Promises to Keep (33 page)

Eighty-Eight

Sabrina lunged forward, faking
with her left hand in order to draw his attention. Estefan turned his head and lifted his hands to block the attack, leaving the left side of his face vulnerable.

She jabbed fast with her right hand, burying the pike in his eye, its trajectory cut short by the side of her fist as it punched into his socket. She let go even as he screamed. It was the kind of scream that told her she'd only managed to wound a rabid animal instead of put it down. There was a sickening popping sound, followed by a gush of something warm and thick against her hand. Leaving the pike, she planted her hands on his chest and shoved, sending him tumbling over the back of the settee he'd been sitting on when she arrived.

He reached for her as he fell and she stumbled back, hips slamming into the vanity at her back. Her hands skittered along its surface until she found what she was looking for. The hairbrush.

Estefan lay on the floor between her and the door, hands clutching at the pike she'd driven into his eye, moaning as blood, turned a yellowish orange by the viscous fluid it was mixed with, ran down his face.

She finally managed to unscrew the handle from the paddle of the brush. It was hollow and something was inside.
Please …
please … please …

Shake a tail feather, darlin'—that ain't gonna hold him off for long …

Dumping it out with shaking fingers, she closed her fist around what was inside. A key. Lydia's key.

Run.

She dropped the dismantled brush and moved, skirting around the settee, sights zeroed in on the door. She wasn't sure if the key would even work, but she had to try. Staying here was suicide.

Estefan was stretched out between her and the door. There was no going around him, and even as she took the leap she knew what would happen. His hand shot out and snagged her pant leg, and she went down hard, chin clipping the coffee table as she fell. She clamped her teeth together to keep them from breaking but even so, she felt them crack, blood filling her mouth so suddenly that she gagged. The key bounced out her hand, spinning across the hardwood floor.

She flipped over, drawing her knee to her chest to hammer him in the face with the heavy sole of her boot, but he was still lying flat on his back, his hand an iron clamp around her ankle. The gun she had hidden there bit into it, metal grinding against bone. The moment his hand tightened around her ankle, she knew he'd felt it for what it was.

“Naughty, naughty …” he said, rolling onto his side so that he could grab her with two hands. She could see that he'd pulled the pike from his eye. He was grappling with her boot, trying to pull it off to get to her gun. He was too far away for her to deliver a kick that would do any real damage, so she changed course, bringing her heel down on his hands, breaking his grip on her.

It all happened in a matter of seconds and she scrambled back, the LCP falling from her pant leg onto the floor between them, but he was closer, and the bloody grin he gave her said he knew it.

Time to get dirty, darlin'.

Wade's voice sounded strangely composed, a spot of calm in the panic that swirled inside her head and she listened, popping forward to deliver a superman punch to his damaged eye just as his fingers closed around the grip of the gun.

The momentum of the blow stunned him, landing her on top of him and she straddled his chest, raining blows down on each and every part of him that she could reach.

He flipped her and she was suddenly on her back, staring up at him no more than a moment before she was seeing stars again, delivered by the fist she caught against her temple. Another blow glanced across her cheekbone, but it was enough to stun her. Slow her down.

He was between her legs, saying something, taunting her, and she blinked stupidly, trying to clear the buzzing that muddled her brain. He hit her again—a vicious open-handed slap meant to stun and shame her before he wrapped his hands around her neck to squeeze.

She brought her fists down on his forearms, trying to break the hold he had on her throat, and it worked for a moment, loosening his grip enough to allow her to take a hurried breath before he re-applied pressure.

She used the breath to clear her mind, allowing her to push panic away just enough to remember her training. Kicking her leg straight up, she popped her hip off the ground, angling it enough to hook an ankle around his neck. Using her own body weight as a fulcrum, Sabrina levered herself up and over him until she straddled his chest.

Using the momentum of the switch, she barreled down on him, breaking the hold he had on her throat. She swung hard with heavy fists, feeling things break and bleed beneath her hands, her training and technique giving way to blind rage. She beat him until he stopped moving, stopped trying to protect himself. And then she took the chance to roll off of him, fitting the LCP in her hand as she did, coming up with it pointed squarely at his face.

Do it, Melissa.

Wade's tone had gone dark—no longer playful, no longer serene. It was a command, and she felt the momentary tension of her finger as it tightened around the trigger, ready to do as he said.

Kill him. Do it now.

Church had warned her that the gun was a last resort. A gunshot would alert Alberto Reyes that something was wrong, and she'd lose the element of surprise.

There was a pillow a few feet away on the bed. She could see herself dropping down to her knees to press it into his face, the barrel of the gun deep in its folds. She could pull the trigger then, couldn't she? She could kill him and no one would hear a thing.

That's the way, darlin … put him out of your misery.

Blood dribbled down her chin and her teeth ached almost as bad as her hands. She looked down at them, her fingers shaking, knuckles split open and weeping, more than one of them broken. As bad as she felt, he looked worse.

Estefan's nose, smashed into his face, was nearly as swollen as his eye, both oozing blood and other bodily fluids. His face was lumpy bruised knots sprouting up under broken skin, mouth open in an effort to keep breathing, and she could see how much it cost him just to take a breath. She could hear the gurgle of blood in his throat.

Dropping the pillow, she took her finger off the trigger.

You can't let him live, darlin'. You know that.

Tucking the LCP into the small of her back, she focused on finding the key, blocking out the truth she heard in her head. Estefan was attempting to roll over onto his side, probably so he wouldn't drown in his own blood. His mouth was moving, broken and mangled—the words sliding from it sounding as wet and fat as slugs. She couldn't understand them, but she knew he was talking to her.

You walk out that door with him still breathin', you're gonna regret it.

She knew Wade was right, but she redoubled her efforts, lifting the dust ruffle on the bed to look beneath it.

There.

She had to wriggle under it in order to reach the key and when she came up with it, she found Estefan on all fours, head hanging low between his shoulders, blood and mucus a constant drip from his mangled face.

He was still talking, but she just added his voice to Wade's and ignored him too.

At the door she shoved the key into the lock and took a deep breath and a look over her shoulder. Estefan was on his knees now, facing her, glaring at her.

Please. Please let this work …

She turned the key and the lock gave way.

“… over,” he said behind her, the words sounding like they were too big for his mouth. “… never be over.”

Told ya so …

She didn't answer. Didn't give either of them the satisfaction. She just pulled open the door and stumbled into the hall before pulling it closed with a quiet
click
.

Eighty-Nine

Michael, Strickland, and Church
took the stairs as they'd taken the jungle behind them: single-file and quiet.

It was dark but not pitch-black. As soon as they pulled the door closed and reengaged the lock, a strip of running lights illuminated their path, leading them upward. It looked like Reyes had made some upgrades.

But the stairs were steep, carved into the side of a mountain, and mounting them took time and effort. Michael could hear Strickland's breath behind him. He was exerted but not winded. He imagined Church was about the same.

The running lights came to an abrupt end, and he stopped short. “Stop,” he said, practically breathing the word. Reaching out, he felt something cool and solid in front of him. The door.

He trailed his fingers along the doorframe, looking for wires. Alarms. Anything that might trigger an alert that would signal their arrival. But there was nothing. Finding the doorknob, he turned and pushed before stepping into a narrow broom closet. He opened that door too, letting himself into a deserted laundry room.

Strickland and Church followed him in, Church closing the door as quietly as possible behind them. The longer they could keep someone from spotting them, the better. He reached into his cargo pocket and fished out earpieces. They each took one and fit it into their ear while he attached their mics to their shirt collars. They were small, barely bigger than the head of a pin, blending perfectly into the dark fabric of their shirts.

“Fancy,” Strickland whispered, coming through his comm loud and clear.

The stairs that would take them to the third floor were directly across from the laundry room. “Straight up the stairs,” he said softly.

Strickland held up the map and nodded. “Pink pony. I got this,” he said as if he'd asked him to pick up his dry cleaning instead of break into the home of a drug lord and take his daughter. The crazy thing was, Michael believed him.

Reaching into the small of his back he pulled his backup piece, a S&W .40 outfitted with a suppressor. He held it out to Strickland, and the cop took it without hesitation. “Just in case,” he said to him before turning to look at Church. “Stay together. Get Christina first and have her take you to the Maddox boy and then get out.”

For a second she looked like she was going to argue with him. Then she gave a curt nod before lifting her Glock from its holster. “Let's do this, the meter is running,” she said, reminding him that he only had her cooperation for so long—if he ever really had it at all.

Michael didn't say anything. Instead he gripped the knob to the door that would lead them into the house and pushed it open, leading them into the hall.

Church took point, leading Strickland up the stairs. Strickland stopped for just a moment to look at Michael, his face saying it all.

Save her.

And then he was gone, disappearing up the stairs along with Church, leaving Michael to do as he promised.

Ninety

Find Leo.

Sabrina thought of him, his pale blond head bent over a stack of strawberry waffles, solemn hazel eyes turned toward her. Watching her. Waiting for her to do something—to get him out of here.

She had to get upstairs. She was almost certain that Christina and Leo's quarters were close to each other and so far, hers was the only bedroom she'd seen on the first floor. Countless sitting rooms, sunrooms, and libraries, but only one bedroom.

The problem was, she couldn't find a goddamned staircase.

She walked faster and faster until she was practically running. Dodging through rooms blindly.

Slow down. You're just getting yourself all turned around now, darlin'. Think about where she took you. What she showed you …

Christina had led her through the house. Taken her from room to room—a meandering route that had taken several minutes.

She'd been trying to show her the layout of the house.

Sabrina stopped moving completely and closed her eyes, watching herself walk from room to room, paying attention to where each of them led …

She was now standing in a formal living room, which Christina had called the Blue Room. Beyond it was a music room and a small paneled “conversation area” that housed a fireplace. They'd walked through it on their way to breakfast. There was another sitting room, one with floor-to-ceiling French doors that opened out on the veranda. On the other side of it was a staircase.

Route clearly mapped out in her mind, she opened her eyes. Standing no more than ten feet in front of her was Alberto Reyes. He had a gun in his hand, and it was pressed into the tender flesh of Leo Maddox's neck.

“I see you and Estefan have been getting to know each other,” he said, flicking his flat, dark gaze over her. “Where is he?”

“With any luck, bleeding out on the floor of my room.”

Reyes laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. Leo's eyes welled instantly with tears.

“It's going to be okay, Leo. Everything is going to be fine,” she said calmly, risking no more than a glance at him before fixing her attention on the man behind him.

“She's lying to you, Leo. She knows that the two of you are very close to dying, and she wants to keep you calm,” Reyes said, pressing the muzzle of the gun just a little bit deeper, the pressure widening Leo's eyes, spilling tears down his cheeks. “Tell him the truth.”

“The truth …” She looked down at Leo and smiled. “The truth is that this man won't hurt you because if he does, your grandfather will hunt him to the ends of the earth and destroy everything he's built.” She looked up at Reyes, her smile dying. “That's the truth.”

Reyes glared at her for a moment before he dropped the gun and stepped back, releasing Leo. “Run along now, Leo.” He grinned at her. “Sabrina and I would like to be alone.”

The boy hesitated, no longer afraid. He looked worried—for her.

She nodded, licking her lips so that they'd move when she spoke. “Do as he says, it's okay,” she said. “You're going to be fine. My friend Michael will be here soon.” She said it like she was sure of it. The sound of it, her belief in him reverberating in her voice, gave her the courage to look Reyes in the eye. “He's coming for us.”

Neither of them watched Leo as he slipped away, bare feet slapping against cool tile as he did what he was told. As soon as Leo was gone, she relaxed her hands at her sides, palms turned in so that when the time was right she'd have a faster draw on the gun tucked into the small of her back.

“So now you believe that
Cartero
will come for you?” Reyes cocked his head, regarding her with the kind of morbid fascination a twisted child would find in a wounded animal. “Or were you just saying that to calm our young friend?”

Sabrina shook her head. “Michael isn't coming here to save me. He's coming here to kill you.”

Reyes gave her a quiet smile. “
Cartero
isn't coming; he is already here.”