CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Too much time.  It had taken longer than Etienne had planned getting out of the kitchen.  Disabling the guards hadn’t been all that difficult, especially since two of them left, carrying loaded trays of food.  Probably for the other two women, wherever they were being sequestered.  Which skewed the odds in his favor. 

Now three guards sat hogtied and angry, and gagged with kitchen towels.  The cook had cheered up immensely after she’d seen him coldcock the first guard, and assisted by bashing one of the guards with a skillet.  Even he’d winced at the sound of the metal hitting the guy’s skull.  Good thing it wasn’t a cast iron one, or said guard would probably be dead. 

Using his rusty Spanish, he’d guided Sofia out through the back patio, watching for the patrolling guards.  He’d pointed her toward a break in the foliage, where his brother squatted, half-blocked by leaves and vines, and whispered for her to hurry.  She’d barely made it across the patio before a guard rounded the corner. 

Hidden in the shadows from the roof overhang, Etienne held his breath as the man walked by, his HK-416 cradled in his hands.  Movements slow and steady, the guard continued past him, never looking left or right.  My C.O. would’ve had his ass doing pushups, for such sloppy guard duty, he’d have trouble walking upright for a week.

Edging along the wall, with his back pressed flat, Etienne peered through the window, noting the kitchen remained empty.  Sliding through the door, he stayed low, hidden by the kitchen island and the appliances. 

He needed to find Stephanie.  Prescott seemed obsessed with her.  Couldn’t seem to keep his hands off his girl.  Been forced to watch with a detached nonchalance he didn’t feel as Prescott slid his hand along the soft skin of Stephanie’s throat.  Stood silently when that hand tightened ever so slightly, cutting off her air. 

Prescott had laughed and pressed a kiss against her cheek before having the guards drag him to the kitchen.  It seemed an eternity had passed from that moment until now.  His mind reeled as his thoughts spiraled through one scenario after another—highlighting all the things that bastard might have done while he’d been held hostage in that damned kitchen. 

Stop.  Don’t go there.  Focus, do your job. 

To his right was the entrance from the foyer into the kitchen.  Probably not the smartest path to take, since he’d noted several guards standing a silent vigil there earlier.  Staying low, he moved behind the kitchen island, and spotted a set of stairs.  Remembered the blueprints showed them as leading upstairs—probably the route the servants took.  Didn’t matter, as long as it led upstairs without being seen.  If he was lucky, there wouldn’t be a guard at the top waiting for him with an AK-47.

Staying close to the wall, to avoid any squeaking stair tread, he silently made his way to the second floor  Taking a deep breath, he tried to remember exactly where he’d seen Stephanie earlier.  He was pretty sure she’d been on the third floor balcony.  But would Prescott take her back to her own room? 

He doubted it.  Prescott wouldn’t be satisfied with guest quarters—he’d demand the biggest and the best.  The master suite.  According to the blueprints he’d memorized earlier, it was on the second floor. 

Moving far too slow for his liking, he glanced down the corridor, and spotted a single guard standing at attention outside a set of double doors.  Yep, master suite. 

At the sound of voices, he ducked back around the corner of the stairwell, back pressed to the wall.  If somebody approached, he wouldn’t see them until they were right upon him, but that was a chance he’d have to take. 

Even with his limited Spanish, he could understand most of the ribald conversation between the guard at the door and the one who’d joined him.  Heat rose in his chest when he realized they were talking about Stephanie, Jasmine—whoever.  He’d always known her as Stephanie, because that’s who she was now.  The woman he knew wasn’t the spoiled debutante princess.  No, he was used to the funny, spunky blonde who gave him a hard time when he stomped through the reception area with muddy boots.  The one who’d brought him chicken soup when he’d gotten out of the hospital.  The woman he cared about was Stephanie Barnes, and he’d damned well rescue her, or die trying.

Static crackled over the radio attached to the guard’s belt, and he listened intently before sprinting toward the front stairs.  The other guard pounded on the double doors insistently.  After what seemed like an eternity, they swung inward, and he spotted Gareth Prescott.

He’d lost the jacket of his fancy suit, and his tie lay loose around his neck, and the first three buttons on his spotless white shirt were undone.  From Etienne’s vantage point, he couldn’t see Stephanie, but he’d bet his last paycheck she was in that room somewhere. 

Is she safe?  Has Prescott hurt her? 

Tension coiled deep inside, like a spring.  Tighter and tighter it curled, until he felt he’d burst, yet he maintained his distance, not willing to risk Stephanie’s life. 

Whatever the guard whispered to Prescott brought a scowl to his face.  “What the hell am I paying you for?  Handle it.”  His voice was laced with impatience.  Guess he didn’t like being interrupted.  Etienne could only hope the distraction came from Roberts and his team, and not Bas trying to play hero. 

The guard whispered something else, gesturing one-handed toward the front of the villa, the other clutching the automatic weapon in a death grip.  Good thing Etienne now had his very own M4 carbine, courtesy of one of the now trussed-up guards in the kitchen. 

“You people are useless.  Watch this door, and don’t let her out.”  Prescott pulled the suite’s doors shut behind him, and stomped down the stairs.  Even the sound of his footsteps marching away revealed his displeasure, the persistent slap, slap, slap against the stair treads.  The good news—his parting statement confirmed what Etienne had suspected; Stephanie was in that room. 

He waited one beat, then two, long enough for Prescott to get downstairs and away from the master suite, which made him far enough away he wouldn’t notice Etienne take out the guard.  Bending low, he pulled out the thin blade he’d used to free himself earlier.  He really hated wet work, preferring to take out his target from a distance, but he couldn’t afford to alert anybody he was loose in the house. 

The guard’s attention stayed trained on the staircase.  Silently, Etienne approached without the guard noticing.  He never saw the hand snake across his throat, and draw the blade swiftly and precisely across his jugular vein and carotid artery. 

Etienne clamped a hand across the guard’s mouth, covering the scream, until the body went limp.  Plucking the gun from the dead guard’s hands, he draped the strap over his shoulder and depressed the door handle, opening it enough to slide through, closing it quietly behind him.

Pain ricocheted through his shoulder and reverberated down his arm.  What the hell? 

“Oh, no!  Etienne, I’m so sorry.”  Stephanie dropped the wooden chair she’d clocked him with, and knelt at his side.  “I thought you were Gareth.” 

“Sorry to disappoint you.”  He rubbed at his shoulder, grimacing at the pain. “Dang, girl, that’s some arm you’ve got.” 

“It’s all those self-defense classes Andrea’s teaching.  Use whatever’s handy to take out your opponent.”  She reached for his hand, pulling back at the last second when she saw the blood. 

“It’s not mine.  We need to get out of here.  I’m not sure how long the diversion will last.”

“Diversion?” 

“Team’s distracting the guards, keeping them chasing their tails, while I get you out of here.” 

She didn’t look roughed up, no bruises or visible red marks evident.  Maybe Prescott hadn’t had a chance to do anything yet.  Drawing in a raggedy breath, Etienne noted for the first time the tear tracks down her cheeks.  Reaching for her, he stopped just shy of touching her, because his hand was still covered with the guard’s blood.   

“What about the others?” 

Trust Steph to think about the other hostages, instead of rushing to escape.  Anybody else would have been halfway out the door already.  But that was one of the things he liked about her.  Back home, she’d taken each of the women who’d showed up at Carpenter Security Services under her wing, made them feel like they were part of the family.  With a heart as big as Texas, and the capacity for helping others before herself, she’d proven her value to the team. 

“Already got the cook and the driver out.  Don’t know what rooms the other women are in, but we’ll get them out safely.  Bas is outside, along with a former Navy SEAL and an entire team of trained men.  Nobody gets left behind.” 

He watched her run a shaky hand through her short blonde hair.  Normally he loved a woman’s hair to be long and luxurious, falling over her shoulders, but Stephanie’s short, spiky cut looked adorable.  An image of Jasmine DuBois’ long auburn locks superimposed itself over Stephanie’s face, and he knew it didn’t matter, blonde, brunette, redhead, or bald, she just did it for him.  He was a goner. 

“Listen, we’ve gotta move.”  He wiped the blood off his hand on his pant leg, grimacing at the image he must project, then grabbed her hand.  “Follow me and stay close.”

“Okay.”  She took a deep breath and squeezed his hand. 

He glanced toward the staircase that led to the front of the villa, and discarded that idea.  It might be faster, but too many unknown variables.  Better to go back out through the servants’ area. 

He could almost feel Stephanie’s anxiety.  It was a palpable tension in the air that added to the danger.  As much as he wanted to hold her in his arms, and tell her that everything was going to be okay, he wasn’t going to lie to her.  They were a far cry from okay, but he wouldn't let anybody or anything hurt her.  Not as long as he drew breath. 

“Stay low and keep your eyes on our tail.  Let me know if you spot any guards.” 

“Got it.”  Her breathy response lit a fire deep inside him, and he couldn’t help a moment of wondering if that was what she sounded like during sex.  Get a grip, man, not the time.  Not the place.  But soon.  That’s a promise.

The staircase he’d used earlier was in front of him, beckoning like an old friend, inviting him forward, yet something in the pit of this stomach told him to wait—and watch.  Within seconds the sound of footsteps coming upward, pounding against each tread alerted him, and he shoved back against the wall, tugging Stephanie with him.  He raised a finger to his lips, and he noted her wide eyes and shaky nod. 

He motioned with one hand for her to stay where she was, and he slowly stepped across the hall to the opposite wall, his back against the elegant wallpaper.  Watching intently, his body coiled for action, he finally saw a black-shod foot emerge from the opening, followed by another, and he sprang forward, wrapped his forearm around the man’s throat, and applied pressure. 

Tightening his hold, he braced his feet against the other man’s panicked movements, and squeezed tighter, until he went limp in Etienne’s arms.  Dragging him farther back into the hallway, he gently laid his limp body on the floor, and took a deep breath.  Raising his gaze, it locked with Stephanie’s and he watched her give a tentative smile.  Good, at least she wasn’t repulsed by his actions.  Though if she hadn’t been standing there, he’d have probably killed the guard instead of just knocking him out. 

Motioning her forward, she joined him and they quietly made their way down the stairs, to an empty kitchen, except for the still trussed-up guards he’d incapacitated earlier.   Grasping her hand, he moved toward the back door leading to the covered patio. 

Listening intently, he didn’t hear gunfire, and no shouts in English or Spanish, and knew they didn’t have any more time.  The distraction that kept the guards occupied was over, and they’d be back to manning their posts any second.  Prescott would head upstairs to find Stephanie gone, and all hell would break loose.  They needed to be long gone before he rallied the troops.

“When I open the door, you run like hell toward the bushes.  Don’t look back.  Don’t stop—no matter what.”

Her eyes were huge in her beautiful face, and he read the indecision in their depths.  “Aren’t you coming?  I won’t leave without you.”

“I’ll be right on your ass, sweetheart.  I will find you, but you keep running.” 

When she started to speak, he did the only thing he could—he kissed her.  Damn, her lips tasted even sweeter than he’d imagined, and he’d daydreamed about them a lot.  When she kissed him back, his heart stuttered for a second before soaring, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping in and taking control, pouring everything into this kiss—their first one—though it definitely wasn’t going to be their last. 

Breaking the kiss was the last thing he wanted, and the only thing he could do, because the danger ratcheted up around them with every second they delayed leaving the villa. 

“Etienne, I—”

“Go.  Bas is outside with a team of locals Samuel hired.  Run as fast as you can, and no matter what you hear or see, do not stop.  If you don’t see Bas, or if one of the mercs comes after you, keep going.  I will find you, just keep running.  Follow the sun and head west, toward the coast.” 

Without waiting for her answer, he eased open the French doors, and gave her a gentle shove.  She began racing across the cement, her feet barely making a sound.  Good girl. 

The sound of a Spanish curse sounded from his left, and he took off toward the guard who had just rounded the corner of the villa, and plowed into him, tackling him like he was a professional football player, and the guard was the opposing quarterback.  One solid punch and the guard was laid out cold, and Etienne plunged through the surrounding foliage, intent on finding and saving Stephanie.