He’d laugh if the memory of his lost youth didn’t make him feel so murderous.
He hadn’t wanted to breach The Loggerhead this way, but everything was spinning out of control. That stupid P.I. raising suspicions. Martisha panicking. That big friend of Shee’s showing up...
No surprise there.
Once a whore, always a whore.
But it had been the stranger in the woods that forced his hand.
Who was that guy?
He’d hesitated to kill the stranger, thinking he might be part of his own team arriving early.
That knife-throwing trash had noticed.
Hopefully, that guy was the reason the hotel had gone dark. There was no reason for them to suspect him yet.
Scotty pulled his work shirt on over his Kevlar. He still had the element of surprise, but he might not have it much longer. Not if they took a good look at Beatriz.
Scotty rubbed his eyes.
His plan was to have his team enter the hotel and take Shee. He had a house rented and waiting out by Lake Okeechobee.
Remote.
It excited him just thinking about the fun they’d have there.
He’d done everything right. Though, he thought Shee would come running as soon as she heard about her father. Dead father had been the original plan, but dying father worked just as well. It just meant more work for Martisha, keeping him quiet.
Who knew Shee hadn’t been keeping touch with the hotel? He and Martisha had tried to get her tough old man to reveal her location. Torturing a doped-up ex-soldier without leaving marks in the middle of the night in a hotel full of people hadn’t been easy.
He’d almost given up hope when Shee arrived.
Then, somehow, everything had gotten worse.
Time to right the ship.
“Ready, sir?” asked the oldest team member. Traynor. Maybe thirty-two years old. He spoke the best English by far.
Scotty nodded. “Call me Alpha Leader.”
Traynor nodded once. “Okay.”
He sniffed. “Okay, team, we’re going in. Everyone is expendable except Siofra McQueen. You all remember what she looks like?”
They nodded in unison.
“Give me an affirmative, Alpha Leader.”
“Yes, Alpha Leader,” they chimed. Scotty chalked their lackluster voices to stealth.
“Good.” He pointed at the youngest face. “You stay here with the boat—”
Something snapped in the forest and all heads turned. They froze, listening.
Nothing else moved.
Animal. Maybe.
Scotty pointed at the next soldier and lowered his voice another notch. “You—make a sweep of the woods and then come meet us at the hotel. The rest of you, with me. We’re going in the back.”
He put out a hand.
“Team, on three.”
They piled their paws on top of his.
“One, two, three—team!” They quietly chanted the final word with him.
With a final glance into the woods, Scotty used two fingers, his index and middle, to point to the hotel and jogged his team toward the back entrance.
“Stay in formation behind me,” he said over his shoulder.
He had trouble wiping the smile from his face.
“Ready or not, Shee, here I come.”
&&&
Chapter Fifty-Two
Mason dashed toward the water, wobbled and clipped a tree with his shoulder. He’d almost forgotten about his prosthetic. He grunted and put a Florida pine trunk between himself and the soldier at the water’s edge.
Dammit.
So much for sneaking up like a SEAL. His attack needed more brain, less leg.
His stump throbbed. On the road with Archie, he’d ended his evenings early. By six p.m. they’d be holed up in a hotel, sharing take out. He’d remove his cup and sock and let his residual limb rest.
But this day refused to end.
He peered around the tree. The soldier wore black, his frame bulked by body armor.
Never a good sign when people show up at your door in body armor.
Average height, average size. Not terribly good at his job if the sound of Mason slamming himself into a pine didn’t catch his attention.
The soldier stared at The Loggerhead, his hands resting on the automatic rifle hanging around his neck, as Mason started his crawl forward again. It frustrated him to move so slowly. Old, one-hundred-percent-intact Mason could have sprinted, could have been on the scout in seconds. Nullified him. Moved to the next battle.
The battle about to erupt inside the Inn.
He needed to get to Shee and the others. Even if the hotel was staffed with retired military like Shee had said, they weren’t prepared for an armed squad of—
A twig cracked beneath Mason’s metal foot.
Shit.
He threw his back against a tree. He heard footsteps heading his way.
Here we go.
Crouching as best he could, Mason came out low and fired, aiming for center mass. He hit his target in the chest. A spray of bullets hit the trees above Mason’s head as the man fell back. The soldier’s butt hit the ground as Mason moved forward, gun raised.
“Stay down,” he said.
The young man lay on his back, struggling to breathe, fumbling with his rifle. Mason guessed him to be in his early twenties. The blow to the boy’s chest armor had knocked the wind out of him, and by the look of his panicked reaction, he hadn’t been shot before.
Mason jerked the rifle off the boy, tossing it into the trees for later. An automatic weapon might come in handy. He plucked the kid’s sidearm out of his holster and tossed it into the river.
“What are you doing here? What’s the plan?” he demanded.
The boy stared at him, his hand on his chest over what Mason guessed was a nasty bruise.
“How many of you are there?”
“Дівчині. Нас десять.”
Mason scowled. The kid didn’t speak English. Ukrainian?
Mason kicked his foot. “Speak English.”
“No English.”
Great. If
