Heat Seeker (38 page)

She noticed John casting her several long, concerned looks before he moved off for his meeting. Was she too quiet to suit him? She narrowed her eyes on his disappearing back as a sudden suspicion began to form in her mind.

He had an asset within Warbucks’s ranks, she could feel it.
But who was it? It couldn’t be anyone low-level. Did Warbucks even have low-level associates? He was paranoid where his identity was concerned. Bailey suspected that even Raymond might not know his true identity.

She did suspect that Myron did. From Warbucks’s first appearance fifteen years before, Myron had been there. At first he was a cautious presence overseeing several sales under an alias, acting as broker himself until the deals became too hot for him to risk exposure himself.

It was about eight years before that Warbucks had begun using brokers. The first few hadn’t worked out so well. Money had been lost; the deals hadn’t been the best he could have gotten for the items up for auction.

The emergence of Warbucks as an international procurer of classified information had been a slow one. His reputation had grown in degrees, but always Warbucks had been very careful to keep his identity, or any suspicion of his identity, a secret.

He placed others in the path, disposables. People he had a grudge against, or lives he simply wanted to play with.

Shaking her head at the certainty now that John was hiding something from her, Bailey moved through the house, careful to avoid any of the groups and headed to the evergreen maze and gardens in the back.

It was the most peaceful part of the property. It was the one area where she actually had good memories from her childhood. She had never liked the house, but she had always loved the garden grottoes hidden within the huge maze of evergreen abundance. The heated fountains, hidden shelters, and vine-covered, heated hideaways had always tempted her to linger and lounge. To hide.

Today the spot tempted her to think. Her emotions had been in such turmoil; the decisions she’d had to make, the delicate balance she’d had to achieve had kept her mind fractured. Her ability to assimilate a mission had been affected in noticeable ways.

In dangerous ways.

Making her way through the maze, she found the small hidden areas she had loved as a child, and marveled at the fact that they seemed so much smaller now. So much colder.

The gas fires still burned, the shelters were still shadowed and tempting, but the place didn’t hold the appeal it once had. Or perhaps she had grown past it. The lessons she had learned at the hands of the men and women who now attended this party hadn’t always been pleasant ones. But she had realized as she’d grown older that they were lessons she had needed to know and understand if she was going to stay and survive within it.

Staying wasn’t something she had ever intended on doing, though.

Making her way deeper through the maze, she smiled at the memory of the paths she had taken as a child. She remembered her way through it, her way out of it.

And getting out of it was suddenly imperative.

She came to a slow stop and watched as the shadow materialized from the last, hidden shelter in the maze. He wasn’t tall, perhaps an inch taller than she was. He was burlier, darker. Thick black hair fell in slick waves to his neck as dark, cold eyes stared back at her in satisfaction.

“Alberto Rodriquez,” she said quietly. “Now, how did you get on the estate?”

Raymond Greer had excellent security. Alberto couldn’t have slipped onto the property; he had to have had help.

White teeth flashed in an icy, cruel smile as thin lips curved upward.

“You have made enemies, my dear,” he said quietly. “Let us see now, what name did you use in Colombia? Maria Estova, yes? Ahh, who could have known that our dear faithless Maria was in truth one of America’s richest heiresses. I must say, I was rather shocked.”

She just bet he was.

“So how much would it cost me to convince you to turn around and make your way back to Colombia?” she asked, though she was rather certain no amount of money was going to accomplish that.

“I do not know,” he mused. “What price do you place on a brother’s life?”

His brother, Carlos. Carlos wasn’t nearly as intelligent as Alberto, but he had been more bloodthirsty, less cold, just as merciless. If possible. And she had a feeling Alberto wasn’t willing to accept any price for the part she had played in his brother’s death.

“Carlos made his choice, Alberto,” she stated as she stepped back. “You know that as well as I do.”

Carlos had made the decision to fight the night she and her team had swarmed through the drug-processing warehouse Carlos had set up. It had been his decision to fight rather than be arrested. It wasn’t as though he wouldn’t have been released just as quickly as he was arrested. He just would have lost millions of dollars in cocaine and heroin.

“Carlos trusted you.” Alberta smiled at that. It wasn’t a smile of amusement. “You were his good friend, were you not, Maria?” He gave a mocking grimace. “Ah, Bailey. Not Maria.”

“Bailey,” she agreed, wondering how quickly she could get to the knife beneath the leg of her sweats and if she could reach hers before he reached his.

“You know you’re not going to get away with killing me,” she informed him calmly. “This isn’t Colombia, Alberto, and I’m not one of the innocent young women you and your men kidnap off the streets. Others know you’re in the area. You’ll be hunted down.”

He laughed at that. “Ah you have the same naive belief in your people here as you had in your men in Colombia,” he accused snidely. “Would you be surprised to know that one of your good friends here sold you, my dear? That I was searched out, paid to come here and eliminate you. They had no idea I would so gladly do it for free.”

Warbucks. Now what had she done to piss him off? Or was this one of the infamous tests that his employees were forced to endure? He liked games. He enjoyed playing with both employees and enemies. There was no difference in his eyes, it seemed.

“Really?” She didn’t have to pretend curiosity, but she was having to fake the calm. “And who would that be?”

He chuckled at the question. “You would like to know badly, yes?”

“
Badly
would describe it.” She stepped back farther. If she could get ahead of him, take the right turn, then she might have a chance of losing him in the maze.

“You know, I have been studying this maze for several days,” he stated with a smile. “I know it well by now. As well, I would say, as do you.”

Okay, nix that idea. Evidently someone hadn’t just hired him, but had also gone out of their way to prepare him.

“Well, since you intend to kill me anyway, you could be nice enough to just let me know who hired you,” she suggested reasonably. “Consider it a last request.”

“But I was never one to provide last requests.” He sighed. “It tends to allow the soul to rest in peace. Do you imagine I would wish your soul to rest in peace, Ms. Serborne?”

She arched a brow. “Well, I could haunt you rather than drifting around miserably,” she promised chillingly. “How would that feel, Alberto? To have my ghost fucking with your daily life?”

He laughed at that. Okay, so he wasn’t spiritual. Surprise there.

Reaching behind his back, he withdrew what he was well known for. A long, wicked-looking knife that gleamed in the cold sunlight as she bent and removed the small knife she had strapped to her leg.

Damn, she should have listened to John and carried the gun.

His smile was bright, a bit amused, and filled with triumph as he twirled the knife beneath the thin, weak rays of the sun.

“You were not as proficient with the knife as you were with other weapons,” he reminded her. “Poor Ms. Serborne. Looks like today is the last day you breathe. I hope you have enjoyed the time you have spent upon this earth.”

“Well, I was starting to,” she sighed. “I hope you enjoy what John Vincent is going to do to you when he catches up with you.”

He did pause at that. He was a criminal, of course he knew who John Vincent was. Even more, he was an international drug-dealing, arms-buying and -selling bastard. There was no way he couldn’t know who John Vincent was.

“I had heard perhaps you were sharing his bed,” he said with a nod. “It is too bad. But Vincent, he is a businessman, yes? He will not risk his business to come after one lowly Colombian drug dealer. You will be forgotten, just as I’m certain his past lovers have been forgotten.”

“Wouldn’t bet on that.” She stepped back again.

She was going to try to run for it. He knew it, and she knew it. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him. She wasn’t nearly as experienced with a knife as he was, and he had a lot more muscle on his frame when it came to a fight.

Bailey dug her feet into the thick snow beneath her, turned, and took off. If she could get far enough ahead of him, she might have a chance.

She heard his laughter behind her and knew she had given him exactly what he wanted. Alberto loved the hunt as well as the fight.

She tore around the first turn, raced down the connecting corridor, and felt perspiration begin to run down her back as she looked back to see how close he was.

He was too damned close. So close that it was apparent he was only playing with her. Pushing her legs harder as she gripped the knife with her other hand, she raced around the next turn, then dug her feet harder, shot past the next turn, and struggled to maintain her speed as she went through a short corridor before turning again.

She gained a little distance. He was having to work to catch her now, but she couldn’t keep this up for long. There was no way she could actually race through the maze and make it back to the house with him this close on her ass.

If he caught her, there was no way she could hold out for
long in a knife fight. She was, quite simply fucked. And praying.

“
BAILEY SEEMS RATHER CALM
about allowing you to handle the negotiation phase of our little endeavor,” Myron commented as he handed John a drink and took a seat next to the warmth of the fireplace in the library.

Sipping at his drink, John lifted his brows as though in surprise.

“Negotiations are my strong suit,” he informed the other man. “Bailey’s coordinating possible transport and drop areas as well as monitoring underground chatter concerning new sales up for bid. Talk in this business can be deadly,” John reminded him.

Myron nodded slowly. “As I understand it, she was quite adept at coordinating the missions she was placed on. She was a good agent.”

John waited silently, sipped his drink, and wondered where the other man was going with this. Raymond was silent, watching the exchange in interest rather than participating in it.

“Bailey proves to be exceptional in any endeavor she undertakes,” John assured the other man.

“She’s been quite helpful as well,” Myron stated. “She’s covered for us in several operations that could have been endangered. Without knowing who Warbucks truly was.”

John simply stared back at him now.

Myron’s lips twitched in amusement. “I’m quite certain she knows that my alias is Mark Fulton. I wasn’t as careful as I should have been in the early days of this venture, as Warbucks has pointed out quite strongly several times. I’ve been aware that she knew who I was for several years now.”

“Where is this leading?” John asked him calmly. “Bailey really doesn’t give a damn who you are. Her concern was in protecting this little society she loves so dearly, not any one man.”

“And that is commendable. Very commendable.” Myron
nodded as he glanced at Raymond. Raymond gave a small nod.

As Myron’s lips parted to say more, there was a heavy, imperious pounding on the door. Turning to the panel with a glare, Myron stalked to the door and swung it open as John and Raymond came to their feet.

Jerric pushed past Myron, his icy gaze finding John.

“Bailey’s in the garden under attack. West end of the maze in corridor seven-twelve,” he stated. “Catalina saw everything from our window.”

John didn’t wait for permission. Fear pumped hard and fast through his system as he moved quickly from the room and motioned Travis to follow him. They were running down the stairs and tearing through the empty ballroom to the French doors within seconds.

Bailey was being attacked. Only one person would dare to attack her here, only one man was insane enough to believe that he could get away with it.

Alberto Rodriquez.

“
JERRIC.
”
MYRON
’
S VOICE
was a smooth, silky drawl as Jerric—aka Micah Sloane—turned to head back out of the room. “You interrupted a very important meeting.”

Jerric kept his expression cool, composed. His gaze didn’t even flicker at the carefully voiced warning.

“Why would you do such a thing? I would think you would consider Bailey’s death advantageous to your gaining the contract that is about to come up.”

Yeah, having the last member of his family exterminated would be as advantageous as taking a hole in his head.

“I owe him.” Jerric stuck to the cover they had developed over the years. Friendly enemies. There were a lot of those in this business. “This repays the debt.”