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“Not alone you’re not,” he growled. “And if those missiles come up missing then we’re both dead, and there will be no return.”
They rushed to the body, stripped it of weapons.
“Get to the limo, I’ll cover you. Wait for me before you go in,” John ordered.
Bailey nodded quickly before surprising him with a hard, quick kiss. Then she turned, took the automatic rifle from him, and headed out again.
Thankfully the soldiers were more concerned with the black-garbed figures trying to kill them than they were with the broker and his lover trying to escape.
If she was lucky, very damned lucky, then Warbucks had made it plain that she wasn’t to be killed now, either. She wasn’t betting her life on it, but she was sure as hell hoping.
“Keep moving,” John yelled as more mercenaries poured into the warehouse. “Get to that limo.”
He was firing off rounds as she raced across the last distance to the vehicle. Throwing the door open, she flung herself into the interior and received the surprise of her life.
“Grant?” She stared into Grant Waterstone’s clearly drugged eyes as he smiled back at her goofily.
“Hell, could’ve swore I got you killed,” he chuckled. “That Colombian wasn’t near as good as Grace told me he’d be.”
Grace. Ford Grace. He was Warbucks, and he had been the one to betray her to Alberto.
“What the hell do you mean by that?”
Grant laughed at the question. “I warned you, Bailey. He’s a crazed mother-fucker.” He wagged his finger at her. “Loyalty, my girl. Loyalty. Too bad. Grace is packing. He’s flying away.” He flapped his wrists in a gesture of a bird flying. “Fly away, birdie.”
Drug paraphernalia littered the back of the limo. Evidently he’d consumed quite a good part of the product.
“Where is Ford going?” she yelled at him.
“Ford?” Grant shook his head. “Not Ford. That old man is crazy. Wagner. He has the money. He’s gonna fly away home.”
Jules.
Her head jerked around. She watched as one of the mercenaries finally jumped into the truck blocking the entrance and began to move it away. At the same time, John jumped into the driver’s seat of the car.
“The Grace mansion,” Bailey yelled out to him. “Get there now. He’s getting ready to run.”
She heard John curse violently. But the car slid into gear and in the next second the tires were screaming as he laid the gas to it, turned, and shot out of the narrow opening that had been created for the Hummer.
They ignored the mercenaries’ yells, demands, and gunfire. Grant was yee-hawing, laughing uproariously as John shot through the warehouse yards to the gate.
“We’re crashing through it,” John yelled back at her.
“Go for it.” She braced her body for the impact and watched Grant go tumbling as the heavy vehicle sliced through the chain gate.
Snow fell around them, cold seeping into her bones. Myron’s words came back to her: Psychopaths have no friends.
Grant’s words. Not Ford. That old man is crazy.
It wasn’t Ford Grace.
A part of her soul ached, cried out in pain. It wasn’t Ford, it was Wagner, and he had Jules.
Insurance, she thought. Like Myron, he’d had his suspicions, and now he was hedging his bets. With Jules.
CHAPTER 22
“WE HAVE THREE MEN JOINING us,” John yelled as he inserted an earbud communications device in his ear and drove the treacherous roads with easy skill. “Myron confirmed Warbucks is Wagner Grace and that he has Ford and Mary with him. He had two mercenaries pick her up this evening.”
