Betrayed (Hostage Rescue Team Series Book 9) (27 page)

Behind him he was dimly aware of the HRT guys rushing after him. He tuned it all out, determined to find Perez before anyone else did. Before they reached the end of the tunnel and Perez stepped outside, where Georgia or the other sniper teams might get him.

He’s mine.

Bautista kept the butt of his rifle locked firm against his right shoulder, his eyes on its optics, finger on the trigger. Perez disappeared from view before Bautista could get a shot off, then popped his head around the far corner again, fired again and vanished from view.

Mentally cursing, Bautista ran flat out, the growing light telling him they were nearing the end of the tunnel. The others were charging up behind him. He couldn’t let them reach him.

Time was running out. Soon someone else would get Perez. Bautista would not let that happen.

No way, asshole. You’re fucking mine.

Jaw locked tight, he burst around the final zigzag in the tunnel, determined to take Perez down or die trying.

****

Flat on her belly with Briar beside her acting as spotter, Georgia stared through her scope at the mansion nestled against the shore. Must have cost Perez a freaking fortune, and that’s before all the custom security measures he’d put in place.

“All quiet here,” she reported to the HRT sniper team, seven guys positioned at various points on the property. One of them had taken out a guard walking the perimeter about three minutes ago and other FBI agents were positioned along the beach in case Perez somehow got clear.

That’s not going to happen
, she thought grimly.

“Here too,” the leader, Colebrook, answered, and the others reported the same.

She let out a deep breath and forced herself to relax. Not easy to do when Miguel was down in a tunnel engaging Perez and his lackeys. She’d rather be there backing him up, giving him what protection she could.

“Wish we were down there kicking ass instead of stuck up here,” she muttered to Briar.

“Tell me about it.” She peered through her night vision binos, doing a sweep of the grounds. “But this beats being stuck at a desk. I gotta say, I don’t know how Matt stands it. He misses the action, I can tell.”

“No doubt.” It was strange, being here like this with Briar.

Even after all these years they still worked together like a well-oiled machine, slipping back into their routine as though they’d never taken time apart. And Georgia was insanely curious about how Briar had made the transition into a serious relationship with DeLuca after living and working alone for so long, and planned to ask her as soon as this op wrapped up.

That shouldn’t be long from now. With Perez trapped between the HRT boys and the sniper teams positioned around the property, there was no way he would escape.

A sudden movement caught her attention. She shifted her weapon, bringing the scope to the left to focus on an area overlooking the water. Two men burst into view, both carrying rifles.

She couldn’t get a shot off from here. They’d have to move closer.

“Two targets just exited the tunnel and are moving toward the water,” Georgia said to the entire team. “Moving in to engage now.” She requested cover from the other sniper teams, then pushed up onto her elbows and knees. “Let’s go,” she said to Briar.

“You’re clear,” Colebrook answered.

“Roger.” Together she and Briar burst out of the brush and raced across the manicured lawn, rifles clutched in their hands. Briar sprinted beside her, keeping pace as they headed for the beach.

They had to take out Perez’s remaining security and head him off. She wasn’t sure what was going on below in the tunnel but one of the HRT sniper teams was moving down to the beach now, converging on either side with her and Briar.

Forty yards from the house, a man popped out from around the corner of the wall. Georgia and Briar instantly dove to the ground on their bellies, but Georgia was the first to get in firing position. She didn’t flinch as the man fired at them, his bullets slamming into the ground less than a foot away from her, kicking up grass and dirt.

Eye to the scope, she aimed at his center mass and squeezed the trigger. He fell to his knees but she was already firing again, striking him square in the heart.

This time he fell flat and didn’t move.

Georgia tapped her earpiece. “Target down outside the house,” she reported to the entire team.

“Clear,” Briar murmured beside her.

“We’re still in the tunnel,” Rycroft replied. “And Bautista’s taken off after Perez.”

A sliver of unease corkscrewed down her spine, but she quickly dismissed it.
He’ll be fine. He has all the backup he needs.

Except she was suddenly afraid that his need for vengeance would override his training and instincts. She knew all too well how that worked.

Nothing she could do about that now though. And the best way to help him was to get in position and protect him as best she could from the beach.

“Moving in now.” A heartbeat later she was on her feet, running toward the walkway that led to the sand, Briar only a few steps behind her.

Five strides in, her right foot landed on the grass and something sharp hit her in rapid succession, in her calf, her thigh. The hot bites of pain had barely registered before a wicked current of electricity coursed through her.

Agony engulfed her.

Her muscles seized. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

She fell to the ground and hit hard, jerking uncontrollably like she was having a grand mal seizure. There was nothing she could do to stop the black wave from taking her under.

****

Perez’s heart was in his throat as he raced down the final leg of the tunnel. The tactical team was right behind him. Most of his guards were dead, only a few remained, including one of his bodyguards.

They had to get to the boat. It was their only chance of escape now. He’d head for international waters, pray he reached that safe harbor before they caught up to him.

They’ll have air support. Satellites.

He shoved those thoughts from his head. All he could do now was run, and he was going to give that everything he had.

His pulse hammered in his ears as he ran, desperation giving him an added burst of speed. Dammit, he should have left this afternoon, when he hadn’t heard from Nico.

He’d been suspicious that something was wrong, and when he’d spoken to Laura this morning his gut had confirmed it. Her laughs had seemed forced, brittle even.

Now he knew why. She must have known they were coming after him but couldn’t warn him because they had her in custody. God dammit… He never ignored his gut, but he had today, and it might cost him everything.

The tunnel exit was dead ahead. Rather than go through it, he veered sharply to the left and shoved open the secret entrance to the hidden staircase.

The soles of his shoes slapped in a frantic rhythm against the concrete steps that led him down to the small grotto where the boat waited. His bodyguard was already down there, would have it ready.

No one knew about this place but him and his bodyguards, not even the rest of the security staff. From the outside it was completely invisible, camouflaged by vegetation and a few clever tricks to stop the NSA and its prying eyes from finding it. A small access canal led directly beneath the house, hidden by steel panels covered with sand and vegetation so it blended in seamlessly with the landscape. With one push of a button the panels would lift simultaneously, clearing his escape route.

There would be shooters outside though. They’d have to be fast and hope they could make it through the hail of gunfire that was surely coming. But he couldn’t think about that now.

His eyes adjusted to the increasing brightness as he neared the bottom that opened up into the grotto. From there it was only a short sprint to the boat.

Footsteps pounded on the ground behind him. Terror forked through him. He whirled to fire again, stumbled as he pulled the trigger, and missed. The man’s shadow kept coming, a deadly figure drawing closer with every breath.

Desperate, he turned and ran. They’d want to take him alive, so they could lock him in some dark hole for the rest of his life.

He’d never see his wife and kids again. Laura would never allow it once she learned what kind of man he really was, and the things he’d done.

God. He’d worked so hard at crafting and maintaining a huge cover to keep her safe, to keep her from finding out about the shady and downright illegal things he’d been involved with.

In that moment he realized his life was already over. He’d rather die here and now than face that.

“
Perez!
”

Shock exploded inside him at the sound of that angry roar. He knew that voice. Would recognize it anywhere.

His foot hit the gravel at the bottom of the stairs. He slipped, blindly threw out a hand to catch himself.

His palm hit the rock wall, knocking the pistol from his grasp. It tumbled down the incline, leaving him unarmed and helpless.

The sudden roar of a boat’s motor coming to life made him glance to the left. Outside, the panels shielding the canal were lifting. He watched in horror and disbelief as his bodyguard drove it away from him and out of the grotto, abandoning him to his fate.

Fuck!

He whipped around as the footsteps behind him came nearer still.

And found himself staring into the chilling, hate-filled eyes of Bautista. Fear curdled in his belly, turning his legs to liquid.

He fell back a step, automatically raising his hands, palms out.

Bautista had stopped at the top of the stairs, his weapon aimed at Perez’s chest. “Stop right there,” he snarled, the look on his face making Perez’s blood ice over.

“Where are Laura and the kids?” he asked, the slight tremor in his voice betraying his panic. “I know you know.” Had he done something to them? It made him sick to even think it. Bautista was a stone-cold killer, but even Perez had a hard time imagining him harming Laura or the kids. Bautista had never killed innocents before, at least not to his knowledge.

“Safe, no thanks to you,” was all he said. “Now don’t you fucking move.” Bautista took a menacing step toward him, the muzzle of that rifle never wavering.

I can’t go to prison. I can’t live that way. I’d rather die.

As of now he was dead to Laura and the kids anyway.

Despair rose up, compressing his heart and lungs.

The sound of running feet echoed from up above in the tunnel. Perez glanced upward, another bolt of fear slicing through him. The tactical team would be here any second.

He turned back to Bautista, made a feeble but desperate attempt to beg. “Let me go. Please,” he added in a ragged voice.

Bautista’s lips peeled back in a sneer. “Not a fucking chance.”

Faced with the unthinkable and with no other option left, Perez turned and ran.

Bautista couldn’t believe it. Well, he could, now that he’d seen the spineless asshole for what he really was, but it was almost laughable to see Perez trying to flee.

He automatically adjusted his weapon to aim it center mass on his target, finger curling around the trigger. But then he stopped, staring at Perez.

A bullet’s too fucking good for you.

The thought triggered a sudden bolt of inspiration.

Slinging his weapon across his chest, he reached down and pulled one of his special blades from its custom-made sheath. With the sound of the approaching team’s running footsteps growing louder behind him, he drew back his arm and hurled the knife as hard as he could.

The razor-sharp blade hit Perez in the back of the right shoulder blade, burying right to the hilt. An agonized roar filled the air, echoing off the roof and walls.

Perez arched backward and dropped to his knees, his left hand coming up and across his back to grab for the handle. An exercise in futility.

Bautista moved down the remaining stairs, a cold calm taking over him, reducing his rage to a simmer. A wound in the back of the shoulder would hurt like a bitch, probably cause some permanent nerve damage.

The sadistic part of him liked the idea of Perez rotting in prison and having to learn to wipe his ass with his left hand for the rest of his days.

Above him, the team breached the entrance to the staircase. “Bautista! Stand down!” Tuck yelled at him.

He didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Just kept stalking toward Perez, his pulse thudding hard and the need for vengeance egging him on.

Swearing and grimacing, Perez rolled to his side and scuttled backward. “No more,” he panted, his eyes wide with terror. “Please, no more.”

Pathetic. The man had ordered the torture and execution of others, and most of them had shown a lot more balls than this when faced with Bautista and his blades.

“Bautista! Stand the fuck down!”

He refused to look back at Rycroft and the others as he closed the distance between him and the man he once would have done anything for. Including dying to help him escape in a scenario just like this. He’d been such a fool.

The thought tumbled through his brain, bringing a rush of incredulity and something like grief.
I would have died for you.

Perez tried to scramble backward, his gaze locked with Bautista’s.

When Bautista reached him he went to one knee before the man, held that terrified gaze for a long moment. Driving the point home that he would take pleasure in continuing this session.

Then, without a word, he reached back and jerked the knife free. The resulting high-pitched scream of agony was music to his ears.

“Leave him! Don’t make me fucking shoot you,” Rycroft growled from behind him on the stairs.

Satisfied that Perez was suffering and would finally get the justice he deserved, Bautista stood, the bloody knife held in his grip.

Perez’s eyes shot from the team back to Bautista, the desperation on his face clear. “Kill me,” he begged. “Do it.”

The plea surprised him. And so did his response.