Chapter 17 #2
“No,” she rebuked herself aloud. “You can't. You promised. Well, you agreed at least. If Josiah thinks you followed him, he won't be able to concentrate, and you don’t want to be the reason he dies.”
Although …
There had been something in his eyes she hadn't liked when she’d told him his job was to stay safe, too. Something that said he didn't completely agree with her.
“Don’t do anything stupid, please,” she whispered into the empty room as though her plea had the power to travel through the mansion to wherever Josiah was and convince him that his life mattered.
Did he know that?
She feared he didn't. Feared that for him, this was the revenge mission he never got to go on, and that surviving it wasn't as high on his priority list as it was on hers. He hadn't been able to get justice for his SEAL team, but he could get it for Cyber Team.
“You have to trust him,” she reminded herself as she deliberately turned her back on the door.
She was supposed to wait fifteen minutes, then go to the linen closet at the end of the hall.
Hiding felt cowardly, and if she’d had access to a weapon, she would have insisted on going with Josiah regardless of his arguments.
Wandering to the window, she looked out into the dark night.
Prey was out there somewhere, she knew that, but she just wanted them here.
Wanted Desiree Tilly in handcuffs, Dr. Gant and the rest of the staff here by choice as well.
Wanted all these innocent victims like the poor woman tied and gagged upstairs, dreading a surgery that wasn't coming to be safe, back home with their families and recovering from their ordeal.
She stared out the window, desperate for a glimpse of the men she knew were coming. Of course, she couldn’t see them, they were too good for that. They wouldn't be seen until they wanted to be, but it didn't stop her from looking.
“Huh,” she said, a small smile quirking her lips up as she did indeed notice a small movement in the gardens. “Guess they aren't as good as they think they are, or I'm just better than I think—”
The rambled words she was speaking aloud to herself so she didn't lose her mind broke off when she realized what she’d just seen.
It wasn't a member of Prey.
Too small.
Childlike.
“Bridget.” She gasped.
What was Desiree’s little girl doing out there? And all alone, too, because there were no other moving shadows nearby.
Did Desiree know about Prey? Had something tipped her off, and she was readying her guards to attack?
Without even considering what she was doing, Chelsea spun around and hurried toward the door.
Easing it open, she glanced down the hall and spotted no one.
As far as she was concerned, her promise was void. Bridget was out there, and she wasn't going to let the little girl get caught in the crossfire. She’d get the child, and they’d hide somewhere together until it was safe.
Tiptoeing down the hall toward the stairs, Chelsea made it to the first turn when she saw the dancing of flashlights.
Ducking back out of sight, she weighed up her options. It hadn't been enough time yet for Prey to get inside. Maybe it was one of the couples wandering around in the early hours of the morning? Or maybe it was the guards.
A muffled pop had her freezing.
She knew that sound.
It was a gun with a silencer being fired.
Darting her head back around the corner, she saw a shadowed figure closing a door, then moving down to the next one and opening it.
They were killing the couples here who had come to buy organs. That meant they knew Prey was there. They were cleaning house like they’d done on the boat after Ava escaped.
Panicking right now would get her killed, but Chelsea couldn’t seem to stop her breath sawing in and out of her chest, or slow her wildly hammering heart.
The linen closet.
She had to get to it.
It was still a valid hiding place, and once the men had fired into her and Josiah’s room, she could get outside to Bridget. She wouldn't put it past these people to kill the child even if Bridget was the reason Desiree had started the trafficking ring to begin with.
More muffled pops echoed through the otherwise quiet mansion as she ran for the linen closet.
Once inside, she pulled out a stack of blankets and crammed herself into the back of the shelf before stacking them in front of her like an incredibly useless barrier. If she was spotted in there, the blankets would do absolutely nothing to stop a bullet.
Seconds felt like hours, and she tried to be logical about it, count out each step the guards would take, the opening of the doors, the firing of the weapons.
Chelsea tried not to miss how many rooms were between her and where she’d spotted the guards.
If she miscalculated, she’d leave her hiding place too soon and be spotted and likely shot on sight.
Only once she was almost positive that the guards must be gone did she slowly push away the blankets.
No one had opened the linen closet looking for her, so the guards either believed she’d been in her bed when they’d fired their shots, or they knew she hadn't been there and were now searching for her.
Knowing that Josiah would be furious with her for not staying put, Chelsea also knew that if she did, she could easily be found. Getting out of the house was her best bet, and Bridget was still out there alone.
Bad idea or not, she was getting to that child.
Each step she took through the house, her nerves ramped up another notch. The metallic stench of blood was beginning to permeate the hall, and it made nausea churn in her stomach.
Death.
It was the smell of death.
While she wanted the people who had gone there to buy an organ to be punished for their choices, choices they’d known were wrong, they didn't deserve to be shot in their beds. They’d made these choices out of desperation, she got that, and they believed the donors were all criminals, she got that, too, but prison would have been a more fitting punishment.
By the time she reached the top of the stairs, Chelsea was physically shaking. She was definitely not cut out for this. Being undercover was one thing, but the constant waiting for a shot to hit you in the back—or the front—was quite another.
At the bottom of the stairs, she heard voices.
Positive she was about to be spotted, she took off at a dead run.
With her pulse pounding in her ears, she couldn’t hear anything else as she darted across the gardens, doing her best to hide behind things as she went, and keeping low to make herself less visible.
By some miracle, she made it all the way to the maze. Bridget was out here somewhere, and she was positive this was where the child would hide.
Taking the same route she’d used the other day, only this time running full speed, she spotted the little girl right around where she had first met her.
“Bridget?”
At the sound of her name, the child squeaked and began to crawl under the hedges.
“Wait!” Chelsea shouted. “It’s me, remember? We met here before, you told me how to get to the middle so I could beat my husband.”
The girl froze then slowly crept backward, looking up at her with big, round eyes.
“Do you remember me?”
Bridget nodded slowly.
“What are you doing out here all alone, sweetie?”
“Bad men are coming. My mommy was angry, and I got scared,” Bridget whispered.
“So you came to your favorite place?”
Another nod from the child.
Cautiously moving closer, Chelsea dropped down to sit on the ground beside the little girl.
“Those men that are coming, they’re not bad men, I promise you they’re not,” she assured the child.
It wasn't like she wanted to tell the girl who her mom really was, and if she tried, she’d lose whatever tentative trust they’d built.
One day, Bridget would find out the truth, that day might even be today, but it wouldn't be here and now.
For now, she had to keep the girl safe until this played out.
The bob of a light announced that someone was coming before she heard the footsteps. Reaching out, Chelsea grabbed the little girl, pulling Bridget into her lap and angling them so her body was between the child and whoever was coming.
A shadowy figure appeared in the maze, and she heard the last voice she’d been expecting.
“Step away from my daughter.”