Clive waited while Trent crouched, examining the corpse. No need to call it anything else. Nobody could look like that and be alive. Limbs were burnt lumps, and he could see through the chest to the ground below. The face…well, the forehead was still there. Overall, someone who’d been blown up. Not his first bombing victim, but the violence always shocked him just a little deep down. He supposed if he ever lost that feeling, he’d be giving up some of his humanity to be able to understand that level of willing violence. No thanks.
But seeing it sent him right back into the past. When he’d been boots on the ground in some faraway place, and part of their team or innocent civilians ended up looking a lot like this. In fact—he swallowed his gorge and moved in for a closer look—it wasn’t his team members or the civilians who had that particular opening mid-body. “This isn’t your man, is it, Trent?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Any sign of him?”
“Not yet. Logic tells me he’s in that rubble over there, but, until we find him, there’s some hope, I suppose.” He waved to where a handful of men tossed aside boards and lifted off sections of wall. Those muscles that they didn’t need on their day-to-day security system installation sure came in handy.
“Damn right.” The sirens in the distance grew closer. “They’ll be here soon and take over, so we’d better get what we can now.”
“Well, no doubt of what killed this guy.” Trent pulled out a phone and snapped a picture while he did the same. “I’d like to see what kind of bomb blew out his torso before he had a chance to walk away.”
“So you don’t think he’s a suicide bomber?” Clive didn’t either, but he wanted the other man’s thoughts on the subject.
“Nah. There’s no reason to believe that. He’s a hired gun who came here to carry out Diego Francisco’s vengeance against your girlfriend.”
“She’s not…” The protest died on his lips. While his status with Professor Penny mattered greatly to him, it didn’t matter to Trent or his team. And it couldn’t be allowed to distract him from the more important matter of keeping her safe. “He’s no loss.”
Another man came up beside them. “Ernie, do your thing.” Trent stepped back. “Ernie is our demolitions expert. Before he came to work with us, he’d done three tours in the Middle East. He saved a lot of lives with his expertise.”
“Nice to meet you, Ernie,” Clive said, watching the ginger-haired man squat by the remains of the bomber. “That’s quite a service record.”
“I’d still be in, if not for this.” Ernie waved. “For some reason, they didn’t think the new version of my left hand was as efficient for bomb defusing as the old one.”
Trent patted his shoulder. “Well, to be fair, the one they gave you wasn’t.”
“True.” He chuckled, slipping a bag off his shoulder and digging inside with his right hand. “It was fine for eating dinner, but what I do requires finesse. Now, leave me to it so I can concentrate if you want to know what blew out this guy’s chest cavity, before locals come in and shoo me away.”
Clive and Trent headed for the site of the former garage. “I want to get a look then head back inside. I left Penny in the bedroom closet, and she’s probably getting worried.”
“About you?” Trent taunted then shook his head. “Sorry. There’s plenty of time for romance later, and I’m glad you at least aren’t losing focus.”
“It’s harder than you can imagine. I’ve never had any interest in a protectee before, and the emotional element detracts from my professionalism if I’m not careful.”
They stepped over broken glass and shingles, heading to where the men were digging. “I get that. My ex-girlfriend is also former military. I met her on a job.”
“Protectee?”
“Soldier. She’s part of the team, now. She didn’t think she could handle the job and our relationship.” His silence spoke volumes. She’d chosen the job. How hard must it be to see her all the time and know he’d come in second? Before he could begin to formulate an answer, Trent stepped over a fallen beam to where one of his crew was holding up some wires. “Okay, if you don’t find any sign of him, follow procedures and get on out before the locals arrive.”
The men swarmed over the debris and, within moments, had carried off most of the—broken—equipment they’d installed in the apartment. How had all that equipment not caught the intruder’s arrival? Hopefully they’d be able to figure that out so it didn’t happen again. “Top secret?’
“Let’s just say, we don’t want to share our tech. We work hard to develop it…”
“And maybe some of it might not be approved by our government?”
Trent faced him, the rising sunlight flaming in his eyes. “Every man, and woman, on my team is a reject of that government. They served their country and lost friends, family, limbs and were rewarded with a disability pension or maybe an offer of a desk job shuffling digital paperwork for the rest of their lives. They are heroes, one and all. The government is not their favorite organization.”
“And you?”
They strode toward the house, steps unflagging even when Trent bit out, “Especially me.”
Clive didn’t have long to wonder what part of his time in the service had been stolen from him, before a shriek pierced the quiet dawn and he broke into a run.
“Dammit,” he hollered over his shoulder. “Why did I leave her alone?”
Penny faced the swarthy, bearded enemy who’d ordered her death. At least she assumed that was what his men had been ordered to do. “Diego Francisco.” She held her arm with the stick at her side, hoping he wouldn’t get a good look at it. “How kind of you to visit. I believe a couple of your friends were here the other day, but they didn’t stay for coffee. Unless…they truly were just lost travelers and you’ve come alone?”
“You are prettier than I was led to believe. Perhaps I will have you taken to my home where we can spend some time together.” He leered at her, and she fought the urge to smack him across the face with her spiked weapon. But she had to make it count. Wait for an opening. Or, preferably, hang on long enough for Clive to come back
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea. I don’t have any vacation time available just now.” Her voice didn’t shake. Amazing.
He drew a gun and pointed it at her. Even with her limited knowledge of firearms, she knew it was something special—and deadly. “Now, please take a step back into your bedroom. That is your bedroom you came out of?”
She nodded.
“Good.” His grin showed a mouthful of gold molars. “Then I shall accompany you into your bedroom, where I will give you an opportunity to convince me that I should invite you to my home instead of just killing you now.” He reached out and lifted a lock of her hair from her shoulder, and she shuddered. “Very soft.” He wrapped it around his fist. “Come now. While my men take care of your boyfriend, you can use those rosy lips to give me a reason to keep you alive. After all, I can’t justify paying for your execution, then calling it off, unless you are useful to me. I think I shall keep you chained to my desk, naked, on your knees, while I conduct my business.”
“When pigs fly will I let you touch me.”
“Ah, now, chiquita, don’t be that way. I am sure you can please me. Have confidence in yourself.” He dragged her back into her bedroom and slammed the door. “You cost me with my people, you know. All it would have taken was a few more to die of thirst or dysentery and they would have come back to work.”
She trembled, but no longer with fear. Her hand tightened on the walking stick, her pinky scraping one of the spikes. Her arm muscles twitched, but she stilled her instincts to wait for her opportunity. She couldn’t imagine how he hadn’t spotted the club so far, but thanked the universe and all good in it that he hadn’t. Still, her danger sense rang like a klaxon in her head, making it hard to think. And letting her know she needed to do something to change the probable outcome of the situation at hand.
And until she did, it would get louder and louder, going from helpful to harmful on its own. She faced a narrow window to make a move.
Clutching the stick behind her back, she stumbled along behind the drug lord, who ranted on about all the ways she could earn her life back, mostly sexual—okay, all sexual/power games. While chained to his desk she could not only do the obvious, but also massage his legs and feet. Ugh. Be his footstool. On and on it went, a list of things she’d sooner kill herself than do, but would prefer to kill him first, until the alarm in her head drowned it out and, in an odd way, gave her a space of silence where she could plan.
The drapes were still drawn in her bedroom, making it almost dark despite the edges of light seeping around them from the rising sun. They weren’t all that thick and could only hold back the day for a bit longer. Her grip had slipped a couple of times over the thorns, and she could feel blood trickling between her fingers and thumb, but she didn’t care about that. I’ll grab a Band-Aid after I kill him.
Funny how easy it was to go from bringing life to being willing to take it. To wishing she hadn’t said no to a gun so quickly. Because she had zero doubt she’d be willing to shoot him right between the eyes. Not only did the bastard want to use her in ways she found repugnant, his glee in the description, and familiarity with the step-by-step plan to use his office as a dungeon led her to believe she wouldn’t be the first to be so used.
Thinking of the people who’d gone missing from the village before their arrival, the unwillingness of the rest to discuss where they thought they might have gone sent rage from her fingertips to her eyes, which she kept cast down. She couldn’t let him read her anger, her intentions to fight.
When he tossed her onto the bed, she landed on the stick and winced. One more thing he’d pay for, although among the least of them. A particular child, little Manuelito, thin arms and legs in stark contrast to his swollen belly, a child who lived with his grandmother. He’d started to tell her about his mama going with the soldiers when his panicked abuela whisked him away. What had her name been, the mama?
She propped herself on her elbows, the stick in her hand concealed by a fold of sheet in the brightening room. The sick bastard was occupied several feet away from her, unfastening his pants, so she kept her gaze up, level with his eyes.
The mama was Ronica. A Dutch name. There were a number of people there with Dutch names, some with blue eyes and pale hair in stark contrast to the tanned skin they all had. The little boy… A deep breath in, slow out, repeated a few times until she felt enough in control. The alarm in her head quieted, showing she was making the right moves. Inhale. Exhale. Hold the stick.
Where was Clive? Had his security team arrived? She couldn’t hear anything from outside, but her excellent windows and doors prevented much sound from entering. Why had she thought that was a good thing, buying them to start with? Bead curtains all around once this was over. Or perhaps she’d just dig a cave in the hillside and hand a curtain over the front.
Keep him talking. She heard the words as clearly as if they came from another person in the room. But she knew the voice. Her guardian angel, guiding spirit, she didn’t know what to call it, but it had saved her and helped her save her crew over and over.
“So, tell me about Ronica.” Maybe not the perfect choice, and she cringed, waiting for the sirens to start, but to her astonishment, her captor grinned and sat down next to her. Okay, so he closed his hand around the stiffy poking out of his pants, but at least he wasn’t touching her.
“Ah, someone told you about your predecessor.” He licked his lips, his mud-brown gaze distant. “She was a tasty piece. Dark hair, blue blue eyes, and pale skin. Deliciosa.”
She repressed her shudder. Just barely. “Was? Did she leave?” If she’s dead you are, too. “You are seeking a replacement, yes?”
“Oh.” His elbow moved. The bastard was jerking off! “Don’t be jealous, preciosa. She was nice. But fragile.” He tsked. “I hope you have more stamina. It’s such trouble to train a woman to my particular tastes.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs, her breaths still even but only by great force of will. “Fragile?”
“Yes, she…broke.” He shrugged. “They all do, eventually. Like that silly hidden well. I blew it up you know. Why would you think you could teach them to defy me? When I return home, I will make them all pay. While you watch.”
Their well? The source of fresh, clean water for desperate families with thirsty children?
He’d already made them pay….
All?
Something inside her cracked. The veneer of civilization peeled away. The image of little Manuelito, who wanted his mama, snapped her control.
And the first stripe by the spiked cane was right on top of his pathetic dick. The second tore the skin on his balls. And the third and fourth repeated the action, sending blood droplets flying through the air.
As he tried to protect himself, howling his agony, she leapt to her feet and pounded him with the weapon, shrieking words even she didn’t understand. She just couldn’t anymore. Couldn’t take it. Small men with a little power who used it to torment the vulnerable…