Authors: Sara Craven
She interrupted. “And if I am not misinformed, you are providing them a means to do more of it,” she reminded him, “for which you will be amply rewarded. Tell me I am wrong in this.”
He assumed a wounded expression that looked sincere. “Rest assured, my motive is not fueled by greed. Look around you, woman! I have
enough.”
“Then why did you ask them here? Why would you offer them whatever it is they are so eager to get? I know it is something to further their respective causes, something valuable and secret.”
“Something they must never put to use,” he added succinctly, reaching across to take her hand in his. “Help me.”
She tried to pull away, but he held her fingers fast in his. “This was a trap? You brought them here to kill them?”
Gunshots popped outside and the window of the lounge shattered. Dawn dived for the carpet, seeking shelter between their chairs. Quince fell on top of her, shielding her body with his.
“Let me up!” she cried, struggling to reach her pocket where she had hidden the pistol. But Quince held her immobile. Heavy as he was, she couldn’t dislodge him. “Get off!”
He scrambled to one side and yanked her by her arm. “Stay on the floor. Crawl behind the bar!” he ordered. More shots rang out.
No fool, Dawn did as he suggested. The heavy mahogany structure offered the safest haven in the room. By the time they reached it, she had the pistol out and the safety off.
Had Eric’s team arrived? She hoped to God that was the case and that this wasn’t some other force attempting to take over the island. Especially since the thing everyone would be after was securely tucked between her breasts inside her lacy underwire bra. That gave a whole new meaning to Victoria’s Secret.
The click of footsteps sounded on the tiles of the foyer, then on the stairs. No way could they exit the lounge without being seen by whoever was on the way up. Were there others waiting? She and Quince were trapped behind the bar with nowhere to run and only four rounds for defense. “Do you have another weapon?” she whispered.
“Not in here,” he admitted. “You’d better give me that,” he said, reaching for the gun. Dawn batted away his well-manicured hand and leaned to peek around the lower edge of the bar.
He tugged at her shoulder. “I said—”
“Shut up, Quince!” she snapped, her patience thin and her nerves on edge.
Eric had guessed right; Quince didn’t know what to do next. He had gotten in over his head. How could that be? Given the rep Interpol credited him with, she didn’t know. He was supposed to be the big deal maker, the mercenary even the baddest boys in the business bowed to. He had talked a good game up to a point, but she sensed he was shaking in his Italian leather mocs right now, too frightened to take the little peashooter away from a girl half his size.
“Back off and give me some room.” She elbowed him out of her way. “And for God’s sake, be quiet.” Dawn realized she’d abandoned her Spanish accent along with her cover as a helpless little woman. Come to think of it, Quince’s voice had changed, too, under pressure.
Someone was coming down the stairs now and in a hurry.
“Dawn?” Eric called out.
She released a deep breath, only now aware she’d been holding it. “In here! Behind the bar,” she answered.
He appeared then, a welcome sight as he dodged into the room, wheeling left, then right in a shooter’s crouch, the AK-47 he carried braced to fire. He landed behind the bar with them. “Ali must have signaled a boatload of friends,” he announced. “They just came ashore.”
“Impossible!” declared Quince.
Eric shot him a dry look. “I didn’t get a head count, but two are down outside.”
Dawn’s heart stuttered when she saw blood on his shirt. “You were hit?”
“No.” He looked past her, his gaze focused on the open doorway. “They won’t wait long to breach the house. They’ll be coming in to find Ali. Among other things.” He glanced at Quince. “Where’d your men take him?”
“There’s a basement below the kitchen.”
“With outside access?” Eric demanded.
“No.”
“Any way out of this place without using the front or back door or the French doors onto the terrace?” The downstairs windows were barred, decoratively, but also efficiently.
Quince shook his head. Then he swallowed hard. “The place is wired to blow. If we can get out after they come in to search the house, we can get them all.”
Eric sighed. “Where did you train, Quince, Utopia? They won’t
all
come in. Some will be out there waiting for us to show. And they’re armed to the teeth. Besides, you have employees in here. Conroy, the cook—”
“I’m blowing it anyway,” Quince declared, muttering as
if to himself. “Ali’s people can’t be allowed to get what they’re after.”
Eric tossed Dawn a questioning look and she answered by patting her cleavage. He smiled. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”
“And if they shoot us?” Quince snapped. “What then? All they have to do is locate the safe and figure out how to crack it.”
Eric’s worried gaze locked with Dawn’s as he repeated, “The
safe?”
“Yes! It will only be a matter of time until they find the hidden office. It only took me two hours!”
Dawn’s heart sank. The little aluminum device between her breasts suddenly felt cold, not comforting as it had moments ago. If the flash drive with the radar-shield plans was locked in Quince’s safe, what was she carrying around in her bra?
Eric was glaring at Quince now. “Why would
you
have had to search for the office in your own house?”
Quince backed away in a crouch and looked behind him as if hoping to discover an escape route opening up.
“I’ll get answers, Quince, but now’s not the time,” Eric said. “I locked the front door when I came in, but that won’t keep them out for long. We need to set up a defense.” He motioned to Dawn. “Make sure the kitchen entrance is locked. Find Conroy and the servants and put them in the walk-in fridge where they’ll be safe. Quince and I will go for the weapons.”
He turned to Quince. “Where are they?”
“The study,” Quince answered. “Why are you doing this?”
“You have to wait for answers, too,” Eric told him. “Just keep in mind that you aren’t all that necessary to me, so your best bet is to cooperate. Let’s go.”
Dawn rushed down the hallway to the back of the house, her pistol ready. Conroy and the others weren’t likely to follow her orders without it.
When she neared the kitchens, she approached the door with caution, edged up to it, then whirled into the opening in firing position. She sensed she wasn’t alone, but saw no one. Carefully, she crept into the room, shifting the direction of her aim every couple of seconds.
This reminded her of a training exercise back at The Farm, where target villains appeared at random right along with pop-up friendlies. Conroy, the cook and the other servants were around somewhere, probably hiding behind something just as she, Eric and Quince had been doing in the lounge. She thought about calling out a warning.
“Drop it,” said a quiet voice, devoid of its usual lilt.
“Sean?” she asked, turning. “Is that you?”
“Me and my Uzi, love. Lay down your gun.”
She didn’t do that, but she did lower the pistol, trying her best to look relieved to see him. “Where have you been? I am to find Mr. Conroy and the others and put them somewhere safe. Will you help me?”
He chuckled. “Appealing to my gentlemanly instincts, Aurora? I have so few of those. Put down the pistol or I will shoot you where you stand.” She had to believe he meant it.
She placed the gun on the countertop. “There are men here on the island who intend to kill us all. Why are you treating
me
as the enemy?”
“Because everyone here
is
an enemy, love. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
She sighed and shrugged. “All I want is to board a boat and leave this cursed place. Why Jarad brought me here with him is a mystery.”
He laughed. “Not to me. You handle a weapon like a
pro, which I always assumed you were. There are no innocents among us.”
“Such bitterness, Sean,” she said with a sugary smile. “What now? You’ll get rid of me the way you did Carlotta?”
“Not yet. Let’s go and find your husband and our friend, Quince, shall we?”
“All right,” she agreed with one last longing look at the abandoned pistol on the counter. She was facing Sean and also the window near the back door where shadows moved quickly and quietly. Ali’s men. In seconds, they would burst through the unlocked door and she and Sean would be cut down as surely as she stood there. “Sean, they’re coming.”
“Nice try,” he said with a click of his tongue. Then a sound alerted him. He turned.
Dawn grabbed her pistol and dropped to the floor just as the back door flew open.
She heard them swarming in, shouting, firing. It sounded like a whole army. Sean had disappeared.
Two rounded the counter, and she squeezed the trigger. The sound of her shots was lost in the indiscriminate firestorm of the invaders—two more dashed past on the other side of the counter. They missed seeing her, hidden as she was. She aimed the pistol and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Damn. Useless. She laid it aside.
One man shouted in Arabic, probably to those outside. All she could do was watch from the shadows as the survivors headed out of the kitchen and down the hallway.
Dawn waited where she was, helpless to do anything at the moment. When no more shots were fired, she risked crawling to the edge of the counter and peeking around it. More men filed in.
The new wave immediately located the door to the cellar
and were trying to get it open. They broke it down and with a shout of success, headed downstairs.
Dawn scrambled over to the two men she had shot. One was writhing on the floor, holding his leg. Quick as a flash, she grabbed the heavy automatic he had dropped. The other man was obviously dead, his nine-millimeter pistol still clutched in his hand. She yanked it free and stuck it in her pocket. The first one recovered enough to make a clumsy grab for her. Dawn landed a butt-stroke to his head and knocked him cold.
For a moment, she considered shooting him again, but decided a shot might bring the others running. An excuse, maybe. Killing a man who was firing at you was definitely different than dispensing with one who was unconscious.
Eric was her first concern. She headed out the way the others had gone. She moved cautiously even though they were making enough noise to cover any sounds she might make.
She concentrated on her approach, so much so that she didn’t realize anyone was directly behind her until an arm encircled her neck and a hand snatched her weapon away. She knew immediately it was McCoy. She recognized his scent.
“In there,” he rasped, shoving her into a small storage room. He closed the door. “Now, let’s have something straight, Aurora. I need to save Quince. I don’t have to kill you. In fact, I could use your help. If you cooperate, I’ll get rid of Jarad for you and get you back to the mainland today.”
Right, like she would believe that? “Suppose I don’t want to be rid of him?”
“It’s you or him, love. Choose right now.”
“I’ll help you.” If she could convince Sean she was no threat, at least she might have a chance to warn Eric. Maybe she could get the drop on Sean. She cleared her
throat. “But the first order of business is to eliminate Ali’s men, agreed?”
He nodded. “Go ahead of me. I want you where I can see you. Get out the Glock you took off the dead guy.”
She pulled it out of her pocket, checked the load, clicked off the safety, then led the way back into the hall. The pistol was no match for the Uzi McCoy carried, but she felt a bit less vulnerable than she would have if he had made her his unarmed shield.
Dawn could hear Ali’s men running up the stairs near the main entrance, making no attempt to conceal their presence. How many were there on the island? Ali obviously had used some method of contacting them similar to what Eric had brought. Or something even more sophisticated since they had known where to find him.
She stopped and turned. “Quince and Jarad were headed for the study where the weapons are kept.”
He motioned down the hall to the left, then gave her a little shove when they neared the study door.
“Don’t shoot! It’s me!” she called softly, hoping no one would unload in her direction. “McCoy is here, too,” she added in order to warn Eric.
Sean was right behind her. He pushed her through the doorway, using her for cover. The lights were off and the blinds were drawn.
“Quince? You there?” Sean called.
Quince stepped out from behind a tall bookcase. “Sean?” he asked softly. “Are you all right?”
“Where’s Al-Dayal?” McCoy demanded.
Quince nodded to the opposite side of the room where Eric stood holding a fully automatic in the cradle of his arm, his finger on the trigger, the muzzle pointed up instead of at her.
Now that her eyes had adjusted to the dim light, Dawn
could see in Eric’s eyes that he knew McCoy intended to kill him.
“If I were you,” he said to Sean, “I’d eliminate the most immediate threat first. That is not me, by the way. Truce until we’ve cleared up this problem? Then we can haggle over the prize.”
“Fair enough,” Sean replied.
Dawn didn’t trust him to keep his word, but realized there was no choice until she or Eric had a clear shot at him.
“Two of Ali’s men are down in the kitchen. One dead and one unconscious,” she informed Eric. “Five others have gone down to release Ali and more are searching upstairs. Four, I think.”
“I didn’t see them disembark,” Eric said. “The entire island could be crawling with them for all we know.”
Quince spoke up then. “We could try to make it to my boat and get off the island. I told you the place is wired. Why don’t we get out and blow it?”
McCoy growled a protest. “Not until I get what I came here for. Get it, Quince. Now.”
Dawn thought about giving Sean the attaché she had found in the locked drawer. He wouldn’t have time to check the contents. Maybe she could fool him into thinking she had what he wanted, the same way Eric had bluffed Ali. But if she did, McCoy would probably shoot them all and take off. Damn.