Newtown pushed a button on the desk once again, summoning the same two heavily armed men.
Newtown flicked a glance at Scout. “You know what to do with her.”
“You want us to kill another one,” the larger of the men said, “that’ll cost extra.”
“Are you hard of hearing?” The pleasant tone contrasted with the hard gleam in Newtown’s eyes. “If so, I can find someone whose hearing is better and who knows how to obey orders.”
The man shrank under the lash of her words. “No need for that. No need at all.”
“I didn’t think so.” She spared one last look at Scout. “You’ll have to excuse me. I have a party to get ready for. Too bad you won’t be there to cover it. I’ll look stunning, of course. I’m wearing Versace.” With that, Newtown took herself off.
The two men strapped a vest fitted with explosives to Scout. So this was the surprise Newtown had referred to.
Scout did her best to squash the panic that bubbled up inside of her, temporarily turning her brain to mush. Don’t give in to it. You’re smarter than that. The pep talk could only take her so far, though. She had to think and think fast.
“Why are you doing this? Newtown can’t be paying you enough to commit murder.”
“Ain’t like I haven’t done worse,” he said conversationally. His accent placed him in the backwater region of the state that had remained largely unchanged for the last hundred or so years.
He was clearly hired muscle. She wouldn’t get anywhere trying to talk with him, so she clamped her lips shut and started plotting how she could free herself. Her options were slim, and the possibilities of getting out of here looked bleak at best.
She didn’t doubt that Nicco was coming for her, but that could mean his death. For the first time since the ordeal began, she prayed that he wouldn’t find her in time.
She’d never thought to care deeply for a man again, but love had found a way. What she’d felt for Bradley paled in comparison to what she felt for Nicco. Now it may well be too late.
She squared her shoulders as much as she was able and reminded herself that she was used to going it alone. That wasn’t right. She’d never been alone.
The Lord had always been at her side. He wouldn’t desert her now. She wouldn’t betray her faith in Him by giving way to fear.
“Lord, I’m in trouble. I need Your care. And please watch over Nicco.” She closed her prayer with a simple “Amen.”
Though she was still bound to the chair and the death vest remained strapped to her, Scout felt a sense of calm overtake her and knew that the Lord was already doing His part.
* * *
Nicco looked at his hands. The sweat had dried on them, and he was once more the Ranger he had been for so many years. Training kicked in and wiped out all emotion. Normal men would experience an adrenaline rush now. Nicco was not normal. His pulse slowed to measured beats; his lungs drew in air in measured breaths.
Thank You, Lord.
He stopped, listened. And heard nothing. Where were the thugs who were undoubtedly in place and ordered to stop him?
He came to a brick-lined patio. There, dumped like so much garbage to be cleaned up by others, was Gerald Daniels, a bullet in his back.
French doors were left open, no doubt in invitation. He approached cautiously, stepped inside. And saw Scout, hands and feet taped to the arms and legs of a chair, a vest rigged with explosives strapped to her upper body. His lips thinned at the dried blood that had formed at the corner of her mouth.
He inhaled deeply. Paralysis was threatening to take a stranglehold on his mind, his body.
His hands clenched, unclenched as he forced out the terror and concentrated on what needed to be done. He’d trained himself to recognize fear and then to use it. He’d come through plenty of hairy times, but he’d never been as terrified as he was at this moment.
Lord, I need You. The prayer never made it to his lips but settled in his heart. Stronger now, he gave Scout a confident smile.
Fear darkened Scout’s eyes, but her words were calm. “The explosives on the vest are connected to the chair. If you try to free me, it’ll go off and kill us both.”
He’d been afraid of that. “No problem.”
Her eyes told him that he hadn’t fooled her. Not for a second. He didn’t blame her. There was the very real possibility that he couldn’t save her. The likelihood of that grew greater with every second as his gaze landed on the timer.
The vest held numerous different-colored wires. It was a common ploy of bomb-makers, an attempt to confuse anyone who tried to disarm it. Nicco wasn’t intimidated by that, but the timer was a different matter. Fortunately, it hadn’t yet started.
He’d seen similar things during his time with the Rangers. Whoever had done this was an expert, another sign that ex-military personnel were involved.
Nicco set about sorting the wires. After identifying which were which, he cut them systematically until the timer clicked on.
“Go, Nicco. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”
He ignored that.
“Please…go. If you die because of me, I’ll never forgive you.”
Nicco couldn’t find it in him to grin at the remark. He and Scout were both going to die unless he stopped the timer.
Get in, get it done, get out. The motto of his Ranger unit rang in his mind. Status of first part: done. He was in. Status of second and third: in progress. Going through the checklist steadied him.
Nicco could feel the tug of exhaustion that began to eat away at the corners of his mind, the result of unbearable stress. He shook it off. The knowledge that Scout would die if he didn’t do something hit him like rounds fired from an AK-47.
Patience, he cautioned himself.
If there was one thing he’d learned as a Ranger, it was patience. Skill with weaponry, close-quarters combat, offensive driving—they could all be taught. But patience had to be won through experience. He chafed against it, but he held onto it, forcing himself to take his time.
“One of us has got to be smart,” Scout said. “You’re elected.” Though her chin quivered, her voice was strong, and he fell in love with her all over again.
“We need to stop the timer,” he said, thinking aloud. “Something to wedge against the hand.” The space was a scant eighth of an inch.
Scout looked down at her necklace. “The pencil.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Carefully, he removed the necklace from her and wedged the pencil against the timer hand. The timer stopped, buying them precious minutes.
He recalled the words of his commanding officer in EOD. What’s the first rule in bomb disposal?
Figure out what will kill you first and what will kill you second.
Wrong. Don’t get emotional over the bomb is first.
Despite his training, he was definitely getting emotional. You think? Seeing the woman he loved wearing a vest of explosives, yeah, he was emotional right now. Fear was a physical being, scrabbling at him with tiny, nasty claws. Okay. Put a lid on the emotions and get to work.
Second: don’t look at what they want you to see. Look at what they don’t want you to see.
What didn’t the tangos want him to see? The trigger wire was obvious. Too obvious, and he ignored it. He flashed her a confident smile. “We go together.” Or not at all.
A second trigger wire had to be there. Painstakingly, he lifted a red wire. There. Tucked in a fold in the vest, almost as an afterthought, was the second. He cut it. So far so good.
Third and final rule. You gotta believe you’ll make it out.
A picture of Scout in bridal white flashed in his mind, followed by another of her pregnant with their child. They were both going to make it out of here. Alive.
He knew what he had to do.
So do it. His CO’s words resounded in his mind.
“I love you,” she said.
“Right back at you.” More prayers took hold in his heart. Nicco poised the wire cutter over a third and final wire. “Hold your breath.”
“How long?”
“Until…” he clipped the second wire “…now.”
Nothing. Only silence. Blessed silence.
“Is it done?”
“It’s done.” He pulled away the tape, helped her up.
“Please. Get this thing off me.” Her voice trembled, echoing the one that caused her shoulders to do the same.
Carefully, he undid the vest, set it aside. He removed the pencil from the now-defunct timer and placed it around her neck.
* * *
Scout heaved out a breath and sagged against Nicco. The nerves in her hands were protesting as they woke up. She felt like a million red ants were stinging her palms and fingers.
“Here. Let me.” Nicco took her hands in his and rubbed them.
The burning sensation grew worse, and she tried to pull her hands away.
“Give it a minute,” he said.
He was right. Gradually, the stinging sensation subsided, and she said a silent prayer of gratitude that they were both alive.
“You did it. You cut the right wire. You saved my life. It’s getting to be a habit.”
“One of my better ones.” His voice sobered. “When I saw you with that contraption strapped to your chest… I prayed as I’d never prayed before.”
“What happened?”
“I knew that the Lord was guiding my hand. I’ll never doubt Him again.”
Nicco’s words filled her with joy. “Deep inside, you knew He was there for you. You just needed to be reminded of it. You are a hero, Nicco, in every way.”
“How do you do it?” he murmured.
“What?”
“Make me feel foolish and strong at the same time.” He framed her face with his hands, and she leaned her cheek against one of the callused palms.
“Maybe because you do the same to me.”
“We need to get you to the hospital, get you checked out.”
“Not yet,” she said. “Not until Patrice Newtown and the rest of her merry band are behind bars.” She gave him a look that brooked no argument. “We’re going to the party tonight. I want to make sure that the Duchess gets everything she so richly deserves.”
Her brave words were cut short when the two men who had bound her to the chair appeared.
It looked like bad guys weren’t done with them yet.