Intrusion (9 page)

Before Audra had a chance to take it all in, the man extended his hand. “William Layne. Former FBI agent and occasional security freelancer.” His grin transformed his older, serious face into a boyish one.

She shook his hand. “Bodyguard detail, huh?”

“Among other things,” he said, his voice slightly pitted with an accent she couldn’t define. “I’m setting you up in the bedroom on the second floor, mine’s down here off the kitchen. My job is to keep you safe, not get in your way, so don’t be afraid to make yourself comfortable.”

Jonathan and William escorted her to her room, and then they both left, Jonathan with promises to return once he’d met with Phoenix’s FBI director, and William to give her some space.

She surveyed her surroundings taking in the lace quilt on the queen sized bed that ruffled in the breeze from the open window, the flat screen television mounted to the wall, and a door that led to her own bathroom.

The house was a perfect retreat, and yet, she couldn’t help feeling adrift. Abandoned. She mentally shook herself. What a stupid way to put it. She alone had chosen this course. Why was she wavering now?

Because she didn’t like putting her fate in someone else’s hands—even if those hands were Jonathan’s. What if he changed his mind and decided to turn her in without giving her a chance to speak with the FBI?

Chapter Seven

Fear permeated Joe Walker’s tiny apartment.

Ivan was well acquainted with the smell, and right now, it oozed from Joe’s pores, dripped down his face and saturated the armpits of his black shirt.

“I swear I don’t know who has it. I—I gave you a copy of Dr. McCain’s research.”

“Which is useless to me now. I can’t very well build the armor myself.” Ivan pressed the point of the knife to Joe’s throat. “Care to try again?”

“Wh…why would I know?
You
asked me to steal it.” Mucous bubbled from Joe’s nostrils and slid toward his lying mouth.

“Ah, but I’m not the only one who struck a deal with you. Am I?”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Ivan dragged the knife from Walker’s throat to his heart. Who did this scumbag think he was? Did he actually think he could get away with double-crossing him?

He swiped at his own sweat-slicked forehead. Where was the ventilation in this dilapidated cracker box? When he returned to Kosovo he’d breathe freely again. But only if he carried the armor home to his comrades.

Ivan twisted the knife, slicing into the fabric of Walker’s shirt and breaking the skin beneath. “I know about the two hefty deposits to your bank account, Joe. Only one of them is mine. Where did you get the other one?”

Tears leaked from the corner of Joe’s eyes. “An inheritance. From my grandmother, Trudy.”

Ivan tipped his head and let a mournful sound escape his lips. “How sad. Were you two close?”

Joe’s Adam’s apple bobbed furiously. “Very. She…she practically raised me.”

“You know what I despise, even more than liars?” His hand tightened around the knife’s handle. “Bad liars.”

The strong smell of ammonia penetrated the stale air, as Joe wet himself. Urine dribbled onto the dingy carpet and flowed toward Ivan’s Prada loafers.

“Oh, shit.” Joe’s whispered curse was followed by a string of unintelligible sounds. “Okay, okay. This man approached me and—and asked if I’d like to make some easy money. Said he was a competitor of Nanodyne’s. They’d tried to make a similar prototype and failed. Promised me big money if I handed the armor over to them—”

“And you saw a chance to swindle me out of a load of cash.”

“No. Yes. I don’t—”

“Who has it?” Impatience clawed at his throat. The incompetent dimwit was wasting his time.

“I don’t know.” Joe raised his trembling hands. “He didn’t give me his name. I swear it. You have to believe me. I’d tell you if I knew.”

Ivan shook his head. “That’s unfortunate. You know what we do to traitors in my country when they are no longer useful?”

A cry shook from Joe’s chest. “Let ‘em go?”

“We execute them.” He toyed with the knife, exerting pressure than withdrawing. “However, since this is America, I’m going to give you one chance to redeem yourself.”

“Anything. I’ll do anything.”

Ivan grit his teeth. He hated blubbering idiots. “I need you to take care of a little problem for me. I intercepted a call. Dr. McCain’s holed up in a house in Cave Creek. Here’s what I want you to do…”

***

Cam’s calves burned, his legs started to shake from the forced crouch of the past two hours. Waiting. Biding his time. Settled in the cover of an Emu bush, he had a perfect view of the back of the house. The bluish glow from the television flickered against the arched window on the first floor.

He shifted his gaze to the shadowy figure that paced past one of the sheer curtained mullioned windows on the upper floor.
Audra.
A single lamp burned low in the room, just enough for him to recognize the feminine set of her shoulders and the slight sway of her walk each time she passed.

As he started to creep forward along the flagstone walkway, movement inside caught his eye forcing him to melt back into the bush. Peterson or someone else?

He squinted into the darkness. What had he seen? Something inside the house caught the reflection from the moon, something thin and shiny—like the blade of a knife.

He dashed across the yard, keeping to a crouch and circumventing the small Koi pond in the center. A crash rent the eerie stillness. Sparks lit up the room, the flickering glow illuminating two men on the other side of the window locked in a physical battle.

The room went pitch black.

Cam’s heart ratcheted into his throat. Shit, no. The smooth white stucco on the walls would make scaling them next to impossible, and he didn’t have time to give it a try. He leapt up and snagged one sturdy branch from the large cottonwood tree.

His boots found traction on the bark; he hooked his feet around the limb and swung himself up into the bower of the tree. Moving through the branches, he picked his way closer to the house. The deeply fissured bark scratched at his palms and the faint smell of resin tickled its way up his nose, but he didn’t stop until he reached the branch closest to the covered lanai.

He’d have to jump the last four feet separating the tree and the terracotta roof tiles. His heart flinched an erratic beat and his knee seized. Running he could fake. Full out jumping in a confined space—not so much.

A bead of sweat trickled down his nose.
C’mon. Make like a crippled flying squirrel on speed. You can do this.
He inhaled deeply then shoved the apprehension out of his throat with one long swallow. The takeoff he could handle, but the landing…

He rolled his shoulders.
Don’t be a damn coward.
Forget about the distance. Forget about the knee. He let go of the tree, made the sign of the cross then balanced himself on the thickest limb.

He filled his lungs with air and held it. The branch swayed beneath his boots as he bent his knees to build momentum. He leapt, setting his entire body into motion—arms up, stomach muscles contracting, thighs bunching—and the Spanish tiles came at him much too fast. He braced his palms in front of his body. They hit the roof and skidded across the molded clay. The right side of him smooched the roof next and he rolled to his back to avoid slamming his knee against the hard tiles.

Pain shot through his body, and he would’ve loved to nurse it for a minute, but unfortunately, his landing had been a tad louder than the whisper he’d anticipated. With any luck, the whir of the swamp cooler had masked the noise. He shook himself to his feet then curled his hand around the wrought iron guard above him. The beveled design left a small balcony-like pocket in front of the window, perfect for him to squeeze into.

He pulled himself up and tried to swing his leg over the top. No go. The space was too tight. He hung there for several seconds, muscles straining, fingers gripping the iron bars.

Audra’s scream carried through the open window. The chilling sound vibrated down his spine, setting him off balance. His shoulder catapulted into the window with enough force to crack the pane. He tucked his head and struck the glass again, and again. Each one of Audra’s shrieks, each bump and crash went straight to his heart, fueling the blood pumping through his veins.

The fissures in the glass pricked through his t-shirt to scrape his skin, but adrenaline saturated his body and he kept ramming the window until it finally gave way. Shattered glass rained down on his head as he fell through the opening.

Sharp edges scraped across his face and neck. His chin hit the wood floor and jarred his teeth against his tongue. The tang of iron filled his mouth. He shook off the pain and rolled to his feet, but he’d forgotten to compensate for his left knee and it gave out on him, sending him sprawling back to the floor.

Shit on a stick.

He popped back up, this time remembering to burden his right leg with most of his weight. His gaze found Audra, frozen, in the corner of the room between the bed and the wall with Walker, Nanodyne’s security guard, behind her, holding a knife at her throat.

“Make a move and I’ll slit her throat.”

Cam lifted his hands. Slowly. “Wasn’t that already the plan? Why else would you be here?”

Audra sucked in a breath. Her wide amber eyes glistened with unshed tears, and all the color had leached out of her pale cheeks making the strand of auburn hair against her cheek look almost blood-red in comparison. The scar beneath her right eye was stark white.

His chest tightened. He waited until she focused her gaze squarely on him.
I will not let this bastard hurt you.
A shudder rippled through her, and though he knew it wasn’t the right time or place to notice her curves beneath her gray tank top and those skimpy matching boxers edged in lace, he couldn’t help it. He was definitely going to hell. But not before he sent Frankenpitt there first.

He needed a distraction. Something that would get Audra out of harm’s way. He scanned the room, taking in the splintered door, the mattress hanging half off its frame, and the overturned nightstand near the bathroom door.

All of it was useless to him.

“Look, why don’t we settle this man to man?” He slid a step in Walker’s direction. “You don’t really want to kill a defenseless woman, do you?”

Walker’s eyes darted to Cam and he tightened his grip around the handle of the knife. “I have to kill her.”

“By whose order?” Cam kept his hands out in front of his body and took another step closer to Audra. “C’mon, Franken—err—Walker. We both know you’re a few beers shy of a six-pack. Who are you working for?”

Walker shook his head. “Back off or I slit her throat.”

Cam curled his lip. “You got me. Even if I lunge forward, your knife will end her life before I reach her.” He stopped, dropped his hands to his sides. “But, see here’s where your logic fails. Because you kill her and she’s no longer a distraction to me. I can put one hundred percent of my attention into killing you.” He smiled and lunged. “Hell, I may even enjoy it.”

Walker reared backward and the knife jerked away from Audra’s throat. Cam folded his fingers into a fist and knocked Walker’s arm aside. He pushed Audra to the floor with his other arm, wincing when she cried out in pain.

“Go!” He shouted the command, but Walker grabbed him around the throat, strangling the word.

He heard Audra scramble to her feet and once he knew she was out of range, he dug his fingers into the security guard’s arm, twisting his body out of the way. His knee locked up in the tight space and he fell backward onto the mattress, taking Joe with him. The knife plunged into the pad beside him, narrowly missing his ear.

Joe grunted and yanked the blade out of the bed. He plunged it downward in a second attempt to skewer Cam’s heart. He rolled to the side, the mattress teetered, dumping him off. The back of his head slammed into the metal frame.

“Cam!” Audra screamed his name, but he didn’t have a chance to look at her before Walker fell on him again.

He grit his teeth and held the guard at bay, his hands wrapped around Walker’s shoulders. “Get out of here!”

Damn it, he hoped Audra was listening.

His sweaty palms slipped off Walker’s shoulders, an error that cost him the upper hand. Walker’s thick hand wrapped around Cam’s throat and squeezed. He gagged from the pressure, blinking away the dark, fuzzy spots that crowded his vision.

His hand crept up to claw at Joe’s grasp, but he couldn’t gain enough traction to pull it away from his windpipe. He reached up and flailed for the knife. The tip nicked his palm, letting him know he’d found his target. He grabbed the hilt, covering Joe’s hand with his own, and wrestled the knife to the side.

Bright light suddenly blinded him. He heard the whoosh of something cut through the air, then a loud crash. Joe’s weight fell to the side. Cam went with him, reversing their positions, and in one fluid arc he plunged the knife downward. The resistance of muscle and bone gave way and the blade sunk into the guard’s heart.

Walker’s hand slid away from the hilt and Cam got his first good look at the intricate handle. It was made from cherry blossom jasper, with veins of black and white threading through the stone. He knew without a doubt the design was one of a kind.

Because it was his.

He’d had it commissioned just before he’d left the Special Forces. SCOTT was engraved on the stainless steel bolster at the end of the handle. If he pulled the knife out of Walker’s chest, he knew what he’d find: the last names of his A-team etched into the blade.

“Oh, shit.” His hands started to shake and he squeezed his eyes shut to calm the tremors.

What had he done?

Audra gasped and Cam jerked his gaze to her. She hadn’t left. Why hadn’t she taken off? Her choppy breath matched his own. She dropped the remnants of the lamp she’d used to attack Walker’s skull, and it hit the floor with a clatter.

“I told you to leave.” The words came out in a harsh croak.

“I couldn’t.” Her fierce whisper was like a cool drink to his raw throat.