Nowhere Safe Page 2

  In other words, the weapons shipment Josh was supposed to be handing Mendelson in trade would not remain in the area indefinitely.

  Mendelson’s gaze turned black as his soul. He ignored Josh and waved Chelsea into the car.

  Chelsea glanced back with what Josh could only describe as regret in her gaze and gave a tiny shake of her head that no one could have seen but him.

  She was definitely leaving, and saying goodbye.

  Didn’t she know by now that he could help her with whatever was wrong? He had until he closed the deal with Mendelson to stop her from leaving. Josh would be paying half her fee. She wouldn’t normally walk away without her money after coming this far. But something was definitely off tonight.

  One of Mendelson’s men opened the back door of the Mercedes and Josh climbed in. Now that he’d been given an unwanted driver, calling his team on the satellite phone hidden in the driver’s door panel of his car was out.

  Always have a backup plan.

  He’d learned that as a child, when he’d been given professional instruction in defensive maneuvers. His parents had lost their only birth child to a kidnapping that had ended badly. They took stronger measures to protect Josh, even though he’d been nothing more than someone else’s refuse at age seven when they’d adopted him.

  With a subtle movement, he twisted the platinum cufflink at his right wrist, which functioned as a tracking device. His backup plan. That single twist sent a signal that he was mobile, but not alone. Activating his left cufflink in a similar way alerted the team to move in.

  Their five-member team had been together for six years, but Josh, Sabrina and Dingo Paddock went back to Josh’s days as a kid in a New York City group home, another name for an orphanage.

  Once the limo with Mendelson and Chelsea moved off, Josh’s Mercedes pulled out behind them.

  His driver said not a word during the forty-five minute ride, with his Mercedes boxed in between the limo and a silver Hummer. A moonless night wrapped the windows, blacking out the view he’d seen earlier of the rolling countryside covered in autumn’s golden wash. Colors just as vibrant as a year ago, when Josh and Chelsea had spent a weekend in a renovated crofter’s cottage an hour from here. They’d made love under a beech tree while leaves floated down around them.

  Sabrina had warned him and Dingo to never get attached, and Josh hadn’t before now. Too many years spent alone, watching for death around every corner, had left him numb inside. Or so he’d believed until the first time Chelsea had laughed.

  Then she’d made him laugh, a genuine, from-the-chest laugh he hadn’t experienced since he was a kid.

  And now she intended to disappear.

  Then he’d spend every day wondering if she’d survived. That was classic Chelsea. She’d never ask for help if it meant putting someone else at risk.

  Too bad. Josh refused to let her face a threat, whatever it was, alone.

  His driver slowed as the Mercedes passed guards at the entrance to a property. The stone entryway suggested a residence somewhere beyond the short reach of headlights piercing the night.

  Mendelson’s limo, Josh’s Mercedes and the Hummer continued along a curved drive until a two-story stone structure took shape. Temporary lights had been set up, illuminating the yard. Ivy climbed the attractive farmhouse, probably built in the 1700s.

  As soon as Josh exited the Mercedes, one of Mendelson’s bodyguards from the Hummer met him at his car door. “Lift your arms.”

  Of course. The pat down.

  Josh lifted his hands. When the guard finished, Josh emptied his pockets, showing he had no weapon or phone, nothing that could be used for communicating or killing.

  The guard ordered, “Follow me.”

  Josh’s neck twitched with more unease. Chelsea and Mendelson hadn’t gotten out of the limo yet.

  Trailing behind the guard, Josh assessed what security personnel he could locate outside the lighted area. Smoke trickled from a fireplace at one end of the house, the smell of burning hardwood riding on a light breeze. Two men with rifles were posted on the roof. More were positioned around the perimeter, some barely visible in the shadows.

  Ten, so far, counting the limo driver, who had to be armed.

  But another five to ten could be hidden.

  And not just hired muscle, but deadly operatives.

  Josh recognized at least two from the Russian mafia. Mendelson had spared no expense, but was it to insure the safety of his prisoner, or that this weapons shipment did not get waylaid?

  Sabrina and her three-person team could handle inserting past fifteen, maybe twenty guards, depending on how the security was spread around the farmhouse.

  At the entrance to the house, another guard—visible guard number eleven—opened a heavy wooden door that swung on black, wrought-iron hinges. The glass lamp on a hall table supplied enough light to see the quaint foyer and a stairway against one wall.

  Dried flowers and other potpourri piled in a glass bowl might have freshened the air, but it couldn’t combat the stale odor of recently fried fish. Probably cooked by Mendelson’s men.

  Were the owners away from the property?

  Or dead?

  The guard by the door nodded at the bodyguard who led Josh up the stairs and down a hall. They entered a narrow room with tall ceilings and old-world character. Dark bookcases were laden with rows of leather-bound books. Two mahogany chairs with tufted green upholstery sat sedately on a Turkish rug, and the scent of pipe tobacco lingered.

  A homey picture, which did nothing to loosen the tight muscles in Josh’s neck. He ordered the bodyguard, “Tell Mendelson he has five minutes.”

  Heavy footsteps approached and Mendelson entered the room. “I am here, Mr. Taylor.”

  Without Chelsea. Shit.

  Josh’s shoulders constricted further, but he’d stay on task until he had reason to change course. “I’m here. You’re here. But my client’s asset is not. We doing this tonight?” Tell me you’re waiting on Chelsea again.

  “The asset is being brought up for validation.” With that partial answer to Josh’s question, Mendelson went to a small marble-top table. A flask of liquor and two short-stemmed glasses had been placed on a tray of inlaid wood as though in anticipation of a gentleman’s meeting.

  There should be a reality show on the eccentric behaviors of insane international criminals.

  Mendelson poured two glasses of the amber liquid. “I prefer a good cognac, but when in Rome...” He shrugged and offered the second glass to Josh. “Brandy?”

  Josh would rather drink the devil’s piss than share anything with this bastard. “Sure.”

  Moving to one of the chairs that faced the doorway, Mendelson took a seat. “Sit.”

  “I’m not interested in playing chit-chat, Mendelson.”

  Mendelson snapped his fingers and one of the bodyguards entered, sans tuxedo jacket and sporting an HK MP7 submachine gun held loosely on a sling over one shoulder, but ready to use.

  Josh got the message. He rolled his eyes as though the whole thing merely annoyed him, but sat in the other chair.

  Where was Chelsea?

  He clicked through possibilities. Maybe Mendelson had paid his fee and Josh’s, and sent Chelsea away? But why would he?

  The sound of multiple footsteps pounding up the stairs reached the library, along with something being dragged. Two guards entered, turning sideways to carry the CIA agent, Len Rikker, between them, each gripping an arm. Gaunt from five weeks in Mendelson’s not-so-tender care, and bloody in too many places to count, Rikker’s head hung forward.

  Josh stood and took a step toward the prisoner who had a distinctive scar at the hairline. One confirmation of the CIA agent’s ID. “Lift his head.”

  A guard grabbed Rikker’s mop of scraggly brown hair and jerked his head back, raising Rikker’s swollen face into view. Josh studied the eyes and jaw line long enough to give the impression he would walk away if they tried to pawn off the wrong man on him.


  Mendelson said, “Satisfied?”

  “Yes.”

  While Mendelson ordered the prisoner returned to his locked room in the basement, Josh used the distraction to twist his left cufflink twice, sending a message to move in.

  With the prisoner out of the room, Mendelson put his glass down. “You may have your man as soon as you deliver my missiles. You have thirty minutes, as agreed.”

  Sabrina and the team required twelve minutes to insert into the secured area undetected and get in position to infiltrate the building to find Rikker. Josh pushed an impatient look at Mendelson. “Need GPS coordinates and a sat phone to call in my transport truck.” His nonexistent truck.

  “Give the phone number to my man—” Mendelson angled his head at his guard. “He will call with coordinates.”

  The guard unclipped a satellite phone from his belt and eyed Josh who rattled off the number. Sabrina had someone sitting at a predetermined location two hours away with a disposable phone, and ready to leave the minute the call terminated.

  When the guard ended the call, he told his boss, “Done.”

  A grin spread across Mendelson’s face, one that sent worry skidding along Josh’s spine. That extra sense operatives develop in order to survive told him that something had changed, even if everything seemed to be on schedule. He lifted his drink, killed the balance and set the glass back down, determined to find Chelsea. “Let’s get this done. Where’s Chelsea?”

  “She will be along soon.” Mendelson took a sip of his drink. “She is quite unusual. I could find a place in my organization for her. Maybe a personal assistant who could attend to more than negotiations for me.” There was the sinister smile again when Mendelson slid a taunting look at Josh.

  What was Mendelson up to with this bullshit?

  Did he suspect a relationship between Chelsea and Josh? Or was he just testing with age-old bait to provoke a jealous reaction? But that would mean Mendelson knew Josh and Chelsea had been acquainted for much longer than this negotiation had taken.

  No way. Josh tested right back. “What are you waiting for?”

  Mendelson’s gaze turned curious, as if he weighed Josh’s reaction. “Then you would not mind?”

  That hit too close to be fishing. Josh could count on two fingers the number of people who knew about his non-business relationship with Chelsea. Him and her. Period. “Me? Why would I give a shit?”

  “Perhaps I was wrong to believe you placed a high value on her. Either way, I will miss her, perhaps almost as much as you will, but for different reasons.”

  Noises in the hallway, like someone banging into the walls, turned Josh around.

  The second bodyguard stepped into the room with Chelsea in his grasp. Blood ran down her arm and she struggled against a man who outweighed her by a hundred pounds.

  She’d gotten in her fair share of licks, based on the guard’s broken nose, bleeding temple and torn clothes.

  Josh didn’t know how it had happened, but they’d both been made.

  Chapter 2

  Screw this. Nothing to lose now. Josh lunged for the bodyguard with a stranglehold around Chelsea’s neck.

  Mendelson’s other guard standing by swung the butt of his weapon and cracked the side of Josh’s head with the sharp metal stock.

  Stars scattered through his vision. Stumbling sideways, Josh spun around and kicked the guard’s chin, crushing jawbone with a satisfying crunch, and knocking him out cold. He snatched the MP7 away before the bodyguard hit the floor, whipping the sling off of the man’s limp arm.

  As Josh gained control of the weapon, Mendelson sighed loudly. “Put the weapon down, Mr. Taylor, or I’ll order her death.”

  Chelsea shouted at Josh. “Kill them!”

  The brute shoved the muzzle of his Ruger P90 semi-auto pistol against her throat. “Shut up.”

  Chelsea’s gaze met Josh’s, holding long enough for him to see the doubt that they’d walk out of here alive. But she didn’t know he had a team coming. She only knew what he’d told her to make this exchange happen.

  “Go ahead and shoot or put the weapon down,” Mendelson suggested. “Either way, we have a bit of a wait.”

  Lunging against the guard’s tight hold, Chelsea shook her head at Josh to not give up the weapon, but he dropped it on the rug and turned to Mendelson. He warned in a cold voice, “You don’t want to double cross me.”

  “Under different circumstances, I might agree, but I feel it necessary to inform you that a cellular jammer has now been activated for this area.”

  The change in topic cut through the haze of fury threatening to steal the last of Josh’s control. “And why would that matter?”

  “You will not be able to reach your team even if you could get your hands on a phone.”

  Mendelson knew about Josh’s team?

  Not possible. Only a select group of individuals were aware that Sabrina’s team even existed and those were the ones with whom she contracted missions. National security for the United States and similar departments in countries aligned with the US.

  International alphabet spook groups.

  Chelsea couldn’t have burned him and wouldn’t have, even if nothing personal existed between them. She had no motive, and knew Josh would use his resources to protect her grandmother. He had a team on site right now, moving the elderly woman out of Dublin, to a quiet country house with round-the-clock care. He just hadn’t had a chance to tell Chelsea.

  Had Sabrina and the team been burned, too?

  How much did Mendelson know?

  None of those answers will get us out of here right now.

  His number one priority? Warn Sabrina that the mission was an ambush.

  “Might as well make yourself comfortable, Mr. Taylor,” Mendelson said in a congenial tone.

  A new guard ducked his head and stepped inside the already-crowded space.

  Huge didn’t begin to describe this behemoth.

  Nothing about his dark eyes, black unkempt beard and oily brown hair appeared German. Maybe South African, and the MP7 he carried looked like a toy in his hands. Clearly, Mendelson supplied his expensive help with equally pricey weaponry.

  Josh shoved everything aside while he focused on first sending a message to his team before they inserted and, next, getting himself and Chelsea out of here. But his mind seemed determined to plague him with more questions. Why hadn’t Mendelson killed both of them yet? Why hadn’t Mendelson waited on the weapons before showing his hand? Josh needed more information. “You trade humans for commodities. How can I be of more value than by making a trade for your captive?”

  “Oh, but I did trade for Mr. Rikker.”

  He knows Rikker’s real name. Not good. How could Josh use that to his advantage? He feigned surprise. “Rikker? That’s not the name I was given. I think we’ve both been played. If that’s the case, I’ll make a deal for the weapons between the two of us, but the transport won’t arrive until I call a second time.”

  Mendelson’s eyes creased with humor. “Let’s end this charade, Joshua Carrington. There is no transport and no weapons. You and your Slye team are what I received in trade for Rikker. He is being delivered to the higher bidder as we speak.” Mendelson smiled with genuine pleasure.

  The last trace of Josh’s hope sucked away faster than water down a bottomless hole when he heard Mendelson use Carrington, Josh’s legal name. How had Mendelson gotten that? Terror ripped through him at the level of betrayal it took for this to be happening. Something about Mendelson’s calm demeanor poked its way into his thoughts. “Why aren’t you upset about losing the weapons?”

  “Because I don’t need them. I allowed my first shipment of weapons to be taken and they are being replaced. I made a more advantageous deal for the CIA agent.”

  What the fuck?

  Mendelson continued, “As for a truly valuable trade, Sabrina Slye is wanted by many people.”

  Who had screwed Sabrina? Josh forced himself to sound detached. “Well, he
ll, as long as I’m dead, at least tell me who sold me out.”

  “You’re of no use to me dead. I will get much information from you and your team before I put each of you on the auction block. As to the person who set this up—I will only share that it was CIA.”

  Mendelson was wrong on one point.

  Josh would likely die and very soon, because he would not stand by and let this unfold without a fight. He chuckled with dark humor, as if he’d always expected to be betrayed at some point, and muttered, “Should have expected that out of those bastards.”

  That drew a gloating smile from Mendelson so Josh asked, “Mind if I get comfortable while we wait?”

  “By all means.”

  Taking off his jacket, Josh kept an eye on Chelsea in his peripheral vision. She’d stopped struggling, her eyes tracking every move he made, listening intently to how they’d both been screwed by his people. Not my people anymore. He jerked his bowtie loose and unfastened the first two buttons of his shirt. When he removed the cufflinks that only his team knew about, he put both metal clips in one hand and rolled them around together as though he played with a pair of dice.

  Doing that for longer than ten seconds caused the signal to screech in Dingo’s receiver, and deactivated the tracking unit embedded in the cufflinks.

  Breaking the connection was code for FUBAR, or get the hell out of here now.

  He walked over to the tall bookshelf and leaned against it, ticking off seconds in his mind, hoping ten minutes would pass with no sound.

  But eight minutes later the first explosion rocked the house, not surprising him in the least. His team was here.

  Josh, Sabrina and Dingo had never left each other as kids and wouldn’t now, but he’d tried his best to warn them off.

  Mendelson shoved to his feet. Surprise burst across his face. Gunfire rattled outside the house. Windows shattered downstairs.

  One of the guards snatched his radio and spoke in rapid German, but Josh easily translated the demand to know what was happening.