Army of Two (4 page)

Whoever these intruders were, it seemed they had caught everyone in their beds. No one had had the time to get dressed. Graham had managed to throw a robe over his pajamas, but his feet were bare. Jim Whitby, the Petherick Corporation comptroller, was in his underwear. The research director was in a jogging suit. The two women vice presidents were huddled together, sharing a blanket across their shoulders. They were both sobbing.

Pebbles gritted against the rock near his feet. Mitch turned his head in time to see Chantal creep toward him. He frowned and gestured for her to go back.

She shook her head quickly and lay on her stomach beside him. Her eyes widened as she focused on the window.

Mitch shifted closer until his shoulder pressed against hers. He could feel her tension through her jacket. The Chantal he used to know would have been in tears by now. She’d never been much good at controlling her emotions or her impulses. He could only hope the new version wouldn’t fall apart.

“This has to be a mistake,” she whispered.

He put his mouth close to her ear, keeping his reply as quiet as hers. “That chopper couldn’t have landed here by accident. This attack must have been planned.”

“But why? There’s nothing of value here to steal.”

Mitch focused on the gunmen. From here it looked as if they carried AK47s, which were cheap and relatively easy to come by, making them the terrorist’s firearm of choice. The men appeared comfortable with their weapons. Their movements were purposeful, not frantic. “These guys don’t look like amateurs. I don’t think this is a simple robbery. No one would go to this much trouble for credit cards and a few laptops and Rolexes.”

“Then what?”

Good question. He watched as the three army officers were ushered at gunpoint down to the lobby by a third gunman. The general was in striped pajamas but the others had managed to throw on their clothes before they’d been taken. Someone had used plastic bundling ties to bind their hands, a quick and effective technique that Mitch’s own men had been trained to use. If these officers had attempted to resist, they couldn’t have tried too hard. Like the others, they didn’t appear to be injured. They were pushed roughly toward Graham’s people.

Chantal angled her head farther to her right. “I don’t see any of my staff.”

“Where would they be?”

“Our rooms are behind the kitchen.”

“Is there an exit nearby?”

“At the back. Maybe they got out before—” She sucked in her breath at a flurry of movement from beneath the gallery. “Oh, no. Henry.”

A lanky boy who couldn’t have been much more than twelve ran across the lobby. One of the gunmen grabbed the back of his pajamas as he passed and jerked him to a stop. The boy squirmed in his grip and landed a kick to his shin. The man gave him a shake that snapped his head back on his thin neck.

Chantal swore and started to rise.

Mitch slung his arm around her back and used it to press her to the ground. “Don’t.”

She turned her face toward his. “But he’s just a child. He’s terrified. I have to—”

“What? Run in there and get caught like the rest of them? That’s not going to help.”

Her cheeks flushed. Her lips moved as if she were biting back a protest.

He understood how she felt. It was taking a tremendous amount of self-control to watch and do nothing. “Mounting a direct assault against an unknown number of armed hostiles would be futile at best, suicidal at worst,” he said. “So far I’ve seen three intruders. All armed. That chopper they arrived in could have carried four times that number, so it’s a safe bet there are a few more someplace. This is no time to give in to your emotions. We need to use our heads.”

Briefly she seemed about to argue further, but then she returned her attention to the window.

A short woman raced toward the boy. She yanked the child from the gunman’s grip and clasped him in her arms, as if she could shelter him with her body.

“His mother?” Mitch asked.

“Tyra Pearson. She’s my assistant manager. Her husband’s the cook. They’re like family to me. They’re…Oh,
God.
Walter’s hurt.”

A plump, blond man was pushed from the shadows beneath the gallery by a fourth gunman. He staggered toward the woman and child. Blood darkened his forehead and the right side of his face.

Mitch guessed even before Chantal told him that this was the boy’s father. Obviously, the man had tried to defend his family and had been struck for his efforts. There was no way to tell for certain from here how serious the injury was. From the look of it, Mitch guessed he’d been pistol-whipped rather than shot.

The young couple who had helped carry the guests’ luggage the night before were the last to be brought in. Their resemblance to each other was more obvious than it had been yesterday—they must be brother and sister. Neither attempted any heroics. They moved like people in shock.

At least they were able to move. Considering all the rounds that he’d heard fired earlier, Mitch had been prepared to see far worse. “Is that everyone?” he whispered. “All your staff?”

“Yes.”

“Then aside from Walter, no one’s been harmed. It looks as if they wanted hostages.”

“Hostages?”

“Altogether they’ve got thirteen. They’ve assembled everyone in one place to make it easier to keep track of them.”

“Why? What could they want?”

“At this stage, all that matters is that they want everyone alive.”
For now,
he added silently. The fact the gunmen were all masked could indicate they meant to leave survivors.

Or it could mean they simply wanted to intimidate their captives. Not being able to see an attacker’s face was bound to instill fear. It was another technique familiar to Eagle Squadron—they often donned masks themselves when executing a raid. “Our priority is to get help before someone matches the number of people to the number of beds and realizes they’re two short.”

A tall man with a chest like a barrel appeared at the gallery railing. He seemed to be giving orders to the others, so evidently, this was the leader. Like the rest of the men, his face was concealed by a balaclava. Only his air of command distinguished him from the others. That, and the sidearm he wore at his waist. He spoke into a handheld walkie-talkie as he surveyed the room, then suddenly turned his head to look out the side window.

Mitch splayed his hand, gently increasing the pressure on Chantal’s back. “Don’t move,” he breathed.

She began to tremble. “Oh, God. He’s looking straight at us.”

“We’ve got the junipers in front of us and the sun’s in his face. He probably can’t see much against the glare. Stay down and we’ll be fine.”

“What are we going to do if he does see us?”

“We’ll use an old army trick.”

“What?”

“We run like hell.”

Her breath hitched. “I hate the army.”

“You? A general’s daughter?”

“Never knew that, did you.”

He suspected there were plenty of things he didn’t know about Chantal, both the old and the new versions.

Except, surprisingly, she still smelled the same. Even with the scents of rock, lichen and evergreens that surrounded them, he could pick hers out. Roses. It was old-fashioned. Feminine. He’d never been able to smell it without remembering a rainy, October night and the touch of soft flesh…

Mitch gave himself a mental shake. What the hell was he thinking? He lifted his hand from Chantal’s back. “Okay, he’s looking the other way. Slide back to those boulders.”

“Then what?”

“Then we find a way to—”

Gunfire blasted from behind them. Mitch automatically cupped the back of Chantal’s head and pushed her face into his shoulder, giving her what protection he could. He felt rather than heard her cry out as bullets
pinged
from the rock beside them.

The firing ended as quickly as it had begun. A man spoke into the sudden silence. “Got ’em, Knox!”

Chapter 3

C
hantal sensed that Mitch was trying to tell her something, even though he hadn’t spoken a word since he’d gotten to his feet. She could see it in the set of his jaw and the tightening at the corners of his mouth. She could feel it in the tension that radiated from his body as he walked beside her and in the way his eyes gleamed as he glanced toward the trees and then back at her.

Or was this just wishful thinking on her part? She’d once thought they’d had a connection that had transcended the age difference between them. She had misinterpreted the situation then, so she had no reason to think she was any better at reading him now. Simply because he’d been a hero in her teenage imagination didn’t mean he actually was one in real life. There was no sign that he was trying to save either one of them. Like her, he was walking with his hands clasped on his head, as he’d been ordered. So far, he’d offered no resistance.

They rounded the corner of the lodge and started toward the rear entrance. The man who’d found them poked his gun into Mitch’s back to shove him forward. He’d kept the weapon aimed at him the whole time. Obviously, he didn’t consider Chantal any threat. “Come on, keep moving.”

Mitch stumbled and knocked against her. He mumbled what sounded like an apology.

Chantal could feel a scream building. From frustration, from fear. From the sheer wrongness of what was happening. He’d said they needed to use their heads, and she understood that. Yet her heart rebelled at the idea of giving up so easily. They were steps from the back door, seconds away from being herded like sheep to join the rest of the hostages.

She looked over her shoulder at their captor. He was a huge man, built like an oversized fire hydrant. The black knit fabric that covered his face had a round hole for his mouth and an oblong slit for his eyes. It took away his humanity, making him seem like something out of a horror movie or a nightmare…or news footage of terrorists.

The urge to scream strengthened.

No. She wasn’t going to give in to hysteria. This was her home. Her staff was her family, and her guests were her responsibility. They depended on her; she had to be strong.

And dammit, she would not allow herself to be a victim. “Who are you people?” she asked, slowing her steps.

“Shut up and keep moving.”

“Not until you give me some answers. I’m the manager here. I demand to know what’s going on.”

“I said shut up.”

She halted and turned to face him. “Why did you come here? What do you want?”

Behind the round mouth-hole, his lips twisted. “Get going. Now.”

She dropped her hands and lifted her chin. “Whatever you planned, you’re not going to get away with it. You have no right—”

“Lady, you’re really starting to piss me off,” he said, swinging the gun away from Mitch.

The instant the gun barrel was no longer pressed to his back, Mitch exploded into action. He pivoted, swinging his bent arm backward so quickly it was a blur. There was a thudding crunch as his elbow connected with their captor’s windpipe.

The man dropped his gun and clawed at his throat, gasping for air.

Mitch drove his fist into his temple.

The man crumpled to the ground and lay motionless.

Stooping fast, Mitch grabbed the gun then snatched the man’s walkie-talkie and tossed it to Chantal. “Which way to your truck?”

“My truck?”

He patted the man’s pockets, withdrew all the spare ammunition clips and stuffed them into his own pockets. “You said you drive your supplies here.” He straightened. “Show me where you keep your vehicles.”

She looked at the downed man. He still hadn’t stirred. “Is he…”

“His larynx is crushed. He’ll be more of a drain on their resources if he’s disabled rather than dead.” Mitch grasped her arm and turned her away. “But we’re going to have about thirty seconds before someone comes looking for him. We need to go now, Chantal.”

She clutched the walkie-talkie tightly in her hands. Mitch’s burst of violence had shaken her almost as much as their sudden freedom. “But you have his gun. Can’t we do something?”

“Not alone. Without a coordinated assault there’s too much risk to the hostages.” He gave her a nudge to start her moving. “We need to get reinforcements.”

After one last glance at the Aerie—and a quick prayer for the people left inside—she plunged through a gap in the trees.

Mitch stayed right behind her. They weren’t hampered by the need for stealth this time. In less than a minute they reached the three-sided drive shed where the vehicles were kept.

Chantal wrenched open the door of her four-wheel-drive pickup truck and slid behind the wheel. As usual, the keys were in the ignition. The need for convenience had always outweighed the need for security here at the Aerie. She’d never dreamed her habit would prove an advantage when she was fleeing for her life.

She dropped the walkie-talkie on the floor, fastened her seat belt and cranked the engine.

A gunshot cracked through the shed.

She cringed reflexively, then whipped her head around to look for Mitch.

Thank God, he was the only one doing the shooting. He was jogging past the other vehicles, firing methodically at the tires. Within seconds the Pearsons’ SUV, Rhonda and Tommy’s Jeep and the resort’s four all-terrain vehicles were settling onto the rims of their wheels.

She barely had time to absorb the destruction when the passenger door flew open and Mitch jumped inside. “Go!” he yelled.

Chantal gripped the wheel and aimed for the track that led down the hill. She took the first bend too fast and slid sideways. Spruce boughs screeched along the fender before she regained control.

Mitch propped the gun between his feet. “Who’s your nearest neighbor?”

He sounded so calm. As if he did this kind of thing all the time. Then again, he probably did. She swallowed hard and tried to match his tone. “Waterfalls Resort. It’s an outfitter’s camp at the north end of the lake. They’re closed for the season, but the owner would still be there.”

“I assume they would have a radio?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll have to head there.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”