The Maze (ATCOM) Page 6

  They were prisoners.

  The walls and floor were pristine white and glossed to a shine, making it feel even more wrong. She glanced at Noah, but his expression was unreadable.

  The leader left them under guard with the other three men and walked down the hall toward the door that opened automatically when he approached. He returned a few minutes later with white robes and told them to strip.

  “I don’t think so,” Attie said.

  An Uzi pressed to her temple.

  “Go ahead, shoot me. I’m not undressing in front of you.”

  “Your wet clothes must stay out here. Your rooms are ready.”

  “Rooms? Just what is this place, because it sure as hell isn’t the Ramada.”

  Her questions went ignored. “Your clothes.”

  One of the white terry cloth robes was shoved at her, another at Noah, who shrugged out of his parka let it drop to the floor. His t-shirt followed.

  She tore her eyes away from the broad expanse of his chest, remembering how taut and smooth his skin had felt beneath her hands, and began undressing, glaring at the men watching her. She had no desire to let them see her nude body. Once out of her parka, she slipped into her robe and proceeded to take off her clothes underneath the barrier. She carefully tucked the knife out of her boot into her sleeve before straightening. She scowled when her red thong fell out of her pants and landed on Noah’s bare foot.

  He cocked an eyebrow and for the first time in her life Attie blushed. She glared at him, daring him to say anything. He didn’t get the chance to.

  “This way.”

  “What about our packs?” Attie asked.

  “You won’t need them.”

  “And our clothes?”

  “You won’t need them either.”

  They were led down the corridor. The door at the end magically opened when they approached. Attie glanced up to see a camera mounted in the corner, tracking their movement.

  Stunned didn’t even begin to explain her reaction when they walked through the door. It was as if they entered a luxurious living room in someone’s home. Open and spacious, with a leather sofa and matching chairs set up in front of an electric fireplace. A tall bookcase occupied one wall and an expensive Persian rug covered the floor. Another door similar to the one they’d just entered sat to the left.

  Attie’s head pounded, her jaw ached and her mind refused to accept any of this. Carlos had built a fortress inside a mountain. That made her very, very nervous.

  “This way. You have two hours before dinner.”

  They walked toward the door, which opened the same as the other. They were in another corridor that resembled the last except for two doors on the right and one at the end. They stopped at the first door, which opened automatically. On remote from a control room by whoever watched through the cameras, Attie guessed.

  “This one is yours, Deason. You’ll find a change of clothes and all the necessary items you need to prepare for dinner. A word of warning: there are no windows, no locks and no way out until we come for you, so don’t waste your time trying to escape.”

  “We’re prisoners,” Attie said.

  “Yes, you are.”

  Noah was ushered into the room. Attie noticed his hesitation as he stepped through the doorway. He sent her a look that warned her to watch her back, just before the door slid closed. Her turn. They walked to the next room and pushed her inside without a word.

  The door closed. Trapped, Attie looked around at the bedroom and adjoining bath. Her stomach plummeted to her feet. Dear God. She was in her suite in South America.

  Everything had been replicated, right down to the nightgown she had been wearing the night she slipped into Seth’s room to pass him a flash drive loaded with intel she’d gathered on Santiago. The night Seth had told her Noah was aborting their mission. The night Santiago walked in…

  Memories crashed in around her. Attie shoved them down and ran to the closet to throw open the doors. Inside were rows of expensive gowns and shoes to match. They were slinky, revealing and useless. Just the way Carlos liked them.

  Clenching her trembling hands into fists, she moved over to the dresser and opened the top drawer. Silk and lace panties. She slammed it closed and jerked the next one open to find the same style bras. The third held negligees. Déjà vu hit her like a wrecking ball and she stumbled back a step, her hand covering her mouth to stifle a sob. Her legs went weak. She managed to walk to the bed before collapsing.

  Carlos had done this, no doubt. As his trophy she’d endured mindless parties in useless clothes that made her feel cheap. Her purpose had always been well-defined: dress up, smile, work the room and do as told. Carlos had made that very clear her first day there. And every day after that, sometimes in ways she shuddered to think about.

  Attie took a deep breath in attempt to pull herself together. For all their sakes, she needed to bury her past and deal with today, because one thing she knew about Carlos was that he hated disloyalty. Whenever one of his people betrayed him, he took it personally and handed out a harsh penalty. She’d seen his forms of punishment and prayed he would save it for her and not Brendan. This was about her, this room confirmed that, but she had no idea what Carlos had in store for her.

  She looked around the room and felt a cold chill snake up her spine. This resembled a place she never wanted to be again.

  She was a prisoner of Carlos Santiago.

  Chapter 6

  “We lost GPS,” Rogan St. Klare informed his boss from where he sat across the desk. “Not because of the remote area. It was something else. Either the marker was found or…hell, I don’t know. It’s like they dropped off the face of the earth. Just…disappeared.”

  Max frowned. Rogan was a techno geek with a surfer’s shag and his signature Hawaiian print shirts. Tonight he had on a bright yellow pineapple print. It boggled Max’s mind how anyone could wear such hideous clothes, but he supposed living on an island had its perks.

  “You have their last location?”

  Rogan cocked a brow and Max waved the ridiculous question away. He didn’t know why he asked. Rogan would know what Noah and Attie had for dinner, he was that good.

  “The team is on standby. We have no communication with Noah now?”

  “Nope, none. Which is damn irritating. I worked hard on that new mic. No matter where they are we should still have communication ability. That mic has a fifty mile range.”

  “Think it was destroyed?”

  Rogan shook his head. “I’d like to see someone try. No, I’m still picking up the device, but it isn’t reading a location. Weird.”

  Max had to agree. “So, we insert where they were last located.”

  Rogan stood, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah, I’d like to do some investigating. Shouldn’t have lost them like that. Who’s leading the team in?”

  “MacKenzie.”

  “Good, I’m on it. We’ll find them.”

  Max waited until the door had closed to lean back in his chair and let out a long breath. He was tense; his muscles felt like coiled springs. Opening the top drawer of his desk, he picked up a small red ball and began squeezing it.

  A light knock sounded on the door just before it opened. His assistant, Sheri, walked in, her mouth set in a firm line. She looked at him, then at his hand and pursed her lips even more. “You’re not helping anyone by burning the midnight oil,” she said. She was a damn fine assistant, if a little too bossy. Sometimes he wondered who really ran his company. “How many times have I told you that thing isn’t going to work?”

  Too many to count. And his stress ball did work. He was feeling better already. Okay, that was a lie.

  “My worry stone is missing,” he said, just to get a rise out of her. He didn’t know why he did it, but seeing the fire in her eyes made him feel better.

  Sheri waved him off. “Worry stone,” she scoffed, closing the door behind her. “Okay, boss man, on the floor. We’re going to relieve your stress the right way. Do
you have your mat?”

  He was too old for this, Max thought, as he put the stress ball back in its drawer and reached beneath his desk for the yoga mat he kept hidden. God help him if any of his agents found out he did yoga.

  Sheri already had hers laid out on the floor and was putting a CD in the player. Soothing, ocean sounds came through the speakers as she lowered herself to her mat.

  Max did the same and after taking off his shoes, waited for her to begin.

  With a serene expression that was far from the true Sheri, she began her instruction and Max followed dolefully along, praying this helped ease his tension over his missing agents.

  * * * *

  Noah dropped a handful of transmitters in the toilet and flushed them. Without a tracking device he couldn’t be sure whether he’d gotten them all or not. Santiago had gone to a lot of trouble to spy on his guests. He also kept them in luxury, which didn’t make any sense at all. They were prisoners being treated like royalty. The closet was full of expensive suits, which were near his size, no doubt tailored for Brendan.

  The whole thing made him uneasy. This place boggled the mind. But, it made sense. Santiago always went to ground when the heat was on. The reason no one could take him down. And now Noah knew why. To Santiago’s credit, this was a brilliant place to hide. Unbelievable, but brilliant.

  With a curse Noah looked around him. Santiago was in control—for now. He didn’t like being out of contact with Attie. He could only assume they’d put her in the next room. She was one woman against four men if they decided to try anything. He knew she could hold her own due to training and skill, but she was heavily outnumbered and the odds were against her.

  Jaw clenched, Noah walked into the bathroom. He hoped to hell Attie was alone in her room. He didn’t like the way those thugs were looking at her while she undressed.

  To help her, he’d need a shower and a short nap. Stripping out of his robe, he stepped into the shower and turned the water on, letting it pound away some of his apprehension. An image of Attie’s red thong flashed through his head, creating a wave of heat that rushed straight to his groin. Lowering his head and bracing a hand on the wall, he smothered a groan and let the hot water pound over the back of his neck and shoulders. Not the time to be thinking about that kiss and Attie in a thong.

  He had more crucial things to think about. Like, just what the hell they had walked into. Santiago had gone to great lengths to carve out the inside of a mountain. Noah doubted his revenge on Attie would know any bounds. Whatever he had planned, Noah would be prepared. And he would complete his mission. Even if it killed him.

  * * * *

  Attie prowled the room. She’d found and flushed all the listening devices she could find, six in all, then soaked in a hot bath with lavender smelling salts that warmed and soothed her aching body. She stayed in long enough to wash her hair, then found her courage and searched the closet for something reasonably decent to wear. Fatigues or jeans were preferable, but she settled for a jade green, scoop neck, silk gown that dipped way too low in the back and left her legs exposed, but she had no other choice. Most of the gowns reminded her of Santiago. Only a couple remained and this was the least revealing. She hated it, but it was either wear the godforsaken thing or go naked.

  She pulled her hair into a tight ponytail and tried not to lose her patience while waiting for someone to come for her. She’d tried the door without success. Trapped. The thought only made her more edgy and restless.

  The last time she’d seen Carlos flooded in like a tidal wave. Him with a knife. A dark room. The sound of rusty hinges as the door opened. The metallic scent of her fear.

  “Get a grip, Devayne,” she chided herself, shaking out her hands to relieve some of the tension, but her memories wouldn’t be shut out. They assaulted her with force, pushing their way in and making her remember…

  It was hotter than usual. The sun beat down on her bare back as she sunbathed on the deck of Carlos’s yacht. He had whisked her off the estate early this morning without explanation and now they were in the Caribbean joy-riding on this luxurious vessel.

  Or so she thought.

  Carlos had a guest they had picked up in Cartagena. A shady-looking fellow despite his designer clothes. Attie lounged in a chair, hands folded under her chin, dark glasses shading her eyes. The gold chain around her neck clung heavily to her damp skin. Although the salty breeze was cool, she was hot and miserable. She wasn’t adjusting to the heavy, oppressive heat of the tropics and longed for the thinner, cleaner air of the mountains.

  Pretending to be asleep, she watched Carlos speak to his guest with a calm, pleasant expression, but Attie knew better. There was nothing pleasant about this man.

  Then he smiled and Attie’s heart stopped. It went against everything she was to pretend to be asleep as Carlos looped a homemade noose around his guest’s neck and, with a nod, had two of his guards toss the man overboard into the churning sea.

  Attie stifled a gasp, fighting to remain still. This wasn’t the first time she’d witnessed Carlos’s cruelties, but it was the first murder. The agent in her wanted to go after the man being towed beside the yacht, but she remained in her chair, knowing that if she did Carlos would kill her too. She couldn’t risk blowing her cover this far into the game. Without backup she would surely lose the battle so she focused on her breathing, said a prayer for the unlucky guest and willed her muscles to relax.

  The murder couldn’t be pinned on him. The body would be shark food, never to be recovered. Clever on Carlos’s part. No evidence. No trail. And a witness without proof.

  Carlos turned to her.

  She stiffened, cursing her reaction and pretending to still be asleep, sighed and tilted her head to the side.

  “Mi amor,” Carlos called out.

  Attie remained motionless.

  “Roll over, before you burn that lovely skin of yours.”

  Attie murmured her thanks and rolled sleepily onto her back, settling quickly into a relaxed position.

  Carlos must have been satisfied with her performance, because he left her alone. Attie wanted to sigh with relief, but due to close observation, refrained. She resisted the urge to touch the necklace resting uncomfortably around her neck. She hated it more than anything Carlos had given her this far. It fed her fear and challenged her restraint on a regular basis…

  Attie’s hand lifted involuntarily to her throat and met nothing but bare skin. She let out a long, sharp breath. No necklace. Thank God. Unwillingly, her shoulders sagged. At one time she’d been ready to dismember her own head in order to get the damn thing off. To this day she wasn’t able to wear a necklace of any kind.

  Her skin tingled in remembrance of the device she’d grown to hate. And fear.

  Realizing what she was doing she jerked her hand away and dropped down to her hands and feet in a push-up position. It was the only way she knew to release the tension she felt. One way or another, she would remove Carlos from her thoughts.

  * * * *

  Noah was waiting when the door slid open. Two armed guards waited for him to step out of the room. When he did, they herded him toward the next door.

  Attie came striding into the hallway, heels clicking on the floor.

  Noah blinked.

  Stunning in a dress as green as her eyes that molded her curves like a second skin and left nothing to the imagination, she was beautiful, confident and sexy. He had never seen Attie dressed like a woman. He’d only seen her at the academy or in the field in combat gear.

  But, something was wrong with this picture. His eyes narrowed slightly. She met his eyes with a look that dared him to comment. He didn’t, but he saw the demons lingering in her eyes, the residual of time gone by and the pain of things she never spoke of.

  The self-confident set of her shoulders betrayed her emotions as they walked toward the door at the end of the hall. He watched the feminine sway of her hips as she walked, as comfortable in heels as she was in combat boots and for a mome
nt he got a glimpse of the woman she’d pretended to be in South America. American beauty. Sexy playmate. No wonder Santiago had issued such cruelty in that prison. Betrayal by a woman like that would cut deep.

  The door slid open. They walked through into an elaborate dining room with a long, polished table stretching the length of the room. The walls were richly decorated in paintings resembling Picasso’s. A chandelier hung over the center of the table providing soft light. Sensational scents filled the air with the promise of a fine meal.

  One man sat in the shadows at the head of the table, another on his left and armed guards all around.

  Noah stood behind Attie, noticing the tense set of her shoulders. This would be the first time he’d met Santiago. He knew him on paper, in video, in theory, but he’d never come face to face with the man. Now that he had him, he wanted to end this for what he’d put her through—what he was still putting her through.

  The man at the head of the table stood and moved into the light. Noah tramped down his carnal desire to kill the bastard right then and there with his bare hands, and faced the enemy.

  He was a patient man. He would wait for the right time.

  That’s what ATCOM had sent him in for.

  * * * *

  Attie felt the blood drain from her face as Carlos stood and made himself known. She’d prepared herself for this moment since Noah brought her the news of Brendan’s disappearance, but seeing him now proved she hadn’t prepared at all. She stood on weak knees, paralyzed, as the one responsible for her nightmares smiled at her.

  Oh, God, that smile. It brought back too many memories.

  Fighting the fist that closed around her throat, she struggled to maintain her composure. An arm brushed against hers. She glanced over to see Noah now stood beside her. He met her gaze with calm strength. Subtle and brief, but enough to alleviate some of her fear. Unlike before, she wasn’t alone in this. The thought brought her comfort she hadn’t expected.