“Yeah. Doesn’t make me feel any better about it,” I grumble.
“I know.” Knight claps me on the back. “Let’s go do this so we can go rescue your girl.”
We get Commander Hurt back on the line. Knight shares the rudimentary strategy we came up with in the helicopter based on the basic intel we received while in transit.
“So, it seems one of the women attending the retreat is somehow involved with the situation. After breakfast this morning, the group retired to the conference room they’ve been making use of for the morning’s session. One of the servers was leaving the room after delivering beverages when a group of four men entered the room.
“She didn’t recognize any of them as delegates of the retreat and felt something about the situation seemed off, so she hung around, lurking outside the room. Three of the men remained just inside of the door, and one went over to speak with one of the women.
“When he bent over, his jacket – one of the things that appeared off since it’s a tropical island – his jacket gaped open, and she saw a gun in a shoulder holster. A woman seated at the table saw it, and the server says one of the men standing by the door then slammed it shut, effectively cutting off her line of sight.
“She hurried to the front desk to report what she’d seen. While she was making her report, two of the men from the room were seen exiting the main building and were not seen re-entering it at any point.
“Thankfully, the resort manager is a levelheaded sort who calmly took steps to establish as many facts as possible, then reached out to report the situation to a family member back in the US who happens to be a part of one of the alphabet agencies. The info was passed along the channels, and now here we are.
“With the storm due to break over the island this evening, they’re in the process of evacuating the guests, making our job easier since there’s less likelihood of collateral damage.” The commander gives us a moment to absorb all this new information. “Now you’re all caught up, let’s get that plan nailed down so you gentlemen can get the show on the road. Any questions?” he asks.
After almost an hour and a half of intense planning, we have a solid game plan and are impatient to get going.
No one more so than me.
20
AGATHA
Why do I never trust my instincts? I knew something was off about the bitch back at the signing. And now, here we are, stuck in a conference room with her and one of the men she was talking to at breakfast. All four men – her henchmen, it turns out – came into the room earlier, but three of them have since disappeared.
Despite there being two of them versus seven of us, none of us are willing to take on the man with a gun. Well, not without a solid plan in any case. As the clichéd saying goes, we are not faster than a speeding bullet. Or maybe it was something about bringing a knife to a gun fight. Either way, I’m not willing to risk anyone’s life.
Izabella Perez. Fuck. I should have known who she was. My only defense is that it’s been so long and so much has happened since I retired as a crime journalist. Still, I should have remembered. Now that I know, I can see her father in her when I look at her.
Just as batshit crazy as he was, too, it seems. She’s been screaming at me about how I’ve ruined her life by robbing her father of his for well over an hour now, and I’m about ready to sell my soul to the devil for a roll of duct tape. Super glue. Anything that would shut her the hell up.
“How the hell are we going to get out of this? I honestly don’t think she’s just going to let us go,” Toni whispers beside me.
“Maybe we’ll get lucky, and she’ll let you guys go. Seems she wants me, so I’m sure we can convince her to let the rest of you go.”
“Unlikely. The woman’s completely nuts. Besides, I meantallof us.”
I don’t know what to say to Toni. Or any of the others in the room. I seriously don’t think Izabella has any intention of seeing me leave under my own steam. She wants me in a body bag, that much is clear to see, following that twenty-minute rant accusing me of bringing about the death of her beloved father.
That impassioned tirade makes me wonder at just what the relationship was between her and Santos Perez. Whatever it was doesn’t sound healthy in my opinion. The zealous light in her eyes when she talks about him has all kinds of alarms ringing in my head.
Surreptitiously checking my watch, I see we’ve been locked in here for five hours. Time has crawled so slowly; it feels like it’s actually been fifty-five hours. We’re hungry, thirsty, and I’m exhausted. It’s been incredibly worrisome wondering what next she has in store for us while also listening to her ramblings.
Periodically, she lashes out, both verbally and physically, randomly kicking or slapping anyone who’s within arm’s length at the time before going quiet again. Until the urge comes over her again. We never know when it’s coming or who’s going to be her target. So yeah, I’m drained.
Leaning into each other, on each other, Toni and I draw comfort from the other’s presence. I rest my head on her shoulder, and I can only assume I doze off because I’m suddenly jolted by a short, sharp scream. Closely followed by a low moan.
“Shut up, you stupid bitch. You don’t get to talk.”
I do a quick survey of the room to see who Izabella is yelling at to find one of the women holding a hand to her cheek.
Blood trickles from under it. What the hell just happened?
“Shit,” I hear Toni mutter. “Not good.”
“What happened? What did I miss?”
