn.
“No one who knows my name is harmless,” Simon snarls. His hand flies, catching me across the cheek. The taste of copper fills my mouth. “You cost me millions in bribes. I almost lost everything because of you.”
He’s pacing now, back and forth so quickly, I can’t follow him. It’s too hard.
“I got the FBI investigation shut down—that was another two million by the time I was done—but all the businesses you used to hide my money over the past three years have been red flagged.” He mops his brow with a fresh handkerchief.
I’ve never seen him this out of control. This Simon could do anything. Snap and kill me in seconds. Give me to Rex or Kyle or Orson and tell them to do their worst. Slit Bettina’s throat just for fun.
He snaps his fingers, and I jerk. Rex and Kyle flank my chair. Each grab an arm—mine, of course, so it hurts more—spin me around, and shove the chair up to a folding table.
I lift my gaze, and suddenly it doesn’t matter how much pain Simon causes me. Because ten feet in front of me, Bettina lies on the floor. Her chest stutters with each breath. Fresh scratches, bruises, and—oh my God—cigarette burns line her inner thighs. Her short uniform dress is ripped open all the way from her neck down to the hem, and though she tried to cover herself, I don’t think she’s wearing panties.
“Bettina!” I whip my head around, searching for Simon. Fuck. I’m so dizzy now, I want to throw up. “What did you do, you bastard?”
He swoops in from my left side. “I promised you she’d suffer.” His thin lips curve into a smile, and too late, I start to suck in a deep breath. I know what’s coming.
Simon wraps one hand around my throat, squeezing so hard, I can’t get any air.
My arms and legs jerk violently, desperate to break free, but the plastic ties are too strong. Simon is too strong.
Burning. My chest. Lungs. Prickling pain in my eyes. Can’t think. Air. Need air.
Please.
Simon’s stare bores into me. Spasms rack my entire body. He’s so angry. No control.
“Boss!” Rex shouts, and Simon jerks his hand away.
He’s saying something. Lots of somethings. But all I hear over my own heartbeat is unintelligible ranting. Across from me, Bettina struggles to move. What is she doing?
Deep, heaving breaths leave me exhausted. I barely have the energy to keep my head up. More shouting. Rex. Simon.
“Not until we find the SEAL!” Rex says, getting right in Simon’s face. “This is your fucking plan, boss. Stick to it!”
Simon pulls out his phone and jabs the screen. “Fine. Get the laptop. I’m unlocking the internet.”
The internet. Why?
Rex places a sleek, black computer in front of me, opens it, and presses his index finger to the sensor.
“Simon?” I peer up at him, confused. Bettina manages to sit up, but the motion exposes more of her torso. I doubt there’s even an inch that isn’t bruised.
“You are going to fix your mistakes, my dear, sweet Hope.” He reaches into his pocket for a folded piece of paper. “This is a list of clean companies. Ones the FBI haven’t flagged. You will distribute my assets among these nine entities, and you will do it before the sun comes up.”
“I c-can’t. My head…”
The punch comes out of nowhere. Hard and fast and right to my jaw. Blood fills my mouth. Too much. Spitting it onto the floor, I struggle not to pass out.
“This is your last warning,” Simon snarls.
When he curls his lip, he looks like a demented clown, and the thought almost makes me laugh. Until Rex stalks over to Bettina, kicks her, and presses his boot to her throat.
Simon fists my hair and forces me to meet his gaze. “I’d let my men have their fun with you until there was nothing left, but finding another accountant I can control will take me weeks. Do your job, or your pretty friend dies.”
“I need…my hands,” I whimper. “And…time. It’s hard to think. Stairs…my head hurts so much. Please, Simon. Don’t…hurt her.”
“One hand,” he snaps. “And you have three hours.” Before he straightens, he twists my hair so hard, I cry out. “Rex will make sure you don’t do anything you’re not supposed to. All the bank logins are on that paper. Go anywhere else online, and Bettina loses an eye.”
Rex pulls out a switchblade. It snaps open inches from Bettina’s face. Her hoarse whimper brings a fresh round of tears. She squeezes her eyes shut when he traces a line from her lips all the way up her cheek, but thank God there’s no blood.
“Be good, my sweet Hope.” Simon heads for the stairs, and Rex slips the blade under the zip tie around my right wrist. He’s not careful. When the plastic snaps in two, blood slicks my skin.
Asshole.
I need a distraction. If I can get Rex to leave the room, maybe we’ll all make it out of this alive. If not…maybe I can at least find a way to get a message to the team.
Wyatt
“Got movement,” Ry says, his deep voice somehow even rougher over comms. “Three men in a black sedan. The two assholes from the park and another.”
“Base to Alpha Team.” Wren. It’s five in the morning here. An hour earlier in Seattle. I cringe, still hiding behind a tall hedge. Ry’s gonna be pissed.
“Base, you should be offline.”
Yep. Called it.
“Third man is one Chad Ravens. Two arrests for harassment, both charges were dismissed, and a third for stalking. That one is still open.”
“Where the fuck did he come from? He wasn’t on the list. And why are you awake?”
“Because someone won’t stop kicking my bladder,” Wren retorts. “And because you’re on mission. If you think I’m ever going to sleep when you’re out there—”
“Cut the chatter. Both of you. Romeo, get in position. They’ll be at the motel in five minutes,” West mutters. “Charlie, what’s your status?”
Charlie? Shit. Rip’s dog. Of course he’d pick that for his code name.
“Close. I think. When we’re back, we’re going through this code line by line. We can use this tech. Base, I need your help with these last couple of functions.”
“You got it, Charlie,” Wren says. “Send it ov—fudgenuggets!”
I tense, sitting up straighter and flexing my screaming muscles. Wren doesn’t swear. Fudgenuggets is serious.
“Base?” Ry asks. “Report!”
“I have a way in. Yankee? Hotel’s alive. She’s transferring money from the companies the FBI red flagged to half a dozen other accounts. From inside the target zone.” Wren’s so excited, her words are falling all over one another. “Each transfer has a three- or four-letter code attached to it, and I think…hang on.”
Thirty seconds. Sixty. Ninety. Fuck. How long until I lose my shit and demand an update?
Do not yell at the pregnant woman working her ass off for you and Hope. You’re not that much of an asshole. Remember?
“Base to Alpha Team. She is definitely sending us a message. So far, it reads: ‘Basement. RD. Internet open.’ Charlie, keep working. I’m going to send a spike to Arrens’ computer and see if I can take down the whole system. Without knowing anything about his firewalls, this could be quick, or it could take an hour. But at least we have a backup plan. Base out.”
“Dumbasses neutralized,” Ry says quietly. “No resistance. Sent confirmation of Yankee’s death to the Target via text. You’d better be close, Charlie. He’ll expect these three back in fifteen minutes.”
“I am.” There’s a quiet confidence in Ripper’s tone that wasn’t there before.
We’re getting Hope back. And Simon Arrens is going to die for what he’s done. To her and everyone else he’s ever hurt.
23
Hope
Two hours and twenty-seven minutes. Where are they?
Rex hasn’t left me alone or turned his back the whole time, and I’m terrified he’s going to notice the codes I’m attaching to each transfer. Or that I’ll forget what letters to use next.
My head feels like someone’s using it for basketball practice. Hell, there isn’t a single part of me that doesn’t hurt.
“I need water,” I croak. It’s not a lie. I’m parched.
“When you’re done.” He jams two fingers down on my left wrist—along the bone—and I yelp. My vision goes white from the pain.
“Can’t finish…with you…doing…that…”
The pressure eases. “Whiny little bitch,” he says under his breath.
“Asshole,” Bettina hisses. Sitting up against the wall, she looks so frail. But fire burns in her brown eyes. “Eres tan feo que hiciste llorar a una cebolla.”
A laugh bubbles up in my throat until Rex growls something unintelligible and stalks over to her. Shit. Stop him? Or use the distraction?
“Is that the best you can do?” he snarls. “I’m so ugly I make an onion cry? I can make you that ugly in seconds!”
She screams and kicks at him, catching him in the ankle.
Now. Move, now, Hope.
It’s awkward as hell to reach down to my right foot, but as Rex kicks Bettina in the hip, I dig into my shoe. The narrow, serrated file West slipped under the insole isn’t enough of a weapon for me to overpower Rex, but it’ll get me out of these zip ties. If I have enough time to use it.
Bettina’s whimpers put an end to that plan too soon. I can’t let him keep hurting her. Sliding the file up my left sleeve, I call his name.
“Stop! Or the next transfer I make will send a million dollars directly to the federal government.” He won’t understand there’s no way I can actually do that. The threat is effective enough. Rex shoves Bettina to the floor.
“If you try anything…” he warns, stalking back to my side.
“I know. More pain. You’re so creative.” The slap sends my head whipping to the side.
Shut up, Hope. Just a little longer and Wyatt will come for you.
The laptop screen flickers. Huh? The code I’d entered on this transfer, nin30, letting someone—Wren, I hope—know that Simon’s due back in the basement in thirty minutes, changes.
In10.
Ten minutes? They’re going to be here in ten minutes? I can hold out for ten more minutes. I have to.
Another flicker, and the code disappears. Quickly, I add OK to the transfer note, then send it off. Four accounts left, and now…nine minutes. Curling the fingers of my left hand, I close them around the tip of the file.
They’re coming for me. I have to be ready.
Wyatt
“In position to cut the power.” West’s words in my ear are the best fucking thing I’ve heard all day. We’ve been in position for over an hour and a half. Any longer, and I was going over the wall on my own, damn any consequences.
“Base, you good to go?” Rip asks.
“Base is ready. Count it down, Charlie.”
The brief silence is long enough for me to close my eyes and visualize my target. The south wall of the compound. Twelve feet up and over. A drop onto grass. Then fifty feet to the front door. Thermals better fucking work or we’re breaching the house blind.
“On my mark,” Rip says quietly. “Three. Two. One. Go.”
The floodlights illuminating the outer wall flicker—Wren’s infiltration of Simon’s network—and someone shouts. “What the hell was that?”
I take off at a dead run, covering the distance in under a minute. The wall looms tall above me. The instant everything goes dark, I throw the small grappling hook up and over the wall. It lands with a quiet plink, catches, and I start to climb.
The power comes back on with a dull hum of equipment, lights, and a blaring alarm from inside the house. “Yankee. Eight o’clock,” Ry says in my ear. Spinning around, I fire a single shot from my silenced MK-23. It finds its mark in a tall, black-clad man’s neck, and he goes down.
“Three heat signatures in the basement, two more heading that direction. Breach!”
Thank fuck Ryker agreed to stay in the van. He’s calm in a way I could never be. Not with Hope’s life at stake. Glass shatters to the east, and I break down the front door with a hard kick. Asshole was so confident in his security, he didn’t bother to reinforce the lock.
Raelynn sweeps into the great room from the north. “Clear. On your six, Yankee.”
“Multiple hostiles in and around the garage.” This from Graham. “I count eight.”
“Five now,” Inara says. “On my way.”
The door to the basement doesn’t budge, even when I give it a second and third kick. “Out of the way,” Raelynn hisses. I turn to argue, until I see the det cord coiled in her gloved fingers.
Thirty seconds later, we retreat behind the wall of Simon’s office. She tugs at her black knit cap, then pulls out the detonator.
“Fire in the—” Bits of plaster pelt us as bullets land in the drywall between us. “Sheeiiit.”
We drop and roll. The small, plastic control box slips from her hand. With one bad bounce on the marble floor, the cover pops off.
No!
I need to get to the basement. Right fucking now. “Cover me!”
She fires—a good six shots—but whoever’s on the other side of the wall must be weaving, because we’re still pinned down behind a heavy oak desk taking hits every few seconds.
The detonator pieces almost slip from my hands. I have to get my shit together. Hope’s life depends on it. “Need an assist,” Raelynn says. “South-east corner office.”
