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Through his ear piece, Nico murmured, “Bridget, Trace, go. Shadow and Phantom are moving.”
“Copy,” Trace whispered.
“Shall we find your woman, Mr. Rawlins? She shouldn’t wander around in the dark. One of my men might consider her a threat. I wouldn’t want that. It would be a shame to lose her to an overenthusiastic employee.”
“I can’t get into Ruth’s room,” Bridget whispered. “The door’s locked.”
“Hold position,” Nico murmured.
Trace freed the pressure syringe strapped to the underside of his forearm. Holding the weapon by his thigh, he caught up with Hugo in two strides, clamped his hand on the crime boss’s mouth, jabbed the needle into his neck, and pressed the switch. In seconds, Hugo sagged in Trace’s arms.
“Hugo is down. Someone needs to collect the garbage. He can’t remain free.” He was too dangerous to Bridget and Ruth’s safety. As obsessed as he was, Hugo would exact revenge for defying him.
“Copy,” Nico said. “Go to Bridget. She’s outside the ballroom, close to the stairs.”
“I’ll handle Torino,” Adam said. “Location?”
“Office, second floor,” Trace answered. He dragged Hugo behind his desk and headed toward the hallway and his girlfriend.
He opened the door to shouts on the first floor and muffled gunfire outside the hacienda. Trace stepped into the hallway, Sig in his palm, and walked toward Bridget. Before he’d gone more than five feet, pounding footsteps came from the stairs behind him. Not one of his teammates. They wouldn’t have sounded like a heard of buffalo.
Trace pivoted toward the threat, melting into the deep shadows of an open doorway as he waited for his quarry to appear. Seconds later, Benito ran into view and raced for his boss’s office.
Following the thug, Trace placed Benito in a sleeper hold. Seconds later, he cinched Benito’s hands with zip ties, ripped a strip from the bottom of his shirt, and secured the gag in his mouth, then dumped him behind the sofa out of the line of sight from the doorway.
Returning to the hall, Trace hurried toward Bridget. She stood outside a door, something clutched in her hand. “It’s Trace,” he said.
Bridget spun his direction. “Are you all right?”
“Not a scratch. Watch our six while I work on the lock.” Trace withdrew his lock picks from an inside jacket pocket as Bridget shifted to place herself between him and possible danger. In less than a minute, the tumblers gave and the knob turned under his hand.
He moved to the side of the door and nudged Bridget behind him. If Ruth was conscious, she wouldn’t be able to see who came into the room. If she attacked, Trace didn’t want Bridget hurt.
He twisted the knob and pushed open the door. A vase flew through the open doorway and shattered on the floor. He had to smile. The Monihan women weren’t shrinking violets. “Ruth, my name is Trace. I’m here to take you home.”
Ragged breaths sounded from inside the room. “I don’t know you.”
“I have someone with me you do know.” He half turned toward Bridget. “Talk to her.”
She moved past him to the edge of the doorway. “Ruth, it’s me.”
A gasp. “Bridget?”
“Ready to go home, Goldilocks?”
Fabric rustled as Ruth moved closer to the doorway. Her golden hair glowed in the moonlight streaming through the window. She wrapped her arms around Bridget, tears on her cheeks. “You came for me.”
“I’m sorry I took so long.”
“I need to get you out of here.” Trace scanned the hall, listening for more of Hugo’s men. “Nico, I have the package.”
“Copy. Two minutes and we should have a corridor open for you.”
“Roger that.” He glanced at Ruth in her white dress, a beacon in the darkness. “Do you have dark clothes to change into?”
“Yes.”
“You have ninety seconds before we leave.”
