No One Left To Tell

Father Antonio, she hunkered next to a stockade wall. She recognized the flash bang detonations from her training with tactical.

Even through all the chaos, a tinge of hope survived.

The men of Logan McBride were falling one at a time. It had to be good news.

Father Antonio gripped her hand, his palms damp. An occasional whisper escaped his lips, but despite her rules about not talking, she let him be. His prayers were welcome.

Raven cursed the never-ending emptiness. She closed her eyes, resting her head against the barricade. Her thoughts turned to the rhythm of the priest's prayers, finding comfort in the act. And she joined him, a tear of acceptance rolling down her cheek.

But the quiet didn't last.

A faint scratching to her right. The sound gripped her, conjuring a revolting image in her mind.

A frenzied screech. The irregular patter of small feet scurried toward her. With all the commotion, the rat population had been disturbed. She heard it coming. More than one hairy rodent headed by her. Raven gasped, unable to avoid a reaction. Not wanting to make a sound, she closed her eyes tight. She hugged her arms around herself and drew her knees to her chest.

'Holy mother of—' Apparently, Father Antonio had no great fondness for God's lowly creature. Slowly, Raven forced herself to move, raising a hand to the lips of the priest to silently warn him to be quiet.

Repulsed by the filthy vermin, Raven trembled. Beads of sweat layered her body and dampened her clothes, a contradiction to the chill in the air. Her stomach wrenched with nausea. A rat bumped her hip. The nails of its feet scraped her pant leg as it started to climb.

Her skin prickled, an unforgettable chill. She jabbed an elbow and shoved the damned thing, its weight branding her memory.

But as the creature slithered away, she instinctively turned the other way. A new presence fueled her panic, looming overhead. And without the benefit of her eyesight, fear overwhelmed her. She scooted against the wall. Her arm clutched Father Antonio.

Someone stood above them. She felt it.

Gritting her teeth, she steadied herself for a fight. She pictured Logan McBride—gray dead eyes. The feel of his fingernail skimmed the surface of her skin, sending the chill of revulsion down her spine.

She'd been in the dark far too long. The deprivation and the strain played tricks on her mind. Cruel images jutted from memory like a drug-induced hallucination, a torturous strobe effect. Gruesome images of past murder cases flickered before her. The glazed eyes of the dead hurled out of the shadows until—

Mickey Blair's death grimace.

In her mind, she pictured him still hanging on the cross. His head slanted in grisly detail, exposing a gash so deep it nearly severed his head. The image spawned a waking nightmare. The dead man's face warped into her own reflection, her throat slashed. The smell of blood threatened to smother her. Dazed and numb, she blocked out the horror until a hand grabbed her, hoisting her up by the hair. Her scalp throbbed in pain. From the sound of it, Father Antonio fought alongside her.

In shock, she cried out. 'Damn it! Let go.'

Even with the blackness around her, she knew who held her firm, yanking her up with little effort. Only one man possessed hatred that ran so deep.

'In the end, I promised it would be you and me, sweet meat.' His raspy whisper taunted her. 'I told you my voice would be the last thing you hear. I just hope your daddy is watching.'

The man yanked her to his chest. His stench filled her nostrils. She knew it was only a matter of time. Who would investigate her murder—stare into her glazed eyes? Despite the hopelessness of her situation, Raven would not give in to death. She pitched and rocked her body, straining to free her arms.

Then the weight of cold steel pressed against her temple—killing any hope for escape. She would die at the hand of Logan McBride. It had come to this.

CHAPTER 17

Once again, McBride had her bound and gagged with duct tape. She and the priest were hauled to the center of the maze by two of his men. Their deaths would be made a spectacle. She wanted to scream at the injustice.

But why had they restrained her again? Raven thought back to the Blair case. The man had no evidence of tape on his body. This didn't make sense.

She heard McBride's voice through the dark, a fleeting sound, giving instructions to his two mercenaries. '. .. stay hidden . . . gonna draw him out.'

She could make out only fragments of his words. She tried to eavesdrop on the huddled men, their voices too low to hear. Then his demented disciples scurried off into the darkest crevices, like roaches running for cover. But from the sounds of it, his men didn't stray far. Whatever was about to happen would take place center stage.

It was obvious. A trap had been set.

With the men gone, Logan knelt by her side, pulling up the night-vision gear to rest on his forehead. The intimacy of his cruel whisper sent a shiver across her skin.

'Let's put out a little cheese for our rat, give him the proper motivation.'

Whom were they going to ambush? Raven didn't like the sound of this conspiracy. She held her breath, gathering courage for what would follow. Suddenly, a beam of light flickered into her eyes, blinding her. After she'd been in the dark for so long, the brightness shot through her brain like needles. She squinted and turned to shield her eyes. McBride yanked her head back and held his gun to her temple. The loudness of his voice took her by surprise.

'You wanted to play. I got a game for you,' he shouted into the void. His insanity pierced her eardrums. 'Show yourself. Or I splatter gray matter dead center. Your choice.'

Whom was he talking to? Raven wondered. The man had finally lost it. With a sideways glance, she shot a questioning look to the priest. Father Antonio stared into the darkness, his eyes a mix of fear and hope. She followed his lead, searching the gloom.

One voice broke the stalemate. A man lingered beyond the narrow circle of light. McBride strafed the emptiness with his flashlight.

'Let her and the priest go and I'll stay. Just you and me.'

The breath caught in her throat. She swallowed hard. It was Christian.

How did he—? It didn't matter. The sound of his voice filled her with expectation for only an instant. Then reality hit. Christian would walk into McBride's trap, putting himself at risk. And she could do nothing to stop it. Now they'd all die together.

She couldn't contain her raw emotion. Raven screamed through the gag, shaking her head, trying to warn him.

Logan laughed at her feeble attempt, an insulting cackle. 'You got nothing to bargain with, my friend. I'm holding a royal flush, ace high. All you got is a pair of twos.' Logan set his flashlight onto a burlap sack, shining the beam into the shadows. He jerked her head back hard. Sweat trailed down her cheek as he jammed the gun under her chin. 'Come out so I can see you. No weapons, hands up.'

Slowly, Christian stood, squinting into the light with his hands raised. He carefully shrugged out of his coat, then held out his knife in surrender.

'Toss the knife over the wall. Then turn around, real slow.'

The knife clattered on the cement floor outside the labyrinth wall. And with a slow turn, to show he carried no other weapons, Christian kept his eyes on McBride. Yet as he stepped closer, Raven detected something else—a fierce determination. She'd seen it the first day they met when he surfaced from the war room.

The predator had emerged.

Given McBride's ego, she suspected the man believed he had everything under control. And she conceded the odds were stacked in his favor. But Raven wouldn't count Delacorte out. If she were a betting girl, her money would be on Christian.

And she hoped Logan McBride would soon find out why.