The Huntress: full-length sexy romantic suspense (27 page)

“Next time, explain your plan before you run off and scare the hell out of me,” Grayson grumbled and shoved the Beretta into his waistband. He tied up and gagged the men, making sure they weren’t going to be able to do anything more than groan softly, before disconnecting the electrical current.

“Effective, no?” Vega bent down, and grabbed the shoulders of the smaller of the two men and started dragging him across the rough wood floor. “We should lock them in the shed.”

Grayson shook his head. “Thank God you’re finally on my side.”

“Speaking of sides.” Vega put her hand on his shoulder. Now that he was carrying a gun and acting as her partner, there was one question she needed answered. “What happened to Mirna? You called yourself a killer. So tell me, did you murder her? I need to know what happened. I need to know what kind of man is watching my back.”

Deep down she really didn’t want to know. What if he really had killed her? What if…?

Grayson’s eyes sparkled like a predator’s as he stared at her silently for several minutes. “We don’t have the time for this.”

“Yes, we do.” She blocked the door. “What happened?”

Grayson dragged a hand through his bluntly cut hair. “You already know part of the story. We’d been sent to kill the drug czar Carlos Briceno. Mirna was our contact. She got us into the compound.”

He crossed the room as if distance were needed for the rest of the story. Vega held her breath. “Somehow, in the midst of the chaos and killing, I fell for her. I wanted to take her home with me.

“The plan was to sneak into Carlos’s bedroom. Mirna was going to get us there. She was his favorite mistress, you see. We had no trouble getting into position, and no trouble luring Carlos into the room. Then it happened, the one thing I always dread might happen. I don’t know what tipped him off—the guy was paranoid. I should have planned for that. He grabbed Mirna just as I fired. He hauled her against his chest. The bullet…”

Vega went to him and slipped her arms around his waist.

“I should have known that Carlos would choose that moment to grab her. But how could I have…?”

They were together in this and she had to admit she trusted him. Even if the data CD she’d found in Harper’s office didn’t completely clear Grayson, it had connected Whitfield to Spider. And Butch and Whitfield were the bastards holding Fiona at gunpoint.

They left the bungalow and began tracking the second set of guards through the woods. Grayson had a M249 slung over each shoulder. He looked surprisingly like a comic-book action hero. Vega let him keep the assortment of weapons he’d filched off the two guards along with the Beretta he’d taken from her bag.

The guards were following a trail that led to the beach, trashing around in the bushes. Why they chose to search that way Vega couldn’t begin to guess. No one would hide so close to the trail. The guards weren’t completely stupid, however. They took turns watching their rear, giving Vega and Grayson cause to take extra care. After one of the guards stopped and actually backtracked several yards, listening carefully, Grayson took Vega’s arm and pointed to a path the forest had reclaimed years ago. She could barely make out the opening with the night vision monocle.

“It’s too dangerous to follow them like this,” he whispered. “Besides, this way will get us to the beach first.”

She followed as Grayson pushed his way through a tangle of vines. The sand turned deeper, the wind whipped sharper, and the trees shorter as they neared the beach.

Several yards away an angry voice rose. Vega stopped mid-step and listened as the two guards argued. The one guard thought they should turn back while the other insisted they needed to follow the narrow beach.

“I’d swim for another island, if I were in their shoes,” one of them said.

Vega drew out the air gun Taser and squeezed past Grayson. “Follow in about a minute,” she whispered in his ear as she passed. Grayson shook his head violently in protest but didn’t try to stop her, though she could see how he was itching to take control.

Which wasn’t going happen, not with Fiona’s life in danger. Fiona was
her
sister,
her
responsibility. If anyone needed to make a sacrifice, she intended to be the one making it.

A few bright stars winked from behind a curtain of clouds, sparkling in the dark waters before disappearing again. A bird perched somewhere in the thickest part of the vegetation called a long, lonely tune. The two guards down the beach continued to argue.

They were foolish, those guards. Vega had run across their type before. Vicious on the outside but no depth or discipline, which made them easy prey. Crouched low, she worked her way through the sea oats and hilly dunes to close the distance between her and the men. Her Taser guns were effective to up to fifteen feet, but since she didn’t have much experience with them, she worked her way closer.

Ten feet.

Five feet.

The one guard shut up. He punched the other man in the chest and put a finger to his lips. She held herself perfectly still while the men scanned the area. At this distance and with their night vision goggles, they’d spot her.

It didn’t matter though. She had her sights fixed on the both of them. She squeezed the triggers. With a whoosh, the electrical probes sailed through the air.

The guard on the right fell. The guard on the left gave a cry of alarm and fired his M249 into the dunes. The rapid percussion echoed through the night while a veil of sand shot up into the air.

She must have missed her mark. Vega dove for cover and pulled out her Glock.

The gunfire would alert the others. The third pair of guards would probably descend at any moment. She had to act fast.

She aimed the gun. His life for hers. She’d never had to make that decision, never actually taken a life. But with her sister in jeopardy, she didn’t stop to battle her morals. She steadied the gun, aiming for his chest—a nice wide target.

A gun crackled.

The guard fell to his knees. Not a heartbeat later, he toppled over sideways.

The M249 bounced in the sand.

But she hadn’t fired.

What the…?

She whirled around to find Grayson with his feet planted boldly in the sand, no cover protecting him. The Beretta was locked in his grasp, his arms outstretched. He had a calm look to him, deadly calm. She’d read him right the first time she’d met him. He was a trained killer, cold in his performance.

And he’d risked his neck to take out the guard.

The fool.

She dashed the five feet to the fallen guards. One man was dead. His eyes stared sightlessly at the blank sky. The other guard lay quite immobilized, having been struck with both sets of probes. She quickly disconnected one set.

“I’ll tie him up.” Grayson was standing right behind her. She’d felt his presence even before he spoke.

One miss with the Taser gun and the situation had spun out of control. She glanced at the dead man one more time and shuddered. What feelings would be swirling in her belly right now if she’d been the one to have pulled that trigger? Damn, she thanked God she didn’t have to know.

“Butch will send someone to see what we’ve been doing…probably guess it just by the absence of his killers,” she said before unhooking the probes from the stun gun once Grayson had the man tied up.

She tossed the weapon aside. It was useless now. They’d used all of the cartridges, which left them with just the noisy, deadly weapons. She picked up one of the fallen M249s and gave it a thorough inspection before slipping her arm through the strap.

“Vega, I want you to sit the rest of this out.” Grayson was still bent over the bound man on the ground. “You’re not a killer. That conscience of yours will get you into trouble.”

“You’re wrong.” She started down the path that led back toward the boat landing. If Butch felt threatened, he’d take his frustrations out on Fiona. She needed to get her sister away from him as soon as possible.

“We should be killing these men, not just tying them up. This guy will be back in action as soon as he’s found,” Grayson said.

She stopped long enough to watch him wipe his hands against his pants to get rid of the sand.

“I’ll handle this my way.”
I know Butch
.

* * * *

Butch paced the small clearing near the boats. If that bastard Whitfield gave him one more order, he swore he was going to put a bullet through his head. Whitfield had insisted they bring along his personal guards. Had insisted they blaze onto the island like a damned army landing on a foreign shore, and had insisted they keep that mouthy sister of Vega’s alive.

Grayson and Fiona would both be dead right now and Vega well on her way out if not for Whitfield’s interference. The jerk had been adamant on coming along just because the feds were breathing heat down his neck and he was running scared.

This promise of four million dollars was turning into a major mess. The papers were filled with speculation about Spider. Finn had gone underground, and Whitfield was practically sitting on his shoulders.

If Finn hadn’t been such a damned good salesman, dangling gobs of cash in front of Butch’s nose, he would’ve never allowed himself to get mixed up with an idiot like Whitfield. Killing Greg Harper had been a snap—an enjoyment, really. But then, Whitfield hadn’t interfered until after the fact. The police had scared him. That was when Whitfield brought in a team of security guards and dressed them like they were Kung Fu warriors who’d escaped some poorly dubbed Japanese flick.

Everyone knew teams created headaches. At a cost of a thousand dollars a day per guard, this was one headache Butch knew he could do without.

“I can’t get C.K. or Lynch to answer their radio,” whined the guard with the bleeding lip, Jasper or something, Butch hadn’t paid much attention to names. “I think they got killed. We all heard the gunfire.” Jasper put the radio down and stepped closer to the fire they’d built. His wide eyes scanned the darkness beyond. Because of the bright fire, he’d removed the night vision goggles and was staring blind, stupid bastard.

They were all bastards.

Butch hoped Jasper was right, that four of Whitfield’s guards were dead. It meant he wouldn’t have to pay them.

“Polsen, what do you intend to do?” Whitfield didn’t sound scared, but Butch could smell the executive’s fear and see his jumpy gaze.

“Nothing.” He sat down beside Fiona who’d made herself comfortable on an old Palmetto log and gave her leg a-none too gentle squeeze. “Can’t bring back the dead, now can I?”

“Damn it, I mean how do you intend to stop Grayson and Vega from picking us all off one by one?”

“Don’t worry.” Butch drew a Colt from his boot and caressed Fiona’s neck with the point. She jerked away. “Vega will be here any minute now, dragging your unlucky partner along with her.”

“I hope to God you’re right,” Whitfield grumbled and walked away. He’d worn a dark business suit, the ass. Sand was caked all up and down those expensive trousers of his. Butch wondered what Whitfield had expected to encounter.

“My sister won’t fall into your trap. She’s much crafter than a stupid thug like you,” Fiona mouthed off.

Butch only smiled. She could say whatever she wanted. She’d be dead in a moment. He just wanted to make sure Vega was around to watch him make the kill.

Vega’s attack would be direct and honest, exactly like her behavior under the sheets. He knew her, every damned inch of her in fact. She would come exactly when he wanted her to, as intimate experience had proven.

The underbrush rustled. Butch rose from the ground and pulled Fiona up along with him.

“You might want to get out of the way,” he called to Whitfield. Getting Whitfield killed might put a strain on Butch’s relationship with Finn. And since Finn doled out the money, Butch didn’t need that relationship strained. “She’s here.”

Whitfield started sweating. It was forty degrees out, and the coward was sweating. Butch just shook his head and pointed to the closest boat. “Take cover in there.”

Jasper, with the split lip, waved his machine gun around while turning tight circles. The second guard, Whitfield’s own personal protector, followed him onto the boat, making Jasper the one to watch.

Butch held his breath in anticipation. Vega was about to pounce. He predicted she’d drop from a tree.

Not a moment later, Vega dropped. Her brown boots, olive colored cargo pants, black leather jacket and dark blond hair tied back into a long braid, created a blur of color as she landed on Jasper. The jerk was out and on the ground before he even realized he’d been attacked.

The intense focus of her gaze excited Butch, got his heart pumping as he remembered seeing her look at him like that many times before. They were good together. Oh well, it might be hard, but he’d soon have enough money to buy himself a replacement.

She swung one of Whitfield’s machine guns off her arm—the motion was fluid, poetry really—and aimed it squarely on Butch.

“Let Fiona go.” Vega wasn’t even breathing hard.

Butch smiled and tightened his grip around Fiona’s arms. “Tell her,” he whispered into Fiona’s ear.

“No,” she whispered back, the bitch.

Butch shrugged. “You won’t shoot me, Vega.”

“Won’t I?” If Fiona hadn’t been in the picture, she’d shoot him without a second thought. He wasn’t a fool.

“I’ve got a Colt pressed into Fiona’s back. Don’t I, darling?” He jabbed it nice and hard into Fiona’s spine so she’d jump. The effect was perfect. Vega lowered the M249 just a bit.

“I know you, Butch. You wouldn’t risk your neck just to kill Grayson and collect some money.” Vega kept her voice calm. He was impressed.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. But I also know you won’t shoot me, knowing I’d kill your sister before dropping down dead. That makes me pretty damn safe, baby. Drop the gun.”

For the longest time Vega didn’t move. Butch feared he might have a standoff to deal with, which he didn’t like. Not with the unknown still hiding out there somewhere in the woods. He knew better than to try and predict Grayson’s actions. That one was illusive as hell. Only Vega seemed able to read his mind.