Melody's Six

“Liar.” He caught her chin in a hard grip. “You almost fooled me, until you recognized Dana.” He grimaced. “Always prodding and snooping.”

She tried to deny it, but the pressure of the knife kept her silent.

“No, I am within my rights. My security cameras are far better than you and your sneaky husband. This is my property, acquired legally, I assure you. Which means I can shoot any and all who trespass.”

With a jerk of his head, she was hauled into the trees and down a steep slope to a path that was little more than a deer trail. Between the knife and the terrain, it was too risky to fight here. She’d have to wait for a better opportunity.

She needed a diversion, but she ran out of time. The guards shoved her into the entrance of a dusty, abandoned mine. The only thing new was the iron gate.

Atwell locked it himself, his craggy face twisted with his evil intent. “You will die here. No escape this time. Not for you or your nosy husband. When I toss your bodies to the wild animals, I will dance.”

No. She couldn’t let him use her to trap Dean too. “You won’t get away with this,” she shot back, defiant.

“I will,” he countered. “This is my land. By your precious American laws, I have the final say of who can come in. And I will give no one permission to search for you here.

“At last, I will sleep knowing my enemy is truly defeated. You will die and I will thrive, my business growing stronger on the blood of your comrades in arms.”

She lunged at the gate, her arms outstretched, and managed to rake her nails across his forearm.

He shook her off and stalked away, his guards flanking him.

A chill swept over her. Leaving her unguarded was a sure indication he didn’t believe she’d be heard or found. She couldn’t dwell on that. Whatever orders Atwell gave to hide the trail and divert searchers, she knew Dean would find her.

Beck, coordinating behind the scenes, would notify authorities and make sure they dropped a tight net around Atwell and anyone helping him. The photographs of those weapons, including the serial numbers would have the authorities descending on this property—with legal permission—in a hurry.

In the meantime, she’d damn well help herself.

Once Atwell was out of sight, she rushed the gate, shaking it with all her might. The lock held fast and the chain was too heavy for her to break. Without the key, there was no chance of getting out this way.

She inspected the hinges, looking for any wiggle room. Dropping to her knees, she scraped at the loose dirt under the gate to no avail.

Furious with herself and worried about Dean, she turned away to examine the rest of the space. She was Mel Boyd and she was not going out like this, another helpless victim of the notorious Azizi.

Her partner, the man she loved with all her heart, had her back. Mel just had to hang on, keep a cool head, and keep believing. Dean would find her.

Pushing up, she used what little light filtered in to search the small space for anything that might aid her escape or raise enough noise to bring help to her. But Atwell had planned well. The little cave was completely bare of anything she could improvise into a useful tool. At the back of the cramped space, the tunnel had caved in. Boulders and smaller rocks and dirt prevented any optional egress.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that a crime lord from Afghanistan would know how to find an inescapable cave to imprison his enemies.

Mel swore loud and long. She screamed, just on principle. Back at the gate, she slammed against the bars, pulled on the chain. The heavy links clanged against the bars, mocking her efforts. She was not getting out this way.

These old mines were riddled with passages, air tunnels and escape hatches. Putting her hands flat on the wall at the hinges of the gate she methodically moved around the space searching for any change of the air on her face or anything that might indicate another way out.

When that circuit was complete, she rested her head against the bars. Already cool to the touch, those iron bars would be freezing in a matter of hours.

She should’ve fought harder when she’d had the chance. When she got out of here, she’d never procrastinate about anything again. Especially not something as important as love.

“Come on, Dean,” she begged quietly. “Find me, please. And be careful about it.”