The Maze (ATCOM) (6 page)

When
the leader finished reprimanding his man, he turned to Noah. “Carry her.”

One
of the men cut the ropes binding Noah’s hands. “Try anything and you’ll be shot
on sight.”

Noah
gave a brief nod of understanding as Attie was thrust into his arms. He cradled
her against his chest, tucking her head into his shoulder. The involuntary rest
would be good for her. She needed her strength for what lie ahead. He could go
a long time without rest, but she couldn’t anymore.

He
had trained in some of the most grueling environments under the most intense
conditions as a SEAL. That training would get him through. He could carry Attie
the entire way if she’d let him.

The
swelling on her jaw was quickly turning into a bruise. Her face was pale except
for two red spots on her cheeks from the wind and cold. The last time he’d held
her like this had been in South America when he led a team in to rescue her.
The memory made him hold tighter.

Noah’s
legs moved of their own accord—he was lost in the memory of when he found Attie
in that foul smelling hellhole beneath Santiago’s estate. The rooms had been
cleverly hidden and if not for St. Klare’s computer hacking skills they never
would have known they were there.

Seeing
her like that had been harder than anything he’d ever done. He’d wanted to
destroy Santiago and every inch of his estate. And had. Kyle Brandt, their
explosives expert, had laid the property to waste.

They
hadn’t gotten Santiago. Somehow the bastard escaped during the battle. But they
had put a major monkey wrench in his operation. Watching Santiago’s poppy
fields burn had soothed the pain, but not enough to forget the need for revenge
they all felt that day. They had lost an agent. Expressions had been grim as
they watched MacGregor try to keep Attie alive until they got her to the
hospital hidden in ATCOM’s underground base.

Looking
down, he vowed to never let Santiago hurt Attie like that again.

* * * *

Attie
opened her eyes with a groan. Sitting up, she blinked against the pain in her
head and looked over to see Noah sitting beside her, his thigh flush with hers,
his bound hands resting on a bent knee. She tried to read his expression, but
couldn’t, as usual. If he noticed her staring at him he ignored it and
continued to stare ahead at the Uzis pointed at their heads. He appeared
relaxed and at ease, but she could feel the taut muscles in his thigh and
noticed a muscle working in his jaw. Stubble dusted his jaw and he had put his
skullcap back on, making him look more savage than agent.

She
began to ask him how long she’d been out, but their captor spoke first. “Ah,
sleeping beauty awakes. Just in time. We’ve arrived.”

Attie
looked ahead of her, seeing nothing but a mountain peak. Dense trees surrounded
them. Otherwise she couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, no buildings or
cabins.

“Arrived
where?” she asked.

“At
your personal hell.”

Attie
scoffed. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve been there and, trust me, this
isn’t it.”

Out
the corner of her eye she saw a muscle flex in Noah’s jaw.

“We’ll
see. Let’s move.”

They
were hauled to their feet and shoved toward the rock wall looming in front of
them. As they approached she frowned, wondering just where they were going.

No
sooner had the thought crossed her mind than the mountain wall suddenly opened
up to allow them entrance. Attie gaped, glancing at Noah to see if it was real
or an illusion. He met her gaze with a look of wary surprise.

The
mountain had indeed just opened up like something out a sci-fi movie. Attie
stopped, unable to comprehend what she was seeing.

“Keep
moving,” the leader barked, but this time no one nudged her along.

A
chill swept over her as they walked inside the mountain and the wall magically
closed behind them with barely a whisper. To her disbelief, they stood in a
well-lit corridor with a door at the opposite end. If she didn’t know better
she would assume they’d just entered someone’s home. It felt wrong and made her
want to run. But there was nowhere to run. The door that had shut behind them
had no handles or hinges.

They
were prisoners.

The
walls and floor were pristine white and glossed to a shine, making it feel even
more wrong. She glanced at Noah, but his expression was unreadable.

The
leader left them under guard with the other three men and walked down the hall
toward the door that opened automatically when he approached. He returned a few
minutes later with white robes and told them to strip.

“I
don’t think so,” Attie said.

An
Uzi pressed to her temple.

“Go
ahead, shoot me. I’m not undressing in front of you.”

“Your
wet clothes must stay out here. Your rooms are ready.”

“Rooms?
Just what is this place, because it sure as hell isn’t the Ramada.”

Her
questions went ignored. “Your clothes.”

One
of the white terry cloth robes was shoved at her, another at Noah, who shrugged
out of his parka let it drop to the floor. His t-shirt followed.

She
tore her eyes away from the broad expanse of his chest, remembering how taut
and smooth his skin had felt beneath her hands, and began undressing, glaring
at the men watching her. She had no desire to let them see her nude body. Once
out of her parka, she slipped into her robe and proceeded to take off her
clothes underneath the barrier. She carefully tucked the knife out of her boot
into her sleeve before straightening. She scowled when her red thong fell out
of her pants and landed on Noah’s bare foot.

He
cocked an eyebrow and for the first time in her life Attie blushed. She glared
at him, daring him to say anything. He didn’t get the chance to.

“This
way.”

“What
about our packs?” Attie asked.

“You
won’t need them.”

“And
our clothes?”

“You
won’t need them either.”

They
were led down the corridor. The door at the end magically opened when they
approached. Attie glanced up to see a camera mounted in the corner, tracking
their movement.

Stunned
didn’t even begin to explain her reaction when they walked through the door. It
was as if they entered a luxurious living room in someone’s home. Open and
spacious, with a leather sofa and matching chairs set up in front of an
electric fireplace. A tall bookcase occupied one wall and an expensive Persian
rug covered the floor. Another door similar to the one they’d just entered sat
to the left.

Attie’s
head pounded, her jaw ached and her mind refused to accept any of this. Carlos
had built a fortress inside a mountain. That made her very, very nervous.

“This
way. You have two hours before dinner.”

They
walked toward the door, which opened the same as the other. They were in
another corridor that resembled the last except for two doors on the right and
one at the end. They stopped at the first door, which opened automatically. On
remote from a control room by whoever watched through the cameras, Attie
guessed.

“This
one is yours, Deason. You’ll find a change of clothes and all the necessary
items you need to prepare for dinner. A word of warning: there are no windows,
no locks and no way out until we come for you, so don’t waste your time trying
to escape.”

“We’re
prisoners,” Attie said.

“Yes,
you are.”

Noah
was ushered into the room. Attie noticed his hesitation as he stepped through
the doorway. He sent her a look that warned her to watch her back, just before
the door slid closed. Her turn. They walked to the next room and pushed her
inside without a word.

The
door closed. Trapped, Attie looked around at the bedroom and adjoining bath.
Her stomach plummeted to her feet. Dear God. She was in her suite in South
America.

Everything
had been replicated, right down to the nightgown she had been wearing the night
she slipped into Seth’s room to pass him a flash drive loaded with intel she’d
gathered on Santiago. The night Seth had told her Noah was aborting their
mission. The night Santiago walked in…

Memories
crashed in around her. Attie shoved them down and ran to the closet to throw
open the doors. Inside were rows of expensive gowns and shoes to match. They
were slinky, revealing and useless. Just the way Carlos liked them.

Clenching
her trembling hands into fists, she moved over to the dresser and opened the
top drawer. Silk and lace panties. She slammed it closed and jerked the next
one open to find the same style bras. The third held negligees. Déjà vu hit her
like a wrecking ball and she stumbled back a step, her hand covering her mouth
to stifle a sob. Her legs went weak. She managed to walk to the bed before
collapsing.

Carlos
had done this, no doubt. As his trophy she’d endured mindless parties in
useless clothes that made her feel cheap. Her purpose had always been
well-defined: dress up, smile, work the room and do as told. Carlos had made
that very clear her first day there. And every day after that, sometimes in
ways she shuddered to think about.

Attie
took a deep breath in attempt to pull herself together. For all their sakes,
she needed to bury her past and deal with today, because one thing she knew
about Carlos was that he hated disloyalty. Whenever one of his
people
betrayed him, he took it personally and handed out a harsh penalty. She’d seen
his forms of punishment and prayed he would save it for her and not Brendan.
This was about her, this room confirmed that, but she had no idea what Carlos
had in store for her.

She
looked around the room and felt a cold chill snake up her spine. This resembled
a place she never wanted to be again.

She
was a prisoner of Carlos Santiago.

Chapter
6

“We
lost GPS,” Rogan St. Klare informed his boss from where he sat across the desk.
“Not because of the remote area. It was something else. Either the marker was
found or…hell, I don’t know. It’s like they dropped off the face of the earth.
Just…disappeared.”

Max
frowned. Rogan was a techno geek with a surfer’s shag and his signature
Hawaiian print shirts. Tonight he had on a bright yellow pineapple print. It
boggled Max’s mind how anyone could wear such hideous clothes, but he supposed
living on an island had its perks.

“You
have their last location?”

Rogan
cocked a brow and Max waved the ridiculous question away. He didn’t know why he
asked. Rogan would know what Noah and Attie had for dinner, he was that good.

“The
team is on standby. We have no communication with Noah now?”

“Nope,
none. Which is damn irritating. I worked hard on that new mic. No matter where
they are we should still have communication ability. That mic has a fifty mile
range.”

“Think
it was destroyed?”

Rogan
shook his head. “I’d like to see someone try. No, I’m still picking up the
device, but it isn’t reading a location. Weird.”

Max
had to agree. “So, we insert where they were last located.”

Rogan
stood, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah, I’d like to do some investigating.
Shouldn’t have lost them like that. Who’s leading the team in?”

“MacKenzie.”

“Good,
I’m on it. We’ll find them.”

Max
waited until the door had closed to lean back in his chair and let out a long
breath. He was tense; his muscles felt like coiled springs. Opening the top
drawer of his desk, he picked up a small red ball and began squeezing it.

A
light knock sounded on the door just before it opened. His assistant, Sheri,
walked in, her mouth set in a firm line. She looked at him, then at his hand
and pursed her lips even more. “You’re not helping anyone by burning the
midnight oil,” she said. She was a damn fine assistant, if a little too bossy.
Sometimes he wondered who really ran his company. “How many times have I told
you that thing isn’t going to work?”

Too
many to count. And his stress ball did work. He was feeling better already.
Okay, that was a lie.

“My
worry stone is missing,” he said, just to get a rise out of her. He didn’t know
why he did it, but seeing the fire in her eyes made him feel better.

Sheri
waved him off. “Worry stone,” she scoffed, closing the door behind her. “Okay,
boss man, on the floor. We’re going to relieve your stress the right way. Do
you have your mat?”

He
was too old for this, Max thought, as he put the stress ball back in its drawer
and reached beneath his desk for the yoga mat he kept hidden. God help him if
any of his agents found out he did yoga.

Sheri
already had hers laid out on the floor and was putting a CD in the player.
Soothing, ocean sounds came through the speakers as she lowered herself to her
mat.

Max
did the same and after taking off his shoes, waited for her to begin.

With
a serene expression that was far from the true Sheri, she began her instruction
and Max followed dolefully along, praying this helped ease his tension over his
missing agents.

* * * *

Noah
dropped a handful of transmitters in the toilet and flushed them. Without a
tracking device he couldn’t be sure whether he’d gotten them all or not.
Santiago had gone to a lot of trouble to spy on his guests. He also kept them
in luxury, which didn’t make any sense at all. They were prisoners being
treated like royalty. The closet was full of expensive suits, which were near
his size, no doubt tailored for Brendan.

The
whole thing made him uneasy. This place boggled the mind. But, it made sense.
Santiago always went to ground when the heat was on. The reason no one could
take him down. And now Noah knew why. To Santiago’s credit, this was a
brilliant place to hide. Unbelievable, but brilliant.

With
a curse Noah looked around him. Santiago was in control—for now. He didn’t like
being out of contact with Attie. He could only assume they’d put her in the
next room. She was one woman against four men if they decided to try anything.
He knew she could hold her own due to training and skill, but she was heavily
outnumbered and the odds were against her.

Jaw
clenched, Noah walked into the bathroom. He hoped to hell Attie was alone in
her room. He didn’t like the way those thugs were looking at her while she
undressed.

To
help her, he’d need a shower and a short nap. Stripping out of his robe, he
stepped into the shower and turned the water on, letting it pound away some of
his apprehension. An image of Attie’s red thong flashed through his head,
creating a wave of heat that rushed straight to his groin. Lowering his head
and bracing a hand on the wall, he smothered a groan and let the hot water
pound over the back of his neck and shoulders. Not the time to be thinking
about that kiss and Attie in a thong.

He
had more crucial things to think about. Like, just what the hell they had
walked into. Santiago had gone to great lengths to carve out the inside of a
mountain. Noah doubted his revenge on Attie would know any bounds. Whatever he
had planned, Noah would be prepared. And he would complete his mission. Even if
it killed him.

* * * *

Attie
prowled the room. She’d found and flushed all the listening devices she could
find, six in all, then soaked in a hot bath with lavender smelling salts that
warmed and soothed her aching body. She stayed in long enough to wash her hair,
then found her courage and searched the closet for something reasonably decent
to wear. Fatigues or jeans were preferable, but she settled for a jade green,
scoop neck, silk gown that dipped way too low in the back and left her legs
exposed, but she had no other choice. Most of the gowns reminded her of
Santiago. Only a couple remained and this was the least revealing. She hated
it, but it was either wear the godforsaken thing or go naked.

She
pulled her hair into a tight ponytail and tried not to lose her patience while
waiting for someone to come for her. She’d tried the door without success.
Trapped. The thought only made her more edgy and restless.

The
last time she’d seen Carlos flooded in like a tidal wave. Him with a knife. A
dark room. The sound of rusty hinges as the door opened. The metallic scent of
her fear.

“Get
a grip, Devayne,” she chided herself, shaking out her hands to relieve some of
the tension, but her memories wouldn’t be shut out. They assaulted her with
force, pushing their way in and making her remember…

It
was hotter than usual. The sun beat down on her bare back as she sunbathed on
the deck of Carlos’s yacht. He had whisked her off the estate early this
morning without explanation and now they were in the Caribbean joy-riding on
this luxurious vessel.

Or
so she thought.

Carlos
had a guest they had picked up in Cartagena. A shady-looking fellow despite his
designer clothes. Attie lounged in a chair, hands folded under her chin, dark
glasses shading her eyes. The gold chain around her neck clung heavily to her
damp skin. Although the salty breeze was cool, she was hot and miserable. She
wasn’t adjusting to the heavy, oppressive heat of the tropics and longed for
the thinner, cleaner air of the mountains.

Pretending
to be asleep, she watched Carlos speak to his guest with a calm, pleasant
expression, but Attie knew better. There was nothing pleasant about this man.

Then
he smiled and Attie’s heart stopped. It went against everything she was to
pretend to be asleep as Carlos looped a homemade noose around his guest’s neck
and, with a nod, had two of his guards toss the man overboard into the churning
sea.

Attie
stifled a gasp, fighting to remain still. This wasn’t the first time she’d
witnessed Carlos’s cruelties, but it was the first murder. The agent in her
wanted to go after the man being towed beside the yacht, but she remained in
her chair, knowing that if she did Carlos would kill her too. She couldn’t risk
blowing her cover this far into the game. Without backup she would surely lose
the battle so she focused on her breathing, said a prayer for the unlucky guest
and willed her muscles to relax.

The
murder couldn’t be pinned on him. The body would be shark food, never to be
recovered. Clever on Carlos’s part. No evidence. No trail. And a witness
without proof.

Carlos
turned to her.

She
stiffened, cursing her reaction and pretending to still be asleep, sighed and
tilted her head to the side.

“Mi
amor,” Carlos called out.

Attie
remained motionless.

“Roll
over, before you burn that lovely skin of yours.”

Attie
murmured her thanks and rolled sleepily onto her back, settling quickly into a
relaxed position.

Carlos
must have been satisfied with her performance, because he left her alone. Attie
wanted to sigh with relief, but due to close observation, refrained. She
resisted the urge to touch the necklace resting uncomfortably around her neck.
She hated it more than anything Carlos had given her this far. It fed her fear
and challenged her restraint on a regular basis…

Attie’s
hand lifted involuntarily to her throat and met nothing but bare skin. She let
out a long, sharp breath. No necklace. Thank God. Unwillingly, her shoulders
sagged. At one time she’d been ready to dismember her own head in order to get
the damn thing off. To this day she wasn’t able to wear a necklace of any kind.

Her
skin tingled in remembrance of the device she’d grown to hate. And fear.

Realizing
what she was doing she jerked her hand away and dropped down to her hands and
feet in a push-up position. It was the only way she knew to release the tension
she felt. One way or another, she would remove Carlos from her thoughts.

* * * *

Noah
was waiting when the door slid open. Two armed guards waited for him to step
out of the room. When he did, they herded him toward the next door.

Attie
came striding into the hallway, heels clicking on the floor.

Noah
blinked.

Stunning
in a dress as green as her eyes that molded her curves like a second skin and
left nothing to the imagination, she was beautiful, confident and sexy. He had
never seen Attie dressed like a
woman.
He’d only seen her at the academy
or in the field in combat gear.

But,
something was wrong with this picture. His eyes narrowed slightly. She met his
eyes with a look that dared him to comment. He didn’t, but he saw the demons
lingering in her eyes, the residual of time gone by and the pain of things she
never spoke of.

The
self-confident set of her shoulders betrayed her emotions as they walked toward
the door at the end of the hall. He watched the feminine sway of her hips as
she walked, as comfortable in heels as she was in combat boots and for a moment
he got a glimpse of the woman she’d pretended to be in South America. American
beauty. Sexy playmate. No wonder Santiago had issued such cruelty in that
prison. Betrayal by a woman like that would cut deep.

The
door slid open. They walked through into an elaborate dining room with a long,
polished table stretching the length of the room. The walls were richly
decorated in paintings resembling Picasso’s. A chandelier hung over the center
of the table providing soft light. Sensational scents filled the air with the
promise of a fine meal.

One
man sat in the shadows at the head of the table, another on his left and armed
guards all around.

Noah
stood behind Attie, noticing the tense set of her shoulders. This would be the
first time he’d met Santiago. He knew him on paper, in video, in theory, but
he’d never come face to face with the man. Now that he had him, he wanted to
end this for what he’d put her through—what he was still putting her through.

The
man at the head of the table stood and moved into the light. Noah tramped down
his carnal desire to kill the bastard right then and there with his bare hands,
and faced the enemy.

He
was a patient man. He would wait for the right time.

That’s
what ATCOM had sent him in for.

* * * *

Attie
felt the blood drain from her face as Carlos stood and made himself known.
She’d prepared herself for this moment since Noah brought her the news of
Brendan’s disappearance, but seeing him now proved she hadn’t prepared at all.
She stood on weak knees, paralyzed, as the one responsible for her nightmares
smiled at her.

Oh,
God, that smile. It brought back too many memories.

Fighting
the fist that closed around her throat, she struggled to maintain her
composure. An arm brushed against hers. She glanced over to see Noah now stood
beside her. He met her gaze with calm strength. Subtle and brief, but enough to
alleviate some of her fear. Unlike before, she wasn’t alone in this. The
thought brought her comfort she hadn’t expected.