Page 20 of Temptation and Treachery
Chapter Nine
For two days he believed in the possibility of happily ever after. Then she’d gone and shot it all to hell.
“No, baby, the sun’s too hot to go topless,” the voice cooed through the earpiece.
Rio ground his molars as Gatlin, the team lead, shared another update on the poolside view, reminding him of her. The woman who’d made him believe in a life outside of this.
The strike team had moved into position, Gatlin at the rear of the sprawling mansion, hours before sunrise. After spending all day on his belly, at the edge of the clearing, he’d gotten restless and started tormenting the men.
“Sure she ain’t a desert queen?” asked a mocking whisper. “She might go from a ten to a two once we’re back home.”
“Three B, fucker,” Gatlin shot back. A low, appreciative whistle was the only response. “These cartel guys get the hottest chicks,” he muttered.
Beautiful. Blonde. Boobs. A trinity for the team; the words rearranged with the individual’s order of importance. Rio curled his lip. He’d be damned if he wasted another minute thinking about the beautiful, busty blonde he’d had in his life. Not after she left him waiting for weeks. “Shut your damn mouth and keep your eyes open.”
Rio kept watch on the front of the house. The area was quiet—too quiet. Not even a guard or lookout. The scene made his gut churn. Why would Ayala, who’d been under threat of death or arrest for years, leave the house unprotected? Or was it a false lead? Were they walking into a trap? Ayala had been fighting with Guerrero for years, but over the last few months they’d escalated to a bloody turf war. Now, suddenly, he’d made a move without his usual level of precaution. Their informant had reported Ayala was grounded and heading for a ranch house. The whole situation was suspect—
“Eagle’s got an SUV two clicks out,” Angel broke into his thoughts. “It’s moving in fast.” Rio switched screens, watching the progress and making sure they weren’t going to end up with a motorcade bearing down on them. The team was set for a coordinated strike, but if they were getting ambushed, the brush and mesquites surrounding them didn’t offer much protection.
“Might be him,” Gatlin suggested. “The goon’s sending her inside.” Of course, even bloodthirsty killers needed someone to come home to every now and then. “See you soon, baby,” he crooned. “Oh yeah, she could definitely be a future ex-wife.”
Rio craned his neck to one side, the muted pop relieving some of the pressure as they prepared for the payoff. He’d submerged himself in the job for the past three weeks, working at a maddening pace with a single-minded purpose. Capturing Victor Oziel Ayala, the leader of the Ayala Cartel. The man he may have allowed to get away, because he’d been tangled up with a woman. Never again. He should have stuck to “no expectations”.
The vehicle came into sight, kicking up dust along the ranch road as it drew near. He cleared his mind while Gatlin did a final comm check, but pale blue eyes and a sweet smile flashed through it nonetheless. He tightened his grip on his weapon with a dismissive sniff, focusing instead on the dark SUV pulling into the driveway in front of the house.
The driver, a burly Mexican man with slicked-back hair, stepped out and surveyed the area. Rio measured his breathing. In. Out. In. This arrest had been a long time coming. A goal he should never have set aside. He was determined to hold his position—motionless and undetected—until the last possible moment.
Seconds ticked by every few heartbeats. Still, the guy remained rooted in place, sensing something and not knowing what. Finally, he took a backward step, then another, reaching for the rear door. Rio exhaled slowly, waiting while words were exchanged. The passenger emerged, a man, roughly five foot ten, with gray-streaked hair and a tailored suit. Rio adjusted the scope. Come on, turn, damn it. Finally, the drug kingpin and former businessman stepped up to the front door and glanced to each side as he reached for the knob. “It’s Ayala,” Rio confirmed. “Move in.” Adrenaline shot through his system as the team exploded from the surroundings, swarming the mansion in smaller groups.
…
Celeste paused, scented bubbles dripping over her arm and shoulder. Did something fall? The multi-head shower system drowned out the noise. No, not a fall, it sounded like more of a crash. Her heart sank. Leonard would be livid. Her brother was very particular about— Raat-raat-raat. Her eyes went wide as the unmistakable sound of rapid fire filtered up from the first floor. Single shots and more automatic fire echoed over her panicked breathing.
She dropped the loofah and shut off the water. Yanking a plush towel from the ornate bar along the wall, she wrapped it around her and crouched, taking quick, careful steps so no one would hear her. Were the guards winning? Oh God, was it really winning when people were being shot and dying?
Blinking away the trickle dripping from her hair, Celeste swallowed hard and reached for the door. Shaky fingers slipped over the knob, ineffectively. Breathe. She used a corner of the towel to open the door. Another swarm of bullets then a man’s loud cursing came to an abrupt end. Her stomach flip-flopped at the imagined scene.
Celeste made a beeline to the foot of the bed, dropping the towel. She grabbed the T-shirt, fumbling with the seams, unable to find the bottom in her panic. A sob escaped her as she shook out the tank top, pushing her arms through the opening, then fighting with the material that kept sticking to her skin. Noise in the hallway spurred her on. “Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.” She pulled up the shorts she’d worn, forgoing the underwear.
What the hell was happening? Her brother had left her to wait for their father at his ranch house, hours from civilization, over three weeks ago. Without a signal, she couldn’t call the police. She had no idea if there were any neighbors nearby, or if they’d even help.
Now what? She looked around the room, not seeing anything with the threat looming on the other side of the wall. The door was locked…right? At this distance she couldn’t focus enough to be sure. Giving up, she started searching the room again, trying to take stock of what she had on hand. Paintings, flower arrangements, a few picture frames, and a statuette of an angel. While none of them would do much damage, she at least had a handful of missiles.
The shooting stopped. Thud. “Oh shit.” She’d hardly taken a step when a thunderous crack stopped her in her tracks and the door shot open. Her eyes widened, and her breath stuck in her throat. A giant in dark gear blocked the entrance, a lethal-looking weapon sitting comfortably in his hands. He or they had made it past the half dozen armed guards, up the stairs, to the end of the corridor. She stifled another sob. Was anyone left downstairs? He stepped in.
An unexpected scream burst out before she could suppress the reaction. She launched herself across the bed. Stretching out an arm, she reached for the angel. Maybe with a little luck her aim wouldn’t suck… She had too much to lose if she didn’t move.
The intruder clamped a hand around her ankle, dragging her back. “Let go, you—” Her brain stalled on the word. She kicked, trying to dislodge his hold, refusing to surrender without a fight. Tears burned at the back of her eyes and the only name that mattered sprang to her lips. Rio. As if calling out to him would bring the help she desperately needed.
She managed to bite back the sound just as a strong arm snaked under her, ripping her from the bed. Her back slammed against him, and her legs kicked air. The pillow she snatched slid out of the case, leaving her with little more than a sleeve of soft Egyptian cotton.
Anger bubbled inside her, escaping in another shriek. No, she wasn’t going to be taken so easily. Straining away from him, she kicked her heels, hoping she might hit his knees. Her elbow went to his chest, hitting a pack on the vest. He didn’t budge with either attempt. Instead, he shoved her forward. She put out her arms to break her fall, but he’d thrown her on the bed, letting the soft mattress take her weight. Movie snippets flashed through her mind like the scenes at the end of her life. Kidnapping. Water boarding. Rape. No, not when she could be…
Within a second he brought her hand to her lower back and sent her face-first into the bedspread. He caught her other wrist, and a chunk of hair, jerking her head up and back in the process.
Through the wet strands, she made out another figure at the doorway. Like her captor, his face was covered by a mask and goggles so she couldn’t see his expression. But he lowered his weapon, crossing his arms as he leaned against the frame. She was getting tossed around, and he stood there watching with amusement. “Bastard.”
Somehow they communicated, because the guy at the door shot up and headed to the bathroom. Meanwhile, the man behind her hauled her upright. “What do you want from me?” She could picture herself like those movies where the woman was crying and mascara was streaming down her cheeks.
The giant remained silent while he grabbed the pillowcase and brought it down over her head.
