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Deacon’s weight went heavy on top of her, the day and the emotion finally catching up with him, it seemed. Or maybe it was just that he finally felt safe enough—and felt Sydney was safe enough—to relax. Either way, Elliot savored the struggle to breathe and the overwhelming peace that settled deep inside her. She’d never known real peace, not till Deacon and Sydney came into her life.
And in the next few hours, she would probably lose any chance at keeping it.
When Deacon groaned and rolled off her, onto his side, she braced herself. Sliding from the bed was harder than she’d thought it would be, the need to stay tugging her back even as she pulled her clothes on. But the night was passing, and she had a lot to do before dawn woke them all.
The outside room was dimly lit, King reading in one corner, Trapper and Mark playing poker in another. Fionn and T.C. would be outside the suite door, she knew. With the barest nod she crossed to the bathroom and locked herself in for a quick cleanup. Her duffel waited under the sink, and she grabbed fresh underwear and socks. Dressed, hair pulled back from her face, she returned to the living room to put on her boots.
“Where are you going?” King asked.
“Commissary.” She’d scouted earlier and knew the store was open 24-7. “I need supplies.”
King seemed ready to argue, but when she lifted her brows and waved a hand toward her crotch, his mouth clamped shut. One thing about King being a loner like her: he’d never been truly comfortable with anything related to her biology. At the first indication that her period had come, Dain would give her an understanding smile and immediately offer to go to the commissary for her. Saint, with the overabundance of women in his family, would fearlessly make a joke about that being what was wrong with her mood. Not King. He clammed up and even blushed—she could see it in the low light of the room.
She was lying, of course. But this was the easiest way to get out without suspicion. Using her team’s idiosyncrasies against them. Yes, she was a bitch, and yes, they’d probably never forgive her, but it was far past time that this was finished. No one else would be hurt on her watch.
Outside the door, Fionn immediately straightened away from the wall. “And what would you be needing? Want me to call down for something?” His finger went to his earbud.
“Tampons?”
Fionn choked. T.C. cracked up—quietly, of course; it was one a.m., after all.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” She waved a hand over her shoulder as she walked down the hall. “I’ll be right back.”
She wasn’t going to the commissary—she was going to the infirmary. GFS had outfitted them with general badges that allowed entry and exit, providing Elliot with a quick trip across the compound to the temporary medical wing that had been set up this afternoon. Once inside, she simply asked the nurse to let her sit with Sheppard. The woman confirmed via computer that Elliot was associated with the case, searched her, and allowed her into the room. The door had barely slid closed before Elliot was shaking Sheppard’s shoulder.
“Lyse? Lyse!”
The woman looked fragile, as if she would fall apart at the slightest word. If she hadn’t read it in Sheppard’s file herself, Elliot would have a hard time believing they were the same age. But weak or not, the girl’s thin eyelids fluttered open at Elliot’s insistence. After several long blinks, recognition flared in her eyes, determination settling in the tired lines of her face. “Elliot Smith.”
“Lyse.” She squatted until her face was level with Sheppard’s. “You made it.”
A slight shake of her head. “That’s not necessarily a good thing.” Her chin trembled. “What’s important is, did everyone else make it?”
“They did.”
“And...” Sheppard licked her cracked lips. “Fionn?”
“Is that why you did this?”
Tears leaked as Sheppard’s eyes closed. “Fionn was attacked. I never believed... I couldn’t figure out how they got to him, couldn’t keep him safe. He’s on Mansa’s target list, and Mansa never stops.” She choked on a sob. “I don’t know how they found out, I really don’t. But I got a message saying if...if I helped... They would spare Fionn.”
The girl was in love with Fionn. How had she not seen it sooner? Sheppard hadn’t asked about Deacon, though both men had been with her in the hallway, and her eyes— This wasn’t mere concern for a colleague. She’d traded Trapper’s life and the lives of anyone else caught in the blast...to save the man she loved.
“I couldn’t do it,” Sheppard whispered. “I couldn’t hurt anyone. I thought...”
“So you got everyone away.”
“Why go through with it, right?” Sheppard shook her head. “But I couldn’t figure out how to get back out once I was in. Maybe I should just tell them to stop treating me, walk out the gates, and let Mansa take care of my punishment. That would make everyone safe.”
“No, it wouldn’t. Not with Mansa.”
Sheppard’s stare was as hopeless as they came. Sympathy tugged at Elliot, but she couldn’t indulge it; she needed to get her intel and go.
“Lyse, Fionn is all right, but he won’t be for long. Where is he?”
A slight frown through her tears. “Fionn?”
“No, Mansa. I know you’ve figured it out.” Sheppard wasn’t one of those geniuses with no common sense; she’d had to know this could all backfire. She’d expected to die, had been willing to do it if it meant the people around her were safe. The only way to ensure that it wasn’t all for nothing was to dig up the dirt on her opponent, create a weapon that could be used after the fact. “Now tell me.”
“I don’t know...”
“You do; I know you do. And you’re going to tell me, because Fionn? He’s not going to be okay, and neither is Trapper or Deacon or Sydney or you if you don’t help me kill that bastard; you understand me?”
Sheppard’s eyes went wide, startled. “You plan to kill Mansa?”
“I’m the only one that can get close enough—and before you ask, yes, I’m perfectly capable. I’ve trained my whole life for this.” Jack Quinn had been right about that.
Sheppard gave her a wary nod.
“Tell me where he is so I can finish this once and for all.”
The uncertainty faded. “USB. My desk, Star Wars bobblehead.”
A touch of amusement sparked in Elliot’s chest—where else would the little tech nerd hide something important?
And then the spark faded. “Got it.” She turned to leave, but a surprisingly strong grip on her wrist pulled her back. “What?”
Sheppard’s desperation shone from eyes sunken with pain and fatigue and defeat. “Make sure he’s safe. Do what I couldn’t. Please?”
Elliot felt the hollow pit inside her, the one that had appeared the moment she’d realized she had to lie to Deacon one last time—and that the betrayal would kill anything he still felt for her. If Sheppard felt anything like she did... “I will. Fionn will be protected, I promise.”
She hurried out before the woman’s emotions could force her own any closer to the surface.
Sheppard’s office location had been in her personnel file. Elliot was in and out in under five minutes, the thumb drive securely in her pocket. The SUV was parked where they’d left it that morning in front of the main building. After checking to be certain the tactical supply chest was still in the back and fully stocked, she backed out and drove toward the gate.
The guard at the post shone a light in her eyes. “Ma’am?”
She bit off the curse that jumped to her lips. “Sir.”
The man had to be twice her age—if the gray in his beard didn’t prove it, the condescending look did. He didn’t appear to catch the sarcasm in her response, unfortunately. “Where are you going?”
“To the store to get tampons.” Deliberate emphasis on that last word. “The commissary was out, and I can’t wait.”
Red tinged the rough skin of his cheekbones. He cleared his throat. “I see. Badge?”
She handed it over. The man wouldn’t meet her eyes on the return pass, simply gave a nod in her general vicinity and opened the gate.
Shaking her head at the squeamishness of the males of the species, Elliot hit the gas. Time was wasting, and her father awaited. After pulling onto the blacktop, she floored it.
If Mansa had a home base, it would be somewhere near his most important target: Deacon. Elliot took the interstate toward Deacon’s property but exited at the first rest stop, pulled the SUV between two 18-wheelers, then raided the chest in the back. The laptop inside powered up quickly, and Elliot accessed the USB even quicker. Sheppard had been smart, hacking a back door into what Elliot figured was probably that prick Kivuli’s cell phone to access location services. Mansa wasn’t used to hiding his whereabouts too hard—everyone knew where he lived. Elliot blessed the girl’s ingenuity as she powered down the laptop as fast as possible. She was on the move mere minutes after stopping.
The darkest part of the night had hit by the time she reached Mansa’s current location, a lodge deep in the hills about half an hour north of Deacon’s house. She took the SUV off-road, through the woods and down into a valley between two hills. After unscrewing the dome light, she climbed into the back and suited up. Essentials only: gun in her equipment belt, extra clip, phone. She left the cell powered up, ringer off—GFS needed a way to pinpoint her exact location if Mansa moved them. The vehicle had its own tracker, but there was no guarantee Elliot would be on the property by the time Deacon’s team found it.
What else? Two knives, one in her boot, one strapped to the inside of her thigh. The equipment on her belt would be taken immediately, so they were mostly for show, but the knives...those she might just get a chance to use.
The dim moon helped hide her as she made her way toward the lodge, the details of her plan running through her head. Well, really only one detail: get caught. The men working for Mansa, with the exception of Kivuli, were of no importance and would likely scatter when their master got his head bashed in. If she could take one or two out, it might help Deacon when he arrived, but the real objective was to get in the room with her father and Kivuli. That was the part of the battle that mattered, the part she would reserve her strength for.
The building sat atop the tallest hill in the area, strategically placed to give Mansa and his men the advantage. More than likely they would be looking for obvious targets. Elliot approached low and slow, angling toward a back corner of the house. Two guards paced the back balcony, two the front, and she counted at least six more walking the perimeter. None of the men were Kivuli. When Elliot reached the tree line, she crouched amid a thick patch of bare elderberry bushes and waited, breath easy, eyes vigilant.
The first guard passed within two minutes. She counted down the time, another three minutes before guard number two walked by, smoking a cigarette. She marked the scent and restarted her count. Three-minute intervals brought each guard back around. The casualness of their movements, the lack of glances out into the woods, told her they’d reached the part of the night where boredom made them lazy. When one decided his bladder needed emptying just as he came even with her, she smothered a grin and shifted silently into a position that allowed for easier movement.
The guard walked a few feet into the woods to face an old, thick oak. A zipper whizzed down. Rustling cloth. A steady stream began, accompanied by a sigh of relief. Elliot approached from the back.
Tall bastard. She didn’t want to kill him—these men weren’t from Africa, probably hired mercenaries, but she had no idea of their pasts. Still, she needed to take them out. Since she couldn’t reach the guy’s neck, she waited till he was in midstream, then hit the back of both knees with a solid roundhouse.
The man stumbled, balance lost. His head hit the tree. Not enough to knock him out—Elliot did that with a choke hold. After he was unconscious, she tied his wrists with zip ties and left him lying in his own urine.
Her second chance came with the cigarette-smoking guard. As he rounded the corner, she saw a faint orange light arc from his hand toward the grass. He ground the butt out with his toe, already retrieving his half-empty pack from a back pocket. She was in front of him before his lighter flared, killing his night vision. Her kick to the groin bent him over, evoking a rough gagging sound that cut off when her fist connected with the point just behind his ear.
Two down.
Unfortunately the bastard was too heavy to move quietly to the woods, so she zip tied him, then rolled him against the side of the house, buying herself a few minutes, hopefully. She started the countdown as she searched him, looking for keys. Front right pocket. She was approaching the shadows of the back patio when the next guard appeared.
“Hey!”
Game up.
She sprinted for the woods, just to make it look good. Thick arms yanked her off the ground before she took four steps. This one was fast. And strong, if the protesting in her ribs was anything to go by. Elliot fought him, but he carried her easily to the patio. Bastard wasn’t even breathing hard when his partner arrived.
“Where’s Peters and Cragen?” the new arrival asked.
Her guard dropped her on the concrete. Before she could scoot away, his booted foot landed on her back, forcing her prone. She let a few choice words loose.
More arrivals, more discussion. Elliot rolled her eyes and rested, waiting, knowing the moment would come. And then it did: Kivuli walked from the house to the patio, white teeth and eyes gleaming against his midnight skin. Tall and lean, there was still no doubt that the man was lethal.
Every guard around her went rigid.
Kivuli ignored them, coming to stand directly in her view. “So, you’ve arrived.”
“Surprise!”
A spark of amusement actually lit in the enforcer’s scary eyes. “No, but you are welcome. We’ve been waiting.” He nodded to the guard whose boot still rested on her back. “Bring her.”