Page 67 of Damned
Chapter Thirty
Kruze lay awake after Bree dozed off, content to hold her. Chance had yet to make contact, a damned concerning development. He should’ve been onsite hours ago. There was no way to warn him about the active shooter prowling the woods, not from inside this stone cave. Not that Chance couldn’t take care of himself; he could. But it didn’t make sense that Vick was even here. If he were gunning for Bree, who else was working with him? It was time to do a little reconnoitering.
Quietly and carefully, Kruze eased away from Bree, then wrapped the blankets around her to keep her warm while he was gone. With practiced ease, he armed himself with the two Glock 17s that went in his holster, plus the extra magazines in his pockets. A subcompact Ruger LCP, slid easily into the holster on his thigh. Next, his eight-inch serrated hunting knife went inside the sheath of his right boot.
Silently, he retrieved his rope and gloves, then tied off one end of the rope at the cave’s opening. Sliding his hands and fingers into the gloves, he grabbed the rope and kicked away from their hiding place. He wouldn’t be gone long.
Since the rope was only a fifty-footer, he dropped down as far as he could, then climbed the rest of the way down. Once on his feet, he backtracked, following the noise of the river at his left and watching for trouble straight ahead. He hadn’t gone far when he heard the distinct trampling of heavy boots and two men’s voices. Ducking behind a stand of young hemlocks, Kruze crouched low in the shadows, straining to hear.
“We bringing her back alive?” one man asked, his voice smooth and cool.
“Yup,” another guy snapped. Kruze guessed that was Damon Vick. “Just her. We’ve got orders to kill everyone who’s with her. Even her kid.”
“Yeah, but…” Mr. Smooth and Cool mumbled, “I’ve never killed a kid before.”
“Shit, Webber! Then you take care of her, and I’ll take care of the kid if she’s with her.”
“She? Banks’ kid’s a little girl?”
“Why’d you take the fuckin’ job if you don’t have the stomach for it?”
“I can handle it.” Webber’s tone turned apologetic, whiny. “I can. Just never killed any kids before. That’s all I’m saying. When’s Lantz joining us?”
“Not sure. Bastard said he’d be here by now.”
Vick’s discontent rattled Kruze. They stopped a few trees away from where he crouched. The sudden pungent drift of tobacco in the air told him one or both these guys were smoking. Kruze’s nose twitched and his mouth watered. It’d been three days since he’d caved to his nicotine habit. He hadn’t wanted the smell on him if Bree had been part of that group therapy. Oddly, the call of that smoking cancer stick didn’t do squat for Kruze now. He brushed its siren call aside. First things always came first, by hell. And Bree would always be first. He peered through the fragrant evergreen boughs to measure the men hunting the woman he loved.
“What’d she do that’s got the boss pissed?” Webber asked.
He was short, maybe five-foot-eleven. Blond haired. Red-faced. Obviously out of shape. Wearing jeans that looked like they’d been ironed, a red-and-black checkered hunting vest that made him look like a rookie, topped off with an aviator hat with fur-lined ear flaps that declared idiot. All he needed was a pompom on top of that hat and he’d be a Rockstar.
“She got away, what the fuck do you think?” Vick bit out.
Kruze edged closer to get a better look at him. Tall and lean, Vick was dressed in well-worn camouflage, had a cigarette in one hand, a pistol in the other, and a damned nice rifle slung over his shoulder. The rifle was military-issue, an M4 assault rifle. Gas operated. Magazine fed. The scope was a close combat optic.
“Knock off the eat-shit-and-die attitude, Damon,” Webber grumbled. “I’ve got a right to know why I’m hunting a woman and her daughter, especially if he wants the kid dead. Why’s Lantz need Banks captured? What’d she do to get on his bad side?”
“Saw something she wasn’t supposed to. If she goes public with it, she’ll end Lantz, and we’ll lose our jobs.”
“Jesus, what’d she see?”
Vick blew out a long breath. “Something about a deal Lantz made with some Turkish General. The sooner we take care of Banks, the sooner he goes home, and we keep our jobs.”
Kruze cocked his head. Besides the altered truth of Berfendebeing aTurkish General,he now knew there was trouble within Lantz’s ranks. Vick was a straight-up killer, not Webber. He sounded more like a man with a conscience.
“What’s the boss get out of this?”
“He gets to sleep nights knowing the bitch who can ruin us is where she belongs.”
“So what’d Banks find?”
“You know what? For a smart guy, you sure ask a lot of stupid questions.”
BLAM!Kruze flinched at the blistering roar of that single gunshot, followed by anOOMPHand the sound of a heavy body dropping. He guessed that was Webber. Which made Kruze curious what Bree knew that had Lantz running scared enough to order a hit on her, both in a foreign country and here in the States.
Vick ground his cigarette under his boot, then fingered the radio clipped high on his vest and said, “Come in, Smith. Damnit, do you read?”
He had a cold hardness to him, like a hitman. What the fuck? Was Lantz part of the syndicate? The Mafia? Because that was what Kruze was looking at, a professional killer standing over a warm body, as if shooting his buddy was no big deal.
