Not Her Hero, page 10
Until she’d heard his voice a short while ago, she’d have argued that Brent would never do something so terrible. He had too much integrity, too many morals.
What happened? What was his motivation?
Was it all about money? Was it that simple? Was it really the promise of the almighty dollar that had toppled him off what Whitney had thought was an infallible moral high horse?
Reining in her temper, she pushed the door open as slowly and quietly as possible. Mary had been listening, because the door made almost no sound as Whitney slipped through and held the handle so that it wouldn’t click behind her.
Afraid Marc’s boots would both hamper her movements and make noise on the sleek tile floor, she slipped them off and hurried across the space on bare feet, moving to the far wall, then followed it around the courtyard, red, glaring light shining down from the various emergency exit signs.
She couldn’t hear what was going on out in the courtyard, but surely if someone were being shot, she’d have heard the sound of the bullet being fired, right?
She kicked up her pace.
Finally, she reached a door with a small plaque affixed to it that read church office. She twisted the knob.
Damn it, she’d forgot it was locked earlier when she’d trailed Marc while he’d checked their surroundings.
She glanced around for something, anything that would help her get into that office.
The corridor ended a few feet ahead of her, at a banquet room. Between the office and the banquet room were a set of glass doors leading out to a parking lot.
Had Brent been out there, waiting, watching them, this entire time? Had he deliberately snuck in and cornered Ray, knowing he was the weak link? Or had Ray gone to him?
She wanted to believe Ray had been coming around, was no longer interested in being a lackey for the Anarchy Boys, but honestly, she didn’t know the kid. She had no clue what he was thinking.
A shadow moved past the glass doors.
She dropped to her knees, scurrying over to a cluster of furniture set up in what she presumed was supposed to be the reception area outside the banquet room. Glancing over the arm of a red and gold brocade couch, she stared out the nearest window, searching for movement.
There. Another shadow.
And another.
Three people, at least, were in the parking lot, walking around, right outside this exit. Given it was the middle of the night, these were not church patrons.
Brent wasn’t working alone.
Waiting until she didn’t see another shadow for long seconds, Whitney crawled across the space to the side closest to the courtyard, where there was more cover for her to cross in front of the glass doors to get to the banquet room.
Glancing to her right, she saw figures outside in the courtyard and immediately ducked behind a giant palm in a pot that was honestly almost big enough to hide her entire body.
Stealing a peek through the branches, she could make out three figures. She assumed they were Brent, Ray, and Marc.
Those shadows wandering around in the parking lot were no doubt the Anarchy Boys, waiting for the goods to be delivered.
Did Brent plan to kill Ray and Marc before handing her over?
She couldn’t hear them, but it looked like they were talking. One of the shadows with his back to her kept waving his arm like people did when they were telling an animated story.
She had to figure out how to get help here before things went any more sideways. While she admittedly wasn’t fond of Ray, considering he’d kidnapped her, she did have sympathy for him. It was so unfair that his life had turned out the way it had thus far. If he could just get away from the Anarchy Boys and build up his confidence, he’d be able to see that he could be so much more than their lackey.
She didn’t even want to think about Marc out there, possibly with a gun pointed at his person. She definitely didn’t want him to die, and that feeling was not a generic, I don’t want anyone to die sentiment.
She wanted him to live, and she wanted to see him again after this was all over. Maybe get together for dinner and drinks and discuss how she could help him find a job. And maybe, just maybe, keep seeing each other long after he’d found employment and was hopefully happy with his life.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, because she needed to stop focusing on some ridiculous pipe dream that definitely wasn’t going to happen if she didn’t figure out a way to alert the authorities to her presence here in this church.
She opened her eyes, and her gaze landed on the small red square box attached to the wall next to the door to the banquet room.
The fire alarm.
Bingo.
She stood, ran across the short distance, and fitted her fingers under the white T-shaped lever engraved with the words pull down.
She pulled.
12
In that moment before he bent to whisper in her ear, Marc had caught the shimmer of lust in Whitney’s eyes.
The governor of the state of Michigan was attracted to him.
Him. An ex-army guy who had no fucking clue which direction he should point his life next.
It should have been a heady feeling. Should have bolstered his ego. Made him feel ten feet tall. He should have thought, I can do anything now that I know this super powerful woman wants me.
Instead, the sensation of dread in his stomach intensified. If he got out of this situation alive, he’d surely have an ulcer for his efforts.
Now it wasn’t only his brother and the governor’s lives on the line. Now it was his brother and a woman he liked who liked him back whose lives were on the line. It probably was crazy to put such a fine point on it, but there it was. No going back now.
It was time to concentrate, though, so that’s what he did. He stepped away from the woman whose eyes begged him not to go, and he ducked behind all that lush foliage surrounding the statue of Mary. Whoever tended to this garden sanctuary knew what they were doing, and Marc was eternally grateful for their green thumb, as he was able to move several hundred feet away from Whitney without being detected.
Tall plants with bases covered by thick mounds of flowers Marc had no idea the name of gave way to more sparse rows of potted palms and ferns, their roots packed into pots and parked on square carts with wheels. These plants obviously weren’t winter hardy, so they had to be moved inside when the weather cooled. Smart to situate them on those rolling carts.
Unfortunately, at this point, there wasn’t enough ground cover to hide him, so it was time for the distraction.
God, he hoped Whitney was able to get into that church office. The door was locked, but it was a simple turnkey in the knob and the door was thin, probably hollow. A good shove with her shoulder would knock it open. Hopefully, the sound of her breaking the lock wouldn’t be heard out here in the courtyard.
A whole lot of this situation hinged on far too much “hopefully.” Then again, he’d been on missions with even less of a chance of survival, and he’d walked away, mostly unscathed.
Physically, at least.
He could see his adversary now through the fronds of the bushy tree he was crouching behind. The guy had a skull cap covering his hair and a neck gator wrapped around his neck but not covering his nose. Marc could see a plethora of lines around the guy’s eyes and not a trace of a five o’clock shadow.
He had full lips that were frowning while his gaze continually scanned the courtyard. So, the man standing partially behind Ray hadn’t pinpointed his or Whitney’s location yet.
He wore a long-sleeved black shirt that coated his muscular arms and wide chest like it was painted on, with black cargo pants tucked into equally black motorcycle boots. He was undoubtedly hot as hell, but all that cover created a camouflage, especially in the middle of the night like this. Not to mention, it helped ensure he didn’t leave behind any DNA.
One of his gloved hands cupped the back of Ray’s neck while the other pointed a handgun at Ray’s temple.
So this was Brent, the head of security gone rogue.
When the FBI got wind of this, they were going to have a field day trying to figure out how this guy passed through what had to be a plethora of checkpoints, probably both physical and mental, before landing the job as top security dog for a governor.
Not that any of this mattered to Marc right now. No, what he was worried about was the way his brother’s eyes were rapidly darting from side to side. The slight tremor in Ray’s arms.
The sheen of wetness that webbed the kid’s eyelashes.
He was scared out of his fucking mind.
Marc had to save him. He had to.
But first, he needed to create a distraction so that Whitney could get the hell out of this courtyard and get help back here, pronto.
“Brent,” he called out without revealing himself just yet.
Brent’s head swiveled until his eyes narrowed, laser focused right where Marc was hiding. The guy had been trained, just like Marc had. He looked at least a decade older than Marc—probably more—but wouldn’t that be some shit if they had both served in a special unit of the military?
Marc glanced over, saw a sliver of movement as Whitney darted toward the door leading out of the courtyard. Not wanting Brent to notice the same thing, Marc finally stood, partially revealing himself. If Brent lifted his gun arm, Marc could still dive for cover behind a decent enough amount of potted greenery to hopefully save his damn life.
“Is this your brother?” Brent asked without taking his gaze off Marc.
“Y-yeah,” Ray said meekly.
Guess Brent hadn’t been talking to Marc.
Marc heard the faintest click. Good. Whitney had cleared the area and was now inside, hopefully, heading toward that office and a damn phone. Brent didn’t give any indication he’d heard the slight noise, thank Christ.
“Where’s the governor?” Brent demanded.
Marc assumed the guy was talking to him this time. “Who?” he asked.
“Don’t fuck with me, asshole,” Brent snarled, his gun arm flexing as he ground the barrel into Ray’s temple.
Ray whimpered.
Shit.
“Okay, okay, fine, I know who you’re talking about. Whitney Grey.”
Brent wrinkled his nose and curled his lip. So he didn’t like Marc referring to her by name.
“Tell me, how long have you been plotting against her, Brent?”
“Don’t fucking talk to me like you have a wire on, you loser. You didn’t have time to hook up with a law enforcement agency.”
Marc forced out a snort. “Dude, I’m nothing like you. I’ve never done something like this before. I’ve never imagined I’d ever be in this situation. I’m totally playing it by ear.”
Brent released his hold on Ray’s neck so he could flap his hand. “Don’t lie to me. You’re Army Special Forces. You people don’t play anything by ear.”
Well, hell. Had Ray told him that? How else would he know?
Brent grabbed Ray again, squeezing his neck until Ray cried out. “Which is exactly why you weren’t supposed to go to your brother, dipshit.” Brent gave him a shake. “What was the first thing I told you?”
“To kidnap the governor and not get caught,” Ray said with another whimper.
“After that,” Brent barked.
“Not to get my brother involved,” Ray cried out. “I’m sorry, Marc.”
Ray let out a sob as the man shoved his face right into Ray’s personal space. “Don’t fucking apologize to him. If you’re gonna apologize to anybody, it should be me.”
Marc clenched his fists and gnashed his teeth. All he wanted to do was sprint through this space between them, grab Brent by the front of his skintight shirt, throw him to the ground, and pummel the ever-loving hell out of the guy. All while telling him to leave Ray alone.
“What the fuck is your deal, man? What’s your beef with Whitney?” Marc said her name deliberately; his hunch was correct when Brent bared his teeth and glared.
“Whitney? You think you’re cool enough to be on a first-name basis with the governor, boy?”
Marc spread his arms wide. “It’s your fault we’re on a first-name basis, dude. If you hadn’t kidnapped her—”
“I didn’t kidnap her. He did.” Brent gave Ray a shake.
“On your command,” Marc said coolly. “Why do you have it out for the governor, Brent? You secretly a conspiracy theorist loser like those Anarchy Boys?”
Brent sneered. “Your brother here worships those conspiracy-theorist losers.”
“My brother is exactly the innocent, lost kid you all prey on.”
Brent’s eyes widened.
“Holy shit.” Holy shit. Holy shit. “You aren’t working with them, are you? You’re one of them. Jesus. Which happened first, you joining the Anarchy Boys or joining the governor’s security team? Was she a target even when she first won the election?”
Brent must have decided to drop all pretenses, because he actually rolled his eyes. “Obviously, I couldn’t have joined the executive protection section if they could find any ties to the Anarchy Boys.”
“So which was it? Were you so good at hiding it that you were already a member and the Michigan State Police simply couldn’t find the links in your background? Or did something happen to push you over the edge after you were assigned to protect the governor?”
Brent shrugged. “You’ll never know.”
Marc shook his head. “You don’t just get drunk with your buddies and join up overnight. That’s not how it works. That’s a lifetime commitment. On both sides.”
Brent’s arm flexed, and he once again pressed the barrel of the gun to Ray’s head. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not telling you my life story. Now, bring the governor out from behind that tree. Nice and slow or your brother loses what little brains he currently possesses. Now.”
Shit. He was out of time. And he had no idea if Whitney had gotten into that office, had dialed 9-1-1. “Don’t shoot him,” he said, the desperation as clear as day in his voice, and damn it, why did he just blurt that out?
Now Brent knew without a shadow of a doubt how important Ray was as a hostage.
“Give me the governor and your brother walks away.” Brent smiled ferally. His finger was a hairbreadth away from the trigger. Marc was absolutely confident the safety was off.
He didn’t have a whole lot of faith in the guy’s offer.
“Quit stalling, fuck face,” Brent barked out.
Beep, beep, beep!
Suddenly, lights were strobing, that incessant beeping wasn’t ceasing. What the—holy shit!
The fire alarm was going off.
Brent dropped into a crouch like he was afraid he was being bombed. He tried to drag Ray down with him; Ray twisted out of his grip and stumbled to his knees anyway, but at least he was far enough away that Marc was able to rush toward him, grab him under the armpits, and haul him to his feet, pushing him along as they darted toward the nearest doorway.
The door flew open as he reached for it, and there stood Whitney, beckoning them forward.
“You pulled the alarm?” he asked as he ran past her. “Fucking brilliant.”
“Yeah, well, we still have to wait for the fire department to get here. I have a bad feeling Brent’s associates are outside, waiting to whisk me away if we try to leave the building.”
“That’s not happening,” Marc said, grabbing her arm and pulling her along toward the darkened room at the end of the hall.
“I like that plan,” Whitney agreed, jogging along next to him. Ray was on his other side, keeping pace and not saying a damn word.
Marc tugged open the door, beckoned Whitney and Ray inside, then glanced around for something to secure it, since there wasn’t an actual lock.
Ray hurried over to a mop bucket, snagged the mop, and handed it to Marc.
Marc shoved it through the handle. It wasn’t much, but it would slow Brent down. “Thanks, man,” he said to his brother.
Ray nodded.
“Let’s check to see if there are any other exits,” Marc said. “Any idea how long it should take the fire department to respond?”
“Only a few minutes. The closest station isn’t even a mile from here,” Whitney said.
A few minutes was a long-ass time when they were trapped in a room with nothing but a mop handle securing the door, and a man with a gun was hunting them down.
“Stay away from that door,” Marc ordered as he skirted the perimeter of the room, checking for possible escape routes—and ways Brent could manage to get in and overtake them.
Twenty feet from the main doors was a storage closet, full of round tables and banquet chairs, long rectangular tables, chafing dishes, and other sundry items that were deemed necessary to beautify the room for a special event.
But no other entrance.
And nothing he could use as a weapon, unless he wanted to carry the top of a chafing dish around while he scoped out the rest of the room.
Leaving the silver-plated cover behind, Marc kept moving along the wall, ducking when he passed by the bank of windows. The lights were strobing like mad in here, just like everywhere else in the church, so unless they were watching for it, whoever was outside might not see his shadow passing by. But he wasn’t taking any chances.
Not with Whitney’s life on the line.
Or Ray’s.
Or his own, for that matter.
There were double doors marked emergency exit they could push and would likely lead straight outside, but again, if Whitney said she saw someone out there and she believed they were part of Brent’s team, Marc wasn’t going to risk it. There wasn’t an actual fire, so they didn’t need to evacuate. They just had to lie low long enough for the FD to get here.
How many minutes had passed, and where the hell were they?
Finishing his perimeter check, he reached the kitchen, decorated with yellow floral wallpaper and appliances that may be as old as he was. There was also an exit that looked like it led out into an alley behind the building.
