t have that kind of time.
Over my years in the Special Forces, plus my unofficial combat training as a young teen helping out my father, I’d pulled off some fancy maneuvers. I’d faked guys out, drawing them out of hiding with elaborate decoys, women making them forget themselves, their own men betraying them when they least suspected. But you had to work with what you had, and sometimes the simplest solutions worked best.
The house didn’t have much in the way of decorations. Gigi said it was “modern, minimalist décor.” Whatever you wanted to call it, the place didn’t have a lot of knickknacks lying around. But on the mantle, over a gas fireplace in the living room, there was a glass bowl. Inside it lay a couple hundred clear marbles.
Inching over, glad I was barefoot, I kept my gun facing the entryway but moved slowly toward the mantel. I didn’t think I’d be in his line of sight even when I darted out and grabbed, but I couldn’t be sure. I’d have to fire as I did it, hoping if he could see me I’d get to him first.
With a deep breath in, I lunged, grabbing the bowl as I shot out toward the stairs, one, two, three until I got back to the wall, pressing myself there, gun still pointed where it needed to be. He fired a couple times, the shots hitting the fireplace. I pressed forward, right up to the edge. Then I swung the bowl back and dumped it out, hard, spilling the marbles all across the tiles in a deafening clatter.
I hoped it was enough to disorient him. It was the best card I had in my deck. Spinning out, I caught just enough motion from him to aim. He lifted up his head to find out what was going on. He’d never be able to find out. This time, my shot hit its target.
Climbing up the stairs two at a time, I flew up to the master bedroom. There was no sign of Gigi on the bed, but of course she wouldn’t be still lying there peacefully in the middle of all the noise. Where was she hiding?
“Gigi!” I yelled, tearing into the closet, pushing open the bathroom door. “Come out, Gigi!”
Over by the window, I saw the curtains flutter. The windows had not been open last night. Aiming my gun toward the movement, I stalked over and tore the drapes to the side.
The window stood wide open. A long, nylon rope ladder stretched from the sill down to the ground. My chest contracted as if caught in an ice-cold vice. They’d taken Gigi.
21
Gigi
I awoke to the sound of Dom’s voice downstairs. It sounded like he was talking on the phone, and not happy about whatever he was discussing. Was everything OK? I hoped Colt was all right.
Quickly, I slipped on a dress from the closet. Chances were slim that Dom was talking to someone in person, but if he were I didn’t want to waltz down there in the buff. I headed toward the door, but I never made it out.
The hand slid over my mouth so fast I had no idea what was happening. I didn’t even have a second to try to pry it off. The man behind me trapped my arms down by my sides, pinning me against him. He muffled my scream, then replaced his hand with a rag around my mouth and tied it at the back of my head, tight. I twisted, kicked, and tried to get away but he bound my wrists behind my back with what felt like a plastic zip tie. The whole capture took less than twenty seconds. My self-defense class in college had not prepared me for this.
He threw me over his shoulder. I kicked and fought, but he held me fast, carrying me over to the window. I screamed as he climbed out, but with the gag I barely made a sound even as I yelled at the top of my lungs. He carried me onto a rope ladder. Outside as we descended the top rungs, I stopped struggling. I couldn’t escape if I broke my ankle falling to the ground. Or broke my neck.
I needed to think. My heart pounded and I broke out into a cold sweat, but I couldn’t panic. This guy was obviously part of the Columbian cartel. Dom had explained that they were so ruthless no money would appease them. They wanted vengeance. A blow to their family required a hit to ours, and I was their target.
But they hadn’t killed me yet. If the man carrying me had wanted to kill me, he would have done it already. That meant he wasn’t going to, at least not yet. He was going to try to kidnap me. The cartel must think they could get more out of Colt if they took me alive.
That meant I had to escape now. Once he drove off with me, who knew where he’d take me or what he’d do to me? How could anyone ever find me? My throat started to close with fear, tears stinging my eyes, but I told myself to focus. I had to do everything I could to make sure he didn’t get me away from the house.
At least he hadn’t blindfolded me. I saw another guy waiting at the base of the ladder. He hissed in Spanish at the guy carrying me. My captor answered back, sounding angry. They were fighting, I realized. That was a good sign. If everything was going the way they wanted, they wouldn’t be angry at each other.
Still thrown over his back like a sack of potatoes, the man started running with me across the yard. Shots rang out, landing in the ground around his feet. Veering off course, he ran straight for cover, ducking behind high shrubbery at the surrounding wall. He threw me to the ground. My head smacked hard into the concrete of the wall, but I didn’t feel the pain. I felt my chance.
Dom had told me that we were protected by armed guards, a bunch of them. They must be the ones firing, and maybe Dom, too. He might be out there right now, gun drawn, coming to the rescue. It gave me a surge of adrenaline.
Quietly, as stealthily as I could, I drew my feet underneath me and settled into a crouch. The men kept at each other in Spanish, their attention focused outside the hedges. It would be helpful to know what they were saying, but of course I’d studied French. It came in handy when I wanted to order a particular entrée in Paris. Not so useful right now.
What was useful was how distracted they were. Fighting with each other, watching out for our security, they weren’t watching me. They stood a few feet away, giving me just enough room, backs turned, and I started inching, slowly inching away. If I could just get a little closer toward the shrubs, I could dive in and through, hoping whoever was firing on us would realize it was me.
They opened fire into the yard. Both of them had machine guns and the noise was deafening. I’d never even seen one before. My heart nearly leapt out of my throat and I prayed Dom was safe, but I didn’t stay still. I moved, staying low, putting five, then six feet of distance between me and them.
I searched the tangle of hedge for an opening. It was like being caught between two walls, but there had to be a gap somewhere. I spotted one, down low, maybe too small for the men to chase after me quickly. I wished I had my hands free so I could scramble and crawl. But at least I still had my legs.
Just before I lunged toward the opening, I saw a flash of movement out in the yard. Stealthy, quick, it almost looked like a tree had moved. Then it was gone. Somehow, I knew it was Dom.
I sprang off my haunches like a rabbit, hurling myself through the break underneath the hedge. Shoving my bare feet into the ground, I pushed and pushed and I was almost out into the yard when I felt it. A hand clamped hard and brutal around my ankle. It dragged me back toward the wall and this time they didn’t just throw me against it. They kicked me hard in the ribs. Pain jackknifed through my body, worse than anything I’d ever felt in my life.
They pulled me to my feet and started half pulling, half dragging me along the wall. Away from the movement I’d seen, toward the driveway, they moved us quick to where I bet they had a car waiting. And maybe more guys with more machine guns. But I couldn’t think about that. I had to fight. I couldn’t let them get me to the car.
A shot rang out close by, whizzing past us. The man dragging me by the arm stopped and flinched. Quick, fierce, I drove my knee hard and sharp into his balls.
“Perra!” he shrieked and dropped me to cup where it hurt. I ran as fast as I could, off balance, hands bound behind me, lurching back into the greenery. They yelled, cursing in Spanish, and I could hear one following behind me. The lumbering footfall and breaking branches sounded like a bear chasing in hot pursuit. Only they were so much more dangerous than a b
ear.
My heart pounded, my only thought escape. Over exposed roots, under a low branch, I spotted an opening in the hedge and I lunged forward, shoving myself past scratching branches like a drowning swimmer struggling toward the surface for air.
I felt a hand, heavy and brutal, close around my arm. Then a shot rang out and the hand fell. I didn’t look to see what had happened. I ran, swift, along the hedge, until I found a crevice where I buried myself, tucking my feet in, hiding myself away.
Close to hyperventilating, I told myself to stay calm, breathe slow. I couldn’t lose it now. I didn’t know who might find me next through the branches.
More shots, more yells. Then a hand reached for me, circling in around my waist.
“Gigi.” Dom picked me up, holding me to his chest.
I tried to speak, say something to let him know I was all right, but I was gagged and I couldn’t see straight. Everything washed around, doubling over, and then I sank into blackness.
22
Dom
The sight of Gigi in a hospital bed was not one I ever wanted to witness again. She looked so pale and frail in a hospital gown, her skin nearly the color of the sheets. They assured me that her injuries would all heal with a couple weeks’ rest. And the men who’d hurt her were long gone, paying for it with their lives.
But my gut still twisted with rage as I watched her sleep. They’d given her a concussion, cracked her rib and left her with bruises and scrapes all over her body. And I’d let it happen, under my watch. It made me want to rip my hair out.
That was the last time I ever trusted a friend of a friend. One too many links in the trust chain made it weak. While Gigi lay in the hospital bed, I’d taken a call from my local contact and gotten the whole story. It turned out that the grocery delivery guy had gone to the strip club and leaked the wrong safe house location, as planned. Then, of course, the cartel had started tailing him. So what had the idiot gone and done? He’d driven over yesterday to make his grocery delivery in the same goddamned car he’d used at the strip club. He was like the Pied Piper, leading them right up to our doorstep. How stupid and sloppy could you be?