Colby Control Page 8

Five years was long enough to grieve. The grief had eventually given way to bitterness.

  Now he was simply determined to have his rightful vengeance. He could not locate his wife and child. His eyes closed as he dared to wonder whether the child had been a boy or a girl.

  His child.

  One Nora Friedman had denied him the privilege of loving.

  Now she would know the agony…the endless torture he had endured.

  His first inclination had been to watch her die for daring to steal from him.

  But then he’d decided upon a much more fitting punishment.

  She would live.

  As he climbed the sweeping staircase to the second floor, his mood lightened. Today would be a thrilling victory. The plan was a brilliant masterpiece. It was, in part, his reasoning for waiting until the lovely Nora was back within his dominion.

  Oh, yes. This day was well worth the wait.

  He paused at the first door to the right of the spacious landing and rapped twice.

  The door opened and his personal physician peered at him over his bifocals. “You’re ready?” he asked.

  Romero patted his shoulder. “Not just yet, but within the hour we will proceed.”

  His old friend nodded. “I’m ready. The patient has been prepared?”

  The look that passed between them fueled Romero’s anticipation. His old friend had anticipated this opportunity very nearly as much as Romero himself.

  “Lott is taking care of that now.”

  Romero moved on to his suite. All was in place. As soon as he had news of the P.I.’s movements, they would begin. In his suite he crossed to the monitor and selected the underground-level surveillance.

  Lott had opened the door to the cell. Nora, dressed now, faced him fearlessly. Romero had liked that about her. She showed no fear of anything. Few women possessed such a courageous nature. He wondered if that would change after today.

  “Turn around and face the wall,” Lott ordered the prisoner. “Put your hands flat against the wall.”

  In true Nora fashion, she rolled her eyes, then did as she was told. She had little other choice. Lott entered the cell with his weapon palmed this time.

  Nora made a sarcastic comment, but Lott ignored her. He removed the hypodermic needle from his jacket pocket while she rambled on about kicking his butt again the next opportunity that arose.

  Lott stabbed the needle into her right shoulder. She stiffened, tried to twist away, but it was too late.

  The muscle relaxer was in her bloodstream now. Within the next half hour she would feel the effects, slowly but surely leaving her defenseless.

  And ready for payback.

  Chapter Eleven

  4:03 a.m.

  Ted held his position in the copse of trees and shrubbery bordering the rear patio and pool area.

  The house’s exterior was lit up like a runway. The landscape lighting alone prevented any hope of moving closer to the rear of the house without being spotted by anyone monitoring the property. Every light in the house appeared to be glowing. Leaving him trapped in the small island of foliage.

  Luck had been on his side in the beginning. Soto had parked near the massive water fountain, between it and the iron gates protecting the driveway from unauthorized entrance. She had explained that no guard was posted at the gate. Surveillance and access were controlled from inside the house. She had felt confident that surveillance would be focused on her as she emerged from her car and walked to the front entrance, giving Ted an opportunity to make a move.

  Even before she had gotten out of the car, something unexpected had gone down inside the house. Security personnel had flooded the yard, front and back, surrounding the house. Soto had frozen, certain that Romero had somehow recognized she was not in the car alone. Ted had persuaded her to remain calm from his position hunkered down on the rear floorboard.

  Finally, she had comprehended that whatever was happening wasn’t about her and had given Ted an all-clear sign as the search appeared to move fully to the rear of the house. She’d gotten out of the car and moved toward the front entrance. Ted had slipped out of the car and disappeared into the landscaping.

  Thankfully most of the exterior lighting in the front of the house was focused on the fountain, leaving an avenue of cover within the shadows. Soto had given him the layout of the property, including as much knowledge as she possessed regarding the underground tunnels. One entrance inside the house. Romero had an elevator in his bedroom suite that stopped on the first floor for access, then lowered directly to the tunnel underground.

  Another entrance was near the pool. That access was used by certain guests who had the distinct honor of being invited for a round of private gaming in the massive underground entertainment room that had made Romero a favorite among the Vegas celebrity visitors.

  Ultimately the purpose of the tunnels was to provide an avenue of escape for Romero. A direct route away from the property to emergency transportation. The entertainment feature merely served as a cover.

  A private physician also served on Romero’s staff. According to Soto, he trusted no one else with his health care. Evidently the man had made numerous enemies.

  Friedman sure knew how to pick them when she was making enemies herself.

  Ted banished the thought. She was in serious trouble here. Lethal trouble. He had to find a way to get her out. Waiting on backup was out of the question. The contact Simon had arranged had provided Ted with the necessities to make a move. He wasn’t waiting. She could be dead by then. According to what Soto had admitted, Romero had been waiting for an opportunity to enact his revenge for Nora’s past involvement with him.

  Braced to move, Ted watched as the last lingering member of Romero’s security team moved inside once more. Ted’s worry now was the possibility of electronic surveillance. Soto knew Romero had an elaborate setup but she wasn’t privy to the specifics.

  Once Ted made his move, he had to move quickly. No hesitation. No miscalculations.

  Getting in wouldn’t be a problem.

  Getting out would be the challenge.

  He made the move from the copse of lush foliage to the equally mature and thick shrubbery closest to the side of the house—mansion—where Soto had assured him the exterior entrance to the tunnel would be found.

  Ted held his breath. Listened. Nothing other than the night sounds and the low hum of the outdoor lighting. The three sets of French doors leading into the back of the mansion’s first floor remained clear.

  Go!

  Ted eased along the perimeter of the landscaping bed until he had no choice but to break away and head for the wide tunnel entrance with its open iron gates.

  Down the steps.

  Halfway down he spotted a small overhead camera.

  Damn.

  Don’t slow down.

  No hesitation.

  Pulse thumping in his ears, he kept going.

  He passed the first turn to the right. That one led to the private gaming room and to the house entrance. Soto had instructed him to continue forward. Two more turns. The first was to a corridor that dead-ended and the second continued to the emergency transportation setup.

  The dead end was his destination. Soto had no idea what was along that corridor since no one was allowed to that point. But she’d gotten the impression that anyone who crossed Romero ended up there. She knew for certain that the final turn led to the helipad because she’d had a short-term relationship with a member of Romero’s security team when she’d first moved to Vegas. She’d overheard a conversation between him and his boss, Quinton Lott. Not once had she ever breathed that information, for fear of ending up scavenger bait in the desert. But she loved Vandiver and was willing to take the risk now.

  Ted hesitated. Two steel doors lined the corridor but nothing else.

  The first door was open.

  He eased closer to door number one, his weapon palmed and ready.

  Empty.

  Ted took a breath and moved sile
ntly toward door number two. Unlike number one, the door wasn’t standing fully open, but it wasn’t completely closed, either.

  He held his breath. Listened.

  “Go ahead. Kill me. You still won’t have your wife back.”

  Ted froze.

  Friedman.

  She laughed loudly. “Or your kid.”

  “You’ll soon know just how that feels.”

  Romero.

  Adrenaline blasted Ted’s muscles. Would Romero be in there without a bodyguard?

  Not likely.

  “Proceed.”

  Tension tightened in Ted’s muscles. Was that an order Romero had just issued?

  “She isn’t properly prepared for surgery.”

  Male voice. Not Romero.

  What the hell? Surgery?

  “She’s prepared enough,” Romero commanded. “Place the gag in her mouth and get started.”

  The sounds that followed were mostly of Friedman ranting at someone not to touch her.

  Ted leveled his weapon and kicked the door inward. “Don’t move,” he ordered.

  The man he recognized as Romero stared at him in abject surprise.

  Ted moved quickly into the cell, getting his back to a wall to prevent anyone from coming up behind him. “Release her,” he commanded the man dressed in scrubs and attempting to put the gag in place. The doctor, Ted presumed.

  Keeping the larger part of his attention on Romero, who made no move to rush Ted, he couldn’t restrain the astonishment washing over him at the idea of what the other guy, the doctor, appeared about to do.

  What kind of maniac tortured his enemy with surgery?

  Ted didn’t even want to go there.

  “My security team is on the way down,” Romero said with utter calm. “Put your weapon down and perhaps I’ll allow you to live.”

  “I don’t think so,” Ted argued. He pushed off the wall, careful to keep a bead right between Romero’s eyes. “Maybe I’ll let you live if you cooperate.” Ted wrapped one arm around his throat and burrowed the muzzle of his weapon into the bastard’s temple. “Now, tell your man to release her.”

  God in Heaven. Friedman was strapped to a gurney. A stainless-steel tray lined with surgical instruments and a portable overhead light, as well as numerous other gadgets one would see in a hospital O.R., surrounded the gurney.

  This was like some sci-fi movie setting.

  “Continue,” Romero said. “He’s not going to kill me.”

  As if to reiterate his words, the sound of running footfalls echoed in the corridor.

  Time to take a risk.

  Ted rushed the gurney, Romero in tow. He dared to shift the weapon’s aim from Romero to the man in the scrubs. “Let her loose. Now!”

  The man—doctor, whatever the hell he was—quickly loosened the straps holding Friedman down. Romero struggled against Ted’s hold, shouting for his associate to cease. The doctor loosened the last strap, raised his hands in surrender and started backing away.

  “Fool!” Romero roared.

  “On the floor,” Ted said to the man in scrubs, who immediately scrambled to obey. Then he stabbed the muzzle back into Romero’s temple. Just in time for two security jerks to rush into the room.

  “Kill him!” Romero squeaked out around Ted’s choke hold.

  “You even breathe,” Ted growled, “and he’s dead.” Two beads had settled on him but Ted held his ground. He might just die today but Romero was going with him. “Hurry up!” he shouted to Friedman, without taking his attention off the two armed men.

  Friedman scrambled off the gurney.

  “Get behind me,” Ted told her.

  She bumped into his back as she got into place behind him. “Sorry,” she muttered.

  What was wrong with her?

  “What’s it gonna be, gentlemen?” Ted asked the two staring him down. “You can join the guy on the floor or you can shoot me after I splatter your boss’s brains all over his nice suit. Up to you.”

  Romero tried to speak but Ted clamped down harder on his throat. The bastard clawed and pulled at Ted’s arm, frantic squeaks accompanying his desperate movements.

  “Now!” Ted commanded, ramming the muzzle deeper into Romero’s skull.

  Whether it was uncertainty or Romero’s high-pitched squeals, the two held up their hands.

  “Put your weapons down on the floor,” Ted instructed, “and kick them this way.”

  The first weapon settled on the floor, then slid in Ted’s direction.

  “Facedown on the floor now,” he urged as the second weapon scooted his way.

  Friedman snagged one of the weapons and stuck it into Ted’s waistband at the small of his back. Then she reached for the other one, almost falling on her face as she bent down. What was wrong with her?

  “Let’s go,” Ted urged. There was no time to analyze her actions.

  Friedman was out the door first, then shouted, “Clear!” over her shoulder.

  When Ted had dragged Romero into the corridor, Friedman closed and locked the door, leaving the three men stuck inside until help arrived.

  “The best way out of here?” Ted asked her.

  She started forward, her movements somehow uncoordinated and sluggish.

  He wanted to ask what they had done to her or given her, but there was no time.

  Romero fought him every step, but Ted kept dragging him forward. It wasn’t that difficult. Friedman was moving damned slow.

  Ted was no fool. The two guards he’d locked in that cell were likely only a small portion of Romero’s security team. There would be others…watching their every move.

  What felt like two miles later they reached another steel door. She tried to open it, shook herself and then reached back toward Romero. She grabbed him by the wrist; he resisted. Then Ted realized what she was doing. He moved in closer to what was a scanner of some sort. Friedman pressed Romero’s palm against it and the door opened.

  More steps waited on the other side.

  Friedman closed the door, set the lock. “They won’t be able to get through.” She blinked, then gave her head a little shake. “But they’ll have others on the ground headed this way.”

  Which meant they still didn’t have much time.

  Friedman stumbled twice on the way up the seemingly endless stairs.

  She’d assuredly had some kind of drug.

  They went through the same routine at the next door. It opened into an enormous garage-style hangar. A helicopter and a military-style SUV waited beneath a collage of overhead fluorescent lights.

  “This area is monitored, as well?” Ted asked her.

  She nodded, pointed to four overhead cameras.

  The first shot echoed in the space as he took out one camera. Then two, three and four.

  “Helicopter takes an access code to navigate the pad out the overhead door,” she said as she swayed, then recaptured her balance. “And a key.” She pointed a ferocious glare at Romero. “We need both.”

  Romero managed a rusty laugh. “Go to hell.”

  “What about the SUV?” Ted suggested.

  “They’d find us in nothing flat with the helicopter.”

  “What if we disable the helicopter?” Ted offered, determined to make this escape happen before the rest of Romero’s team got here.

  “Tracking system,” she said. “All Romero’s vehicles have them. They’d find us almost as fast that way.”

  “Then I guess we have no choice but to head out on foot.” He nodded toward the walk-through door at the end of the building, opposite the oversize garage door.

  More of that hoarse laughter from Romero.

  Ted had had enough of him. He adjusted his hold, applying the pressure just so until the bastard stopped squirming. When he was fully unconscious, Ted allowed his limp body to drop to the floor.

  “You should’ve killed him,” Friedman said, her speech slurred.

  Ted started to remind her that they were the good guys, but she promptly spun toward th
e door. The gun she’d been clasping clattered across the floor and then she dropped like a rock.

  He rushed to her side, checked her pulse. Strong. Respiration steady. He lifted her arm and let it drop against her side. Limp as the proverbial dishrag.

  She was out.

  Not much time.

  Ted glanced at the SUV.

  She’d said there would be a tracking device.

  A quick check on Romero assured he was still out.

  Only one thing to do.

  Ted fired off a few more rounds, putting out the overhead lighting. He double-timed it over to the walk-through door and shoved it open. He listened for sounds of arriving company. Nothing yet. Retracing his steps with the same swiftness, he reached down and hauled Friedman up onto his shoulder, snatched up the weapon she’d dropped. He straightened and surveyed the interior of the large building. Two doors. One to a room with windows across the front. Likely an office. One with no windows. Supply closet? Maintenance shop? Weapon storeroom?

  He turned to get a look at the other side of the building. Shelves lined with supplies. And another door. He moved toward that one since it was closest.

  Locked.

  Damn it.

  He hustled over to the door next to the office. It opened with one twist of the knob.

  A smile slid across his lips.

  Bathroom.

  That could work.

  He stepped inside, careful not to whop Friedman’s head on the door frame. Two stalls, urinal and two sinks. And another door. He didn’t have high hopes when he reached for the knob with its keyed lock. Surprisingly it was unlocked. Supply and cleaning closet.

  Quickly, he cleared an area on the floor in the closet and lowered Friedman there. Then he closed the door leading from the hangar into the bathroom. Moving carefully, since it was as dark as a cave now, he settled in the closet with Friedman and closed the door.

  Though this would prevent him from seeing the movements of anyone who arrived or hearing any conversations, it was the safest bet. They wouldn’t have gotten a mile on foot.

  All he had to do was keep Friedman quiet if she roused.

  Not wanting to be less than fully prepared, he went down on one knee, keeping his weapon palmed. If anyone came through that door, they were going to get a chest full of lead.