“What things?” Mackenzie said. “Whatever it is, let us help you. We know you’re not a bad person, Cordelia. You loved my brother and he loved you too.”
Twin tears coursed down her face as she shook her head. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
There was nothing more they could do but watch as the helicopter completed the turn and spun toward the dark ridge of the mountain.
Seventeen
Cordelia refused to answerany questions, no matter how many Gideon threw at her. Whatever message the pilot had shared with her had changed the game somehow, and it was clear events were no longer trending in their favor. Possibly the whole thing had been a clever ruse on Cordelia’s part, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe it.
Cordelia was delivering them to their deaths, but she appeared unwilling and devastated to be doing so. Bullseye must have some kind of leverage she could not fight against.
Gideon touched his seat belt buckle, ignoring the throbbing in his side. He might be able to unclick and overwhelm her, but her firing in the confines of their aircraft could result in catastrophe for all of them.
Cordelia’s eyes burned and she sat resolutely gripping the gun, lips pressed in a grim line as they flew in silence northward. The helicopter lights revealed a rippling series of foothills glistening with rainfall, until they flew toward a fancy mountaintop home with a helicopter pad on the third-story roof. Lights blazed from every grand window,the neat grounds tastefully illuminated as well. To the west of the structure was a luxurious boathouse with slips for four vessels and a dock protruding over a swollen lake.
Bullseye’s home.
A picturesque retreat for a monstrous man.
Thus far the floodwaters hadn’t reached the estate, but Gideon didn’t think the elevation would be enough to protect it if the dam failed completely, especially with the lake already brimming with stormwater. It seemed foolhardy for the kingpin to remain, and Gideon didn’t think Bullseye was a reckless man. With an available chopper, perhaps he was preparing to evacuate ... as soon as he dealt with his prisoners and retrieved his daughter. Cordelia thought she’d been able to evade her father’s relentless eye. She’d been wrong. Dead wrong.
He shifted on the seat. So this was it. The exact scenario they’d almost died trying to avoid. Capture. He knew he could withstand whatever punishment was coming without breaking, but ...
He turned his head to look at Mackenzie.
She stared straight ahead, hands clenched into fists, a vein jumping in her jaw. Probably regretting, like he was, choosing to trust Cordelia. He wanted to tell her that something was at play here; whatever Cordelia heard on the radio caused her to turn traitor. Wouldn’t matter much when they were executed, but he couldn’t stop wondering anyway. He bitterly regretted that he hadn’t resisted more vigorously, hadn’t credited his instincts that had screamed at him earlier in the cabin that Cordelia was hiding things. If he’d refused to go to the airstrip until she came clean about everything, maybe they wouldn’t be in this position.
Would have,could have, should have. Too late, Gid. Better find a newway.
Jake set the chopper down on the roof and cut the engine. His body language told Gideon he hadn’t been part of the double cross that had delivered Cordelia back into her father’s custody. Clearly the pilot was terrified.
The red-haired man who’d been guarding Gideon’s Jeep was waiting for them at the landing pad, armed. Also nervous. Probably face-to-face executions at the boss’s house weren’t in his typical wheelhouse, and he had to be eager to leave in the face of a dam failure. When Jake opened the door, the man took the weapon from Cordelia, who made no effort to resist. She hunched her shoulders and stared at her feet. It was as if she was in a trance.
They disembarked.
“You wait here,” the redhead told Jake before he turned back to them. “Get moving.” He pointed to a stairwell. They obeyed and walked single file down three flights of carpeted stairs to the bottom floor. The gunman remained in the rear to prevent any resistance. He ordered Cordelia through the door to the lower landing.
“Daddy’s waiting. You know the way,” he said to her with a cruel laugh.
The hallway they entered was meticulously clean, no hint of footprints on the tile. Oil paintings hung on the walls, beautiful mountain landscapes displayed in opulent frames. He remembered the story Cordelia had told them of the terrified man who was dragged in to meet her father, and he wondered if Bullseye used this discreet route to dispose of people who had crossed him.
He catalogued every detail of the corridor—tiled floorsthat flowed into plush carpet, almond-colored paint, an aroma of furniture polish. They filed along like sheep headed for the slaughterhouse, past windows that allowed what would be a spectacular view of the mountains when they weren’t wrapped in rain clouds.
Any moment an opportunity for escape could present itself, or at least a way to resist. They weren’t bound, and that was an advantage. He’d take whatever risk was necessary. Mackenzie would too, if given the chance.
She tried again to speak to Cordelia, who was a few paces ahead. Her voice was ragged with desperation. “So the story you told us was all lies, Cordelia? That stuff about wanting to help us avenge Aaron’s death? That was all some excuse to lure us here? You said you wanted to keep me from being murdered like my brother.” Her voice broke on the last word. He reached to touch her, but the gunman prodded him in the kidneys with the weapon. “Did you really even love him at all?”
Cordelia didn’t turn to look at them, but he heard her broken sigh. “I loved him so much,” she said. “So, so much.”
“But you sold us out anyway,” Mackenzie snapped. “Couldn’t walk away from Daddy’s money?”
Cordelia bowed her head without a reply as they continued on.
They reached an entry covered in marble tile and lit by sleek brass wall sconces.
The gunman gestured them through into an enormous room fitted out with luxury leather furniture, Persian rugs, and a massive stone fireplace where logs crackled and spit. A carved mahogany bookcase that had to be an antique ofsome kind held pristine leather-bound volumes. The overhead lighting shone softly from delicate fixtures against pale-colored walls.
Gideon stuck to his recon. A hallway located to the left no doubt led to the front entrance. Another one in the rear showed behind a grand piano. French doors opened to a porch of some kind. The drug business was definitely a moneymaker. The opulent room was bigger than Gideon’s entire apartment.
