Heat Seeker (39 page)

“And that debt would be?” Myron asked carefully.

“The explosion in Afghanistan designed to kill myself and Catalina,” he stated. “John warned me of the hit.” His lips quirked mockingly. “I’m standing here today because of him.”

Myron’s brows lifted in apparent surprise. “Interesting. The man is said to have unusual morals where this business is concerned.”

Jerric nodded abruptly but remained silent. To say more would only raise suspicion in Myron and do more harm than good in the acquisition of the contract John was after. His silence implied an unwillingness to make John appear the stronger broker of the two of them, though. That knowledge should be clear-cut. John had been set up as the stronger of the two brokers, just as the real John Vincent had worked strenuously to cement his own reputation.

“You trust him then?” he asked Jerric.

“With a deal.” Jerric nodded abruptly. “I wouldn’t cross him, though. It could be deadly. And letting his woman die would definitely be considered crossing him.” He paused as though waiting on them to speak. As though he were curious about the meeting that had been in progress until his interruption.

“Thank you for that clarification.” Myron nodded, glancing at the door in a silent signal that the other man could leave.

Jerric nodded abruptly before turning on his heel. The door closed quietly behind him.

MYRON TURNED TO RAYMOND,
watching as the other man retook his seat and stared back at Myron coolly.

“Are we going to check out this attack?” Myron asked him.

“Of course we are.” Raymond lifted the remote on the side table, pressing a programming button as he pointed it toward the quiet noise of the television in the corner.

Instantly surveillance cameras flipped into view. Another button and the large screen was suddenly filled with a battle of knives between Bailey and a heavyset Colombian.

“Rodriquez,” Myron murmured as he watched the struggle. He frowned then. “How did he get on the property?”

“I was rather curious about this myself,” Raymond stated. “Did you sell out her identity?”

That was a strict no-no. Myron glanced at him in surprise. “Warbucks would kill me,” he murmured. “He’s been very particular about keeping her alive.”

“Considering he killed her parents, that’s rather a surprise.” Raymond glanced at the screen in boredom.

Yes, it was a surprise, Myron agreed silently. But Warbucks still had a bit of conditioning to acquire, as well as a bit of self-preservation. Bailey Serborne should have been killed years ago despite the financial toll that her death would have exacted. So her fortune went to charities rather than the four men who oversaw her business concerns? It wasn’t as though Warbucks needed the damned money.

Was it guilt? Myron wondered. No, Warbucks didn’t know guilt. It could be no more than greed, pure and simple.

But that greed was one of the reasons Myron enjoyed his job so much. Because he was greedy, too, and he received his cut in a timely, safe manner.

He took his chair to watch the fight as it played out. It would be interesting to see if John could reach her in time. Even more interesting would be learning exactly who betrayed her. Unfortunately, he might have a pretty good idea there—and it would be so simple to use it.

SHE WASN
’
T GOING TO MAKE
it.

Bailey felt the slice of Alberto’s knife across her upper arm, the fire-and-ice pain lancing through her body as she felt the blood gush from the wound.

Jumping back, she stumbled, slid on the slick layer of snow underneath as she felt Alberto’s foot land heavily on her rear, throwing her face-first on the ground.

Rolling, she tightened her grip on the knife and barely evaded a foot to her abdomen. Another quick succession of rolls gave her just enough room, just enough time to jump quickly to her feet and sprint out of the way of the knife heading for her stomach.

She was running out of energy. Even the adrenaline pumping through her veins wasn’t pouring enough strength into her smaller body to fight off the much bulkier, more muscular Alberto.

Panting for air as she held her knife ready, her body braced as he faced her across only a few feet of distance.

“Playing with you is fun.” He grinned. “Arousing.” His free hand dropped to his crotch, and he gripped it firmly. “Maybe I make you bleed some more, then fuck you as you bleed out.”

The idea was clearly an exciting one for him.

“Don’t make me puke on top of everything else, Al,” she
sneered. “We both know you can’t handle the sight of it. You have a weak stomach.”

He shrugged, smiling again as he waved his knife in her direction.

“You, gringa, have been a worthy adversary,” he praised as he circled her like a hungry coyote. “The hunt has been a good one. Yes?”

“You cheated,” she told him, breathing hard, trying to find the energy that she knew she was going to need for the next attack he made.

“Cheated?” He glowered back at her in outrage. “How did I cheat? I found you. I gave you the chance to fight. You have failed.”

“You were hired to come after me, remember?” she mocked him. “You didn’t find me on your own, Alberto.”

“Eh, a minor thing.” He rotated his wrist, twirling the knife in her direction again. “Very minor. I will count it a victory anyway.”

That was just her luck.

She watched him closely, knowing he would rush her any second and when he did, he would likely kill her.

Where the hell was security? She knew there were monitors placed throughout the maze to allow Raymond’s security team to keep an eye on it during the house parties. The richest men in the world congregated here for two weeks of the year. They couldn’t afford a crack like this in their surveillance.

“When I kill you, I will send a prayer up to Carlos,” he told her. “He will smile down at me.”

“Smile up at you, you mean.” She smiled herself, a tight curve of her lips that mocked his statement. “I rather doubt Carlos made it into heaven, Alberto. He’s burning in hell and waiting on you.”

Could have been the wrong thing to say.

She managed to jump from the first thrust of the knife, the blade barely missing her abdomen before he came back with another parry.

Bailey managed to grip his wrist and moved to break it. Unfortunately the fingers that wrapped in the long strands of her hair clenched and jerked, hauling her back as she maintained her hold on his wrist.

“You bastard!” she screamed furiously, kicking back, her foot connecting with his knee and nearly throwing him off balance.

His hand loosened in her hair for just a second. Just long enough for her to jerk her head back and away from him as she fought his wrist, struggling to keep the knife out of harm’s way. As well as her throat. She made a mental note to ensure that if he actually managed to kill her, she would haunt him until he took that knife to his own throat. The bastard.

“Little bitch,” he snarled as she managed to ram her fist into his nose. “Cunt. Whore.”

Filthy-mouthed prick.

She didn’t have the energy to hold back that knife and curse him at the same time.

A second later she was flying through the air, landing on her back heavily and staring up at the sky as the wind left her body in a rush.

Oh God, that hurt.

She wheezed through the pain as she tried to roll to her side to get back to her feet.

She didn’t have the time. Within a breath that she didn’t have, Alberto was straddling her, one hand locked in her hair to pull her head back, exposing her neck as she flailed about with her hands in an attempt to latch on to his wrist again.

She couldn’t do anything with him. He was too big. Too strong. He was smothering the breath from her chest as he sat on her, strangling her air even as he prepared for the killing stroke of his knife.

She was going to die. And unlike Trent’s “death,” hers would be forever.

Dots danced before her eyes as she struggled to breathe. Darkness edged at her mind and her eyes grew dazed as she watched his arm pull back. Watched the blade glint, sunlight striking off it, nearly blinding her.

As she accepted the fact that she couldn’t throw him, couldn’t evade that night, a curious roar filled the air. It was enraged, animalistic, and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up in primal response.

As the swift arc of the knife closed on her throat, she was suddenly free.

The unexpected rush of air had her strangling, oxygen wheezing through her lungs as she was jerked roughly from the ground and shoved into the dubious protection of the tall hedges that made the corridor.

She slumped in the snow, shaking her head as she fought to understand exactly what had happened. When she managed to clear her vision and focus, it was over.

John’s fist rammed into Alberto’s bloody face, the force of it driving the other man’s head back and slumping him to the ground.

“Take care of this.” John jumped back from the body, scooping the knife up as he moved as he turned to Travis, his gray eyes snapping with storm-cloud intensity. “I want to know who hired him and why before you return. Understood?”

Travis nodded sharply before using the ripped sleeve of Alberto’s long-sleeved shirt to secure his hands. He ripped the material away casually, tied it tight around the other man’s wrists, then hauled him up until he could toss him over his shoulder.

“Bailey.” John was beside her in a second, his hands going to her arm where a long, narrow slice oozed blood.

She blinked up at him.

“Took you long enough,” she managed to wheeze. “Where the hell was Greer’s security? He has cameras every other fucking foot and no one saw this?”

She could feel the anger beginning to burn in her fast and hot. If he wanted her dead that bad, why not just use a bullet?

“The security force was called to check an intrusion on the other side of the property.” Raymond and Myron stepped into the corridor. “We had a break in the fence. A young boy
who had been hired to distract us. Supposedly so your good friend Alberto could sneak in to see his girlfriend.”

She glared at the two men. “Someone hired him, told him where I was.” She moved to her feet as John wrapped his arm around her and lifted her against him. “It had to have been someone here.”

They looked at each other, frowned, then turned back to her.

“No one involved in our special negotiations would have done this,” Myron informed her. “They would have known better. Warbucks doesn’t want you dead, Bailey. As you yourself know, there’s no desire to see your vast holdings left to charity. Why else would an order have been given to Orion to keep you alive?”

Myron made the statement so casually. As though the death of her parents meant nothing, whereas her own would mean a loss of financial holdings.

“I’ll find out who it was,” John stated. “Travis will question Alberto before dumping his body where it will serve as the best message to anyone else stupid enough to threaten me or mine.”

Could a man’s tone, or his words, more clearly declare ownership? Bailey shot him a glare beneath her lashes. She didn’t belong to anyone, least of all an arrogant “dead” man who had no intentions of sticking around once his mission was complete.

“You trust your man in this, then?” Myron asked. “We could have taken care of it here.”

“You didn’t take care of your security, gentlemen,” he snarled. “I’m beginning to doubt the safekeeping of any item my clients may purchase as well. You can’t ensure the safety of your guests.”

With that, he lifted Bailey into his arms, carrying her as though her leg had been sliced off rather than her arm scratched deeply.

She’d actually come out of this little fight much better than she had expected to, she told herself. She was still alive.
She might not need stitches. She was still breathing and John was rabid with anger and concern.

What more could a woman want?

Pain shot through her, perhaps mockingly, as the slice in her arm throbbed. She let herself relax in John’s embrace, though, and allowed him to slip her through the back of the house and up the stairs to their room.

Guests were none the wiser, and hopefully there would be no gossip to take care of later. If she could just get through this, get the wound cleaned and bandaged, then she should be good to go. At least until the next attack. Damn, she could use a vacation.

“From now on, you don’t enter that garden,” John ordered roughly as he laid her on the bed. “Understood?”

“Yes, boss,” she murmured mockingly as the door opened again.

Looking up again she watched, her expression closed, as Jerric Abbas and his rumored lover, Catalina Lamont, entered the bedroom and closed the door behind them.

“Is she all right?” Jerric asked quietly, his voice, his manner calm and unfeeling.

Bailey felt tears come to her eyes. How like David he still was, despite his attempts to appear otherwise. The same look in his eyes, the same tight controlled line of his lips when concerned.