Guarding His Desires (Passionate Security Book 2)(27)

"Get away from the glass," Nathaniel commands Aleksey with vitriol. "Hurry up!"

Aleksey scoots away from the window. Still bound, by hand and foot, his movements are jerking and erratic. He maneuvers to Nathaniel's side so Nathaniel can remove the binds and the tape over his mouth.

"Scram," Nathaniel says, cavalierly knocking Aleksey backwards with a sidearm jab. Aleksey falls to the floor, straining his neck upward to try and thwart or minimize the impact of his head striking the floor. "I decided I don't want a smart-ass on my team after all."

Nathaniel sends a flurry of bullets through the window. A hail of shards rain down onto the floor and terrace. Nathaniel kicks out the remaining jagged edges with his boots. Outside the door, there is a cacophony of running steps, slammed doors, and the zipping sounds of silenced gunfire hitting walls and furniture. Nathaniel ignores everything but his task at hand. A piece at a time, he rams the mattress, box spring, and bedding through the window onto the terrace below.

The gunfire in the hallway intensifies. Aleksey rolls to the edge of the broken window, cutting his skin on the glass fragments, to heave himself out of the window just behind Nathaniel.

"No, Aleksey," Nathaniel says, aiming the handgun at Aleksey's forehead. "For you, it ends here. "You should have kept your mouth shut."

Aleksey strikes Nathaniel with a vertical kick impacting his cast, upper thigh, and groin. Simultaneously, Nathaniel pulls the trigger. The bullet pelts into the carpeting only an inch from Aleksey's left ear lobe. With lightning-fast and cobra-like lashes, Aleksey repeatedly pummels Nathaniel with follow-up kicks. Nathaniel pulls the trigger again, sending another bullet into the carpet.         

     



 

Aleksey pulls his knees to his chest, then unleashes raging force. His vertical kick to Nathaniel's cast and hip thrusts Nathaniel out of the window. Nathaniel splatters onto the concrete terrace with a sickening crash, landing on his head two feet away from any of the thrown pieces of the bed.

Aleksey peers over the edge at the mangled twist of Nathaniel's neck and hears his dying groans.

The burly guard in the lucha libre mask bursts into the room, bleeding from gunshot wounds to his arms. He yanks off his mask as he races to Aleksey, rips the tape from Aleksey's mouth, and begins removing the binds.





UPON THE TRIGGER OF hearing glass shattering in an upstairs room, the living room erupts in a storm of bullets from handguns with silencers. Wanda Barrone, struck in the back of the head, is executed first. As she slumps forward, a guard standing near Zachary shoots and kills the two septuagenarians beside her.

Zachary drops to the floor on his hands and knees. He crawls behind the wingback chair to escape the gunfire being exchanged by the guards and goons. As he hides, he hears more men enter the room and engage in the melee. Several of them are massacred, including the guard closest to him, who collapses on the floor. Zachary snatches his gun and slinks out of the room.

Searching for the stairway to find Aleksey, Zachary looks out of the sliding glass doors at the back of the house and spots Nathaniel's lifeless body on the terrace surrounded by glass shards. Shocked, he moves closer and to an angle where he can see Nathaniel's face. The dead eyes are open-not sad, angry, or surprised-and revealing no remorse.

Zachary suddenly feels the barrel of a gun against the back of his neck. He gradually lifts his arms with his fingers splayed open. Surrendering.





PEEKING UP ONTO THE terrace level, Gustavo notices Zachary inside the house near the sliding glass door. Zachary is standing stock still. A man behind him is pointing a gun to his head and confiscating a handgun from Zachary's waistband.

Gustavo scrambles along the wall to the front of the house, sneaks inside, and steps over the dead body of a guard in the foyer. He steals the man's handgun and creeps toward the back of the house. He hears bullets pelting objects in the living room.

Gustavo discovers the sliding glass door open. Zachary, with his hands clasped behind his head, obeys the thug's gunpoint demands and kneels beside Nathaniel's dead body.

"Drop it now!" Gustavo demands, emerging onto the terrace with his gun aimed at the center of the thug's back.

The thug snaps his head backward. Zachary rolls away from Nathaniel's body and springs to his feet. Dismissing Gustavo's directive, the thug aims at Zachary.

Gustavo pulls the trigger. His bullet rips into the thug's leg. The thug swings his arm around to slaughter Gustavo. But a bullet, slicing down from the second story room just above them, shatters the thug's skull. He crumples onto the concrete.

Gustavo and Zachary look up and see Aleksey leaping out of the room. Aleksey lands on the mattress pad. Constrained with no bindings, he jumps to them and grabs their arms.

"Run as fast as you can!" Aleksey cries out.

Aleksey reflexively urges them toward the side of the house to reach the street, but Gustavo instead guides them downhill to the trail. They continue sprinting through the desert until they reach the trail parking lot. Aleksey bounds into the driver's seat of Makena's waiting car and Gustavo takes the front passenger seat beside him. King Tut, in the backseat, vigorously barks as he watches Zachary jump onto the motorcycle behind his mom, Makena.

"Hallelujah, you made it out in one piece!" Gustavo exclaims, as they pull onto the highway behind the motorcycle.

"Barely," Aleksey, "by just a shred of good fortune."

"You came through for Zachary and me in the nick of time."

"By causing the delay, you saved Zachary. But, Gustavo, don't shoot a gunman in the leg when he is ready to pull the trigger. That is no time for kindness."

"I didn't aim for his leg."

"Where were you aiming?" Aleksey asks, chuckling and winking at Gustavo.

"The dead center of his back," Gustavo admits, shrugging.





39


Tunnel




Gustavo finishes the negotiations with the two members of the board of regents of the Smithsonian Institute. They are on the top floor of the Federal Bureau of Investigations complex in Las Vegas in a small board room attached to the director's office. She is present, along with the Bureau's foremost arts and artifacts specialist. Zachary and Aleksey sit at Gustavo's side.

"You are certain about your terms?" the senior regent asks. She is a retired congresswoman with exquisite posture, a sharp nose, and genial personality. "You request no public credit, attribution, or reimbursements whatsoever in exchange for the transfer and donation?"         

     



 

"Correct," Gustavo answers. "Complete anonymity for myself and my friends. The Clairvoyant Cobra just needs to complete the journey to The National Mall in Washington, D.C., some ninety years later than its previous owners intended. As I explained to you, I recommend that you consider displaying it in the National Museum of Natural History, with similar security and monitoring as that afforded to the Hope Diamond, so that the wand is never stolen and missing again."

"Its rediscovery will result in international commotion. Would it not benefit your art career and your public profile to be recognized as a role model and the wand's hero?"

"That is not how I think of this. It was never mine. My career will have to rise, or fail, on its own. I don't know who is hunting me for these jewels, but I have come to some peace with the understanding that I will forever live in hiding. Even though The Clairvoyant Cobra will no longer be in my possession, I must assume that the man-or men-will seek revenge for me removing it from their scheduled rendezvous by the Griffith Park Observatory. This type of life will be hard enough. The last thing I want to do is have our identities splattered on the news so that we get entangled in lawsuits by every conman who claims it also belongs to him."

"And, apart from the short-term privileges agreed to, including help with a passport and new identity, you are certain that you request no further assistance or long-term aid from the Smithsonian or FBI for your well-being?"

"That's right. I would always worry that my FBI or other government file had been compromised somehow, making me a helpless target."

"Gustavo, you may not deem yourself a hero. But you have certainly acted heroically. Your terms are accepted, in full. I urge you to consider contacting me directly if there is ever a time in the future when you require emergency help. I pledge to do everything possible, that is reasonably within my power, that may be of some benefit to you. And I will be watching your career with great interest."

"Thank you," Gustavo nods, relieved and smiling, placing the wand into her gloved, trembling hands.





RAFAEL PENA'S BRAWNY fingers rest on top of Aleksey's hand on the outdoor table. They are on a restaurant patio, under a vine-covered pergola, with glasses of chardonnay. The vibrant lights of the Las Vegas Strip glow and flicker in the distance.

"Where do you and I go from here, babe?" Rafael asks.

"Our own separate ways," Aleksey answers, biting his lower lip.

"No, please don't say that. There is hope for us."

"You can make someone else very happy."

"Then why did you agree to have wine with me tonight?" Rafael asks, pressing down on Aleksey's hand, trying to hold on.

"To forgive you," Aleksey answers, "to thank you for the good times we shared, and to wish you the very best. I harbor no anger or resentment."