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Nothing in her previous experience prepared her for the stress of sending Carson out to bait Bakr nearly twenty-four hours earlier. Almost an entire day knowing what could happen to him, picturing the worst. While Ross read her into the full details on Abe, the FBI, and the code phrases she needed to memorize, she couldn’t shake the fear that she’d never be in Carson’s arms again.
It was the worst mission assessment of her life. She’d had the training, knew fear had to be squashed. But Carson wasn’t a solider. He was a small town deputy. A decent, southern gentleman with a big heart, who hadn’t been trained to take on the likes of Bakr.
She shivered.Think positive.
The sheriff had said they’d learned the sniper had reported the attack at the range as successful. Bakr probably didn’t know anything about Carson or what he looked like. She could only hope he’d believe the deputy’s appearance at the abandoned church was a matter of inconvenient timing.
Still, Ross’s dire warnings echoed in her head as she crept through the cemetery toward the back door of the rectory behind St. Michael’s church. Bakr had resources and at least one man still on his side. He knew how to rig explosives and had proven himself capable of cold-blooded murder.
At the cemetery gate she paused, looking for a sentry. In another context, she might admire Bakr’s choice of meeting places. Today she had to hope the patron saint of the US Army Airborne was standing ready to provide back up.
She held her breath as she rushed across the open space between the gate and the back door, staying low, a prayer on her lips. Making it without incident, she wondered if the intel was wrong or if he’d ordered them to let her come.
She checked the door for any sign of a tripwire and said another prayer as she tested the handle. Unlocked. Braced for anything, she pushed the door open and closed her eyes. When nothing exploded, she breathed a sigh of relief.
“All hail the queen!”
She recognized Bakr’s voice, though she hadn’t heard it in years. It was one sound, along with the many others of that night, permanently etched on her memory.
“Do join us.”
Us. He sounded too happy. Too confident. She stifled the worry and dread, a dangerous blend of emotions that threatened to swamp her. Whatever surprise he had in store, they both knew he needed information only she could provide.
She eased down the dark, narrow hallway toward the light seeping from the kitchen.
Peeking around the corner, she saw two hostages. Bakr had Carson duct taped to a folding chair, his head slumped forward on his chest. Unconscious.
Please let him just be unconscious. Across the room, Abe was shackled with a short chain to the pipes under the sink.
Where was Bakr? He’d arranged this scene just for her, for the sole purpose of gaining her attendance. Why wasn’t he here, front and center, ready to gloat?
Eva rounded the corner, advancing with her arms outstretched, the revolver cocked and ready.
Bakr stepped out of the shadow and put the muzzle of a gun to the back of Carson’s head. Her stomach churned as she recognized Carson’s service weapon. “Stop right there.”
He smiled, a smug, reptilian expression. “At last I have my audience with the queen.” He gave her a bow better suited to a royal court of ages past.
She swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat. His arrogance would be his undoing. She could take him. Her finger tightened slightly. Just a smooth squeeze of the trigger would send a bullet through Bakr’s forehead. She could end this right now.
“Give me the word,” he snapped.
“Let them go first.”
“Don’t you understand? This is checkmate, your highness.” He fired once, into the air. Suddenly the red dot of a sniper’s rifle appeared on Abraham’s chest. “They live or die at my whim.”
“Cheating? Really?”
“You are out of moves.” He flicked a remote and a computer monitor flickered to life. A picture of him standing behind her mother at the grocery store popped up.
She refused to panic. “I thought you had more confidence than that.”
“I have your knight,” he hissed. “Your rook will be next if you don’t cooperate. Checkmate.”
She tilted her head, studying him as if he were a curious exhibit in a zoo rather than a homicidal monster. Terror pounded through her veins, but she wasn’t about to give up. Or give in.
“I shouldn’t be surprised. You killed your nephew after all. How many more lives will it take for you to give this up?”
