“Smash it, make it look like a building fell on it or a steamroller drove over it, whatever,” John said. “I want it recognizable as what it used to be, but that’s all. You have two hours to make that happen. No one outside this room knows what you’re doing and why. No details of what you’ve done will ever be written down or disclosed to anyone. Is that clear?”
Lisa and Karl nodded, still clearly confused but ready to do whatever their boss asked of them. They moved over to another table and started pulling out tools, calipers, and notepads from the drawers underneath.
John turned to Kendra and Evan. “This is going to sound crazy, but we need a building we can set on fire and a fresh dead body to put inside it. It has to be someone we can create a detailed criminal record for, so if the guy already has a criminal past, that would be good. Burglary, safe cracking, explosives, the works—the record you create needs to be a perfect match for a criminal who would pull off the theft at Thorn’s place, and it needs to be bulletproof. Can you do that?”
Ivy didn’t have to ask what John was planning because she already knew. He was going to make it look like the thief who’d stolen the hard drive had died in the fire and that the little black box had been destroyed. It was brilliant.
Kendra looked at Evan, then nodded. “We can do that.”
While Evan pulled out his cell phone and started dialing, Ivy turned to Kendra, saying, “I’m going to go find Landon and let him know what’s happening. We’ll be ready to go as soon as you get the body in place. In the meantime, let me know the moment you hear anything from Layla. I need to know she’s okay.”
John frowned. “What do you mean ‘hear from Layla’? Where is she?”
Kendra looked extremely uncomfortable as her boss moved his gaze back and forth between the two of them.
“Kendra, I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me that Layla isn’t over in Ukraine trying to find Jayson and Powell,” John said.
Kendra looked over quickly at Ivy, then turned back to their boss. “Layla isn’t over in Ukraine looking for Powell.”
John’s scowl deepened. “Kendra.”
Ivy gave Kendra a quick wave, then hurried to the door, never so happy to have silent feline shifter footsteps as she was right then.
Chapter 14
Layla led Jayson down the tight spiral staircase, her 9mm pistol clenched firmly in a hand that had suddenly become very moist with sweat. Shooting the man in the RSA building was completely different than what she was about to do in the next few minutes. He’d had a weapon pointed in their direction and been about to shoot them. This time it wouldn’t be in self-defense.
She knew she was being stupid and that there was no reason to be squeamish about it. It wasn’t like they could walk in and politely ask Zolnerov’s men to simply release the girls. Something told her the men would certainly have no problem putting a bullet in both her and Jayson without another thought.
Layla didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she reached the bottom of the steps. She glanced at Jayson over her shoulder, pointed down the hallway, then followed her nose to an arched doorway. She stopped just outside the door, but instead of peeking inside, she used her shifter senses to tell her what was happening in the room.
The sour, acrid scent of fear wafted out, making her nose wrinkle up and tingle, like she wanted to sneeze. But she could also sense hope in the room as well. The girls had heard all the shooting and probably assumed it was a rescue party. They were murmuring excitedly to each other in Russian.
“Quiet!” a man ordered harshly in Russian. “No talking.”
The girls immediately fell silent.
Layla forced herself to ignore the girls and what they were feeling and focused on the men. Once she had them, she turned to Jayson and traced a square outline of the room with her fingers on the wall in front of her. Then she stabbed her forefinger at three locations in that square—one in each of the far back corners and the third in the center of the room.
Jayson nodded and pointed at himself, then the two farthest targets. He touched the center spot and motioned to her, lifting a brow in question. He’d take the two harder targets and leave the easier shot for her. That meant he was leaving himself wide-open to the shooter closest to them while he took out the other men in the room. If she didn’t make the shot—or she hesitated—Jayson would be the one paying the price.
Layla took a deep breath and nodded.
Jayson moved to her right shoulder and held up three fingers, then started counting them down before she had a chance to wonder how many different ways she could screw this up.
When he got to zero, they both entered the room. It was a small home theater, complete with comfortable lounge chairs, a ceiling-mounted projector, and a wide, white screen mounted on the far wall. All twelve girls were sitting in the front of the room. They looked exhausted, scared, and more than one of them bore visible cuts and bruises. The signs of abuse sharpened Layla’s focus and she snapped her attention to the man in the center of the room, the one who was already spinning around in their direction, an assault rifle coming off his shoulder.
She distantly heard Jayson’s pistol going off to her right, but she ignored it as she aimed for the center of her target’s chest and squeezed the trigger. The weapon bucked once in her hand, then again as she fired again to make sure he went down.
The man forgot about the rifle in his hand, letting it hang loose as he looked down in shock at the blood seeping through the front of his shirt. A moment later, he dropped to the floor.
Layla spun to the left and right, looking to see if she needed to help Jayson with his targets. She didn’t. Both men were already dead.
She turned her attention to the girls on the floor to find them staring up at her and Jayson, concern and worry warring with hope on their faces.
“Anya Zelenko?” Jayson called out.
At her name, all other eleven prisoners in the room looked at a tall, dark-haired girl in the back of the theater. She had a bruise on her right cheek and fire in her eyes.
