Dangerously Deceived Read online

  He staggered sideways, blinking.

  She yelled and swung the wrench like a baseball bat, connecting with the side of his head.

  He went down to his knees then face planted.

  This was her chance.

  She snatched the phone off its charger and sprinted for the double doors, away from him.

  Carla shoved the doors open and kept going.

  Darkness swallowed her. She went face first into a wall and had to find her way left by feel. Something snagged on her shirt and she ripped it trying to get away from hands in the dark only to find herself spilling through another door into a hall.

  A man’s voice echoed through the building. She didn’t need to know the language to understand rage.

  She brought the phone up and tapped the screen.

  Vaughn had quizzed her about his phone number, ensuring she’d memorized it just in case last night. Now she prayed he’d actually transferred his calls to the new burner, because she didn’t know any other phone numbers.

  Metal banged against metal somewhere behind her, not that far away.

  The hunt was on.

  She had moments.

  Carla hit dial and kept running, looking for a door leading outside, but all she found were more rooms.

  Another hallway into darkness stretched out in front of her.

  “Carla!”

  She lifted the phone to her ear and turned to stare behind her. “Vaughn?”

  “Carla, where are you?”

  “I don’t know. Some warehouse. He’s here. He’s pissed. I don’t know where I am and I can’t find a way out.” She threw herself into the darkness. Vaughn was out there somewhere.

  “What can you tell me? What do you remember?” He sounded as desperate as she felt.

  She kept going, one hand on the wall to guide her, twisting around to watch the corner for some sight of her tormenter. “I don’t know. Big building. No one else is here.”

  The wall fell away.

  She turned to see where she was and stared up into the eyes of a demon made flesh.

  17.

  Tuesday. Beirut, Lebanon.

  “Carla? Carla!”

  Vaughn stared straight ahead, but he didn’t see the side of the building or the curb he’d nearly jumped trying to get off the road to listen to the call once he realized who it was.

  He pulled the phone away from his face.

  The call was gone.

  “What the hell? What did she say?” Jamie twisted in his seat to face Vaughn.

  “We need to trace that call. I need...” Vaughn’s mind came to a screeching halt.

  They couldn’t call the home office. They shouldn’t even reach out to an American number for fear of leading the authorities straight to him.

  “I’m getting someone.” Jamie had his burner out and pressed to his ear.

  “Vaughn? Hey, Vaughn.” Brenden leaned forward between the seats. “What’d she say?”

  “She’s alive. Oh, God. She’s alive.” Vaughn braced his hands on the steering wheel and held tight to that one fact.

  “Yeah, hey Luke.” Jamie turned away from them. “We need support over here. You know our situation?”

  Vaughn picked his head up and stared at the back of Jamie’s head. Aegis Group had a lot of very skilled people working there. A few of those people had connections, histories in this part of the world no one talked about. One of those people was Luke’s wife, Abigail. She worked on the operations side of the company. Vaughn had never asked many questions about her given how tight-lipped anyone who’d been around for years got whenever questions started rolling.

  “Okay. Fine. I’ll take it. You think he’ll make contact today?” Jamie beat his fist on the door. “Great, thanks, man.”

  “What’d he say?” Vaughn asked.

  “They can’t help, obviously. But there’s a guy they know, someone who might help.” Jamie’s phone went off. “That’s his contact info now.”

  “Give it to me.” Vaughn had to do something.

  He took Jamie’s phone and dialed the number.

  It rang twice then went to voicemail.

  “My name is Vaughn. I work for Aegis Group. We’re trying to extract an asset with no support under hostile conditions in Lebanon. We were told you might be able to help. We need to trace a number. Now. Call me back.”

  He ended the call and clenched the phone in his hand.

  “What now?” Jamie asked.

  “This guy, the one who took Carla, he’s got to work for the government.” Vaughn cranked the wheel and darted back out into traffic. “We should swing back by the park. See who we see.”

  “That sounds like a terrible idea,” Jamie said.

  Vaughn glared at the other man. “You have a better one?”

  One of the phones vibrated against his thigh.

  “Answer it.” He thrust the phone at Jamie.

  “Thanks for permission to answer my own phone, man.” Jamie tapped the phone screen then nodded at Vaughn.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “How did you get this number?” a deep, masculine voice asked.

  “A friend.” Vaughn glanced at the phone then Jamie.

  “Well I don’t have friends,” the unknown man said.

  Vaughn tightened his grip on the wheel. “We were told you could help us. What’s your price?”

  “You can’t buy me.”

  “Then why the fuck did you call us back?” Vaughn needed answers, help, something more than an asshole with a phone.

  “To tell you not to call again.”

  Vaughn reached over and snatched the phone out of Jamie’s grip. “Listen here, tiny dick. We’re dodging bullets and the Lebanese government, so if you don’t have anything useful to say crawl back into your hole and die.”

  “Wait—you’re with Aegis Group and you’re in Lebanon?” Now the guy was interested.

  Vaughn hated this guy on principal. “That’s what you heard?”

  “What is your situation exactly?” the man asked slowly.

  “Give me that.” Jamie took the phone and related the barebones details while Vaughn drove off his rage.

  When it was all out there, the guy sighed loudly. “You guys really know how to step in it, don’t you?”

  “You know us. Always poking the bear.” Jamie grinned despite only Vaughn being able to see it. “So, got anything for us?”

  “A lot of bad news. Get out now. That’s my professional advice.”

  “Not an option,” Vaughn said.

  “Fucking hell.” The guy groaned. “You said you have a number?”

  “I thought you didn’t want to help us?” Vaughn knew he shouldn’t speak. He wanted to take the words back as he said them.

  “That was before I realized how fucked you guys are.”

  “You’ll help us?” Jamie asked.

  “Give me the number.”

  “Who the hell are you and why should I?” Vaughn just couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

  “I’m Ghost and I might be your only friend right now.”

  “Ghost?” Vaughn snorted.

  “The number?” Ghost asked.

  “Here.” Jamie took Vaughn’s phone and read it off.

  “Working on it.” Tapping came through the line on Ghost’s side. “This guy. The one who attacked you, tell me about him.”

  Jamie glanced at Vaughn. “Vaughn got the closest look.”

  “Little over six foot, swimmer’s build, brown hair, freckled. He’s white, whoever he is.”

  Ghost spoke slowly as though he were picking his words carefully. “I’ve heard about a new operative working in that part of the world. If he’s who you’re going after, think real hard before going after this woman. Chances are you won’t take him down, not even if you pump him full of led.”

  “What the hell?” Jamie muttered.

  “All I’m saying is, if you have an opportunity to take him out—do it. You won’t get a second chance.”

  “Wha
t aren’t you telling us?” To Vaughn it sounded like Ghost knew more about this mystery operative than anyone else.

  “Nothing. I’m guessing.”

  “How’s tracing our number going?” Jamie asked.

  “The signal’s bouncing all over the country. I’m working on it. If this guy is who I think he is, he’s got a lot of resources.”

  “Hurry it up,” Vaughn muttered.

  Carla’s life depended on it.

  TUESDAY. UNKNOWN LOCATION, Beirut, Lebanon.

  Carla jolted awake as a new wave of pain radiated up from her tailbone. Her eyes popped open, but all she saw were white stars.

  What the hell happened?

  A figure loomed over her.

  She blinked, trying to focus on his face, but her eyes just weren’t working.

  He spoke a language she didn’t understand, jarring lose the memories.

  Him.

  “No,” she wailed and scooted away from him.

  He snatched her wrist and jerked her toward him. She pitched sideways onto the concrete, inciting other injuries. Her captor clapped a handcuff around her right wrist. She stared at the new jewelry, following the chain that ran from the cuff to loop around a pole running up to the ceiling.

  “No.” She sat up and pulled on the chain. “No!”

  In her little cell of a room she could have figured out a way to break the glass or escape. But she didn’t pick locks. She had no idea how to free herself from this new hell.

  Her captor spat more words at her then turned his back and walked slowly toward the work bench.

  “You’re a fucking asshole,” she yelled, voice bouncing off all the concrete and metal.

  He ignored her in favor of pouring something over his shoulder and hip wound.

  “I hope you never get that bullet out. Maybe next time they’ll get it closer to your heart? Or your brain?” She grasped the length of chain at her disposal and pulled, testing how securely it was linked to the pole.

  No give, no budge, no nothing.

  The man spoke more words but his attention was on himself.

  He hadn’t killed her. So what did he want?

  Everyone wanted something and Carla understood that at this point she was a commodity. A thing to be traded on. It wasn’t offensive if it kept her alive though she might wish she were dead soon enough.

  She crossed her legs and let her hands rest on her knees, sucking in big, deep breaths as though she’d just finished one of those kill-me-now yoga classes with the guys. The only thing worth watching was her captor.

  He went through bandaging himself then pulled a clear bottle out of a mini-fridge.

  Antibiotics?

  He dosed himself with a nearly full syringe.

  Once that was done he retrieved some kind of plastic bag and pulled out tubing, small bits and a pouch that looked an awful lot like refrigerated blood.

  What the hell?

  She couldn’t look away now.

  He inserted what she could only assume was a port into the back of his hand then turned his attention on the blood and tubing.

  Was this normal for him?

  He shambled from the workbench with his bag of blood to the bed. The bag went on a hook on the wall, he connected the tubing to his port, then laid down still covered in old blood and wearing nothing but soaked boxer briefs.

  This was weird.

  Nothing Melody had talked about covered this situation.

  The minutes dragged on. Her butt grew cold, and a cramp developed in one calf.

  How much did she dare to hope?

  The phone call she’d had with Vaughn had lasted moments. She didn’t know enough about the building to give him any clue for where she was. The only thing they might have on their side would be the off-chance Vaughn could get the number traced. But with all the electronic issues they’d had since fleeing the house that morning she couldn’t see that being an option.

  That meant she was either up a creek without a paddle or she was the needle and this place was the haystack. One way or another, she couldn’t sit back and do nothing.

  Fortune favored the bold.

  God helped those who helped themselves.

  The early bird got the worm.

  The one thing all the proverbs had in common was that good things didn’t come to anyone who sat on their laurels and waited for it to come to them. If she stood even the tiniest chance of getting out of here she had to do something. Sitting here on her ass watching a guy sleep wasn’t going to cut it.

  What did someone totally out of their depth begin to do in a situation like this?

  Well first, she needed to know more about her surroundings. She’d messed up running blindly through the building and got herself caught.

  Before, when she’d been in the little room with the grimy window, she’d had a vague idea that the bike and cars were there, some tables and stuff on one wall, the bed over here and that was it. Now she truly looked with the freedom allotted her by being in the same space.

  The only exit out the right side of the room was the rolling garage style door, which she knew was locked. The van appeared newer, taken care of, while the car was beaten up. The bike was somewhere between the two.

  About ten feet of space separated where the vehicles were parked and this guy’s set-up. The only things on Carla’s side of the room was the work-bench and a set of metal lockers. The bulk of the room’s furnishings were across from her.

  He’d rigged up what looked like a kitchen with a water barrel and a plug-in hot plate. Another mini-fridge helped support the counter top. There was only one barstool, which made sense. This wasn’t the kind of place one entertained guests. Next to the kitchen area was a rolling clothes rack was oddly enough packed with clothing bags, some upscale while others looked like little more than a trash bag. Boxes of shoes were lined up under the clothes. Everything neat and orderly.

  That left the far wall.

  Other than her cell and the double doors leading into the building, there was just his bed and a little TV set on an old milk crate type of box.

  She couldn’t reach her captor and even if she could she didn’t think she was capable of doing anything to him. That wasn’t who she was. The other side of the room was too far. Which left her only two options: the work bench or the windows overhead.

  Carla gathered the chain, looping it over her arm. She cringed when it scraped or clanked, but nothing seemed to stir her captor. Once she had control of the chain, she used the wall to help steady her as she got to her feet.

  One blow to the head had rattled her. The second had more than likely given her a concussion.

  She spent a moment swaying on her feet, deciding how steady she might be, before turning and inching toward the work bench. She paused every few steps to dole out more chain.

  Halfway there she knew she’d never make it. Still, she went as far as the chain allowed, then stretched out her hand.

  A good four feet still separated her from anything useful.

  “Shit,” she muttered.

  Carla glanced over her shoulder at the still sleeping man.

  He really was out.

  Okay, so the work bench wasn’t an option.

  She retraced her steps, keeping control of her chain, and examined the windows.

  There was no way she was scaling the wall. She wasn’t strong enough and there wasn’t anywhere to hold onto. But maybe if she broke a window she could signal someone.

  It would mean weathering her captor’s anger, but what did she care about that?

  Just one little problem with her plan. What was she supposed to use to break the window?

  TUESDAY. STREETS OF Beirut, Lebanon.

  Vaughn laid on the horn and swerved around the slower moving car, momentarily playing chicken with on-coming traffic.

  “Jesus!” Jamie held onto the door.

  “Try to not die,” Ghost said through the cell phone.

  “How close are you getting?” Vaughn asked.r />
  “The phone’s still on. I’ve triangulated it down to a city block. Not sure I’ll get you closer than that.

  “Red light. Red light!” Jamie braced his free hand on the dash.

  Vaughn stomped on the brakes, none too happy about getting caught in city traffic. He glanced up and down the road, in case Carla had somehow managed to leave a sign that she’d passed that way.

  A blue van passed through an intersection one street over. He caught a glimpse of a logo that tickled the back of his mind.

  Ghost began speaking again, so Vaughn put the van out of his mind. “Have you considered how you’re getting out of the country?”

  “No.” Vaughn peered at the lights and eased off the gas as the other street flipped to yellow.

  “Might I suggest you figure that out?” Ghost’s tone was dry, bored almost.

  “One problem at a time.” Vaughn accelerated, once more pushing the bounds of how fast he could go on the two-lane road.

  “Any suggestions?” Jamie asked.

  “I know people,” Ghost replied.

  “People who’d help us?”

  “People who like money.”

  Jamie glanced at Vaughn. “We can pay.”

  “Turn right,” Ghost said.

  Vaughn yanked the wheel, sending them skidding down another street. He glanced left and caught sight of the same van from before, but it was too fast to make out the logo.

  Where had he seen that logo?

  Ghost kept talking. “Left at the next intersection and then you’re on your own.”

  “What else do you know about the guy? The operative?” Vaughn slowed to make the left turn at a slower pace.

  “Just chatter. He’s bad news.”

  “Who does he work for?”

  “No idea. Probably some government with his resources. Like I said if you can take him out you’re going to want to.”

  Vaughn finally got a break and turned left, just as the same blue van turned on the street ahead of them. “Can you run a plate, tell me if there’s anything interesting about it?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Because there’s a van. I’ve seen the logo somewhere and they’re headed the same direction as us.” He eased off the accelerator, letting another car turn in front of him.