Revenge (25 page)

It had taken the better part of the day to knock over the chair and scoot to the discarded knife. By the time Jared had freed himself, he was a raging mass of energy.

Stumbling out of his cabin with the knife grasped in his hand, he braced himself against the support beam and stared at the overgrown yard. LeBeau and Slater had gone back into the city. Leaving him stranded out here.

His gaze swept to the old trail leading from this property to the next. Scowling at the cleared path, he hurled down the steps and ran across the yard. He hesitated before entering the path, scanning the cut foliage. This was how LeBeau had found it.

Anger hot as lava bubbled in his gut. Jared raced down the path, ready to hack that old Cajun to bits. When he emerged on the other side minutes later, he found the yard abandoned. A search of the house didn't turn up the old man or his three-legged mutt.

Jared let out a savage howl. He wanted blood.

Swinging around, he halted. At the end of the dock, the old man's boat bobbed on the river. Well, he had a means to get back to the city. He stomped across the yard and down the dock. Upon passing the old man's rocking chair, Jared threw it off the dock. He laughed when it hit the riverbank edge and splintered. Hopping into the boat, he released the rope line and gingerly eased down onto the seat in front of the outboard motor.

Once he got the engine going, he backed the boat away from the dock, and opened up the throttle. Down the river, back to New Orleans.

The whole time he'd been working to free himself, Jared imagined what he was going to do once he got a hold of LeBeau, his redheaded bitch, and Slater. He'd rape and beat both women in front of LeBeau until they were dead. When he finally had his old partner broken and begging to die, then Jared would rip his throat out.

He'd wait for them at Slater's house, then haul their asses back here.

Damn the Queen and her curses. Jared would claim the power this time.

• • •

Cody scanned the ground around them, checking for the snakes that inhabited this rural area. A snake bite was the last thing she wanted right now. Next to her, Heath shifted as he peered through his scope at the southern side of the abandon factory. Whatever differences they'd the day before were put aside for the common goal of saving Remy and Kim. Yet Cody detected a shift in the atmosphere between them.

Heath's sniper rifle, with a suppressor on the end, rested on a tripod under a camouflage of palm leaves. They were both sprawled on their stomachs on a thick rubber mat-like blanket behind a sparse stand of palmettos and tall marsh grasses. This had been the best option for him because on the north side of the building was a small stand of trees that dropped off into the river. East and west of the building were marshy spots. Yet despite being far enough away not to be spotted by the naked eye, Heath wasn't taking any chances. He'd insisted on Cody changing into darker clothing. Both of them had been lying here for forty-five minutes, and the Louisiana summer heat helped Cody soak her T-shirt.

“Amateurs.”

She lifted the binoculars he'd given her and focused on the rust-stained building several hundred yards off. “What?”

“They've posted guards. Those idiots are right out in the open. Easy pickings.”

Cody spotted one of the guards strolling along the building. He didn't appear to be carrying a weapon, but his ill-fitting clothes could hide about anything. “Good grief, do they think they're gangbangers?”

He snickered. “Good call, Cowgirl.” He pulled away from the scope and blinked, pinching the bridge of his nose. With his face smudged with dirt and dark face paint, and wearing camo, he looked like a wild man. “I've gotta make sure they're far enough apart that when I take one down, the other doesn't see it.”

She nodded.

“We give it a minute to make sure no one else comes, then we make a break for it.”

Drawing in a deep breath, she released it through her nose. Her heart rattled her ribcage at the prospect she was about do something only warriors were trained to do. Sweat—not brought on by the sweltering heat—broke out on her upper lip. “All right.”

For an hour or so, Heath and Luc had planned their rescue efforts. Both men were certain their suspect would bring in backup, and it appeared they were right.

While Heath and Cody went in to find Remy, Vic was tasked with locating Kim and freeing her. During their siege, Luc remained behind, blocking any wireless transmissions and routing any radio calls. Their only hope for success was surprise.

Cuing the clear mic next to his mouth, Heath said, “Vic, you in position?”

The piece sitting in Cody's ear hissed before Vic answered.

“Affirmative. Got another guard posted outside of a door. He hasn't moved since I got into position.”

“Need my assistance?”

“Negative, I've got this. Waiting for your signal.”

“Luc, you got that?”

“All of it. When you're ready.”

Cody swallowed and pressed the binoculars to her eyes again. If her daddy knew what she was about to do, he might lose his mind—then again, she was his daughter. The man had fought in Vietnam, was seriously wounded, barely made it out of the jungles, but came home to have a family. Logan Lewis's iron will coursed through her. She lowered the binoculars enough to peer at Heath as the former Marine sniper settled back onto his scope. She could do this. The man she loved and her best friend depended on her doing this.

“I know you haven't had much training, Cowgirl,” Heath said. “I've seen you try to outrun a serial killer with a bad ankle and face down the prospect of being killed by a professional assassin just to save mine and LeBeau's hides. I stopped you from pulling the trigger on a man you beat the crap out of.” Without leaving the scope, he reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “You've got what it takes.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

His hand returned to the trigger guard, his finger slipping inside. “It's about to hit the fan,” he whispered.

Though she'd seen her kidnapper—the serial killer—after he'd been shot, Cody wasn't about to willingly watch two men be killed. She placed the binoculars on the ground and with her hands covering her ears, waited for the Remington 700 to release its deadly payload.

Seconds ticked past in her head. She drew in a long, quiet, breath. The rifle's muffled bark made her flinch. Her eyes popped open. Smoke stung them and tickled her throat. She wheezed to clear it out.

“Tango One down,” Heath reported. “Shit, next moving in too fast.”

Cody squeezed her eyes shut and ducked her head just as he engaged the gun again. The muted report reverberated through her body.

“Tango Two dispatched.”

Her earpiece hissed. “Tango Three unaware. I'll have him down in a few,” Vic said.

“No radio contact on my end. Make a break for it,” Luc ordered.

Cody raised her head. Heath gave her a nod and scooted away from his Remington. While he tossed more palm leaves over the weapon and planted a tracker next to it, she hopped to her feet, rolled up the rubber mat, and grabbed his automatic rifle. Luc would run out here and gather Heath's gear.

“Let's go.”

After handing him the rifle, Cody removed her Kimber, and they both took off at a jog. The palmetto leaves and thick bladed grasses snagged at her pants, trying to trip her up. Determination settled in, and Cody forged through the brush, keeping pace with Heath. They reached a gravel road that led to the factory and took off running.

Vic's voice broke through on the comlinks. “Tango Three down. Moving inside.”

“Caution.”

“Always.”

Closer to the factory, Cody and Heath headed for the loading bays. Their bodies hugging the building wall, Heath led the way.

“Be aware. Another Tango has left the building,” Luc said.

Heath's arm went up, and he clenched his fist. Cody halted and pressed her back into the wall, bringing her Kimber close to her body.

“Coming around your way, Anderson.”

Glancing at Cody, he pointed to the ground, indicating for her to stay put. He moved forward alone.

The heat from the steel siding seeped through the thin fabric of her shirt. She inched forward. Adjusting her damp grip on her gun, she strained to listen for any sound that would alert her to more trouble. The chorus of the swamp animals was all she heard.

There was a grunt followed by the sickening smack of something hard against flesh and bone. A bloody death was being dealt by hand. Cody lifted her face to the sun, counting off the seconds in her head to counteract the noise on the other side of the building. Could she walk away from New Orleans with her mind unscathed? She didn't welcome the thought of another battle with her alcoholism or PTSD.

Heath peeked around the corner, shocking her with how the whites of his eyes popped against the dark smudges on his face, and beckoned. She hurried after him, rounding the corner, and nearly ran into his backside.

Laying a few feet off was the man Heath had silenced for good. She swallowed the bile that soured her throat at the sight of the long bloodied line on the man's neck. Heath didn't hesitate to move forward once again. So far they'd avoided creating any unnecessary noise to attract unwanted attention. How long would that last?

Finally they reached a side entrance door. Unhindered by a lock, it opened easily, and they slipped inside. No cry of alarm or a warning shot greeted them. Apparently the guy Heath eliminated was supposed to watch this part of the building.

Cool air feathered across Cody's heat-slick skin. Blinking, she forced her eyes to adjust to the dim interior faster. “Luc, we're in,” she whispered.

“Copy. Vic has gone silent.”

“Copy,” Heath whispered back. With two fingers pressed together, he jabbed them in the direction he planned to go.

Giving him a curt nod, she followed. Her vision now acclimated to the near-dark surroundings, she made out a car parked a few yards away. Its sleek exterior reflected the bit of light that penetrated the grime-covered windows in the ceiling. Was that Paul's car? If so, he was still here.

With her lip clamped between her teeth, she let go of the tension coiling inside of her. Saints alive, she wanted that bastard to pay for his crimes. She prayed they weren't too late for Remy.

Heath gave her the halt signal when they reached another door. He indicated for her to open the door, then lifted his rifle to eye level.

Swallowing, Cody grasped the handle with her left hand. Heath counted down from three to one with his fingers. The moment the last finger closed into a fist, Cody yanked the door open. He slipped between the crack with his automatic rifle leading the way. Before she could follow, someone gave a shout, and Heath's gun rattled off shots.

All hell broke loose.

• • •

Paul crooked a finger at Jason and gestured for him to come closer before circling to the left of the Cajun. “Just how much about me did you figure out?”

LeBeau's gaze followed him. “Enough.”

“See, ‘enough' isn't what I want to hear. I want details. The names of people who told you about me.”

“So you can kill them, too?”

With the speed of a cobra, Jason struck LeBeau in the torso. The damn fool would die with broken jaw and ribs.

Focusing on the heaving captive, Paul crossed his arms “This would go much easier on you if for once you'd stop reverting to that childish pride and answer my questions.”

LeBeau didn't answer. Bending as far as the restraints would allow him, he glared at him, sucking air through his bloodied mouth.

“I never understood what Marie saw in you.” He turned on his heel and paced. “She had been brought up for something better than you.”

“If she wasn't your daughter, why did you give a shit who she married?”

“Reputation is everything. I had the perfect plan for her, but you slithered in and stole her away. Got the little bitch pregnant.”

LeBeau flinched at that admission.

Triumphant, Paul bent to look him in the eye. “Yes, I know she was pregnant. Savard, in all his demented ways, saved me millions.”

Panting, the Cajun struggled against his bonds. “You let my wife and my child die . . . because of money?”

“Actually, I didn't let them die. I told him to kill her. Why waste all those millions on that little brat? On you?” Ah, too much time was being wasted on this meaningless conversation. “Tell me what you know.”

“Go to hell.”

With a flick of his wrist, he turned his back on LeBeau as Jason closed in to land a few more punishing blows. LeBeau took the initial punches without a sound, but on the final strike he cried out. Paul rotated to survey his enemy. Left gasping and heaving, LeBeau sagged against the restraints, bloody spit dripping from his mouth.

What a way to squander his effort and worry. How could he have ever thought that Remy LeBeau was a threat to him? He should have ensured he'd been killed just to put the waste of breath out of his misery.

“If he said anything to the Slater woman, we'll kill her.” Paul sighed. “Goodbye, LeBeau. You made life interesting before you became a pain in my ass.”

The crack of gunfire made Paul jerk to the doorway. Men started yelling, and more gunfire erupted. He hurried to the door to peer out at the factory floor. Several of the men who hadn't been shot took cover behind the last of the forgotten shipping crates. No wonder—a man in face paint was aiming an automatic military style rifle on the pack. But it was a movement next to the man that caught Paul's attention. A grim-faced redhead holding a pistol peeked around the crate they'd chosen for cover.

A hand on his shoulder jerked him back inside the room.

Jason spun him around. “Sir, you need to get out of here before they find you.”

Paul shook Jason's hands from his arm. “That woman is still upstairs.” He pointed at LeBeau. “Kill him.”