A Kiss of Revenge (Entangled Ignite) (24 page)

Frying the system would be just as loud an announcement as setting off the alarm. “Okay, then, out the door. We have to be fast. Are you okay to run?” She was really asking if they’d done any harm to her, but the young woman just nodded and braced herself to follow.

Reese looked out into the hallway, still clear and quiet, but the hair stood up on the back of her neck. It made her think of the electricity, which she’d held dormant all night. Instead of drawing on what had seeped into her body earlier, she pulled a little from the household current and held it inside her left hand while she pulled the door with her right, then grabbed Kimmie’s hand and tugged her behind as she went back down the hall to the patio door.

The extra noise and movement, more likely to call attention, made Reese cringe. “Wait here,” she told Kimmie, then dashed back to the room. She tore at the buckle of her quiver. When it released, she pulled the flashlight free and shoved the bow and arrows under the bed, making sure the dust ruffle fell straight and no telltale marks on the carpet would reveal what she had done. Then she ran back to Kimmie, who waited, shuddering, with her arms wrapped around herself.

They got outside onto the patio and ran across the cement and grass to the path leading to the carriage house. Kimmie stumbled and went down on one knee, crying out. Reese caught her and dragged her to her feet, then down the path.

“How did you get here?” Reese asked her as they drew near the small outbuilding, far enough from the main house to risk speaking. “What happened?”

“They found me. I thought it was over, that after the raid I was safe, but this guy came to my house and made me come with him.” The tears started again and her voice shook. She swiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “He said Big K doesn’t leave loose ends. I think they’re going to kill me.”

Reese didn’t doubt it, but the fact that they hadn’t yet told her Chris knew Reese was here. Kimmie hadn’t been coincidence—she’d been bait.

“Don’t worry.” She bent to the lock and prepared to send the stored electricity into the garage’s alarm system. “He won’t hurt you.” Before she touched it, the door swept open and large hands pulled her and Kimmie into the building. Kimmie would have screamed, but Griff spun her, wrapping his arm around both of hers and covering her mouth. Reese quickly closed the door, and the room went nearly dark.

“It’s all right,” she reassured the struggling young woman. “He’s with me.” Griff released the girl and reached a hand to touch Reese, either reassuring himself of her safety or calming her as he would his horse. Maybe a bit of both, since the tension around them dropped several degrees. Even Kimmie halfway relaxed.

“The moped.” Reese pointed and asked the girl, “Can you ride one?”

“I have one just like it.” Kimmie went straight to the bike. “But how will I start it?”

Reese turned to Griff. “Did you find a key?”

He held it up, dangling from a circle key ring. Reese snatched it and tossed it to Kimmie, who lit up like she’d been given a late birthday present.

“Walk it down the driveway to the road,” she told Kimmie, who had already turned the bike to face the door.

Her face firmed in resolution, she nodded. “Okay.”

“When you get down there, start it and go into town as fast as you can. Find somewhere to hide. You can’t get off the island until morning.” Reese pulled her own ticket envelope out of her pocket and pressed it into Kimmie’s hand. “This is an open ticket. Do whatever you have to do to get on that plane.” She hesitated, then gave Kimmie her driver’s license, too. She’d need to show it to get on the plane. Reese would figure out how to get it back later. “Whatever you do, do not go to the police.” She didn’t know if Chris would have bothered to pay off what passed for law enforcement here, but she was certain he’d have gotten friendly with them. “Now go.”

Kimmie frowned at Reese. “What about you?” She glanced over her shoulder at Griff, standing back in the shadows. “Aren’t you two coming?”

“Not yet.” Reese hit the button on the door opener, and it started to rumble upward, loud but maybe not strange enough to alert anyone in the house to their presence. When it was just over halfway up, Kimmie ducked and went through.

And screamed.

Chapter Fifteen

Reese raced outside, Griff on her heels, but Kimmie stood alone, her hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

“I’m so sorry. I saw— I thought— It was just an animal. Oh, no!”

“Go.” Reese spun her around and pushed. “Go. Keep to the shoulder and hide or run if you have to. Go as fast as you can.”

“But you’ll be captured!”

Reese just turned her back on her and went back into the carriage house. Getting captured was the plan, but getting Kimmie away was her first priority. She slammed her hand on the opener button again, and the door started to rumble down behind Griff. She heard the slap of Kimmie’s footsteps and knew time was running out.

“You have to hide,” she urged Griff. “Here.” She shoved him at the farm wagon, which was high enough to be above most people’s line of sight. “Don’t argue,” she begged when he resisted. “I need them to take me inside, to Chris. And then I’ll do what I came here to do. You’re
backup
, and I’ll need you later.” Those urgent words were enough to make him obey, but he glared hotly at her before disappearing beneath a crumpled oilcloth tarp.

She had only seconds to distract security away from Kimmie and from Griff. She raced to the toolbox on the workbench, flung it open, and grabbed a wrench. No time to go closer. She flung the tool across the room, where it smashed the window.
Bull’s-eye
.

And it worked. Two dark shapes had run past the window, but seconds later the door opened and they burst in, one flipping on the overhead light. These two looked nothing like Chris’s other goons. Where Armen was elegantly slender and the geeks in her house were short and scrawny, these guys were pure meat. Broad, tall, solid looking—it would take a hell of a blow to bring one down.

They spotted her instantly and split up, one coming straight at her, the other circling behind. She might have had a chance if she’d still had the wrench, but all she could do was duck the front goon’s swing, which allowed the back goon to wrap his arms around her torso, immobilizing hers. She kicked and wriggled and tried a reverse head-butt, but he evaded all her blows. Most of her attention was on the wagon as she prayed Griff would stay hidden, not try to come to her rescue. If their positions had been reversed, it would have been nearly impossible to listen to him struggle without trying to help.

“Settle down, hellcat.” Her captor grunted when she got one arm free and smacked him on the ear. It wasn’t much of a blow, considering the angle, and he caught her arm again. “Big K wants to see you.”

She fought a little longer for appearance’s sake, then slumped. The goon carried her back to the house and into the room Kimmie had been in. He didn’t seem surprised Kimmie was gone. The other goon hadn’t followed them; he’d probably gone after Kimmie. Reese hoped she’d get away and be able to hide until the plane took off tomorrow.

In the meantime, she had to concentrate on her own problems. She cursed when the first goon pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “Not again. I had enough of those in The Charms.” She evaded him when he reached for her arm. “Something else, okay? A silk scarf would be a nice change. Or just take my shoes. I can’t walk down the hill in bare feet.”

He ignored her and caught her arm, squeezing more than necessary. He snapped the cuffs to one wrist and then around the iron headboard of the bed. She slumped against it. “Thanks. Very much. Jerk,” she muttered as he dug into her pockets and patted her down. She scowled and kicked at him. He left, still grinning, and she had to suppress her own smile. He hadn’t searched the room, so her bow and quiver were safe.

“Griff, if you can hear me, I’m okay.” She wasn’t sure if the transmitter he’d put on her was like the other one, where he could hear her, or if it just tracked her whereabouts. Hopefully, he heard and stayed put. As reassuring as it was to know he was out there, ready to come after her if she needed him, it would be much better if she didn’t. If he stayed safe.

The bed was positioned against the center of one wall, the cuffs on more tightly than before, so she wouldn’t be able to slip them again. Maybe there was something in here she could pick the lock with. Dead bolts were beyond her, but with handcuffs she had a fifty-fifty ratio of success. She pulled on the headboard, and the bed slid across the carpet. She dragged it to the window and pushed up the shade. Two double rows of wire circled the glass. She was glad she hadn’t tried to get in this way. Not only was it alarmed, it was rigged to explode. If they’d told Kimmie that, she wouldn’t have tried to get out. It must not have been armed then, but she bet it was now.

She pulled the bed over to the dresser and searched it. The drawers were completely empty. What was the point of having it in here? In a normal house a guest might unpack into it, but this wasn’t a normal house.

The closet, too, was empty of so much as a hanger. She shoved the bed back into place after retrieving her bow and arrows. She pulled an arrow from the quiver but couldn’t nock it, not even if she stood behind the bed. Dammit. She had to get free.

She drew on the household current and tried zapping the cuffs, but of course they didn’t budge. She used it on the bed frame, but though it sizzled and sparked, it didn’t affect the frame at all. The iron was solidly welded, bolted to wooden posts. If only she had an Allen wrench.

She sighed. “This is going to take brute force,” she muttered, mostly so Griff would know what she was doing.

She stood behind the headboard and grasped it with both hands, pulling to her left. She raised her right leg and kicked at the top of one of the posts. It bounced her leg back so hard she almost kneed herself in the chin. Repositioning, she tried again. And again. She kicked about a hundred times before she felt something give. Her legs ached, one from kicking and one from holding her up, her knee protesting, and her arms were just as bad. She was also making a lot of noise. Sooner or later someone would come investigate, and she had to be ready. The longer she lingered in here, the greater the chance Griff would come charging after her.

Desperation pushed her to kick harder. Three more, and the post splintered and broke away. She zipped the cuffs off the iron and took a moment to rub her sleeve over the headboard to eliminate prints. Then she slung the quiver across her body, nocking an arrow into the bow and aiming it at the door. She waited. And waited. “I’m still okay,” she murmured for Griff’s benefit. He had to be listening—she felt it, knew he’d be coming for her any moment.

Either no one had heard the noise, or it didn’t concern them. Still, she waited. She had the advantage here and would lose it if she moved, even to walk to the door. No sounds came from the hall or outside. She strained to hear the softest footfall or scrape of a key. Nothing. Only her own breathing and heartbeat, both calm and steady because she forced them to be that way.

Then, suddenly, the door opened. She hadn’t heard a sound, but was so primed that when Armen Missirian came in, the arrow went straight through his shoulder. He screamed and fell to his knees, the gun in his hand tumbling to the carpet. She snatched up the gun, ignoring his incoherent cries, and ran past him into the hall. She didn’t care about him—he’d killed a man in front of her, cold-bloodedly, and would probably have killed her on sight. “Don’t come in, Griff,” she begged. “That wasn’t me. I’m fine.”

She paused in the kitchen to release the pistol’s magazine and remove the round in the chamber. Keeping the ammo, she dropped the weapon into the trash can and stood listening, panting as softly as she could. No one came. The whole ground floor seemed deserted.

Chris had to be somewhere in this house. She wouldn’t even consider the alternative. But where?

She ran through empty, dimly lit rooms, the absence of people escalating her jitters until she was ready to scream. Up she climbed, skipping the dark second floor, following her instincts until she reached a large, bright room at the top of the house. She barely registered the computers, gym equipment, and leather furniture that formed the perimeter of the room floored in shiny black marble tile. Her full attention landed on the man standing in the middle, wielding a putter and tapping one golf ball after another into an automatic ball return.

It had been years, but she had no trouble recognizing the charming smile the asshole shot her way. It was slimier than she remembered. She glided forward, ignoring the goon in the room to walk closer to Chris. Something hardened inside her, icy cold and deadly calm. No more rage or desperation or despair. Now it was just him and her. For a second, she considered sending a bolt of electricity into that putter to fry his insides. But that wouldn’t get her answers. So she held herself in, intent on slowly sucking electricity into her body. It came easily. The house was old, the wiring’s insulation brittle and cobwebbed with teeny cracks that let the juice out. As it filled her, for the first time she reveled in her power.

“Hello, Chris.”

“Hel-lo, Reesie. You’re looking good.”

Since she was covered with grass and dust, she doubted his sincerity. “You’re looking evil.”

He laughed, tossing his head back without changing his putting stance. His professionally streaked blond hair fell back from his face, giving her the full effect of his perfect white teeth. When he looked directly at her, all the charm vanished and only slime remained.

Had he always been this way? Or had he grown more twisted with each crime he committed? She hated to think she’d missed it the first time around. She’d made enough questionable choices in her life. Marrying Chris had already been the biggest mistake on the list. Easier to think he’d just been a charming jerk back then, rather than that she’d been so stupidly blind.

She watched him tap three more balls toward the cup, missing only one. He swung with an easy movement, loose and relaxed.

After the third, she got impatient. “You’re obviously not surprised to see me,” she guessed from his nonchalance.

“’Course not. We knew you were here. Lost you for a couple days, until you started using your card on the island.”
Tap
. Another ball went in the hole and got spat back out. “Only one reason for you to be here.”

“You didn’t come after me.” She’d start with the easy stuff and move backward. “Why?”

“I knew you’d find me.”

“How?”

He looked up, his smile crooked. “Come on, Reese, you’ve been after me for a year, haven’t you? Now you’re on my territory, all the variables controlled.”

She didn’t buy it, and hated his easy, I’m-in-charge manner. “Then why burn down my house with me in it?”

Chris’s smile faded and he straightened. “That wasn’t my call. Armen got overzealous.”

“Probably because I saw him kill Skav,” she muttered.

Chris went very still. “What?”

She raised her eyebrows, downright gleeful to have something to poke him with. “You didn’t know? That he killed Skav, or that I saw it?” If Armen didn’t tell Chris about the boat, the police probably hadn’t found out. Maybe he’d scuttled the yacht with Skav on it.

She held her ground while Chris walked toward her, but tensed with every step. Electricity surged into her hands, and she struggled to keep it from continuing into the arrow she gripped. She didn’t want to give away her ace so soon.

Chris stopped a few feet away, his hand braced on the top of the golf club, his manner overly casual. “Both, actually. This puts a different face on things. I thought we could play a bit. Reminisce.” He shifted his grip on the club and swung it out to the side, still casual, as if he was fooling around with it. She braced herself as he paced in a small, random circle. “I’m afraid we no longer have time for that.”

Dammit, she wasn’t ready yet. And if he found out she’d
shot
Missirian, he’d probably kill her immediately. “Can I please get some answers first?”

He paused and studied her, then looked at the goon by the door, who nodded once. “What do you want to know?”

“Were you doing anything illegal while we were married?”

The question popped out, completely surprising her. That was the last thing she’d been thinking, and she wasn’t sure which answer she wanted to hear.

Chris shook his head, still circling the room, still swinging the club. “No, actually, it was Deena who initiated me.”

Deena. The woman he’d left her for. “What could
she
have been into?” Reese always thought she was only good for one…okay, two things.

“Rigging downhill races. Just the small ones. But it was a lucrative start. I lost interest in her and gambling at the same time. Short attention span.” He pointed at his head. “Not your fault, by the way. I just got bored.”

She scowled. “I got over you.” She kept turning to keep him in front of her. When his motion put her back to the guy at the door, she moved sideways so she could see them both. “Did you tag Brian because of me?”

“No, of course not.” Chris laughed. “How’s that for irony? I never even knew you’d married him until after the plane went down and I read it in the paper.” He stopped moving and set the club in front of him like a cane, both hands draped over the top of it. “We were smuggling exotic animals.”

Animals?

She gaped. She’d been through all of Brian’s papers, all the logs of his flights to and from the Yucatán, his cryptic notations about his cargo. She’d speculated about what they could have been doing and why his partner had wanted to kill him, but she’d never once considered exotic animal smuggling.

“Thought drugs, huh?” Chris nodded, looking pleased. “That was the plan. We funneled everything through the Yucatán. If anyone got suspicious they’d be looking in the wrong places for the wrong evidence.”

“But Brian wouldn’t—” She cut herself off, hearing her own naïveté.

“Not intentionally.” Chris smirked. “The best ‘partners’ are always the ones who slide into things. Old acquaintances work best for that. Then they feel trapped by their own culpability, their own embarrassment. Of course Treget developed a conscience. I suspect it was because of you.”

That should have made her feel better, but it didn’t. She’d have preferred that he hadn’t been stupid or greedy enough to get involved in the first place.