Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Things were going well.
The Major was deep in a rendition of the Bulge, German troop movements and Allied casualties, while Delgado nodded and made small remarks.
It was standard interrogation technique, listening, making the subject feel important.
Most people loved to talk, either about themselves or about their obsessions.
The other woman—Hilary Baum, a reporter and Rowan’s friend—had gone upstairs to wake the lady up after fixing Delgado with a piercing, dark gaze.
Delgado, aware he was being measured, suffered it.
He’d expected Rowan would retreat after the morning’s events.
He’d even expected the Major’s war stories and casual measuring questions—where had Delgado served, what branch of the military, commanding officers, what type of discharge?
He answered carefully, sticking to the truths which wouldn’t raise any more questions.
The Major didn’t need to know he’d been tipped straight into Sigma because of his scores.
They exchanged stories about basic training, and the Major finally gave him a bottle of beer and settled into a lecture on military history.
Hilary came back, barefoot, smooth dark hair shining as she pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and helped herself to a cracker from the platter the Major had set out. “She’ll be down in a sec. I made her comb her hair.”
“Miracles do happen,” the Major said with a sly glance at Delgado.
Christ, he thinks I’m eligible. So does this other woman, apparently. I’m passing their tests, but when she comes downstairs, how am I going to handle it? He took a sip of beer. “I suppose she was pretty upset,” he offered.
“She seems to have recovered.” Hilary actually giggled.
She was a very pretty woman, a smooth facade of professionalism over a type of boiling sensuality he would have found pleasant if he hadn’t been waiting for…
what? What was he waiting for, exactly? “So, why didn’t anyone call the police?
That guy could be abducting someone else by now. ”
Delgado almost choked on his beer. She’s smart. He set the bottle down. “Well,” he said, “I didn’t get the license plate number, so I didn’t have anything useful to tell them.” Not that I’d go anywhere near a police station. His gaze met the Major’s.
The older man was studying him closely. “Well, we didn’t get a license plate number either, and we didn’t really see anything important.
I’m just glad Rowan’s okay.” There was some other message in the man’s green gaze, but Delgado couldn’t decipher it.
Maybe it was the residue of the push, making the Major feel chummy with him.
“That’s the truth,” Hilary said, taking another cracker. “If anything happened to Rowan, I’d be really upset.” She gave him a meaningful glance, then bounced up to her feet, crossing to the fridge. “Do you have any white wine, Henry?”
“Bottom shelf,” the Major replied. He was still trying to signal something to Delgado, who didn’t have a clue. His cell phone buzzed in his breast pocket.
He extracted it and glanced at the number.
Shit. “Excuse me a second,” he said, rising smoothly from the chair. “I have to take this.”
“No problem,” the Major said politely, still trying to telegraph something with wiggling eyebrows. What the hell is going on now?
He walked into the living room and flipped the phone open. “Delgado,” he said cautiously.
“Move it up, Del.” Henderson sounded exhausted. “They found the haunted house. Cath and Zeke barely made it out. They’re doing sweeps. What are you doing in there?”
“Haven’t made secondary contact yet,” Delgado said quietly. “How much time do I have?”
A short pause, sound of fingers on a keyboard. That would be Yoshi. Then Henderson’s tone changed. “None. They’re moving in. Christ, Delgado, get out of there.”
Not without her. “We’ll see.”
“Don’t go funky on me, Del. I need you. Get the fuck out of there.”
“Not without my subject.”
“Del—”
His entire skin tightened with electricity. There she is. She’s coming downstairs. How can I sense her today, when I couldn’t last night? “Got to go, I’ll call you back.”
Then he hung up on the old man. Sorry about that, General. But no Sig’s going to get his filthy hands on her again. He turned the phone off and looked down at the sleek black plastic. How the hell am I going to do this?
“Hi,” Rowan said. “Dad said you were in here… oh.” She saw the cell phone in his hand. “I’m sorry, I—”
“No, I’m done,” he said, slipping it back into his pocket. “How are you feeling?”
She looked… well, unearthly. The circles under her eyes remained, but her gaze was clear and unshadowed now.
Her pale hair, pulled back into a ponytail, begged to be touched.
The flush of sleep was still on her cheeks, and she wore a black V-neck sweater that only made her skin look even more translucent, her collarbones more fragile.
Jeans and pretty bare feet completed the picture, and Delgado almost forgot the Sigma net closing around them.
His entire body felt dipped in electric sugar, nerves resounding with her nearness.
What is wrong with me? I just went against orders and hung up on Henderson.
And what am I going to do? How am I going to get her out of here and to a safehouse?
She muffled a yawn. “Good,” she said. “I wanted to say thanks, you know. For… for saving my life. I didn’t realize until later that… well, anything could have happened.” Evidently nervous, she shifted from foot to foot, her cheeks even more flushed.
Why? Am I having some sort of effect on her? I hope so.
He realized he was staring into her eyes, fascinated. “Anytime. I’m just glad I was there.” God, am I ever glad I was there. If they’d taken you—
“Are you…” She trailed off, glanced around the room, nervously. “I mean, my dad said he didn’t call the police. He said you were military.”
Several things about Henry’s signaling fell into place. Damn. He’s more observant than I thought, or I bled through with the push. Delgado realized he was moving forward, his hands buzzing and tingling with the need to touch. He stopped himself just in time, six feet away.
“I had no idea he noticed.” Then he could have slapped himself, because something crossed her face.
“You seem really familiar. Are you sure I haven’t—” She trailed off again, comprehension flooding her face.
Oh, no. His hands actually physically hurt, itching and throbbing.
“You were at the Taylor house last night.” Her cheeks drained of all color. “Why are you following me?”
He was about to start talking when two things happened at once. The first thing was a crash and tinkle of broken glass as the teargas canisters were lobbed through the front window. The second event was the sudden death of the lights.
Damn Sigs, coming in under dampers. He was already moving.
“Don’t breathe,” he yelled. “Gas! Hold your breath!” He had her by the waist, swinging her around, his body between hers and the window in case they fired.
They won’t. They want her alive. How am I going to do this with three civilians?
Goddammit, I should have just snatched her myself.
Then he was scrambling, half-dragging her, as she screamed breathlessly. The hallway was utterly dark. He lifted her off her feet and dragged her toward the kitchen. His lungs burned. Clear air there, take a breath, hold it.
Two coughing sounds. Shots fired. Goddammit.
Delgado’s pupils expanded to catch any stray gleam of light.
Gas drifted through the air, sucking back through the broken window.
The back door was open. Cold air kissed his skin.
He clamped his hand over Rowan’s mouth. “Stay quiet,” he hissed in her ear.
“I’ll take care of you, Rowan, just stay quiet. Please.”
She didn’t respond. If she started to choke on the gas, he would have that to worry about as well.
The kitchen was a shambles. Delgado met the first Sig with a strike to the throat, the man folded down, his larynx crushed.
The other man shot again, missed both times.
By that time, Delgado cleared leather and popped him twice.
The Sig crashed to the floor. Del was dimly aware of the crash as the front door gave.
If it’s a standard Sig team they’re waiting for the points to get her out the front door.
They must have identified the dad and the other woman through the window.
If it wasn’t for Henderson calling me we might already be caught.
They think Rowan’s upstairs. That’ll give me a few seconds to get her out of here.
He looked for Rowan. She had scrambled forward on her knees and was by the butcher-block table, holding her father’s limp body. “No!” She probably thought she was screaming, but the only thing coming out was a choked whisper.
Delgado leaned down. His hand closed around her arm. “Move,” he barked. “Come on, Rowan! You can’t help them now.”
The woman—Hilary—lay crumpled on the floor, her sleek dark head a mess of hamburger.
The Major had taken one in the chest and lay unmoving in Rowan’s arms. She shook him, frantically, still making that choked mewling noise that tore at Delgado’s heart.
“They’ll be coming down the stairs and sweeping the house next. Come on, Rowan!”
She looked up, her eyes red and brimming with tears. “What’s happening?”
He hauled her up, trying to be gentle, and remembered she had bare feet. Can’t afford to holster the gun, might have to drop another Sig if they have units waiting on the side. He bent and hefted her over his shoulder. “Sorry, Rowan.” His boots crunched over broken glass. “Goddamn.”
There was a shuddering impact, probably against a bedroom door upstairs, that shook the whole house.
No time to calm her down. No time to do anything but get her out.
Cold hit his skin in a wave, and his entire body felt full of electric prickles.
Danger—and her. She wasn’t screaming, but she was struggling ineffectually, beating at his back and trying to twist free.
“I’m sorry, Rowan,” he said again, and moved faster.