Hard Play (Delta Force Brotherhood), Page 4

  Silence.

  The crash of metal on metal snapped through Dylan’s ears. He ground his teeth together, his imagination working overtime.

  A series of chuckles came through his earbud, likely from the guards.

  “Fine. I told you I’d give you a few more days. I’m reconsidering my offer.” His tone changed. “Let’s get out of here.”

  More clicks on concrete, prompting Dylan to yank the small microphone free.

  By the time the door opened he was back in the truck, his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes as he slumped in the seat and watched via the rearview mirror. To a casual observer he was just another guy waiting to meet a buddy at a warehouse to do some work.

  Edward Molodavi frowned. His face was covered in sweat, and his perfect tie was awry. He pulled a starched white handkerchief from one pocket and mopped his face.

  He scowled as he cast a look at the truck, farther down the street. Dylan could see him calculating, his forehead furrowed, trying to figure out if the driver could have overheard anything.

  A regular guy, no.

  Someone armed with Brotherhood tech and Brotherhood heart—yes.

  Dylan’s hand slipped inside the duffel bag and curled around an automatic pistol as he waited.

  Molodavi tucked the handkerchief in his pocket. He got back in the car and spoke to the driver.

  The car slowly crept toward the truck barely faster than a walking pace.

  Dylan rolled his head to one side, watching now in the side mirror.

  The sedan increased its speed and passed the truck, obviously convinced it wasn’t an issue.

  The orange triangle disappeared off the display area of his GPS, mounted on the dashboard. He sat up and tapped his earpiece, opening the line.

  “Trey, Finn. I’ve found her.”

  Chapter Three

  Jessie rubbed her cheek, feeling the heated skin. She’d avoided most of Eddie’s slap when his hand had slashed between the bars, but he’d still clipped her, his sudden movement catching her off-guard.

  But it was nothing compared to what he had planned for her.

  The problem was she didn’t see a way out. Even if he believed she was doing this on her own, he’d still kill her, unwilling to take a chance she’d help bring him down.

  It was obvious no one was coming for her. They’d likely covered up her job absence, erasing her from the schedule and either saying nothing or making up a story. No one would care, or if they did, they’d be told to mind their own business.

  Her thoughts went to Lisa. Once Jessie missed her check-in times, she’d have gotten nervous, upset, enough to probably check Jess’s office and apartment then go to the cops.

  They’d do nothing but pat Lisa on the head and send her back out. No one was going to help her. She’d been rash and foolish and was going to pay the price if she didn’t find a way out.

  Her white blouse still stuck to her skin. She kept the black blazer on despite the discomfort, afraid to take it off for fear they’d confiscate it. She craved a long hot shower with plenty of soap, and a chance to kick Edward Molodavi’s balls up to his nose.

  Her stomach growled and Jessie pressed her hand against it, trying to hush her driving hunger. She swallowed hard, her mouth watering at the smell of fried chicken wafting over from the bags sitting on the table. They wanted her to beg for scraps, and up until this point she’d refused, unwilling to give an inch.

  Today, though…today her willpower was stretched thin, and she could almost taste the greasy chicken skin in her mouth.

  Soon they’d have to decide whether to feed her, or kill her.

  She was hoping for the first.

  …

  Dylan briefed the pair over the phone as he waited for the van to arrive. “They’re keeping her in a warehouse off of Druxy and Halphorn Street. Should be easy to get in, get her and get out.”

  “Right now?” Finn asked. “No offense, but night would be a bit more discreet. We can sit tight, study the scene, and when it’s dark go on in.”

  “In a perfect world we’d wait and go for it tonight. But this sure as hell isn’t a perfect world. He sounded pissed, and I don’t want to risk him coming back to kill her or give orders for them to move her. There’re at least four men in there right now. I don’t want the odds to go up.”

  “Gotcha. We go in and get her. Then what?” Trey asked.

  “If she’s smart, she’ll let us help her go to ground and leave Nevada.” Dylan rubbed his chin, feeling the stubble.

  “But if she’s got the evidence…” Trey left the sentence hanging.

  “That’s the big question. We don’t know what she has, if anything, on Molodavi. If she had the evidence on her, it’s gone by now.” Dylan drove around another corner and pulled into a small parking lot, putting the warehouse out of sight.

  The black van arrived a few minutes later, sliding up beside his truck.

  Dylan hopped in the side door, carrying the duffel bag. Trey was there, waiting. Finn sat in the driver’s seat. They handed Dylan a dark green woolen cap and black shirt, matching the ones they wore.

  Finn had already applied face paint, streaks of black and brown distorting his features. If any of the guards got a look at them, it’d be hard to give a description or pick them out of a line up.

  “Give me the location,” Dylan said. He stripped off his T-shirt, replacing it with the long-sleeved version. His bare arms covered, he slipped the cap on over his short hair and reached for the oily, colored sticks.

  Trey held up a pocket mirror as Dylan drew thick lines on his cheeks. “Safe house is in the Wild Cards motor home park. Exit number 392A off the highway, turn right at the first set of lights. Lot 22. Door’s unlocked. There’s a medical kit inside and a burner phone.” He paused. “You sure you don’t want to bring her back to the Playground?”

  “No.” Dylan shook his head. “I can’t risk anyone connecting the club to our activities. Including her. The less she knows about us the better.” He handed the grease sticks back to Finn.

  Trey nodded, conceding the point. “If she’s hurt badly, Magee’s on duty tonight at the hospital. We can take her in through the ER and Helen will help keep her off the records.”

  Dylan paused. Helen Magee was a good friend to the Brotherhood, another veteran who chose to help in her own way. A few of his scars had been stitched by her calm, steady hands. “We’ll make the decision once we get a chance to see Jessie.” Dylan reached for the small automatic and checked it before securing it in the leather holster. “She had enough left in her to piss him off.”

  Trey tapped the duffel. “I brought my newest acquisition. I think you’ll be impressed.”

  …

  Jessie slumped against the bars, licking her lips. It’d taken all she had to go to the back of the cage and sit down as far away from the guards as she could, trying to think about anything other than the fried chicken.

  The skids around her didn’t offer any help, stacked high with cleaning supplies. They smelled of wrapped plastic and wood, but she’d chew on that right now if she had a chance.

  Three men chattered among themselves at the table, Al busy playing a computer game and the others devouring their lunches. Mike, the vegetarian, had retreated to the far corner of the warehouse with the small plastic container containing his special salad. He brought his own meal every day, earning mocking comments from the other men and Molodavi’s disdain, which was why the other men got fried chicken dinners and Mike ended up eating alone.

  She twisted her head to one side.

  There was something wrong, something…off. It was as if she was staring at one of those pictures with a hidden image inside and it’d snapped to the forefront, showing the secret panda or whatever.

  Jessie rolled her head back and sighed. She closed her eyes and scrubbed at them with her palms, willing herself to pull it together.

  You’re losing your mind. Finally.

  She’d heard about hostages having hal
lucinations, imagining things. Between her treatment from the men and Molodavi’s threats, it wasn’t surprising she was losing it.

  Jessie opened her eyes again and stared.

  She wasn’t sure the small drone hovering over the nearby skid was a worthy hallucination.

  A dragonfly, sure. A dragon, better. But a small, hand-sized flying disk wasn’t exactly what she thought her mind would conjure up.

  Jessie watched it turn toward the four men at the table, studying them for a long minute before turning back to aim itself at her.

  Her heart went into overdrive.

  You’re being rescued.

  Least you can do is help them out.

  …

  “Right. We’ve done an initial fly-over, mapped a route from the front door to the cage at the rear. At least four men sitting guard.” Trey showed Dylan the small monitor.

  Dylan nodded. “Small arms. Pistols.” He tapped the screen. “Not surprised they’re armed. Where’s Jessie?”

  Trey spun the small drone around, pointing the mini-camera at the cage. “There she is.”

  Dylan studied the black and white image, the woman sitting on the floor of the six-by-six cage.

  Jessica Lyon.

  I’m coming for you.

  She stared straight at the drone.

  “Whoa.” Trey held the tiny joystick still. “She made us. Woman’s got mad skills.”

  Finn leaned in. “Damn. She’s going to out us to the guards if she’s not careful.”

  Dylan sucked in a shallow breath. If Jessie said something, reacted to the surveillance drone, it could throw the entire operation off.

  The three of them watched as Jessie slowly and carefully put her hand to her chest, tucking in her thumb. She watched the drone and patted her heart, making the gesture clear for anyone familiar with law enforcement signals.

  “Four men. She’s telling us there are four men,” Trey said. “We know that already.”

  “Keep watching,” Dylan warned. “She knows there’s someone at the other end of that drone, someone out to help her.”

  Jessie shook her head slowly and deliberately before pulling her thumb out and turning her head to the right.

  “Five. Five men with one in that direction, away from the main group.” Finn shook his head. “Son of a bitch. A week stuck in a cage and the woman’s still got enough sense about her to give a report.”

  “Let’s not put it to waste.” Dylan looked at Trey. “Sweep over that way before we go in.”

  He toggled the joystick to make the drone wobble from side to side, hopefully signaling they’d gotten her message. “Woman’s on the ball.”

  “You got any other goodies on the drone?”

  Trey grinned. “It’s got a small explosive attached and ready to go.”

  “Expendable?” Dylan asked.

  “Always. Got more in here.” Trey patted the duffel bag. “Say the word and I’ll blow the drone, get their attention.”

  Dylan nodded his approval. “I’ll keep it in mind. Let’s not use that except as a last resort, I’d rather not lose the machine.” He pointed at the warehouse. “Right. I’ll go in the front door with Finn. Stay here, be our ears and eyes. If anyone shows, sing out.”

  The dark-haired man nodded. “Let me know when and if you need the distraction.”

  “So I get to do all the heavy lifting again?” Finn gave an exaggerated sigh. “Dude’s getting soft, working on the keyboard all the time.”

  “Seriously?” Trey punched Finn’s shoulder, hard enough to rock him back on his heels. “I can beat your ass in Combat Commander Seven and still take you out in the boxing ring.”

  “Okay,” Dylan said, stopping the conversation. “Let’s go get our woman.”

  He hated himself for loving the way he said it.

  …

  Dylan leaned against the door and kept watch while Finn snapped the lock off, tossing the bolt cutters to the side. They were inside within seconds, the door shut behind them.

  Sunlight came in through the upper bank of windows, showing the stacked skids filling the interior. Dylan was grateful for Trey’s fly-over, making it easy to navigate the maze to get to the prize at the other end.

  Jessica.

  “Finn. Take down the odd man.”

  Dylan spotted the tiny drone, far above them.

  “Follow the bouncing ball,” Trey said in his ear. “I’ll take you right to him.”

  His partner nodded and turned to his right. A few steps had him disappearing behind the skids.

  Secure Finn would accomplish his task, Dylan began to move.

  “I’m heading for the back,” Dylan murmured. He went to his left, keeping as silent as he could as he negotiated the passages. He smelled fried chicken.

  “Oddball’s out,” Finn whispered.

  “Good. Come around from the other side.” Dylan peered around the corner of one skid, almost directly under a bank of fluorescent lights.

  The drone had been correct.

  Four men were seated at the table, three of them finishing off the fried chicken dinners and one who couldn’t take his eyes off some computer game on his tablet.

  The cage was behind them. Jessie sat on the ground, glaring at the guards.

  Dylan sucked in his breath through clenched teeth, his pulse racing.

  This wasn’t his first operation, but it was the first that’d captured his heart from the start, without any mercy.

  The men continued to mutter to each other, with low grunts and nods as they finished off their lunches.

  “I have visual,” Finn murmured.

  Dylan could sense where the man was, to his left, behind the skids. Behind the cage.

  “You’re good,” Trey said through the earpiece. “Swept the warehouse again. Aside from Oddball, there’s no one else.”

  “Finn,” Dylan whispered. “Give me a minute to get into position then do it.”

  In another time and place, a few well-placed bullets would do the job, sniping the men before they had a chance to respond.

  But that wasn’t how the Brotherhood worked. Whatever sins these men had committed would be dealt with through the legal system, not through a summary execution.

  There was also a practical side to it. The Brotherhood didn’t need to be worried about being hunted by the authorities for murders committed on their watch.

  Dylan looked over at the cage and froze.

  She was staring at him, pulling him out of the shadows.

  …

  Jessie watched the man move around the stack of boxes behind the table where Al sat, settling against the far wall. He was almost invisible, his black T-shirt and jeans allowing him to meld with the darkness cast by the skids, the dark green cap matching the camouflage streaks on his face. He didn’t look like SWAT, or any federal agency she’d seen before.

  But she wasn’t going to look a gift rescue in the mouth.

  A small ball rolled out from between two skids and into the opening near the table.

  Al, still too busy playing on the tablet to eat, was the first to react, frowning as he stared down at the steel orb. His eyes widened as he realized what he was seeing.

  Too late.

  Jessie turned away, closing her eyes as the flashbang grenade went off. The noise was deafening, and she could only imagine what was going on around her cage while her senses were scrambled by the non-lethal attack.

  She opened her eyes a few seconds later to see Al on his feet and headed toward her. His pistol wavered as he staggered on unsteady feet, fighting the disorientation.

  He was determined to do his job.

  Kill Jessica Lyon if someone came for her.

  She leaned back, pressing her spine against the steel bars. There was no place to go, nothing to hide behind.

  Al said something, but she couldn’t make it out, her hearing still impaired from the flashbang.

  His face twisted into a snarl and then a grimace as he spun away from her and fell to the ground,
unconscious.

  The man she’d seen in the shadows stood behind him, holding his pistol by the barrel.

  Jessie blinked, forcing her eyes to focus on her rescuer.

  He wore a long-sleeved black T-shirt and jeans, the latter riding low on his hips and the first tight across his chest. He didn’t go straight to her but spun around, scanning the area for any other possible danger. Finally, he turned back, his deep brown eyes zeroing in on her.

  He was…

  The first word her mind pulled out was “Spartan.”

  A Spartan warrior.

  The smoke cleared around them to show the other three men on the floor, unconscious with white zip ties holding their hands behind their backs.

  Brown Eyes knelt down and emptied Al’s pockets before coming to her cage, the keys jingling in his hand.

  She shook her head, her ears still ringing.

  “Who are you?” Jessica Lyon stumbled to her feet. “SWAT? FBI? CIA?”

  She saw his lips move but heard nothing, courtesy of the flashbang.

  He opened the door and gestured her forward, out of the cage. His forehead furrowed, showing his frustration as she didn’t move.

  He spoke again and this time she heard him, as if he were shouting down a long tunnel.

  “We’re the ones saving you.” Brown Eyes smiled.

  She glared at him as the rest of her hearing returned. “Who are you?”

  “Look.” He put the pistol back in the holster at the small of his back. “I’m here to help you. But we can’t hang around here and chat right now.”

  Another man came in from behind her, dressed in the same informal uniform. “Good hit. He’ll have a hell of a headache.” He knelt down and secured Al’s hands with another white zip tie.

  Brown Eyes nodded. “Glad it met with your approval.”

  “Who sent you?” She stepped out of the cage, unsure of what to do next. Her imagination ran rampant, extrapolating angles she’d never thought of before.

  Is this some sort of mind game Molodavi’s playing on me? Stage a rescue and earn my confidence?

  Were they were sent by another crime family looking for leverage against Molodavi?