Chin-Huy approached, his small hands flexing in nervous anticipation. His eyes were dark spots on his face, like those drawn by a cartoonist. In them, she saw no depth. He drew closer, massaging his crotch languidly, his leer deepening by the moment.
Jill’s attacker was small, no more than fifteen or twenty pounds heavier than she. She might have a chance fighting him off, if only he left his pistol in its holster. Incredulous, she watched as he undid the web belt and let it fall to the floor, the pistol landing heavily against the concrete.
The door was open behind him, beckoning her into the warm embrace of the night. Maybe she could duck past him before he could retrieve his weapon. Jill’s eyes shifted past his shoulder to look at the rectangle of open country beyond her prison, and in that split second, Chin-Huy covered the last few feet between them. He struck her with a vicious roadhouse punch that drove her to the floor as if she’d been hit by a baseball bat.
Her connection to consciousness was just a thin strand. A quick hand darted out and kneaded one of her breasts painfully.
This is not happening to me, Jill thought. This is not me that’s being touched.
Chin-Huy twisted her nipple viciously and she gasped, the pain bringing her back from the dark realm that draped her mind. She looked up into his face. His teeth were crooked and stained, his breath on her skin was hot and fast. His eyes had narrowed to pinpoints and lust had suffused his face with dark blood.
In the millisecond it took her to blink away some of the tears flooding her eyes, an arm had whipped around his neck and yanked him up, off his feet.
By the time Chin sensed something was wrong, his windpipe had nearly been crushed. He tried to whirl around and break the grip, but the arm clung as tenaciously as a remora. His body began to jerk and twitch as if controlled by a manic puppeteer. He slammed back with one elbow, but the blow lacked power and the man killing him didn’t so much as grunt. The arm tightened even more, completely cutting off his air. Chin-Huy’s tongue snaked from between his lips, tearing against his teeth so that his saliva was stained pink. With one final tug, Chin’s neck snapped with a nauseating crackle.
Jill watched the man fall. Then her eyes scanned upward along the legs that stood behind the body of her would-be rapist. When she reached the face of the man who saved her life, she was greeted by a lazy smile and a pair of the most charming gray eyes she had ever seen.
“If he’s my only competition for your affection, I bet you’re free for dinner tomorrow night.” Mercer grinned, then bent down and checked the livid bruise spreading across Jill’s cheek. It was ugly and would last for a couple of weeks, but wasn’t serious. Her eyes were brightening, so he wasn’t too concerned about a concussion. They were stunning, deep and black with such a trusting expression that Mercer looked into them much longer than absolutely necessary. The emotions she’d bottled up for five days poured out as Jill ducked her head against his shoulder and cried. He murmured to her reassuringly, stroking her thick black hair.
“You’re safe now, Jill.”
“How do you know my name?” she asked meekly, her cheeks slick with tears.
“You’re an unwitting victim in something much larger that I’m here to stop.”
“You know about Takahiro Ohnishi and his coup?” she said urgently. Her resiliency marveled him.
“I know all about it.” Mercer untangled her long arms from around his neck. “Jill, I have to leave you here for a while, but I’m sure that nobody will bother you again.” He pointed to the dead soldier. “He was probably going to kill you, so now everybody thinks you’re dead. When Kenji’s eliminated, I’ll come back for you and we’ll all get out of here together. I have a helicopter waiting about two miles away.”
“I understand,” she said calmly. “What’s your name?”
“Most damsels call me Lance A. Lot but you can call me Mercer.” He smiled and was rewarded with one of Jill’s. Christ, even in her condition, she was beautiful.
The corpse of the soldier was dragged out of the maintenance shed by one of the SEALs. Mercer closed the door but didn’t relock it, then regarded the body.
“He’s Korean,” Mercer exclaimed, studying the mottled face. “I wonder who the hell he was.”
The SEALs simply stared flatly, not commenting.
On their approach to the shed, Mercer and his team had taken out eight Asian guards, some wearing fatigues like the figure at his feet and some wearing street clothing. In the jungle they had not taken the time to closely examine their victims, assuming that they were Kenji’s personal guards. The discovery that the dead men were Korean put a new twist on the situation.
“I don’t know who these guys belong to, but we’ll assume they’re not allies. That means we still have Kenji’s guards plus these Koreans.” Mercer spoke more for his benefit than the SEALs. “I doubt they know we’re coming, so we have the element of surprise, but how effective is that against an unknown force?”
Mercer led them closer to Kenji’s compound using whatever natural cover they could find until they were tucked safely behind the guest house. Near them, the azure pool shimmered with muted underwater lights. Kenji’s house waited quietly twenty yards beyond the pool. Mercer surveyed the back of the two-story sprawling home through the night-vision goggles lent to him by one of the SEALs. Only a few rooms were illuminated, but the glasses easily probed the darkened rooms as well. Through the greenish hue, he saw at least fifteen armed men in the house, slowly pacing through the rooms, scanning the extensive grounds.
After about five minutes of studying the mansion, he gave the commandos their orders. They obeyed without question and left, blending into the night.
Waiting while the SEALs got into position was agonizing. Thoughts of fear and failure tried to weaken Mercer’s resolve, but he crushed them down mercilessly. He had come too far to be afraid now, he told himself. Yet even as he mentally prepared himself for the assault, his mind drifted to a vision of Jill Tzu. He chuckled at himself. Of all the times to be thinking about sex. When the first crackling report of automatic fire rippled the silent sky, he shook his head quickly and moved.
As ordered, the SEAL team had crept around to the front of the house and opened fire, raking the edifice with a scathing barrage. Mercer ran across the open back lawn, praying that human nature would cause the men inside to turn toward the sounds, leaving him undetected. As his booted feet pounded across the grass, he crouched in anticipation of a killing shot from the second-story guards.
He covered the twenty yards to the house in record time.
Mercer leapt onto an immature palm and shimmied up like a monkey, feet and hands working in perfect harmony. Near its top, his weight bowed the tree inward and he dropped easily onto an unguarded second-floor balcony. The sound of gunfire intensified at the front of the house as the SEALs and the guards traded ammunition at a staggering pace.
Mercer kicked in one of the French doors and rolled across the room’s carpet in case there was an unseen guard stationed inside. He came up onto his knees, the MP-5 tucked hard against his shoulder, and scanned the room quickly. Empty.
He stripped off his goggles and took a few calming breaths. The sounds of the fight below were barely muted by the thick walls of the plantation house. He had just turned to reach for the door when he noticed a shadow bisect the sliver of light at the floor. Mercer rested his hand lightly on the polished brass knob and felt it twist beneath his fingers. As the latch fully retracted, he yanked on the handle and brought up his machine pistol. The guard was caught unaware; Mercer pulled him into the room and jammed the barrel of the MP-5 into his belly. Just as Mercer felt himself being pushed backward by the man’s weight, he pulled the trigger. The 9mm rounds tunneled through the guard, boring a cone-shaped wedge of flesh from his body that smeared against the wall behind him.