Page 93 of Sinful Beauty

He lifts a gun from the holster at his waist. A gun. I’ve spent almost my entire life in Europe and don’t recall coming into close contact with one until today. I stifle my fear and concentrate on descending the stairs as quickly as possible. None of this makes sense, but it’s time to trust Tristan.

Chapter34

Tristan

At the base of the stairs, Ryan meets us. Two of his men are positioned at different ground-floor windows, on watch.

“She wasn’t alone.” Ryan says. “We found an older man who appears to be a caretaker in a small building off the property. He appears to live here. No weapons, but he mentioned he was preparing a meal for the guest at the house.”

“He used the word guest?”

“Could be a translation issue, could be his planned defense, but yes, he used that word.”

“What’d you do with him?”

“Left him with Noah. Didn’t want the old man sending out a warning to anyone. Physically, the man’s not a threat.”

If I’ve learned anything in fighting international crime for nearly two decades, it’s that anyone can be dangerous, regardless of build, age or gender. Evil is indiscriminate.

“I’m taking her to the cellar. I’ll be back with you in a minute.”

“I can hold a gun,” Lucia says, but I don’t slow down. Like hell she’s going to take part in a gunfight.

In my ear, Ryan says, “Three minutes out.”

“Have you ever shot a gun?” Her answer doesn’t matter. But I’m almost positive her answer will win my argument. Her lack of response provides the answer.

I scan the cellar one more time. It’s a dank room with stone slabs as walls and a couple of wine barrels and crates of wine bottles. Dust coats the barrels and bottles, but the floor is relatively clean. The stone walls are the best kind of barrier should bullets start flying.

“I’ll come back and get you.” The door is wooden. “Stay in the corner, nowhere near the door. Lock it behind me. Understand?”

“Where are you going? Who’s out there?”

“I’m not sure, but we’re about to find out. With luck, our presence will be a surprise. We’ll catch them off guard, and this will be over without shots being fired. But from what I know about these people, that’s unlikely. So stay here.”

Her pupils are black orbs, filled with fear. Her hair is wild and unkempt and her skin pale beneath the dim glow of the electrical bulb dangling in the center of the room. Warmth suffuses my body, and relief that she’s indeed okay, that they didn’t torture her or worse. I smash my lips against hers, needing the connection, needing to breathe her in, to feel her. I found her.

“They’re slowing. On the last bend. One minute out.” Ryan in my ear reminds me we aren’t out of the woods yet.

“Lock the door behind me.”

She presses the tips of her fingers to her lips and calls out, “Be careful.”

The lock clicks as my foot hits the first step. I charge forward, knowing I need to get in place if I’m going to take the lead. I like the Arrow team. But they’re well-trained and won’t hesitate to run point if I’m not there to take command.

Headlights come into view, lighting up the break in the forest and the broad open field in front of us. All the lights are out in the house. It’s a sit and wait game. The Arrow men each wear night vision goggles, but headlights would blind them, so the goggles are pushed up on their foreheads. I’ve got a pair strapped to my vest.

One by one, the SUVs roll into the field. The tinted glass prevents us from getting a view of who is arriving. The headlights mar the view of the driver. I’m peering through a window, standing to the side. Three of us are down here. One is in the tower, and one is on the second floor, available to play the role of sniper if needed.

Two matching Range Rovers pull to a stop. Based on the slow single file line, it appears they are not expecting an ambush. Good.

The first driver exits the automobile. The headlights from the other vehicles light his figure. He’s wearing a hunter’s coat, brown jodhpurs and boots. He opens the back door and my breath halts.

The blonde woman exiting the vehicle, removing her gloves, and looking up expectantly at the top window is a woman I know well.

What the hell is she doing here?

“Hold your fire.” It’s the first thing that comes to mind, and even as I say it, I know it’s an uncalled for statement. These men will not shoot unless provoked. “I know her. I’ll go talk to her.”

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