No One Heard Her Scream (31 page)

He forced his legs to work, creeping along the wall, hunkered down low. The smell of cordite hung heavy in the air. Diego felt his way in the dark and almost stumbled over a dead body, one of Brogan's guys. The man's chest was soaked in sticky blood. Diego didn't have to check for a pulse. He wiped his hands on his pants, but the smell lingered. Copper-sweet blood and excrement made for a powerful brew, hard to forget.

More gunfire erupted, a short burst from what remained of Brogan's men. Bullets ricocheted and blasted a hail of cement shards off the walls. He ducked the flying debris. Members of the tactical teams were already herding the girls to safety, one by one, shielding them with their bodies. A slow but effective process. In the dark and under fire, it was difficult to tell friend from foe.

Up ahead, Diego spotted Cavanaugh. Draper's men were gaining an advantage—a fact not missed by the man with ashen hair. He saw it in his eyes and knew Cavanaugh would bail like a rat abandoning a sinking ship. With jaw clenched, Diego fixed his eyes on the man and pulled his gun, ready to close in. But the coldhearted son of a bitch hadn't missed his intentions. Reloading his weapon and pocketing another clip, Cavanaugh yelled to Brogan. The two men split up.

Where the hell are they going?
Cavanaugh headed down a long, dark corridor, away from the strike force. And Brogan dissolved into the shadows in the opposite direction. A handful of his men retreated with him, and the gunfire on the ramp stopped.

"Damn it!" Diego cursed.

He wanted to follow, but as he looked over his shoulder, Diego stopped cold. On the fringe of light, Rebecca caught his eye and held it. A single tear rolled down her cheek, a contrast to the fragile and brave smile on her face. Vulnerable and yet so very strong.

In that instant, she stole his breath, reminding him of their first kiss. Even amidst the fading clamor of Draper's invasion, he stood spellbound and unable to move. If they lived through this day, Diego knew he'd always remember the significance—the moment he realized he loved Rebecca Montgomery.

"Are you ... okay?" he asked, unsure he had spoken at all. When she nodded, he made himself move.

Diego wedged the gun at his back and headed for her with knife in hand. He cut away the duct tape, and as he freed her arms, Rebecca ran her fingers over his face and down his throat. To make sure he was real. An intimate and endearing touch.

"I'm so sorry," she cried. "I didn't mean to drag you into this."

When she was free, Diego pulled her to him. With the woman he loved cradled safe in his arms, he knew what it felt like to be a drowning man thrown a lifeline.

"No more regrets, Rebecca. It's time to move on with our lives . . . with our future. Cavanaugh has taken too much from both of us. I refuse to give him any more." He cupped her face with a hand and kissed the tears from her cheeks. "And you have your second chance with Danielle now. An unbelievable gift."

At the mention of her sister's name, Rebecca searched the floor for her sister. She peered through the shadows, but found nothing. She pulled from his arms, desperation etched deep on her face.

"Where is she? Oh my God, she was right here? Dani's gone," she cried.

"Maybe she was taken with the rest," he speculated. But even as he said the words, he didn't believe it.

"Come on. I've got to find her." Rebecca grabbed his hand and turned. But when he didn't follow, she stopped. "What's wrong?"

"You find Danielle. She's probably safe and sound already."

"You're going after him, aren't you?" She squeezed his hand, horrified expectation on her face. "Let Draper handle this. Please. Come help me find Dani."

Diego wanted nothing more. But if Danielle wasn't with the other girls, Cavanaugh had her. And he wouldn't rob Rebecca of hope or put her through the torture of watching her sister be threatened again. He had no time left. He had to move now.

With his eyes fixed on Rebecca, Diego shook his head and let go of her hand.

"I gotta do this." He winced and swallowed, putting on a show of certainty he didn't feel. "Go, find your sister. And know you've been blessed with a second chance."

Diego turned and walked into the shadows. When he was sure she could no longer see him, he looked back. Rebecca hadn't left. She stood at the crossroad of indecision, still watching him go. Even as a feeling of dread crept into his heart, he wanted to remember how she looked, standing under the light.

But most of all, he prayed he wasn't right about Danielle.

Brogan knew that Cavanaugh blamed him. The man had grabbed the flashlight and walked up front in silence, not caring if he and his men kept up. Boss man's behavior made him look bad in front of McPhee and Ellis. Who was the one installed the coded hatch at the lowest level of the damned garage, a sure way out if things got hairy? Not many people knew about the old tunnel system, some historical piece of crap forgotten a long time ago. A little bribe money to a city engineer, and he had hit pay dirt. All he needed to do was remove a section of wall in this garage to connect to it and he looked like a genius . . . except to Cavanaugh right now.

But grabbing a hostage would be his ace in the hole . . . especially the cop's sister.

For such a skinny little thing, the blond chick squirmed in his arms and weighed a ton. He still had his hand over her mouth, but after the brawl with the Mex, his muscles ached, and he felt a sharp pang in his side, maybe a broken rib. It hurt like a mother. But did the little bitch appreciate his aches and pains?
Hell, no.

Women!

"You're gonna fuckin' walk now," he hissed in her ear. "But if I hear a whine or snivel, I'll slit your throat and make a ashtray outta your head. You understand me?"

She whimpered, but stopped struggling.

"I said, do you understand, bitch?" he spat. "I ain't no mind reader."

The girl nodded, a fierce shake of her head. The fear in her eyes told him she believed what he said. Dumb broad! Sure he'd slit her throat, but a damned ashtray?
Un-fucking-believable!

Brogan stood her on her feet and grabbed her by the hair, keeping her close. From the corner of his eye, he caught McPhee mocking him. The asshole pretended to puff on an invisible cigarette and flicked ashes on top of the girl's head when she wasn't looking. Ellis grinned. The bastards! Brogan glared at his men, but they only shrugged and scrunched their faces in silence.

"Up here to the right, boss. That far wall." Brogan pointed with his free hand, but Cavanaugh never turned around. Boy, was he pissed!

"The key code. I presume you have it, or will this be another pathetic hunt for the Holy Grail?"

The code. Boss man wanted the key code for the passageway. Brogan was sure he heard that part right. But with the echo in this dump, the rest sounded garbled. Cavanaugh said something about a hunt for quail. Fine time to be thinking of birds and such. These educated types never made sense to him. Most of the time, he ignored the hell out of them. A good policy . . . like now. He gave Cavanaugh the code. But if the man wanted to go hunting, he'd be doing it on his own.

"And have you thought of transportation away from here? Or will we be thumbing it?" Cavanaugh laid on the sarcasm.

"No, I got us a car. It's locked, but the key is in a magnetic box fixed inside the left back wheel well. It's parked inside the other buildin'. An old tunnel connects to it. Pretty good, huh?"

"Yes. I see you've thought of absolutely everything. How could I have ever doubted you?"

Okay, Brogan knew that tone. He stopped and shoved the girl into Ellis's chest. "Look, we're gonna . . ."

"Sshh. I thought I heard something," McPhee whispered, pointing a finger behind them.

Quiet like this, the hollow sound played tricks on your head. Four men and a scrawny girl made their share of noise, but when they stopped, McPhee heard something. It could be just another echo or . . .

Brogan felt a presence more than heard one. He grabbed the light from Cavanaugh's hand and doused it. And he wrestled the girl from Ellis and clamped a hand over her mouth.

"No sounds unless I tell you to ... or I kill whoever is out there, then you next," he whispered to the girl. And to his men, "We're goin' fishin', boys. Spread out. And watch your cross fire. If I end up with a ricochet bullet in my head, I'm gonna be real pissed. Now move!"

Brogan pulled the handgun from his belt and yanked the girl tight to his chest.
Damn it!
He was having a really crappy day!

Diego had made up some ground, but the sounds of footsteps he followed suddenly stopped. Had they gotten to their destination? And where the hell was that, exactly? This section of the old garage was a maze. Going deeper into it made no sense.

He didn't have a flashlight, fearing it would only act as a beacon to give his location. Diego relied on his night vision and the noise he trailed, but now the footsteps had stopped. He was dead in the water. Should he move and risk making a sound or stay put until they got going again?

"Aarghh. Aahhh." The shriek of a girl rebounded up the ramp. "Please . . . ummphh." The last part faded into a hiss like a whisper in a well.

Diego's heart clenched in his chest. He pressed his back to a wall and moved toward the sound, using a hand to guide him in the dark. His other held the gun. As he made his way, he assessed the situation in his mind.

For starters, he'd pay big bucks for running shoes and toss these custom-made Italian loafers.
No offense, Raffaello.
But he didn't dare slip them off and ditch them. No telling what surprises he might find on the floor in this section of the garage.

His fingers felt a corner. He stopped and edged closer for a look. But before he got near enough, a faint light shone from below. He ducked and held his breath. The light cast a dim glow into the section of ramp where he crouched. The beam shifted, jerky then steady, manipulating the elongated shadows like ebony marionettes. Diego would have stayed put, but hearing a crying woman played havoc on his protective instincts.

It had to be Danielle. Even if it wasn't, he had no choice but to check it out. He inched his way to the corner and cocked his head left for a look.

Danielle stared up the ramp, catching his movement. A flashlight lay on the cement near her feet, the source of the light. It rocked in place like she'd kicked it. Her hands were tied to a section of pipe, the rest of her body sprawled on the floor. A gag stuffed in her mouth. When she saw him, she yanked at the pipe in a panic. She pulled at the bindings on her hands and let out a muffled scream. Maybe the poor girl thought he was one of them and would hurt her.

To be safe, Diego peered through the thin fringe of light into the shadows. No sign of Brogan or Cavanaugh. And a door to the far right was ajar.
Damn it!
They had escaped. Would Draper know about this exit? He stood and stepped quietly down the ramp, gripping his gun in a two-fisted grip. With his back to a wall, he searched for movement as he made his way toward her, eyes alert. He pointed his gun into the shadows at every point he was vulnerable from attack, searching for Cavanaugh and Brogan. Behind old crates and discarded oil barrels. The nooks and crannies in this section were pitch-black. It was like staring into a bottomless vat of crude oil. But nothing.

In his mind, it made sense that they were gone. Cavanaugh would want a head start to leave the country and find a safe haven with no extradition. But Brogan was unpredictable.

As he got closer, Danielle appeared even more agitated. Poor little thing. It broke his heart. She had survived so much. No child should have to know such a hell existed, and yet she had endured it. A casualty, her innocence and sense of safety had been shattered, never to be restored.

When he got close enough, Diego held up his hand to calm her.

"Shhh. I'm here to help," he whispered as he knelt by her. Setting the gun on the floor next to him, he retrieved one of his knives strapped to his leg. "I am a friend of your sister Rebecca."

"Oh, I'd say you and her sister are much more than friends." Brogan's voice came from behind him. "More like two fuckin' dogs in heat. The bitch and the mongrel."

Diego stopped cold, holding his breath.
Shit!
Without making a move, he shifted his eyes down to his gun. Could he grab it and turn fast enough? But another sound to his left complicated everything. A crunch of dirt underfoot. Someone else in the room. Cavanaugh? Diego couldn't hit two targets from a crouch with his back turned. He swallowed, his throat parched with tension.

Stooped by Danielle, Diego stayed put. He gambled Brogan wouldn't shoot him in the back. The bastard would want to see the look on his face as he died. So predictable ... so very Brogan.

"Remember what I said a while back about the actions of a wise man? A smart man turns and walks away. Why are you still here, Brogan? Feds are crawling all over the building. Before long, they'll have this entire sector of the city under lockdown. I thought you and Hunter were smarter than that."

"We are. That's why we have three guns pointed at your head," Brogan gloated.

Three?
Diego shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He glanced down at Danielle. Even with the gag in her mouth, her eyes said it all. His chance of saving her had blown up in his face. And she knew it.
What now?

"Stand with your hands raised, but don't turn around," Brogan ordered. Diego heard noise behind him, coming from other parts of the room. When he did as he was told, Brogan added a new wrinkle. "Now turn around . . . real slow. And kick your gun to one of my guys . . . nice and easy."

Diego palmed the knife in his hand and turned around. With his foot, he slid the gun to the nearest man. Cavanaugh stood next to the open hatch on the left. He had probably been hiding in the shadows on the other side of the door. When Diego locked his gaze on the man, Cavanaugh couldn't resist a smug remark.

"Glad you gave us one last shot at you, so to speak. Very considerate."

Two of Brogan's men stood opposite each other, with one stepping out from behind a group of barrels. Straight ahead, Brogan emerged from a niche in a wall. The one flashlight on the floor kept them in shadows.