Seal of Honor(68)

So his only option was the terrace. He leaned over the railing and scanned the ground below. The pool glowed a soft blue-green two stories down, but jumping was out of the question. The terrace overlooked the pool’s shallow end, and any miscalculation on his part would send him slamming into the concrete deck. He was already in enough pain and didn’t need to add the possibility of breaking every bone in his body to the equation.

“What’s that up there?” At his side, Audrey pointed to the roof one story above them. He straightened away from the railing and gazed up.

Well, shit. Why didn’t he think of that? They might just have a shot at escaping yet.

“Mena’s chopper.” He grinned and grasped Audrey’s face in his hands, planting a hard kiss on her open mouth. “You’re brilliant, honey. Can you climb?”

She gave him a look that said duh and started unbuckling the straps on her high heels. “Can you fly?”

“It’s been a while.”

“Good enough for me.” She handed him her shoes and stood on the balcony railing to grip the edge of the flowered trellis overhead. In one smooth move, she pulled herself up and flattened herself to the wood, then stretched out her hands to help him. He climbed onto the railing and, reaching up for the trellis, he sucked in a fortifying breath.

This was going to hurt like a bitch.





Chapter Eighteen

The address Gabe had given them was a hideous two-story house shaped like a sideways T with balconies at each of the three ends. Sure, it screamed money, but it also shouted, “no taste.” Quinn was no architect, but even he knew the Greek-like columns out front clashed horribly with the post-modern vibe of the rest of the house.

It sat on a fenced-in property surrounded by foliage. A gated entry to the brick driveway provided some security, but it was mostly for show, because Quinn and the team got through without breaking a sweat. The back yard boasted a BBQ pit and bar on a tiled patio shaded by a wood pergola. A sunroom entirely made of glass opened up to the patio from the back of the house and shielded a Jacuzzi, which was currently in use by a scrawny kid of about sixteen and a very friendly older man. The man disappeared under the water and the kid sat back with a look on his face that only came from oral sex.

“That is disgusting,” Marcus whispered beside him.

Laying belly to the ground in the bushes at the edge of the property, he frowned, thinking of Gabe’s brother. “Keep your derogatory comments to yourself, men. I have friends that are gay.”

“Not that.” Marcus sounded completely insulted. “What do you think I am, a far right wingnut? I don’t care they’re gay. More power to ’em. I meant that kid’s not even close to legal. The guy’s what, at least forty? That is disgusting.”

Quinn focused his night vision goggles on the hot tub again and winced. Things had progressed past oral and into BDSM territory. Yeah, it was disgusting and disturbing, but with the brutal way the kid acted, he was obviously the dom in the relationship.

And where in hell were the kid’s parents?

“Man,” Marcus muttered. “I can’t sit here and watch this. I’m gonna sneak around front, see what I can see.”

“Careful,” Quinn warned. He couldn’t watch what was happening in the Jacuzzi either, so he scanned over the upper floors of the house. The lights were out and he didn’t see any movement inside. Had to wonder if there was a basement. Gabe sounded very sure when he said Bryson Van Amee might be inside this address.

“Incoming,” Jean-Luc said. Stationed by the front gate as a lookout, he rattled off the details of the approaching vehicle. “Red four-door Mercedes convertible. Bogotá license plate, mike-xray-uniform-two-niner-eight. One occupant.”

“Copy that,” Quinn replied. “Visual on his face?”

“Negative. The top’s up—wait. He’s opening the door. All right. Got visual confirmation. The driver is Jacinto Rivera. Repeat, I have visual confirmation on Jacinto Rivera, and he is armed.”

Excellent. A thrill chased through Quinn’s blood. Finally, they were getting somewhere. “Hold your positions. Let’s see where he goes.”

…

Jacinto Rivera shoved through the front door of his cousin’s house, cursing. That stupid negotiator Giancarelli was jerking him around by the cojones, claiming they needed more time to secure funds. What bullshit. The funds sat right in Bryson Van Amee’s bank account, ripe for the taking. He knew. He’d seen the bank statements.

They also wanted more proof of life or they were calling the whole deal off.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, Rorro, the perverted little fuck, had been wandering about the city doing God knows what to God knows who instead of watching Van Amee. Anyone could have strolled right in last night and plucked their golden goose out from under their noses.