Whispered Lies

As they backed away from the helicopter, the pilot peeled black vinyl off the tail section that had covered the aircraft registration numbers. Carlos kept his arm around her waist and guided them both to the closest doorway.

Gabrielle wanted to assure him she was ready to fight with him. She kept her voice low. “I’m okay. I can do this.”

“Open the door,” Turga ordered.

Carlos squeezed her waist in reply and gave her a look of admiration that warmed her. He released her to extend his hand and turn the knob, then held the door for her to enter. She stepped out of his grasp and walked boldly through the doorway.

The first thing that hit her was an overpowering metallic smell that gagged her.

The second was the image of a bloody body hanging thirty yards away against a wall.

Her knees buckled.

FIVE

CARLOS CAUGHT GABRIELLE-if that really was her name-under her arms before she sank to the floor.

He’d found Lee.

Gabrielle was making those gut-wrenching noises.

She’d been doing so good, holding up far better than he’d have expected from any civilian. He turned her to face him and held her against his chest. “Breathe through your mouth.”

Carlos felt the cold barrel of his own 9 mm poke his neck.

“Keep moving,” Turga said.

Carlos held her arm as she stepped along with him, slowly, not a drop of color in her face. “Don’t look at him,” he told her, wishing he could vanish the image of Lee strapped to the wall spread eagle.

Lee’s head rolled to one side. He was alive.

Classic Turga location. This would be one of no less than three spots in the area his men would have scouted out for this night.

His men must have found Lee with Baby Face while Carlos had been out in the lake with Gabrielle and assumed Lee had shot Baby Face and knew what the electronics felon was after.

At least Turga and his men weren’t a professional snatch team that would have known to cover his and Gabrielle’s heads with pillowcases, then separate them. Turga was the equivalent of a vulture and he hired bottom-feeders.

Carlos had met him a few months ago when Turga tried to hire Carlos for an operation he declined. If he’d accepted the first time, Turga would have been suspicious, so Carlos had expected a second meeting. Just not this way.

When the chopper pilot entered the building, Turga waved his weapon, indicating a spot where he wanted Carlos and Gabrielle, over to the side. Once Turga was satisfied with their position, he spoke quietly to his pilot.

Carlos averted Gabrielle’s gaze from Lee’s naked body, covered in lean muscle and bloody gashes. His face had already swollen to a hideous shape.

Tattoos scrolling across his shoulder and down one arm explained why Joe had taken him in. BAD didn’t recruit from colleges like the CIA and the FBI.

BAD would be more likely to hold a job fair at a prison.

Joe had drawn Carlos in from the street by offering him a chance to legally use his skills at things like breaking and entering. BAD needed an expert on South America, someone who could move around the country undetected.

One thing about Joe, he had timing down to an art. Having refused to choose a gang in San Francisco, Carlos had been living on borrowed time since he poached on all territories back then.

But Lee had clearly taken a different path.

Lee’s inked designs belonged to a Chicago gang known as the Firing Squad, which dealt in interstate drug trafficking, car thefts, shakedowns, and money laundering. A tight group no one undercover had been able to break into.

To become a member, a man had to pass only three tests.

One was to be under the age of twenty.

The second was to be vouched for by a member with five or more years in the gang.

The final and defining test determined if he could kill to survive. The gang pledge had to challenge a member of a rival gang to kill or be killed in thirty days. Sort of the street version of international athletic competition, but in this one the gold chain went to the last one breathing.

The losing opponent won a one-way ticket to hell.

Once the challenge was made, Lee would have had to remain inside the city limits and keep a visible profile for a month with no support.

If he lived, he was in.

The chances of survival were so small it was laughable.

But Lee had made it or he wouldn’t have the ink, because no tattoo artist was stupid enough to ink a gang design without authorization.

But Lee must have turned the corner somewhere. Joe had seen something decent in the kid to bring him into BAD.

Maybe the same thing that had caused Joe to prevent Carlos from going to prison and give him a chance no one else would.

Dammit, Lee couldn’t be over twenty-five.

Why did that seem so young when Carlos was only thirty-three?

Because he’d lived a hard thirty-three years.

Someone moved into view close to Lee. Just as Carlos had suspected, Turga had backup inside the building. Bald, not quite six feet tall, another stocky, dark-ski

This guy had tortured Lee.

He would die first.

Carlos glanced around for a place to put Gabrielle so he would have his hands free. The only chairs were next to a table beside where Lee hung. Carlos wasn’t letting Gabrielle anywhere near that animal who had tortured the BAD agent.

What had Lee given up?

Carlos would know soon enough.

“Sit over here.” He moved Gabrielle to a crate and she followed without a word. If she went deep into shock where she wouldn’t respond, getting her out of here unharmed would be tough if he got a break.

He’d deal with that when the time came.

If the time came.

Deep voices murmured behind him. Carlos had to find out what Turga wanted and determine what, if anything, he could negotiate. But he couldn’t leave Gabrielle yet.

He cupped her face with both hands, forcing her to look up at him. Violet-blue eyes stared back with the full force of her terror. But he’d expected a glazed look, so that was promising.

Before he could say another word, a howl of pain from where Lee hung clawed the air.

Carlos clenched his jaw.

Gabrielle jerked. Her face changed from pale to a sick green, but she was holding up damn good for a woman obviously not trained for this. He’d seen men in similar situations completely shut down by now.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Carlos instructed her, then waited on her nod before he turned around. The pilot was gone.

“Why was he with you, Carlos?” Turga asked, indicating Lee. “You share your dates?” Mockery dripped from his tongue.

“Just hired some muscle to watch my back while I stopped in to see her. We were on our way to a job. I caught Baby Face at Gabrielle’s house looking for me. If you’d have waited five minutes, I’d have been back around the house. This”-Carlos pointed at Lee’s battered body-“wouldn’t have been necessary.”

Turga merely smiled. “You paid this kid to back you up? You insult me.” He scowled and turned to his torturer. “What you find out, Izmir?”

“This one claims the same thing.” Izmir shrugged. “Said he made some quick cash to help. Hired to watch the woman’s house. Took some work, but he did give me Carlos’s name.”

Carlos would not fault Lee for that. In fact, he commended him on keeping the story straight and only using a first name. This way they were corroborating each other’s story.

Turga jerked his head in a sign for Izmir to come to him. When Izmir reached Turga, they spoke quietly.

Turga was a poacher, an opportunist who waited for someone like Baby Face to make a deal and do all the work before Turga showed up at the last minute to snatch the prize out from under everyone. His success depended on timing. Right about now, he was trying to figure out if he’d made a mistake by jumping too soon before he found out what Baby Face was after.