Midnight Rainbow (20 page)

           
 
"Hopefully, we won't be here long.
Alfonso will stay with you while I question our friend about his activities,
and who hired him to abduct you."

           
 
What he meant was that she was also under
guard. Jane didn't protest, not wanting to arouse his suspicions even more, but
her skin crawled. She was very much afraid of the form his
"questioning" would take. She had to think of something fast! But
nothing came to mind, and
Turego
tilted her chin up
to kiss her again. "I won't be long," he murmured. "Alfonso,
watch her carefully. I would be very upset if someone stole her from me
again."

           
 
Jane thought she recognized Alfonso as one of
the guards who had been at the plantation. When
Turego
had gone, closing the door behind him, Jane gave Alfonso a slow glance from
under lowered lashes and essayed a tentative smile. He was fairly young and
good-looking. He had probably been warned against her, but still he couldn't
help responding to her smile.

           
 
"You were a guard at the
plantation?" she asked in Spanish. He gave a reluctant nod.

           
 
"I thought I recognized you. I never
forget a good-looking man," she said with more enthusiasm than precision,
her pronunciation mangled just enough to bring a hint of amusement to Alfonso's
face. She wondered if he knew what
Turego
was up to,
or if he had been told some fabrication about protecting her.

           
 
Whatever he had been told, he wasn't inclined
toward conversation. Jane poked around the room, looking for anything to use as
a weapon, but trying not to be obvious about it. She kept straining her ears
for any sound from the warehouse, her nerves jumping. What was
Turego
doing?
If he harmed Grant…

           
 
How long had it been? Five minutes?
Ten?
Or less than that?
She had no
idea, but suddenly she couldn't stand it any longer, and she went to the door.
Alfonso stretched his arm in front of her, barring her way.

           
 
"I want to see
Turego
,"
she said impatiently. "It's too hot to wait in here."

           
 
"You must stay here."

           
 
"Well, I won't! Don't be such a stuffed
shirt, Alfonso; he won't mind. You can come with me, if you can't let me out of
your sight."

           
 
She ducked under his arm and had the door open
before he could stop her. With a muffled oath he came after her, but Jane
darted through the door and the connecting offices. Just as she entered the
main warehouse she heard the sickening thud of a fist against flesh, and the
blood drained from her face. Two men held Grant between them, holding him up by
his bound arms, while another stood before him, rubbing his fist.
Turego
stood to the side, a small, inhuman smile on his
lips. Grant's head sagged forward on his chest, and drops of blood spotted the
floor at his feet.

           
 
"This silence will gain you nothing but
more pain, my friend,"
Turego
said softly.
"Tell me who hired you. That is all I want to know, for now."

           
 
Grant said nothing, and one of the men holding
him grabbed a fistful of hair, jerking his head up. Just before Alfonso took
her arm, Jane saw Grant's face, and she jerked free, driven by a wild strength.

           
 
"
Turego
!"
she cried shrilly, drawing everyone's attention to her.
Turego's
brows snapped together over his nose. "What are you doing here? Alfonso,
take her back!"

           
 
"No!" she yelled, pushing Alfonso
away. "It's too hot back there, and I won't stay! Really, this is too
much! I've had a miserable time in that jungle, and I thought when you rescued
me that I'd be comfortable again, but no, you drag me to this miserable dump
and leave me in that grungy little room. I insist that you take me to a
hotel!"

           
 
"Jane, Jane, you don't understand these
things,"
Turego
said, coming up to her and
taking her arm. "Just a few moments more and he will tell me what I want
to know. Aren't you interested in knowing who hired him?" He turned her
away, leading her back to the offices again. "Please be patient,
love." Jane subsided, letting herself be led docilely away. She risked a
quick glance back at Grant and his captors, and saw that they were waiting for
Turego's
return before resuming the beating. He was sagging
limply in their grasp, unable even to stand erect.

           
 
"You are to stay here,"
Turego
said sternly when they reached the office again.
"Promise me, yes?"

           
 
"I promise," Jane said, turning
toward him with a smile on her face; he never saw the blow coming. She caught
him under the nose with the bridge of her hand, snapping his head back and
making blood spurt. Before he could yell with pain or surprise, she slammed her
elbow into his solar plexus and he doubled over with an agonized grunt. As if
in a well-choreographed ballet, she brought her knee up under his unprotected
chin, and
Turego
collapsed like a stuffed doll. Jane
cast a quick thought of thanks to her father for insisting that she take all of
those self-defense classes, then bent down and quickly jerked the pistol from
Turego's
holster.

           
 
Just as she started through the doorway again,
a shot reverberated through the tin building, and she froze in horror.
"No," she moaned,
then
launched herself
toward the sound. When Jane had hurled herself into
Turego's
arms, Grant had been seized by a fury so consuming that a mist of red had
fallen over his vision, but he'd been trained to control himself, and that
control had held, even though he had been on the edge of madness. Then the mist
had cleared, and cold contempt had taken its place. Hell, what had he expected?
Jane was a survivor, adept at keeping her feet. First she had charmed
Turego
, then Grant had stolen her from
Turego
and she'd charmed him as effortlessly as she had put
Turego
under her spell. Now
Turego
was back, and since he
had the upper hand, it was a case of
So
long,
Sullivan. He even felt a sort of bitter admiration for the way she had so
quickly and accurately summed up the situation,
then
known exactly the tone to set to begin bringing
Turego
back to heel. Still, the sense of betrayal was staggering, and nothing would
have pleased him at that moment as much as to get his hands on her. Damn her
for being a lying, treacherous little bitch! He should have known, should have
suspected that her patented look of wide-eyed innocence was nothing but a
well-rehearsed act.

           
 
The old instincts, only partially shelved,
suddenly returned in full force. Forget about the bitch. He had to look out for
himself first,
then
see to her. She was curling in
Turego's
arms like a cat, while Grant knew that his own
future was nonexistent unless he did some fast thinking. Part of the thinking
was done for him when
Turego
put two and two together
and came up with an accurate guess about Grant's identity. A year had been far
too short a time for people in the business to even begin forgetting him. After
he'd disappeared, his absence had probably made his reputation grow to
legendary proportions. Well, let
Turego
think that he
was after the missing microfilm, too; Grant felt no compunction about using
Jane in any way he could. She'd not only used him, she'd had him dancing to her
tune like a puppet on a fancy little string. If he hadn't agreed to bring her
out of
Costa Rica
, he would have wished the joy of her on
Turego
, and gotten himself out any way he could. But he'd
taken the job, so he had to finish it—if he came out of this alive. When he got
his hands on her again she'd find that there would be no more kid glove
treatment.

           
 
Turego
was curious.
With his hands tied behind his back, supported between two of the hired goons,
Grant found out just how curious.

           
 
"Who hired you? Or are you an independent
now?"

           
 
"
Naw
, I'm still
a Protestant," Grant said, smiling smoothly. At a nod from
Turego
, a fist crashed into his face, splitting his lip and
filling his mouth with blood. The next blow was into his midsection, and he'd
have
jacknifed
if it hadn't been for the cruel
support of his twisted arms.

           
 
"Really, I don't have the time for
this,"
Turego
murmured. "You are the one
known as the Tiger; you aren't a man who works for nothing."

           
 
"Sure I am; I'm a walking charity."

           
 
The fist landed on his cheekbone, snapping his
head back. This guy was a real boxer; he placed his blows with precision.
The face a couple of times, then the ribs and kidneys.
Pain
sliced through Grant until his stomach heaved. He gasped, his vision blurred
even though his mind was still clear, and he deliberately let all his weight
fall on his two supporters, his knees buckling. Then he heard Jane's voice,
petulant and demanding, as he'd never heard it before, followed by
Turego's
smooth reassurances. The men's attention wasn't on
him; he sensed its absence, like a wild animal acutely sensitive to every
nuance. He sagged even more, deliberately putting stress on the bonds around
his wrists, and fierce satisfaction welled in him as he felt them slip on his
right hand. He had powerful hands, hands that could destroy. He used that power
against the cord that bound him, extending his hand to the fullest and
stretching the cord, then relaxing and letting the cord slip even lower. Twice
he did that, and the cord dropped around his fingers in loose coils. Looking
about through
slitted
eyes, he saw that no one was
paying much attention to him, not even the boxer, who was absently rubbing his
knuckles and waiting for
Turego
to return from
wherever he'd gone. Jane was nowhere in sight, either. Now was the time.

           
 
The two men holding him were off guard; he
threw them away from him like discarded toys. For a split second everyone was
disconcerted, and that split second was all he needed. He grabbed a rifle and
kicked its butt up under the chin of the soldier he'd taken it from, sending
him staggering backward. He whirled, lashing out with his feet and the stock of
the rifle. The soldiers really didn't have much of a chance; they didn't have a
fraction of the training he'd had, or the years of experience. They didn't know
how to react to an attacker who struck and whirled away before anyone could
move. Only one managed to get his rifle up, and he fired wildly, the bullet
zinging far over Grant's head. That soldier was the last one standing; Grant
took him out with almost contemptuous ease. Then he hesitated only the barest
moment as he waited for movement from any of them, but there was none. His gaze
moved to the door at the far end of the warehouse, and a cold, twisted smile
touched his bruised and bloody lips. He went after Jane.

           
 
She'd never known such terror; even her fear
of the dark was nothing compared to the way she felt now. She couldn't move
fast enough; her feet felt as if they were slogging through syrup. Oh, God,
what if they'd killed him? The thought was too horrible to be borne, yet it
swelled in her chest until she couldn't breathe. No, she thought, no, no,
no!

           
 
She burst through the door, the pistol in her
hand, half-crazed with fear and ready to fight for her man, for her very life.
She saw a confused scene of sprawled men and her mind reeled, unable to
comprehend why so many were lying there. Hadn't there been only one shot?

           
 
Then an arm snaked around her neck, jerking
her back and locking under her chin. Another arm reached out, and long fingers
clamped around the hand that held the pistol, removing it from her grip.

           
 
"Funny thing, sweetheart, but I feel
safer when you're unarmed," a low voice hissed in her ear. At the sound of
that voice, Jane's eyes closed, and two tears squeezed out from under the lids.
"Grant," she whispered.