Bullet to the Heart (31 page)

Remi pulled back, waiting on Grant to rise to his feet.

He got up, and his gaze focused somewhere over her right shoulder.
Rand
. Grant glanced at her and raised a brow, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I was never real happy I taught you that move,” he said ruefully.

“I, on the other hand, have never been happier.” She cocked her head and raised her arms to her side. “Another round?”

Grant shook his head. “Nah, I think your man back there’s more inclined to shoot me where I stand.”

She ignored his taunt. “Who was she?”

Grant shook his head again. Confusion rifled through Remi, and she straightened. As far as she could throw him, she’d told Rand.

“That’s a need to know, Remi. And right now, you just don’t need to know that. Now get on. I don’t know why she’s staking me out, but it can’t be good. Your big surprise may be gone.”

“If I see you there, I’ll shoot to kill, old man,” she said softly.

“Well now, Remi, you’ll forgive me if I just don’t believe you.” He smiled, and it eased her for some strange reason. He grunted. “And quit calling me ‘old man.’”

Remi nodded. Grant turned and left. She leaned down, picked up the paper he’d thrown her way, and stuffed it in her pocket.

From the edge of the small clearing, Rand’s men appeared. The man himself walked to her side.

“There was nobody to be found,” he said, a question in his tone.

Remi took a deep breath. “There was never going to be. It was a warning to me, plain and simple. There’s yet another player on this stage.”

“The men found Jeeps about a quarter mile from here. Ours?”

She nodded again. “Switching transpo is a must. We should leave now. It’ll take us another four hours of difficult driving to make it to the base you’ve arranged.”

“Let’s move, then.”

“Mr. Beckett, one more thing?” He turned, frustration drawing his eyebrows down. His indigo eyes flashed in the light thrown by the fire. She clenched her hands into fists. “If you pray, you should do so now.”

His face went hard, closed. “Why’s that?”

“You should pray that he has no knowledge of what we’re doing here. Because if he does, we’ll be walking right into an ambush.”

Rand shrugged. “It is never an ambush if you know what could be waiting. Forewarned is forearmed.”

“I hope your cockiness isn’t overwhelmed. Let’s ride.”

The sky had gone the colors of dawn as they pulled into Yanahuara. On the other side of the Chili River, it was a quiet district dominated by churches. Most of the buildings were made out of sillar, a white volcanic rock that was beautiful in the early morning light as it reflected back the pinks and oranges of the burgeoning morning. Rand took it all in, eyes searching for any hidden threats as they pulled into the church where he’d secured safety for them.

Though long ago abandoned, several priests still used this particular church for their ministry. Rand had requested a favor of one in particular. A return for a favor he’d done the priest long ago when the man had been studying in Rome. How fortuitous that the man had decided to settle himself in Peru.

Father Benedict met them as they pulled into the small courtyard. Ken and Adam had arrived over an hour ago, traveling much lighter and faster than Rand and the other men. Their reasoning was two-fold. One, they would ascertain the safety of the church, and two, they would serve as lookouts and snipers for any trouble that followed the others.

No shots rang out as Rand pulled into the courtyard, and the back of his neck relaxed.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Remi murmured from her seat beside him.

He glanced at her, noticing how much colder she seemed. How quickly he’d grown used to her semi-closed mien. As soon as they’d stepped foot on Peruvian soil, her face had tightened and her eyes had gone flat. The impulse to rub his chest was barely containable. Instead, he brought the Jeep to a halt and got out.

“Do what?” he asked, wishing he could call the question back immediately.

“Relax. Do you not feel the bead of the scope?”

“I do. But it’s Ken and Adam—”

“No, it’s not your men,” she responded.

“Who is it?”

She didn’t answer. Rand took a deep breath as the priest walked up and shook his hand.

“Please come into the sanctuary proper. I would show you this old church of ours and get you settled,” Father Benedict encouraged.

Remi shook her head. “I must scout.”

Rand glanced at her, refusal on the tip of his tongue. If she were going to flee to Joseph, there would be nothing he could do at this point.
Trust your gut, Beckett.
He didn’t speak just watched as she moved to the shadows. Her ability to become the shadows was uncanny. It brought home just what she was.

He blinked and she was gone.

“She is a ghost,” Father Benedict murmured.

Rand grunted. “You could be right.” Most times she did seem more dead than alive. But when she burned with life, it was a beautiful thing. His body tightened as it always did when he thought about or gazed at her, and with great effort, he pushed those thoughts away.

The priest sighed. “Perhaps, son, you should not have come on this errand.”

“When revenge calls, Father, it is best to answer it quickly.” His gaze shifted from the priest to the enormous room Trident Corp had been granted as a base. It may have once served as a sanctuary, but was now stripped of pews and all accoutrements of worship. The dark wooden floors were dusty, and the walls were yellowed with age. It was barren, and Rand thought that appropriate. “We won’t interrupt your studies or mission work, right Father? Everything must continue to operate as it has been, or people will notice.”

Father Benedict sighed again, and it made Rand smile. “No, you are not interrupting anything. God’s work can never be interrupted. Now come, I will show you all that you need to know about my humble chapel and get you and your men settled.” He turned away, and then back almost immediately. “The young lady will return, yes?”

Rand searched the old man’s face for any signs of subterfuge and found only rheumy blue eyes alive with peace. He shrugged, and the priest seemed content with that response. Father Benedict gestured for Rand to follow him, and he obeyed.

An hour later, Rand had seen everything he needed to. Exits were catalogued and the men were setting up shop in the larger former sanctuary. The middle most room of the church, it would afford some protection. He was going over plans for the next day when a shout from the front of the church sounded.

“
Padre
!
Padre
!”

A small boy, no more than six or seven, skidded to a halt at the door of the church, his face alive with fear. Worry trickled down Rand’s neck, slithered down his spine, and pooled at its base.

“
Ven!”

Father Benedict threw a worried look at Rand as the young boy mumbled to him, and that look forced his worry into fear. Unlike Bullet, Rand relied on fear to tell him when sugar was going to shit. Something bad was headed their way.

“He says the bad man is coming,” Father Benedict said quickly. “He says the angel told him to find you and tell you to get out now!”

Rand cocked his head. “The angel?”

Father Benedict questioned the boy. “He says the beautiful lady with the red hair.” The priest shrugged and gestured for the boy to leave out the back of the chapel. The boy’s tiny legs carried him quickly that way.

Rand had no response. She was warning him. Where the fuck was she?

A shot exploded near the door, and Rand put his communication unit in place. “Ken?” he said, and received only silence.

The door was forced open, and Rand shoved the priest behind him as two men entered the dwelling. The smaller, blond man had the child in his grip and the other, taller man with black eyes had Ken.

Ken’s face was expressionless. But his eyes were alive with hatred.

The gun at Ken’s neck never moved, but the tall man’s black gaze did. It skewered Rand, but they’d been here before.

“Well, well, well, we meet again, Mr. Beckett,” Joseph Bombardier murmured.

Any move Rand made at this point would result in death. Ken’s or his. Neither was acceptable. Where the fuck was Bullet?

“Where is she?” Joseph bit out, his eyes flaring with a queer light before he blanked his expression once more.

“Who?” Rand asked.

Joseph nodded at Minton.

“No, do not, please!” Father Benedict yelled out just as the report of a silenced gun rent the air.

The child, who had come because an
angel
bade him to, fell as if in slow motion to the dirty floor of the church. Rand had his gun out before he could think better of it. Everything was so sharp in that second—Ken’s gaze full of warning, the priest’s sobs as he managed to hold himself back from rushing to the child the man named Minton had shot, and the ominous silence after the gunshot.

The child whimpered, and it was as if a pickaxe had been shoved in Rand’s heart. He wanted to annihilate Bombardier. The child huddled on the ground, folded into himself mumbling in sporadic Spanish, not dead, but as close as he’d ever been.

“Let him go. This is about you and me,” Rand said in a hard voice. Ice cold now, he wondered if he’d ever felt this deadened before.

“Minton, handle the priest next,” Joseph said softly.

“Your man kills him, I kill you. If you think my wife’s brother won’t take a bullet in vengeance, you’re a stupid mother fucker, but either way, my bullet will be the last thing you see,” Rand bit out.

Bluff, bluff, bluff, bluff . . .  Where the fuck is Bullet?

“Minton?” Joseph’s gaze never left Rand. “Kill the priest.”

Minton fired one shot and the priest fell. Rand’s gaze found Ken’s, and in his friend’s eyes was acceptance.

“Do it,” he mouthed. Rand shook his head.

Silence reigned for a few moments, and then the click of a safety being disengaged.

“Oh, Minton, you just never learn, do you?” Bullet’s voice was arctic. “Joseph, let Mr. Nodachi go, would you?”

“Oh no, dearest Bullet, I’m not letting anybody go,” Joseph sing-songed.

“You’ll do it, or Minton will get my bullet through the back of his head. I’ve never killed from behind. Tell me . . . is it any different?”

Rand’s heart nearly stopped. His gun was trained on Joseph’s forehead, but the truth was he’d never make the shot unless Ken was out of range of Bombardier’s weapon. Ken was the only family he had left.
No, he isn’t.
His heart whispered, but his mind rebelled. Where the fuck had she been?

“Oh, child, it is different because you cannot watch the life drain from their eyes. But you will not practice on Minton today, my precious killer. No, today, you will go home with me, and should you agree to this, I’ll give you a boon. One of these men will be left alive.” Joseph chuckled after he made his pronouncement.

“Oh, I think they’ll both go alive.
Ou je ne vous diront jamais où le garçon es,”
She finished in a near whisper.

Rand watched as Joseph’s gaze sliced to her. “You do not know, or else you wouldn’t tempt me.” His voice was horrible, and not for the first time Rand wished he’d taken French at some point in his life.

She smiled, and it was mean. Rand wanted to grab her up and leave this place, but it was impossible. Bullet had set into play something he would never be able to control. Not that he’d controlled any of this so far.
Goddamn it all.

Joseph moved suddenly, and Ken was free. Ken moved to Rand’s side, and within seconds, the rest of their men poured into the church. The sound of guns being cocked never interrupted the Mexican standoff currently taking place inside God’s house. Bullet had her gun flush with the back of Minton’s head. Joseph had his gun trained on Ken, and Rand had his trained on Joseph. The rest of the men aimed at Joseph, Minton, or Bullet.

“You will take me to him, or I will kill them all,” Joseph whispered.

Bullet removed her gun from the back of Minton’s head and the man swung around, fist flying until she caught it with her hand. Rand watched in amazement as she squeezed gently and the man crumpled at her feet, small snorts of pain emanating from his mouth, but no pleas for mercy. She leaned over him, one hand holding her sniper rifle pointed at Joseph, the other squeezing Minton’s hand.

Fear cascaded through him. Wave upon wave crashing in on him until he thought he’d suffocate. She would be helpless against Joseph and his men. He would kill her, and the thought was unbearable to Rand. She looked up at him then, almost as if his thoughts had communicated themselves to her. In her light blue orbs was acceptance, and it ripped Rand wide open.

He shook his head, and her face softened infinitesimally before it hardened again.

“Vous n'êtes pas la mienne pour tuer,”
she spoke softly, and the man whimpered.
“Savez, Minton, elle vient.”
She squeezed a little tighter, her knuckles going white. He whined now in agony.
“Et votre mort sera doux pour nous tous.”

“Vous pourrir en enfer, salope!”
Minton screamed in her face.