Page 50 of Skull
Just as the guards started to question why they were being herded, Strekoza sprang into action. In a flurry of leaves and ribbons, she slipped behind one guard and delivered a swift blow with her hidden blackjack. He crumpled before he even realized what had hit him. Another guard lunged for her, but she ducked, spinning low, while Boomer hammered the man’s midsection with a quick, efficient punch. The guard toppled like a stage prop.
Walker seized Diego’s arm with a vice-like grip, pressing a small stiletto blade under his chin. His eyes widened. “What—what is this?” he sputtered.
She turned her head slightly, hearing Strekoza chime in via their earpiece, “All clear out here.” Moments later, they hustled Diego out a side entrance into a narrow alley, where the hush of night greeted them. A black van idled, motor running. The group piled in swiftly, carting a furious Diego with them. She could imagine the guards reporting to Pincho about Diego.We were ambushed by some…ah…fairies.If the situation wasn’t so dire, she would have laughed.
Inside, everyone took a collective breath. Strekoza tried to smooth the leaves of her costume but only succeeded in making the crumpled ribbons sprout in more bizarre angles. Boomer glanced at her, sympathy in his eyes. Without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and handed it over. “You might want this.”
“Thanks,” Strekoza muttered, cheeks flushing at the unexpected kindness. She pulled the jacket around herself, relieved.
Walker studied her partner, her friend whose admiring gaze often went to Boomer. She had to wonder if she was falling under the man’s rough-and-tumble spell. He was endearing, self-deprecating, but when he was geared up and on a mission, he turned into a steely-eyed wolf. Walker sensed there was pain in his past that had to do with a woman—possibly a divorce? It was in his stance when he’d flirted with that German detective, Taylor Hoffman. But Eva was an enigma, wily and secretive. They knew barely anything about each other by design. Shadowguard were ghosts, insubstantial, ethereal, and invisible. Suddenly Walker wondered if she wanted to live her life like that…permanently.
In the corner, Walker exchanged a look with Skull. She glimpsed the way his shoulders relaxed now that Diego was cuffed and secure. There was a softness in his gaze that contrasted with the lethal readiness of his stance. Something about that combination, the scowl and the protectiveness, tugged at her.
She settled back into her seat, heart still thudding from the whirlwind. There was satisfaction in a job well done, but a nagging warmth in her chest, too, whenever she met Skull’s eyes. She’d known him for a while now, enough to learn his habits and see past his gruff exterior. As the van rumbled away from the theater, she couldn’t shake a single question from her mind.
Was she, Walker, mistress of disguise and champion of locked hearts, in love with the SEAL who always had her back? And if it was love—dammit all to hell, itfeltlikelove—what thehellwas she going to do about it?
The interrogation chamberin the compound was a study in shadows and harsh fluorescent glare. Cracks snaked through the concrete walls, and the single overhead bulb buzzed like a dying insect trapped in a jar. A faint odor of sweat and burnt coffee clung to the stale air, making it hard to breathe. A Marine guard stood by the door, arms rigid at his sides, face stoic despite the tension thickening the room.
Skull lurked off to one side, keeping his distance from the scene playing out in front of him. His posture was taut, arms crossed, eyes heavy with concern. He kept glancing at the dried blood on the floor and the battered steel chair where Diego Canto now sat. The cut above Diego’s eyebrow oozed a thin line of crimson, and each ragged breath rattled like it might be his last.
Across from Skull, Walker locked eyes with the sullen prisoner. Her voice was calm, carefully modulated, but deadly serious. Strekoza hovered by her side, tapping her blackjack against her palm, a metronome of intimidation. Every smack of leather on flesh threatened to fill the silence at any second.
“Diego,” Walker began, her tone deceptively level, “we’re giving you one last chance. Immunity. Enough money for a life of luxury—anywhere you want. A fresh start for you and your family. All of it.” A single lamp spilled its light over disheveled files and photos on the small table before them. “But we need you to tell us where Hazard and Leigh are.”
Diego’s eyes flickered with something that might have been desperation. But his jaw set in defiance. “You think I believe that?” He spat, wiping a bit of blood from his mouth, his cuffs rattling. “You’ll kill me as soon as I talk. Same as Pincho would.”
Walker’s glance darted back at Skull, gauging his reaction. Skull said nothing, but his eyes spoke volumes. Hazard and Leigh’s lives hung in the balance. Walker turned away from him, her patience thinning. She signaled Strekoza with a sharp nod. The blackjack landed against Diego’s ribcage with a vicious thud that seemed to echo against the concrete walls. Diego jerked, coughing, bright spots of blood staining his tattered shirt.
“That’s enough,” Skull said quietly, though he didn’t step forward. Conflict flickered across his face. “Don’t kill him. We still need him talking.”
Reluctantly, Walker held Strekoza back from delivering another blow. She drew a slim blade from her belt and pressed it flat against Diego’s cheek, letting him feel the cool steel. “You’re running out of time, Diego.”
And so were Hazard and Leigh.
Diego stared at Skull, searching for mercy. But Skull’s expression remained grim, unreadable.
“Where are they?” Walker repeated. The knife pressed just under Diego’s collarbone, drawing a hiss of pain. His lips stayed shut. Finally, Walker swore under her breath and stepped away, disgusted. She slammed the door behind her, leaving Diego gasping in the stale air.
Skull slipped out right after her, tension rippling off him. In the corridor, fluorescent lights revealed the cramped, low-slung ceilings of the compound. A musty scent of old paperwork and damp stone permeated every corner. Neither Skull nor Walker spoke. The clack of their boots rang ominously as they approached the next door.
Inside, Blade was waiting, a jumpy, wiry man whose expression turned fearful the moment he saw Walker’s fury.
“You promised me and my family—” he started, but Walker cut him off with a snarl.
“Your deal is off,” she snapped. “You swore Diego would crack under pressure. He hasn’t said a word. We’ve got nothing new. Pincho might already have killed Hazard and Leigh, and it’s on you for bad intel.”
Blade’s voice trembled as he raised his hands, desperation etched into every line of his face. “Wait. I’m trying to keep my family alive.”
Walker’s knuckles whitened as she folded her arms, battling the urge to lash out again. Skull stood behind her, arms locked over his chest, every muscle tensing. “This better be good,” Skull muttered.
Blade swallowed, eyes darting from Walker to Skull. “Pincho has a place in the Darién Gap. A fortress that is way off any map. If she went anywhere, that’s where she’d take them. It’s got everything to shield and protect her prisoners, armed guards, watchtowers, private landing strip. She’s all about comfort…and no one else would risk going there.”
Skull felt his stomach drop. The Darién Gap. He remembered the thick jungles, the labyrinth of narco trails, the rumor of guerrilla outposts tucked between swamps and sheer cliffs. He raked a hand over his face. “That place is practically a warzone,” he muttered. “If Hazard and Leigh are there, we’ll be heading into hell.”
Walker, no less grim, said, “And if it’s not the gap?”
Blade’s expression tightened, as though the very words tasted like poison on his tongue. “Venezuela. Pincho’s got a black site there, but this fortress is a fortress in a fortress. No one can break in or out. If she’s gone to ground, that’s a possibility.”
