CHAPTER SEVEN
Conversation in the cabin of the helicopter woke ZQ from his dream. He rolled so his back was to the men and his massive hard-on away from their sight. Out of all the times he and Rose spent together, it was odd he dreamt about the night the rubber broke. From that time on, they’d stopped going to the club, having their play time and love life at his apartment near the base.
He had to be more careful of his identity. Small things like putting away his framed commendations and never checking for his mail when she was with him. One evening when they passed the wall of locked postal boxes, she asked if he wasn’t going to check for his mail. He’d chased her into the elevator as she giggled. “Don’t want mail. Want you.” He’d kissed her the entire way to the fifth floor.
Now, he wished he’d been freer with his personal information. But once he got an idea in his head, he clung to it like chicken shit on his boot heels. His mother called it being obstinate. In this case, ZQ thought it was damn foolish. Why the hell wasn’t he just upfront with the woman he’d fallen in love with? For the same reason Ivy couldn’t be upfront with him once their relationship bloomed, it was hard to undo a lie they’d lived with for months.
Once they’d declared their love for each other, the club held no importance. They wanted their alone time. Too bad it was cut short with orders to go to Afghanistan. As head of the unit, he couldn’t go to her place to tell her in person, he had too many intel meetings to attend and plans to make. It was a mad crunch time before liftoff. A damn cold text was all he had time to give her.
“I’m telling you bastards, I was shocked as hell to hear the commander say he’d die to get this woman back,” Titan said.
“This woman is the mother of his child. The only one he’s ever loved. Hell, we all know he dated from time-to-time, but nothing serious.” ZQ could always count on JJ to take his side against anyone else. “Dust, remember when he dated that bitch, Wanda?”
“I remember when Wanda insulted my wife. I haven’t liked her since. Look, we all need to complete our assignments plus keep an eye on the commander that he doesn’t fuck up out of pure emotion. ՚Cause damn if I wouldn’t do the same thing for my Kelcee.”
“Hoo-rah,” chorused the rest of the men, except for Titan.
“I still don’t get it.”
“That’s because you’ve still got your cherry,” ZQ chimed in as he rolled into a sitting position. “Damn, you men are more gossipy than a gaggle of women. Look, I’m not going to do anything stupid. You all know the plans. All three versions. We extract Ivy, same as we’ve done for countless others. You get her out of Columbia to a hospital in the States and then come back for me.”
Hard to tell what condition she’d be in. At best, she’d be half starved and in dire need of water. Probably beaten and God knew what else. ZQ clenched his fists. He wasn’t leaving the area until he’d wiped out the cartel’s threat to Ivy and Quinn. They weren’t coming after who he considered his family again at a later date. These fuckers loved revenge and he wasn’t giving them a second chance at those he loved.
JJ checked his coordinates. “Good thing your ass is awake. We’re about ten minutes out from our refueling spot. Damn, I need to take a piss. Too much coffee.”
“Hoo-rah!” echoed from the rest of the team.
Once everyone’s bladder was empty and the fuel tank full, Titan climbed over the helicopter, slapping on the magnetic Lascarro insignias Athena and Steelhead had painted last night. Intel had shown the Lascarro family was trying to take over the Muñoz drug empire. Why not use a natural enemy to hide their arrival in Cartagena? Confusion was a great detraction.
While Grey, Steelhead, and Titan created havoc over the Muñoz property, he, Dust, and JJ would ride the motorbikes commonly used in this area. Only theirs had more power than the ones that sounded like bees on steroids. Grey had seen to that long before the Honda street bikes were loaded onto the helicopter.
Dust would ride behind ZQ who’d drop him off behind the building across the street from where they suspected Ivy was held captive. His ace shooter would climb the structure to set up a sniper blind on the flat roof.
JJ with Nance strapped on behind him would go in a different direction. He’d scope out the neighborhood, familiarizing himself with various routes to their meet-up points with the helicopter, depending on which final plan they ended up using. Then he’d hide his bike like ZQ would his. The extraction would begin. Nance would sniff for bombs, large quantities of weapons, and bodies.
****
These past few hours, Ivy had become one pissed-off, determined woman. No one told her what to do or how to do it. Now that the shock of her abduction and the horror of her many beatings had worn off, clarity of mind was taking control. Damn if she’d go down without a bitchin’ fight. How dare they take her away from her son?
Her sleep last night had only lasted for a short while. The remainder of the darkened hours were spent planning an escape. As dawn’s glow filtered through the slats of the blinds, she took stock of her surroundings. Wrapping part of her soiled dress around her hand, she slid it between the slats and broke off two pieces of glass at the hole she used to get fresh breaths of air.
As a prosecutor, she knew prisoners made shanks from whatever they found. Surely if they could do it, so could she. Just like many of them, escape was her motive. By damn, she would not be a victim.
When she’d learned she was pregnant and hadn’t heard back from Quinn after texting him some pictures or telling him about the baby, she moved ahead with her life. Her love for the man didn’t dim, the love for her unborn child had simply outshone it. She pushed herself through morning sickness and exhaustion to start her career in order to take care of her and the baby. Being a victim wasn’t in her psyche.
One way or another, she’d escape this building and make a call to the Omega Team. They’d come get her. Although she’d have to hide until they got here. And just how would she get her hands on a phone to call Athena? She could—
Stop over-analyzing. I’ve got a plan and a brain. I’ll use them to get the hell out of here.
The end of the rope was secured to the front side rail of the metal bed. Not wanting the cut fibers to be visible, she slid beneath the bed and using a piece of the glass began sawing away. The shard broke. “Dammit, Ivy! Slow down, Don’t put so much pressure on the glass.”
She tried again with a lighter touch which produced more success. As she methodically sawed away fiber after rope fiber, she calmly went through a list of mental plans for escape once she cut herself free. At the rate she was going, it wouldn’t be tonight. But she was making progress and plans. Success often came slowly.
Mindful of the routine kept here, Ivy was dressed by breakfast. She made sure she appeared neat when the snooty young woman brought her evening meal. She was drinking the bitter coffee and picking through the food when a key rattled in the lock of her door. Her stomach tensed and she set her plate aside.
Evidently her reprieve from the interrogation about her sources was over. Tonight the torture would begin anew. At least her captors wouldn’t see where she’d practically cut through the rope. Her wrist was swollen more, causing her a lot of pain but then she was getting accustomed to hurting from all the beatings.
The door slammed against the wall of her room and her heart nearly sank to her bare feet.
A man dressed in an ivory suit and an orange floral shirt sauntered in. Two men brandishing long-barreled Glocks followed.
She’d seen pictures of the man in the ivory suit before—Gilberto Muñoz, head of the cartel. All the moisture evaporated from her mouth. The man had a reputation of inciting fear in his enemies and smiling all the while, because he loved inflicting pain.
He stood over her. “Poor, poor Assistant D.A. Ivy Rosemoor. Taken away from her country, her home, her yard with its pretty red flowers and carved wooden front door.”
How does he know about my house?
Gilberto paced in front of her, a sickening smile showing off a gold tooth. “I can’t say I like your tan leather furniture, but I did find your collection of pictures telling. Very telling.” He waved Quinn’s picture she’d taken at the aquarium in front of her. “We didn’t know you had a son. You love him very much. Yes?”
Her mouth had gone dry. They’d been in her house. They knew about her child. She stared into Gilberto’s hate-filled eyes.
“We have your son, Ms. Rosemoor.” He extended the photo to within inches of her face. “Whether he lives to see tomorrow depends on you and how much information you give me.”
Black spots covered her vision; her heart stuttered before it righted itself again.
Cold fear over what her child must be enduring iced her veins.
And she died a little for her son who was her entire world.
Her bravery evaporated into fear and then…pure rage.
Because no matter what she did, they’d both die.
One of the guard’s cell chirped a beat, catching the boss’s attention. In a flurry of motion, her hand jerked the piece of glass from her pocket and jabbed it into his cheek. He screamed. She dropped to the floor and rolled, jerking loose the rope. A bullet hit her thigh, burning traveling up and down her leg.
The other guard finally answered his phone. “Jefe, a helicopter is flying over the compound. Our fields are burning! The men are under fire! Bombs, Gilberto! Eduardo says to come quick! Markings on the aircraft indicate Lascarro’s gang.”
“So, they choose now to make their move? To take over our business?” He spat on the floor. “Mangy dogs! Filthy scum! Bastardos! My men will destroy them!” Blood dripped from the once pristine hanky Gilberto held to his face.
He yanked the chunk of glass from his cheek, yelling curses. “Kill her now! I’ll have a scar because of this bitch!” He held his hand in a stop gesture. “No, wait. Leave her here to suffer until we get back. She’s not going anywhere with that leg wound. Weak American woman.”
He hunkered beside her, his breath like something from the sewer. “When we come back, I’m going to skin you alive.” His eyes were maniacal when he stood. All three men rushed out the door, vowing revenge against Lascarro’s cartel.
The pain alternated between a numbing sensation and deep burning. Dear God, she hurt. She had to stop the blood flow. Using the rope, she created a tourniquet. She scooted across the floor and pulled the blanket off her bed to wrap around her leg. Those unfeeling bastards had her son. Where had they hidden him? In this building? Could she beat the locked door down to search for him? Hell, she couldn’t even stand.