Chapter 33
Fry Jack pressed the gun concealed under his leather vest into Tessa’s side as he dragged her down the stairs. The warmth from the deadly weapon penetrated her gown in a silent promise of the consequences for trying to escape again.
Biting back a whimper, she fought to ignore the throbbing in her scalp where he’d grabbed her hair minutes ago when she’d emerged from the restroom and tried to run from him and his gun. The scream nobody heard and the struggle nobody saw behind the closed ballroom doors burned in her throat.
Thank God she hadn’t given Hudson her ring. He’d be here any moment to…
To what? Get shot? He wasn’t armed. They were at a ball for Christ’s sake. She had to figure something out. Hudson didn’t stand a chance if he charged down the steps and into a bullet.
Frank’s voice infiltrated her panic. She clung to his instructions like an anchor.
Assess your surroundings.
Keep your eye on your target.
The ballroom was three floors up. Fry Jack had already dragged her down to the street level. A sign for the loading dock pointed to the right beyond the open door. If he got her into that hallway, she’d be one step closer to being the next victim they smuggled to God knows where.
She called on Frank. A list of his favorite distractions played in her mind.
Fake an injury.
Pretend to pass out.
Throw up.
Forcing herself to gag, she slapped her hand over her mouth and clutched her belly. Leaning over, she coughed, chest heaving and eyes watering until filet mignon and red wine surged up her throat.
Fry Jack grabbed her by the hair again. “Don’t you dare puke.”
As he yanked her upright, she whirled toward him and hurled the bile at his face. It landed on his cheek in a thick glob. Cursing he pulled his fist back. She raised her forearm to block the punch but dropped it as she spotted a knife in his back pocket.
His fist cracked against her cheek with the force of a hammer.
Her head snapped back. Fresh pain coalesced with the remembered kind.
As she crumpled toward him, she lifted the pocketknife.
Flipping it open, she spun. The hem of her dress tore under his boot as she sliced his bicep just below the sleeve of his T-shirt.
Cursing, he stared at his arm. Fueled by survival instinct and supercharged by the feral need to see Hudson again, she pushed him toward the stairs. He stumbled back but didn’t fall, surprise registering in his face for a nanosecond.
Dropping into a crouch, she kicked out her leg and swept it hard against his ankle. His foot came out from under him as the momentum of her attack shot her back onto her ass. Arms flailing, he reached for the handrail. His gun clattered to the ground as he crashed onto the steps.
She scrambled to her knees, her gasp shattering the eerie quiet on the heels of Fry Jack’s skull hitting the concrete. As she eyed his gun, too stunned to move, a wide shadow filled the doorway.
Hudson left Nathaniel with his pilot buddy, along with instructions to wait for the General. He yelled his thanks as he took off in the direction of Tessa’s dot. Footsteps sounded to his left as he followed her last known location to the stairwell.
He spun, primed to fight. He blinked instead. “What are you doing here?”
Malcolm caught up to him. “I saw Nathaniel being hauled out by a bunch of Marines. What’s going on?”
“Someone took Tessa. Go back and interrogate the hell out of that fucker and make sure you get it on the record.” He picked up his pace. “I got this.” He appreciated the backup, but he didn’t need Tessa and his best friend in harm’s way.
Malcolm fell into step next to him. “No fucking way I’m leaving you to deal with this alone.
Nathaniel threatened Viv a few hours ago if she didn’t cough up ten mil.
I have the mansion on lockdown. I wasn’t sure if communications were secure, so I drove here to update you.
” He slipped Hudson a handgun. “Thought you might need this.”
Hudson nodded his thanks. The warm weapon both settled and charged his nerves as he opened the door to the stairwell. Malcolm followed close behind him.
Quiet and steady, they moved down the first flight as a team.
A man’s curse from below broke the silence.
Hudson and Malcolm looked at each other and picked up their pace.
Pulse racing as fast as his feet, Hudson flew down the stairs and spotted Fry Jack sprawled at the base of the first-floor landing.
Jumping over blood streaks, Hudson landed in front of the smuggler and grabbed him by the shirt. “Where is she?”
“Fuck you.”
Hudson dug his fingers into the gash on his bicep and rammed him into the wall. Blood spurted onto Hudson’s white jacket and the tuxedo shirt underneath. “Did my little thief pick your pocket again and slice you this time?”
“Bitch is on her way to hell.”
“Where. Is. She?” Hudson shoved an arm against Fry Jack’s windpipe as he raised the gun to his head with the other. “Your next breath depends on your answer.”
“You’re a doctor. You won’t kill me. It’s against your oath.”
“I made a new oath.”
To protect the woman I love.
He pressed harder on Fry Jack’s throat with enough pressure to prove he wasn’t bluffing.
The smuggler wheezed. “Loading dock. V-van.”