Honeymoon To Die For (46 page)

“Shut up you idiot!” yelled from the fight.

Bianca turned around.

Munk wrenched his rifle free and swung the butt. He caught Ryder on the temple and knocked him back a step, then Munk turned the rifle on Bianca as he worked the bolt action.

Ryder roared and dove at Munk with a knife in his hand.

Munk shot, then used the rifle to block Ryder.

Bianca felt the burn in her side as she was knocked backward into Terrence who grunted, then didn’t make a sound.

CHAPTER 53

Ryder strained to shove the knife into Munk’s throat, but it was like fighting a bull with arms. One who hadn’t spent five months locked in a cell. They hit the ground, rolling down an incline. Munk had one hand choking Ryder and his other hammering fists at Ryder’s head. Ryder blocked, but couldn’t keep that up forever. Ryder rammed his hand down to shove the blade at Munk’s heart, but the bastard twisted his arm forward.

That move sliced the razor-sharp blade across the sling on Munk’s shoulder, leaving the rifle behind as they rolled over the edge of a six-foot drop.

In midair, Ryder drove the knife into Munk’s side and twisted before they hit hard and fell apart. Face down, Ryder sucked in air. He had to get up. He flipped over, expecting Munk to be on him with the knife.

But Munk was backing away, holding his side.

Adrenaline gushed through Ryder. He shoved up to his feet and took a step toward Munk.

Munk clutched the bloody knife in his hand and called out, “She’ll bleed to death if you keep coming for me, but I’m good if you are.”  

Bianca. Ryder stopped short. He shook with wanting to kill Munk, but Munk had already made it thirty feet away and was right. Bianca was bleeding out the longer he took.

Ryder backed up to the ledge they’d fallen over and spun around, vaulting up on top to grab the rifle. When he turned around on one knee with the rifle at his shoulder, Munk had disappeared over another drop.

Fuck!

Ryder raced to Bianca and tossed the weapon down.

God, no
,
please.

Blood saturated her shirt where her hand was pressed to her side. He jerked off his jacket then his shirt and wadded up the shirt to staunch the blood flow. Then he wrapped the jacket around her.

Her voice was raw. “Did you get Munk?”

Ryder shook his head. “I want you alive more than I want him dead, tough girl.”  He could try to drive her out in one of the vehicles, but she needed a helicopter and the FBI would not be far away. The log he’d carried in was a few feet away. He ran to it and lifted it behind him.

Bianca realized what he was doing and cried, “No, Ryder!”

If the FBI were hanging back for any reason, damaging the chip would bring them running to his last location. He whacked at the chip and gritted his teeth when he hit his spine. He took a breath and swung harder, feeling something burn on the left of his spine. That had to be it.

Ryder saw Munk race up the hill on the other side of the valley, probably taking the straightest route to another source of transportation he had as backup, since the closest tree line was on the right.

Munk knew Ryder couldn’t make the kill shot so he wasn’t even heading for cover.

In fact, he was probably laughing his butt off as he ran.

Back at Bianca’s side, Ryder lifted the rifle and flipped out the legs on the attached bipod.

“Ryder ... ”  Bianca reached for him and he leaned down to where she was.

“Shhh. It’s okay—”  

“You don’t have to do this. Murdock will find him.”

Ryder realized she was saying she’d give up Munk rather than have Ryder face shooting a live target again. “He’ll go underground, Sweetheart. And he’ll come back for you. He won’t leave a witness alive. I can’t go back to prison knowing he can get to you without me here.”  

He dropped to the ground, prone. He moved quickly, making instinctive judgments that came as natural as breathing. Nine hundred, fifty yards plus across the valley. He dialed the windage and elevation into the scope without even looking at the settings, then pulled the stock tight into his shoulder. Two deep breaths, then he set the crosshairs on his target in the failing light.

His hands shook.

This bastard had tried to kill Bianca, and he
would
come for both of them again.

Not happening
.

He clamped down on his mind and tuned out everything except the target he could barely see climbing the grassy hill. In another ten seconds Munk would disappear over the next rise.

He squeezed the rear trigger to set the front one, and adjusted the rifle, holding it over his target by four mil-dots.  He set his finger against the edge of the front trigger and felt the nerves in his stomach flare to life.

What will you do to keep the woman you love safe?

Anything.

He gently touched the front trigger.

The report sounded and the familiar recoil punched the stock deeper into the muscle of his shoulder, then ... Munk fell to the ground, grabbing his upper thigh. The femur—and maybe the hip—was likely shattered. Munk rolled back down the hill and behind a tree, out of his line of sight. No kill shot, but if the bullet didn’t hit a femoral artery the FBI should be able to capture Munk since he couldn’t do more than crawl.

Ryder leapt to his feet and rushed back to Bianca.

He’d seen the eyes of soldiers who’d taken a bullet and were going into shock. But this was Bianca. Ryder’s whole body shook as her eyes drifted shut.

“Wake up, Sweetheart. Don’t close your eyes,” he begged and pressed on his shirt where it covered her wound.

Tears ran down her face.  

He kissed her forehead. “I know it hurts, but they’ll be here soon.”  

Shouts surrounded them. Men and women flooded in from the woods, guns drawn.

Whump. Whump. Whump
. There was the helicopter Bianca needed. Wind whipped the ground.

ATVs crashed into the clearing.

Ryder didn’t move his gaze from Bianca, whose eyes fluttered open then closed again. “Open your eyes, Sweetheart.”

“Back away from her,” a deadly voice barked from behind Ryder.

“She needs a medic.”

Two rifles came into view, one on each side of his head. “Move.”

He’d do anything if they’d just take care of her.

Ryder stood slowly with his hands up. He took one step back and was knocked to the ground. Flex cuffs were snapped on his wrists and ankles as medics rushed over to Bianca.

Two men lifted Ryder and carried him away with him yelling at the top of his lungs for them to let him stay until she was stable.

His pleas were lost on Murdock.

CHAPTER 54

Chatton dragged Munk a hundred yards to the tree line, and there she dropped his legs. She left his hands flexi-cuffed and propped him in a sitting position against a tree. He shifted his weight onto one hip, clearly trying to take pressure off of the gaping wound in his upper thigh.   

Munk groaned. “You sure are going to a lot of trouble to kill me.”

She pulled out her Italian accent. “Me? I do not want to kill you. I want my money.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You took my hit.”

Munk squinted at her, eyes glazed with pain. “You’re in the business? Who are you?”

She’d dressed the part in all black leather, including gloves, and carried a suppressed HK UMP submachine gun
.
The compact weapon with its folded stock was slung across the front of her body and hung inside her open leather jacket. “I do not have time to exchange business cards. You cost me half a million US dollars.”

“When?”

“You killed my target. Edward Abbot in Colorado last February. Was
my
job.” She thumped her chest. “My people are not happy. They think that sloppy work was mine. Took much trouble to explain.”

“Sloppy my ass. That’s the way the client ordered the job.”

“I do not care. You have a choice. Pay me or die.”

“Hey, baby, I’m all about business. Can you get me out of here?”

“Of course.”

“Then let’s get moving and we’ll deal.”

She walked around and made a point of looking out at the scramble of FBI agents on scene across the valley. They were still pouring into the scene, but would send agents to hunt for Munk soon. Turning back to him, “You do not call
this
sloppy?”

“Again, not my fault.”  He clenched his teeth when he slid down the tree a little farther. “Stupid client with too much money wanted it done
his
way.”

“I hear you talk about working with him on Sunday job, too, yes? I want in on that.”

“Hey, let’s not get overly chummy here. I’m not in on that crap.”

She squatted, producing a knife she used to prick the skin under his eye.

“Stop that shit!”

“You have cost me a prime job plus money and time to find you. I want payment and in on your connection.”  She flicked her gaze over him. “If you heal, we could work together. I could teach you much.”

“Arrogant bitch, aren’t you?”

She stuck the tip of the knife at his throat. “I do not like to be called names.”

“Hold it, babe. No problemo, okay?”

She smiled. “Who paid for diplomat?”

“That squirrely bastard I shot just now ordered the diplomat hit.”

That was useless since it appeared from her surveillance that Terrence Van Dyke was now dead. She gave Munk a look of disgust.

That weasel Terrence had killed Chatton’s uncle just to set up his brother. Not to wipe out another descendant in her family line. But information was better than gold. She would squeeze all she could get out of this lump of flesh. “So you do not know who is pays for Sunday job.”  She stood. “In that case, I have no use for partner with you. In fact, I do not see the value in taking risk to get you out of here. I will give you my phone and you will make the money transfer now.”

“No, wait. I
do
know who was behind the Vatican attack.”

She arched an imperial eyebrow at him. “Oh?”

“Someone called the Banker.”

She’d heard that name before. Those bastards. She smiled. “Gracias.”

Munk gave her an ugly grimace that might be an attempt at a grin.

She lifted her weapon and double-tapped his forehead, then walked away, covering her tracks as she did.  

CHAPTER 55

Margaux stepped into her apartment Sunday afternoon, dog-tired.

Bianca was safe and the FBI had J. K. Kearn’s killer, but Ryder had been sent back to prison.

Sabrina had practically set headquarters on fire with scorching curses. Murdock did admit that even though she was shot, Bianca had been a crazy woman in the helicopter, demanding that Murdock agree to review evidence against Ryder on the death of the prison guard.

Not much, but it was something.

Exhausted, Margaux dropped face down on her bed, clothes and all. She should have gone by Nanci’s place tonight to make amends for calling in a personal marker from when they’d been teens
and
for putting her cousin in a tight spot with her agency. She would, but not right this minute. Nanci was in a temporary apartment on the northwest side of Atlanta that belonged to the FBI. On the opposite side of the city from Marguax’s apartment in Decatur. And to visit her cousin meant Margaux would have to insert covertly to keep from putting Nanci in the position of explaining who Margaux was if someone saw her.

That would be tough to do since Margaux didn’t exist, not even to her family. None of them, except Nanci, knew she was still alive. Her cousin had protected Margaux’s identity and existence all this time, in spite of working for a government agency.

How had she repaid Nanci?

By taking advantage of their relationship. This work turned Margaux into a machine some days, fixated on nothing but getting the job done.

She might have gone too far this time.

What if Nanci doesn’t want to speak to me again?

Margaux felt her chest squeeze at the possibility. She’d always had Nanci when she’d had no one else.
Don’t be ridiculous. Nanci said she’d never stop loving you just because you’re fucked up.
 

The muscles in her chest eased. Her cousin
would
get over being pissed, because they were closer than two sisters, but Margaux couldn’t do that again. Ever. Nanci had done her a favor and stretched the parameters of her sworn oath to the FBI to help Ryder.

Fuck it. She’d go tonight, but she needed a shower and clean clothes. Did she have any? And she’d like to eat.  Tomorrow would be better once she had ten hours of sleep to make up for being awake practically nonstop all week. With
enough
rest, she might even be able to make up with Nanci by spending a day looking at antiques.

Crawling through sewers to catch a felon was more fun.

Excuses, excuses.

“I’m a shithead.”  She was a tired shithead, but she was going to climb the side of a building and get her ass chewed.  Just need ten minutes to catch a catnap and she would go.

Her phone rang.
Shit.
Margaux rolled over and reached for the cell phone in her back pocket.

Nanci.
Damn.
 

Margaux hit the button for speaker, prepared to grovel. Before she could give a greeting, Nanci shouted, “
How did you get in my house and what do you want?
”

Margaux launched herself off the bed, gripping the phone, and ran for the door.   

A male voice said, “It’s not what I want. It’s what my boss wants.”

“What?”

“He wasn’t happy about you sharing financial information.”

No, I did that,
Margaux wanted to scream.

The man continued, “I’m here to deliver a message about people who snoop.”

Avoiding the elevator, Margaux took the stairs two at a time, her heart beating wild enough to burst by the time she descended three flights to the ground floor.

Nanci’s voice shook. “What message?”

Keep him talking, Nanci.
Margaux was running all out.