dark ops 3 - Renegade (25 page)

And yes, she’d even sobbed some selfish tears for herself.

She wasn’t any better than all those women she’d labeled idiots in the mess hall because they’d fallen for Mason Randolph only to have him pull away. Her only consolation? He wasn’t shallow. He was just too damaged from his divorce to let himself get close, truly close to another woman. Crap. Now that she thought about it, that wasn’t any consolation at all.

She stood, tucking the plain white shower curtain against her as she peered around the edge. “Mason,” she hissed low, “give me a damn towel and then get out.”

He thrust a fluffy white towel into her outstretched hand. “Jill, we’ve got a new lead. Barrera’s calling in an APB now, and we’re heading out. Get dressed before we hit the door if you want to come along. There’s no time to waste.”

By the time he’d finished his sentence, she’d already pulled on her jeans and was hooking her bra. He shoved a shirt over her head, and she grabbed her boots on the fly. “Who?”

He followed right on her heels. “We’re checking out Tanaka’s physical therapist. He’s now a suspect. And he was last seen with Livia Cicero.”

Oh God. Her wet hair turned prickly icy against her scalp.

Agent Barrera stood by Scanlon, who had his cell phone out. “You actually have Livia Cicero on speed dial?”

Scanlon waved him quiet and turned his cell on speakerphone. Jill sat on the arm of the sofa and tugged on her boots.

“Buon giorno,”
Livia answered, her husky voice subdued.

“Livia, it’s Rex.”

“Si.”
Her voice shook. “I saw your caller identification.”

“Are you all right?” Rex pressed.

Livia hesitated on the other end of the line. “Why would I not be?”

“You sound . . . tired.”

She sounded scared as hell to Jill, just about as scared as the stalwart colonel looked. His face had gone so pale his black-framed glasses stood out in starker contrast. But he didn’t lose his composure, ever the in-control commander. “Livia, are you still there?”

“I do not mean to be rude or grumpy,” she answered, her voice picking up speed, her accent thickening. “You know how I wear my emotions on my shirt cuff.”

“On your sleeve,” he said, his eyes narrowing with the hint of some kind of awareness.

What was she missing here?

“
Si
, of course, but what does that matter? It is a mute point.” Livia’s breathing came faster. “I have to hang up.”

“Are you sure?” he pushed, tendons visible in his hand as he gripped the phone. “I could bring you a decaf latte.”

“No thank you, please, Rex, you know I do not like those. Just leave me alone. I need my rest—” The line disconnected.

Scanlon charged straight for the door. “She’s been taken.”

Jill darted a look at Mason, but he was already in step with his commander, no questions, no doubt on his face.

Barrera followed. “How can you be so sure?”

“We’ll talk in the car,” Scanlon shot over his shoulder. “She used two incorrect English phrases we’d already discussed correcting, and she damn well adores her decaf lattes. She was sending me signals.”

Barrera reached for his BlackBerry. “I’ll put out an APB and try to get a warrant for his house.”

Jill grabbed her phone. “I’ll find Gallardo.”

Damn, but she really wished she still had her dog.

Mason paused at the door and held out his hand. “Give me the keys. I’ll drive while you make your calls.”

Scanlon started to take the keys from Barrera.

Mason kept his hand out. “Sir—”

Scanlon nodded. “You’re right. You’ll be steady. Drive.” He turned to Barrera. “Do you have Ferguson’s address?”

“Yes,” he hedged. “He’s got a small ranch out in the desert.”

The perfect out-of-the-way place to take and torture victims. Her eyes slid shut as if she could somehow squeeze back the images slamming through her brain at warp speed.

“Scanlon,” Barrera warned, “you’re staying in the car.”

“Of course.”

Jill could see the lie in his eyes, and she didn’t feel the need to stop him. In fact, she and Mason would be right there with him.

Rex palmed the dash as Mason Randolph took the corner at breakneck speed, sand spewing from the tires on the dusty back road. Jill Walczak and Barrera sat behind, their voices low and urgent in the darkened car as they worked their phones to get backup and a warrant.

Like he gave a shit about a warrant.

They’d already learned from the concierge at Livia’s hotel that she definitely wasn’t in her room. She’d never come back after the trip to the kennel that afternoon. This was it. Their only lead.

Everyone else could sit in the car with their thumbs up their rears while they waited for the cops to find this middle-of-nowhere place, but he was going inside. If he was wrong, they could sort it out later.

As they’d left the base, Mason had slapped the bubble light on the roof of Barrera’s nondescript sedan but shut it off once they neared Ferguson’s ranch house in the desert. No siren, though, since they didn’t want Ferguson to hear them even from a distance. Sound carried so far in the desert.

Mason cut the headlights.

Barrera looked up, his face glowing alien green from the BlackBerry screen. “What the hell are you doing? It’s damn dark out here without any streetlamps.”

Rex laughed hoarsely. “We can see anything you need. I’ve landed in Iraq with lights off, no runway, and instruments on the fritz.”

Mason nodded. “That’s what I was thinking, sir.”

“Okay, then,” Barrera conceded, stroking his seat belt and checking the latch. “It’s your funeral.”

As long as it wasn’t Livia’s. Damned if he would take flowers to another grave of a woman he cared about. He swallowed down a wad of fear he’d never expected to feel again.

Slowly his eyes adjusted, but he didn’t need to say a thing to Mason. The sergeant had the car firmly in hand. If Ferguson was their guy, and he had Livia out here, their window for surprise would be short, since other authorities would be arriving soon—and loudly.

This had to be the place. He had to be right. Ferguson’s lonely desert ranch house was the logical location for him to take his victims.

Logical?

What a damned incongruous word to use in connection to a serial killer.

They neared the long, one-story house with a barn to the side, the shapes clear enough to a man accustomed to making his way through the dark. Shadows shifted across the yard, a large silhouette walking toward the open barn door with a lamp dangling in the middle. Rex squinted, trying to make out the figure. “It’s a man, hunched over, and he’s got someone over his shoulder.”

Please God, someone alive. Livia alive. He couldn’t make out the blurry form being carried other than to tell it—she?—wasn’t moving.

The shadow paused. Shifted. Turned toward the car and straightened. He’d seen them.

Shit. “Blind him with the lights,” Rex ordered. Mason activated the headlights without hesitation. The wiry guy’s eyes went deer-wide.

Ferguson.

The unmistakable form of a slender woman was draped over his shoulder, her silky dark hair hiding her face. But Rex remembered the white sweater dress well from breakfast. And he didn’t know another woman who would pair it with gold leather knee boots.

She wasn’t moving. She wouldn’t have even been able to run with her injured leg. His eyes burned.

The stunned look on Ferguson’s face faded, and he sprinted toward the barn.

Rex rammed the door handle. “You don’t need a fucking search warrant now.”

He bolted out at a dead run. The barn loomed ahead, double doors wide to reveal a gleaming setup of workout equipment inside. He didn’t even want to know what kind of twisted shit went on in there. But he certainly intended to make sure it ended tonight.

“Ferguson, stop,” Rex shouted, calling up his best commander tones and hoping it would buy him even a second’s hesitation from the other man. “There’s no chance you’re going to get away. There’s nowhere to hide, and you’re outnumbered. Cops are already on the way. It’s over.”

Ferguson slowed, then stopped running altogether, standing backlit in the barn door. He turned to face Rex, with Mason, Jill, and Barrera all approaching slowly.

“Then I guess I’m going down in style.” He hefted Livia more securely on his shoulder, a far too vulnerable and effective shield. “The headlines will double if I take a famous star with me, now won’t they, Colonel?”

Rex stepped forward.

Ferguson pulled out a hunting knife, his eyes full of insanity, and worse yet, depravity. “Nobody moves a muscle unless I give the order, understand, Colonel?
I’m
in command tonight, like I should have been from the start if all you high-ranking tight asses had let me join up like I wanted.”

The silvery blade glinted from the bare bulb in the barn, jagged teeth angry and bloodstained. If any of that was Livia’s blood . . . Rex’s eyes flashed to her inert form, searching for any signs of injury, difficult as hell to tell for certain in the dark of night.

“I understand.” In fact he understood more than Ferguson probably realized.

Years of training for battle, fighting in wars, assessing the enemy came together in his head, and Rex knew. This man was now on a death mission. No reasoning, no waiting would help Livia—if she was even still alive. He would have to take Ferguson down now, before he had a chance to use that weapon to slice up his next victim in front of them.

Rex didn’t doubt his decision, and he didn’t have time to deal with regrets—like the fact that he hadn’t called his boys in nearly a month. Or that he hadn’t kissed Livia senseless when he’d had the opportunity.

He could only hope he would have a second chance. Rex eyed his opponent, measured the distance between himself and the knife.

And charged forward.

Rex estimated he had three long strides to reach Ferguson’s arm and put himself between the blade and Livia. Number one rule in a knife fight? Be prepared to sacrifice a body part.

One step. He was partial to his organs.

Two steps. His face wasn’t much to look at, but he preferred it stayed intact.

Three steps. His arm was going to have to take the brunt.

Rex lunged at the roaring psychopath, grabbed a fistful of Livia’s dress with one hand and threw his other forearm up. He flung Livia aside. The knife came down. His leather flight jacket slowed the blade for a heartbeat. Then fiery heat seared through his skin. He held back an agonized roar and put everything he had into crashing the guy backward into the barn. His glasses fell off and hit the ground with a crunch, but he was close enough to see clearly the spittle frothing rabidly in the corners of Ferguson’s mouth.

A pop sounded.

A gunshot.

Rex waited for the flash of pain . . . And nothing.

Ferguson’s eyes went wide. His grip on the wooden handle loosened. The knife thudded to the ground a second before the crazed killer toppled backward, blood blooming from the middle of his chest.

Rex scooped up the blade, crouching, prepared in case Ferguson lurched up from playing possum or scavenged some crazed final burst of maniacal purpose. Acrid smoke from the discharged weapon hung in the air.

“Colonel?” Mason’s voice sounded from behind him, but he didn’t touch.

Rex flinched anyway, his heart thudding. He shook his head clear and glanced back. Jill Walczak stood with her legs planted, a revolver in both hands, her eyes still steeled over with professional purpose.

Rex passed off the knife to Mason and raced to Livia. He’d been so damn steady a few seconds ago, and now he couldn’t even keep his feet under him. He fell to his knees beside her and rolled her to her back. He searched for signs of life, of a heartbeat when he wasn’t even sure his own was still pumping.

Dimly he registered the sound of sirens, radio chatter as he pressed his fingers to the side of her neck . . . and felt the flutter, the warmth. The life. His head fell to rest on her chest in relief, and yeah, so her sweater dress could soak up the two tears squeezing out of the corners of his eyes. He coughed the rest back and gathered her into his lap protectively, making damn sure no one would get to her without going through him.

He glanced up. Sometime while he’d been losing his shit, Mason had started hog-tying Ferguson, and Jill was holding her gun while placing a call on her cell phone.

Thank God for the backup of these two top-notch defenders. Rex looked at Jill, the most kick-ass camo dude he’d ever run across. “Thank you.”

She tipped her mouth away from the receiver. “I couldn’t have managed it without you, sir. You distracted him just in time.”

“You saved my arm.”

“We all did our jobs.”

A siren wailed in the background, increasing and swelling into a whole freaking symphony of police enforcement. Rex cradled Livia closer, her heart thudding softly, a husky moan rumbling in her rib cage.