Promises to Keep (34 page)

Ninety-One

As soon as Church
and Strickland disappeared upstairs, Michael moved. At the end of the hall was Reyes's suite of rooms. With any luck, he'd find him waiting there and he could end this quickly. The door would be unlocked. It was the only door in the house that didn't lock at nine p.m.

“I hate it when I can't fucking see. Somebody talk to me,” Ben's voice crackled in his ear. “Tell me what's happening.”

Michael stopped for a moment, resisting the urge to turn his comm off all together. The last thing he needed was a distraction.

“We've located the Reyes girl's bedroom. Church is picking the lock … We're in,” Strickland said, just above a whisper, and then, “Pink pony.”

They had Christina
.

He allowed himself a moment of relief before he pressed his empty ear to the closed door of Reyes's room and listened before turning the knob. Even without the dim glow of the bedside lamp he could see that the room was empty. “Reyes isn't in his room. I'm heading downstairs.”

“Christina has agreed to lead us to the Maddox boy,” Church said, sounding slightly disgruntled. “As soon as we have him, we'll head for the boats.”

“Keep me posted,” Ben said before signing off.

Michael stood there for a moment, trying to remember the layout of the house. He'd take the stair to the first floor—

Something flashed in the corner of his eye. Movement, fast and small, running past him and down the hall. He turned, his arm shooting out to snag the boy, trying to keep it quiet, but Leo had other plans. He dodged fast, spun right out of his grip before knocking into a hallway table, sending a vase crashing to the ground.

“Leo—
stop
,” he said, his hushed tone sounding as loud as shout. “I'm here to help you.”

The kid stopped and turned. “What's your name?” he whispered, fists clenched, eyes wide.

“Michael. My name is Michael. Your grandfather—”

That was as far as he got before he was interrupted by the sound of gunshots erupting downstairs, followed by a scream.

Ninety-Two

It happened fast. One
second she was staring Reyes down, practically daring him to shoot her, the next, Sabrina was the one doing the shooting.

He'd demanded she walk over to him, and she'd refused, knowing the moment she did, her chance to use her LCP would be lost. She'd jammed it into her waistband on the fly; the only reason he hadn't seen it yet was because it was behind her. The second he saw it, her one advantage would be lost.

“I said come here, Sabrina. Don't make me do something we'll both regret,” he said, punctuating his demand by thumbing back the hammer of the gun in his hand.

“You're gonna kill me anyway. I think I'll stay right here.”

She could see him shift his hand around the grip of the gun—no doubt getting ready to make good on his threat—when there was a noise upstairs. A shattering of glass on tile.

The second Reyes turned his head toward the sound, she reached behind her, the LCP all but leaping into her palm. By the time Alberto Reyes had refocused his attention on her, she was already pulling the trigger.

Three times in rapid succession the LCP bucked her hand as she dove for cover. Reyes returned fire, a bullet catching her center mass, mushrooming against the ultralight vest Courtney had given her.

She fell, landing hard on the tile, her breath stolen as much by the impact of the bullet as by her collision with the floor. She found her feet and started running. If Michael was here, he'd go for Leo first; she had to give him time to secure the boy.

Before she'd taken more than a few steps, something hard and heavy caught her in the back of her head and she fell, landing on the tiled floor for the second time in less than a minute. Her ribs screamed in protest, snapping where they'd been cracked by the shot she'd taken.

She screamed, frustrated and desperate to lead Reyes as far away from Michael as she could. Sabrina flipped over and raised her gun to take another shot, but Reyes was already on top of her. Standing over her. Pulling the trigger.

Ninety-Three

For a moment, neither
of them moved.

“He had a gun,” Leo said, his words tumbling out faster and faster, chased by fear and panic. “Mr. Reyes let me go and she told me to run so I—” He stopped abruptly, eyes wide and terrified. “I left her.”

She. Sabrina. Leo was talking about Sabrina.

He could hear boots pounding down the stairs—all attempts at stealth thrown out the window. Seconds later, Strickland and Church appeared with Christina in tow.

She was older, but he'd recognize her anywhere. Seeing her caused his heart to stutter in his chest, but he held it together, looking to Strickland for help. “Take Leo,” he said as he moved, down the stairs. In the direction of the shots.

Strickland scooped Leo into his arms and followed. “We've got to help her, she's probably been shot. Church can—”

“No. We stick to the plan,” Michael said, making the landing, running down the last set of stairs. “He won't kill her. Not until I'm there to see it.”

“Are you trying to reassure me? Because really, you suck at it,” Strickland said, Leo straddling his hip, free hand wrapped around the .40 he'd given him in the laundry room. “I'll go with you as backup—”

“
We stick to the plan
,” Michael said, hitting the first floor at a dead run. “You and Church take them and head for the boats!” He moved from room to room, leading them toward the veranda closest to the seawall.

He spoke into his comm. “Ben, Church and Strickland have secured the Maddox boy and are headed your way—” He put his boot through one of the French door's window panels, splintering wood and shattering glass and opening a hole big enough for them to crawl through.

“Got it,” Ben said, his voice tight with worry. “We'll be waiting.”

He turned to Church. “Keys are in a lockbox in the boathouse. Let me know when you're away. ” He looked at Christina and tried to smile. “I'll be right back … I promise.”

Ninety-Four

Michael headed for the
only place Reyes could be—the place where he'd said yes and started this whole mess.

The double doors leading to the study were closed, but even from here he could hear Reyes talking. “He's coming, Sabrina—can you hear him?
Cartero
is coming for you …”

Michael stood to the side, reaching out to push the door open. It swung wide. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, steeling himself against what he was about to see. Trying to quiet the feeling that this time would be no different than the last.

He rounded the corner and stood in the doorway, empty hands held at shoulder level. “I'm here,” he said, staring at her; her face was pale beneath the bruises and blood that littered it. “Are you okay?”

She smiled, flashing blood-smeared teeth for just a moment before the effort made her wince. “Never better.”

Reyes stood behind her, the barrel of his gun dug into the base of Sabrina's skull. He heard the distinct
clack
of the hammer being drawn back. “Your weapons. Toss them into the corner, now.”

He did as he was told without hesitation, pulling guns and knives from holsters and sheaths, tossing them away from him until he was stripped bare. His finger brushed against something small and hard and he rolled it into his palm, concealing it in the web between his thumb and pointer. When he was done he held his hands up at shoulder level, palms out. “That's it. I'm clean.”

“Let's play a game, shall we?” Reyes said, surveying the weapons that littered the floor between them.

“Games are a waste of time, Reyes,” he said, his eyes darting around the room. Not much had changed. Reyes's wide, heavy desk still dominated the room, a sideboard next to the door housing crystal decanters full of liquor. Behind him was a pair of leather couches facing each other across the low table between them. “Just let her go so you can kill me—that's what you really want, isn't it?”

“What I
really
want is to watch you suffer … and then kill you.” Reyes shifted to the side, letting him see his face. “First question: Do you love her?” Reyes said, his voice snaking out from his hiding place behind Sabrina. They stood in front of his desk—or rather, Sabrina stood. Reyes leaned against his desk, using it for support. The arm that held the gun on her was tucked awkwardly against his side. He was wounded. Sabrina's expression confirmed what Reyes's posture told him: she'd shot him.

He nodded, his neck stiff, head jerking as if on rusty hinges. “Yes.”

“Would you die for her?”

He thought of crawling in the dirt, covered in blood while his insides spasmed against the poison that coursed through his veins. Of David Song trailing behind him with a scalpel clenched in his fist. Looking at her now, he could see she was remembering the same thing. “Yes.”

“You love her more than you loved my Lydia?”

There was no reasoning with him. No explaining that Lydia had been a friend, nothing more. That he'd killed his wife to punish Michael for something he hadn't done. “Yes.”

“Then tell her. Tell her you love her.”

He opened his mouth to do as Reyes said, but something else came out. “I lied. Yesterday morning … I said horrible things. Did things—”

“It's okay. Trust me; I've done and said worse, the morning after.” Incredibly, she smiled at him, tears shimmering in her eyes, electrifying the blue of them until they almost glowed. “But you better not do it again.”

Her words did more than offer forgiveness. They told him that she believed in him. That she knew he would get her out of this mess. He smiled back, even though fear was a living thing inside his belly, eating him from the inside out. “I promise.”

“I lost my bracelet.”

He flicked a look down at her wrist. It was bare. “Somewhere good, I hope.”

“Pretty good—Estefan's eye socket.” She winced when Reyes tightened his fist in her hair, giving her a little shake.

“Tell her you love her,
Cartero
.” Reyes's tone gained an edge.

The moment he said the words, Reyes would pull the trigger and he wasn't ready. Not yet. “The boy Sabrina found in that house—the one that brought me to San Francisco in the first place. He was the nephew of Sergey Filatov. Did you know that?”

Reyes flicked him another glance, this one off-kilter. Wild. “You're a liar.”

Michael shook his head. “Lying is against the rules.” He paused, waiting for Sabrina to look at him. As soon as he caught her attention, he continued. “Planting a boy matching Leo's description was his idea, wasn't it? Involving Sabrina? But that wasn't his only plan. Estefan killed and practically dumped that kid in your lap so that Filatov would destroy you.”

“Estefan is loyal.” Reyes jerked her again, and she gritted her teeth to keep from crying out. “He would never defy me.”

Blood snaked down Sabrina's neck, a sluggish flow that painted her collarbone bright red. The sight of it did something to him. Grounded him and cleared his mind of everything that he'd been holding on to.

His parents. His team. Frankie and Lydia. Lucy.

They were dead, but it was not his fault.

“He
would
and he
did
. He's been working with Pia Cordova for years now. Estefan set us up to destroy each other,” he said, closing his fists, securing the pellet he had hidden there. “He hates you almost as much as he hates me.”

“I gave him everything—made him a prince. He has no reason to hate me,” Reyes said, but even as the words were spoken, Michael could see it. Understanding.

“He doesn't want to be a prince; he wants to be king.” Michael shook his head. “It wasn't my baby Lydia was carrying. While you were off whoring around, Estefan was here—
raping
your wife.”

His words did their job, and Reyes roared in response. Jerking the barrel of the gun from where it'd been anchored to Sabrina's skull, he pointed it at Michael.

Like he knew she would, she dropped back on her right leg, driving her elbow back and up, smashing it into his nose. The blow sent his first shots wide, but he pulled the trigger anyway, again and again, and some bullets found their mark.

Michael could feel them punching into his chest and abdomen, shattering his ribs. Stealing his breath.

Sabrina dropped low, using the hold he had on her hair to pull him down with her. Reyes, struggling to stay upright, let go and she rolled away, giving him a clear shot.

He lunged forward, tackling Reyes, sending them both sprawling across the desk. The gun was knocked loose, clattering to the ground, but Michael didn't care. He was going to kill Reyes with his bare hands.

They crashed to the ground, Reyes beneath him, and he wrapped his free hand around the man's throat, squeezing until he opened his mouth to gasp for breath. As soon as his mouth was open, Michael swung, crashing his fist against Reyes's teeth before dropping the pellet inside.

“Ben, blow the second capsule,” he bellowed, the heel of his hand slamming into the underside of Reyes's jaw to keep it shut. As soon as he spoke, Reyes went wild, swinging and pulling at his face and hands. Anything to work himself loose.

“You got it,” his partner said, loud and clear.

Seconds later, Reyes began to jerk, his eyes rolling back, froth trying to bubble through closed lips.

Michael let go, shoving himself away from the sputtering, convulsing mass beneath him. Blood instantly erupted from Reyes's nose and mouth, spewed into the air, but he didn't stick around to watch the rest. He got his feet underneath him, lurching around the side of the desk to see Sabrina crumpled against the door.

He picked her up and ran, stumbling and bouncing his way down the hall, Reyes's screams fading behind him.

Suddenly, they were outside. He kept moving, lurching across the grass until they made it to the Blackhawk.

He stretched her out on the concrete pad and ripped her shirt open, expecting to find a bloody cluster of holes in her chest. She was fighting him, pushing his hands away. Saying something. “We have to go back. Leo and Christina—we can't just—”

No blood. No holes. Just four slugs mushroomed against the feather-light fabric of an FSS-issued Kevlar tank.

“They're fine. Strickland and Church got them off the island.” He looked up, baffled, to find her looking at him. “You're okay.”

“I am.” She offered him a halfhearted smile while she struggled to stand. “But I'll be a hell of a lot better as soon as you get me the hell out of here.”