Midnight Rescue: A Killer Instincts Novel (36 page)

Snapping Gerard’s neck took less than a second. Trevor wasn’t gentle as he lowered the guard’s lifeless body to the floor and took off down the hall. He was cutting it too close. He’d wanted to give Isabel enough time to make it to the storage room, and so he forced himself to stay seated and sip on champagne while the damn bids
were being calculated. They’d bid on Lucia. For ten bucks.

Satisfaction tugged at his gut. He wished he could be there to see Blanco’s face when he removed that particular bid from the white envelope Trevor had shoved it in.

He felt naked without a gun. Damn. There were too many fucking hallways in this place. He turned a corner, then came to a sharp halt when he nearly slammed into a guard with an assault rifle.

Eyes widening in surprise, the tall man hesitated for only a second before pointing the weapon at Trevor. But that one second cost him. Trevor lunged, knocking both the guard and the rifle to the floor. The guard fought valiantly, landing a heavy punch on Trevor’s jaw. Shaking off the pain, Trevor elbowed the guy’s throat, waited for his eyes to glaze over, then wrapped his arms around the guard’s neck and twisted hard.

Dead. Trevor bounced onto his feet, grabbing the guard’s rifle as he did so, and turned around just as three more guards swarmed the corridor.

He unloaded three shots. Three kills.

Breathing hard, he continued down the hall. This was it. Chaos had broken out. Loud voices echoed through the corridors, hurried footsteps thudding against the marble floor. The cameras must have picked up his entire adventure of the past five minutes, which meant that any second now an entire fucking army would be in his face.

He picked off two more guards, keeping a fast pace as he moved toward the other side of the house. Turned another corner, and then he was being hurled in the air, dropping his rifle as he landed hard on the marble floor. A burly guard with feral eyes jumped on top of him, fat fists pounding Trevor’s face.

Deflecting a potentially fatal blow, he rolled out from under the stocky man and aimed a well-placed kick to the man’s groin. The guard barely grunted as he launched himself at Trevor again, but Trevor had already grabbed the rifle. He put a bullet between the man’s eyes, sending a spray of blood onto the wall behind the guard’s head.

Drawing in a ragged breath, Trevor tore down the hallway. This time when he skidded to a stop, it wasn’t because of another guard.

It was Luis Blanco.

Blanco’s eyes filled with fury as he saw Trevor. “You!” he shouted, raising his arm to reveal a shiny silver pistol in his hand. “You did this!”

Trevor kept his own weapon trained on Blanco. “It’s over,” he said flatly. “There’s nowhere to go, Blanco.”

Blanco’s dark gaze darted off to the right, toward a corridor Trevor recognized as leading to the servants’ area.

“Forget it,” he said. “My men will be landing as we speak. Any second now—”

A loud explosion rocked the house.

Several paintings slid off the walls and crashed to the floor. Panic flooded Blanco’s face. A faint sound of doors slamming and car engines roaring to life came from the front of the house. The bidders, fleeing like drowning rats.

“You will pay for this, you motherfucker!” Blanco was livid, practically shrieking. He lifted his pistol, screaming in Spanish as he pointed the gun at Trevor’s head, as his finger squeezed the trigger.

Trevor beat him to it.

He didn’t even react when half of Blanco’s face separated from his skull, blood spurting and spraying onto
the cream-colored walls. The man’s rotund body teetered, then fell to the floor. Blood spread out in a large circle around Blanco’s head, a scene right out of a pretentious art-house movie as it stained the white marble floor.

Without lingering to give himself a solo high five, Trevor rushed off. The kitchen was crowded with people. Screaming, hysterical people trying to figure out why they’d just heard something explode. A woman from the catering staff screamed when she saw Trevor storm in with a gun. He ignored her and kept moving, reaching the storage room to find Isabel opening the exit door and shouting orders at a group of young girls of all shapes and sizes in identical white dresses.

“It’s about time,” Isabel said when he burst into the room.

He hurried toward her. It sounded like fucking World War Three outside that door. Rapid gunfire cracked in the air and the sound of helicopter rotors had the wind hissing out a rhythmic melody. Isabel got the door open, her expression calm and businesslike despite the gruesome sight revealed. Bodies littered the paved helipad, while Blanco’s men shot unsuccessfully at the sleek olive green Chinook chopper. Trevor squinted and saw D at the chopper door, sweeping a machine gun back and forth, riddling the oncoming attackers with bullets. Men screaming in pain dropped to the ground like bowling pins.

Isabel yelled something in Spanish, and then dove out the door, both guns raised as she led the terrified girls toward the chopper. Kane rushed out to meet her, while Luke, Ethan, and Morgan provided cover fire as the girls rushed forward with their heads ducked down.

Trevor was about to race after them when the door flew open from behind and three guards erupted into the room. He went on the attack, lunging forward to kick a rifle out of one guard’s hands and head-butting the other so quickly that the second weapon crashed to the floor too.

He lifted his rifle, only to have it knocked away by the first guard, a man packing about two hundred and fifty pounds and strong muscular arms. As the big man rushed him, Trevor got him in a leglock and both men went hurtling to the floor. The third guard threw himself into the fight, but Trevor got in a lucky punch to the man’s nose that had him slumping over like a stone, unconscious.

The big one was harder to handle. Before Trevor knew it, he was on his back, with the guard’s meaty hands wrapped around his throat. He shoved at the man’s chest, to no avail, unable to get the monster off him. From the corner of his eye, he could see the open doorway, make out the huddled shapes climbing onto the chopper. Relief shot through him. The girls had made it. Isabel had done good.

Mr. Big’s fingers circled Trevor’s throat. Trevor got a hand in there too, digging his fingers into the guard’s iron grip, straining to pry it away. He had a chance when Mr. Big lifted one hand, leaving Trevor to deal with only one, but then the guard pulled a knife from his belt and lowered it to Trevor’s throat.

Trevor switched tactics. He grabbed the guard’s knife hand, groaning as he tried to stop the blade from connecting with his throat.

Let go.

The whisper in his head was teasing. Seductive.

He let go slightly, and the blade moved an inch closer.

Mr. Big grunted on top of him, spittle from his mouth soaking Trevor’s face.

This was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it?

To die.

To see Gina again.

The knife moved a fraction of an inch closer.

God, he wanted to see her again. All he had to do was close his eyes and let go. Let the behemoth on top of him slice his throat wide open. Close his eyes and—

A gush of hot moisture drenched Trevor’s face.

He blinked his eyes open. The guard on top of him went limp, blood spurting out of the gaping slash on his throat. Isabel loomed over them, holding a knife in one manicured hand, a knife that clattered to the floor as she bent down to help lift the dead guard off Trevor.

She’d come back for him. She’d been on the chopper, safe and sound, and for some stupid reason she’d decided to come back for him.

“Come on,” she said urgently, gripping his arm. “We have to get out of here.”

Anger clamped around his spine. “Why the hell did you come back?” he spat out.

Her eyes flickered with confusion. “You needed help.” Without letting him protest, she hauled him to his feet and tugged him toward the door. “Now let’s get on the damn chopper.”

He was too stunned to argue. As he followed her out of the storage room, a rush of pure helplessness seized his insides, making him want to hit something. He’d been so close. Goddamn Isabel and her fucking compassion. How could she—

With a hoarse cry, Isabel went down.

All the air left Trevor’s body as her slender body fell
to the pavement. A flash of red appeared on her pale green dress. She’d been shot. In the stomach, from the looks of it.

He saw Morgan sprinting in their direction. Heard a bullet whiz right above his head as he dropped to his knees and pressed his hands to Isabel’s abdomen. Her eyelids fluttered wildly, her delicate face unbelievably pale despite the bronzed makeup she used to disguise herself as Paloma.

“Trevor?” she said with a moan.

There was too much blood, staining her dress and his fingers. Something hot and painful twisted in his chest. Swallowing hard, he tucked his rifle under his arm and scooped her up. Blood poured out of her side, soaking his suit jacket.

“Trevor?” she said again, her voice faint.

“Don’t talk. Save your strength,” he said gruffly. And then he cradled her body against his chest and ran toward the waiting chopper.

The sun sat high in a cloudless sky as Abby killed the motorcycle’s engine on the outskirts of the little village of Corturo. The village was bustling with life. A group of boys with happy tanned faces kicked a soccer ball around the dirt field near the main square. Women were chattering animatedly outside the simple wooden church, while a few feet away, half a dozen men gathered around a milk crate, shooting dice and shouting in excitement.

There was a joyful feel to it all, and the feeling grew stronger as she approached the one-story shack that belonged to Inez Alvaro and her daughter. A skinny man with a long face and a thick mustache emerged from the house with three small suitcases in his hands. He was tailed by Inez Alvaro, whose face lit up at the sight of Abby.

The next thing she knew, Inez’s plump arms were surrounding her in a bear hug, and the woman spoke a mile a minute in Spanish, thanking Abby profusely for everything she’d done.

“You are an angel sent from heaven,” Inez finished, her dark eyes shining.

Compliments had never sat well with her, so she shrugged awkwardly. “It was all Isabel. She’s the one who went in and—”

“Señorita Isabel told me you were the reason she was involved in the first place.” Tears filled the woman’s eyes. “I can never repay you for what you did.”

Abby shifted in discomfort. She gestured to the man who’d exited the house. He was now loading the suitcases into the back of a rusted old Volvo that looked like it had seen better days. “Are you going somewhere?”

Inez nodded. “I am taking my daughter to the city. We are going to live with my sister.” Her nose lifted in distaste as she looked around the lively village. “I do not feel safe here anymore.”

“Blanco is dead,” Abby pointed out quietly. “He can no longer hurt you.”

“It doesn’t matter. We don’t belong here anymore.”

Abby turned her head when the girl she’d so desperately wanted to save walked out of the house. Like her mother, Lucia lit up when she saw Abby, dashing over with surprising energy despite the fact she’d been locked up in a bunker for a week. Abby endured another hug, though this one brought a rush of emotion. She clung to Lucia’s fragile body, running her hands over the bumps of her spine.

“Are you all right?” she asked, searching Lucia’s eyes.

The girl nodded. “Yes. Thanks to you and your friends.”

“Good.” She gave the girl a final once-over, making sure she was indeed okay, then cleared her throat. “I should be going. I have a plane to catch.”

“Wait. I have something to give you.” Lucia darted off and disappeared into the house. Inez smiled at Abby, encouraging her to wait. When the girl returned a moment later, she held out a faded photograph. After a moment
of hesitation, Abby accepted it. It was a photo of Lucia, wearing a red skirt and white shirt that Abby recognized as the uniform the village girls wore in the schoolhouse. Lucia’s long brown hair hung in a braid over her shoulder and her face exuded youth and innocence.

“This is so you don’t forget me,” Lucia said happily, suddenly sounding very much like the young girl she was.

“I don’t need the picture for that.” Abby swallowed. “But thanks just the same.”

Inez and her daughter insisted on hugging Abby again, and a few minutes later she was back on the bike and speeding away. She had one more stop to make before hopping on the plane Noelle had chartered for her, which would take her to Noelle’s home in Vermont.

The hospital, like the village, was bustling when Abby strode in. She dodged a couple of doctors and headed to the nurses’ station, where she was directed to Isabel’s room. Not the ICU, thank God. Apparently Isabel was on her way to a speedy recovery.

She didn’t look recovered, though, when Abby entered the private room that Noelle must have paid someone off to secure. Isabel’s fair face was pale, almost gray, and she looked incredibly frail in her pink hospital gown. Her blue eyes, however, sparkled at the sight of Abby. Lifting a hand, from which an IV line dangled, she beckoned for her to come closer.

“Hey,” Abby greeted her friend. “How are you doing?”

“I’m okay.” Isabel shrugged. “The bullet went through and through, so at least I didn’t need surgery. Surgical scars are a bitch.”

A smile flitted across Abby’s mouth. “But puckered little bullet scars are okay?”

“They’re easier to cover with makeup.”

Laughing, Abby approached the bed. “I came here to thank you. You risked your life going in to save those girls and I—” Her voice trembled. “I’m so unbelievably grateful, Izzy.”

Isabel looked touched. “You don’t have to thank me. I did what I had to do. What
you
had to do. I’m so relieved the girls are safe.”

“I’m relieved
you’re
safe. I would have never forgiven myself if…”

“If I’d died?” Isabel said bluntly. Her eyes twinkled. “Not to worry. I’m alive and kicking. And I’ll be back to work in no time.”

“Don’t rush yourself.”

“I won’t,” Isabel promised.