A creaking sound right outside my door.
Startled, I look over and see the door swing open.
A tall, black-clothed figure stands in the doorway—a bearded man I’ve never seen before. His eyes widen as he sees me, and the assault rifle in his hands flies up, pointing at me.
I react on pure instinct.
With a piercing scream, I throw myself off the chair.
A big body lands on top of me, knocking all air out of my lungs before I can roll away. “Shut it, you bitch,” the man growls in my ear as a gloved hand claps over my mouth. The pungent odor of male sweat and stale cigarettes chokes my nostrils, and then he yanks me upright by my hair, his hand over my mouth stifling my yelp of pain.
Terrified, I claw at his gloved hand, struggling with all my might, but just like that time with Peter in my kitchen, there’s nothing I can do as he drags me out of the room, his rough grip on my hair nearly tearing it out by the roots. Tears of pain stream down my face as he half-drags, half-carries me down the hallway, my panicked screams muffled by his palm.
He’s heading to the master suite, where Nora and the baby are, I realize in horror, and then we’re there.
Kicking the door open with one booted foot, he pushes me in. “Got Sokolov’s bitch,” he announces triumphantly, and I see two more armed men inside.
One is holding a knife to Nora’s throat, and the other is reaching into the crib for the sleeping baby.
95
Peter
We’re about to start our descent into Bogotá when Julian gets the news.
“That’s odd.” He frowns, staring at his phone. “Diego just emailed me that there was a shootout with unknown intruders at the northern edge of the estate. Nobody got hurt, and the intruders disappeared back into the jungle before they could be captured. He sent out a team to look for them, but no luck so far.”
I get up, my pulse kicking up as my instincts go on full alert. “Who would try to breach your compound like that? And what would they be doing in the jungle at night?”
“Exactly.” His face darkens as he stands up and heads to the pilot’s cabin, the phone pressed to his ear. “I’m calling Nora.”
I follow him as he covers the distance with long strides, ignoring the questioning looks on my teammates’ faces.
“Her phone’s going straight to voicemail,” he says tensely as we enter the pilot’s cabin.
Kent looks up at us.
“There was a shootout at the northern border, and I can’t reach Nora at the house,” Esguerra informs him tersely. “I’m going to pull up the camera feeds at the house. Can you call Yulia?”
Kent nods, his jaw tightening as he reaches for his phone. “I’m on it.”
Fuck. I gave Sara a burner phone before we left, but I wasn’t going to call her—it’s well past midnight, and I want her to get good sleep. But my danger sense is pinging louder with each second.
Sara’s phone goes straight to voicemail too, and when I look over at Kent, I can see by his expression that the same thing is happening with Yulia’s.
“The cameras are down. I’m sending the guards over,” Esguerra says tightly, and I see the bone-deep fear I’m feeling reflected in his eyes.
Something’s wrong at the estate.
Very, very wrong.
“Setting course for the compound,” Kent says grimly, and the plane tilts underneath me as the engines rev up with a roar.
96
Sara
“Found this one,” a fourth man says, dragging in a struggling, nightgown-clad Rosa. He also has his hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her panicked cries. “Looks like we got lucky. The rest of the house is empty. No sign of Esguerra, Kent, or Sokolov.” Like his three comrades, he’s heavily armed, with an assault rifle slung over his shoulder and two handguns tucked into his belt.
Whoever these men are, they mean business, and we’re completely on our own, I realize with a surge of terror. The guards are nowhere near the house, and with Peter and the others away, nobody’s coming to our aid.
The man bending over Lizzie’s crib straightens, with the still-sleeping baby clasped in front of him. “No blonde?” he says with obvious disappointment.
“Nope, sorry,” Rosa’s captor says and spins her around to face him. Her mouth opens for a scream, but before she can make a sound, he smashes his fist into her jaw, upper-cut style, and she crumples to the floor, unconscious.
I freeze, staring in horrified disbelief as blood trickles out of one corner of her mouth.
He hit her so casually, as if she weren’t a person.
As if he doesn’t care if she lives or dies.
“We’ll just have to make do with these two,” he continues, nodding toward me and white-faced Nora, whose captor is restraining her by holding one hand over her mouth and pressing the knife to her throat with the other. Like me, she’s wearing a thin silk robe, but unlike mine, it’s gaping open at the top, revealing the inner curves of her breasts.