Which was the plan.
Assail first knocked out the security cameras. Then he triggered the alarm by reaching into his pocket and pulling free a Cuban cigar—in response, that light immediately started blinking. And whilst it discoed along, he took his time lighting his smoke, fully expecting any number of thick-necked strong-arms to come racing in.
When that did not occur, he exhaled over his shoulder and strode forward, going throughout the first floor with the cousins tight on his heels. As he went along, he ashed on the Oriental rugs and the Italian marble tiles.
A little calling card in the unlikely event they didn’t meet up with anyone: Considering the retaliation the man thought appropriate for a statue’s reorientation, cigar debris was going to send the bastard right over the edge.
When he found nothing in the public rooms of the house, he headed for the servant wing and discovered an empty kitchen that was modern and utterly uninspiring. God, how boring—the gray-and-chrome color scheme was like the pallor of the elderly, and the sparse furnishings suggested decor was not a priority in spaces Benloise did not frequent himself. But more to the point, and as with the reception rooms, there was no scent from Sola’s presence nor that of gunpowder or fresh blood. There were also no dishes in any of the three deep-bellied sinks, and when he opened the refrigerator just because he could, he found six green Perrier bottles on the top shelf and nothing else—
A set of headlights washed across the windows, flaring in his face, casting sharp shadows among table legs and chair backs and stands of cooking utensils.
Assail puffed out a mushroom cloud of smoke and smiled. “Let us go out and welcome them home.”
Except the vehicle passed by the house and zeroed in on the outbuilding—suggesting that whoever it was had not come in response to the alarm being set off.
“Sola…” he whispered as he dematerialized onto the snow-covered lawn.
Emotions riding high, he nonetheless made sure to disable the monitoring cameras on the rear exterior—and then he ripped off his mask so he could breathe better.
The non-descript sedan stopped grille-first into the garage, and two white human men got out of the front, clamping the doors shut and going around to the—
“Greetings, my friends,” Assail announced as he leveled his forty at them.
Ah, look. They were such good little listeners, each going statue as they jerked in the direction of his voice.
Walking over, Assail trained his muzzle on the man on the right, knowing that the twins would judge correctly his focus and concentrate on the other one. When he’d closed the distance, he leaned in and peered through the windows of the backseat, bracing himself to see Sola in some form of compromise …
Nothing. There was no one back there, nobody bound and gagged, knocked out, or cowering in submission against the beating that would surely come.
“Open the trunk,” Assail ordered. “Only one of you—you. You do it.”
As Assail followed the man around, he kept his gun right at the back of the fucker’s head, his finger twitching at the trigger, ready to squeeze.
Pop!
The trunk latch released and the panel lifted soundlessly, inner lights coming on …
To illuminate two duffel bags. That was it. Nothing but two black nylon duffel bags.
Assail puffed his cigar. “Goddamn it—where is she?”
“Where is who?” the man asked. “Who are you—”
On a surge of pure hatred, his anger leaped ahead of his mind, taking over, taking control.
Pop! number two was the sound of a bullet leaving Assail’s gun and blasting right through the guy’s frontal lobe. And the impact sent a spackle of blood all over those nylon carry-ons, and the car, and the driveway.
“Jesus Christ!” the other guy barked. “What the—”
Rage, undiluted by any semblance of rational thinking, made Assail roar some horrible, ugly sound—as his trigger jumped the gun again. So to speak.
Pop! number three dropped the driver, the bullet entering right between his eyebrows, the body falling backward in a narcoleptic free fall.
As loose arms and legs flopped on the snow, Ehric’s dry voice drifted over. “You realize we could have questioned them.”
Assail bit into his cigar, taking a long puff just so he didn’t do something to his own bloodline that he’d regret. “Take the bags and hide them where can we find them on the property—”
Down at the base of the drive, a car turned off the main road and came forward at a tear. “Finally,” Assail bitched. “One would expect a faster response.”
Brakes were hit at the house—at least until whoever was behind the wheel saw Assail and the sedan and the cousins. Then tires grabbed at the snow pack as the gas was hit once again.
“Take the duffels,” he hissed to the twins. “Go.”
Spotlit by the headlights, Assail lowered his gun down to his thigh so that it became lost in the folds of his three-quarter leather coat—and he ordered his arm to stay there. Much as it infuriated him further, Ehric was right. He’d just murdered two mouthpieces.
Further evidence that he was out of his mind in all this. And he could not make that uncharacteristic mistake again.
As the sedan slid to a halt, three men got out, and indeed, they had come prepared. Multiple muzzles pointed in his direction, and they were steady: These boys had done this before, and in fact, he recognized two of them.
The bodyguard in front actually lowered his autoloader. “Assail?”
“Where is she?” he demanded.
“What?”
In truth, he was getting so bored with these frowns of confusion.
Assail’s trigger finger started twitching again. “Your boss has something I want back.”
The enforcer’s sharp eyes shifted to the first sedan with its open trunk—and given the immediate brow pop, it appeared he noticed the soles of his predecessors’ shoes upon the asphalt.
“Neither of them could give me an answer,” Assail drawled. “Perhaps you should like to give it a try?”
Instantly, that gun was back up into position. “What the fuck are you—”
From out of thin air, the twins made an appearance and flanked the trio—and they had far more firepower, what with all four of their palms locked on a quartet of Smith & Wessons.
Assail kept his gun where it was, out of the action temporarily. “I would suggest you drop your weapons. If you do not, they will kill you.”
There was a heartbeat of a pause—which proved too long for Assail’s liking.
In the blink of an eye, his arm shot up and pop! He shot the closest guard, putting a bullet through his ear at a trajectory that left the remaining two men still standing.
As yet another dead weight fell to the ground, he thought, See? There was still plenty of living and breathing left to work with.
Assail lowered his arm and released another plume of smoke that drifted into the headlights, tinting the illumination blue. Addressing the pair who remained vertical, he said levelly, “I shall ask you again. Where is she.”
Rather a lot of talk sprang up, but none of it included the words woman, held, or captive.
“You’re boring me,” he said, lifting his muzzle once more. “I’d suggest one of the two of you start getting to the point now.”
SIX
“Is he alive?”
Beth heard the words come out of her mouth, but was only half aware of having spoken them. It was just too terrifying when a guy as strong as John Matthew went over like that—and worse? He’d surfaced for a minute and a half, tried to communicate something to her, and passed out cold again.