Page 95 of Stolen Rival
He doesn’t even give me a second to answer. “No, me neither. The smart play would be to put you out of your misery.” He cups my chin, skimming his thumb over my still throbbing cheek. “It’s too bad such a pretty face is such a massive fucking liability.”
“Then why would he even bother giving you what you want at all? If he doesn’t want me, or need me… why would he trade something so important to his business for me?”
“I guess we’ll find out. He has…” He checks his watch. “Twenty hours to go before I…” He drags his thumb across the front of his throat.
My blood runs cold. From the look on his face, it’s a win either way for him. Either he gets to kill me, or he gets his dream of taking over for his dead mentor.
I rack my brain for something smart to say back to him, a put-down to wipe that permanently placed smirk off his face. But I come up empty.
“Tick tock, Princess Mahoney. Time’s running out.”
Chapter 45
PATRICK
A mileout from the decrepit farmhouse abandoned years ago when old man Murphy died, my driver pulls us over to the side of the road. Behind me, several others do the same. Overkill? Maybe, but I’m taking no chances when it comes to my wife’s safety.
I climb out of the car and train my binoculars down the valley. As I expected, the farmhouse is in darkness, and there’s no sign of Sorcha’s Saab. Andrew will have stashed it out of sight in one of the barns maybe. There’s a red dot blinking on the tracker app, which tells me it’s here somewhere.
He’ll have Sorcha in the house, especially as both barns and the old outhouse are open to the elements. My guess is he’s keeping her in an upstairs room. That way, he’ll hear us coming and have a chance to gain the upper hand.
Or so he thinks.
What he fails to understand is that my brothers and I lived not far from here when we were kids, only moving to our current house after our parents died. We used to play here allthe time. I know every inch of this farmhouse as well as I know my own property.
I slide my night vision goggles into place, and beckoning to the team, we begin the journey down the hill, keeping low in case Andrew is looking out of the window. We come at the house from the rear, and as the team gathers by the old cellar door that leads into the basement, I bring my finger to my lips. Cocking my ears, I listen.
Silence.
The hinges on the cellar door have rusted away to virtually nothing, allowing me to open it without making a sound. I draw my weapon and take the safety off. It makes a quiet click. Holding my breath, I peer inside. A rat scuttles off, looking for another hiding place. Can’t say I blame him. It must be years since anyone came down here. Maybe me and my brothers were the last ones.
Brushing aside cobwebs, I pick my way down the concrete steps. Dank air crawls up my nostrils, the smell of decay and neglect a distinct scent of its own. Once the entire team has joined me, I head for the set of stairs on the far side of the cellar that leads directly into the kitchen. From there, I can slip through the pantry to where an internal set of stairs leads to the upper floors.
I’m almost certain Andrew won’t know about the additional staircase. It’s hardly like he’ll have bothered to explore the place. My guess is he took Sorcha, brought her straight here, and hauled her upstairs as a precaution against the unlikely event that I located them. Now, he’s simply waiting for me to call him to tell him Dylan’s business interests are now in his name.
Not a fuckingchance.
Taking a breath, I slowly turn the doorknob at the top of the stairs, my finger on the trigger.Don’t creak.A higher power is on my side, because the door opens without making a sound. The kitchen is empty, the cupboards hanging off their hinges, the old stainless-steel sink held together by rust and luck.
The pantry door is half open. Good. One less thing to worry about. I don’t need to look behind me to know the team is right there, following in my footsteps. The great thing about this staircase is it’s made of concrete, too. No creaking floorboards to worry about.
At the top of the stairs, there’s another door that I know leads to the landing. Right opposite is what was the primary bedroom, and I’m taking a punt that’s where he’s got Sorcha. From what I can recall, the floorboards in most of the other bedrooms had rotted away, and that was years ago. They were probably non-existent now.
Could luck be on my side once more? I turn the doorknob. Silence. I glance to the heavens.I owe you one.
The old carpet is threadbare, but with any luck, it will mask the sound enough for us to get into position. I motion to my right and then to my left. The team moves like the well-practiced group that we are, stealthily bracketing me on either side.
There’s a slight gap underneath the door, as there often is with these older properties. My own property has similar gaps beneath the doors. I reholster my gun and crouch, then brace both hands on the floor and peer underneath. From this angle, I don’t get a wide view, but I see enough.
A pair of feet, too small to be Andrew’s.
White-hot rage sears my blood. It isn’t enough to kill him. Iwant to torture him, to drag his death out for days, like he threatened to do to Sorcha. I tilt my head to a different angle. I can’t see Andrew, but he’s in there somewhere. I search my memories. From what I can recall, the primary bedroom is about twenty feet square and has a large window directly opposite the door, but the problem is the door is in the center of the room, meaning Andrew could be to the left or to the right.
I get to my feet and grab my weapon. We’re going to have to go in blind. Now I know she’s there, the urge to get to her quickly, to wrap her in my arms, and tell her she’s safe, overwhelms me.
But what if he’s got her wired up? What if by opening that door, I set a chain of events in motion that can’t be undone?
What choice do I have?
