And to up the ante, Father Antonio's life hangs in the balance, too.'
'What's the objective?' she asked, stalling to better assess her options. The priest's hands and feet were unbound. If they were going to play a game, would she be cut loose?
'Oh, it's very simple. The objective is to stay alive.'
McBride enjoyed his role as the demented master of ceremonies. And the men in the room laughed. The low rumble ridiculed her predicament and told her what these men thought of her chances. With these odds, even she wouldn't take the bet.
'You see, there is only one way out of this building. If you get by my men, and find your way to freedom, you live.'
Backlit, his face was in the shadows. But she visualized his pompous grin as he shrugged and gestured his decree.
But McBride wasn't done spouting his rules for survival. 'I'm presuming, of course, that you'll take the good Father with you, not just leave him to my wolves. But that's your choice. Tell you what—extra bonus points if you escape with your guardian angel in tow. How's that?'
'And what do I get for taking you out?' She narrowed her eyes and searched for his in the murkiness.
'Oh, I want you to find me, darlin'. That's endgame— the center of the maze.' His words raised the hair on her neck. 'In the end, it's just gonna be you and me. I'm gonna be the last thing you hear.'
His voice echoed through the room like the hiss of a snake. He slid a finger down the length of her cheek, his fingernail nearly breaking the skin.
'And my hands will take liberties with your body. But you won't care. 'Cause you'll be sucking down your own blood, drowning in it. Makes me hard just thinking about it.'
The SOB had just dropped the temp in the room by twenty degrees. Her body trembled with the chill, her back against the cement.
McBride stood, staring down at her. 'See you on the other side of this door. I'm sure Father Antonio can help remove your restraints. Once you cross the threshold, the game begins. There's no going back.'
His men headed for the doorway. But McBride turned once more, finding her in the gloom. 'Don't keep me waiting.'
'McBride,' she called out. As he turned, the flashlight cast an eerie glow onto his stern face. 'Riddle me this, Batman. Why did you kill Mickey Blair? That was your handiwork, wasn't it?' The cop in her ignored the danger, wanting only his confession.
He laughed, the sound echoing through the room. 'You are one stubborn bitch, Mackenzie. What the hell . . . Yes. I killed that arrogant SOB Blair. Was rather proud of that job. And as for the reason? Let's just call it professional courtesy.'
She tensed her jaw, not fully understanding his cryptic comeback. But she wouldn't get another crack at him.
As the door creaked closed, she and Father Antonio were thrown into darkness. Her eyes fought for any image to define the space.
Sound was another matter. The shallow breathing of Father Antonio alerted her. But under his breath, she heard something else. The muffled sound of the priest's voice came from dead ahead. With the dank air sucking into her lungs, Raven crawled along the gritty floor. Drawing closer, she realized the man was praying.
'Father? Talk to me,' she whispered.
'I'm . . . here.' The priest's voice cracked with fear. 'But I can't d-do this.' He'd already given up.
Raven pulled and scrambled her way to a sitting position, shoulder to shoulder with her fellow captive. Despite the nip in the room, sweat trickled down her spine.
'Listen to me, Father. You keep praying to God. Lord knows we could use his help,' she urged. 'But until he comes through, you gotta get this tape off me. You and I have some planning to do.'
He stopped his prayer, but the man didn't move. She had to find another way to sway him. 'I'm not gonna leave you, Father. You understand me?'
Silence.
Eventually, he reached for her, struggling to set her free. Unable to see his face, she had no way to read him. It would be difficult enough to get herself out of this mess. In a fight, the reluctant priest would be an albatross around her neck. But she didn't have a choice. The life of another human being was in her hands. She had to try.
Yet despite being in the company of a holy man, she vowed one thing. If this was her time to die, she'd take Logan McBride with her!
CHAPTER 16
Christian crept along the brick wall of the deserted warehouse, eyes alert. He hadn't found his SUV yet, but Bill Edwards and the GPS readings had led him to this place. And with his latest discovery, he followed a thin trail —
The cleansing storm had left the air crisp in its wake, but in the dying breeze, a scent lingered. And like a predator, he followed. Although deep shadows deceived his eyes, he relied more on his other senses to guide him.
Christian had mastered the technique, the sensation arousing him. He never felt so alive as when he hunted. And his skill held another side benefit. Putting all his efforts into the chase, he forgot his fear of the dark, the weakness that defined him.
But in his war room skirmishes at the Dunhill Estate, no one died. Tonight would be different.
Up ahead, a faint red glow drew his attention, fading in and out at irregular intervals. He crouched low and breathed in the scent, listening for what he knew would follow—the crunch of gravel on asphalt, the scuff of a shoe. Cigarette smoke provided the trail, tinged by the stench imbedded in the clothes of the target. The guard had been careless.
He peered through the darkness, then allowed an inner peace to take root. Eyes closed, he slowed his heart rate to heighten his awareness, feeling the oppressive weight of the stranger displacing air with his pacing. He tasted the man's proximity with the whole of his senses.
Slowly, Christian advanced, his muscles tensed in anticipation. Soon, he'd be close enough to—
A shadow moved to his left.
He dropped to the ground on instinct, flat on his belly. The wet, cold ground seized his skin.
In one fluid motion, the guard was taken out, his body dropped to the ground with only his dying breath to mark his passing. The execution flawless; only the glint of a knife revealed the weapon used in the stealthy kill, caught in the pale light from the moon. The assassin melded into the shadows, as if he were never there.
Who else hunted with him? Did he have an ally or a new enemy?
So intent on his prey, he nearly missed the movement himself. A humbling experience. Now, if he wanted to make contact, how would he do it without getting himself killed? Only one way came to mind. He evaluated his options, the opportunity for cover being minimal. Yet it might work.
Christian tensed his jaw, fortifying his determination. The odds of getting inside and saving Raven worsened with the added wrinkle. He'd have to confront this new adversary. And given the man's skill, his abilities in the dark would be put to the test.
Even inside gloves, her hands felt sticky. The blood soaked through. The kill had its merits, but cleanliness was not one of them. Jasmine cleared the outside perimeter, the last of the guards dispatched without challenge. Now, she would burrow into the darkened warehouse through the passageway she'd found on an earlier scouting trip. Nicholas had released her to hunt McBride.
