Midnight Games: A Killer Instincts Novel (29 page)

So how the hell was Meiro connected to that mission? Was he one of the bidders who’d gotten away?

Trevor pondered the thought. No, Meiro wouldn’t have had the money or the power to procure an invitation to Blanco’s sex auction. He’d only appeared on the scene recently, so—

Trevor’s breath hitched.

“Ah, perhaps you do know who I am.” Meiro met Trevor’s gaze. “I’m Lorenzo Blanco, you motherfucker. You and this cunt killed my father.”

Isabel stared at the enraged man standing before them. Lorenzo Blanco? How was that even possible? She remembered hearing that Luis Blanco had a son studying abroad, but Lorenzo hadn’t stepped up to run his father’s empire after Blanco was killed during the auction raid. Blanco’s dossier hadn’t contained a single photograph of his son, so for all Isabel knew, this
was
Lorenzo.

But if so, why the hell was he pretending to be a casino owner named Tomas Meiro?

“You
do
remember my father, do you not?” Meiro—Lorenzo?—asked coldly. “And please don’t insult my intelligence by claiming otherwise. I would recognize your face anywhere, Mr. Martin. I’ve watched the security tape hundreds, no,
thousands
of times.”

“Security tape?” Trevor echoed.

“My father’s cameras captured everything. You and your cunt wife posed as interested buyers. You abused my father’s hospitality. You stole his merchandise. And you”—he jabbed a finger at Trevor—“murdered him in cold blood. It’s all on tape, every last second of it, motherfucker.”

“I see,” Trevor said evasively.

He didn’t sound surprised, and neither was Isabel. They’d known about the security cameras in Blanco’s compound, but it hadn’t been an issue. It didn’t matter if Julian and Paloma got caught on tape—because Julian and Paloma didn’t exist.

“Do you?” Lorenzo mocked. “Do you
see
?” His breathing grew heavy. “You feel no remorse for what you have done? For the life you took?”

“Your father took lives, too. He sold young girls like they were sex toys.” Trevor’s tone was pointed. “Did
he
show any remorse?”

“My father was a businessman,” Lorenzo snapped. “He ran an empire, and then you two came along and destroyed it. I’ve yet to figure out what your motive was, but believe me, I intend to. And I intend to punish you fittingly. You
destroyed
my legacy.”

Isabel scanned her brain, trying to remember the events that followed Luis Blanco’s death. “His rivals came out of the woodwork,” she said slowly. “They broke up his holdings.”

Lorenzo’s eyes flashed. “They stole my empire.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Trevor roll his eyes. “You expect us to believe that your father didn’t make arrangements for his only son to be taken care of? How many millions did he stash away for you, Lorenzo?”

“Money means nothing if you don’t have power,” Lorenzo said bitterly. “The vultures robbed me of that power, but they didn’t stop there. They knew I would return one day to reclaim my father’s legacy, so they came after me. They tried to eliminate me.” Triumph rang in his voice. “But they failed. They failed, and I lived to see another day.”

Isabel wrinkled her forehead. “So you changed your name and moved to Lisbon?”

The second the question left her mouth, she realized there was no point in asking it. Lisbon. Damn it,
that’s
what had bothered her the night on Meiro’s yacht.

Because if the man had truly grown up in Lisbon, then he would have known that the Collectors Wing at Lisbon’s most renowned museum had been opened only four years ago. He’d slipped up. Claimed he’d visited the wing as a child—but that was impossible. There had been no Collectors Wing when he was growing up.

Shit, how could she have forgotten that?

“I created a new life for myself,” he muttered angrily. “I contacted Michel Beaumont, one of my father’s associates, the only one who could be trusted. Beaumont helped me start over.”

Lorenzo stepped closer and squatted in front of Isabel. An evil gleam filled his eyes. “I tried to bury the past, but alas, I’m not the kind of man who allows slights against him to go unpunished.”

Isabel licked her dry lips and shifted on the chair. It would take no effort at all to go on the attack, kick him square in the face, slice her elbow into his temple, but the presence of those armed guards stopped her from making a move. That, and the quick shake of the head Trevor gave her when he saw her readjust her position.

“I’ve been searching for you and your husband for a very long time,” Lorenzo said in a soft voice. “But you went underground like a pair of fucking rats.” His eyes gleamed again, satisfied. “But four months ago, you finally surfaced. Or rather,
he
did.”

Lorenzo jerked his head in Trevor’s direction, but continued speaking before Isabel could make sense of his last remark. “I’m going to enjoy watching you die. I’m going to enjoy it very, very much. Originally I did not want to risk being connected to your deaths, but—”

“But Lassiter fucked everything up for you?” Isabel finished politely.

“I shouldn’t have trusted that incompetent fool to get the job done.” He looked at Trevor, shrugging. “But I confess, I’m happy to see you survived the attack on your company’s training facility, Mr. Martin.”

Isabel hid her confusion. Trevor’s company? Did Lorenzo not realize he’d sent a hit squad to raid a mercenary compound?

“Because now I have the pleasure of your wife’s company as well,” Lorenzo went on. “Killing you separately would have achieved the same end result, but this will be more entertaining. I’m going to enjoy hearing you beg me to spare your wife’s life.” He glanced at Isabel. “And you, your husband’s.”

Smirking, Lorenzo approached Isabel’s chair. “In fact, why don’t I give your husband a little taste of what’s to come?”

In the blink of an eye, he pulled his arm back and unleashed a blow that connected with her face and knocked her right out of the chair.

As stars danced in front of her eyes and pain throbbed in her cheek, Isabel glimpsed a blur of movement in her peripheral vision. An angry shout echoed, followed by a loud thud and a cry of outrage.

She blinked, her vision clearing in time to see Trevor being restrained by one of the bodyguards. The other guard, a stoic-faced giant with Slavic features, grabbed Isabel before she could make a move.

He jammed the barrel of his gun against her temple and said, “Boss?”

Lorenzo staggered to his feet, holding his sleeve to his nose. “Tie them to the chairs.” His hand moved to reveal the blood dripping from his nostrils.

A sideways glance showed the slight smirk on Trevor’s face, and Isabel stifled a sigh, wishing he hadn’t gone after Lorenzo like that. The man was already pissed off. No need to rile him up even further.

Their captor loomed over them once more, his mouth twisted in anger. “Enjoy the time you have left together. Soon the games will start and while I expect to enjoy every fucking second of your suffering, I can assure you, Mr. and Mrs. Martin, that the two of you will find no enjoyment in what I have planned for you.”

•   •   •

“You really have no respect for other people’s property, huh?”

D shifted his head at the sound of Ethan’s half-sarcastic, half-amused remark, which had been directed at Juliet. The team had just set up across the street from the Meiro mansion, in a gorgeous Tudor-style home that had been sitting empty for the past two weeks and would remain empty for two more while the owners vacationed on the French Riviera.

D was positioned near the large bay window, wearing all black and armed to the teeth, just like everyone else in the room, including Juliet, who answered Ethan with a shrug.

“Hey, if you’re stupid enough to rely on SSI for your home security needs, then you deserve what you get.”

“SSI?” Ethan echoed.

“Secure Systems Incorporated.” She offered a dry smile. “Never trust an alarm company that uses the word
secure
in its name. SSI is every burglar’s dream—the easiest system on the planet to circumvent.”

From his perch on the other side of the window, Morgan narrowed his eyes at the brunette. “What about the Meiro house? What system can we expect to find there?”

“The Meiros are old school.” As she talked, she unsheathed the knife at her hip and absently ran her fingers over the seven-inch blade.

“They’ve got the good old electric eye. Photoelectric sensors,” she clarified when Morgan raised his eyebrows in question. “Transmitter, receiver. Light is transmitted to the receiver, and if the beam is interrupted, even for a nanosecond, the receiver sounds the alarm. You can usually find them in front of doors, windows, long corridors. Smart folks disguise the units as power outlets, but most people are dumb-asses and leave them in plain sight.”

“The Meiros?” Morgan asked.

“Smart,” she conceded. “But dumb in their choice of lighting components. Instead of UV or infrared, their system uses laser light, which is easier to spot.”

“How do we disarm it?” D inquired in a brisk tone.

Juliet grinned. “Already done.”

Next to her, Ethan frowned. “How did you manage that?”

“It’s all very convoluted and probably way over your heads,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “Let’s just say my methods involve dummy components, piggybacking the central station, Paige’s technological wizardry, and good old-fashioned deception.”

Morgan looked uncharacteristically amused. “Meaning?”

“I’ve fooled the system into thinking it’s working properly, when in fact it is not.” She shrugged, still stroking the smooth edge of her blade. “The motion sensors on the exterior need to be manually disarmed, though. I’ll go in first and take care of them. Unless you want me to talk your men through it?”

Your
men. D didn’t miss the distinction—now that Morgan was back in the picture, Noelle had been conspicuously absent. Probably brooding in a corner somewhere.

D got a real kick out of that particular mental image. He imagined the woman was spitting nails that her command had been stolen from her by a man she despised.

“You can handle it,” Morgan told Juliet. “Just don’t screw it up.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“So how the fuck do we get them out of there?” Liam asked from across the room.

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” D rasped. “We’re looking at four guards. That’s nothing.”

“Only four?” Juliet looked surprised. “They must know that Isabel and Callaghan are here with a team. Why wouldn’t Meiro take stronger measures to protect himself?”

“Maybe he doesn’t know who they really are,” Morgan said slowly.

She frowned. “If he recognized her as Valerie, then he must know she’s an operative. He just wouldn’t know who she’s working for.”

“Maybe he didn’t recognize her as Valerie.”

“So, what, he was after Paloma and Julian Martin?” Juliet sounded bewildered.

“Possibly.” The boss shrugged. “Whatever his motive, the lack of guards works in our favor. Our only obstacle is the motion sensors—once Juliet disarms them, we’ll be inside that mansion before they even see us coming.”

•   •   •

Lorenzo strode into the grand kitchen and marched to the sink. He ran a dish towel under the tap and brought it to his swollen nose, the fury inside him rising once more. That motherfucker had the
nerve
to lay a hand on him?

Julian Martin would pay dearly for that.

And the woman . . . so cool and collected, even with the threat of death looming over her. For some reason, he found that infuriating. It was an insult even, as if she truly didn’t appreciate the trauma he was capable of inflicting on her.

He let out a ragged breath. Her punishment . . . oh, her punishment would be much, much worse than her husband’s.

By the time he was through with her, she’d be begging him to kill her.

“Tomas! What happened?”

Renee’s concerned exclamation sounded from the doorway, and then his wife hurried toward him. She was still clad in the dress she’d worn to the gala, even though he’d ordered her to change for the airport.

He frowned. “You’re not ready yet. I told you I want you out of this house.”

“I don’t want to go. These are the people who murdered your father, Tomas. I want to be here to support you.”

He knew she called him Tomas only out of habit, and only because they’d agreed never to use his real name, even in private, but it still raised his hackles. He was Lorenzo Blanco. Lorenzo
Blanco
, once heir to the biggest arms empire in South America.

And now look at him—Tomas Meiro. A fucking casino owner. Married to a woman who ate pussy, living in
her
father’s house and running
her
father’s businesses.

He should be carrying on
his
father’s legacy. Not Michel fucking Beaumont’s.

“I don’t need your support,” he said through gritted teeth. “You will leave this house tonight.”

“As you wish.”

She averted her gaze, but not before he saw the look of displeasure on her face.

Lorenzo took a calming breath and gathered the shattered pieces of his composure. Whatever bitterness he harbored against Renee’s father, he couldn’t hold it against Renee. The woman had done nothing but offer him support, and he’d come to appreciate her counsel over the course of their marriage. There might not be any love between them, but there had always been friendship and mutual respect.

“You must go.” He softened his tone. “I don’t want you anywhere near these people, Renee. The revenge I have in mind . . . it will be dished out slowly. Very, very slowly. I can’t have you tainted by any of this. Do you understand?”

After a long beat, she capitulated. “I understand.”

“Good.” Lorenzo leaned in and brushed his lips over hers in a brief kiss that surprised them both. “Trust me,
ma chérie
. You don’t want to be around for what happens next.”

•   •   •

“So it’s been about us the entire time,” Isabel said wryly. “Julian and frickin’ Paloma.”

She didn’t bother putting up the pretense any longer. Gone was Paloma’s accent, gone were Paloma’s speech mannerisms. If the cellar was wired for sound, which she doubted, then Lorenzo would quickly find out that she and Trevor had lied about their identities. Who knew, though? That might work to their advantage. Maybe he’d be inclined to keep them alive longer, for the sake of answers, at least.

Beside her, Trevor released a rueful sigh. “And thanks to me, we’re tied to chairs and about to be tortured by Lorenzo Blanco.”

Though she couldn’t move her arms, legs, or torso, she could still twist her head to look over at him. “What are you talking about? It’s not your fault.”