Hidden Agendas (37 page)

Kira would be lucky to pull out of this. The shot was too damned close to her heart. Someone had aimed to kill, not wound.

"No one knew about this tunnel," Markwell informed him as they rounded another bend. "I hadn't even told Catherine about it when I found it. I just had the gates welded closed and forgot about it."

"Shut up, I can't hear anything."

It was an excuse. He could hear too damned well, and the problem was, there was nothing to hear. Not a whimper or conversation or the sound of orders. In this tunnel sound would travel far.

"Is there another exit?"

"Nothing," Markwell answered quickly.

The women had been in the ladies' room for close to fifteen minutes. The kidnappers would have a vehicle waiting. Goddammit, he wasn't going to get to her time. Once again, he wasn't going to be able to save the woman he loved.

He would kill Fuentes himself, Kell swore. If Emily sustained so much as a damned bruise then he would go hunting when all this was over. When it was over and he had Emily in his arms, in his bed. When she was safe.

He couldn't consider anything less. God help him, if he lost her, he would never survive it. He couldn't live with the knowledge that he had let her down, that he hadn't protected her well enough.

Visions of Tansy raced through his head then. Her fragile body twisted on the old mattress where he had tried to hide her.

Had she screamed his name? He knew she had. Sometimes he heard her voice in his nightmares, screaming for him, begging him to save her. He couldn't add Emily's voice to those demonic dreams.

He couldn't let it happen. She was his life. She was every dream he hadn't dared to allow himself and couldn't keep from reaching for.

Glancing at the sandy dirt of the tunnel, his brows drew into a frown. Sand. When he had stared down at Kira's body he had seen sand on Jansen Clay's shoes. Not a lot, so little that his gaze had at first passed over it. But it had been there. And beside Kira's body and beside Elaine's he had seen the same sand.

Jansen Clay would have known of every move Kell and his team were making. Even if Richard and the admiral hadn't informed him about the exact nature of what was going on, he would have been smart enough to figure it out. An ex-Navy SEAL, and one of the best, Jansen could have accessed via his position at the Pentagon on Homeland Defense whatever he hadn't figured out himself.

"Macey." He lifted his wrist to his mouth and activated the radio.

"Copy," Macey snapped into the receiver.

"Where's Clay?"

"His limo just left. Mrs. Clay finally came around and he was taking her to their private doctor."

"Where are you?"

There was a heavy silence.

"Macey?"

"I'm at the wash, Kell. There are no vehicles, no bodies, but evidence that both were here. They're gone."

Kell snarled. "It's Clay."

"Are you fucking crazy?" Markwell muttered behind him.

"Got your laptop?" Kell asked Macey.

"It's in the limo, heading back there now. Do we turn on the tracker?"

"Negative," Ian snapped on the line. "Do not activate the skin-tag. Not yet."

"Kell?" Macey questioned him.

"Tap into radar," Kell ordered him. "Hack Defense. I want to know if anything lifts off from a private airfield anywhere in the vicinity."

"Got it."

The scent of fresh air grew stronger as Kell practically ran through the tunnel. He came into the wash minutes later through the thick stand of brush covering it as Reno and the rest of the team materialized from the surrounding woods, followed by the Secret Service agents assigned to back them.

"How did you overlook the wash?" Kell snarled to the agent in charge. "It was your job to contain the perimeter."

"No excuse, sir," the agent growled. "We missed it."

"He was meant to miss it," Markwell argued. "Hell, Kell. it's well hidden."

"No excuse, sir," the agent repeated.

"Macey's on the laptop. Jansen Clay is our Mr. White," Kell snapped.

Stunned silence met his words as Reno's head snapped around and his gaze pinned on Kell.

"You're certain?"

"There's a sandy soil in the tunnel. These grounds are heavily vegetated. Clay had that sand on his shoes, I saw it myself when he was standing over Kira. Is there a report on her?"

"Ambulance is loading her now," Reno reported. "She's alive but in bad shape."

"Conscious?"

"Negative," Reno stated as they rushed up the incline to the limo.

"Ian," Kell snapped into the radio. "Get her loaded then steal one of Markwell’s vehicles and follow behind."

"Got it!"

"At least I have insurance." Markwell sighed.

"Kell, Jansen's daughter was raped during that kidnapping," Reno snarled. "You have to be wrong about this."

"I'm not wrong about this."

Kell was aware of the implication. Jansen Clay had caused the death of the daughter of one of his friends, Carrie Bridgeport. But Risa was his own daughter.

"The bastard's dead," Reno snarled. "Fucking dead."

"Kell, I have a lock on radar," Macey called from inside the limo. "There are three private airfields close by; one was shut down last year when the owners left the property."

"That's the one we want, load up."

The limo wasn't the quickest way to get to where they needed to go, but it was their only choice. The six men loaded in, their expressions savagely intent, weapons held ready.

"Where's the bastard Reno caught with the gun?" Kell asked as the limo burned rubber pulling out.

"Gator bait," Reno answered. "He's trussed up about four feet off the ground and waiting on the admiral to collect him. Shouldn't we call the admiral?"

"Called," Macey informed them. "I called his secured cell as I was pulling in. He's arranging things on his end in case we don't catch them before they lift off."

"Not an option," Kell bit out. "They do not lift off."

He was aware of the looks he was receiving from the other men. Jansen had delayed him too long outside the bathroom; the kidnappers had a head start on them, as did Clay. The airfield was in the opposite direction of the wash and they were playing catch-up in a vehicle not meant to catch up.

"We have a Gulfstream lifting off," Macey reported, his voice heavy with regret and resignation as the limo slid onto the side road just in time to see the private jet lifting into the air.

"It's changing call signs. Son of a bitch, Homeland Security has just designated it as a passenger liner."

"Tag it," Kell snapped.

The limo slammed to a stop.

"Get us back to the senator's house," Kell commanded. "Macey, keep that plane in sight, do you understand me?"

"Understanding, Kell," he answered shortly.

Jerking his cell phone from the clip on his slacks, Kell keyed in the senator's number quickly.

"Meet at the house. Do you still have your supplies?" Guns, ammo, everything a SEAL would need to defend himself.

"That and more," the senator snapped, his voice husky. "We're hauling everything out now and waiting for you."

"Clear our way, we're heading back at top speed and I don't have time to deal with the cops in this state."

"Taken care of," the senator snapped. "I have your six, just get said six here pronto. Out."

"Put it to the floor, Macey," Kell demanded, forcing himself to relax back against his seat. "The senator's arming us, expect the admiral to have air gear in place by the time we arrive. Macey, keep him updated on the Gulfstream's tags. I want to know where and when that bastard lands the second he puts down."

"Tagging in progress, chief, but he has help. Homeland Security is changing his call signs like they're free.

Let's hope this program works."

"Hope?" Kell growled.

"It'll work. It'll work," Macey promised desperately. "Hell yes, or I'll shoot it."

Kell dragged his fingers through his hair and blew out an unsteady breath as his gaze met Reno's.

"We'll find her, Kell." Reno stared back at him with savage determination. "We'll get to her in time."

They had to find her. For the first time in fifteen years, Kell began to pray.

Emily knew exactly what had happened when she awoke. The knowledge was just there, certain, painful.

Her eyes fluttered open and she took a deep, fortifying breath. She had obviously been out for quite a long time because she wasn't in a car or a plane, she was lying on a cot in a dark room that smelled of wet soil and desperation.

It was too similar to the first kidnapping, but this time Jansen wasn't standing over her, his smile compassionate, his eyes hard. She remembered it now, clearly. How he had entered that shack just after she had been shoved inside it with the other girls. He had shaken his head at her and told her that her father should have chosen his friends more wisely.

And his daughter, his own daughter, Risa had stared back at him, dazed, in shock, because he had allowed one of those bastards to touch her. To rape her.

Tears filled her eyes now at the memory. How Risa had screamed for his help, begged him to make her rapist stop hurting her.

Please, Daddy. Please
, she had screamed. But Jansen hadn't made them stop. He had been silent, aloof, allowing the men to rape both Risa and Carrie, while ordering them away from Emily. Declaring that he would take care of her personally.

He had betrayed his own child.

He had helped Fuentes's men hold them down after that while another shoved the syringe in each girl's arm.

She whimpered at the memory. Why hadn't she rememered it? How could she have so completely forgotten the monster he was? How could she have ever forgotten the monster who had allowed other men to rape his own child while saving Emily's virginity for himself.

By time I finish with you, you'll belong to me. You'll beg for my cock. Beg for my touch. The
perfect pet for myself and Elaine. She will so enjoy tasting every sweet inch of your body before I
take you.

Emily nearly threw up at the memory. She could still see Risa's eyes, the burning rage in the pale blue depths, the murderous hatred and shocked horror.

No wonder Clay had been forced to have her institutionalized. Risa must have somehow remembered.

Carrie had died, she hadn't been a threat, but Risa, Risa had never forgotten. The complete horrifying betrayal her father had dealt her had been too much for even that drug to erase.

Easing up from the cot she lay on, Emily whimpered as her stomach spasmed and nausea thickened in her throat.

"Don't move too fast. That drug will pop in your head like a bullet if you do," a dark, male voice warned her.

It was too late. Her head jerked to the side as blinding pain shot across her skull. And she should have known better. She should have been prepared for the pain, because it wasn't the first time it had happened.

"Easy, girl." The voice was weary, strained. "I can't help you. Just ease up. They left some water on the little table beside you. It will help."

Holding her head, Emily rose up again on the thin mattress, reaching shakily for the glass that sat beside a crude pitcher. The water was stale, but clean, and though it did nothing for the pain, it eased the horrible dryness in her mouth.

She had to think now, she reminded herself. She had to find a way out of this. Kell couldn't save her this time. This time, Jansen would make certain he couldn't find her. Somehow, they had found the weapon she had strapped to her thigh, because it was gone. But the skin-tag was still on her back. She could feel it. It was her only hope.

"It's hard to believe Kell let you out of his sight long enough for you to be kidnapped." A heavy sigh followed the words. "Hell, I thought he'd have figured out who Mr. White was by now and come racing to my rescue."

She lifted her head, peering through the dim light to the man crouched in the corner of the room, his brilliant blue eyes blazing through the darkness with an almost demonic brightness.

She knew those eyes. She had attended his memorial service when the DNA results of a recovered body had come through weeks after her release from the hospital.

"Nathan?" she whispered. "Are you Kell's friend? Nathan Malone? Captain Malone's nephew?"

A crazed smile tilted his lips.

"Yeah. That's me." A soft lilt accompanied the mocking reflection. "What's left of me. And I assume you're Emily. It's been a while and the light isn't at its best in here."

Emily glanced around the room. There was a sliver of moonlight shining in from a barred hole above the bed and a whiff of a sea-laden breeze.

"Where are we?" It wasn't where she had been before. Then, she could smell the rotting vegetation of the jungle and hear the call of exotic birds. None of that was present now.

"Not sure." There was a shrug in his words. "Near the ocean. I'm guessing California from some of the slang I've heard from the guards, but I have no idea what part."

Emily massaged her forehead slowly, fighting the dizziness that threatened to overcome her and the sick heaving of her stomach.

"They've been checking on you every little bit," he informed her. "They're about due back. Jansen seems pretty concerned that you hadn't woken yet."

Jansen. Emily clenched her teeth against the sickness threatening to choke her. She had trusted him. Her father trusted him. His daughter had trusted him.

God, why hadn't she remembered? Except for the nightmares, she realized. Until Kell had come, she had suffered from nightmares each time she met with Jansen. And now she knew why.

"Bastard," she muttered.

A snort came from the corner. "Kell told me once that you don't cuss."

"Well, Kell was wrong," she muttered. "I just see no need to insert four-letter words into every other sentence I speak."

She inhaled slowly as the pain in her head began to subside marginally.

She remembered Jansen and Fuentes arguing that night, outside the shack. Jansen had wanted to have her moved immediately, to fly her to Switzerland where he could hide her. Then the other girls, Carrie and his daughter Risa, were to be given to Sorrell.