Chapter Eighteen
Brooke hurt from one end of her body to the other. The only thing that hurt worse than the sharp pains radiating up her leg was the hammering going on in her head.
She tried to lift a hand to her pounding temple but both were bound behind her, around a wooden chair back that cut into her shoulder blades.
The bare room sported walls made of concrete blocks. The light overhead shone from a single, bare bulb, and was so bright, she had to squint. Because of its blinding brightness, she could barely make out anything more than a few feet in front of her.
Shadows darkened the block walls and she almost missed spotting the outline of a wooden door.
Where am I? What happened?
Her throat was dry, making it hard to swallow the fear rising like bile into her mouth. Fragments of the accident, of Roman, flashed through her memory.
Where was he? Was he hurt?
Of course he’s hurt, idiot. He’d already been shot twice and needed surgery before the ambulance had been rammed by that truck.
Memories beat against her temples. The man who’d pulled her from the ambulance hadn’t been Douglas Weber. He was older, taller. She seemed to remember a gray beard, piercing eyes.
The Reverend?
Her head throbbed even worse, making her sick to her stomach.
Do not throw up.
She had to get free, find Roman.
But how? She wasn’t Julia in Operation Sheba. The self-defense and the shooting skills Roman had taught her would do her no good when she was tied to a chair with a concussion and broken ankle. Especially when a serial killer lurked somewhere out of her field of vision. Any minute, he would open that door and…
Apprehension toyed with her lungs, making it hard to breath.
Don’t panic, she heard Roman’s voice say in her head. Think.
“Shane?” she whispered, hoping her comm might still be in her ear and active. He’d been talking to her right before everything had gone sideways. What had he told her? Something about The Reverend’s sigil not being a symbol, but a letter from an ancient alphabet. Glagolitic? Cyrillic? She couldn’t remember. “Shane, can you hear me?”
“No,” a familiar voice said from behind her, “but I can.”
Brooke jumped so hard, she nearly yanked her shoulders out of their sockets. She whipped her head around, to the detriment of her pounding temples, and tried to get her eyes to find the speaker through the glare. “Roman? Oh my God, is that you?”
“Yep, you can’t get rid of me that easily.”
She felt the brush of his fingers against hers. He seemed to be tied up like her, their backs to each other.
“I’ve been trying to wake you up since I came to,” he said. He sounded as dazed as she felt. “I was afraid your concussion was serious.”
“It may be, since I’m pretty sure I must be hallucinating you.”
“I assure you I’m real. My head is killing me. It wasn’t easy maneuvering my chair so close to you.”
“My head feels like someone took a hammer to it. Did they knock you out as well?”
“Yeah, but I’ll live. How’s the ankle?”
“Hurts like hell and it’s swollen. What about your thigh and shoulder? Your gunshot wounds?”
“Shoulder is nothing but a scratch, and Clarice put blood clotting compound in my leg, so I won’t bleed out.”
“Where are we?”
“I wasn’t awake for the drive, so I have no sense of which direction they took us or how long we were in the truck. From what I can see and smell, this seems like an old prison of some sort. Or maybe an empty warehouse.”
Great. That sounded fun. She sniffed the air and picked up dust and mildew. Something else too. Urine? Sweat?
The tang of old blood?
A chill rose from the concrete floor up her legs and she shivered. People had probably been tortured here. Maybe even left to die. “Why did they kidnap us? Why not just kill us?”
“They want information is my guess. Information that only you or I can give them.”
“Or this is some sick game.”
“Could be that.”
“You could at least argue and try to make me feel better.”
He chuckled tiredly. “Sorry, I don’t have the energy at the moment.”
“The man who hauled me out of the ambulance…do you think he’s The Reverend?”
“He wasn’t with the others on the boulders, but he must have been nearby. He picked up Douglas and ambushed the ambulance.”
“They shot the driver. Shot out the tires. We skidded, went into the ditch, and ended up on our side.”
His fingers brushed hers again and tugged at the plastic ties around her wrists. “I’ll get us out of here, Brooke. All we have to do is stay alive.”
His voice brokered no doubt—he truly believed he was about to save the day. He was worse off than she suspected, but ever the hero, he’d finally stepped up to reassure her.
The clink of keys at the door made Brooke tense. Her eyes had at least adjusted to the bright light.
The door swung open and Douglas strolled in. “The princess is awake,” he called over his shoulder to someone she couldn’t see.
He bent to her eye level, close enough she could see the flecks of brown in his eyes. “We meet again face-to-face.”
At least he didn’t seem to notice that Roman had moved his chair. Maybe Douglas hadn’t been the one to put them in here.
Just how many were here?
Brooke steeled her nerves, swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I know who you are, Douglas. What I don’t know is why you brought me here.”
“My name isn’t Douglas, bitch. It’s Mikhail. Mikhail Zion. And you’re about to learn your place in the family.”
Family? “My name isn’t bitch, it’s Brooke, so if you want me to call you Mikhail instead of Douglas, you’ll do me the same courtesy of using my given name.”
Behind her, Roman hissed at her brassiness. She expected derision, maybe even a slap from her captor. Instead, Douglas—Mikhail—smiled at her and chucked her on the chin. “Well, well. My sister has stones.”
Sister? If Brooke hadn’t been tied to the chair, she would have fallen over.
A tightness that had nothing to do with fear for her and Roman’s life sat like a pit in her diaphragm. “I assume you’re using the term stones as a euphemism for testicles, which if you think about it, are the most sensitive parts on a male of any species and the easiest target to hit in order to disable one. It’s not a compliment to say someone has stones. And I’m not your sister. I don’t have any siblings, and if I did, I certainly wouldn’t be related to the likes of you.”
Mikhail chuckled. “Listen to you, being all flippant and smartass as if you don’t know who your real mother is. Of course, if I were you, I wouldn’t claim that cur either. Let’s hope you have more Zion blood in you than American.”
…your real mother.
Sister.
Family.
Her brain cramped just thinking about it. “Zion…blood?”
The brush of Roman’s fingertips brought her back to reality. First, she needed to find out what she could about where they were and if there was any way to get out. That much she knew.
Then she could go digging for information about her family—if Mikhail actually knew what he was talking about.
He called me his sister. He claims to know my birth mother.
The realization that the man in front of her might hold the key to her past made her heart trip over itself. Was it possible she could find out the truth about her biological parents? That she might walk out of here knowing who she really was?
That was crazy, but…
Was Mikhail really her brother?
It was like a second blow to her head. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. “You sniffed my camisole!”
For a second, he looked perplexed, then Mikhail laughed. “You saw that, huh? I thought that’d freak you out.”
“Freak me out? It disgusts me. Especially if you think I’m your sister. You need serious help!”
A figure appeared behind Mikhail in the doorway. He cleared his throat and Mikhail moved aside. “Meet your uncle, Brooke.”
There was the derision she’d expected earlier. He spat her name like it was a curse.
Maybe it was to him.
“Uncle?” Brooke forced a sneer. “Sorry, but I’m not buying that either of you is related to me.”
“I am Uri Zion.” The man stepped into the room, eyeing her with something akin to a hunter eyeing a trapped animal. “Head of the Zion family.”
“Wait,” Roman said. “The Russian criminal organization?”
Uri’s chest puffed and Brooke’s stomach dropped.
“Where is your mother?” Uri asked.
“My mother?” Her voice came out shaky. Was he talking about her adoptive mom or her birth mother? Did it matter? She didn’t know where the one was and she wasn’t giving up the whereabouts of the other. “What do you want with her?”
“To kill her.” His accent came through on the word kill. Keel. “Why else?”
Whoever they were and whatever they wanted, Brooke knew she couldn’t tell them anything. They were cold-blooded murderers and apparently part of some Russian mafia.
The villain monologue! It happened at the climax of every good book. When all was lost and the bad guy had you in his clutches, you kept him talking, played along, hoping to buy time until the hero showed up or you found a way to free yourself.
Unfortunately, her hero was tied up with her. What would Julia do? “Look, I don’t know who you are, but I think you have me confused with someone else. I don’t have any siblings and my mother is in a nursing home with early onset Alzheimer’s. Why would you want to keel her?”
His lips twitched in a bemused smirk. “Do you work for CIA?”
Brooke sputtered. Playing stupid wasn’t as hard as she’d expected it to be. “I’m an anthropologist. I know nothing about the CIA or spies.”
Except that you never ever cop to being one.
She gave him her best innocent look.
The man cocked his chin at Roman behind her. “Homeland has trained you, then?”
He knew Roman was Homeland. Mikhail and Uri had done their homework.
Her stomach flip-flopped. She didn’t like where this interrogation was going and she had no idea how to get out of here. Buy time. Keep him talking. Roman would come up with a plan, and if he didn’t, she would.
Riiight. The demon on her shoulder was back and laughing hysterically.
Instead of answering Uri’s questions, it was time to ask a few of her own. “Are you The Reverend?”
He lifted one bushy eyebrow, the bemused expression still on his face. He shrugged slightly. “The Mexicans are bottom feeders. They’re cutting into the Zion trade from here to Brazil. I had an itch.”
An itch? “You call murdering dozens of innocent people scratching an itch?”
“I murdered no one. They are so stupid. It was easy to get them to drink their own death.”
Even though her legs were bound to the chair, her ankle swollen to twice its normal size, the anger sent her to her feet, raising the chair legs up and nearly toppling her over. Mikhail grabbed her by the hair and jerked her back down, body jarring on impact.
“Brooke,”—she was closer to Roman now and he grabbed her bound hands with his and said softly—“take it easy.”
“So sweet,” Mikhail remarked, cuffing Roman on the shoulder. “That’s why we kept you, Homeland. My sister is foolish over you. She’ll do anything I want if I threaten your life.”
“The sigils you carved on the victims’ foreheads?” she hissed. “Why did you do that?”
“The Zion trademark.” Mikhail refocused on her just like she wanted and grinned maliciously. “We mark all of our enemies when we kill them. Sends a message.”
Shane had been correct—the sigil was a variation of a pre-Cyrillic letter, bastardized to represent the crime family.
It wasn’t often she missed the mark. So much for her expertise helping the DTT. They’d done more for her than she had for them.
“Your mother was CIA,” Uri continued as if bored with talking about mass murder. “She escaped the family once. I will not let her again. It does not matter if you work for Homeland or CIA, she will come for you.”
Brooke’s jaw fell open and she pictured her adoptive mom in her mind as she spoke. “My mother was a bank teller, and a waitress, and for a while she worked the counter at a Starbucks. She had a drinking problem. A severe one. Believe me, she was not CIA.”
The man sighed and did an impatient eye roll. “Not the woman who did such a poor job of raising you, Brooke. Your blood mother. Aurora Adams.”
Aurora? My mother’s name is Aurora?
Aurora Adams. It was the smallest piece of knowledge, yet it sent a thrill through her heart.
And if this man and Mikhail were telling the truth, they believed her mother was an American spy.
Holy crap.
Brooke swallowed hard. They knew she’d been adopted, so there was no reason to pretend differently, but there was no way she’d let them see how much they’d rattled her. “I don’t know Aurora, and even if she is the woman who gave birth to me, she obviously has no interest in me or she would have stayed in my life. I don’t know why you think I’m compelling bait to draw her out. She left me.” Even playing this crazy game, the truth made her breath hitch and her eyes burn. “You haven’t answered me yet. Why do you want to kill her?”
Mikhail slammed his hand against the concrete wall, making Brooke jump. “Stop acting like you don’t know! She killed our father in order to keep you away from us! You know she will stop at nothing to protect you.”
Killed our father…
Ditto on the holy crap.
Either Mikhail was completely nuts or her birth parents had been.
“Let’s all take a deep breath,” Roman said. His voice was low, soothing. The ultimate negotiator. “We can sort this out. Dr. Heaton doesn’t know anything about her birth mother or what happened to your father, Mikhail. Why don’t you fill us in? Then maybe I can help you find this Aurora. Being a Homeland agent, I have many resources.”
She loved him in that moment. Here she was on the verge of losing her shit, and calm, cool, collected Roman was negotiating on her behalf. Offering to help Mikhail and Uri find Aurora.
Would it buy them time? Would the DTT find them?
Uri strutted in front of Brooke, seeming to contemplate Roman’s offer. Finally, he stopped pacing and stood, feet apart, hands on hips. “Aurora Adams infiltrated our organization, seduced my brother, and became pregnant with his child. I didn’t know all of this at the time because I was in South America, running operations there. Aurora set a trap for Victor, and he ended up in an American prison for nearly seven years before I got him out. I brought him home, but he wanted revenge and once he got his strength back, he started trying to track her down. Although he did not share the information with the family, he knew Aurora had been pregnant with his child before she turned on him. He wanted revenge, and he wanted his child.”
Here, Uri looked directly at Brooke. He must have seen the shock on her face because, being the bastard he was, it made him smile. He hulked over her, trying to make her feel small. “He insisted on returning to America to hunt her down. He couldn’t find her—CIA had given her a new identity and there was no trail—but he found you, Brooke. It took three years and every contact he had in America. He nearly bankrupt our family, but eventually, he narrowed it down to a dozen possibilities. He told me the moment he saw you, he knew.” Uri leaned down so his face was level with hers. “It’s the eyes. Your mother had the same color.”
A tremor raced up Brooke’s spine. This had to be true, didn’t it? It matched up with what little she already knew. “He was the bad man,” she whispered to herself.
“Victor wasn’t bad, just soft in the head when it came to your mother. He actually thought she loved him.”
“Did he kill the Dunkirks that night or did you?”
Uri cocked his head. “You were nothing to me. Are nothing to me. A gnat to be squashed. I only wanted Victor to return to his real family and help me run our empire. But he wanted to bring you into the fold. He was determined to kidnap you. Aurora interrupted him before he could snatch you that night. Why did he kill that family?” A shrug. “Who knows? Maybe he believed they were helping Aurora hide you. Maybe he was sloppy and one of them woke up. Who cares at this point?”
“I care.”
Uri rolled his eyes. “He went after her, your mother. You know what happened?”
Mikhail’s words rang in her ears and Brooke had to look away. “She killed him?”
A muscle in Uri’s face jumped. “His body turned up across the border six months later. Aurora and some of her Mexican dogs killed him and dumped the body in a remote area.”
“It’s been twenty years,” Roman said. He gripped her hands again, but his fingers ran around the plastic bindings at her wrists, feeling, searching. “Why come after Brooke now? She doesn’t know anything. It wasn’t her fault that Aurora duped your brother and killed him.”
Mikhail pushed off the wall. “It’s because of me. I was conceived when my father returned home after Uncle Uri got him out of prison. I never knew why he left my mother and four sisters again for America and ended up dead.”
“I continued to search for Aurora all these years,” Uri said. “But she’s hidden herself well. Mikhail will be taking over our North American operations soon. It was time he knew the truth.”
Mikhail puffed up his chest. “You played right into my hand, sister. The moment I saw you at the university, I knew it was time to make you and your mother pay. She will die by my hand.” His eyes flashed with hate as he put a fist to his chest. “And you will bring her to me.”
She’d always known her family was dysfunctional, but this topped the cake. “Screw you,” she said, glaring at her captives. “I’m not doing a damn thing to help you.”
“You don’t need Brooke,” Roman said. He tugged on Brooke’s bindings ever so subtly. She felt one loosen around her left wrist. What was he doing? “You have me. Like I told you, I have many resources, and the truth is, I already know all about Aurora. I have a contact number for her. Give me a laptop and let me make a few calls. I’ll have her here in an hour or two tops.”
What?
Brooke nearly turned her chair around to look at him, felt him squeeze her fingers.
He was making this up, right? This was just a trick to buy more time.
Except the conviction in his voice was so real.
He’s a damn good actor.
“No way,” she said, playing along. “We’re not giving my mother up to anyone, especially not these turds.”
“Do you think we are stupid?” Mikhail yelled, his gaze still on Brooke even as he spoke to Roman behind her. “We’re not turning you loose, Homeland. The only reason you are here is to make sure my sister cooperates. Aurora keeps tabs on her. It’s only a matter of time before she shows up.”
“Stupid? Nah,” Roman said. “I don’t think you’re stupid. But dead? Yeah, you’re about to be that.”
Before Brooke knew what was happening, Roman tipped her chair sideways and all hell broke loose.
Adrenaline was an amazing drug. Better than the pain killers Clarice had pumped into him in the ambulance. Those had worn off some time ago anyway.
And pain had always been his drug of choice. It fueled Roman’s body, always had. It was one of the things that had made him such a tough fighter.
Add to that the fact Brooke was hurt, and her own family was about to use her to lure her mother to her death, and he had all the stimuli he needed to kick some Russian ass.
While Brooke had impressed the hell out of him as she kept Uri and Mikhail talking, he’d managed to slip the zip ties from his hands, slide the tiny knife from the hidden compartment in his watch, and cut through hers. He’d had to dislocate one of his thumbs to get out of his plastic cuffs, but hey, that was the least of his physical pains at the moment.
And stupid? Yeah, he actually did think Uri and Mikhail were to leave him sitting close to Brooke.
His feet were still bound, but as Brooke screamed and toppled sideways, he jumped up and came down hard on the chair, busting the wooden legs into multiple pieces and freeing his ankles.
The impact jarred the hell out of his injured leg, but he didn’t have time to worry about it as Mikhail sprang and Roman hit him with a quick uppercut to the face that sent Mikhail sprawling and brought Roman great satisfaction.
Especially when he saw the amount of blood that came gushing from the kid’s broken nose.
Uri wasn’t leader of the Zion mafia for nothing. Before Roman could jump over Brooke, who had realized her hands were free and caught herself before she smacked her head on the floor and was now trying to free her bound ankles, Uri pulled a gun and pointed it at Brooke’s head.
“Go ahead,” he taunted Roman. “I’ll kill her dead.”
God, he hated that phrase. “If you kill her, she’s dead, there’s no way around it, so saying you’ll kill her dead is redundant.”
The crime lord didn’t expect a grammar lesson and the split second of mental head-scratching he did gave Roman the opening he needed.
In one swift movement, he grabbed the gun, forced it upright as Uri pulled the trigger and shoved the man into the wall. The bullet hit the ceiling and rained plaster down on them.
The old guy tried to knee him in the balls and was stronger than he looked, but Roman evaded the incoming danger to his family jewels while keeping his head from becoming the receiver of a bullet.
And then whap, something laid into his lower back, right about kidney level and brought him to his knees.
Mikhail had decided to use a chair leg as a bat.
Roman rolled, banging into Brooke, who cried out as the chair leg came down at both of them. Roman threw up an arm to block it, taking the full force of the blow so it didn’t hurt her.
Unfortunately, it was his injured arm and upon impact, it went weak.
Natural-born fighter that she was, Brooke took both her legs, still zip tied to her chair and managed to boot Mikhail in the shins with the chair.
The kid cursed and went down on one knee, dropping the chair leg. Roman rolled again toward Uri to take him out and found himself staring at the end of Uri’s gun.
Brooke didn’t realize that though. She scrambled to her hands and knees, grabbed the dropped chair leg, and raised it above her head to bring it down on her half-brother.
Uri swore in Russian. The gun went off, but not at Roman.
Brooke screamed. The chair leg dropped from her hands.
Roman didn’t see blood, thank God, but the chair leg was now in three pieces.
Uri had shot that and not Brooke.
As the gun swung back to point at Roman, he swiveled his body and used a roundhouse kick to knock Uri’s legs out from under him. The old man sprawled to the ground and the impact sent the gun skidding across the floor.
Mikhail smacked Brooke across the face, knocking her flat as he scrambled over her to lunge for the gun.
Roman lunged at the same time.
They grappled with each other, punching, kicking, and shoving each other, both trying to reach the gun first.
Roman had just delivered a gut punch to Mikhail when he heard Brooke let go of a banshee yell that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. As both he and Mikhail looked her way, she towered over them, a different chair leg raised above her head and a look of sheer determination on her face.
She brought the chair leg down on Mikhail’s calf, following it up with a second strike to his hip. Whack, whack, whack. She kept swinging.
The kid flailed; Uri swore and staggered to his feet. Roman brought an elbow down on Mikhail’s temple and knocked the kid out just as Brooke reared back with her chair leg bat and swung for the bleachers at Uri’s head.
The old man was a more controlled fighter than his nephew. He had an uncanny ability to move fast and efficiently. He grabbed the end of the bat and yanked Brooke forward.
She spun slightly, letting go in order to grab Uri.
As Brooke knocked Uri into the wall once more, Roman rolled to his feet and grabbed the gun in one quick motion. Uri shoved Brooke aside and she went down.
Roman fired.
The first bullet hit Uri in the shoulder. The second in the thigh. If Roman had his way, he would have put three center mass, then done the same to Mikhail, but Brooke needed answers about her family, and he wasn’t about to rob her of that chance.
As Uri writhed on the floor, a figure appeared in the doorway. The woman wore black from head to toe, her hair pulled back in a tight bun. A sizable black handgun complimented her outfit and her eyes did a sweep of Roman, Uri, and Mikhail. They paused for a moment on Brooke, who lay motionless on her side, eyes closed.
“Looks like I’m late to the party,” she said to Roman. “As always, you seem to have things under control.”
The adrenaline was wearing off, his body going into shock. He needed to sit down. “I do my best.”
She lowered her weapon. Her eyes were sad as they seemed to feast on Brooke like she longed to go to her. Hug her. “Is she okay?”
“Battered and bruised, but you’d be proud of her. She kicked ass.”
A twitch of the corner of her lips. “I’ve always been proud of her.”
“She won’t be happy when I tell her the truth.”
“So don’t tell her.” The woman’s gaze came back to him. Those eyes…Brooke’s eyes…startled him. “That was our deal.”
“I’m not keeping secrets from her anymore. Yours almost got her killed today. She deserves to know the truth.”
A noise came from down the hall. The woman pocketed her gun and gave him a disconsolate look. “The truth is ugly. She’ll never understand.”
“You should give her more credit. She’s smart and capable, just like you.”
Brooke stirred, blinking and moaning Roman’s name. Aurora hesitated, longing written all over her face. “Tell her that I really did love her father. Victor and I were just caught in terrible…circumstances.”
Brooke pushed herself upright, leaning back against the wall, her gaze taking in Uri and Mikhail, and then bouncing to Roman. She turned her head and caught sight of the woman.
But Aurora had already moved away and was heading out. The sounds of others echoed in the hallway.
“Who was that?” Brooke asked.
It seemed such a simple thing to tell her. To no longer be bound by the pact he’d made with her mother only a day ago. Or was it two now?
He’d truly believed he was helping protect Brooke. Aurora had told him a group of men from her past were looking for her daughter, that she needed help keeping Brooke safe. He’d never dreamed how it would all play out.
He had to tell her the truth. Would she ever forgive him?
“That was Aurora,” he said and watched her already pale face go another shade whiter.
“Aurora…Adams?”
He sagged against the wall and slid down next to her. “Yes, Brooke. That was your mother.”
Winslow and Thomas came through the door, weapons raised.
“Don’t shoot,” Roman said. “We’re clear.”
He handed off Uri’s weapon to Win. “Cuff them and get them out of here.”
Win hit his comm. “Clear,” he told the rest of the team. “You okay?” Win asked Roman.
Roman closed his eyes for a second and leaned his head back against the cool concrete blocks. He reached for Brooke’s hand, but she pulled it away. Warm blood was running down his thigh again. “Hell, yeah.”
Thomas pulled out a pocket knife and cut through Brooke’s leg bindings, tossing her chair aside. Win cuffed Uri and suddenly Brooke was leaning over him, her shirt in hand.
“You better have an ambulance outside,” she said to Win as she tied the shirt around Roman’s leg.
“Two, in fact,” he replied.
She gave a jerk on the ties, tightening the knot so hard, it sent pain shooting into Roman’s groin and brought his back off the wall.
Yep, she was pissed.
Thomas cuffed a still-unconscious Mikhail. Nadia, Ronni, and Polly appeared in the doorway.
“Jesus,” Polly said, “you scared the shit out of us, boss.”
“Good thing Shane had that tracking device in your watch,” Nadia added.
Brooke stared at him, eyes hard and flat. He needed to explain things, tell her why he’d done what he had. “Could you guys give us the room for a minute? I need to talk to Brooke.”
Two EMTs came through the door with a gurney and their medical bags, everyone forced to move out of their way.
“You need to get to the hospital,” Brooke said. “We’ll talk later.”
And then she, too, moved out of the way so the paramedics could go to work on him.
He argued but Brooke quietly slipped out the door and was gone before he could order anyone to stop her.
“Don’t leave her alone,” he told Nadia and Polly.
“I’ve got it,” Ronni said, waving them off. “I’ll get her to the hospital and make sure she’s okay.”
She wasn’t, that he knew.
Worse…it was all his fault.