”
The thug holding Stacy reached around and began kneading her breasts through her T-shirt. She screamed and tried to pull away. "Hey, boss,” he said, laughing. "When does the fun start?”
"Patience, Julio. We’re waiting for a friend of mine.
You’ll get your fun after we’ve tended to business. Why don’t you put them down over there, then give the rest of us a hand?”
Roughly, the invaders shoved Meagan and Stacy onto the living room couch. One of them stood guard with a MAC-10 Ingram while the others vanished into other parts of the house. Drake could hear them moving about, and once he heard the metallic clang of a metal grate.
To Drake, it sounded like the grillwork over the forced-air heating ducts in the hall. Were they looking for something? What?
The sounds grew more violent, and once there was a crash that sounded like a ceiling lighting fixture being broken, followed by the dry, crumbling noise of broken plaster.
"God, Chris!” Meagan said. Her face betrayed her terror. "Oh God, Chris! Who are these people? You ... you know one of them?”
"Yeah, I know him.”
He hitched himself up to a sitting position, his eyes on the thug they’d left standing guard in the living room. The guy was in his early twenties, Drake guessed, wearing blue jeans and a tank top, with his long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. He was ponderously overweight, his beer belly hanging over the belt of his jeans. Brand-new cowboy boots graced his feet, and he held his MAC-10 with studied nonchalance.
"But who is he?” Meagan asked. "Where did you—”
"Look, honey,” Drake said. He was terribly aware of what Esposito had said about a misleading death. "If you don’t know, maybe I can convince them to let you go. So no questions, okay? Just stay calm. It’ll be all right.”
But he knew it was not going to be all right. Why had Esposito shown himself? Drake had thought the man was dead, and if the DEA man had stayed out of sight, the SEAL would have kept on believing that.
So there was more to it than that, something important enough to make Esposito try to murder not only Drake, but Meagan and Stacy as well.
There was another loud crash from one of the bedrooms, then another. It sounded like they were using something heavy as a sledgehammer, to open up the wall.
"Daddy!” Stacy called from the couch. He could tell from her voice that she was on the ragged edge of panic. "Daddy, they’re in my room! What do they want?”
"I don’t know, sweetheart,” he said. He kept his eyes on the guard.
The man took no notice of the destructive sounds coming from elsewhere in the house, but he leered at Stacy when she spoke, then walked over until he was standing over her. "I want you, little puta ! ” he said. He grabbed his crotch with his free hand and pumped his hips back and forth, brutally suggestive. "I’m going to have you, too!”
"Cool it, King Kong!” Drake barked. "Your argument is with me!”
The fat thug only laughed and reached for Stacy’s leg. She was wearing cutoff shorts, and his hand grabbed her bare thigh, eliciting a scream of pure horror.
"Get your hands off her!” Meagan yelled. "You bastard! Leave her alone!”
The guard whipped his hand around and struck Meagan across the mouth. "Silence, woman! I’ve got something for you, too, don’t worry!”
Driven by pure, burning rage, Drake lunged forward. With his hands and feet bound, he only managed an uncontrolled crash into the man’s leg, making their tormentor stagger back a step. Drake caught a blurred impression of one of the man’s cowboy boots snapping up toward his head. The blow caught him in the side of the face, stunning him, leaving him lying on his back with a roaring sound in his ears, his vision blurred, the pain in his head hammering away like naval gunfire.
"Enough, Ramon. Enough!” Esposito’s voice said. "Now, now, Lieutenant Drake. You should have saved your heroics for the jungle.”
Drake blinked his eyes
The thug holding Stacy reached around and began kneading her breasts through her T-shirt. She screamed and tried to pull away. "Hey, boss,” he said, laughing. "When does the fun start?”
"Patience, Julio. We’re waiting for a friend of mine.
You’ll get your fun after we’ve tended to business. Why don’t you put them down over there, then give the rest of us a hand?”
Roughly, the invaders shoved Meagan and Stacy onto the living room couch. One of them stood guard with a MAC-10 Ingram while the others vanished into other parts of the house. Drake could hear them moving about, and once he heard the metallic clang of a metal grate.
To Drake, it sounded like the grillwork over the forced-air heating ducts in the hall. Were they looking for something? What?
The sounds grew more violent, and once there was a crash that sounded like a ceiling lighting fixture being broken, followed by the dry, crumbling noise of broken plaster.
"God, Chris!” Meagan said. Her face betrayed her terror. "Oh God, Chris! Who are these people? You ... you know one of them?”
"Yeah, I know him.”
He hitched himself up to a sitting position, his eyes on the thug they’d left standing guard in the living room. The guy was in his early twenties, Drake guessed, wearing blue jeans and a tank top, with his long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. He was ponderously overweight, his beer belly hanging over the belt of his jeans. Brand-new cowboy boots graced his feet, and he held his MAC-10 with studied nonchalance.
"But who is he?” Meagan asked. "Where did you—”
"Look, honey,” Drake said. He was terribly aware of what Esposito had said about a misleading death. "If you don’t know, maybe I can convince them to let you go. So no questions, okay? Just stay calm. It’ll be all right.”
But he knew it was not going to be all right. Why had Esposito shown himself? Drake had thought the man was dead, and if the DEA man had stayed out of sight, the SEAL would have kept on believing that.
So there was more to it than that, something important enough to make Esposito try to murder not only Drake, but Meagan and Stacy as well.
There was another loud crash from one of the bedrooms, then another. It sounded like they were using something heavy as a sledgehammer, to open up the wall.
"Daddy!” Stacy called from the couch. He could tell from her voice that she was on the ragged edge of panic. "Daddy, they’re in my room! What do they want?”
"I don’t know, sweetheart,” he said. He kept his eyes on the guard.
The man took no notice of the destructive sounds coming from elsewhere in the house, but he leered at Stacy when she spoke, then walked over until he was standing over her. "I want you, little puta ! ” he said. He grabbed his crotch with his free hand and pumped his hips back and forth, brutally suggestive. "I’m going to have you, too!”
"Cool it, King Kong!” Drake barked. "Your argument is with me!”
The fat thug only laughed and reached for Stacy’s leg. She was wearing cutoff shorts, and his hand grabbed her bare thigh, eliciting a scream of pure horror.
"Get your hands off her!” Meagan yelled. "You bastard! Leave her alone!”
The guard whipped his hand around and struck Meagan across the mouth. "Silence, woman! I’ve got something for you, too, don’t worry!”
Driven by pure, burning rage, Drake lunged forward. With his hands and feet bound, he only managed an uncontrolled crash into the man’s leg, making their tormentor stagger back a step. Drake caught a blurred impression of one of the man’s cowboy boots snapping up toward his head. The blow caught him in the side of the face, stunning him, leaving him lying on his back with a roaring sound in his ears, his vision blurred, the pain in his head hammering away like naval gunfire.
"Enough, Ramon. Enough!” Esposito’s voice said. "Now, now, Lieutenant Drake. You should have saved your heroics for the jungle.”
Drake blinked his eyes
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