Chapter Sixty-Five
Chance and Winters skirted the grounds, both pulling on their night-vision goggles as they approached the pool. Sal and Pennebaker were on a side portico, and Chance directed his new partner toward their backup. He lifted his chin in greeting, taking in their clothes.
With slicked-back hair and cologne, Sal wore a tightly-fitted shirt and expensive slacks. “What? I was out.”
“In the club,” Pennebaker nodded, exceedingly more comfortable in his Hawaiian shirt, pool shorts, and flip-flops.
“Every time I think I’ve seen it all, Boss Man throws me for a loop,” Winters muttered.
The nightclub getup didn’t change Sal’s rosy demeanor. “Who’s the kid?”
Winters ignored the jab.
“Lights are on,” Pennebaker offered instead. “As always. No sign that anyone’s home. The GPS indicator on their Range Rover shows they’re two hundred miles from here.”
Chance studied the large home. “Did you go inside?”
“Hell no,” Sal quipped. “I’d like to keep my job.”
“We eyeballed Jane’s cottage and swept the perimeter.” Pennebaker gestured. “No one’s home. All’s quiet on the home front—except for the womp, womp of your stealth copter. What’s this all about? Your office wouldn’t say shit.”
“Jane.” Chance reached for his cell phone and called her again. Dread curled in his stomach.
A cell phone chimed. The foursome pivoted.
The bright light of Jane’s phone glowed from a poolside table.
He killed the call and rushed over. She hadn’t seen his calls or messages.
Chance turned—and stopped. His eyes locked on Teddy’s scavenger hunt book, haphazardly laid open on a pool lounger.
He picked up the phone and book and returned to the men, holding them up like evidence.
“The boy’s missing too?” Pennebaker’s jaw tightened. “You want to tell us exactly what’s happening?”
“Teddy is with his aunt.” Chance tucked the phones into his back pocket. “Jane’s gone.”
“Eyes up,” Cash said in their earpieces. “Movement in the west wing.”
He and Winters shifted. They weren’t at the best angle, but nothing caught his eye.
“Heavy drapes,” their sniper continued. “I’ve got nothing more than shadows.”
Chance recounted the update to Sal and Pennebaker. They moved into the garage. Pennebaker unlocked the door.
“The system’s not armed,” Chance pointed out.
“The system’s not on,” Pennebaker corrected.
They filed through a hall. “We’re out a job if you’re wrong, and they’re upstairs fucking,” Sal added.
They stopped in the large kitchen long enough for Chance to eye the dirty dishes abandoned on the counter.
Sal and Winters, opposites in nightclub clothes and tactical gear, hustled through the hall.
Pennebaker peeled off, heading toward the back stairs.
Chance took the lead and charged up the stairs.
The place was a maze of dark corridors and halls, but gut instinct directed him toward the master bedroom.
The walls were lined with priceless works of art, but for a split second, he recalled the moment in Syria when a wall fell and separated them from Teddy.
Jane questioned him. He’d heard the fear in her words and didn’t understand how a job could be so important.
Now, he was certain the fallout from this job would dictate the rest of his life.
They approached the end of a hall. The master bedroom had multiple points of entry, including through a sitting room.
He put his hand up. Winters and Sal paused.
Chance listened. Nothing. His heartbeat drummed.
He pointed at Winters and the far bedroom door.
Silently, he moved as ordered, positioning himself to the side of the grand French doors.
Chance met Sal’s eye. “If you want out, you can roll.”
“Sometimes you gotta risk it all.” Sal smiled weakly. “I don’t have any training. Not like you guys. I’m just a guy who sits in a guardhouse.”
“Maybe that’ll change today—or we’ll all get fired.”
Sal chuckled then froze. Muffled voices came from the bedroom. They certainly weren’t fucking, but Chance couldn’t decipher their words or tone. He posted Sal behind him, against the wall. “Wait for my word. Then pull the drapes.”
“Why?”
“For another set of eyes. In case we need help.”
Unconvinced, Sal rolled his bottom lip but gave a curt nod. “Got it.”
Pennebaker stepped from the back stairwell. Chance directed him opposite Winters. Once in position, Chance crept toward the sitting-room door. He tested the doorknob—unlocked—and eyed the men at the end of the hall.
Winters and Pennebaker nodded, ready to go, weapons drawn.
Chance held up his hand and gave a three count and signaled go-time.
They pushed through the doors. Glock in hand, Chance found himself in the middle of a clothing explosion. Lark screamed, throwing her hands into the air. Gigi’s surprised cry rang out as well.
“What the…” Sal edged into the sitting room and skirted along the wall.
“It’s not what you think,” Lark tried, easing her arms down.
Chance shook his head. Her arms jerked higher. “Where’s Jane?”
Sal ripped the drapes back.
“You don’t understand,” Lark fumbled.
Sal stepped into the bedroom, continuing to rip open the windows.
“Go.” Chance ordered Lark into the connecting master bedroom.
She tripped over a pile of hangers, further scattering them in her rush. Gigi sat on top of a clothes-covered bench at the foot of her bed. Lark took a seat, too.
Winters cleared a walk-in closet and searched the half-open wardrobe before he moved to the next walk-in closet.
“Clear?” Gigi demanded. “You’re in my bedroom!”
Pennebaker stepped over strewn shoes. “What happened in here?”
Chance searched for an answer. The bedroom was worse than the sitting room. Glass shards from a broken mirror covered the vanity. Makeup had been thrown across the room. Red lipstick had been used to write slut across the wall. Shredded clothing hung everywhere.
He directed Sal and Pennebaker. “Help Winters clear the room.” The master bedroom had more alcoves and walk-in closets than necessary for two people, no matter their wealth. “Where’s Dax?”
Blotchy red patches grew on Gigi’s face and neck. “Not here.”
Winters stepped from the second walk-in and caught Chance’s eye. “Clear—destroyed, but clear.”
He towered over the women. “Where’s Jane?”
“We don’t know,” Lark said coolly. “We just walked in—”
Hangers clattered. Curses tangled with the familiar sound of flesh hitting flesh. A struggle thundered in the walk-in that Sal and Pennebaker had stepped into. Winters rushed across the room. Chance ordered the women to stay put.
“Gun,” their sniper announced in their earpieces. “Third tango is armed with a hostage.”
Chance repositioned as Dax stepped into the bedroom, eyes wild, nostrils flaring, with Pennebaker’s weapon pressed against his throat. Winters dropped for cover behind the bed.
“Do you have a clean shot?” HQ requested of the sniper.
“Negative.”
Gigi stood.
Chance refocused on her. “Sit down.”
“He’s confused,” Gigi explained. “We just came home, and this is what we see. You’re here. Of course Dax would protect—”
“Sit. Down.”
Dax yanked Pennebaker into the room. His finger haphazardly curled over the trigger. The security guard didn’t struggle. Winters stood from his defensive position, searching for cover and a better shot. Their options weren’t great.
“Dax, put your weapon down,” Chance said calmly. “Then explain.”
He scooted closer to them. Winters repositioned, following Dax.
Gigi slapped her thighs. “You know what? You’re going to jail. All of you. Breaking and entering my house.” Her breaths shook. “Just leave!”
Dax sidestepped. His sloppy grip on the weapon made sweat form on the back of Chance’s neck. Winters angled inside the bathroom door and faltered, cursing under his breath. Their comm system amplified it in Chance’s ear.
Winters backed into the bathroom. “HQ, we need immediate medical transport.”
The floor felt as though it had fallen from under Chance. A cold wave of nausea rocked him. He struggled to keep his weapon up as his earpiece transmitted the sound of sloshing water.
“We just walked in,” Gigi screeched. “Dax, damn it, put the gun down. We all just walked in.”
“Midas,” Winters called. “Now.”
His stomach churned. Chance kept his weapon up but moved to the bathroom. “What?” He glanced in and saw I loved you scrawled over the mirror in lipstick. Coldness burned in his limbs. “What’d they do?”
Chance forced himself into the bathroom. Only the bottom of Winters’s boots were visible from around the corner. The steady thud of chest compressions thundered in the stark white bathroom.
Chance gave Gigi, Lark, and Dax one last look. “If you—when you run, I will find you. Whatever you’ve done. You will pay.”
Then he stepped into hell.