Weather the Storm (Security Specialists International #3) (35 page)

“What about Elana?” Vanko couldn’t keep the fear out of his voice. “Was she okay?”

“She was unharmed. The Russian motherfuckers used gas. Crocker covered her with his body,” Colonel Walsh swayed into the motion of the helo as it banked sharply to a more easterly heading, “but said she was fine. Scared but fine. He really had planned on getting her back to you safely, son. But Demidas had another plan and sent his man, Zivon.”

“Zivon.” Ice coated Vanko’s veins. “He’s almost as bad as Demidas.”

“That’s what Elana told Crocker,” Colonel Walsh said, “but he heard Zivon shout at his men to stop shooting and not to harm Elana. That’s when they used the gas.”

“Demidas wants her alive,” stated Vanko in grim tones.

“Yes,” Colonel Walsh said. “That was what Crocker said his contact Joe Peters told him.”

“The rest of Crocker’s team is dead?” Vanko wanted to know who he had to go after if anything bad happened to Elana.

“All gone, son.” Colonel Walsh leaned forward and held Vanko’s gaze. “And Crocker will be tried for suborning treason. He’s as good as dead. You won’t need to go hunting. All we have to do now is get your woman back and shoot the Russian douchebags. They’re all wanted criminals—Ren says we have the go to take them out. DIA will cover our asses as will Interpol. The Bahamian authorities will do clean up once we signal them. The danger to your woman ends here.”

Vanko nodded and then added, “Not completely. After we’re done here, we find and kill MacLean for starting it all in the first place.”

The Colonel snorted. “Yeah, that too. DIA has a real hard-on for making that happen. But trust me, SSI will have competition. Every intelligence branch in the U.S. is after that pecker-headed douchebag. His days as a breathing carbon life form are running out.”

Andy nodded. “Devin and I are both out of the Corps at the end of March. We’ll be joining SSI. So, if you haven’t found him by then—and Devin and I hope you haven’t, because we want a piece of him—every Walsh man but Dad will be on the hunt for MacLean. No one hires a hit on Keely and lives to breathe free.”

“You’ll have to fight me for that piece, because he also ordered Crocker to kill Elana.” Vanko looked out the window in the cabin door at the moonlight glittering on the choppy Caribbean waters. “Bring me up to speed on your rescue plan. I don’t want her in that bastard’s hands a second longer than necessary.”

Colonel Walsh outlined the plan which, although thrown together hastily on the two men’s journey from Camp Lejeune to Key Largo, was thoroughly thought out and had an excellent chance of succeeding without much loss of life—and the losses would be on Demidas’s end, not theirs.

Vanko still couldn’t relax even with a solid plan to get Elana back. Right now Demidas could be hurting her. Sharp pain hit his chest as he recalled her fear of the man. And even with the best laid plans, something could go wrong. No, he wouldn’t breathe easy until he had Elana safely back in his arms.

* * * *

Early Tuesday morning, Isla Cay, the Bahamas

Vanko climbed out of the helicopter to be met by Devin Walsh and another tall man who had the look of former military.

“Vanko,” Devin gripped his shoulders and squeezed, “sorry to have to see you again under such circumstances.”

He nodded and returned the warrior greeting and turned to the man who had to be Ren’s friend, John Taylor. “Were you a SEAL like Ren?”

The tall man grinned and nodded. “Yeah. We went through BUDs together.” He held out a huge hand. “John Taylor. Let’s walk and talk.” The former SEAL turned and headed for a nice-sized docking area. “I own Isla Cay and run a pleasure cruise business.” The Walshes kept pace with the two of them.

Devin snorted. “Yeah, and I’m the Easter Bunny.” At Vanko’s questioning look over his shoulder, Devin added, “John does run a cruise business, but he also does open source intelligence gathering for the CIA. His cruises often cover for Uncle Sam’s interests in the area. Ren has also used him for covert ops.”

John chuckled. “What can I say? I like to use my training. Come on, let’s load the gear you brought onto the boat I prepped. There’s also a light, hot meal for you on board.” The tall SEAL pointed to a boat moored at the well-lit dock area. “We’re on a short clock according to the native contact for the mercs. The helo with Ms. Fabrizzio on board landed about two hours ago.”

God, he couldn’t think about much emotional and physical trauma Demidas could have caused by now.

Get with the fucking program, Petriv. Elana needs a warrior, not an emotional basket case.

“How was she?” Vanko was fairly sure none of his turmoil came through as he jumped onto the deck of what appeared to be a mid-size luxury yacht with a dive platform. Appearances were often deceptive. He knew something about yachts, having boarded his share in his undercover drug and sex trafficking days, and Taylor’s had some very sophisticated electronics on board, more than a pleasure yacht would have.

“The young man, Jose, said she was unconscious.” John signaled the driver and the sound of powerful engines broke the peaceful night air. Yeah, way more than a typical pleasure boat. “Demidas met the helo, yelled at Zivon, and carried Elana to his house. Zivon probably sedated her.”

“Elana would’ve fought them.” Vanko fisted his hands as he watched Isla Cay recede behind them. “But I hope she plays it safe. Demidas has hurt her in the past. He doesn’t like being opposed.”

“We’ll get her, Vanko.” Andy squeezed his shoulder.

“But will we get her before…” He couldn’t finish the thought.
Stay in control
.

He could tell by the looks on the men’s faces, they understood what he’d left unsaid. If Demidas raped her, Elana wouldn’t break. She’d survived before, all alone in a new country. This time, he’d be there to hold her at night, to keep the demons at bay. Of course, Demidas would have to die, very slowly and by Vanko’s hands, and he wouldn’t regret the death at all.

I’m coming,
lyubimaya moya
. Stay safe.

Very early Tuesday morning, Demidas’s Island, the Bahamas

Elana kept her eyes shut and her breathing as slow and as normal as possible. It was hard because her heart pounded wildly in her chest and everything primitive in her told her to run. At least her survival mechanisms had flushed the logy feeling out of her mind and body. But then stark raving fear would do that to a person.

He
was here. Watching her. Waiting for her to awaken. His vile hunger for her was an ominous presence in the room, threatening to smother her with its evil weight. His unforgettable stench, an alcohol-laden acrid smell, fouled her nasal passages and the remembered taste of him clogged her throat until she thought she’d choke.

Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod.

Stay calm. Breathe. Plan. Wait. Vanko will come.

Yes, Vanko would come, if he could. Crocker had said Vanko was okay, she had to believe that. Just thinking Vanko’s name, visualizing his face, recalling his caring touches and his love for her gave her the strength to rein in her terror.

Even now Vanko and others were using all their resources to find her. Plus, Crocker had still been breathing when she’d been pulled out from under him. He was unconscious from the gas and might’ve been wounded, but was breathing. He had no love for Demidas. He would help if he could, if for no other reason than to get a deal.

All she had to do was survive. She’d done it before, she could do it again. This time recovery would be easier—she’d have Vanko and his love to see her through the aftermath.

“Why isn’t she awake, Ziv?” Demidas’s hated voice hadn’t changed much in all the years. “I warned you about hurting her. She was wounded. You gave her drugs on top of whatever she’d taken for pain. You could have killed her.”

The bastard should know—he sold every filthy addictive drug made and had indirectly killed untold numbers of users of his product.

“The sedative was mild, Sergei.” Zivon used a voice one might use to calm a rabid beast. “She fought me. I did not want her to pull open her wound.”

“Yes, yes…you did right. I apologize, old friend.” Demidas’s vodka-laden breath wisped over her cheek and he touched her hair, stroking her as if she was a pet.

That was how he thought of her: a precious pet. He’d told her so when she was sixteen.

It was all she could do not to cringe away and sob with the potent emotional cocktail sweeping through her veins. Fear. Rage. Hate. Most of all, hate.

“When will the doctor arrive?” He stroked a finger over her naked shoulders.

Naked shoulders? They’d undressed her? Where were her clothes? The knife Crocker had given her was in her jeans pocket, if they hadn’t found it and taken it away, that is. She needed a weapon. She’d kill Demidas before he could hurt her again—she would do it too—then she’d escape and hide until Vanko came to find her.

A plan was always good to have. Even if it was a shitty plan and probably wouldn’t work. Demidas had always bound her to hurt her; she didn’t imagine he’d changed his modus operandi since then. He couldn’t get it up without tying up his sex objects. But even if that plan didn’t work, she’d make another and then another until one did. She refused to remain in this foul beast’s presence any longer than she had to.

“The doctor will be here within the hour.” Zivon’s voice sounded closer. “Sergei, my friend, she is here now, safely with you. You haven’t slept since we heard of her survival. You should take a nap until the doctor comes. I will call you.”

“You are right as always, Ziv.” Demidas kissed her cheek. She kept herself immobile at his vile touch. She had to be alone to escape and hide. She never thought she’d be grateful to Zivon, but he had played right into her plans. “Have little Rosa sit with her. I want to be awakened as soon as she rouses. I definitely wish to be present while the doctor examines her wound.”

“It will be done, Sergei. Now, come, old friend.”

Elana sensed the two men leave her side, only a lessening of dread in the atmosphere around her told her this was so.

Careful, keep calm. Don’t let them know you’re awake.

The
whoosh
of air and then the
snick
of a door latch reached her ears. She looked through slitted eyes. No one in front of her. She opened her eyes more widely and chanced turning her head on the pillow. No one in the room.

Letting out a sob of relief, she sat up and balanced herself on bent arms as the room swam around her.
Move slowly, dummy
. Even though the open French doors to the patio and the jungle beyond beckoned, she wouldn’t be running any time soon especially since she had no clothes. She looked around from her semi-prone position. She needed to find her clothing. She also needed to check and see if the switchblade was still in her jeans’ pocket. If she didn’t get away, she could at least put the weapon under her pillow.

When the room finally stopped swirling, she sat up more fully and let the silk sheet drop to her waist. Yep, she was totally naked. Her bandage was pristine white, and it looked as if someone had changed it while she’d been unconscious. Nausea swept through her at the thought of Zivon and Demidas viewing her nudity.

“Forget it, Ellie, my girl,” she muttered under her breath. “Get your ass up and find that knife.”

She shoved the bedding aside and swung her legs over the side of the tall plantation style bed. She looked down and noted how high off the ground it was and hoped there were steps on the other side. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to crawl back in once she’d achieved her initial mission.

Carefully, she slid off the high bed and leaned against the side until she was sure her legs would hold her. She scanned the room and spotted a door that looked to lead to a walk-in closet. Small step by small step, she walked toward it and was about to enter when a young native girl slid into the room.

“Senorita,” the girl whispered as she quickly closed the door to the hall behind her, “you should not be up.”

“Don’t tell.” Elana didn’t care that her voice sounded weak and pleading. “Please don’t tell.”

The girl shook her head and hurried toward her. “Never. Demidas. He is a pig.” The girl spat on the floor. “My brother Jose and I were to help Senor Peters and his friends, but they are dead they tell me. So, we are helping the others who are coming for you.” All this was said in a fast, low monotone. “I’m Rosa.”

“Is this room bugged?” Elana hadn’t thought before she’d pleaded with the girl.

“No. Other rooms are, but Demidas does not want what goes on in this room to be heard or seen by others.” Rosa’s face had gone as white as a sheet, and Elana
knew
the young girl had experienced Demidas’s less-than-gentle lust. They had a bond as Demidas’s victims.

Elana touched Rosa’s shoulder. “He raped me when I was sixteen. That was after he killed my parents in front of me.”

Rosa’s face paled even more with her shock, but she quickly recovered. She came to Elana and helped brace her against her smaller body. “You must get dressed. I have your knife. I found it in your jeans. We need to leave and meet my brother. Jose will hide us on the island until your man and his friends arrive.”

“My man?” Elana let Rosa help her into the walk-in closet the size of most people’s bedrooms. Demidas’s clothing lined two-thirds of the walls, but the other third held clothing for her. “God, this clothing is…” she searched for a word and could only come up with, “…skanky.”

Rosa threw a look of antipathy at the contents of the closet. “Yes, his taste is bad. There are jeans, though, and simple tops. Sit here. I will help you dress.” The smaller girl helped her to a padded bench.

“We have to hurry.” Elana’s voice cracked with fear and urgency. “A doctor is coming soon.”

“The doctor is my uncle and he is not coming.” Rosa looked up from helping Elana get her legs into a pair of jeans. “The only ones coming are your man and his friends. And that will be soon. We must be away from the house before then. Demidas has his own men to protect him. There could be much fighting, understand?”