Authors: Lena Diaz
If by some miracle, Cyprian escaped the wrath of the Council, well, Ace knew another secret even
they
couldn’t ignore. All he’d have to do was retrieve a certain patriarch of the Hightower family and present him to the Council. Then Cyprian’s dictatorial reign would be over.
“The kitchen will blow in ten or fifteen minutes,” Stryker concluded.
“Excellent work.” Cyprian set his drink in the holder on the door. “Stryker, you’re going to be in charge of eliminating Mason and Miss Hightower.”
Stryker nodded and glanced at Ace, as if to judge whether their boss’s favoritism had struck a blow.
Ace focused on keeping his expression blank. Let Stryker gloat. He was on Ace’s short list too. Before the week was out, Ace was going to slit Stryker’s throat from ear to ear to pay him back for every bruise.
Cyprian pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Stryker. Ace made no secret of reading it over his shoulder. It was an army report that detailed Mason Hunt’s PTSD and how it was triggered by being tied up, and described the torture he’d endured that had brought on the PTSD. Ace couldn’t help admiring this Jackal person for his ingenuity. Salt water in open wounds wasn’t something Ace had tried but sounded like a rather useful technique. Simple and effective.
When Stryker was finished, he handed the paper back to Cyprian.
“Do whatever it takes to eliminate Mason and Hightower,” Cyprian instructed. He waved the report. “Now that you know Mason’s weakness, you can exploit it if necessary. I hope that’s helpful in your quest.” He pulled two more sheets of paper out of his pockets and gave one to each of them. “Those are the maps we give to the local EXIT tour guides. They detail every zip line, every storage building, and path we’ve carved into the foothills around here. Use whatever you need. The codes to any electronic locks are also noted.”
“Thank you, sir,” Stryker said.
Ace didn’t bother thanking his benevolent boss. He just stuffed the map inside his jacket.
Cyprian’s lids drooped as if he’d noticed Ace’s breach in manners. But Ace wasn’t in the mood to lick anyone’s boots right now. He stared right back, as if he didn’t have a clue why his boss was pissed.
“While I fully expect Stryker to be successful in his mission,” Cyprian finally said, “I can’t afford not to be prepared if something . . . unexpected . . . occurs. I need a backup plan, leverage, to bring Mason to heel if that happens. You, Ace, are my backup plan.”
Excitement sent the familiar tingle of anticipation that he felt before any mission through Ace’s body. “You want me to help Stryker kill them?”
“Only if Stryker asks for your assistance.”
Ace let out an impatient breath.
“But of course, all of this is moot if we don’t know where they are,” Cyprian said. “I’m hopeful that they’ll try to speak to Stanford. But I also have information that Miss Hightower booked a flight to Colorado.” He handed another piece of paper to Ace. “This is the flight information. Make sure she doesn’t board that plane.”
Day Four—5:00 p.m.
S
abrina fanned herself with a piece of paper she’d taken out of Mason’s glove box and rested her head against the seat back. Even though he’d parked his beat-up truck in the shade of mature oaks, ten feet back from the road where heat radiated off the asphalt, it was still humid and muggy. Not to mention more boring than watching grass grow, which she was pretty sure she’d witnessed since they’d been here all day.
She rubbed her tank top to stop the itchy trickle of sweat between her breasts and hopped out of the truck. Frowning at the unwieldy Glock 22 she was forced to use since Cyprian had taken the Sig Sauer, she shoved it in the right front pocket of her shorts, but the thing was so bulky she had to keep a hand on her pocket to keep it from falling out. Too bad Mason didn’t have extra holsters in one of those bags in the truck bed.
Following Mason’s earlier warnings, she gently clicked the door closed so no one would hear it shut. Not that there was anyone around
to
hear. This place was so isolated that no one came near it.
“Much better,” he said when she joined him by the small rise where he was lying on his stomach, peering through his binoculars. “I didn’t hear the door that time.”
“Yay, me. I know how to close a door without slamming it.” She plopped down beside him on her back, staring up at the glimpses of the blue, nearly cloudless sky that she could see through the bower of branches overhead. She would have rather been on the other side of the road where she could lie on her belly and look over the cliffs to the gorgeous, glass-smooth river below. Just thinking about the water made her feel cooler—not that she’d ever get in it of course. But she could see herself sitting on the bank, dipping her toes. “I thought we were going to
talk
to Stanford, not act like voyeurs.”
“It’s called surveillance. I’m not a peeping Tom.”
“So you say,” she teased, once again trying to get him to smile like he had before the disaster last night. She plucked a long blade of grass and idly started pulling the little sections apart and tossing them aside. “What’s he doing anyway? The canoes are still chained up. Wouldn’t he have taken them down by now if he was going to inspect them or whatever he does until the first EXIT tours are scheduled?”
“Don’t know. Haven’t seen him.”
She turned her head to the side. “You haven’t seen him
lately
?”
“At all.”
Her eyes widened. “
All day?
You haven’t seen him even once?”
“Nope.”
A prickle of alarm skittered up her spine. She rolled over on her stomach, blowing out an impatient breath when she had to adjust the gun in her pocket so it didn’t hit her hipbone. The little hut was a good distance away, down the hill. Even squinting she couldn’t see it that well. Too bad she didn’t have a pair of binoculars too. This stakeout was seeming more and more lopsided since Mason had all the fun gadgets—and a holster.
“Do we even know if he’s inside?” she asked.
“We would if we’d gotten here early, like I’d planned, so we could watch for his arrival.”
“You needed your sleep, to heal.”
“I needed the alarm that I’d set before going to sleep, precisely because I was too tired to wake up without it. You shouldn’t have turned it off.”
She shrugged. She certainly wasn’t going to apologize for protecting him. The rest had done both of them a world of good. He was back to his usual self, minus the smile. She propped her chin in her palm.
He looked through the binoculars again. “My point is that he might be there, he might not be. The cliffs prevent me from being able to maneuver to see the parking spaces on the other side of the hut. I figure if he’s there, he’s got to be leaving in the next hour.”
She put her hand on his shoulder. “Thank you. I know you didn’t want to come here. But I really do appreciate it. I couldn’t have forgiven myself if I didn’t explore every option before giving up on finding Grampy.” She dropped her hand and stared down the hill. “You don’t . . . you don’t think Cyprian would . . . do something to Stanford, do you? One of his own tour guides?”
“A week ago, I’d have said no way. Now”—he shrugged—“I don’t know what to believe anymore, or what my former boss is capable of.” He glanced down at her again and frowned. “Why aren’t you wearing the dark-colored shirt you were in this morning? That white tank catches the light too easily. It’s not good for surveillance.” His frown deepened. “And why aren’t you wearing your vest?”
“Why aren’t you wearing
yours
?”
He hooked his finger in his collar and pulled it down, revealing his vest beneath his shirt. “I repeat. Why aren’t you wearing your vest? I know you’re not hiding it under
your
shirt.”
“It’s like eighty-five degrees out here. I left it in the truck and changed my top into something cooler. We’ve been out here all day without anyone else in sight. It’s not like I need Kevlar.”
His brows drew down in a harsh line.
“Okay, I’ll put it on in a minute,” she assured him, feeling a bit foolish for being so hung up on how uncomfortable she was when he was out here sweating in his Kevlar without a single complaint.
“You’ll put it on now.”
“Okay, okay. When did you become so bossy?”
“Waking up late does that to me,” he grumbled. He looked through the binoculars again.
Sabrina was about to push herself up from the ground when something vibrated against her bottom. She jumped, and Mason was immediately there, gun drawn, half on top of her, looking around.
“Did you hear something?” he whispered.
She lifted her hips against him, enjoying the startled look he gave her. Then she pulled his phone out of her back pocket and handed it to him. “I think someone wants you. Other than me.”
He gave her an exasperated look and put his gun away before sitting up and checking out the screen. He punched a button and took the call. “Mason.”
Sabrina sat up and dusted grass and leaves off her. Mason had let her play games on his phone earlier. She’d forgotten she even had the thing in her pocket.
He listened for several minutes, giving one- and two-word answers through most of the call. Whatever the caller was saying must be good, because Mason gave her one of his trademark slow, sexy grins.
The way her heart sped up made her realize just how much she’d missed the old Mason.
“Okay,” he said, still on the phone. “I’ll call you back in an hour to see where you guys end up. No, Stanford hasn’t shown. Yeah. Okay. Talk to you soon.” He ended the call and slid the phone into his jeans pocket.
“That was Ramsey. They found Austin Buchanan alive and well. He’d been moved to another burn unit under an alias. They figure it was a diversion to get Devlin out of town, which is why he and Ramsey are heading back here soon. His father and one of the brothers is staying with Austin for now, and arranging better security. Some of the other brothers, and a friend of theirs named Logan, are coming back with Ram and Devlin. They want to help us fight EXIT.”
“Wow, that’s encouraging.”
He nodded. “They haven’t exactly been twiddling their thumbs during all of this either. They’re pressuring the Council to act against Cyprian, trying to force an emergency meeting. Ram says it looks like they just might agree to it. The hope is that they’ll remove Cyprian from power.”
“Can they do that? I thought he owned the company.”
“He does. But part of the deal that he made with the government was to follow any rulings by the Council, up to and including his removal as CEO. He would still own the assets but couldn’t make any decisions.”
“Doesn’t sound legal. But then again, it’s not like he can complain to anyone about it.”
“I say we call it a day. We’ll meet Ram and Dev back in town in the morning. We’ll figure out a new strategy.” He gently swept her bangs out of her eyes. “It’s going to be okay. We’ve got a fighting chance now. I’m not giving up on finding your grandfather. And you shouldn’t either.”
She put her hand in his so he could help her stand. “Thank you, Mason. I don’t know how I would have gotten through all of this without you.”
He framed her face in his hands. “Somehow I have a feeling you’d have done just fine. You’re an incredibly strong woman, a survivor. And way too sexy for your own good.” He winked and pressed a soft kiss against her lips. But he pulled back far too quickly.
“Suddenly I want to get back to a crummy, cheap motel as soon as possible,” he said, sounding hoarse.
“Suddenly I feel the same way.”
He grabbed his binoculars and they headed toward the truck.
A loud boom cracked through the trees. A small hole appeared in the passenger door inches from where Sabrina had slid to a halt.
Mason swore and shoved her to the ground as another boom echoed through the woods. Sabrina’s shocked brain slowly registered that someone was shooting at them. She’d thought they were totally safe up here away from everything else. She’d never expected they’d be found.
“Come on!” Mason grabbed her around the waist and yanked her up, half carrying her around the front of the truck as another crack sounded. This one slammed into the front bumper right beside Mason’s leg at the same time that a bullet pinged against the hood.
“There’s more than one shooter.” He yanked her around the other side of the truck and pulled her down in a crouch. The windshield exploded, raining glass down on both of them.
Mason covered Sabrina’s body with his as much as possible and returned fire with his Glock.
Bam, bam, bam!
He shoved her down farther, then jumped up.
Sabrina grabbed her own gun and rolled away from him, aiming underneath the truck back toward where the shots seemed to be coming from. She fired several rounds, ignoring Mason’s dark look as he shot toward the same trees and bushes.
He reached over the side of the truck bed and grabbed one of his black bags, dropping it to the ground. He reached over the side for the other bag but dove down just as another bullet slammed through the side of the truck.
Sabrina fired twice more at where she’d seen the last muzzle flash. The cowards who were shooting at them wouldn’t show themselves and she didn’t even know if she was hitting any of them.
Mason gave up trying for the second bag. “There are too many of them.” One of the front tires blew with a loud pop and hiss. The truck bounced on its springs, leaning at an awkward angle. He grabbed the one bag and slung the strap over his shoulders, wearing it like a backpack. “Come on. We have to run for it.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her up with him.
“Run?” she yelled. “Where?”
But he either didn’t hear her or was too busy returning fire to respond. He popped the magazine out of his gun, slammed another one home, then shoved her toward the road. “Go, run. I’m right behind you!”
She took off running across the road, half turning to return cover fire for Mason, but he was too close and she couldn’t risk taking a shot. He was on her like glue, spraying bullets as fast as he could squeeze the trigger while urging her to run faster.
Sabrina saw the cliff and suddenly realized what Mason was about to do. She desperately tried to stop but he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her forward with him.
“Mason, no, I can’t swim!”
His eyes widened with alarm but it was too late to stop their momentum. Sabrina screamed as her feet met open air and they plummeted over the cliff toward the river below.
M
ASON KICKED HARD
and swam upward as fast as he could, holding his gun out in front of him as he breached the surface with an enormous splash. He’d made as much noise as possible, hoping to draw any fire away from where Sabrina might be. But a quick look around revealed no sign of her.
I can’t swim.
Her last words had cold fear congealing in his chest.
Shots rang out and bullets zipped into the water beside him. He whirled around, shook his Glock to make sure the firing chamber was empty of water, and aimed up at the cliff above. He fired three quick rounds at the gunman standing silhouetted against the sky. The man screamed as one of the shots hit him in the neck. Blood sprayed out around him as he fell like a limp marionette into the water before bobbing back up, curled over facedown like a dead fish.
Another shot cracked from high above, but Mason didn’t return fire. He had to find Sabrina. How long had she been under water? Thirty seconds? If she couldn’t swim, would she even have thought to grab a lungful of air before she went in? He shoved his gun into the holster, took a deep breath, and dove under the water.
He pulled himself forward with powerful strokes, looking for the telltale flash of Sabrina’s white tank top. The water was cool and fairly clear, probably spring-fed in this section of the river. He should have seen something, but there was nothing, nothing but rocks and plants growing on the riverbed. He swam back toward the cliff, desperately turning his head back and forth, looking for her.
Nothing.
A bullet cut through the water so close the concussion knocked him back. He shook his head to clear it and lost the rest of his air. Lungs burning, he swam toward the edge of the river directly under the overhanging cliff, hoping the shooter wouldn’t be able to see him when he came up for air. His vision started to blur. He had to take a breath soon or he’d pass out.
He swam up, up, breaking the surface and gasping for air. He was about to take another breath and dive back down when a flash of white caught his attention about ten feet away, near the rocky incline in the tall grasses at the edge of the river.
Oh God. No!
He kicked forward, lunging through the water. That flash of white was Sabrina’s tank top catching the light, her partially submerged body hung up in the weeds.
Facedown in the water.
When he reached her, he rolled her over, bracing her head on the grassy stalks behind her. Her eyes were open, but unseeing. She wasn’t breathing.
God, no, Rina
. He checked her airway, then pinched her nose shut and blew three quick, deep breaths, filling her lungs. He held his fingers against her carotid.
Yes.
Her pulse was weak, but her heart was still beating. He pinched her nose again and covered her mouth with his, blowing air into her lungs.