Chapter 52
The metal hatch creaked open. Lachlan peered into the darkness below, then glanced back at Britt, holding up three fingers.
Three operatives waiting at the bottom of the ladder, positioned strategically to grab whoever descended first.
A trap.
She wasn’t surprised that The Visitor would have men lying in wait, ready to grab and subdue her with no intention of releasing Paloma.
Lachlan reached into his tactical vest and produced three small spheres no bigger than golf balls.
“Wait here,” Lachlan directed.
Gripping his arms, she stopped him. “You can’t go down there alone. They’ll grab you—”
“These pods are filled with blue hibiscus powder. They detonate on impact, paralyze the body before rendering targets unconscious," Lachlan whispered.
Britt relaxed, nodding as she released his arm.
Lachlan descended halfway down the metal stairs. Three muted pops in succession before he jumped out of the hatch, closing it once again. He pulled a breathing mask over his face, motioning for Britt to do the same with the one he handed her.
They waited precisely thirty seconds before Lachlan descended again, his movements fluid and silent. Britt followed, heart hammering against her ribs as she climbed down into the belly of her prison.
At the bottom, three street thugs lay sprawled on the ground, their faces contorted in silent panic, eyes darting frantically as Lachlan methodically bound and gagged each one. His movements were precise, practiced—the efficiency of a man who had done this countless times before.
Even in the dim light, she could see the fierce determination etched in every line of his face. This was the man who had protected her and loved her. Now they were side by side, risking everything to save their daughter.
“Do you know the way?” Lachlan asked, staring at the dimly lit maze of corridors.
“Yeah,” Britt said, unable to forget her path to freedom. “This way.”
She walked slowly down the hall, the weight of the situation pressing down upon her like the tons of earth above. As they approached the final turn, Lachlan pulled her close. The warmth of his breath against her ear sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.
"I'll be right behind you," he murmured. "Out of sight. Keep him focused on you, but try to get Paloma positioned near the door. I’ll grab her as soon as she’s in sight.”
Britt nodded, drawing strength from his unwavering determination. They would get their daughter back, but she didn’t know at what cost. “If anything happens to me—”
“Don’t,” he cut her off, his eyes fierce. “I’m not losing you. I’m getting both of you out of here alive. That’s a promise.”
He gripped her face in his hands as his mouth crashed into hers in a searing kiss, deep, fierce, and possessive.
The sensation overwhelmed her senses, buckling her knees as she clung to him.
When he pulled away, she had to remind herself to breathe, staring into the eyes of the man she knew she would sacrifice everything for—a reality that was now crystal clear.
Taking a steadying breath, Britt stepped around the corner. The familiar door at the end of the hallway was ajar, a sliver of fluorescent light spilling into the corridor. Her heart stuttered in her chest.
This was it. The room where The Visitor had tried to reshape her identity. The eight-by-six dimensions had been her entire world for over a year. And now, her daughter was inside.
Britt moved forward, Lachlan fading into the shadows behind her. She approached the door, her footsteps deliberately audible. No element of surprise—not with Paloma in danger.
"I'm here," she called out, keeping her voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside her. She pushed the door wider with her foot, then stepped into the doorway.
The Visitor's face was exactly as she remembered—handsome in a clinical way, with those kind brown eyes that had once fooled her into thinking he might be an ally. "Please, come in. I have a guest who's been waiting for you."
Britt stepped into the room, her eyes drawn to her daughter.
Paloma sat on the twin bed, her small frame dwarfed by what was strapped to her chest—a crude vest of wires and small blocks that could only be explosives.
Her dark curls were disheveled, her eyes wide with fear, but otherwise, she appeared unharmed.
"Mommy!" cried Paloma.
The single word shattered something inside Britt. Paloma knew. Somehow, she’d always known the truth.
"It's okay, baby," Britt said, fighting to keep her voice calm. "Everything's going to be fine."
The Visitor held Paloma’s arm tightly, preventing her from moving. A remote control device dangled casually in his other hand.
"Let her go," Britt demanded, her gaze locked on Paloma. "She has nothing to do with this."
"On the contrary," The Visitor said, circling the bed to stand behind Paloma.
He placed his hands on her small shoulders, and Britt had to suppress the urge to lunge at him.
"She has everything to do with this. The daughter of Brittany Freeman is quite the bargaining chip. Especially since you got past the punks I had stationed to escort you here.” Suspicion clouded his face.
“They weren’t necessary,” Britt said, thinking fast. She couldn’t let him figure out that she’d disobeyed his orders.
That Lachlan was in the hallway. “You wanted me to come alone. It’s only fair that you should be, too.
Your guards will wake in several hours, after the blue hibiscus powder wears off. ”
“I’m impressed by your new resourcefulness. Does that mean you remember who you are?” The Visitor asked.
“I know who I am, and I know who you are, too,” Britt said. “Wesley Thomas, Palmchat Islands Special Command Operator. With introductions out of the way, what will it take for you to let my daughter go?”
"The same thing I've always wanted," Wesley said, his voice eerily reasonable. "Help me take down Quattro. Give me the evidence you gathered on your father’s cartel. Names, operations, offshore accounts—everything. It’s no secret that Titus was grooming you to take over. Now that your memories have fully returned, you can give me exactly what I need to cripple the cartel.”
“I’ll get it for you. Whatever you want," Britt insisted. Paloma was shaking now, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. "Just let her go."
Wesley seemed to consider this. "A tempting offer. But how do I know you'll follow through once she's safe?"
"Because I'll stay," Britt said, the words tumbling out before she could reconsider. "Let her go, and I'll stay. I'll wear the vest. I'll do whatever you want."
Something flashed in Wesley's eyes—triumph, perhaps, or the dark satisfaction of a man who believed he'd won. He released Paloma's shoulders.
"A fair exchange." He pointed to the vest. "Remove it from the child and put it on yourself. Slowly."
As Britt reached the bed, Paloma launched herself forward, tiny arms wrapping around Britt's waist.
"I knew you'd come," Paloma whispered against her stomach.
Britt held her close, inhaling the strawberry scent of her hair, memorizing the feel of her daughter in her arms. "Of course I came," she whispered back. "I told you I would.”
Britt unfastened the crude explosive vest from Paloma. The device was simple but effective—pressure plates connected to blocks of what looked like C-4, all wired to a receiver that would accept the signal from Wesley's remote.
"Careful now," Wesley warned. "One wrong move, and neither of you will leave this room."
As she worked, Britt leaned close to Paloma. "When I'm done, I want you to be brave and walk out that door. It’s dark, but don’t be scared.”
Paloma nodded, her eyes wide but determined. "But what about you?"
"Don't worry about me," Britt said, easing the vest off Paloma's shoulders. "Just remember that I love you. That I've always loved you, even when I couldn't remember who I was."
"I know," Paloma said, a wisdom beyond her years in her solemn gaze. "You're not just my mommy angel from heaven. You're my real mommy."
Tears pricked at Britt's eyes. "That's right, baby. And nothing will ever change that. Promise me you'll never forget how much I love you."
Britt slipped the vest over her shoulders. The weight of the explosives settled against her chest, and a cold clarity washed over her. This room—this prison that had stolen so much from her—would be her last memory.
"I promise," Paloma whispered, then reached for the silver Celtic knot necklace. She lifted it over her head, then placed it around Britt’s neck. “Daddy will protect you from the bad man,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to look at Wesley. “Be brave, Mommy.”
A sob escaped Britt as she blinked away her tears. “I will, baby. Now go.” Britt pushed her toward the open door. “Go and don’t look back.”
"I love you, Mommy," Paloma said, backing toward the door.
"I love you too. Go!"
With one last look, Paloma turned and slipped through the door.
Before Wesley could react, Britt pushed the door shut with a decisive thud. The automatic locking mechanism engaged with a metallic click that echoed with finality.
"Now then," he said, adjusting his grip on the remote. "Let's discuss your cooperation."
"There's nothing to discuss," Britt said, her voice steady as steel. "I have no intention of helping you destroy the organization my father built."
Wesley's face darkened. "Then why—"
"Why the exchange?" Britt let out a bitter laugh. "Because my daughter deserves to live, even if I don't." She took a step toward him, then another. "I'm going to die in this room, and I'm taking you with me."