Dark Deceptions (17 page)

“Fireworks?” Annie asked, stealing a surreptitious look in Nash’s direction.

“Call it creative grenade work.” Drake shrugged, holding up the backpack.

“Just take the bastards out,” Nash said, holstering his gun.

“Not a problem.” Drake gave them a jaunty salute, then shouldered the bag and picked up the rifle and machine gun. “Here’s
to good hunting. And with a little luck, I’ll see you both on the flipside.”

“With Adam,” Annie whispered.

And then he was gone, disappearing into the undergrowth that bordered the edge of the property.

“Annie,” Nash said, his brows drawn together in a fierce frown, “I want you to know that I’m going to get him out. And nothing
is going to stop me.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, reaching up to stroke his cheek, the gesture automatic. “I know he’s not the main objective. But
he’s just a little boy.”

“Your little boy.”

The words hung between them and he leaned forward, his eyes still locked with hers, their breathing intertwined. She swallowed,
frozen, pinned by his gaze, and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. But instead, he turned, moving to the edge
of the trees, his eyes on the house, a muscle in his jaw working overtime.

There was a time when she’d have known just what he was thinking.

But not anymore.

They’d both moved on. Or at least he had. She was still tied to the past, every single day with her son a reminder of what
she and Nash had once been to each other.

“It’s time,” Nash said, his voice breaking into her thoughts. “You ready?”

Now there was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.

L
et’s do it,” she said, her hand tightening on her gun as they stepped cautiously out of the shed, circling back to back as
they searched for enemies, the familiar choreography coming naturally. The farmyard was quiet, the cars still parked in the
drive, the dead man still safely hidden in his pile of leaves.

Moving as quietly as possible, Nash and Annie continued to flank each other as they made their way to the back of the house.
There was no sign of Drake. But that was to be expected. If everything was going as planned, he was on the opposite side of
the building setting up his pyrotechnic display.

As they neared the corner, the sound of a screen door opening broke through the stillness. Annie froze, back to the wall,
finger on the trigger of her gun. But Nash shook his head, lifting a finger to his lips. She strained into the silence, then
heard the familiar clanking of a garbage can lid, followed by the repeated screech of the door opening and closing.

“Close call,” she whispered. “Didn’t figure Rivon for the environmentally conscious type.”

Keeping her back to the wall, Annie slid forward until she could just see around the edge of the building. The small area
that constituted the yard was empty, two trash cans leaning against the remains of a fence, the trees on the lake’s edge spreading
upward to block the sky.

“It’s all clear,” she said, sliding back into place next to Nash. “So what do you want to do?”

“Wait for Drake’s signal and then storm the castle.”

“Nature of the beast,” she said.

“Some things never change.” His smile was almost lost in the shadows of the overgrowth.

She fingered her gun, wondering how in the hell she’d managed to wind up right back where she’d started. Maybe there was no
such thing as second chances. The sins of the mother revisited on the child. She shuddered, thinking of Adam. He needed her.
Now more than ever. And she’d be damned if she was going to let some specter from her past take him away from her.

Suddenly the crack of an explosion shattered the still air, the reverberations joined by a second, even louder blast. For
a moment, the sky above the house turned orange and then black as plumes of smoke and fire shot up into the air.

“That’s our cue,” Nash said, already on the move.

Annie followed him around the corner, crouching low as they made their way through the undergrowth to the back door. There
was shouting from the front of the house as well as gunfire. Hopefully, Drake had the upper hand. But either way, the diversion
seemed to be working.

The two of them held their position on either side of the door for a full minute and then on Nash’s count, they yanked it
open and stepped inside the house, guns at the ready. They were standing in what had probably been a pantry or mud room. The
floorboards were buckled and the wallpaper peeling. Dusty crates and boxes were stacked against the left wall near a doorway,
a rudimentary bathroom directly across from it on the right.

Pointing toward the door, Nash started forward, Annie keeping watch from behind. Moving in tandem, they worked their way across
the floor, Annie holding position as Nash pivoted into the adjoining room, leading with the Sig.

“Clear,” he whispered as she followed him into an empty bedroom, her body still on high alert. “This is where I saw him.”

The rumpled bed, a half-empty juice glass, and the laptop on the table were all familiar. Annie recognized the room from the
photos and the video feed. But there was no sign of Adam now. Stifling her rising fear, Annie moved into the kitchen, Nash
following behind her. Like the rest of the house, the room was dilapidated, the appliances covered in dust. Dirty dishes in
the sink were the only real sign of life.

But the deadly quiet coming from both inside and outside the house left Annie with a sick feeling rising in her gut.

There were two additional doors leading out of the kitchen, one directly in front of them and another to the right, next to
the refrigerator, opening onto what appeared to be a dining room. Nash signaled her to hold position as he moved to the wall
flanking the dining room doorway. On a count of three, he swung into the room, the Sig catching the light as he moved.

“Take another step and I’ll kill the boy.”

From her angle, she couldn’t see Rivon, but she recognized his voice, fear chasing down her spine as the meaning of his words
sank home.

“I’m assuming that’s your man outside,” Rivon said. “The one responsible for the explosions. I told Lloyd things were too
quiet.”

Annie took a step forward and then froze. Rivon had no idea she was present, which meant that for the moment at least they
had an advantage.

“One of your men gave us a little trouble, but we managed to take him out,” Nash said.

“I take it he’s dead.”

“As a doornail. Which I suspect is the fate of the rest of your colleagues.”

A volley of shooting rang out in protestation, and Rivon smiled. “I think you might be just a little bit ahead of yourself.
Besides, as long as I have the boy, I win.”

Annie fought against a surge of rage and backed slowly away from the doorway, moving instead toward the closed door leading
to the front of the house. A bedroom, if she remembered right. Leading to the living room. Which in turn connected with the
dining room. If Nash could keep Rivon from shifting position, she just might be able to sneak up on him from the back. It
would be tricky with Adam there, but not impossible.

The room, like the rest of the house, was in tatters. A broken bed frame listed toward the front wall, its torn and tufted
mattress long ago surrendering to local vermin. Keeping the wall to her back, Annie slid forward until she reached the door
to the living room. From her new vantage point, she could see Rivon. And Adam.

Rivon had her son in a stranglehold, his gun pressed against Adam’s temple. She drew in a breath, calculating angles. And
then sighed, frustration cresting. Even if she could manage the shot, Rivon might still manage to shoot Adam, his reflexes
following through even if his brain was already dying.

“Throw me your gun,” Rivon said, tightening his hold on Adam.

“What guarantee do I have that you won’t shoot the boy the minute I do?” Nash asked, moving slightly to the right, his gun
still pointing at Rivon. She could almost see him now. Just a few more inches.

“You have my word,” Rivon said with a shrug.

“Which we all know isn’t worth a damn.” Nash shifted a little more to the right, his movement almost imperceptible, but now
she could see him full on. She smiled as their gazes met. Feigning throwing her gun, she nodded toward the far corner. Away
from Adam.

Again almost imperceptibly, Nash tilted his head toward Adam, with a slight nod.

And just like that the plan was set.

This was a game they’d played a million times before.

She nodded, her grip on the Beretta tightening as she anticipated the next move.

“Look, I don’t know who the hell you are,” Rivon bellowed, “but I do know you’re after the kid. So if you don’t want his blood
on your hands, throw me the goddamned gun.”

“Fine.” Nash shrugged. “You win.” He tossed the Sig Sauer to his right, just beyond the other man’s reach.

Everything else happened at once. Rivon instinctively moved toward the careening gun, releasing his hold on Adam. Nash dove
across the room, pulling her son to the floor. And Annie fired, her bullet hitting Rivon dead center. He dropped to his knees
as his gun fell from lifeless fingers.

Annie stood for a moment, frozen to the spot. Afraid to look in Nash’s direction. Afraid of what she might see.

“Mommy?” Adam’s voice broke through her fear, and after handing Nash the gun, she swept her son into her arms.

“I’m here, baby. Right here.” She stroked his hair, looking over his head as Nash checked the body and retrieved the Sig.

“Is he dead?” Adam asked, his voice quavering.

“Yes, baby,” she answered truthfully, tears filling her eyes. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“I knew you’d come,” Adam said, his chin trembling. “You were just like Zelda in my Wind Waker game.” He shot a shy look in
Nash’s direction. “And he’s like Link.”

“You play too much Nintendo,” she chided automatically, her mind still dealing with the ramifications of what could have happened.
“Anything from Drake?”

“Nothing yet,” Nash said from his position by the front window, “but I can see at least two down from here. Which is a good
sign.”

“Third guy’s trussed up like a turkey. Figured he might be of use,” Drake said from the kitchen doorway, the machine gun still
draped over his shoulder. “I came in the back way, in case you needed help. But it looks like you’ve got it all under control.”

“Wow,” Adam whispered, eyes wide at the sight of Drake’s fatigues. “You brought the army.”

“Something like that.” Annie smiled, smoothing his hair.

“Anyone else here? Like maybe someone in charge?” Drake asked.

“Nope. Just Rivon.” Nash shook his head.

“What’s with the beeping?” Drake frowned, his gaze sweeping the room.

“I don’t know,” she said, “I didn’t hear it before. Nash?”

“It’s coming from over there. Could be Rivon or maybe the table.” Drake moved toward the dining room table as Nash dropped
down beside Rivon, and Annie shifted to shield Adam’s view.

“Son of a bitch,” Drake said from beneath the table.

“What? What is it?” Annie asked, her heart rate ratcheting upward again.

“A bomb.”

“Looks like Rivon had the detonator,” Nash said, holding up a small box with a pulsing green light. “He must have pressed
it when you took him out. Or maybe he triggered it when he fell.”

Drake pushed to his feet. “Either way, we’ve got to get out of here. Now.”

Adrenaline surging, Annie jumped up, pulling Adam with her. “Come on, baby, we’ve got to go,” she said, swinging him up into
her arms, already beginning to run. But their combined weight was more than the old floor could bear. She felt it give even
as the crack of splintering wood echoed through the house, her left leg driving straight downward, Adam tumbling from her
arms.

Annie tried to push herself upward, the incessant beeping reminding her just how little time they had left, but her body refused
to budge, her left leg jammed through the floor, dangling below her with nothing to push off of.

“Get Adam out of here,” she yelled, still struggling for a foothold.

“Mommy,” Adam shrieked as Drake scooped him into his arms and ran for the door.

“Hang on, Annie,” Nash said as he slipped his hands underneath her arms. “I think this is going to hurt.”

“Beats the hell out of being blown to bits,” she said through gritted teeth as he yanked her upward, the splintered wood scraping
at her skin.

“Just like old times,” he said.

Without further conversation, he swung her up and over his shoulder, carrying her fireman style as he made for the front door,
the syncopated beep accompanying them step for step. Slamming through the screened front door, they hit the porch and were
about halfway down the stairs when the house blew.

“Move it, Brennon,” she yelled as she watched the fireball shooting through the house, the heat preceding it making the paint
on the porch blister.

Nash made it another fifteen feet or so before the surge of the blast caught up with them, throwing them both into a stand
of rhododendron another ten feet from the house. Ash and debris rained down as he rolled to cover her body with his, the arching
branches of the bush providing additional protection.

“Are we still alive?” she groaned after the worst of it had passed.

“I think so,” he said, rolling off her. “But to tell you the truth, it’s kind of hard to tell. How’s the leg?”

“Not broken. But it hurts like hell.” She pushed to a sitting position. “You?”

“Everything seems to be working.”

“Can you see Adam or Drake?” She tried but couldn’t keep the worry from her voice.

“Not from here.” He shook his head. “But I know they’re okay. Drake got them out well before the blast.”

She nodded, knowing intellectually that he was right, but terrified nevertheless.

“Annie. Nash. Can you hear me?” Drake’s voice filtered through the dense vegetation.

“We’re here,” they called in tandem.

“Is Adam all right?” Annie asked as Drake helped Nash to his feet.