Dead Reckoning (39 page)

If she jumped at the chance, he’d be on to her. But her resistance had elicited more anger than she’d anticipated and she didn’t have much left. “O-okay. Okay, I give.”

“I thought you might say that. But … you see, I need some insurance that you aren’t going to walk out of here and change your mind.”

Panic beat a frenzied cadence through her chest. “W-what insurance? I said I’d do it.”

Without taking his gaze off her, he lifted his hand, flicked his fingers, motioning someone into the warehouse. He cocked his head, watching her intently.

A commotion ensued, bringing with it grunting and a scraping noise. Shiloh finally saw two men dragging an unconscious man into the warehouse. Blood stained his brown T-shirt and camouflage pants. Unease squirmed through Shiloh. Who else had they captured?

“I will help you remember, when you begin to doubt your choice.” The man stood and stepped back, his attention wholly on her face. “I have found in my business that on their own, agents are forgetful, and often fastidious in the belief that their misguided ideals are heroic.” He shrugged. “But what do they gain by death?”

The two men stretched their quarry between metal piping riveted to a wooden platform. They clamped vises on the man's hands and wrists. Knowing full well what it was like to endure waterboarding, she prayed the poor soul on the boards would survive. Watching it without experiencing it was one thing. Having that first-hand knowledge of the reflexive gagging as water rushes into the ears, nose, and throat and fills the lungs was another. And vomiting then swallowing the acidic bile … She’d blacked out and awoke as they strung her up on the wall.

“General,” one man mumbled. “He's secured.”

Sajjadi gave a curt nod. “Oddly enough, too many are willing to die. It is commendable, this willingness to die for a cause one believes in.” He chuckled, then released the button
on his coat. “However, there are few who will sacrifice those they love.”

Those they love?
Reece! Shiloh's gaze darted to the man on the board. Head turned away in the dark shadows, she could not make out his face. Was it Reece? No … no, he was bigger, stronger than this man.

Sajjadi moved to the captive, grabbed a fistful of hair and jerked the man's head up and toward Shiloh. “This is your father, is it not, Miss Blake?”

At the sight of her father's badly swollen eyes and bloodied lips, she froze. Anger shot through her. She tugged against her restraints. “Leave him alone!”

She cringed at her own foolishness. Sure, show the madman he's right, that she loved the man on the boards.

But she didn’t. She hated her father. He’d ruined her life.

He tried to save me.

No, he messed her up. Made her a freak with seizures and a hyperactive imagination.

The imagination that kept you safe after everyone was attacked on the bay.

Sajjadi stood over her father. “Time to wake up, Jude Blake. The world is awaiting your death.” He slapped him.

A slap—no big deal. Her father could handle that.

Sajjadi straightened, stepped aside, and signaled his men.

One reached for the water spigot. Within seconds the splat of water hitting cement snapped Shiloh's senses alive.
Don’t react.

The man stomped forward with a bucket. He dumped the contents over her father's face.

Thrashing, he jolted awake. Coughing, sputtering.

“Ah, so good of you to join us, Jude.” Sajjadi chuckled. “A grand reunion, is it not?” He nodded toward Shiloh.

Her father met her gaze. No recognition. No change in his expression.

“What?” Sajjadi laughed. “You want me to believe you don’t know her?”

“She's my daughter.” The flat-line tone struck her harder than the blows from the torturer. “We haven’t spoken in fifteen years. She hates me.”

“Mm.” Sajjadi seemed too amused. “I happen to know that is not entirely true.” Attention momentarily distracted as he conferred with one of his men, he regained his focus.

Shiloh grew wary of the fierce determination now in Sajjadi's gaze.

“This girl is cut from the same cloth as you and your dead wife, yes? But your beautiful daughter has not been hardened. She hasn’t murdered or watched her victims die as you have.” He sauntered toward Shiloh and swept his grimy mitt down her cheek. “I think she will be a very loyal,
loving
daughter before we are done.” A sick laugh ebbed as he nodded again to his man.

Her father darted his gaze to Shiloh, fierce. “Remember your mother.”

Mom? What did he—

The promise she’d made.
For Mom.

As the thug knelt and slipped the burlap sack over her father's head, Shiloh tightened her resolve. Jude Blake was a notoriously effective operative. Survived for years, organized and carried out innumerable missions, she reminded herself. Noble, so very noble. Something she’d always secretly admired in him—and Reece. High standards. High callings. Staying true to his convictions kept him alive. He’d most likely been tortured before, so he could endure it. She could do this—not let this man force her blind obedience.

“Begin,” Sajjadi said.

One man hauled the hose toward her father while the other cranked a wheel on the far wall. A deluge of water blasted out,
splattering her father's hooded face. Even from six feet away, she heard him gurgling.

Memory still fresh of being on that board, Shiloh clamped her eyes shut.

“Open your eyes, or I will make it worse.”

She blinked her eyes open when she realized he’d stopped the torture. Braving the assaulting scene, she looked at her father's chest, heaving. Alive.

He coughed. “Is that all you’ve got, Sajjadi? See, she doesn’t care.”

I do care! The
vehement thought jarred Shiloh, but she schooled her expression. Why was her father antagonizing him?

Anger roared through Sajjadi's normally controlled features. “More!”

Again water flooded her father. His arms, legs, and chest bounced and thrashed.

Stop. Please stop.

More water came. So much water.

How could he endure it for so long? Hadn’t she blacked out at this point? Tears stung the back of her eyes, but she blinked them away. If her father didn’t bend, she wouldn’t.

Stop
, she moved her lips in a silent, fervent plea.

Gagging. Gurgling. His head whiplashed side to side. More gagging.

“Sto—” She bit back the word.

Sajjadi arched an eyebrow at her, smirking.

Mom. Doing this for mom.

Mom died. Drowned in a pool of her own blood, unable to move beneath the steel car that pinned her and Shiloh.

A demonic-like sound emanated from her father. He vomited—choked. Gagged. He went still. Then thrashed again.

Drowning. He's drowning.

“Stop!” Hot tears streaming down her cheeks, Shiloh hung her head. “Stop! Stop! Stop!”

Images of lying in the overturned car. Gunfire cracking the night. The warmth of her mother's blood dripping on her cheek. “Please, stop.”

She’d watched her mother die. She couldn’t …
wouldn’t
watch her father die.

“You now realize I will kill your father if you break your agreement?”

A lone tear streaked down her face, stinging the cuts and scrapes. “Yes.”

R
OPE BURNED HIS GLOVED HAND AS REECE RAPPELLED FROM THE CHOP
per. Cement rushed up at him.
Thud!
He hustled toward the building and pressed his spine against the aluminum. He slid down the face mask as the team regrouped in a line behind him.

Directly in front of him Cole squatted at point, weapon aimed at the door, prepared. According to intel, a small foyer led to the main area where Jude, and possibly Shiloh, were being held. That is, if the team had arrived in time.

A pat came to Reece's shoulder. The team was in place and ready. He passed the silent message to Cole, who shifted around and rested a hand on the door knob as he waited for the insertion command. Reece nodded his readiness knowing anything could happen once that door opened. The team could get blown into the Arabian Sea. He could get killed. Jude or Shiloh could get killed.

But that wasn’t in his hands. It was in God's.

Okay, let's do it.
He glanced to the team leader—

An engine roared to life somewhere in the thick night. The throaty rumble of a diesel vehicle carried heavily through the air. It was close. Reece jerked a gloved hand toward the last two
guys in line. Stick and Bronco obeyed, sprinting to the corner. They cleared it and moved stealthily out of sight.

Refocused, Reece nodded at Cole.

The door swung open. Split-second recon revealed only dark mustiness in the foyer. He darted to the right, his spine against the wall as he swept his weapon and the team snaked in, stacking one in front of the other. In the empty facility, each noise carried like a detonation blast. Reece moved carefully, monitoring every squeak of his boots and each rustle of tactical gear. He eased up to the corner. Scanned. Bright green against his night-vision goggles, the hall posed no visible threat.

According to the map they ’d studied, the opening to the main room lay in blue four. He led the team down the hall, zigzagging from door to door, clearing offices and the bathrooms.

Voices skated through the halls. Hurrying forward, they targeted the set of double doors that should lead to the main section. Reece nudged the door and peered into the area. Light jabbed its brilliant finger into one corner, but he couldn’t see—wait!

Two tangos running toward an open door. He snatched the flash-bang, plucked the pin, and tossed it into the room. He held back, hand on the door, and waited.

Boom!

White light exploded.

Reece burst into the room.

One man grabbed at another, trying to pull him through the far door. Blood streamed down his face and ears.

Reece fired. He hit him, but the man spun and raced out of sight. Sidestepping, Reece spotted Tomcat slinking along the far wall, watching his back.

Crack!

Something slammed into Reece, center-mass. Oof. He stumbled. The momentum tripped him, but he shuffled and
caught himself. Landed on a knee. Balancing with a palm against the cold cement, he looked up just in time to see Cole neutralize the man on the ground. A Sig Sauer dangled from the guy's hand.

“Tango down,” Cole called. He jogged across the warehouse.

Thank you, God.
If he hadn’t been wearing a vest, that bullet would’ve paralyzed him. “I’m fine.” Despite the thunderous ache emanating through his chest, he staggered to his feet, then pushed himself toward the door.

More shots echoed through the building—but this time, from outside. Seconds later, Bronco ambled in and nudged the body. “Lookee here. Got us a
dead
bad guy to match the one outside. Bingo!”

Stick came in behind him. “They’re gone. Gave them a flat tire and shot out the windows but couldn’t stop them.”

No, not this close only to fail. “Check the building,” Reece ground out. God, please! Amazing timing. Showing up just as Sajjadi leaves?

“What do you think?” Cole asked, as he straightened from checking their victim.

“He's playing with us. Leading us here, then—”

“Captain!”

They both pivoted toward the voice. Cole cursed.

There, across the cavernous space where a lone streak of light splintered the darkness, Reece saw the wall—but not just the wall. A dark spot … What was … ?
No.

“Shiloh!” Sprinting across the empty facility, Reece struggled against the sixty-pound gear that slowed him like a nightmare.

His heart vaulted into his throat at the gruesome image his three-second dash pounded into his memory—Shiloh, strung up like a slab of beef.

“Get her down! Get her down.” He rushed her, wrapping his arms around her waist. He lifted, easing her weight off the restraints. Blood from her temple dripped onto his cheek. Her matted hair hung over an angry red swollen eye.

“Stick, get the torch!”

“On it,” the scrawny guy said as he aimed the small torch toward the steel shackle.

With her slumped against him, Reece ignored the acrid odor of her burnt flesh—she’d been electrocuted. “Shiloh.” Was she still alive? He tried to angle her to see her face. She hadn’t grunted, groaned—nothing!
Please, God. She can’t be dead.

Her head lobbed forward—smacked his forehead then slid down his face and came to rest on his shoulder.

“Shiloh.” He bounced his shoulder, the sounds of the men working to free her from the chains a distant clamor. “Shiloh, can you hear me?”

Her right arm flopped down.

“Got a pulse,” Map shouted.

The news should’ve made Reece relax but didn’t. Couldn’t. “Shiloh?” Another bounce. “Shiloh, come on, baby. Talk to me.”

Limp and unresponsive, she almost tumbled out of his hold. They freed her left arm. He shifted her into a better position, her upper body resting against him now.

“Come on, come on, come on!” Reece yelled at the team. He scraped the hair from her face, looking for eye movement beneath her lids.

Her full weight dropped against him. Reece took a step back, guarding her carefully as he lowered her to the ground. Cole's skilled hands moved over her body with expert precision, assessing her wounds. “Nothing visibly broken. No obvious internal injuries.”

Map knelt by her head. “Pulse is erratic.”

“Chopper!” Bronco's deep voice boomed through the warehouse.

Tomcat and Leaf hustled through a side door. “Place is empty.”

Reece glanced at the boards riveted into the floor. Water-boarding. His gaze drifted to Shiloh, to her tangled, damp hair. Every semblance of control boiled into his own personal Molotov cocktail that he’d love to lob into the faces of whoever had done this.

Tiny movement on the boards lured his attention. A droplet of water raced down a small indentation. Reece shifted, eyeing the strange markings. A slow smile came to his lips. Then a grin. Ragged and probably carved by fingernails, two letters glistened against the sodden wood.

JB.

Jude Blake. His mentor was alive.