Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
"This isn't going to work," Violet whispered to her stalker.
They were hiding around the corner from the sitting room, out of sight of the men guarding the doors. There were four heavily armed men in the hallway, and no way to get past them without alerting their boss.
"We could kill them," Alan said.
"We can't hide our approach, and as soon as they see us, they'll shoot.
We need to find another way inside." She closed her eyes and brought up a mental image of the map she'd found.
"If we go out through the dining room, we can sneak along the veranda and get a look through the sitting room windows. "
"There will be guards positioned there too."
"Yeah, but at least they won't hear us coming in this weather. We should be able to take them out without raising the alarm."
He inclined his head, deferring to her.
Violet gestured back along the corridor to the dining room. They hurried into it and made their way past the grand dining table to the doors. Alan held one of them open as Violet slipped outside.
Horizontal rain blasted along the veranda, which had been transformed into a wind tunnel.
The white wooden boards beneath their feet were sodden and it felt like they were walking on a slip-and-slide.
Violet crouched low, weapon up, and hugged the wall as they made their way to the corner of the house that led to the sitting room.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, signaling the worst of the storm had passed. The sky briefly turned white as intra-cloud lightning flashed on and off, and debris swept across the lawn, ruining the pristine grass. The weather wasn't finished with them yet.
Violet peeked around the corner. There were two more guards standing flat against the wall that flanked the sitting room windows.
They stared out into the grounds, automatic weapons at the ready.
Every now and then, one of them would try to wipe the water from his face. Neither looked happy to be there.
Between Violet and the guards sat a couple of oversized white wooden sofas that'd been bolted to the veranda.
They were missing their soft cushions, which had obviously been taken inside out of the storm, but they still had enough bulk to offer some cover.
She could use them to sneak up to the windows and get the damn photos Max wanted.
All she needed was for Alan to provide a distraction, so the guards wouldn't look her way.
She turned back to tell him what to do.
And saw a guard coming through the dining room doors.
"Behind you," she hissed.
Alan turned as the guard raised his gun.
"Duck!" she snapped as she shoved him hard.
He obeyed and fell to the deck, rolling to the edge of the veranda. The guard hadn't seen her behind Alan's bulk and was surprised when suddenly confronted with an armed woman. Violet raised her gun, but didn't want to pull the trigger. It would alert the other guards.
"Put your weapon down." She imbued the words with absolute authority.
The guard hesitated for a second before a cruel smile curved his mouth. He lifted the gun higher and aimed at Violet.
Alan was on his feet and running straight for her.
They collided, just as the gun went off. She felt him jerk and stumble against her. She wrapped her arms around him as she rooted her feet to stop from toppling over. Alan groaned, went limp and slid down her body.
To hell with keeping quiet.
Violet aimed her gun and took out the guard. He died with a smile on his face.
She heard footsteps thumping on the deck around the corner, as the guards ran toward the shots. They were out of time. And there was no way they could run. Alan was all but a dead weight in her arms. She held onto him as he collapsed to the wet veranda floor, taking her with him.
"No," she said as they landed in a heap, her on her knees, his upper body in her lap.
His eyes found hers and stayed there.
The footsteps got closer, and Violet aimed her gun at the corner. Waiting for Damien's men to appear.
"It's okay," she told her stalker. "It's going to be okay. I'll get you out of here."
"I. Protect. You," he gritted out, sounding weak.
"Stay with me soldier," she snapped. "That's an order."
She heard a scuffle and a thud. Thunder rumbled angrily as the rain lashed the house. It ran down Violet's face and she blinked it away as she concentrated on the coming threat.
She couldn't move. Alan had pinned her down, and he was struggling to breathe.
"You do not have my permission to die," she told him.
"Yes, Ma'am," but his voice was a whisper.
The footsteps got closer. Violet steadied her gun.
And then a low voice called out. "It's Rodrigo. Don't shoot me."
She dropped her weapon as relief flooded her. "I have an injured man here," she said.
Rodrigo came cautiously around the corner, followed by Logan. Both were armed and soaked to the skin.
Violet dismissed them and focused on Alan. He made a strange rumbling sound, deep in his chest, but his eyes stayed on hers. Violet slid his shirt up and assessed the damage. She sucked in a breath. The bullet hole was over his heart. Blood was pouring out of him, covering both of them.
"No," she said as she pressed her palm to the wound, trying to stench the flow. She swallowed, her throat tight. "You're going to be okay."
His dark gaze held hers and softened. He knew she was lying. He blinked slowly, as though it was hard to keep his eyes open. His hand curled around her arm. It felt weak. Too weak.
"No," she said again. This would not happen. "No."
"Warrior," he whispered, it was little more than a breath.
She pressed harder to his bubbling chest.
"Protector," she said, acknowledging him. Seeing him.
His lips quirked in a tiny smile, and he coughed. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
"No," Violet whispered.
"Your welcome," he said as his eyes drifted closed.
"Alan," she pressed against his wound. "Alan?" She shook him gently.
Rodrigo knelt beside her, placing his hand over hers.
"He's gone, Violet," he said with understanding.
"No." She shook her head. "Alan?"
Rodrigo curled his fingers around hers and slowly removed her hand from her stalker.
"He's gone," he said again.
Violet shook off his hold and pressed her blood-soaked fingers against Alan's throat, searching for a pulse.
She couldn't find one.
Her head fell back, eyes closed, and her mouth opened in a silent howl. Later, when she was able, she'd rage for him. Later, she promised herself.
Carefully, she moved Alan to the wooden deck.
"Let me help," Rodrigo said, sliding his arms underneath him and helping her to settle him on the floor.
With effort, she stood, and watched the rain wash his blood away. He was gone. She swallowed hard, straightened her shoulders and looked up at Rodrigo.
"The guards?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
"We dealt with them." His dark eyes full of sympathy and questions.
She looked around, as though seeing the place for the first time. Logan had his back to them, his eyes peeled for danger. Good. That was good.
She sniffed and lifted her chin. "I stashed Max in the bushes. He's been beaten."
"We know." Rodrigo held up a radio. "He called for help."
Of course he did. Talking was his superpower. "He insisted I come back in and get the photos he needs." She dug the phone he'd given her out of her pocket. "I haven't managed it yet."
Rodrigo held his hand out for the phone. "I'll get the photos. You get Max."
She nodded.
"Violet," Rodrigo gestured toward Alan. "Who's your friend?"
Violet's chest tightened as she looked down at the man who'd saved her life. "He's my guardian angel," she said.
And then the radio on the dead guard's belt barked to life.
"Mrs. Durant," Damien's voice was a knife twisting in her gut. "It seems you've made a nuisance of yourself tonight. You tortured one of my guards and killed two more."
Violet stalked to the guard, removed his radio and pressed the talk button. "Make that three, arsehole."
"In that case, it's definitely time you stopped your rampage, don't you think?"
"I'm just getting started," Violet promised.
"Oh, I don't think so. You see, you lost something and one of my guards found it. Hunkered down beside a palm tree of all places."
There was a pause and Max's voice came through the radio. "Ignore him, Vi. He is an asshole."
Violet closed her eyes and hung her head. She should never have left him out there. She shouldn't have listened to his plea or fallen for his puppy dog eyes. She knew better. But he just had to get his story. She was too bloody soft around the man.
"As you can hear," Damien said. "I have your husband."
"What do you want?" Violet asked evenly.
"I want you to come to my sitting room and die alongside Maximillian."
Oh, how she hated this bloody monster. "That isn't how you negotiate, Damien. Why would I surrender myself if you're just going to kill us both? If I stay away, then there will be one of us left to skin you alive before this is over."
He chuckled and all she heard was nails on a chalkboard.
"True, but if you don't show yourself, I'll start dismantling Maximillian, piece by piece, instead of simply putting a bullet in his brain.
I think I'll start by cutting off a finger.
His ring finger seems the most appropriate, don't you think? After all, this is your wedding day."
"What I think," she said. "Is that I'm going to rip you apart, Damien. You’re going to beg for death. And it won't come."
"Oh, you’re a feisty one, aren't you?" He sounded delighted at her reaction. All she'd done was feed the monster. "You've got two minutes to get in here or I start removing fingers. Your choice."
The radio fell silent.
"What do you want to do?" Rodrigo asked.
"I want to get my husband." Violet reached into her pockets and pulled out the flash-bangs and smoke grenade she'd taken from the guardroom. "But I want to do it my way."
Rodrigo and Logan shared a grin.