Exit Strategy (22 page)

She gasped and tried to back up, but Mason was behind her, a wall of muscle, his arms on hers, his chest pressing against her back.

“Let me go. I can’t—­”

“Yes, you can. You survived the loss of your brother. The loss of your parents. Your grandfather’s disappearance. Most ­people couldn’t live through all of that and come out so strong, so grounded. But you have. You’re a very special woman, Sabrina. You’ve been through so much. But you’ve never given up, have you? And you’re not going to give up now. You’re strong, resilient, determined. I know you can do this.”

He leaned over her shoulder to meet her gaze. “Thomas wouldn’t want you to give up. And neither would your parents. Do this for them. The harness is secure. The pulley above you is new, strong. The clip holding the harness to the pulley is solid steel. I’ve double-­, triple-­checked everything.”

He gently lifted her hands and placed them on the strap above her, which she knew connected to a pulley on the cable.

“I’ll be right behind you,” he continued, his deep voice so soothing, so confident, that it was hard to be fearful anymore. “Ten seconds, fifteen at the most. The line dips near the other side of the river then goes back up. It’s designed to slow you down before you reach the other platform. You can’t see it from here, but it’s there. As soon as you reach the other side, put your hands out in front of you to stop yourself at the back wall. Then just unclip the carabiner from the cable and move to the side. When the line goes slack, I’ll know it’s clear and follow you over. All you have to do is take one step. And trust me.”

“I trust you.” She tightened her hands on the strap and stepped into space.

M
ASON QUICKLY CLI
PPED
his carabiner to the next pulley and put one hand on the cable, waiting for the tension to slack. He hated sending her over without him, but he didn’t have a choice. The cable was plenty strong enough to hold both of their weights, but he could crash into her at a high speed if he didn’t make sure she was off the line first.

And now he was getting more and more agitated waiting for his turn. While he’d been trying to keep Sabrina calm and convince her to face what had to be one of her worst fears, he’d heard something. A night creature foraging for dinner in the nearby underbrush? Maybe. It could have been the creak of the wood in the tower, contracting in the cooling temperatures now that the sun wasn’t baking the wood anymore.

Or it could be one of Cyprian’s men, working his way up from below.

How long had it been since Sabrina had stepped off this platform? Twenty seconds? Twenty-­five? He didn’t think the line was all that long, based on the curvature he’d noticed when he’d spotted it back by the waterfall. If that was the lowest point in the line, it had to curve up just enough to slow the zip liner so they wouldn’t hit the inside back of the platform box. It couldn’t be more than twenty feet past the tree line. So why hadn’t the tension in the cable eased yet?

Just then the line bounced and went slack. Mason blew out a deep breath, relief easing the knots in his shoulders. She’d made it to the other side and remembered to unclip her harness from the cable. So far, so good. He grabbed the strap above him and shoved off the platform.

The line was new and strong and gave a smooth ride across the river. With Mason’s greater weight, he covered the distance much faster than Sabrina would have and he quickly reached the line’s low point on the other side of the river. The cable arched up, slowing his speed. The dark platform came into view exactly where he’d guessed it to be, about twenty feet back from the tree line.

He landed on the platform, grabbing the cable overhead to steady himself as he came to a stop and unclipped the carabiner. He turned around, searching for Sabrina in the dark.

The platform was empty.

Chapter Eighteen

Day Four—­8:00 p.m.

S
abrina blinked against the fluorescent lights overhead and poured all her anger into the shriveling glare she aimed at the man across the room. The same man who’d been lying in wait for her on the zip line platform. He’d gagged and bound her before he’d cut her harness strap and released her from the cable. Then he’d tossed her on his shoulder in a fireman’s hold and hopped off the platform in a heart-­stopping slide down a rope to the ground.

She’d done her best to struggle and slow him down as he’d jogged into the woods with her, but the way he’d bound her arms behind her, any movement caused sharp, agonizing pain in her shoulders. He’d brought her here, left her gagged and tied up, sitting on what seemed to be a cold, stone floor. Now that her eyes were adjusting to the light, she could verify that it was indeed stone. She was in a large rock cavern, cut into the side of the mountain. There were no windows, so the lights overhead and a steel door on the entrance kept any light from leaking outside.

It appeared to be a storage room for equipment for the EXIT tours. Boxes of supplies—­bottles of water, helmets, even a pair of rafts up against one wall—­filled about a third of the room. The rest was empty, except for her.

And Ace.

He was dressed head to toe in green camouflage. His pants were tucked into army-­issue black combat boots. A pistol rode in a holster on each hip and a rifle was slung across his back. But in his right hand was a large, lethal-­looking knife. He held it down against his side as he strolled across the room and stood over her.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” He gestured with his knife toward her arms, pulled tight behind her. “That’s nothing, though, compared to what Mason’s been through. I assume you’re lovers. Did he tell you about those scars on his back? It happened when he was in the army. Did he tell you about it?”

He squatted down in front of her. “Happened years ago. Apparently he was held captive for weeks in the desert, tortured, tied up with steel wire that cut into his back. They called the guy who tortured him the Jackal. He rubbed salt water into Mason’s wounds every day while he tried to get information about his unit. I hear Mason never cracked, never told him anything.” He shrugged. “Didn’t matter. All the men in his unit still died. The Jackal got his information some other way. Ironic that Mason ended up being the lone survivor.”

He ran the edge of his knife under her chin. “Cyprian dug that information out of reports in Mason’s personnel file. Apparently your lover goes nuts when he’s tied up. Some kind of PTSD thing from his time with the Jackal. Did you know that?”

She looked away, dismissing him the only way she could. Her heart broke for the horrible torture that Mason had suffered through, but she didn’t want to give Ace the satisfaction of thinking he’d found her main weakness—­her feelings for Mason.

The sharp edge of Ace’s knife pressed against her cheek, forcing her to look at him.

His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Don’t turn away from me when I’m talking. You don’t want to make me mad. I could cut you up into little pieces and enjoy every minute of it.” He tilted his head as he ran his knife blade along the column of her throat, forcing her to tilt her head back. “If I had more time, maybe I’d try to see just what Mason finds so fascinating about you.
Then
I’d carve you up. But there’s no need to wait to pay you back for that little nick you gave me with those damn scissors.” He suddenly pricked her skin with the knife, laughing when she jerked back with a moan against her gag. The cut stung and warm blood ran down her neck.

“Don’t worry,” he crooned. “It’s just a little cut. You won’t bleed out.
Yet
.” He pulled the knife back, letting her lower her head. His callous words had her heart pounding double-­time. The blood rushed in her ears and her lungs starved for oxygen as if she’d just run a race.

“You’re hyperventilating.” He laughed. “Guess I still have the power to strike fear into a lady, huh?” He half stood, bending over her with the knife.

She tried to lean away from him, but her shoulders tightened as if they were about to pop out of socket, making her arch back.

The cloth that was tied behind her head, keeping the gag in her mouth, slackened and fell away.

He squatted in front of her again, keeping the knife in his right hand as he grabbed the edge of the cloth in her mouth and yanked it out.

She coughed and worked her tongue to moisten her dry mouth, then drew her first deep breath since he’d captured her. When the searing pain in her shoulders eased enough so that she could breathe normally again, she straightened against the wall behind her.

“Before you kill me, will you at least tell me if you know whether my grandfather is alive?”

He cocked a brow. “Don’t you want to know the whole story before I tell you the ending?” He shrugged. “You’re in luck. I happened to overhear Cyprian discussing your family with Bishop, right before I stuffed Bishop’s head into a gas oven.” He laughed when she recoiled from him. “Seems like Cyprian used Bishop as his little lapdog back in Colorado, to kill your brother because he was using Cyprian’s daughter.”

Sabrina drew a sharp breath. Mason had been right.

“I guess it snowballed from there. Your grandfather saw some sketch you drew of Melissa Cardenas and he pieced it all together. He was stupid enough to threaten Cyprian. Then again, maybe not that stupid. The old coot supposedly locked some kind of evidence away somewhere that proves Cyprian had your brother killed. At least, that’s what he claims.”

He leaned so close she could feel his hot breath against her cheeks, but she forced herself not to flinch or turn away.

“I knew part of the story, of course, since Bishop and I were the ones looking after that old man and torturing him. But I didn’t know all of it until today. No amount of torture seems to work, though.”

Sabrina’s chest tightened.
Grampy is alive. He’s alive. Oh God. But he’s being tortured.

“Where is he?” she demanded. “Where’s my grandfather?”

“What? You want to see him? My pleasure. I just love family reunions.” He pulled a cell phone out of a holder at his waist, tapped the screen a few times and then held it up for her to see. “There you go. Say hello to Grandpa.”

Tears started in Sabrina’s eyes. There, in living color, in what appeared to be some kind of live webcam, was her grandfather. He was chained to a wall, sitting on a bed, his bare toes curled against a sloping concrete floor. There were bruises up and down his arms, but he was alive. He was
alive
. She frowned. Something about the video seemed familiar. Why?

“Where is he?” she asked.

Ace pushed a button on the phone and put it away. “Not far from here.”

“He’s not in Colorado?”

“What do you think ‘not far from here’ means?” he said sarcastically. “I couldn’t exactly torture him long-­distance. We brought him with us when we moved out here for the new office.”

She winced at the word torture. “Why are you holding him? Why would you torture an old man?”

“It’s called following orders,” he spat. “Your grandfather has my boss convinced that he’s hidden some kind of incriminating evidence that could destroy Cyprian.” Ace rolled his eyes. “Trust me. If your grandpa knew something like that he’d have told me by now. He’s just yanking Cyprian’s chain.” He shrugged. “Actually, I kind of admire the old man’s spunk. He’s smart. He made up a story that sounded real enough that it convinced my boss, which bought Hightower some time. If it weren’t for his lies, he’d have been dead long ago.”

That sounded just like her Grampy. A shudder of relief swept through her. There was still time to save him.

He idly pressed the tip of his knife against the stone floor and spun it in a circle, catching it before it fell and spinning it again. “Cyprian’s cleaning house right now. I’m not exactly on his favorites list, but I do know where enough bodies are buried that he’s probably nervous about getting rid of me. I’m playing my cards, waiting to see what happens.”

“What’s any of that have to do with me?”

“You’re one of my cards. Stryker’s out here searching for you. If I kill you outright, he’ll claim he’s the one who killed you. I can’t have that. I want him to go running back to Daddy with his tail tucked between his legs. Then I’ll be the one to bring you in and kill you right in front of Cyprian. Clever, huh? And if I catch that lover of yours by using you as bait, and bring both of you in, all the better.” He shrugged. “Then again, maybe I’ll just kill both of you here and not bother bringing you back to Cyprian. Huh?”

He pushed her bangs out of her eyes, much as Mason tended to do. But where she welcomed Mason’s warm, gentle touch, the tiniest brush of Ace’s fingers had her fighting the urge to gag and shrink away from him. Antagonizing this man wouldn’t help her out of her current predicament. And it wouldn’t help her figure out a way to find Mason and warn him that both Stryker
and
Ace were gunning for the two of them now.

He twirled the knife again. “You know, I don’t think I’ve talked this much to a woman in over a year. You’re easy to talk to.”

She wasn’t quite sure what to make of his confession. “Where is Stryker now?”

He shrugged. “Not far from us, actually. He has men on both sides of the river and he’s got all the right equipment to follow you, or anticipate your next move. Shouldn’t be a surprise. Stryker’s Cyprian’s favorite at the moment, which means he gets all the fun toys.” His lips curled with menace. “I was supposed to sit at the airport all day and wait for you. But I knew Mason wouldn’t let you go back to Colorado by yourself. It had to be a decoy. So I came back here, figuring you two would be looking for Stanford.” He leaned forward as if sharing a secret. “No need to keep looking, by the way. I sliced his throat before lunch.”

This time Sabrina couldn’t keep from gagging. She turned her face into her shoulder.

Ace flicked her hair again. “Squeamish, huh? Did I mention that Stryker was just seconds away from that platform when you landed? He anticipated you two would cross the river near there and he beat you to it. Lucky for you, I saved you before he could get there.”

He shrugged. “I’m sure Mason wasn’t quite so lucky when he got there. But I figured, given the choice, he’d have wanted me to get you out of the area before Stryker attacked. Mason will put up a good fight. He’s one of the best. If he makes it through the gauntlet, he’ll find us. Actually, I’m counting on it. If he takes out Stryker, and I take
both
of you out, I become Cyprian’s favorite again. I might hate the son of a bitch, but being favored has its perks.”

He ran the knife down her jaw. “Actually, I have something special planned for a dear, dear friend of mine. Devlin Buchanan. Something quite spectacular actually. But my original plan to draw him out didn’t work. So I have a new plan now. Your boyfriend is going to give me Buchanan. Right after
you
give me your boyfriend.”

Sabrina glared her hatred at him. If she ever got the chance to shoot him, she wouldn’t hesitate.

M
ASON HELD HIS
knife in his left hand, balancing on the balls of his feet as he turned back and forth on the hard ground, trying to keep an eye on his adversaries. Bodies littered the pine needles at the base of the platform tower behind him. He’d lost count of how many he’d fought off but they kept coming. He’d unloaded his pistol into half a dozen of them, but without more ammo, he was left with the knife and his bare hands. One on one, not a problem. Dozens against one,
big
problem.

Stryker stood behind the others, out of Mason’s range. Mason wanted to demand Stryker tell him where Sabrina was, but he didn’t want to admit that she was even out here if she’d somehow realized the danger and hid in the woods before Stryker and the others had converged on the tower.

If she was still alive—­and he refused to consider that she might not be—­then she was still in danger. He needed to find her and get her to safety. But he had a lot of men to mow through before he could go looking for her. The only thing giving him an advantage right now was that they weren’t using their guns. Stryker seemed to want to take him alive and had forbid them to fire. That gave Mason hope, because it might mean Sabrina really had escaped and Stryker wanted to capture him and force him to give up her location. He’d gladly endure torture by pretending that he knew where she was but refusing to tell them, if that meant giving her more time to escape.

Stryker’s men were paying a high price for Stryker’s decision, though, as evidenced by all their fallen comrades. And fewer and fewer of them seemed willing to brave Mason’s knife.

One particularly large fellow suddenly lunged forward, swinging his own knife toward Mason’s neck. Mason did a backflip to avoid it, slamming his shoe against the underside of the man’s chin as he flipped over. He whirled around and followed his adversary’s body to the ground, digging his knife into the man’s soft belly with an upward twist that dissected his vitals. The man screamed and gurgled, then fell silent. Mason slowly wiped his knife clean on the man’s pants as he eyed the others.

“Who’s next?” he taunted. “I can do this all night.”

Stryker shrugged, not seeming particularly concerned with the death of his latest lackey. The whites of his eyes shined in the moonlight as he glanced upward.

Mason tensed and whirled around just as a heavy rope net fell on top of him from the platform above. A cheer went up from the men. Mason slashed in a blind fury at the ropes. Someone kicked his arm. The knife went flying somewhere behind him in the bushes. He twisted and yanked the ropes as they tightened around his body, and the world around him began to fade.
No, no, not again. No
. He bucked against the hands that were suddenly all over him, pulling the ropes until they burned his skin through his clothes. The air seemed to seize in his chest.

The weight of the men and the burning agony of the ropes brought him to his knees.