Running on Empty (3 page)

The instant the light turned red and pedestrian traffic was allowed, Sabrina crossed the street at a run. Declan was still there. Odd, but he looked as though he’d put on some weight. She grinned at the thought of teasing him about secretly hiding away and stuffing himself. 

She took another step and barely registered the jolt and massive noise before her feet flew out from under her, and she was propelled backward. As she landed with a hard slam onto her back, her breath left her body. She lay for several long seconds as her mind scrambled to comprehend what had happened. Pain radiated throughout her body. What in the world…? 

Breath finally returned, and gritting her teeth, Sabrina sat up. Horror washed over her. The restaurant was gone. Flattened. Demolished. The remains were heaps of ravaged brick and burning wood. The building had exploded. 

Declan? Declan!

Darkness threatened, and she fought against its comforting pull. She went to her knees, and then stood, wavering. Her head swam, and blackness skirted the outer edges of her vision. An odd numbness swept up her right arm. Absently, as if she was looking down at a stranger, she noticed a large piece of wood sticking out of her shoulder. Blood dripped down her arm to the ground.

Sabrina tried to hold on to reality, to the fierce need to get to Declan. He couldn’t be dead. He was trained for things like this. He would have heard the beginnings of the blast and flung himself away from the building. Yes, he might be injured, but he wasn’t dead. She refused to even consider the possibility. 

She took a step, felt a vague, distant pain on the bottom of her feet. Odd, but she was barefoot. Her shoes were gone. Ignoring the smoldering wood that scorched her skin and the broken glass that shredded her feet, she weaved and hobbled her way closer to the demolished building. 

Declan was fine, she continued to reassure herself. Still, she needed to find him so they could help others. She jerked to a stop. A few feet from where the café had stood lay an arm beneath the rubble. Her heart stalled, her breath halted. It was tanned, large, obviously male, and on the hand was a wedding ring identical to Declan’s. 

Shaking her head, mumbling, “No, no, no,” she pushed the debris out of the way and pulled on the hand. It came loose. She stood among the ruins of the destroyed building, holding an arm. No body was attached. Her mind screamed in denial, black mist swirled around her, and she fell forward into a blessed, mind-numbing darkness. 

Chapter One

Republic of Congo

Central Africa

Eleven months later

A whomp-whomping noise woke him. His mind, though dulled from malnutrition and brutal beatings, could still recognize the unmistakable sound of a helicopter. He touched his eyes, felt them blink—the only way he knew they were open. How long had he been inside the tank this time? A week? More?

They’d dumped him here after his last interrogation. Not because he had refused to give them information. He’d been here a long time and hadn’t given them shit. Would never give them shit. No, this time the punishment had come from managing to break free for a few seconds and slamming his fist into his torturer’s gut. For the first time in forever, he had felt a spark of triumph...of life. Yeah, it’d gotten him a more severe beating and then thrown into this dark, dank hellhole, but damn, it’d felt good.

He didn’t even think about when they’d let him go back to his regular cell. He preferred being able to see sunlight instead of pitch-dark nothingness, but it was all relative. Hell was hell. At least in here, myriad insects weren’t sucking out the last of his blood.

The helicopter noise grew louder, like it was hovering overhead. New prisoners coming in? When he’d first arrived here, he’d glimpsed a few. But that’d been a long time ago. Months? Maybe years? He had no concept of how long he’d been here. Since he heard the occasional pain-filled scream, he knew some were still here. Had they given up all hope? Did they exist in a state of dull mindlessness, waiting and hoping to be killed, thinking that only death would give the final release of pain? 

Odd how he could wonder about them but feel not one ounce of sympathy. Torture did that. Turned a normal, caring human being into an empty shell—hollowed out and lifeless. No heart, no soul, no humanity.

Gunfire erupted. Sounded like military grade. M4s, maybe? AK-47s? Whoever and whatever, there were several of them. Had someone tried to escape? 

He noticed that his heart rate had picked up. That hadn’t happened in a while. He mentally shrugged. Whatever the reason for the fireworks, the speculation had given him a brief reprieve from misery. 

A loud clanging noise sounded outside his cell. Apparently, it was time for another interrogation. Or would he be taken back to the hole he called home, where the endless sounds of her treachery whispered in his ears? Wouldn’t his torturers get a kick out of knowing that he’d rather take a beating than listen to that soft, soothing voice of betrayal?

Hurried footsteps came closer. He didn’t bother to raise his head. They’d get here soon enough. 

Piercing light penetrated his sight. He squinted his eyes shut. Damn, that hurt. Covering his face with his arm, he lay still. Waited to be hauled out, for an attack…more pain. Coercion, more voices of betrayal. No point in getting to his feet. Why make it easy for them? Besides, if he tried to stand, he’d just fall.

Then he heard a voice. One he hadn’t heard in a very long time. “My God, it is you. It’s really you!”

Was he dreaming? No, he no longer did that. Dreams were for those with hope. So if this wasn’t a dream, was this reality? After all this time…after all the shouting, cursing and praying. After giving up completely, had someone actually come for him?

Seven days later

Somewhere above the Atlantic Ocean

Declan Steele returned from the dead a changed man. Eyes that had once been vibrant blue and glinting with life were now dark, murky…empty. The strong, muscular body that had once carried a comrade ten miles through a sizzling-hot desert was unrecognizable. Thick, dark-as-midnight hair had been replaced with a dull, wild mane that reached well past his thin shoulders. An emaciated wraith, more than thirty pounds underweight, with a bitter twist to his sensuous male lips, stood in his place.

His appearance wasn’t the only change. Hatred seethed and burned within him. He was a hardened, embittered, heartless creature, determined to achieve only one goal—vengeance.

After his rescue, he had been taken to a large private home, where he had been allowed to shower, alone and with clean water. Fresh clothes had been provided, and food that wasn’t covered in maggots or mold had been set before him.

A doctor had given him a physical, declaring him malnourished and anemic but in good shape considering what his body had endured. The doctor had remarked that his captors had been amazingly humane in allowing aid workers to attend to him from time to time. Declan had stared blankly at him. Humane? The word apparently had a different meaning for the physician, because he’d seen no humanity in any of the bastards who’d tortured him daily.

The health aid workers had been beneficial in one aspect, though. Apparently, one of the physicians from the group had told of a tall, dark-haired prisoner with a slight Scottish accent and predilection for quoting Robert Burns. And that had gotten the attention of his former fellow EDJE agent Jackson Sands.

“We’ve been working like mad to get you out. The minute I heard the description of the prisoner, I knew it had to be you.” Jackson shook his head. “Still can’t believe it…we thought you were dead, man. Everyone thought you were dead. That you’d been killed in that explosion in Florence. But then I heard about…” He lifted a broad shoulder. “I just had to make sure. We worked around the clock to save you.”

Jackson had been repeating these words since his rescue. Damning himself for asking, Declan said, “Who?”

The other man’s eyes widened. Was it the shock of Declan finally speaking or the rough gravel of his damaged voice? 

“Who what?”

“Who’s been working like mad?”

“Oh…sorry…my team. I have my own security business now.” He jerked his head toward the two large, silent men across from him. “Meet Neil Erickson and Kyle Ames. I couldn’t have done it without them. Took us a couple of months to pull this off.”

The men remained silent, watching. Declan gave them a nod of acknowledgment and returned his attention to Jackson. “The Agency wasn’t involved?”

“They don’t know we found you. I’ll leave it up to you, when you’re ready, to let them know you’re alive. Sabrina doesn’t know, either. I haven’t been in touch with her since…well, since we thought you were killed. I—”

At the mention of that name, Declan turned away. Discussing the woman and his plans for her was out of the question. This was between the two of them and no one else.

Jackson blew out an explosive sigh and shut up. Declan could tell he made the man uneasy. At one time, he’d been the type to go out of his way to put people at ease. It had been one of his gifts. Those kinds of talents weren’t worth shit anymore.

He had worked with Jackson, had once thought of him as a friend. Even though he had no feelings left in him for anyone, he respected that the man had possessed the balls to carry off a rescue op. A soft emotion like gratitude didn’t fit him anymore, but he owed the three men, Sands, Erickson, and Ames. They’d risked their lives for him. He wouldn’t forget it.

The blue sky and puffy white clouds outside the airplane window were invisible to him as he thought about his next move. He was headed back to the States. He hadn’t asked about their destination. Where he went, where he lived, all of that was meaningless. His heart pumped for one reason only now. To repay the scheming, red-haired witch who’d put him in that hellhole. Sabrina Fox would pay with everything she had. And when he finally put a bullet between her lovely, lying green eyes, she would know exactly how it felt to have your heart ripped out by the one person you loved and trusted above all else. 

And then it would be over for both of them.

Chapter Two

Las Rios, Honduras

Four months later

The dance was on.

Lucia St. Martine lifted her long, auburn hair and, with a twist of her wrist, created a sexy, elegant updo. Securing it with a diamond-studded hair clip, she stepped back to take in her appearance. Yes, her game face was officially in place. Looking in the mirror was a little like watching a familiar play. She knew the cast, the script, and the lines she would deliver. The only question was how the other cast members would respond. Fortunately, she was prepared for every possible scenario. And, like any good actor, she knew when to make her exit.

Once the play ended, she would go back to being Sabrina Fox. For the past month, she had been Lucia, and tonight was the culmination of all of her hard work and preparation. In a few moments, Lucia would be auditioning to become the mistress of Reuben Pierce, part-time terrorist, part-time human trafficker, full-time cold-hearted, sadistic bastard. 

Not that a real audition would take place. She had lured more than one man with promises of ecstasy and left him waiting, wanting…and occasionally in the hospital. She had played this scenario out only a few times for LCR. In her previous job, acting the femme fatale had been one of her primary roles.

Lucia St. Martine had always been one of her favorite covers. Early in her career with EDJE, Sabrina had created the character, and though she’d availed herself of the role only twice before, she had enjoyed the mystique as well as the luxury that came with the woman’s background. Hard not to enjoy fabulously expensive clothes, an elegant residence in Tuscany, and a pearl-white Maserati GranTurismo convertible that would make a race-car driver weep with envy.

Lucia had earned her wealth the old-fashioned way. Her number one priority was pleasure—taking and giving. She was discreet in her sexual liaisons—helpful, since there weren’t any real ones—but if necessary, she could produce half a dozen men who would vouch for her as the most satisfying mistress they’d ever had.

When she had left the Agency, she had taken her covers with her. Without her, there was no need for the Agency to maintain them, so Sabrina had been able to fall back into her role as Lucia with no glitches.

Reuben Pierce had been on the government’s radar for years. His elusiveness had been both infuriating and costly. Sabrina had been on several task forces to bring Pierce down, and each time he had evaded capture. Now she was going to be able to achieve a goal she had never been able to obtain in her previous job.

Declan would be so pleased to know that Pierce was about to go down. How many nights had they sat around and planned his demise only to have him evade them once again? Wouldn’t Declan be…

Shit.
How had he gotten into Lucia’s head? Those totally out-of-place thoughts rattled her. 

A soft, melodic chime sounded outside her door. Show time. Spine straight, shoulders back, the too-vulnerable, brokenhearted Sabrina Fox disappeared. Lucia was back in place.

With one more glance to make sure her game face was set, she turned from the mirror and exited her room. Her sleeveless black evening gown floated around her long legs, creating a fluttering subtle wave of femininity and elegance. Snuggly hugging her body just enough to outline her slender frame, the gown left much to the imagination. She would be accepted in any high-society dinner party and would likely be one of the most conservatively dressed women in attendance. 

There was little reason to blatantly flaunt herself. Pierce could have her stripped with one look. Not that she planned to allow that, but advertising her body wasn’t her intent, either. Mystery and allure would hook the man, not overt sexuality. With Reuben Pierce’s money and influence, he could have some of the most beautiful women in the world with a curl of his short, stubby finger. Though men found her attractive, Sabrina knew she was no great beauty. What she lacked in looks, she made up for in many other ways—talents that would appeal to Pierce.