Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
“ W ell?” Nick demanded.
He moved from the window and stood in front of Belle, invading her space. His ice-cold stare bore into her expectantly. Numbed shock had invaded her entire being at his diatribe against love. Before she could even formulate a thought, the phone on his desk buzzed.
He snatched it up. “Yes?” He listened, then frowned and moved closer to his desk. After tapping a few keys on his computer, he picked up the small remote and aimed it at the video conferencing screen on the far wall.
The screen flashed up to show Spiros Theodakis, Nick’s assistant, seated at a desk with a security guard standing behind him.
“When did the package arrive?” Nick put the phone down and addressed his employees.
“It came by courier half an hour ago.” His assistant looked nervous, as any man would with a burly security guy hovering over him like a dark shadow.
“It’s been checked for incendiary devices, sir. It’s clean,” the security guard said.
Nick nodded. “Open it.”
The first item that fell out made his blood boil hot and thunderous in his veins. Standing beside him, Belle gasped as the security guard picked up the ten-by-twelve picture and held it held it up to the screen. The picture was of her.
He turned to her. “Where was that taken?” he asked.
“At the marketplace in Nawaka, I think on my second week.”
“ Christos ,” he said under his breath. Inhaling sharply, he turned back to the screen and asked, “What else is there?”
Spiros peered into the padded enveloped then reached in. “A flash drive. We need to make sure it’s malware-free before we open it. I’ll get IT?—”
“It won’t be.”
Spiros frowned. “Sir? Do you know who sent it?”
“I have a good idea. This isn’t about corporate espionage, Spiros. This is personal. It’s a message for me. But just to be on a safe side, use a laptop not connected to the company server.”
“Sure,” Spiros jumped up. “I have a spare one in my office. I’ll just go and get it.”
He went off screen. Nick pressed a button on the remote, and the screen went blank. He turned to her. “Are you all right?”
Belle found the strength to nod despite the fear suddenly coursing through her. “He’s sending us a message, isn’t he?”
Nick’s nostrils flared with barely repressed rage. “Looks like
it.”
“What if it’s…not good?” she asked, knowing that it wouldn’t be.
“Then I’ll make sure I deliver my own message in a way that makes him wish he’d died in that cave with his men.”
She shivered at the menace in his voice. When he pulled her close and kissed her temple, she closed her eyes and burrowed into his strength.
They heard noises from the screen, and Nick pushed the button for the picture.
Spiros was once again behind the desk. “I’m ready, sir.”
Nick nodded. “Play it.”
Spiros hit another button and turned the laptop to face the TV screen. It was a recording, done in a sterile grey room that held no pictures or any distinguishing marks that would be useful in pinpointing its location.
The position of the camera showed it was set on a table. A simple ladder-backed chair stood in front of it.
Charles Mwana folded himself into the chair a second later, then leaned forward to nonchalantly adjust the lens. Belle’s breath caught.
“Good day to you, Mr. Andreakos. I assume we need no introduction, since you felt the need to reduce my training camp to ashes several days ago. If you’d chosen to negotiate with me instead of using brute force, I’m sure we could’ve come to an amicable, gentleman’s agreement. However, you’ve chosen to take the violent route, so here we are. Before you think this is a threat, I want to assure you that I’m a peaceful man. I don’t harm until I am harmed.” He leaned in closer to the screen, his eyes going from friendly to deadly in a heartbeat. “And I don’t take until something is taken from me.” He sat back. “You, Mr. Andreakos, have taken something from me. My training camp will be relocated and rebuilt, but Belle—and yes, I know you have her—Belle is irreplaceable. She no longer belongs to you. I want her returned. This is your opportunity to make amends for taking what is mine. Give her back to me, and there will be no repercussions. Fail to do so—” He placed his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers, thought for a beat or two. “You’re a gentleman, so I know you’ll honour this simple request. I’ll have another package delivered to you same time tomorrow with details of how you can return my Belle to me. Don’t bother trying to trace the package’s origin. You won’t succeed.” He leaned forward and switched off the camera but paused at the last moment. “Until we meet again, sweet Belle.” He smiled, then the screen went blank.
Belle’s heart thundered so loudly in her ears for several seconds, Nick’s voice was merely a distant rumble.
“—have you over my fucking dead body.”
She focused to find herself on the sofa in the study, a glass of something dark and pungent in her hand, and Nick pacing in front of her.
He stopped suddenly. “Drink the brandy, Tinkerbelle.”
She drank. That satisfied him somewhat, but the menace didn’t leave his face. He resumed pacing as the fiery liquid scorched her insides.
A drop of liquid went down the wrong way, and what started as a cough soon turned into a sob. “Oh, God.”
With a curse, Nick hunkered down in front of her and cupped her cheeks in his warm palms. “Hey, don’t let that piece of scum get to you. We’re armed to the teeth should the bastard dare to come anywhere near here, but I suspect he’s hiding in another hole. Whatever the case, we’re going to throw everything we have at this, sweetheart. We’re going to hunt him down, and we won’t stop until we get him. I promise you.”
She sobbed harder. “You don’t understand. I think I may have…let him believe…”
“You mean getting close to him so he shared his plans for Nawaka with you?”
Her head snapped up in surprise, and she blinked back her tears. “You know?”
Nick nodded. “It was a dangerous move, but ultimately a clever one. You bought yourself time for me to get to you. If the asshole chooses to believe he’s entitled because of that, it’s his problem. He won’t get within a hundred miles of you. Not unless he wants me to rip him to pieces with my bare hands.” He kissed her wet eyelids before sealing her lips in a strength-infusing kiss.
She felt a little better when he lifted his head. Her gaze went to the blank screen. “So what’s going to happen now?” she asked.
“I’ve sent Jameson to collect the package and have it discreetly analysed for evidence. He knows a guy. Apart from that, we wait to see what unfolds tonight and tomorrow.”
“Tonight?”
He nodded. “My meeting with Richard Francis. Now more than ever I’m hoping he can shed some light on Mwana’s whereabouts.” He dropped his hand to both of hers, squeezed them, then lifted her glass to her lips. “Finish the brandy. I can’t stand seeing you so pale.”
She sipped and felt marginally better as warmth flowed back into her body. Nick set the glass aside, sat down on the couch next to her, and pulled her into his lap.
“I can’t help but think you must really be regretting marrying me now.”
ARC #59CR20PE6M
She looked up from where her head rested on his chest to see him staring down at her. For the first time, she saw the look of uncertainty and vulnerability in his eyes. “No, I don’t regret marrying you, Nick.”
“ But ?” He pressed.
“I can’t help think if we’d waited a little longer, gotten to know each other better, we wouldn’t be in trouble now.”
“You mean, you’d have realized the mistake you were making and bailed.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth. I’m trying?—“
“We are where we are, pethi mou . For what it’s worth, I’m still crazy about you. I can’t take back what’s happened in the past. It’s
what we do from here on in that matters.”
“What do you propose?”
“That whatever happens, we stick around and fight for us instead of hightailing it out of our marriage, just like—” He gritted to a stop, his nostrils flaring with the depth of his emotion.
“Go on, say it,” she dared him. “Just like your mother did.”
His nod was curt. “She packed up and left like it was a vacation she’d grown tired of.”
“How old were you when she left?”
“What the hell does it matter? A day, six months, ten years —it shouldn’t make a difference once you’ve taken a vow. If you walk away at first sign of trouble, then you might as well just keep on walking.”
His words slammed into her like a fist to the gut.
In that moment, with blinding insight, she realized just what walking away had done to him. “You hate me for that, don’t you? Just as you hate her?”
“Are we really doing this? Analysing my mommy issues?” Nick mocked, his hands raking back her hair so he could kiss her forehead.
She drew in an incredulous breath. “So you admit you have mommy issues?”
His gaze grew shuttered. “Perhaps.”
“You’re doing it again, shutting me out and going all alpha on me. We can’t resolve our problems if you we can’t even have a decent conversation.”
“We can have a conversation, baby. Just not about my mother.” His voice had grown soft but there was a deadly warning behind it that made her spine snap straight.
“Was it really that bad?”
“She’s my mother, and I therefore do not wish to disrespect her. So let’s leave it. Please.”
It was the please that did it. That, and the wealth of pain he was trying so very hard to mask. For whatever it was his mother had done to have the power to hurt him this deeply, it must have been huge.
Certainly, huge enough to make him vow never to have a child of his own.
“Has anyone pointed out what a sheer, pig-headed streak you have?” she said without malice.
He gave a deadly smile. “Not if they wanted to live to speak about it.”
“We won’t work if you don’t meet me halfway, Nick.” She heard her voice crack, fear for them, fear for the very real danger that lurked in the shadows, making her quake inside.
“You’re asking me to relinquish control. That’s too much for me. Halfway is asking too much.”
Heart in her throat, she clenched her fist harder, and realized she still held her rings. “Can we at least try?”
“First, tell me why you went back to Brighton. To the apartment you told me you’d given up after we were married but secretly kept.” The words were condemning, but she felt his heart beating and somehow, the solid sound reassured her.
“Because it was the only thing that kept me from feeling as if I’d been totally assimilated into being Mrs. Nikolaos Andreakos, an extension of you, rather than my own being.”
“You really felt like that?”
She nodded. “And more. You have no idea how it felt to be treated like I was invisible by your friends. Besides being paparazzi-bait every time I stepped out the front door, I had to watch women drape themselves all over you, sometimes right in front of me. I hated you for not doing anything to stop it.” She took a calming breath. “How would you have reacted if I’d decided to crawl into another guy’s lap and rub myself all over him right in front of you?” she asked baldly, rawness scraping her throat.
Everything stilled—the air in the room, the leaves fluttering outside moments ago, even the background whirring of the computer faded—as if the whole world had stopped with her words.
“His life, and yours, would not have been worth living.” Nick’s voice was cold, deadly. “I would tear any man from limb to limb who dares to touch you.”
She shivered, momentarily reminded of the carnage in Nawaka. “Trust me, I felt the exact same way! It was all I could do not to claw their eyes out. Your eyes. It all got too much to bear. And suddenly we were on a slippery slope to being over?—”
His hand slashed impatiently through the air, his platinum wedding band flashing in the morning sun. “It was nowhere near over… is nowhere near over.”
“That last night, at the gala?—”
“I’d had a crappy evening and an even crappier few days without you?—“
“It didn’t look that way when I arrived,” she inserted with a humourless laugh. “My God, the women were practically giving you lap dances.”
He held his hands out in very Greek supplication, at the same time sounding anything but supplicant. “Will you just let me finish?”
“Go ahead.” She folded her arms, tilting her head to one side as she waited. “I’m dying to hear all about your babe-magnetism.” “Snark doesn’t become you, Tinkerbelle,” he growled.
“Totally losing my identity after marrying you has brought out the worst in me, it seems. Gosh, where could that have come from?”
“You’re not losing your identity. You are my no-shit-taking Tinkerbelle, and you will remain so, and mine , as long as I have breath in my body.” The fierce possessive light blazing in his eyes momentarily robbed her of speech. Her brain scrambled until she managed to pick up the thread of their conversation.
“Put your rings back on. Be the woman I married.” He wasn’t asking, she noted. In his usual autocratic manner, he was demanding his right to be her husband again.
She slowly opened her hand, offering the rings up, making the only decision she could make—at least until she understood what his motivation was behind his driving need for a reconciliation. “No, the woman you married is gone, Nick. I want more, I want something different.”
A determined light gleamed in his eyes. “I won’t let you go.”
“I don’t want you to let me go. I’ll put them back on when we solve the issues in our marriage.”
His face clenched in sharp rejection of her words. With hard fingers, he folded her hand over the rings.
“I won’t take them back.”
“And I won’t put them back on.”
He exhaled in a harsh burst of frustration and more than a little agitation. When he looked into her eyes, she glimpsed a raw vulnerability in his that made her heart lurch.
“Whatever you do, don’t walk away from me again, Tinkerbelle.”
“I promise, I won’t walk away. Not unless you give me a very good reason to,” she replied. “We need more time to sort things out.”
He looked down at the rings for a long moment. Then he stood and tugged her to the wall opposite his desk.
Stopping in front of a large seascape painting, he pressed a secret lever behind the bottom left corner. It sprang back to reveal a hidden safe tucked behind it. He entered a combination, opened it, and pulled out a long, thin box. Letting go of her arm, he flicked the small catch to reveal a thin platinum chain. He picked it up and held out to her.
“Put the rings on here. Wear them next to your heart until you’re ready to put them on your finger, where they belong. Will you do that? For me?”
The emotive words caught her on the raw, and even with the pressure he was piling on her by placing the ball firmly back in her court, her heart soared. She managed a nod, and held her breath as he threaded the rings onto the chain, turned her around, and fastened it around her neck. When he placed a kiss on the spot where the clasp lay, she sighed, and leaned back into his warm body. He emitted a faint groan and pulled away, coming round to face her.
“Let’s go eat before my good intentions desert me, and I ravish you on my desk.”
She looked up in surprise. “You still have energy after last night?”
“ Glikia mou , I may be going against my better judgment about not pressing you for an immediate answer regarding our marriage, but I have six months of celibacy to make up for. I’m only giving you a brief reprieve because of our… exertions last night. But I fully intend to resume bedroom activity come tonight. And trust me, I also foresee desk sex in our very near future.
Unless you have any objections?”
Blood surged into her cheeks. “No, I have no objections.”
Arousal flared in his eyes, and his gaze dropped to devour her mouth before coming back up.
“Good,” he murmured huskily. “Now, lunch, before I change my mind.”
An hour later, Nick repositioned the umbrella as they lounged by the pool, fully sated from food and enjoying the shaded heat of the early afternoon sun.
Then he grabbed the sun protection oil. Rubbing some in his hands, he massaged it into her back.
“ Mmm . I need oiling again, so soon?” Faint amusement mingled with husky arousal in her voice as she turned her head toward him. He used the opportunity to take off her sunglasses so he could see her eyes. In the shades of blue, he saw heat matching his own blaze in their depths and arousal throbbed deep inside him.
The terror from Mwana’s intrusion into their morning had faded, although it had not totally disappeared, and he was grateful for the reprieve.
Watching her near collapse had torn him apart. The time was coming when he’d have to take matters into his own hands. For now, he intended to do everything he could to comfort his wife.
“Unless you want to burn badly?”
“Funny, the instructions on the bottle said to apply hourly, not every twenty minutes.”
“Ah, but the Greek sun can be quite harsh, and your skin is too precious to endanger.”
“Well, my skin is grateful for your stalwart efforts.” She raised her head and smiled at him.
His breath caught as her dimples flashed into sight. Thee mou , he’d missed seeing them. In other women, dimples seemed almost childish, but on Tinkerbelle, they were one of the sexiest things about her. He would die before he let the light of that smile dim.
As if cottoning onto his thoughts, she turned over completely. “What time is this reporter arriving?”
“He lands in Mykonos at seven this evening. Jameson will bring him over on the boat at nine.”
“I want to be there,” she said, her gaze serious and determined.
Everything inside him rebelled at the thought. But, he’d agreed to change, to find a middle ground.
His hand drifted slick with oil down her midriff and stopped above the waistline of her bikini bottoms. She gave a little shiver that made him almost lose his train of thought. “If I agree, you must stay by my side at all times. And if I ask you to do something, you do it. And no, I’m not trying to control you, but if I think, for any reason, you’re in danger I might have to act fast, understood?”
She frowned. “I thought you said he was just a reporter?”
“That’s what he claims to be. But he got my attention by mentioning Mwana, so I intend to proceed with extreme caution. If it turns out he just wants a scoop, then we don’t have a problem.
If things go south, I won’t hesitate to do what it takes to keep you safe. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Her mock salute lifted the swell of her right breast. His mouth watered.
“Mmm, I’ll have to get you to do that more often.” Bending forward, he trailed his lips over her cleavage.
“Oh, yes, sir…”
This time when he lost his train of thought, he didn’t try and regain it.
They stood at the end of the garden just before nine and watched the approaching boat’s light reflect off the water. Nick’s tension increased the closer the vessel got to the dock.
Beside him, Belle’s hair fluttered in the breeze. She pulled it off her face, and he saw the trepidation coiling through him mirrored in her eyes.
He grasped her hand in his and squeezed. She squeezed back, and a little ache throbbed in his chest. The feeling was so curious, so alien, he sucked in a short breath.
She looked up at him, gave a little smile, and returned her attention to the boat.
Four men were stepping off onto the wooden jetty—Jameson, two security guards, and Richard Francis. One guard secured the boat while Jameson escorted their visitor up the steps.
The first glimpse of Francis didn’t ease Nick’s tension. Not that the guy was a physical threat. Francis was short and rotund, although the mousy brown hair in his newspaper photo was now worn shaggier, along with a longer beard. He looked every bit the harried reporter. Or had been carefully groomed to look like one. Nick hadn’t quite made up his mind which yet.
No, what put Nick’s back up was the way the other man’s eyes darted to Belle. And stayed.
Nick deliberately stepped forward and made quick introductions. “Welcome to Althea. I hope your visit isn’t a complete waste of time.”
The shorter man’s gaze swung back to his. “I doubt it will be. I’m sorry for all the cloak-and-dagger stuff, but I’ve been in this business for too long and know how easily a reporter can get scooped.”
“That depends entirely on what you’re hoping to scoop, and why you think you’re going to find that scoop here.”
Francis looked taken aback for a second. Then he rallied. He looked around and gave a tense smile when he saw the security guards behind him. “Perhaps we can talk in private?”
Nick raised a brow at Jameson and got the nod. Richard Francis had been frisked and confirmed weapon-free. Even still, the loaded Glock Nick had tucked out of sight at the small of his back was a reassurance.
Making sure to keep himself between Belle and the reporter, Nick turned and headed toward the villa. The maid was hovering nearby, as instructed, and quickly served drinks. He wanted the visit to be as short as possible.
He went straight to the point after they were seated on the terrace. “What can I do for you?”
Richard Francis’s eyes darted back to Belle. “I have it on good authority that your wife was kidnapped and held by a certain rebel soldier. I want the opportunity to tell her story.”
“How—how do you know this?” Belle asked. Her hand, still captured in Nick’s, trembled. He gave it a reassuring squeeze.
Francis’s smile held a hint of self-importance. “Oh, I’m afraid I never reveal my sources. But I can offer some help in hunting down the man you seek.” Francis glanced back at him.
Nick tensed. “This is how it’s going to work. First of all, I want to know everything you know about Mwana, specifically where his hideouts are outside of Nawaka. I want to know how he funds his organization and how many soldiers are under his command?—”
The reporter held up a feeble, stalling hand. “No…well, my information isn’t that detailed, I’m afraid.”
Nick stood. “Then I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time coming here.”
“Wait. I have one piece of information that I’m sure you’ll appreciate in return for three questions.”
He sat back down. “No deal. Tell me what you have first, and I’ll tell you if it’s anywhere near what I want from you. Unfortunately, you don’t hold the cards here, Francis. We do. Cooperate, or you can leave.”
His gaze swung between them, then he nodded. “Okay. I have it on good authority—and yes, I have the evidence to prove it— that the man you’re looking for landed in Venezuela yesterday with a full contingent of soldiers. He’s meeting with a certain drug lord in hopes of hammering out a deal that will see his…um, political interest…grow in the Central African region.”
Anger roiled through Nick. “You mean that bastard isn’t content with blood diamond mining and despotism? He’s now seeking to expand into drugs?”
Francis shrugged. “Commerce is a funny thing. Even cave dwelling thugs can buy shares these days.” He reached carefully into his coat pocket and brought out a piece of paper. He slid it across the table toward Nick. “The address in Venezuela.” He sat back and looked expectantly at Belle.
“Thank you for the information,” Belle said. Francis was reaching for his recorder when she stopped him. “You can have a full interview if you’re willing to contact your source and get us more. Perhaps Mr. Mwana’s travel itinerary?”
Francis froze, and then he laughed. Nick’s hackles rose once more.
“I don’t know if I can reach my contact anytime soon, so I’ll take the three questions now if I may?” He set the recorder on the table.
Nick glanced at Belle. She nodded.
Francis cleared his throat. “Why did you go to Nawaka in the first place?”
“I was a volunteer at a mission school. I’m a primary grade teacher. I taught a small group of children.”
“How was the political climate when you got there?”
Unease coiled through Nick. He glanced closely at Francis, but the older man appeared calm. His gaze swung to Belle as she answered his question.
“Did you suffer in any way when you were rescued?” Francis asked.
Belle started in surprise. “No, I didn’t.”
“That’s it?” Nick barked. “You flew all this way here to ask those three questions?”
Richard Francis shrugged. “I’m compiling a feature story on kidnappings in Africa and Asia and wanted your wife’s experience to be included. Not all reporters are leeches, Mr. Andreakos. If I help in any way to capture this person you’re looking for, then I’m glad.” He stood and held out his hand to Belle. “It was lovely to meet you, Mrs. Andreakos.”
Nick breathed easier when Belle let go of the man’s hand.
“Jameson will organize the boat to take you back to Mykonos.” “Thank you.”
They stepped outside into the warm night air. As they walked down to the jetty, Nick conceded that perhaps he’d been hasty in judging the reporter. Maybe he did only want a chance at a brief interview with Belle.
“Thanks for the intel. We appreciate it,” he said.
Again Francis’s gaze skimmed past Nick to rest on Belle. “I hope we meet again.”
She gave a small smile but didn’t respond. The small-statured man headed toward the boat he’d alighted from less than half an hour earlier. Jameson and the two security guards jumped on board, and it headed back out to sea. They stood watching the light until it was barely visible on the horizon. Beside him, Belle shuddered.
“Nick, something’s not right,” she said, her voice firm but filled with unease.
His own apprehension shot to the fore. “You think? I thought I was imagin?—”
The first shot whistled past his ear, the crack of the rifle sounding a moment later.
“Shit, that’s why he came! The bastard brought them here! Get down! ” Terror slammed through him the same time he grabbed Belle by the waist and threw her onto the grass.
The second bullet struck the grass half a foot away from them, showering them with dirt.
“Nick!” she screamed.
“Stay down, baby.” He covered her body with his, not caring that he was making himself a bigger target. “Whatever you do, don’t get up until I tell you. Got it?”
“O-ok-kay.” More bullets rang out, sounding near but not touching them. It took a full minute to realize the shots weren’t meant to kill. Or they weren’t meant to kill Belle. Whoever was shooting—and he would guess his last euro it was Mwana or his men—wanted Belle alive. Which meant he had time—not much, but at least a full minute before the assailants got up the beach— to make it inside. He reached behind his back and grasped his gun.
His jaw tightened at the thought of the reporter—if he even was a reporter—and kicked himself for not trusting his first instinct. Recriminations would come later, though.
He had seconds to save his wife. “Sweetheart, you with me?”
With her face pressed between the grass and his chest, Nick felt her nod.
“When I say go, I want you to get up and run straight into the house.”
She made a sound of protest. “Not without you!”
“I’ll be right behind you, I promise. But you have to be fast, and you need to run straight ahead so you don’t move out of my bodyline. Got it?”
“I— Yes.”
“Good. Ready?” Another nod.
He sucked in a sharp breath, gripped his gun, and flicked off the safety. “Go!”
God bless her. He’d never seen her run so fast. Nick emptied his clip into the shadows rising up from the sand as he ran backward.
Behind him, Belle screamed as glass shattered beside her. From the corner of his eye, he saw two of his security men dash from the pool house toward him.
“They’re coming up from the beach,” he shouted, and held up a hand. “Gun!”
The nearest guard threw a sub-machine gun at him, and Nick caught it mid-air. He turned to see Belle inside, huddled in a corner away from the windows.
She was safe, for now. He turned his attention back to the beach. A black-clad figure rose from the last step. Without a second thought, Nick took aim and fired.
A shout of terror sounded, then silence. A barrage of shots rang out as several more security guards converged on the beach. A minute later, the report of gunfire ended abruptly.
Nick backed quickly toward the door and peered into the living room. Belle rose from her crouch in the corner and came toward him. “Baby, are you all right?” he asked.
“Y-yeah. How many of them were there?” Visibly shaken, she tried to look past him, but he tucked her back and blocked her with his body.
“I don’t know yet. The men are checking things out. We’ll find out soon.” His jaw tightened as the last of the adrenaline rushed from his body. Taking a life had never come easy—even when the monsters in question deserved it—but Nick knew he’d do it again and again to protect Belle. He speared a hand through his hair.
“Dammit, I knew something wasn’t right with Francis.”
She nodded shakily. The look of terror remained in her eyes but there was anger, as well. The hand she put on his arm was reassuring even as it trembled. “So did I. Which means everything he told us was probably bullshit.” Before she could say anything else, his phone rang.
The conversation with his security team down at the beach was quick, but the info they delivered was dismal.
“What?” Belle asked as soon as he hung up.
“Not everything Francis told us was crap. One of the men managed to dial out before he was shot. The line was still open.”
“Do we know who he called?”
“No, but the number was Venezuelan.”
Her eyes widened. “Mwana?”
He nodded reluctantly. “Francis fed us enough truth to try and lure us into complacency. And he almost succeeded.”
Witnessing her shudder threatened to blow the lid off the rage he was trying to suppress.
“I know he’s still out there, but please tell me we got all the fuckers he sent here?” she pleaded.
Despite the carnage around them, Nick grinned, deciding he liked this dirty-mouthed version of his wife. “Yeah. We got the fuckers.”