mountain pointed beyond Randi’s shoulder into the night, toward the whining helicopter.
She swallowed. “Where are the children? I need to see Nicky and Angelina before they leave. I always help them pack.”
Again, like the grim reaper, Montaña silently raised his arm and pointed out the window.
Could she bluster through this? The man was an idiot, a big lump of clay. At least she could outrun him. Dash around him and find someone, anyone with a bit of reason.
Why would Mr. Zendaris want to harm her? The children loved her and she loved them back. He’d commented on it many times in the past. He’d believed the hand of fate had intervened when Randi had shown up in Colombia with her grandmother on the one-year anniversary of his wife’s death.
She clamped her hands on her hips and stamped her bare foot. “I’m going to find the children. I’m going to say goodbye to them. Then I’m going to report you to Mr. Zendaris. This is an outrage.”
Shrugging, the man lifted his hands and wandered into the room. He bent over from his great height to scoop up the book of fairy tales, in which he could easily star as an ogre. He flipped the pages once, twice, and then tossed the book onto the chair where Randi had been sitting, reading to Nicky and Angelina.
Were they really already on the chopper? Was Angelina afraid?
Randi’s heart ached. Then she gritted her teeth. “I’m leaving. You have no right to keep me a prisoner here.”
She marched from the balcony into the room, heading for the chair where she’d kicked off her shoes. She unwound the scarf from around her neck and draped it over the back of the chair, reaching for her shoes.
Montaña grunted and slipped a gun from his pocket.
Randi straightened to her full height and pulled back her shoulders. “I’m telling Mr. Zendaris about this right now.”
Could Montaña hear the quaver in her voice? Did he even care? He must be here on Zendaris’s orders. The man did nothing without Zendaris’s approval.
Montaña advanced on her, holding the gun in front of him.
Randi backpedaled to the balcony, scuffing her heels. A bead of sweat ran down her face. Now the sweet, cloying scent of the flowers smelled like death.
Her feet hit the rough tile of the balcony and still she backed up toward the railing.
Small footsteps galloped up the stairs amid yells and screams. Nicky and Angelina burst into the room, sobbing and screaming. “Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle Randi!”
“Get back! Leave!” Randi thrust out her hands, even though the kids seemed miles away from her.
Montaña growled and charged toward Randi, pointing his gun in the general direction of her head. Both of the children attacked his legs, and Nicky lunged forward to grab his arm just as he was squeezing off a shot.
Red-hot pain seared Randi’s left arm and she toppled backward. The railing cracked beneath her. The children screamed. Randi threw out her arms. They whirred like the blades of a helicopter as she fought to keep her balance.
She lost.
Chapter Two
Gage Booker rappelled down the high wall that surrounded the compound deep in the jungle of Colombia. Ahead of him, members of the Army Special Forces team hit the ground and fanned out onto the property. They’d already taken out the guards stationed at the outer wall, but the international arms dealer, Nico Zendaris, would have additional security guarding the lush grounds and ostentatious mansion.
Gage’s boots met the ground, sinking into the verdant growth that extended to the manicured lawn ringing the house. Before making his way through the underbrush toward the house in the wake of his support team, Gage stopped and sniffed the air. Jet fuel. In the middle of the jungle? His pulse quickened, and he crouched, peering through the bushes at the white mansion gleaming across the rolling lawn. His muscles tensed. His jaw ached.
Lights dotted the windows here and there, but no lights illuminated the outside of the house. A place like this would have security floodlights, sensors... The special team of Green Berets had to be circling the house by now. Where was the gunfire?
It had been too much to hope for that Zendaris would be on this property at the time of their raid, but Prospero had heard murmurings that he might be here. Although Gage would’ve liked a crack at Zendaris, especially after the hell he’d put his Prospero team members through, this particular mission didn’t depend on Zendaris’s presence.
It was enough that they’d finally located one of the elusive arms dealer’s residences. They didn’t even have a picture of him, at least not one without him in a disguise. Nobody knew what the real Nico Zendaris looked like. If Gage could gather photos from the house, they’d be one step closer to identifying him.
He hoped to gather more than just photos. He planned to search and infiltrate Zendaris’s computers, emails, safes, bank accounts. Their source had indicated Zendaris spent a lot of time at this residence. Surely he kept personal effects here. Even a phantom had to put down roots somewhere.
A shout rose from the lawn. Adrenaline pumped through Gage’s veins. He clutched his M4 carbine and crashed through the bushes.
Gripping his weapon in front of him, Gage charged onto the grass, its soggy blades squelching beneath his boots. The Green Berets had secured the perimeter of the house. Shadows moved across the windows, but the silence prevailed.
Captain Denny, the man in charge of the mission, strode from a set of double doors that opened onto a patio at the edge of the yard. “Booker?”
Gage lowered his weapon and puffed out a breath. The shout he’d heard before had been an all-clear signal.
He called back to the captain. “Over here.”
Captain Denny swore a blue streak as he marched across the patio. They met at the edge of the lawn, and Denny barked, “Put some light on this situation!”
From somewhere in the darkness, two powerful flashlights crossed beams, lighting up the patio. The light gleamed on the black stripes beneath the captain’s eyes, lighting his eyes on fire.
“They beat us to the punch, Booker. Except for those few pushovers on the outer wall, the place is deserted.”
Denny’s words landed with a sickening thud against Gage’s temples. They’d been double-crossed. He clenched his jaw against a flickering muscle. “How bad is it?”
“Bad.” The captain jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Computers yanked out of walls, drawers dumped, closets ransacked and wall safes emptied.”
Gage swore and kicked at a lawn chair on the patio. It teetered on one leg for a second and then fell over. “Personal items?”
“Not much. Looks like this slimy SOB has eluded you again.”
Gage slung his weapon across his back. “I’m going in.”
The captain stepped aside and began shouting orders to his men. Not that he had many orders left to give. The Green Berets had successfully completed their mission—gain access to and secure the grounds and house. They’d done that.
It was Gage’s mission that had failed.
He entered the house through the double doors, his boots scuffing on the ceramic floor tiles. A sweeping staircase curved to the second floor and a tinkling chandelier hung from the cathedral ceiling. Paintings adorned the walls, objets d’art lined the shelves.
The weapons business must be good.
Trailing his hand along the built-in shelves, Gage scanned the items—no personal photos. He stepped over shards of glass on the floor—all that was left of the doors belonging to a mahogany case that had been cleared of most of its contents. Had pictures of Zendaris sans