“Rats,” says the same voice, and then sighs. “Just the rats. Maybe they can chew on your toes, eh?”
“They’ll be eating your eyeballs soon enough,” says a cold, threatening voice, and I put my hand out to the wall to steady myself.
It’s Luca.
Luca, and he’s alive.
The only reply to Luca’s comment is an amused chuckle, and then silence descends again. I guess the IFF isn’t all that interested in conversing with their captives. I wait a few minutes more, praying that no rats will actually start swarming by my feet, and then I chance another quick look around the tunnel wall into the open area.
It’s a tomb-like room, lit by a battery-operated lamp set in the middle. It’s not huge, but big enough to accommodate, say, a group of college students who might be looking for somewhere private to party. The walls are covered in faded graffiti. There are more bottles and cans, and even some ancient, faded, fast food wrappers discarded here and there.
And there’s only one IFF asshole that I can see. Standing, pacing, fair-haired. Dressed all in black with his back to me.
One asshole.
And one Luca D’Amato propped up against the wall, legs sticking out straight, ankles bound by zip ties, with his wrists behind him.
The sight of him, the sound of his voice, has galvanized me. He’s there and he’s alive, and he’s staring straight at me. His captor didn’t see me walk right into the lion’s den, but nothing escapes my man’s attention.
Especially notme.
I show my gun hand to him, letting it hover slightly around the corner.
Luca gives a sharp jerk of the head, and I duck back obediently before the asshole turns around again. “When’s your buddy coming back?” Luca asks. “He’s been gone a while.”
Shit. So there’s another one of them. And he’ll be back soon. So I need to sack up and act fast.
“You shut your mouth,” the blond says, “and maybe I’ll think about that drink of water you’ve been asking for. Hm?”
I know then what kind of man he is, this particular asshole: a sadistic fuck who gets off on having power over other people.
Luca says softly, “Maybe my husband’s already taken care of your friend. Maybe you’re next.”
The other man just laughs. “That soft little bunny rabbit of yours? No chance.”
“I have many friends here in Italy.”
There’s a scoffing noise. “And just as many enemies.”
It’s time. Luca is keeping this guy occupied, precisely so I can do what I need to do. It’s time to show the IFF that this soft little bunny rabbit has very sharp teeth.
I take a few seconds to check my gun, make sure the safety is off, that my hand is steady. I move two short steps into the open area, line up the guy in my sights, and fire three times.
Chapter Fifty-Four
LUCA
People underestimate Finch all the time, but they do so at their peril.
I’ve discovered that myself over the years. I made a lot of assumptions about my baby bird when we first met. When we were first married. Even these days, I forget just how ruthless he can be when necessary. But Finch reminds me now as he reappears, gun steady and well-aimed, and lets off three shots.
They would have been perfect, too, if his target hadn’t chosen that exact moment to take a step to the right. The guy keeps moving, stumbling in shock as the explosive noise echoes around the walls, and for a moment I think Finch actually hit him.
But then he scrambles to his feet and bolts.
Finch fires three more shots again, but he isn’t great with moving targets, never has been. And our enemy is already gone, vanished down the black tunnel on the other side. I can hear him running, the noise of his feet stumbling and smacking through the dark. He left his gun behind, and any light. They’ve been very confident, these two agents; one the muscle and one the mind. Brothers by blood as well as oaths, if I can believe their conversation while they still thought I was unconscious.
The muscle went to get food on the blond’s orders a while back. But now the blond could be going to get his brother’s help.
