Hush (33 page)

Slamming the computer closed, he didn't bother crawling beneath the desk, just yanked the cord to unplug it, then tucked it under his arm like a football. Once in the bedroom, he closed and locked the door. Another flimsy deterrent that wouldn't keep anyone out, but might add the few precious minutes he and Acadia needed to get free.

Acadia sent him a brave grin as she shoved her feet into her boots and then slammed a clip into the SIG-Sauer they'd bought that afternoon. Both her pants and her shirt were unbuttoned and flapping open over her nude body.

“Good girl,” he whispered, tossing off his robe and hastily pulling on his pants and shirt. Thank God Acadia was such a methodical woman; she had distributed the weight evenly, and his movements weren't hampered at all. He stuffed his bare feet into his boots.

He grabbed up several more guns, tucking them into the back of his waistband and one cargo pocket, then added the rest to the bag and shoved the computer into an outside pocket. He hated guns, but he'd never had more reason to carry one. Or two. Or three. “Take only what we can carry,” Zak whispered, although there was no one to hear him. Yet.

She nodded, then held up a hand in a
wait
motion. Grabbing the pillows and their robes, she formed lumps on the bed under the pulled-back covers, then threw the comforter over everything. Her shirt still hung open, and she gave him an inquiring look just as a sound alerted him to the presence of someone breaking down the front door. Zak carefully opened the door into the adjoining suite, slipped inside, and held it open. “Shh,” he breathed, letting Acadia duck inside under his arm before silently closing and locking it behind her.

Ear pressed to the thick wood, Zak heard stumbles and curses as his obstacle course tripped up at least one member of the hit team. Acadia's fingers tightened on his arm as she listened.

Next, the bedroom door was kicked in, and Zak heard at least couple of footsteps. Immediately followed by two distinct pops.

Silencer.

Acadia's eyes went wide.

“Make sure the wife's dead.” The voice was male. And American.

“Sí, jefe.”

The bed was on the wall beside the door to the connecting suite they'd reserved for Gideon. The sound of the covers being drawn back was indistinct, but the American cussing was loud and clear. “You goddamn dickhead. You said she was in the room.”

“Sí.
Sí
. She come to take out the
carrito de alimentos
. The old food, ¿
sí?
I see her.”

“Well she's not here now, you fucking moron! We got the car they borrowed, so wherever she is, she's meeting up with Stark. Obviously he knows we're after them, but they'll be on foot. Let's go.”

Zak kept Acadia standing by the door in the dark room for a good twenty minutes, until he was sure the two men were long gone. Not a hundred percent sure, but they couldn't stand there forever.

Zak figured Buck's security specialists should've landed about now. They'd show up at the hotel to find him gone. He added, to the growing list, calling Buck to give him their new location.

He indicated her undone clothing. “Finish getting dressed. Don't forget your bootlaces; we're going to have to run.” And run like hell.

The sound of emergency vehicles, fire engines and police cars, was faint but unmistakable, even eighteen stories above the street. The cavalry had arrived—although,
in this neck of the woods, the cavalry was just as likely to be in cahoots with the bad guys.

He finished buttoning and zipping. “Empty most of that crap out of your pockets; it's going to slow you down.”

For once, she didn't argue. He noticed she looked paler than usual, but with thin-lipped determination, Acadia laid the SIG on a nearby chair and quickly started emptying some of her pockets. She tossed the heaviest item—the tent—behind the upholstered chair in the corner. “I need everything else I'm carrying.”

“Sounds like whoever hired the guerrillas is American. And they aren't happy to find us alive and well and not here.”

“Did you hear what the American guy said? ‘Make sure the
wife
is dead.'”

“Yeah. Got that.” That little bit of business added yet another unpleasant layer to the miasma that was this whole clusterfuck. Who else would know about his “wife” except hotel staff, the sister at the mission, and the son-of-a-bitch chief of police she'd beaten at poker?

She took a deep, steadying breath. “That Spanish voice, that was one of the guerrillas.”

“What? Who?”

“The kidnapper in the hotel room who sounded like he had a cold? That was him in there. I recognized his voice. Kind of high,” she explained, “like he had to talk through his nose.”

Or has a nasty coke habit
, Zak thought. Damn. If it was
the same guy, and Zak was inclined to believe it was, then Loida Piñero had finally caught up with them.
How
she'd found them, he had no idea.

“Okay. We're going to slip out, turn left, and haul ass down the hallway to the emergency exit. Don't stop, no matter what happens. If we get separated—”

“We're not getting separated.”

“If we get separated,” he repeated, fighting the inane urge to smile, “I want you to find somewhere to hide. Then call Buck and have his security people meet you. They'll make sure you get back home. Promise me.”

“Fine.”

Zak grabbed her by the front of her shirt and kissed her quick and hard. He touched his fingers to her soft, warm cheek. “Don't do anything stupid. You hear me, Acadia Gray?”

Her chin came up, eyes shadowed. “Ditto, Mr. Stark.”

“Keep that gun pointed, and be ready to shoot without asking questions. These assholes mean business. I don't want any extra holes in you, got it?” Her lips twitched as if she found that amusing. She nodded.

Zak eased open the door, hand held up to keep her behind him. There was no one in the hallway. The floor indicator showed that all the elevator cars were in the lobby. He waved her out. Together, they stuck close to the wall, running toward the exit sign. No one stopped them, but Zak waited for a tap on the shoulder at any minute. Or, worse, the muffled report of silenced gunfire.

He eased open the door to the stairwell, and Acadia passed through. He closed the door behind them, then
peered through the small window to see if they'd been followed. No one out there.

“Eighteen flights,” he reminded her. “Pace yourself.”

SHE NEEDED TO RENEW
that gym membership. Eighteen flights of stairs at a jog just about gave Acadia respiratory failure by the time they reached the bottom. Her knees ached. Her legs were rubbery, and she felt light-headed.

“Catch your breath,” Zak said. He wasn't even breathing hard. They were in a small area at the foot of the stairs, still inside, but the metal door was marked
Salida
. “I'm going to get transportation.”

She held her hand to the stitch in her side. “I-I n-eed a-air.”

Zak hesitated, then pushed open the door onto the muggy night. They stepped outside into a narrow alley, where flashing red and blue lights of various emergency vehicles bounced off a nearby wall in a disco effect, but thankfully they were hidden behind a low outbuilding. “Okay. Stand right here.”
Here
was comprised of two large, noxious-smelling trash bins. “Stay put.”

Hands on her knees, head down, she grunted an affirmative. She felt the brush of his hand on her neck. “You're a hell of a—” Suddenly Zak's phone beeped. “Jesus—”

Acadia would've liked hearing the rest of that sentence. She straightened as Zak turned on the phone, saying a brisk “Yeah?” He paused, his features relaxing while he listened to whoever it was. “They are? Good to know.
Where's the jet?” Zak listened for several seconds. “The kidnappers broke into our hotel room. Yeah. No, we're both fine. Have the pilot stay where he is. File a new flight plan. I'll be there in twenty. Yeah. Thanks, Buck.” He disconnected.

“The security guys are on the ground,” he told her. “Plane's being refueled as we speak. Wait here. I'll be right back.” He lifted her chin and gave her a searching look. “You okay?”

“Terrific. Oh, wait!” She reached out and cupped his face with both hands. Standing on her tiptoes, Acadia kissed him with all she had left, a longer and wetter kiss than the one he'd given her upstairs, but she was a whole hell of a lot needier than he was. And she knew it.

It was still too quick. She released him and smoothed her palm down his crumpled shirt. “Hurry back.”

His grin said he would, especially if more of that was on the way. He melted into the darkness, and she was alone. Adrenaline was pumping hard and fast in her system, making her temples throb. This, this right here, was the reason she and Zak were never going to be together. He took it all in stride—the car bomb, the gunmen, being on the run—as if he were getting a cup of coffee and reading the Sunday-morning paper.

A cat meowed plaintively nearby. A sheet of newspaper, teased by the hot breeze, fluttered down the alley where she waited. A car horn bleated in the distance. And the voices of the emergency personnel over on the other side of the building were crystal clear as they tried
to figure out whom the car had belonged to and if there had been any occupants.

Thank God, no.

Wheels crunched loudly on gravel, and she backed against the wall as a police car, lights off, pulled up in front of the trash bins. If she could see the vehicle, the occupants could obviously see her. Oh, shit. Shit. Shit. Another adrenaline spike made her dizzy for a moment, and she pressed her sweaty palms to her temples.
Breathe, Acadia, breathe; this is not the time to pass out.

The passenger door popped open. “Get in!” Zak straightened from opening the door as she jumped in and slammed it behind her.

“Oh my God!” Acadia stared at him in awe. “You stole a
police
car?”

He turned on the lights. “No one was using it,” he said dryly, driving at a sedate pace down the alley, away from the public parking lot on the other side of the buildings and the growing assortment of officials. “Buckle up.”

“They're going to miss this sooner than later.”

“Probably. We'll blow up that bridge when we cross it. Keep the SIG on your lap and take the safety off. We won't dick around should anyone give chase. Be ready to use it.”

Acadia swallowed hard, then curled her fingers around the butt of the gun. “Where are we going? Airport?”

“The company plane.” His jaw in profile was tight, his fingers white-knuckled on the wheel, and he kept a
close watch in the rearview mirror as he drove. Acadia was doing the same in her readjusted side mirror.

The police radio crackled with incessant Spanish.

“Buck instructed the pilot and two security men to stay onboard,” Zak explained. “The rest of his people are on their way to meet me at the hotel with the money. As soon as you take off, I'll have Buck coordinate with the security team, then I'll take them back with me to find Gideon.”

A neat plan. One that excluded her completely. Well, of course it did. Acadia knew that. Her time with Zak was finally at an end. But still, she wanted to help. “Want me to show you what I figured out on the map at the hotel?”

“Yeah, sure.”

She reached over and slid the folded map from Zak's breast pocket, then took out a small penlight from her own. The map was enormous, but she folded it to the area she needed to make it more manageable, then traced a line from the hotel near the falls where they'd been taken to the approximate location of the mission, then made an educated guess as to where they'd been left after they'd gone downriver. Then drew a line with her finger to Caracas. She jotted down the numbered coordinates from each stretch on the white edge of the map.

“What do you have?”

“Hang on,” she muttered as she found Angel Falls on the map. She finished writing the last digits and skimmed over her neat figures. “Okay, I have a list of coordinates of all our known locations, and then an estimation based on time and approximate distance traveled.”

“Let's see it.”

She handed over the list, which Zak held to the steering wheel, eyes dropping down periodically to her organized column of numbers as he drove.

His brow furrowed. “Acadia.”

Her gaze flew to the rearview mirror. “Are they—What?”

“What's the last set of numbers?” Acadia checked the map. “Angel Falls, why?”

“Jesus! The coordinates are identical to the numbers I see.”

She pictured the list of coordinates. Her mouth dropped open for a long moment before she said slowly, “The GPS coordinates for the area around Angel Falls?”

“I get it.” He shot her a frowning glance. “But how—”

“Road!” she warned quickly, and he jerked his attention back to the traffic, swinging them back into their lane. The driver of the van they'd almost hit leaned on his horn and stayed on it, turning on his high beams even after they'd passed him. Acadia caught a glimpse of his face and was grateful she couldn't hear what he was saying.

“You concentrate on driving like a bat out of hell to avoid the bad guys, and I'll make sure.” She returned to the map on her lap, double-checking her figures. “There's no doubt. They're the same.”

“How's that possible?” Zak demanded. “Hell, why is it possible? And what does it mean?”

“Since we got to the hotel, have you been seeing the numbers continuously, or have they stopped occasionally?”

Zak smiled, his gaze sliding to her briefly. “Honestly, there were a couple of times that I wouldn't have noticed if the numbers were ten feet high and in neon.”

She focused on not getting swept away in that smile. “When we're together, you mean? In the shower? In bed? Where?”