Betrayed (Hostage Rescue Team Series Book 9) (11 page)

This hunter was either part of Nico’s prey, or he was about to lead him right to them.

“We need to make sure we’re not seen,” Briar said as Georgia exited the bedroom. “And we have to get you out of here without contact with anyone else.”

“Why?” she asked, already heading for the tunnel entrance.

“Because this mission is off the books, technically speaking.”

More questions piled up in her mind but now wasn’t the time to ask them. “This way. There’s a tunnel we can use.”

“A tunnel?”

“Yes.” It would give them a better tactical advantage than exiting the cabin through a door or window.

Dressed in dry clothes and boots, Georgia pulled on her waterproof jacket and hurried as fast as she could on unsteady legs to the trapdoor with Briar and Miguel right behind her.

Even with only one confirmed threat out there, they’d both made it clear that staying and fighting wasn’t an option. Their priority was to get her out of the area and hidden in a safe house for immediate medical attention.

“In here,” she said, bending to pull it open.

Miguel took it from her and she didn’t protest. Right now her illness and the lingering effects of the tranquilizer put her at a distinct disadvantage, as far as escaping or staging a counterattack went. Without the others to help her, she would have been nearly helpless.

But even with backup, staying barricaded in the cabin with an attacker closing in was stupid when they didn’t know what kind of threat they were facing. The one individual out there right now could simply be the point man of a hunter/killer team, and might be armed with anything, even an RPG. They could regroup in the tunnel, come up with a plan and then use the secret exit to buy them time and give them the element of surprise.

“Once we’ve got you secured, we’ll handle whoever’s out there,” Briar told her.

Georgia steadied herself with a hand on the wall before going to her knees beside the opening. “There’s a short ladder that drops into the cellar. You’ll have to duck down, the ceiling’s low.”

She went first, dropping down into the blackness. Her knees buckled on impact, sending her tumbling to the rough ground. She shook it off, scrambled into a crouch. As she moved away from the ladder two more light thumps sounded behind her, then a louder one as the trap door closed above them.

Turning on the tactical flashlight she held, she aimed it at the corner of the cellar. For a moment the sway of the beam increased her dizziness. She blinked to clear her vision, the rush of adrenaline through her veins helping to dispel her symptoms.

“I’ve got weapons, ammo and other supplies in here,” she said, unwrapping one of the bundles to expose a box of grenades. “Help yourselves.”

Miguel crouched down beside her and rummaged through the bundles, taking a couple grenades and some ammo, stuffing them into his pockets. “Where does the tunnel lead?”

“A trapdoor on the far end that opens into the forest. It’s just far enough away from the cabin to give us a head start.”

“So that’s how you got out before.”

“Yes.” She glanced back at Briar, who was shoving an extra pistol into the back of her waistband, then checked the monitor she’d brought. “This still shows only one target moving out there. Just over three hundred yards out now.”

“Rycroft hasn’t seen anything yet. He’s going to move in to cover us from above,” Briar said.

Georgia aimed the beam of the flashlight down the tunnel so the others could see their path, and how tight the tunnel was. “At the other end I’ll check to—”

A firm hand on her shoulder stopped her midsentence. Even through her sweater and jacket the pressure of Miguel’s touch tingled all the way down her arm to her fingertips.

He’d been like that in bed, she remembered. Powerful, commanding. And shockingly, meltingly sensual.

She’d never been the same since, mentally or emotionally.

Forcing the disturbing thought away, she half turned to look up at him. His already hard features were even more pronounced in the shadows cast by the glow of the flashlight.

He withdrew his hand, but the unwanted tingles didn’t disappear completely. “You’re not well enough to take point on this. If we leave this tunnel I go first, then you, then Briar. I’ll check things out first and we’ll go from there.”

Her immediate instinct was to argue, but she clamped her jaw shut.

He was right. In her condition she was a liability to the others. Going out the exit first would put them all at even greater risk. The darkness wouldn’t shield them if the shooter had thermal imaging—he would most certainly have night vision—and leaving the safety of the tunnel was risky.

No matter how much it chafed, she had to submit to someone else’s authority this time. It surprised her that Briar didn’t protest, until she realized that Briar was likely allowing him to take the lead so that she could keep a close eye on her.

Georgia set her jaw. They were right to be suspicious of her motives. Unless they had something to offer her that would change her mind, she planned to give them the slip the first chance she got.

“I think I’ve already proven that I’m not in any shape to try and take off alone. No need to waste resources by keeping an eagle eye on me.”

“I’m more worried about you keeling over at the moment, to be honest,” Briar replied, and nodded at Miguel. “Let’s go.”

Georgia switched off the flashlight, plunging them all into inky blackness so that the high-powered beam wouldn’t seep through the cracks in the trapdoors and give them away.

A big hand caught hers, squeezed, then that deep, dark voice spoke close to her. “Hold onto me.”

The words punched through her, triggering a vivid memory of the two of them, naked in her bedroom at the place she’d rented in Miami. His weight pressed her down into the mattress, his wicked hands moving all over her body in the darkness, the thick length of his cock buried inside her and his low voice a silken rasp in her ear, urging her higher.

Hold onto me, angel.

She had, for dear life, while he’d taken her to a place of pure rapture.

She’d never experienced anything like it, that kind of total surrender to a man. He’d given her no choice and she hadn’t wanted one. Because even then she’d known that one night was all they’d have together.

Just once, she’d wanted to experience what it felt like to let go completely. He’d not only given her that freedom, he’d shown her such vivid, aching pleasure that it had cracked her icy-cold core wide open and left her struggling to keep her emotions contained.

Banishing the memory, she reached out and placed her hand on top of his right shoulder. Through his jacket she could feel the raw, undiluted power of him humming beneath her palm.

The weight he’d lost during his recovery had acted like a crucible of sorts, rendering him down into a pure, concentrated version of his former self. If the pull she’d felt toward him had been magnetic before, now it was damn near irresistible.

And if she could recognize that when she was this sick and weak, then he was also a threat she couldn’t afford to risk again.

With her hand on him she followed in the darkness, stepping carefully on the uneven floor of the tunnel. It helped steady her. She was still a little woozy from the tranquilizer, and her earlier run through the woods had sapped her pitiful energy reserves.

Having Miguel and Briar with her felt strange after operating on her own these past months. Strange…and yet oddly comforting.

The muscles in Miguel’s shoulder tensed beneath her hand a split second before he stopped beneath the trapdoor. They were all silent, straining to hear in the darkness. “Stay put,” he whispered after a minute.

Georgia didn’t know if he’d aimed that at her, Briar, or both, but remained silent as he cautiously cracked the trapdoor open a fraction of an inch. A welcome rush of fresh, damp air flooded into the musty tunnel.

Outside it was nearly as dark as where they stood. Unmoving behind Miguel, she shifted her rifle in her hands while he took stock of the situation using night vision binos.

A few minutes later he shut the door silently above him and spoke in a whisper. “I caught a slight movement about a hundred yards from the cabin. Only one heat signature. I need a good ten seconds’ lead-time to make it to a decent hide site up the hill. Once I get in position I’m gonna toss a couple grenades between him and the cabin, make him freeze where he is and hopefully go to ground. After I move in to take him out from above, I’ll alert Briar via our comms. You guys stay in here until either Rycroft or I give the all clear.”

Without thinking, Georgia grabbed hold of his arm. Why was he doing this? Putting himself at risk for her sake? “Don’t. Let Rycroft get into position and take the other shooter out himself.”

“There’s not enough time,” he answered.

“He’s right. There are probably others nearby,” Briar said. “We need to get out of here, get you to a safe house. The sooner that shooter’s out of action, the sooner we can move and make our way out of here.”

Miguel gently pulled his arm free. “Stay with Briar.”

Georgia bit back more protests, stood there feeling useless and helpless as Miguel eased the trapdoor open once again. Moments later he boosted himself up and through the opening, then silently closed the door behind him, enveloping her and Briar in a smothering silence.

The quiet pressed in on her from all sides. She wasn’t claustrophobic but the soundless black space was oppressive nonetheless. And then there was the unsettling sensation of dread gathering inside her. Fear for Miguel.

He was out there all alone facing at least one trained shooter, maybe more who were hidden out of sight. To have found him again after all this time and then to have to stand by and watch him risk his life to protect her while she did nothing made it feel like a hot coal burned beneath her sternum.

She’d already had his death on her conscience. She didn’t want to relive that a second time.

“He’ll be okay,” Briar murmured, correctly guessing the direction of her thoughts, much to Georgia’s irritation.

Was she so transparent? Briar had known her well once. Georgia had to make sure she kept her feelings hidden for the remainder of this “mission of mercy” as they seemed to want her to believe it was.

Her fingers tightened around her weapon. She didn’t answer, all her attention riveted on the area above her where the trapdoor was, ready to explode through it in a second’s notice if he needed backup.

****

With the cold rain falling on him Bautista paused behind a stand of oaks and stood stock still, barely breathing as he waited to see if his target had noticed him. He’d darted across the small open space to this spot as fast as he could, his boots barely making any sound on the dense carpet of mud and leaves that littered the forest floor. It was possible he’d just exposed himself to an enemy bullet.

But as the minutes crept past there were no shots and no sound of movement to his left, only the patter of the rain and the sigh of the wind in the half-naked branches above and around him. Rycroft, acting as his lookout, remained silent.

Time for the diversion.

He eyed the distance to the cabin, mentally calculated the range then picked a spot partway between it and his target. Reaching into his pocket with slow, careful movements, he pulled out two grenades, palmed them both.

Making sure there was nothing blocking his trajectory, he seized his chance. Taking a step to his right, he pulled the pin from the first grenade and hurled it as hard as he could toward the spot he’d chosen. A few seconds later he lobbed the next.

Dual explosions burst through the night, moments apart.

Hunkered down behind a large boulder, Bautista watched the area where he’d seen the movement. Sure enough, a branch swayed slightly. The shooter had either hit the ground or was moving away from the explosions.

Time to make his move.

Bautista’s blood pumped swift and hot through his veins, but he remained ice calm inside as he set out after his prey. He slipped from tree to tree without making a sound, stealth and the hunt second nature to him. He might be a bit slower now than he had been a few months ago, but he hadn’t lost his edge. He was still at the top of his game.

At a lip below the ridgeline, he finally had a good visual of his target. The man was lying facedown in the brush, unmoving, eye to the scope of his rifle.

With fluid, practiced movements, Bautista stretched out behind a log and propped the barrel of his weapon on top of it. Through the scope the view was even better.

He lined up the crosshairs on the man’s back. Normally he’d take him out without hesitating but the rules of engagement were different now. It was Rycroft’s call as to whether he wanted this man dead or taken alive.

He clicked his earpiece to alert Rycroft that he was in position and had the target in his sights.

“Green light,” came the instant reply.

Without missing a beat, Bautista squeezed the trigger. The silencer deadened most of the report. He hit the target dead between the shoulder blades, severing his spinal cord and slicing through his heart.

“Target down.” He did a quick sweep of the area and waited to see if anyone else materialized. “Moving in for a closer look,” he whispered. Rifle to his shoulder, he covered the distance to the body with swift strides, staying alert for any other signs of movement.

“You’re still clear,” Rycroft told him.

The other sniper lay facedown on the ground, stretched out over his weapon. His eyes were half open, blood spilling out of his nose and partially open mouth from the bullet that had torn through his body, imploding his lung and ripping through his heart.

Checking the man’s pulse, Bautista was unsurprised that there wasn’t one. “He’s dead.” A relief, since he’d been way too close to the cabin, and Georgia, for Bautista’s comfort.

Rycroft’s voice came through the earpiece, a mere whisper of sound. “I’m sixty meters to your five o’clock.”

“Roger that,” he whispered back, automatically turning to scan his surroundings and provide cover for Rycroft.