Dangerously Deceived Read online

  Grant’s head snapped up. “No—”

  “I fucking quit,” Vaughn snarled. “I didn’t join Aegis Group to leave people behind. So you can take your orders and shove them up your ass.”

  “You think you can find her?” Ashton’s hard stare bored into Vaughn.

  Grant took a step toward them. “Vaughn, please...”

  “I’ll do my best.” Vaughn didn’t want to say it, but there was the real possibility that he might have to bring her home in a body bag. He totally ignored his TL. He meant what he’d said. This wasn’t what he did.

  “Bring her home.” Ashton’s voice cracked. He really did love Carla. “Whatever it costs, I’ll pay it.”

  “I don’t want your fucking money and a guy like that,” Vaughn nodded at the road behind them, “he doesn’t want money either. This might not end well. You need to be prepared for that. They won’t tell you that, but I am.”

  Ashton nodded.

  “Boss, can you drive?” Jamie opened the driver’s door of the sedan and got out.

  “Yeah, why?” Grant asked.

  “I’m going with Vaughn.” Jamie grabbed a bag from the floorboard.

  “Me, too.” Brenden lumbered around the back of the car.

  Vaughn stared at Jamie. He barely knew the guy. This could likely end their career with Aegis Group and land them in a Lebanese prison. Brenden shouldn’t risk that. Not with his history. And yet Vaughn couldn’t bring himself to turn down this help. Carla deserved to be saved. They’d just have to make sure they didn’t get caught or killed.

  “Fucking hell,” Zain muttered via the phone. “We can’t support you. We can’t be involved.”

  “I’m not asking you to,” Vaughn said.

  Grant tapped the phone and slid it into his pocket. He stared at each of them.

  “What the hell is going on back there? I’m still bleeding, you know?” Nolan called from the backseat of the SUV.

  “Help me get Nolan into the car. Take the SUV and what gear we have.” Grant shook his head. “If I could stay, I would.”

  “Someone has to get these guys home.” Vaughn gestured at Jared and Ashton, who were barely standing. Maybe they were worse than Vaughn thought.

  “We’ll get Nolan moved,” Jamie said and slapped Brenden on the shoulder.

  Ashton and Jared’s strength seemed to have given out. The two folded themselves back into the sedan and shut the door, leaving Grant and Vaughn alone for the moment.

  “I hope you find her,” Grant said.

  “Yeah.” Vaughn’s throat was too thick so say anything else.

  Carla had become important to him in a matter of days. From the moment he’d met her, it was like something connected them. He’d tried saying no, putting distance between them and every time he came back to her. Now he wasn’t going to let her go. Vaughn was going to find her.

  Nolan slapped Vaughn on the shoulder with his one free hand. “I hear you’re doing something stupid.”

  “Something like that.” Vaughn nodded at the car. “Go.”

  Nolan stared at Vaughn a moment longer then nodded as though they’d said something to each other.

  Brenden and Jamie helped Nolan into the passenger seat while Grant started the car again. With a final wave the sedan turned and merged with traffic, heading to safety. It was the smart thing to do. And yet Vaughn couldn’t make himself follow orders.

  “Okay, so, it wasn’t just me who saw two guys kiss, was it?” Jamie asked.

  Vaughn pressed his lips together. That was what they were thinking about?

  “Nope,” Brenden said.

  “Huh.” Jamie glanced at Vaughn.

  He shook his head, not ready to dive into that topic, no matter what Jared and Ashton did in full view of the team.

  “Things are starting to make sense.” Jamie gestured to the SUV. “What now?”

  Vaughn finally admitted the frightening truth. “I have no fucking idea.”

  “We need to call Vara Price,” Brenden said.

  “Who?” Jamie asked.

  “Vara. She used to work this area. She’ll have contacts we can use.” Brenden glanced over his shoulder. “We need to get off the road first.”

  “Let’s go.” Vaughn headed for the SUV.

  The other two climbed in. The smell of Nolan’s blood clung to the upholstery.

  Vaughn wanted to thank them. This was a risk. And yet, he couldn’t speak.

  TUESDAY. UNKNOWN LOCATION, Beirut, Lebanon.

  Carla’s head swam and everything spun. Her stomach clenched and for a moment she thought she was going to be sick. She swallowed and tasted bile. Or was that fear?

  The motorcycle slowed, and they passed out of the sunlight into darkness. Her eyes stopped throbbing, but that was only one ache in a long list since getting hauled onto the motorcycle.

  Should she try to throw herself off the bike again?

  The first time hadn’t gone so well for her. But she’d tried, just like Melody had told her to. The difference was that whoever this guy was, nothing seemed to surprise him.

  Before her muddled brain could decide on a course of action, the bike came to an abrupt stop. She lurched forward, catching herself on the handlebars. Her captor spat a few words then roughly grabbed her by the hair.

  “Ow! Hey, I’m cooperating.” She grasped him by the wrist in an effort to ease the pain.

  He used the hold to drag her off the bike, nearly toppling it as she struggled to bend and move unnaturally. The place where he’d cracked her head with something hard screamed and fire blazed along her nerve endings.

  Weak lights flickered on, illuminating a cavernous space. She had an impression of cinderblock walls, grimy glass and metal rafters before he shoved her through a door and into a small room. She went to her knees then pitched forward, barely catching herself before busting her face on the ground.

  Once more he spat words at her that didn’t sound friendly in the least.

  She rolled over and watched him slam a metal door on her. The glass window between them was cloudy but didn’t hide his glare at all.

  The mask was gone.

  When had that happened?

  For a moment they stared at each other.

  He had light brown hair that was sun-bleached and nearly blond. His hazel eyes were sharp and his skin fair. One cheek was red as though it had been burned by something. He was tall, probably a little over six foot, but with a slimmer build and lean instead of bulky.

  He wasn’t Lebanese at all.

  European?

  The man pivoted away from her and walked out of sight.

  She blew out a breath. In that moment her senses seemed to come back on-line.

  The first thing was pain. The sharp stab of it from where he’d hit her radiated down her neck. Her knees ached and her palms stung. There were other bumps and bruises. The man hadn’t been shy or gentle about holding her on the bike.

  Fear followed fast on pain, but she didn’t have much use for fear. Mom had always said fear and tears didn’t fix things.

  Yes, the situation was bad. This man had injured half their team and would have probably killed them given the chance. But fear didn’t help her not be afraid.

  When Carla had been little and afraid of things in the dark, Mom had shown her how to chase the bad things away. Nothing useful happed from simply being afraid. It was what she did about fear that mattered.

  Carla rolled to her side and gingerly pushed herself up to her feet. The room still rocked around her.

  She felt her pocket.

  The cell phone was gone, but she’d expected that.

  She shuffled forward to the window and stood to one side, peering out into the building beyond.

  What she could see was a rectangular room illuminated by two overhead lights. The bike sat halfway into the building with a beaten up white car and a dark van behind it on either side.

  The man staggered over to a twin bed jutting out from the wall and began pealing his gear off.
He moved slowly, removing the holsters then some kind of shoulder protection down to his shirt. That came off slowly, revealing a vest underneath like what Vaughn wore.

  She pressed a hand to her chest, testing her own vest.

  He turned slightly, and she got a glimpse of blood soaking one shoulder. He shrugged out of his vest and turned. The bottom part of his undershirt was gone and a large wound was quickly soaking his pants.

  She covered her mouth with her hand.

  What happened if this guy bled out and died while she was in here?

  Carla glanced at the door.

  Someone had welded a piece of metal over where the doorknob should be.

  But this wasn’t a cell. It was an average door.

  If he passed out or died, she should be able to get out eventually, right? But what if someone came to check on him? What if he had friends?

  She glanced around her prison, taking in the heap of rags and bucket without thinking too much about them.

  Carla turned her attention back on her captor. He was shirtless now and had crossed to stand over a grate in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs coated in blood. A water hose sprayed down on him in some kind of makeshift shower. He focused on the two wounds, ignoring other small cuts.

  The shower was brief. If he intended to clear away the blood, he was out of luck. Both kept oozing.

  How was he still standing? Or was this common? Would Vaughn take a bullet and keep going?

  Her insides twisted up at the idea of Vaughn in similar shape.

  Where was he? Did they manage to get Ashton and Jared somewhere safe?

  What about her?

  Her mind shied away from that question.

  Instead, she continued to watch her captor.

  He padded barefoot and in his skivvies over to a workbench area. She squinted, trying to make out what he took off a shelf. He twisted to lean up against the bench and flipped a light on. He took what looked like the biggest pair of tweezers and lifted them to his shoulder.

  No...

  He wasn’t...

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  For several minutes she listened to the sound of grunting and muttered words. She couldn’t look. Just knowing what he was up to was enough to make her stomach churn.

  After a few silent moments the man’s voice surprised her. She opened her eyes and peered out the window.

  Her captor leaned up against the bench, a phone in hand and more blood coating his skin. Sharp words came out of his mouth. He wasn’t happy about something.

  Well good.

  She wasn’t happy about being locked in a box either.

  Carla turned back to her room. Buckets and rags. What could she do with those?

  She walked the room, running her hands along the cinderblocks.

  Deep lines gouged the surface here and there. Something dark stained the ground and walls.

  If she was going to escape, how would she do it? What would Vaughn do in this situation?

  The door banged open.

  She whirled to face the man, his focus back on her. He was perhaps scarier in nothing but blood and underwear than he’d been decked out in body armor and black.

  Carla backed against the wall, her fight-or-flight instincts switching to scared shitless.

  “Please—let’s talk about this?” she stammered out.

  The man’s hand darted out so fast she didn’t see it. He yanked her forward. She stumbled, and he began walking, dragging her across the room to the workbench. A puddle of his blood had pooled where he’d been standing earlier.

  He pushed her at the table then lifted his left hand and pointed a gun at her.

  “Don’t.” She kept her hands up and cringed.

  He began speaking, words all at once, jumbled together. Here and there something sounded familiar, but she didn’t understand.

  What did he want her to do?

  He lunged at her.

  She yelped and backed into the workbench.

  He grabbed the tweezers and shook them in front of her face.

  No.

  Oh, no...

  Her mouth dried up.

  He did not want her to...?

  He spoke more, gesturing at his shoulder with his free hand.

  “Dude, I do not know what I’m doing,” she said.

  He replied as he had, in words she didn’t know then followed it up by straightening his arm and pointing the gun at her.

  She flinched. What were the chances he’d bleed out before she could finish? And could she use this as an opportunity to injure him further thereby allowing her to get away?

  “Okay.” She swallowed and took the tweezers. “This is a really bad idea.”

  He didn’t speak, just pointed the gun at her.

  “Great. Just what I wanted to do today.” She clicked the ends of the tweezers together and braced herself.

  Up close the wound was worse. Much worse. Bits of flesh and muscle were churned up. She was fairly certain that bit of yellowish white was bone. And this guy was standing there as though it didn’t hurt in the slightest.

  “Fucking hell this is gross,” she muttered.

  Carla braced her hand against his chest, sticky with blood.

  “Should I wear gloves or wash my hands?” She took her hand away.

  The man’s face contorted into a mask of rage. He snarled words at her, threats if she was guessing

  “Okay, fine, hope you catch some germ and die from infection, asshole.” She pushed his chest back until he leaned against the work bench.

  This wasn’t a person.

  She was prepping for dinner. Just a rotisserie chicken she needed to debone. Or something. The analogy wasn’t quite working.

  Carla inserted the end of the tweezers into his shoulder. She met with squishy resistance.

  Not the bullet.

  She adjusted, prodding lower then to the left.

  He grunted twice, but otherwise stared at her with unwavering eyes. His color was a bit pale, probably from the blood loss.

  This guy was content to let her fumble around inside of him with no assurance she’d get the job done.

  At that moment she found the bullet.

  Well dam.

  “Got it,” she announced.

  He ground out some words and lowered his gun. His tanned skin was gray, pale, sickly.

  It wasn’t her imagination. He was fading on her.

  She jostled her hand a bit, losing the bullet, and made the necessary I’m sorry’s all while her mind was spinning this new possibility.

  There was one more wound. One with considerable more damage.

  How much longer would he last like this? Would he let her root around inside of him biding her time? And could she turn this to her advantage?

  She pulled the bullet from his shoulder. Or more accurately a hunk of what looked like metal. Was that what a bullet really looked like?

  He snatched the tweezers from her and spat more words.

  It was Arabic. She understood words here and there enough to know that much. It didn’t mean she knew what he was saying or could communicate, but it was a detail she now knew about him.

  Where was he from? Who was he? And why was he after her and their people?

  He locked eyes with her and gestured at his side.

  Round two, and this time she was more prepared.

  He held out the tweezers.

  She nodded and held up a finger, pretending like she needed several deep breaths.

  Where was the phone he’d used earlier? Over with his clothes? What were her exit options?

  She’d watched him lock the door they’d come in. If she got away, she needed to move fast. That left the double doors going deeper into the building.

  He shoved the tweezers at her, giving her no option but to accept them.

  Here went nothing.

  Carla knelt and braced one hand on the bench. She couldn’t just jab the tweezers in and run, she needed to distract him with pain. If she was luck
y he’d pass out, but the way things had gone she wouldn’t count on that.

  He said something else. The snap was gone. Did that mean his energy was waning?

  “This one’s going to hurt a lot.” She eyed the flesh.

  How was he still standing?

  This was unnatural.

  Carla used her right hand to prod at the wound.

  “God, this is gross,” she muttered.

  And it was going to get worse.

  She used the tweezers to explore the hole, pressing a bit too far this way and that instead of going in.

  Her patient grunted and finally lowered his gun, choosing to clench the workbench with both hands.

  Good.

  “I’m doing the very worst job I can,” she said in soft tones.

  Was there anything else she could use as a weapon?

  She glanced at the work bench.

  A few inches away a wrench lay forgotten, and on a shelf behind that—a phone.

  “There we go,” she whispered.

  He snapped at her and slapped at the hand holding the bench.

  She placed her hand on his hip. “Sorry, I’m not exactly fond of your ground beef, dude.”

  More blood trickled over her fingers. She’d nicked something and couldn’t bring herself to get torn up over it.

  The front of his boxer briefs were a dark to light rust red. Splatters of blood splashed on his calves and feet, some on her.

  The end of the tweezers met resistance.

  The bullet?

  Was she ready to snatch, grab and go?

  She got her feet under her. To get the wrench she’d have to reach under his arm if he didn’t react.

  If she wanted to see Vaughn or her family again, she had to do this. She couldn’t rely on them to find her. She had to be proactive about letting them know where she was.

  She glanced up at her captor. “This is going to hurt.”

  His upper lip curled, and he spoke through clenched teeth.

  “Right back at you.” Carla lowered her gaze to the wound and adjusted her left hand.

  She forced the tweezers deeper into the wound around the bullet. He grunted again. The tendons in his arms stood out.

  Here goes...

  Carla hooked her thumb over the end of the tweezers and shoved them into the wound at the same moment she stood. He cried out, sounding more like a pissed off animal snarling than a human being. She grabbed the wrench and swung, clocking him in the back of the head.