Midnight Rescue: A Killer Instincts Novel (11 page)

Damn.

She left Kane’s bedroom and went back to her own, where she slid a pair of yoga pants up her legs, then changed into a loose yellow tank top. The welts caused by Devlin’s whip still hurt and tight clothing probably wouldn’t help them heal. Sleep might do the trick, but she was too wound up to go back to bed now. It was past one a.m. and she was wide-awake.

After pacing the guest room for a few minutes, she released a sigh and decided to follow Kane’s advice. It
took her a few moments of wandering the enormous main floor before she finally found the living room. The sheer size of it made her raise her eyebrows, but even she couldn’t deny it was cozy. The ceiling was massive, a crisscross of wooden beams that looked as though they belonged in a hunting lodge or a fancy ski chalet. Plush leather couches, set up in an L shape, took up half of the room, while a large stone fireplace and a few comfortable-looking recliners filled the other half. Tall oak bookshelves and beautiful oil landscapes lined the walls, lending both warmth and elegance to the large space.

Abby approached one of the shelves and studied the titles, eventually selecting a hardcover edition of Hemingway’s
The Sun Also Rises.
Hemingway had always intrigued her. She’d attended a lecture about him once, given by a feminist who admonished the author for portraying women as either castrators or love slaves, angels or demons. Which would she be? Abby had always wondered. She’d played the part of love slave. Castrator too. Maybe even a demon.

But never an angel.

Drawing in a breath, she got comfortable on one of the couches, pulling a dark blue wool afghan over her legs to keep warm. She opened the first page of the book and began to read.

Several hours passed—she could tell from the faint glow of light beginning to stream in from the large bay window overlooking the barren courtyard. Dawn was approaching. And Kane still hadn’t returned.

When the sound of footsteps came from the hall, she lifted her head, anticipation gathering in her body. Finally.

“Do you have an answer for me—” Her words died in
her throat when D rather than Kane strode into the living room.

Wearing a pair of black track pants and a sleeveless black shirt that hugged his impressive chest, D leaned against the doorframe, his black eyes stormy. “Kane’s on the phone.” Sarcasm clung to his gravelly voice. “But I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know he’s decided to undertake this suicide mission of yours. Morgan’s on board too. He and Holden are on their way back, and Trevor’s already on a plane. He should be here in a few hours. Bet you’re mighty pleased.”

The hostility radiating from his lean, muscular body wasn’t lost on her. “Who’s Trevor?” she asked cautiously.

“One of the team. Just lost his fiancée too.” D’s lips tightened. “He’ll probably be so distracted he’ll get himself killed, which is probably why he’s doing this.”

Abby hid her confusion. She had no idea who Trevor was, or why he had a death wish, but she decided not to question it right now. D was evidently pissed off at her and looking to land a few cheap shots. Well, fine. She’d let him. As long as what he said was true, and Kane was truly on board, she wasn’t complaining.

“Kane told you what’s going on?”

D nodded, his eyes cold and relentless.

“And you don’t think it’s a good idea to help those girls?”

His big shoulders stiffened as he stepped into the living room. To her surprise, he sat down beside her on the sofa. Her eyes were instantly drawn to his tattoos, focusing on the lethal-looking dragon that looked like it was about to take flight off his shoulder.

“I don’t like you,” he said bluntly.

“Gee, and here I thought we were going to be BFFs.”

“Do you want to know why I don’t like you, Abby?”

She sighed. “Sure, D, go ahead and tell me.”

“You’re a loose fucking cannon.”

Offense prickled her skin. A loose cannon? She was a professional, for God’s sake. Cool under pressure, able to infiltrate any organization with careful planning and canny thinking. “I disagree,” she said coldly.

He bared his teeth in a cheerless smile. “Oh, I know you’re a pro,” he said, as if reading her mind. “You’re a warrior, aren’t you, Abby?”

Wary, she waited for him to continue.

“But deep down…” He shrugged, the snake tattoo around his neck flexing ominously. “Deep down, you’re just that scared little girl who got raped by her foster daddies.”

“How—” She stopped abruptly, her voice too shaky to continue.

“How do I know?” he said, filling in the rest of her sentence. “Because I see it inside you. That ice-cold anger. The need for revenge.”

“I got my revenge a long time ago,” she murmured.

“No. You just got rid of
your
demon, Abby.” He chuckled. “But you couldn’t get rid of
all
the demons, could you? All the sick fucks out there victimizing young girls and young boys, getting away with whatever sick crimes they’re committing.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to help,” she whispered. Steadying her voice, she met his eyes. “You’re right. I was raped. Repeatedly, and for years. But I got over it. And if my own experience has made me determined to prevent it from happening to others, what the hell’s wrong with that?”

D was quiet for a moment. Then he shook his head. “I
was like you, you know. Once.” His voice softened. “Idealistic, driven, ready to dive headfirst into battle, any battle, as long as the bad guys lost and I won. Wanna know what happened?”

“What happened?” she echoed dully.

“I woke the fuck up. If I threw myself into every damn battle out there, I’d be fighting for the rest of my life. It became more practical to pick and choose. Fight when it was advantageous to me. You can’t save the world, Abby. Want to know why?”

“I can’t wait.”

“Because as much as you want to save it, there will always be someone else who wants to destroy it. Better to back off. Pick your fights. And those girls in the bunker? They’re not your fight.” His face went hard. “And they’re not our fight either.”

“I take it that’s your way of saying you won’t help.”

“Oh, I’ll help,” he said viciously. “Because somehow you managed to convince Kane to support your foolish crusade. And if Kane’s on board, the others will follow like sheep. Which leaves me to make sure you don’t get my fucking guys killed.”

His words inspired a flicker of guilt. She quickly brushed it off. “Kane and the others are grown men. They know the risk, yet obviously they’ve decided it’s worth it.”

“Whatever.” Cursing under his breath, he stood up, reverting back to his cold, impassive self. “I’m going to be watching you, Abby. If you do anything to endanger Kane, or any of the others, I will break your neck. Understand?”

“Perfectly,” she replied, equally cool.

He marched toward the door.

“Who raped
you
, D?” she called after him.

He froze.

“Your father?” she guessed. “Mother? Both?”

Slowly, he turned to face her, his eyes flashing with fury.

“I see it in you too,” she answered, with only a touch of sarcasm. “What is it they say? It takes one to know one.”

Without a word, D left the room.

Abby stared after him. Was he right? Was this a battle better left unfought?

No. No, it couldn’t be. It wasn’t idealistic to want to save a bunch of innocent girls who were about to be sold off to rich, sadistic perverts, not if a successful rescue could be planned.

How could D—how could
anyone
—fault her for wanting to help?

“You have to eat, Sylvie.” Lucia Alvaro spoke in a hushed, encouraging voice, but the small black-haired girl sitting beside her didn’t even lift her head. In the doorway, the guard glanced over at the two girls in annoyance. She called him
halcón
—hawk—because he had a long beak of a nose. He also had the eyes of a hawk—sharp and cold—and he was always watching them.

“Please,” Lucia urged in Spanish. “You heard what Señor Blanco said would happen if we didn’t eat.”

Sylvie shook her head ferociously. Her hands were wrapped around her bare knees, her long hair falling onto her dirt-covered face like a curtain. She was the youngest of the thirteen girls—only eleven. She had barely moved an inch since the
halcón
and the other guard, the one with the red scar next to his mouth, had thrown her into the cold, damp room.

Lucia didn’t have an appetite either, but Señor Blanco’s threat had scared her.

Sensing that all wasn’t well, the
halcón
moved across the stone floor toward Lucia and Sylvie. “What’s going on here?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” Lucia said quickly. “We’re… we’re eating. See?” She lifted her fork to her mouth and bit into a piece of spicy chicken, hoping the sight of her chewing would distract him from the fact that Sylvie’s plate still contained the rice, chicken, and vegetables it had entered the room with.

To her anguish, his black eyes didn’t miss anything. “Why aren’t you eating?” he barked.

Sylvie pressed her face to her knees. Tears squeezed out from the corners of her eyes like two fat raindrops, leaving streaks in the brown dirt clinging to her bare legs. Across the room, Adalia and Nita cowered against the wall, their eyes huge with fear. Lucia knew them from the village; they used to have picnic lunches by the creek while the village boys played in the water and tried to show off for the girls.

Lucia didn’t know Sylvie. She’d met her only three days ago, when the
halcón
threw her into the room. She didn’t know the others either, but the girls had begun to form a bond since they’d been locked up here together. Consuela and Valencia had become the leaders of the group, and it was Valencia who stood up now, her head held high.

“She’s not hungry,” Valencia said insolently. Valencia was fifteen years old, two years older than Lucia, and she had long brown hair and a thin body underneath her shabby clothes. She came from a village near Lucia’s, but the girls had never met until now.

The
halcón
’s hand whipped out, striking Valencia’s cheek. She stumbled a little, but didn’t back down. “Please, her stomach isn’t well. She—”

“She will eat when she’s ordered to!” he snapped.

Lucia cringed at the vicious note in his voice. She bent her head toward Sylvie. “Please, eat the food, Sylvie, just—”

The
halcón
yanked Sylvie up to her feet. She gasped with fear, then moaned as the large hand that had just silenced Valencia came crashing down on her jaw. Blood spurted out of the corner of her mouth. “No!” she screamed. “Please, don’t hurt me!”

Lucia tried not to look at the tears streaming down Sylvie’s cheeks. Valencia was slowly moving away from them, sinking back onto the floor next to Consuela, looking small and defeated.

“You will eat,” the
halcón
spat out, “or you will be punished.”

The young girl screamed as the guard shoved his hand between her legs.

Sylvie cried. She let out an anguished, horrified wail, then sobbed, “Okay, I will eat. Please, just don’t… don’t…”

The guard pushed her away. He looked bored and annoyed, but Lucia had no doubt that he would have followed through on the threat. Unconsciously, she squeezed her legs together, a shiver of fear crawling up her spine. Was he going to do that to all of them?

Mamá, where are you?

The silent plea went unanswered. Lucia’s mother had been visiting Aunt Maria in the city when the guards stormed their small house and threw Lucia in the back of their truck. Were her parents looking for her?

Would they find her before…

Before Señor Blanco did whatever it was he planned to do with them.

“That’s a good
puta
,” the guard rasped as Sylvie bent over her plate and shoveled food into her mouth. “Don’t give me trouble again. You will not like the consequences.”

The
halcón
stalked to the doorway. He glanced back once more to make sure Sylvie was still eating, then marched out the door. The girls all heard the lock clicking into place.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Valencia hissed when he was gone. “You’re going to get all of us killed, you stupid brat!”

“Valencia,” Lucia started.

Beside her, Sylvie was crying again, but still eating fervently.

“No!” Valencia said angrily. “You know I’m right! She’s making everything worse!”

As Valencia continued to hiss at Sylvie, Lucia wrapped her arms around her knees and lowered her head.

Mamá, where are you?

Isabel Roma got off the small airplane and into the beat-up taxi waiting at the edge of the private airfield. She wasn’t surprised when the driver spun around with a look of shock and awe as she settled into the backseat. She still wore the trashy outfit she’d had on while tailing her target in Paris, a man whose tastes ran toward seedy strip joints. She hadn’t had time to change her clothes before hopping onto the plane in France and then boarding the connecting flight in California. Noelle hadn’t given her much notice, simply ordered her to get on a plane to Mexico. And Isabel had done it.

Abby’s in trouble.

That was all Noelle needed to say to convince Isabel. She was thirty-one years old, had no children, no husband, no official place of residence. But what she did have was family. Granted, it was a slightly dysfunctional one made up mostly of assassins, but after her father went to prison and her mother killed herself, Isabel had been left with nothing. Until she’d met Noelle. And then Abby. Then Juliet, Paige, and Bailey. The five women
were all she had. They were her sisters. And Isabel had no intention of ignoring the distress call of a sister.

Figured that it would be Abby. Damn that woman. Noelle had seemed extremely annoyed when she’d told Isabel about Abby’s latest crusade. She’d called it a fool’s errand, and Isabel was inclined to agree with the boss. Abby had no business snooping around in the sex trade. It was too damn risky, too many sick perverts willing to kill to stay in business.

Not that Isabel was one to judge. Her undercover work for Noelle was as risky as it came.