Chapter Twenty-Nine

Tess watched helplessly as Russo hauled Jesse from the other golf cart. Headlights lit her brother’s face. He was even paler than before, and he wavered unsteadily on his feet. He needed to be in a hospital.

More than fifteen minutes had passed since she’d first gone into the house. Eric had to be searching for them.

He’ll find us. She was sure of it. But what if he can’t?

As they’d begun driving through the tunnel, she lost track of exactly how far they’d gone. The only thing she’d been certain of was that it was more than half a mile.

The transmission limit of the tracker.

Even if it was less, she was underground. The tracker might not be capable of transmitting through ten or twenty feet of dirt. This was one scenario they hadn’t considered.

Pritchard grabbed her arm and jerked her from the cart. Pain shot up her arm, but now that she was standing, she set to work trying to grasp the penknife she’d stuffed in her pocket. For some reason—urgency, probably—they hadn’t searched her, but she’d been unable to reach the pen while she’d been sitting down in the golf cart.

“Get the door open.” Pritchard hauled her against his side, and she had to swallow to keep from vomiting.

Unfortunately, the pocket with the penknife was jammed against the side of Pritchard’s thigh. If she made any move with her hands to get to it, he would know.

Do something. Diversion. Anything.

Russo shoved Jesse toward a gray door with peeling paint, then turned the knob and pushed her brother through it.

Do it now.

She took a deep breath then slammed her body against Pritchard’s, trying to twist away, but his grip was too tight, and all her efforts did was make him hold her tighter against him.

He leaned down. His nauseating breath churned her stomach. Worse, his erection pressed against her belly.

She turned her face away, but he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. With his free hand, he began massaging her breasts through her T-shirt. Beneath the duct tape covering her mouth, she screamed, but that only made him squeeze harder.

“You like it when I do this?” He chuckled. “I always knew you would.”

“Sick motherfucker,” she said behind the tape, knowing he couldn’t understand a word she was saying.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Detach. Detach. While she endured his groping, she shoved one of her hands into her front pocket, her fingers flailing until she clamped onto the penknife.

Still squeezing her breast, Pritchard pressed his smarmy lips over her mouth. Thank god for the duct tape, or she really would have puked. Her nostrils flared as she sucked in air through her nose.

Pritchard ground his erection against her one last time. “There’ll be plenty of time for more of that after I get you home. To Alabama.”

Not. A. Chance.

She’d die first.

Grabbing her by the upper arm, he guided her toward the gray door, shoving her through it so hard she stumbled and fell to her knees.

Pritchard pulled the door shut behind him. They were in a small, unfinished basement with bare concrete walls. A rusty water heater and an even rustier boiler loomed in the far corner. The only light came from a filthy window on one wall.

Falling to her side on the floor, she popped the cover off the penknife and began slicing the tape binding her wrists.

Jesse lay hunched against the opposite wall, his eyes closed and his head lolling to the side. He looked bad. Really bad, and the thought had her slicing faster, too fast, and she nicked her wrist, pressing her lips together tightly to keep from crying out.

“You two,” Pritchard said to the other men. “Get up to the street and back the cars up to the door.”

Still sawing away, she watched as the men climbed the staircase and disappeared. By her count, only those two had guns. She hadn’t seen Russo with one, although that didn’t mean there wasn’t one hidden beneath his untucked shirt, and she was almost certain Pritchard didn’t have one. He’d made sure to grind his disgusting boner so hard against her, she probably would have felt a gun if he’d had one. Pritchard did, however, have the detonator. The bastard was tapping it against his thigh. The question was how to get to it before he blew her brother to bits.

There. She’d almost sliced through the tape. Darting her eyes around the room, she began strategizing what her next move would be. How in the world could she take down two men with one little penknife?

She didn’t have a clue, but she damned sure intended to try.

Soft scratching came from the other side of the door, the one leading to the tunnel. The scratching increased in volume, sounding more like—pawing!

It can’t be.

The door flew open.

Tiger leaped inside, followed by Nick’s K-9, Saxon, and—holy shit—three other dogs, all baring their teeth and barking at the top of their doggy lungs.

Russo tried kicking at the dogs, but they easily dodged his blows. “Where did these fucking mutts come from?”

She didn’t know and didn’t care. If all these K-9s were here, that meant Eric wasn’t far behind.

A large brown and black German shepherd circled Russo, drawing his attention from the other dog—a pure white one—who lunged, latching on to Russo’s calf and dragging him to the floor.

“Ahhh!” he cried, continuing to kick, screaming louder as the dog must have clamped down harder.

“Sonofabitch!” Prichard hissed, then yelled in the direction of the stairs, “Get down here, now!”

As the other three dogs circled him, barking and snarling, Pritchard looked frantically around the room. He lunged for the window, grabbing something from the ledge. A crowbar. He began swinging it wildly at the dogs.

With one last effort, Tess sliced open the remaining tape binding her wrists. She jumped to her feet, ducking when Pritchard made another wild swing at Tiger with the crowbar.

She swung the little blade at Pritchard’s face, taking no small sense of gratification when he bellowed in pain.

The crowbar dropped to the floor, clattering on the concrete. Her eyes tracked the detonator as it flew from his other hand. She dove for the device, her upper body slamming onto the concrete as she stretched out her hand, catching the detonator before it hit the floor.

“You fuckin’ cunt.”

Jesse moaned, and she crawled on her knees to his side, carefully peeling tape from his mouth and cutting off the tape binding his hands. Immediately, he sucked in a long breath.

“Tess.” Jesse’s voice held a sense of urgency. “Tess!”

She twisted her neck to see Pritchard stalking toward them, holding his hand to his face, blood dripping between his fingers.

“Tiger!” Jesse shouted. “Stellen!”

Just as Pritchard lunged for her, Tiger leaped, clamping his jaws onto Pritchard’s crotch.

“Ahhhh,” he screamed, ten times louder than Russo had.

Pounding echoed on the stairs. The men outside were coming back.

The armed men.

Tess’s heart jackhammered. They’d shoot all the dogs. Then they’d shoot her and Jesse. She ripped off the duct tape still covering her mouth and screamed.

A man stormed in through the tunnel door.

Eric.

On his heels were Dayne, Nick, Kade, and Matt. Five guns blasted. Pritchard’s two other goons dropped like stones.

“Look what we have here.” Eric aimed his weapon at Pritchard, being careful to keep the muzzle away from Tiger. “Good boy, Tiger.”

With his jaws still locked onto Pritchard’s family jewels, Tiger managed a throaty growl.

Nick and Matt crossed the room to check on the two men who’d been shot.

“Aus,” Dayne ordered his dog, who released Russo, backing up but maintaining guard while Dayne flipped the man onto his stomach and cuffed him.

“Ooh.” Kade scrunched up his face as he looked at Pritchard’s predicament. “That’s gotta hurt.”

Dayne chuckled. “Nice going, Tiger.”

“Get your fuckin’ dog off me!” Pritchard commanded in a tight voice, his face twisting in pain and turning bright red. He began beating on Tiger’s head, but the dog held fast.

“The more you keep beating on my partner,” Eric snarled, “the more inclined I am to let him have your nuts as his new chew toy.”

Pritchard’s entire body stilled, and it was all Tess could do not to start clapping.

“Wise move.” Eric’s eyes blazed at the man. “Los.”

Tiger released Pritchard’s nut sack, backing away. The K-9 lowered his head, tracking the movement as Pritchard grabbed his crotch, massaging himself gingerly.

Eric holstered then jerked Pritchard onto his belly, cuffing him none too gently.

“Nick, Matt?” Eric kept his knee jammed into the small of Pritchard’s back. “How we doing over there?”

“This one’s dead,” Nick answered in a hard tone, tucking a small handgun in his belt.

“Douchebag here”—Matt tipped his head to the other goon—“took one to the shoulder and one to the leg. He’ll live.” Matt had likewise relieved the man of his weapon.

Tess pressed her hand to Jesse’s forehead and her worry mounted. “He’s running a fever. He needs to get back to the hospital.”

“Bewaken,” Eric ordered Tiger, who remained by Pritchard.

Kade pointed to Russo. “Guard,” he said to his white shepherd.

Eric knelt by Jesse, and Tess resisted the urge to throw her arms around him. “How you doing, kid?”

“Been better.” Jesse tipped his chin to the explosive vest.

Working carefully, Eric extracted the batteries from the detonator and set them on the window ledge. “Hold still.” Next, he unzipped the vest then helped her brother out of the deadly garment and set it in a corner of the basement.

“Thanks.” Jesse exhaled in relief then cracked a weak smile.

Eric pulled a radio from his belt, about to click the mic, but stopped. “Kade, do me a favor. Go topside and get the address off this place.”

Kade hustled up the stairs, returning seconds later. “423 Locust Drive.”

“Jeeez,” Eric said, in a way that told her the tunnel was longer than any of them had imagined. He clicked the mic. “Dispatch, roll two ambulances to 423 Locust Drive, Flemington. Send a bomb disposal unit, two patrol cars, and notify the coroner we’ve got a body.”

“Ten-four. 423 Locust Drive, Flemington,” a voice came back. “What’s your status?”

Before responding, he turned and cupped her face. Delicious warmth from his hand seeped into her skin, and for just a moment, she closed her eyes and sighed.

“You okay?” he said in a low voice.

When she opened her eyes, his gaze roamed her face and body, as if he was verifying her condition for himself. As much as she wanted there to be some kind of hidden meaning behind the gentleness of his touch or the concern in his eyes, she needed to keep things in perspective.

Nothing has changed.

She was who she was—Harley Gant’s stepdaughter—and Eric would always see her that way.

She nodded. “I’m fine.”

“He didn’t…” His brows furrowed as he threw a quick glance at Pritchard. “Hurt you?”

“No.” She shook her head. Not really.

He took a relieved breath then clicked the mic. “We’re secure.”

When his hand fell from her face, she felt the loss of its warmth and so much more. The miles of emotional separation between them were solidly back in place.

He flicked his gaze—now hard as blue ice—to where Pritchard lay prone. “Have all units stand by for more information.”

“I ain’t tellin’ you shit,” Pritchard spat, and when Russo opened his mouth, added, “And don’t you say a fuckin’ word.”

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” a voice came from the other side of the room—the goon who’d been shot and lived. “I didn’t sign up for this, and I sure as hell won’t go down for it.”

…

As much as Eric wanted to haul Tess into his arms and kiss her like there was no tomorrow, now wasn’t the time. He crossed the room, taking the driver license Matt handed him.

Michael J. Nichols.

“Start talking, Nichols. Where’s the bomb?”

“First, I want a deal.” Nichols grimaced, holding a hand over the wad of paper towels Matt had pressed to the bullet wound in his shoulder.

“That’s not the way this works.” Eric knelt and grabbed the guy’s shirt, leaning in until they were nose-to-nose. “If you don’t tell us what we want to know, people will die and you will go down for it, so start talking or there’ll be no deal.”

Picking up on the tension in the room, Sheba and Saxon growled.

“Okay, okay!” Nichols whimpered, wisely deducing Eric wasn’t about to be bullied into making a deal. Little did the guy know, field agents didn’t make deals. Prosecutors did. For now, he’d keep that to himself.

He eased his grip on the man’s shirt but didn’t release him. “Where’s the bomb?” he asked again.

“It depends.”

“On what?” Again, he got in the guy’s face.

Nichols grimaced. “What time is it?”

“Nine-forty-five,” Nick said.

Nichols shifted position, his face contorting in pain. “Then it’s probably being driven into the hotel as we speak.”

Releasing the guy’s shirt, Eric sat back on his heels. “What hotel?” And why a hotel? Sovereign citizens only targeted government buildings and government employees.

“Gant didn’t say.”

Eric’s mind spun to find logic in Gant’s choice of a hotel over any number of government targets. “Where’s the hotel?”

“Somewhere in the middle of Newark. That’s all I know. One of our people works there. Another is a truck driver.”

“Ruffalo?” Dayne suggested. “He has a commercial driver license.”

Eric shot to his feet as more pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. “It’s the Excelsior Hotel. Fenway works there as an assistant manager.”

“Who’s Fenway?” Kade asked, making him realize that not all his friends were privy to the intel Millie had culled from various databases.

Oh, shit.

His heart began racing faster as another piece of the puzzle slammed home. “Millie.”

“Millie?” Nick’s piercing gray eyes cut to his. “Care to share?”

“Millie is one of our forensic auditors. All of our auditors are at a conference.”

“So are ours.” Dayne’s eyes narrowed in understanding.

“I’ll bet my last bullet that conference is at the Excelsior.” Eric whipped out his cell phone. “The hotel is enormous. There are over a thousand rooms in the place.”

“Which means,” Matt added, “there could be over a thousand victims.”

“Stand by.” Eric did the quickest internet search he’d done in his life. Within seconds he confirmed his suspicion. “The Excelsior is hosting an annual conference for federal and state auditors from all over the country.” Jesus, it would be a government massacre, with who knew how many civilians taken down, too. “Dayne, can you—”

“I’m on it.” Dayne already had his cell phone in his hand.

Eric didn’t need to ask to know whom Dayne would call first. His FBI SAC and the Newark police chief. After that, Dayne’s calls would kick-start emergency notifications to the ATF, JTTF, state police, and every other law enforcement agency in the state, including every available bomb squad.

Again, he knelt by Nichols. “How’s the bomb getting to the hotel?”

“Tractor trailer.”

“Damn,” Matt said. “It’s that big?”

“Yeah.” The man nodded emphatically. “It’s that big.”

“Are they parking it on the street next to the hotel?” Eric asked.

Nichols shook his head. “They’re driving it right under the hotel into the loading bay.”

“Is Gant with the bomb now?”

“Yeah. He’s the only one who knows how to hook it up. He said it would be too unstable to drive it when it was already wired, so he’s doing it on site after the truck is in place.”

“Is it on a timer, or will he detonate remotely?”

“I don’t know.”

Sirens wailed outside.

“Kade,” Eric said. “You’d better go topside, so the PD doesn’t come down here, guns blazing.”

“On it.” Kade and Tango headed upstairs.

Eric looked pointedly at each of his friends. “As soon as the locals get here, we need to roll.”

“You got a picture of this guy, Gant?” Nick asked.

He pulled up an old photo, one he’d taken during surveillance after his friends had been killed. “There’s no driver license on record for him. The only photo we have is this one, but it was taken from a distance.” He group-texted the grainy image to his friends, then sent another text to RAC Verrone.

“Who else besides you and these goons,” Matt said, looking first at Nichols then at where Pritchard and Russo lay cuffed on the floor, “knows what Gant looks like?”

Nick jerked his thumb toward Pritchard and Russo. “Those two won’t help.”

Footsteps pounded down the stairs. Kade and Tango came first, followed by four uniforms from the Flemington PD and the same number of paramedics. They quickly apprised the medics and uniformed officers of the situation.

“Do us a favor,” Eric said, addressing one of the cops he knew, “secure these guys in your lockup for now. With what’s about to go down in Newark, there’s no way you’ll get anywhere close to the Marshal’s office.”

“Roger that.” They hauled Pritchard and Russo from the floor and marched them past the dead guy and up the stairs.

With his guard duty over, Tiger trotted to Eric’s side. Tess and one of the medics helped Jesse onto a gurney. Two other paramedics got to work on Nichols.

“How does he look?” Eric asked the medic who removed the wad of paper towels Nichols had been holding over his wounds. As soon as the towel on his shoulder was removed, a small river of blood dribbled down Nichols’s shirt.

“Not that great.” The paramedic began packing the wound with gauze. “He still might bleed out if we don’t get him to the ER fast.”

Shit.

He’d hoped the paramedics would be able to stabilize the guy sufficiently for travel so he could be another set of eyes on Gant.

The other pair of paramedics rolled by with Jesse, stopping at the base of the stairs to collapse the wheels. An IV hung from a pole, running into the kid’s arm.

“Wait!” Jesse shouted. “Tess just told me Harley killed your friends and did that to you. All those scars… I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I swear it.”

“I know.” Across the gurney, Eric nodded to the paramedics to get Jesse out of there.

“No!” Jesse gripped Eric’s arm with more strength than he would have figured the kid had left in him. “Harley’s changed a lot in the last few years. He doesn’t look the same.”

“I’ll never forget the way he looks.” The bastard’s face was carved in stone in Eric’s memory.

“Neither will I.” Tess’s eyes glittered. She opened her mouth to say something more, but he cut her off before she could get out the words he knew were coming.

“No,” he said in a hard tone. “You’re not coming with us.”

“I am, and there’s no time to waste. I’ve already discussed it with Jesse. I’m going.”

He began shaking his head. He might not live to see another day, but he damn well wanted to make sure she did.

“The troops are rolling.” Dayne pocketed his phone. “Say the word, and we got your back.”

Tess came around the gurney. “I told you before, this is my fight, too. It still is.”

That much he understood. His need to nail Gant burned just as strongly inside him as it did within her. As he looked into her beautiful face, about to say the one word that went against his innate need to protect her from all evil, he saw visions of his future disintegrating into the proverbial mist. But he didn’t have a choice, and she knew it. Over a thousand lives were at stake.

An overwhelming sense of dread hung like a deadly cloud over their heads as he said the one word he hoped to hell he didn’t come to regret later.

“Okay.”