Cherry Adair - T-flac 09 (41 page)

Unobtrusively, he tested his ability to move to see just how much longer he was going to have to pretend a drugged fascination with the flora and fauna of Monterey Bay. And when he’d be able to make his move.

Soon.

Definitely before any bad shit went down.

His thoughts went straight to Heather. As soon as he got the hell out of here he was going to talk to both Gabriel and Duncan and start the ball rolling as far as her and Bean’s safety went. Their future.

The last few days had been a grim reminder of what the future held for him. Years of unfulfilled longing and torturous concern as he constantly chose his work over the family he’d created. At least he knew he could depend on MacBain to send him pictures and daily updates.

The Gerbil brothers and their entourage were spread out behind him, but he could see them just fine in the reflection of the kelp tank. He watched as they became animated, muttering amongst themselves. The brothers grinned, creating an even uglier expression on their almost identical pug faces. He concentrated on reading their lips, but his Greek was marginal at best. And lip-reading a reflection damn well impossible.

The squeak of a tennis shoe on the polished cement floor alerted him to a new player. It was time.

When Heather’s reflection swam across the surface of the glass, Caleb thought he was hallucinating.

Hallucinating or not, his heart stopped.

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“She is alone,” one of the brothers’ minions told them in Greek. He sounded as incredulous as Caleb felt.

“I have the numbers for a Swiss bank account, gentlemen.”
Heather’s
voice. Here. Not only was it totally unfucking-acceptable, it was
insane.
What had Lark and the others been thinking? Sending her, a civilian, into the lion’s den? Caleb’s heart trip-hammered as the sound of her tennis shoes came closer.

Rubber soles against cement. Fingernails down a chalkboard. Jesus.

Had she slipped out? How had she known where to go? Had he, in his bid to win her back, actually given her position away to the enemy? The base of his skull tightened with fear.

One of the Ugly Brothers held out his meaty hand. “Give it over.”

“You let my husband go, and I’ll give you the number.”

“You give me number, and we don’t kill.” He gave her a grotesque smile. “Him. You. Where is the number?”

A fair enough question. And while they sorted that out Caleb finally felt confident that his body was back in working order. He did a mental inventory and decided he was strong enough to kick some butt.

Physically at least. Not magically just yet.

Heather was thirty feet away. His primary concern was for her safety. He couldn’t afford for her to get a freaking
hangnail
right now, because this time it would be impossible to revive her. He couldn’t even heal her if she got hurt. Not for at least another six hours, if he’d calculated his skills right.

And he still didn’t have the juice for any fancy shit.

A quiet double click sounded directly behind him. Someone was improvising. Nice to know he wasn’t alone. He felt a welcome spike of adrenaline knowing that Heather wasn’t defenseless.

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This was where Keir was supposed to teleport her and Caleb back home and out of harm’s way. She braced herself.

Nothing happened.

She bit the corner of her lower lip. Hard.
Come on, Keir. Do it.

Nothing.

Beside her Keir hissed,
“Shit.”

Uh-oh. What did
that
mean?
Shit
? Oh God.
That
didn’t sound good. “Problem?” she asked, not moving her lips. The brothers might not hear her speaking, but she bet if they listened they could hear the hard fast knock of her heart trying to escape.

She couldn’t ask what was going on, but she couldn’t just stand here mute either. They expected her to negotiate, and she’d damn well better do it.

She gave them each a cool look, as if she faced down terrorists every damn day. “Kill him and
I
won’t tell you. Come on. You’re businessmen. Caleb and me versus how many of you? Fifteen? Twenty? We walk out of here and you get your account number. We both know you have forty-eight billion reasons to do this deal.”

“Forty-eight?”

“Billion American dollars,” she said confidently. What on earth was taking Keir so freaking long? Why
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had she even imagined she could play the role of hostage negotiator? She was frightened spitless. And despite her bravado with Lark and Caleb’s men back at her apartment, half, hell, more than half of her courage had come from knowing that Caleb’s men would keep her safe in this situation.

An almost-silent verbal question mark came from behind her. Tony or Dekker.

“Fuck if I know.” Keir’s almost-silent voice in response. “You try.”

Try? Heather repeated in her head.
Try?
“Yes. That’s all of it,” she told the El-Hoorie uglies. “I’ll give you everything from Fazuk Al-Adel’s account.”
Anytime now would be good, guys.

A chill rippled up her spine as she remained exactly where she was. In the aquarium. Feet away from two terrorists who looked ready to rip her apart any second.

“And Six March,” she added desperately, playing for time. “
And
the Algeti National Army
and
a dozen more of Brian Shaw’s clients. You can have it all. In exchange for my husband. Where is he?”

CalebCalebCaleb!

Even though she knew she wasn’t alone, Heather sure
felt
alone. Her T-FLAC/psi protectors were invisible, and apparently having technical difficulties.

A pale, artificial glow of the larger-than-life saltwater tanks filled the entire space, surrounding her with brightly colored fish, seaweed, and really bad memories. Honest to God. If anyone could’ve come up with a more terrifying place for her to be right now, she couldn’t imagine what it could be. Her stomach churned as she remembered vividly the salty, disgusting taste of tank water, and the mind-numbing sensation of not being able to breathe—Don’t think about it now, she told herself firmly.

She was scared enough already without superimposing what she knew could happen with what
had
happened.

Then she saw and recognized the back of Caleb’s head. He was slumped on a bench facing the thirty-foot-high kelp forest. He wasn’t moving. Was he unconscious?
God…please don’t let him be
dead.

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Thoughts of what they might have done to him terrified her. She got a grip and focused on the men in front of her.

“I did as you asked,” she told the two ugliest, biggest men she’d ever seen. Every fiber of her being was aware that the Aquarium was crawling with armed men. Other terrorists, men as horrible as Al-Adel, as these El Hoorie guys. They had to have about twenty men, while she had only six, apparently malfunctioning, wizards. The odds seemed pretty damned uneven to her, although Lark and the team hadn’t seemed worried.

Heather was worried, and scared enough for the entire T-FLAC organization,
and
all their friends and families. Why were she and Caleb still
here
?

Instinct and emotion urged her to go to Caleb. But she wasn’t going to do anything to piss either of these guys off.

Having the social skills to converse adequately, but charmingly, in four languages at a cocktail party hadn’t exactly given her the experience for what she needed in this situation. Charm and BS could only go so far.

“I’m here, alone.” She infused confidence and authority into her voice by sheer necessity. This wasn’t a dress rehearsal. “Alone.” It sure was starting to feel like it, which ratcheted up her nerves another few notches. “I just told you I can give you what you want. Bring Caleb to me. Let us walk out of here, and everyone leaves happy.”

One of the brothers motioned to the two men flanking her. “Search her.”

“Right here with you, honey,” Keir Farris said softly.
So
softly that Heather thought it was in her head.

Was that even possible? “Start backing up slowly. Straight back, that’s a girl. Keep going.” How was it that nobody else could hear him? The trouble was, there was still that “Oh, shit!” tone in his voice.

One brother was apparently fascinated by the sea life swimming through the thick strands of kelp. The other scowled at her as he observed her taking a step back. “Where do you think you’re going?”

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She stopped in her tracks and lifted her chin with false bravado. “I don’t want your goons to put their hands all over me. You asked me to come. I’m here. You told me you’d let my husband walk out of here with me. So”—she held out her arms—“back off.” She slid her feet backward, inch by slow inch.

“Look. No purse.” She pulled her pockets inside out, the bracelet ridiculously heavy on her wrist. “No weapons, no microphones, nothing.”

“And no account information,” one of the brothers snarled. “Do you think we’re fools?”

Heather figured that they didn’t want her honest answer. She gave them her cocktail smile. “I think you’re businessmen. The numbers are in my head; isn’t that why you demanded that I be the one to deliver them? You knew that already,” she said, flattering their intelligence. “I’m prepared to do the deal as agreed.”

The situation was surreal, and her stomach was knotted with tension and nerves. At her apartment earlier, Lark had told her to just hand over the bracelet to the brothers. Just give them what they wanted and her invisible bodyguards would take care of the rest. Every instinct in Heather urged her to do just that. She wanted to get out of here so badly she could barely think of anything else. But a cautious little voice in her head reminded her that Caleb had thought he’d placed a protection spell on her, and it hadn’t worked. Boy howdy hadn’t it worked.

What was there to say that Keir’s spell
would
? For God’s sake—he was having problems teleporting her! “Oh, shit” was right.

The second she gave these guys the bracelet there was no reason for them to keep either herself or Caleb alive. If the protection spell didn’t work, she and Caleb might both end up very, very dead.

In a very, very permanent way.

Her tension eased slightly as the El-Hoorie brothers’ men started disappearing. One by one, they were being picked off and teleported out of the room. So Caleb’s men could teleport the bad guys, but she was stuck here? That didn’t make any sense at all. Still it was pretty funny watching people disappear
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into thin air. Thank God she’d seen this before or she’d think she was going stark, raving nuts.

“Keep going,” Keir told Heather softly. “Don’t stop until you get to the wall.”

One of the brothers motioned his two men to stay where they were. “Our money is where?”

Heather’s back hit the wall. “Sw—”

Caleb’s people had been teleporting the brothers’ men at a dizzying speed. Suddenly the brothers noticed that their number was dramatically decreased. They might not know why or how, but they could obviously count. Surprise, surprise.

One brother raced across to the bench where Caleb had been. Had been? She blinked. Where was he? Had Lark teleported him out already? She almost shouted out his name when the other brother leveled a big black gun at her. Oh, shit. Again.

There wasn’t even time to brace, if such a thing were possible. It happened so fast she just stood there paralyzed. A split second later she heard a chink as something metallic—the
bullet
?—dropped to the floor a few feet in front if her as if it had hit a force field. Not waiting to confirm her suspicions, she ran like hell for the exit. Okay. Good to know.

The protective spell
did
work.

The plan had been for her to hand over the bracelet, and then quickly have Keir Farris teleport her back to her apartment. If for any reason that wasn’t possible, she was to head for the exit, where either Tony Rook or Dekker would teleport her. Supposedly, in wizard theory, she shouldn’t be in any physical danger.

Running all out, she prayed she wouldn’t be slammed in the back by a bullet, or flattened by a ricocheting piece of cement. Behind her all hell was breaking loose as Caleb’s men engaged the terrorists in a no-holds-barred fight to the death.

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Gunfire strafed the Aquarium. The sound bounced and echoed off the cement walls and the thick glass of the tanks in a deafening cacophony. The noise set off the alarm systems, which not only added to the rising decibels, but turned on bright lights across the exhibits. Chunks of cement become projectiles, and as dangerous as the bullets.

Heather didn’t look back. Raising one arm to protect her head, just in case, she used the other to protect her stomach and ran. Her heart was in her throat, and sweat poured down her temples as she raced toward the closestEXIT sign. Maybe she should have just handed over the bracelet. Where was Caleb? More importantly, was he safe? Or, heaven help them, bleeding and powerless? She wanted to scream. Scream for the gunfire to stop. Scream her husband’s name. Hell, just scream until the panic stopped surging through her system.

She saw Dekker, a gun in each hand, running to intercept her at the designated exit. She paused, bracing herself to be teleported. Nothing happened.

He scowled, got off a shot at a man charging behind her, and kept coming. He stopped a few feet away and reached out to take her arm. “What the hell?”

“Oh, God, now what?” But she saw “what.” He couldn’t touch her. His hand was stopped—blocked—a foot from her body. That, apparently, was as close as he could get.