Etienne turned off the shower, dried himself with a towel before wrapping it around his waist, and opened the door of his motel room to see the Warden holding a key. Etienne was surprised but not unhappy.
He stood aside so the Warden could enter. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
The Warden stopped at the mess. Remiel’s Russian thugs had already come and gone. All the drawers had been emptied, the blankets dragged off the bed, the few pieces of crappy furniture thrown on their sides. “I thought you were dead.”
“I did too.” Etienne shut the door. The irony of the messy room was that he’d inherited a neat and tidy gene. “You here to kill me too?”
“No.” The Warden picked up a chair. “Remiel is searching for you.”
“Obviously.” Etienne found a pair of jeans, dropped the towel, and yanked them on. He put on a gray T-shirt, grateful for one clean thing to wear. “Since Remiel’s besties have already searched my room, I figured I had a few minutes.”
The Warden closed the window shutters. “What are you going to do now?”
“Not going into the box.” Etienne threw clothes into a duffel. The box was his cousin’s sick, sadistic venture into deprivation torture.
The Warden tossed him a black T-shirt to pack. “How’re you going to avoid that?”
Etienne shoved in his other dry pair of jeans. “I have a plan.”
The Warden scoffed. “It’ll never work. Remiel always wins.”
Etienne found his phone on the bed and opened his contacts list. He’d bought a new burner half an hour earlier and had uploaded the info from his laptop. The same laptop Remiel’s men hadn’t found because Etienne had hidden it in his cache, along with extra weapons and cash, not far from the motel. Working for Remiel required one to always be prepared. “Before my nephew Eddie died, he sent me a list of all of the contacts he’d collected. Kid was smart. Somehow he found this.”
The Warden came over to read the list, brow furrowed. “Is that the number for the Prince?”
“Yes.” Etienne tossed the phone onto a pillow. “And I called the Prince and proposed a deal.”
“You did what?” The Warden dropped onto the edge of the mattress. “No one calls the Prince and proposes anything. Not unless they want to be dead.”
“I’ve nothing to lose.” Etienne gathered the rest of his clothes from the floor. He dumped them on the bed and started folding. “I offered the Prince Sarah Munro and the diary before she solves that cipher. The Prince agreed, but he also wants Fletcher Ames.”
The Warden rose to pace the room. “If the Prince wants Sarah, why don’t his warriors just take her?”
“Not sure. Maybe because Walker would die protecting her.” Etienne went into the bathroom to grab his toothbrush and deodorant. “And the Prince still wants to recruit Walker.”
“Do you have a plan where you stay alive?”
“I do.” Etienne put the cap on the toothpaste and stuffed it into his backpack. He scanned the room. There wasn’t much else to take, other than his weapons hidden in his motorcycle jacket lying on the floor near the anemic AC. “It’s a good plan.”
The Warden grabbed his arm. “Why are you telling me this when you know I’ll go to Remiel?”
“Because you’re helping the pretty historian.” Etienne peered into the Warden’s face, close enough to see skeptical eyes beneath the hood. “When you dropped off that envelope with the map, you added an extra clue to the envelope. You gave Sarah her photos. You sent her that old ledger. You’ve been watching over her because you’re helping her solve the cipher.”
“I work for Remiel.” The Warden dropped Etienne’s arm. “Remiel needs that cipher solved, and I don’t know how to do it. I’m helping her by sending all the clues I know about. He knows I’m helping her. And he knows why.”
“Except Remiel doesn’t care about Sarah. If she doesn’t solve the cipher, she’s dead. And I know that, despite your illogical loyalty to Remiel, Sarah’s death is the one thing you won’t allow.”
The Warden returned to the window and this time opened the shutters to stare at the train tracks along the riverbank. One hand gripped the casing; the other was shoved in the hoodie pocket.
Etienne zipped his duffel. “I want you to help me kidnap Sarah, retrieve the diary, take Fletcher Ames, and hand them all to the Prince.”
“Remiel will kill us both.”
“I’m already dead to him.” Etienne sighed. “I know your other goal, besides protecting Sarah, is to take down the Prince. It’s the only reason you’re working for Remiel, right? The enemy of my enemy is my friend?”
“Remiel isn’t my friend. He’s my distant cousin.”
“You’re family.”
“And families don’t betray each other.”
Etienne scoffed. “Which is why Remiel wants to put me in the box? Remiel isn’t just dangerous. He’s a brilliant, narcissistic sadist.”
“I’m not excusing Remiel’s behavior.”
Of course not. The Warden, for as long as Etienne could remember, had always been Remiel’s guardian. Telling Etienne and his brothers that they’d no idea what Remiel had suffered, as if the suffering of others meant nothing. “Remiel wants to put me in the box because I lost my cell phone? After everything I’ve done for him? Bullshit.”
“I’ll talk to him.” The Warden turned with crossed arms. “See if he’ll change his mind.”
“Remiel won’t.” Etienne ran his hands over his damp hair. “Our only chance is to work with the Prince. If we give him Sarah and the diary, before she solves the cipher, he’ll let her live and he’ll protect all of us from Remiel.”
“Except I don’t need protection from Remiel. In fact, if I tell Remiel where you are and what you’re planning, he’ll trust me even more.”
Etienne found his phone again and scrolled his contacts. “If you do that, you’ll be the one who loses.” He’d highlighted one particular name, number, and email on the list.
“How’d you get this?” The Warden’s voice dropped to a low drawl.
“From Cassio.” The warrior had whispered it in Etienne’s ear before he’d run from Sarah’s house. “My brothers have instructions. If something happens to me, an email goes to this man telling him all about Sarah. Telling him all about his daughter.”
“You’re an ass.” The Warden reached for the phone, but Etienne shoved it in his pocket. “You don’t know shit about Sarah’s real father.”
Etienne threw the Warden onto the bed and yanked off the black hood. The Warden, with her lush red lips, flashing brown eyes, long dark, braided hair was, truly, a beautiful woman. He laid his body on top of hers. “I know you’ll do anything, including betraying Remiel and seeking asylum from the Prince, to save Sarah.”
The Warden shook her head, her eyes wide. “If we betray Remiel, he’ll hunt us down for the rest of our lives.”
“I’m already hunted.” He placed his palms on the mattress on either side of her head. Despite their fifteen-year age gap and different backgrounds, their sufferings had given them something to bond over. “I need your help. No one else can know.”
The Warden closed her eyes. “What do we do?”
Etienne stood and tossed his duffel next to the door. Then he closed his backpack. “I’ll kidnap Sarah. You grab Fletcher Ames and meet me on the Isle of Grace.”
The Warden scooted off the bed and tossed her braid over her shoulder. Her eyes flashed with indignation, annoyance, anger, and every other possible emotion. “There’s no way I can take Fletcher without getting caught.”
“We’ll distract Remiel.” Etienne slipped on his coat, then found his weapon to check the clip. Fully loaded, with a spare magazine in the backpack. “I have two bums waiting to take photos of a new man in Iron Rack’s Gym.”
She tilted her head. “Why?”
He shoved the clip into the gun and pulled the slide until a bullet entered the chamber. “Torridan went to Leedsville last night. And, according to my source in the prison, Torridan brought him to Savannah.”
“Alex Mitchell?” She began to pace again. “The man who tried to kill Remiel?”
“Yes.”
The Warden stopped by the window, her focus on the outside world she’d never be a part of again. “If we do this”—she spoke so softly he had to move behind her to hear—“you’ll keep Sarah safe.”
“I promise…Isabel Rutledge…to protect Sarah Munro.” He put his hands on her shoulders and whispered, “If you help me, I’ll save your best friend’s daughter.”
* * *
In the back room of Iron Rack’s, Zack said goodbye to the exterminator and moved a stack of rusted metal folding chairs. The gym’s storage room was still filled with stuff, but it was less stuff than Luke and Vane had started with. They’d cleared out enough so the exterminator had been able to set rattraps, even catching a few along the way.
Now the center of the room was clear. The doors leading to the outside and to the main part of the gym needed new locks, but a locksmith was on his way. Luke had also moved in the metal filing cabinet to use as their armory. That was getting a new lock as well.
Operation Command Post was progressing. Hopefully that would make Nate happy.
At the moment, Pete and Vane were teaching classes. Luke was busy searching through the cell phone Nate had stolen, Samantha was teaching herself how to run the front desk, and Cain and Ty were clearing tunnels.
Since Calum’s IT guys could arrive anytime, Zack offered to keep working on the back room. He was salvaging as much furniture as he could so they’d have someplace to put the computers. He’d found folding tables, metal chairs, and an old dresser.
After watching Nate and Sarah drive away with the diary, Zack had spoken with Garza and then returned to the gym and filled in Pete. Zack just hoped Nate would be okay. While he’d been grazed by a bullet, he’d also had a partial seizure. It’d taken all of Zack’s strength to get Nate into the truck.
And the last thing Zack wanted to think about? What Nate had told him, during their stumble to the truck, about Kells and Jack. Because if it was true that Jack had made the accusation and Kells had signed Nate’s commitment order, Zack didn’t know if the unit would survive.
Garza stormed in. “I told Pete to cut his class short and meet us here.”
“Okay.” Zack set up a folding table he’d found and locked the legs. It should hold three of Luke’s laptops. “What’s wrong now?”
“Have you seen the news?”
“Nope.” Zack had stayed away. It helped that the gym didn’t have a TV. “Why?”
“Calum and a man named Maurice are in the hospital because Nate hit them both.”
“Nate had to knock out Maurice and make the attack on Calum look real.”
Garza blew out a gust of breath and ran his hands over his head. “There’s a BOLO for Nate and Sarah. They were ID’d by a security camera as well as Maurice.”
Fuck. “It really sucks not having any high-tech gear.” Hell, not that long ago he and his men had been in a high-tech command post, in the fucking desert, with the best data supplied by every intelligence agency the U.S. government had. Now? They had nothing.
Garza helped him drag another folding table from beneath a stack of rotting gym mats. Rodent droppings fell off the table. It would need to be scrubbed with bleach.
Correction: Their nothing was covered with rat shit. Hooah.
Together they unfolded the table and locked the legs. “Forensics is looking for the bullet the security guard fired at Nate.”
“Will they find it?”
Garza took it from his pocket. “It hit a bench outside the escape window. I dug it out when I responded to the scene.”
Zack started moving the wet and moldy gym mats and tried not to sneeze. “Anyone see you?”
“No.” Garza helped with the stinky mats, and together they were able to maneuver them out the door and into the Dumpster. Then Garza tossed in the bullet.
“Were there any cameras in the office?” Zack asked.
“Luckily, no. I’m working with Elliot on the case, but I let him take the lead.”
They went inside, where Pete was waiting with bottles of cold water. “Any word from Nate?”
“Yes. I talked to Sheriff Boudreaux.” Garza drank most of his bottle in one long gulp. “Nate and Sarah are on their way to the cabin. They know people are looking for them.”
Zack wiped water off his chin. He hadn’t realized how parched he was. “Nate’s arm?”
“He’ll recover.” Garza finished his bottle and threw it into a black plastic contractor bag used for smaller trash. “I also spoke to Detective Hugh Waring in Charleston.”
Zack finished his bottle and tossed it. Any news, even bad news, would be a welcome distraction. “Any intel about Stuart Pinckney?”
Pete stared hard at Zack. “Stuart Pinckney? Allison’s husband?”
“Yes,” Zack said.
Pete opened and closed his mouth three times before he said, “Oh.”
“Stuart Pinckney is the other Charleston banker who went missing,” Garza said.
“And you didn’t tell us?” Pete clasped his hands behind his neck. “Hell, Zack. We can only help each other if we tell each other what the fuck is going on.”
Garza’s glare was in total agreement with Pete.
“Alright,” Zack said. “Next time the husband of the woman I love is kidnapped, I’ll call a staff meeting.”
“Screw you.”
Zack held out his hands. “Look, man. I’m sorry.”
Garza cleared his throat and put his hands on his hips. Full-on, Kells-inspired lecture mode. “Does Nate have a medal of Saint Michael the Archangel?”
“He did,” Pete said. “It was taken from him in the POW camp.”
The stress in Zack’s stomach turned sour, tightening his gut, making him nauseated. “Why?”
“Because sometime between midnight and six a.m., someone murdered Stuart Pinckney. His body was found in a churchyard in Charleston. The letter B had been carved into his left hand, and the only clue found on the body is a medal of Saint Michael the Archangel with the name Nathaniel Walker engraved on the back.”
Fuck. Me.
“This is bullshit,” Pete said. “Nate lost that medal years ago and is being set up.”
“That medal belonged to Nate’s father,” Zack added. “They share the name.”
Pete paced, arms flailing in different directions. “There’s no way Nate could’ve driven up to Charleston, killed Stuart, and returned.”
Garza scoffed. “It’s only an hour and twenty minutes away. He had plenty of time.”
“Except Nate can’t drive,” Zack reminded them.
“Yet Nate does drive.” Garza raised a palm before Pete could protest. “Nate is innocent. There’s no motive, no witnesses. Just that medal. But that medal could implicate Nate in two murders. He drove to the isle yesterday, and this diary theft doesn’t help his case. Which brings me to our next problem. Kells.”
Pete shook his head. “You gotta be shittin’ me.”
“Wish I was, brother. Kells landed in Charleston and, while renting a car to drive to Savannah, was taken in to be questioned by Detective Waring.”
Zack and Pete shared an oh God no glance.
“According to Waring,” Garza said, “they talked about yesterday’s dead man on the Isle of Grace, Pinckney’s murder, Nate’s medal, and Nate and Sarah’s BOLO.” Garza snapped his fingers. “And, just for kicks and giggles, a Shakespearean quotation had been cut into the ground near Pinckney’s body.”
“The Fianna,” Pete said, looking up at the ceiling. “They do shit like that.”
Zack wanted to curl up and cry.
Luke appeared in the doorway. “Hey. Just heard from Kells. He and Alex should be here in an hour. I also got into that cell phone Nate stole.”
Garza crossed his arms. “Nate stole a cell phone?”
“From Maurice,” Luke said. “There’s not much on it except for a few calls between Maurice and a man who I believe is Sarah’s boss at the Smithsonian.”
When Luke left, Pete said, “Great. More useless intel.”
“I’m needed at the station.” Garza clapped Zack on the shoulder. “I’m sorry about your girlfriend’s husband.” Garza scrunched his nose. “That sounded weird, didn’t it?”
Zack nodded because he didn’t have the courage to mention that Allison had never actually been his girlfriend.
Stuart was dead. Nate was a suspect. Kells knew they were running an unauthorized operation and was on his way home to skin them. And the one thing Zack knew to be true? He was an ass. Because the only thing he could think about was the fact that Allison was free.