Diamond Legacy (36 page)

His grip on her arms turned bruising, but she lifted her chin in defiance. “It wasn’t hard to discover the diamond smuggling. Your friend Graham doesn’t run a very tight ship.”

“She’s a lying bitch, Bessault.” Graham was instantly at his side, shooting daggers at Miranda. “Katanga is rock solid.”

“Wrong.” She began to have hope for her reckless plan of pitting them against each other. “IDS has been inside for some time. Just ask Neil.”

The cloak of suspicion had been cast, and Bessault glared first at her, then Graham.

“Go ahead,” she continued recklessly. “Ask Graham how he and Neil have been secretly cutting a deal and siphoning off diamonds for their own gain. Then ask how Neil’s saving his own worthless ass by cutting a deal with IDS.”

She was desperate and lying through her teeth, but when the worm sounded like he’d strangled on his tongue, and Graham’s expression registered alarm, she realized she had stumbled across a gold mine. Good news for her. Bad for them.

Murder glinted in Bessault’s dark eyes. The crushing grip he had on her arms tightened, and she wanted to scream out in pain. Instead, she sought to make it worse. “They are playing you,” she bit out, “and you’re all going to burn.”

Her only warning was a flash of fury in Bessault’s eyes. He released her arms only to deliver a violent backhand across her face.

The impact knocked her to the ground. Spots clouded the edges of her vision,
and she struggled to breathe. A soul-deep moan of excruciating pain welled up from deep inside, filling her eyes with tears. She fought savagely against them. Two hits in less than an hour was two hits too many. She blinked rapidly and swallowed hard, then glanced through a watery haze to see Hank’s expression of horror.

The sound of a gun being cocked penetrated her numb mind. The bluff was over. Time was up.

That was when an explosion rocked the compound and showered the night sky in a sea of flaming sparks.

Chaos erupted as a burning truck full of guns and ammunition spewed fire and brimstone over the compound. Men scattered and Bessault screamed out orders to secure the area, but most just ran for cover as ammo ignited in a deadly spray.

Miranda rolled to all fours, struggling against a tidal wave of dizziness to take advantage of the distraction. She took a deep breath to fight the nausea and climbed to a standing position.

The world spun drunkenly for several seconds, and her cheek throbbed in pain, but her vision had finally cleared. Hank stood frozen nearby, engrossed with the flames shooting skyward.

What the hell was the matter with him? They needed to run!

She yelled his name, but it came out no more than a hoarse croak. Desperate to flee, she took a couple unsteady steps his direction, only to be pulled up short with a furious yank on her hair.

Bessault hauled her backward and locked an arm around her neck. “You aren’t going anywhere, bitch. You’re going to tell me who did this.”

This time she struggled wildly, fighting against what fate had in store.

“Cease!”

The point of a knife pierced her side, and she instantly stilled.

“You’re the IDS agent at Katanga,” he stated.

She shook her head no, afraid to make any sudden moves.

“Then who is?”

“I don’t know.” She’d found her voice, but refused to reveal Matt’s identity. If nothing else, she’d give him the advantage of anonymity.

“Not a good answer.” He pressed the knife a little deeper, and the sting made her gasp in pain. “Want to try again?”

“Release her, Bessault. I’m the one you’re looking for.”

Matt? She must be dreaming, the voice a product of her still-spinning head. She blinked her eyes, afraid to believe he was real.

“Well, well. What have we here?” her captor said with a nasty laugh. “A well-dressed champion for the lady?”

“It’s over, Bessault.” Matt’s voice sounded flat and emotionless. “IDS isn’t the only agency watching you. Let’s not make this messy.”

“Really? And where are they? All I see is a clown in formal wear.”

Matt shrugged and the movement called attention to the 9mm in his hand. “You don’t like my outfit? It’s standard funeral issue. Yours, if you don’t release her.”

“Do I detect a threat?” Bessault was a tall man, and when his arm around her neck tightened, she strained to keep her footing. “The lady is my bargaining chip. I’d be a fool to let that go.”

Miranda clawed against the arm squeezing off her air, and Matt charged forward, only to stop abruptly when Bessault twisted her around to reveal the knife. The maneuver eased his choke hold, however, and Miranda filled her lungs with blessed air.

“Seems your girlfriend is in a bit of trouble,” he sneered.

“Let her go,” Matt repeated. “This battle is between you and me.”

“There is no battle. You have no power here.” Bessault’s voice dripped malice and to prove the point, he skimmed his steel blade across Miranda’s bruised cheek. “She’s a pretty thing. A shame she has to die.”

Miranda held her breath, fighting to keep cold talons of fear at bay.

“I’m taking you down, Bessault.” Matt’s voice rang with bitter purpose. “And if you so much as scratch her, you’re a dead man.”

“You dream big for a man outnumbered,” the warlord said with cocky assurance. “I have control here. A word from me, and my men will cut you down without a qualm.”

“Really?” Matt mocked him. “And where are they? I think they scattered at the first sign of danger.”

The burning truck exploded again with perfect timing, and Miranda desperately hoped the ammo inside kept those men busy for a while longer.

Not so Bessault. He snarled and began to drag her away, headed for God knew where. She stumbled, and he yanked her back to her feet, but stopped short when a barrel-chested NFL linebacker stepped out of the shadows to block their path.

“It’s over, Bessault,” said the linebacker. “Every police agency in Botswana is racing this way. You’re going to be put away for a long time.”

The warlord only laughed and changed direction.

“You should listen to Nik,” Jason said as he joined the group from the other side. “Hate it for you buddy, but you’re screwed.”

Rage made the muscles in Bessault’s arm go rigid around her neck, and she feared he’d do something drastic. Like cut off her air. Again.

“Let her go, Bessault.” Matt took a step closer. “I’ll back off, and you can walk away a free man. Just let her go.”

Still Bessault pulled her backward, one step, two, then out of the corner of her eye she saw headlights.

Please God, let it be the cavalry. The ammo truck still burned, but time ran out. Their standoff had begun to attract attention, and a couple men strayed near to watch.

Matt saw them, too.

“You can’t hide behind the girl forever,” Matt taunted loud enough for the newcomers.

She doubted that was an idle threat. Weakness in the animal kingdom meant death. Gunrunners were hard men. A mercenary like Bessault had to know his men only followed him as long as he maintained the illusion of power. By hiding from an opponent, he risked shattering that control.

A rapid spate of gunfire sounded near the warehouse, and their new audience threw a perplexed glance that direction.

It didn’t deter Bessault. His hold on her throat tightened, and Miranda pulled against the arm that was crushing the breath from her.

“This is hardly a fair fight,” Bessault snarled. “I let the girl go, you fire your weapon. Only a fool would release his leverage, and I’m no fool.”

Matt tossed his gun to the ground. “Guess I’m a fool. Let her go and fight me.” He said it loud enough to get the attention of the warlord’s men.

“Are you afraid of a real fight, Bessault?” Matt loudly taunted. “Do you need help? I’ll handicap you one bodyguard. Two against one.”

There was no humor in the warlord’s laugh. “My, my. Your little friend here must really mean something to you. How delightful.”

From behind Miranda the warlord’s arm slid off her throat down to her shoulders, pulling her body tighter against him. He skimmed his knife up the front of her to rest against her wildly beating heart. “Tell your friends to lose the weapons,” he demanded.

Matt shook his head. “My crew won’t interfere.” He pointed to Bessault’s men on the sidelines. “Tell them to stand down. The fight is between you and me.”

Matt and his team were outnumbered, and Miranda worried that a man-to-man fight wouldn’t stay that way for long. Rough battle-scarred mercenaries glanced curiously between Matt and their boss, waiting for a signal from Bessault. But the warlord held them back with a shake of his head.

“Now I’m wondering why?” Bessault calmly stated. “Why would you risk so much for one veterinarian?”

“It’s not about her,” Matt replied evenly. “You and I have an old score to settle. I’m looking to dish out payback.”

Miranda’s breath stilled as a horrible suspicion of who held her sank in.

“And just who the hell are you?” Bessault finally snapped.

“I’m the son of Joshua and Denise Bennett.”

“That means nothing.”

“It should.” Matt’s voice turned to steel. “They were missionaries working near the Zimbabwe border fifteen years ago. You killed them along with several tribe members.”

“It’s a tough business. Sometimes people die.”

That callous reply was more than Miranda could stand. She stiffened, no longer caring about Bessault’s stupid knife or even her own survival. This was the end of her cooperation.

Another round of gunfire cracked, closer this time, and in that split second Miranda reacted. She jammed her elbow backward with savage momentum.

Bessault doubled forward with a string of curses, and she dropped like a dead weight. He grabbed a handful of her shirt in his fist, trying to drag her back into his control.

It was all the opening Matt needed. He charged forward and body slammed Bessault, the impact colliding her into the hard-packed sand with them, and she scrambled to move out of the way.

Jason rushed over and helped her up, steering her over to join Hank and the linebacker.

Matt and Bessault were back up and circling, each gauging the other and forming strategy. They moved slowly, and Bessault had that damn knife extended, ready to fight. The opponents danced back and forth, testing and taunting.

Matt threw the first punch, but it didn’t land, and he barely missed being sliced by the knife.

Despite the commotion occurring on the other side of the camp, a couple more of Bessault’s men joined the bystanders.

“Care to wager on the outcome, Bessault?” Matt loudly goaded.

“There’s no contest,” the warlord sneered. “You’ll soon be as dead as your missionary parents.”

He followed up his threat with a fierce jab. His men began to cheer on the fight and emboldened with the audience, Bessault went on the offensive. He pushed Matt back with several swipes of his blade and dodged any attempt at retaliation.

Gunfire sounded again, and Matt appeared distracted by it. Bessault instantly lunged. Miranda screamed in warning, but Matt was only playing a game. With precision timing, he spun into a karate kick that sent the knife flying into the darkness. He followed up with a hard fist to the jaw that surely rattled the warlord’s teeth.

Bessault stumbled backward under the impact and fell into his band of men. They caught him and shoved him back to his feet. He jerked forward ungratefully and wiped at the blood trickling from a busted lip. The look he shot Matt promised death.

Matt seemed unconcerned as he paced the edge of the battlefield, waiting for his opponent’s next move.

It came quick, a bull-like charge that pitted the two men in hand-to-hand combat. Each aimed to inflict maximum damage with blunt force, and the brutality grew increasingly difficult for Miranda to watch. She flinched with every punishing blow.

“We need to stop this!” she cried out.

“No interference,” the linebacker said. “Bennett must purge this demon.”

He might be right, but that didn’t make watching it any easier. The stakes were high on both sides. Bessault had everything to lose, and Matt everything to gain.

Just when she thought she could stand no more, the tide suddenly turned. In a swift move, Matt struck with a hard side kick, followed by a punch that sent Bessault to his knees, blood pouring from his nose.

Matt bounced back from the strike like a prizefighter in the ring. “That’s for the bruises on Miranda’s cheek,” he rasped out, panting with the exertion.

Bloody but undaunted, Bessault rose with a roar and charged. Matt was ready and deflected the assault with a back spin kick that landed a painful kidney punch. One that dropped his opponent to the ground.

“And that…is for threatening her with a knife.”

Bessault didn’t hear. He lay immobile.

Matt was breathing heavy, but he turned in angry defiance toward the warlord’s men. “Anyone else?”

One shook his head and left, one glanced between Matt and whatever battle raged at the warehouse. But two decided to rush him. That’s when the linebacker stepped into the fray.

Within seconds, one man was down and the other hung suspended from Nik’s beefy fists. The rest backed off, abandoning their comrades to their fate.

Through it all, Miranda’s eyes never left Matt. His focus had been intense. He’d brought their immediate situation under control, and though they still weren’t safe, he’d purged an old hatred and bought them precious time.

But it cost him. He looked jagged and in pain. An old wound had just been ripped open. She ran to him, wrapping her arms around him in comfort.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly as he held her.

“I’m fine.” She took a step back to look at him. “But you’re not.”

“Doesn’t matter. I need to get you out of here.” Matt glanced over her head toward Nik. “Have they arrived?”

“It’s not our men,” Nik replied. “Something else is going on.”

A movement from the ground caught Miranda’s eye.

Bessault had rolled over and sat up with a small pistol in his hand. She gasped.

Matt reacted instantly, grabbing her and throwing them both to the ground just as the shot rang out. He rolled and was back on his feet in an instant, ready for battle. From the ground, Miranda watched in helpless horror as Bessault took aim again.