BLADE'S LADY Read online

  "I've got the address for you."

  Ray noted the address. "De Rocheford. Are you sure? This guy practically bankrolls every charity there is, including the police widows and orphans fund."

  Blade told him in cold detail exactly why he should search de Rocheford's estate. He saved the piece of information he knew would enrage Ray the most for last. "Seber used a police ID to get past my security in the hotel."

  Ray used a succinct Anglo-Saxon word. "You've got proof of that?"

  "One of the hidden security cameras we've recently installed caught him entering the building by a back entrance. The guard he knocked out can testify that Seber presented police ID."

  "Not so smart after all," Ray said with satisfaction. "The Tarrant heiress, you say?" His tone turned thoughtful. "Eloise Tarrant died of an overdose a few months ago. There was a big funeral – hit the front page of all the papers. The hit-and-run we've just tied Seber to is the Tarrants' solicitor, Emerson Stevens, who was killed just weeks ago. I've still got the file on my desk. I guess with the Tarrant women out of the way, that leaves de Rocheford all by himself in the driver's seat."

  "Except for Anna," Blade said flatly. "If you want Seber, be at de Rocheford's estate at eight sharp, tonight. He's armed and dangerous, and he won't be alone. Bring some back-up you can trust."

  "Where will you be?"

  Blade smiled grimly at the suspicion in Ray's voice. "You won't see us."

  "Damn, you didn't give me much notice." Ray swore softly. "But then, you planned it that way. You're already there, ready to go in. Who are you taking with you? Wait, don't answer that, let me guess. McCabe, Carter Rawlings. Gabriel West – I heard he's been in town lately. A damn Pagoda squad."

  Blade didn't confirm or deny. The title Pagoda squad invoked a certain mystique. It was in-house jargon for a category certain highly trained SAS teams had been classified under years ago – unofficially, of course, because these guys weren't supposed to exist – and was now a metaphor for a team that was so tight its members fought, moved and thought virtually as a single entity.

  Blade waited patiently while Ray considered what they were going to do. Ray had done undercover operations for the SAS and understood exactly what they were trying to achieve: a sneak and snatch. He also knew that a police team that was forced to go through official channels might be too late to save Anna.

  When he spoke, his voice was cold with warning. "I didn't hear any of this, but just in case you're anywhere near de Rocheford's estate tonight, don't go in there armed. If I find any weapons on you, I'll have to bust all your asses. This is civilian territory, not a war zone."

  "We're just planning on doing a little night fishing out that way. The only thing we'll be armed with are fishing knives. But if you're worried about your career path," he added softly, "don't shine any spotlights over the cliffs."

  Blade terminated the call on Ray's short, hard oath.

  Ben lifted the outboard from the rear of the vehicle. "Do you think he'll do it?"

  "He'll do it." Blade snagged a large canvas duffel filed with rope and abseiling equipment. "He won't like it, but he'll do it."

  *

  Anna awoke, curled on the floor of the old house. She dragged herself upright, brushed tangled hair from her face and checked her watch, seeing with relief that little more than an hour had passed. She must have spat out more of the second sleeping pill than she'd thought.

  It was fully dark now, condensation hung cool and heavy in the air, the smell of mice and dust was overlaid by the faint sweetness of the honeysuckle that grew in a rampant tangle outside the window.

  For the first time, she took stock of her surroundings. She was in the storeroom, a lean-to that had been built on one side of the house. After the fire had swept through, what was left of the old farmhouse had been left to rot, but the lean-to had been a more recent, sturdier addition, and hadn't been touched by the blaze. When Henry had fortified the room to hold her, he had simply put bars on the single window and ripped the shelving off the walls, leaving the room as bare as a cell. There was nothing she could use as a tool to try to free herself, nothing she could use as a weapon. The best she could hope for was to create a diversion so she could try to escape.

  Of course, she didn't hold out much hope that a diversion would save her, either. She was still drowsy, her limbs clumsy and leaden, and Seber had a gun. No matter how fast she ran, she couldn't outrun a bullet.

  Chapter 15

  The inflatable nudged the beach. The four men flowed out, secured the boat, and began moving up the broken rocky face that led to the top of the cliff. They were dressed completely in black, wearing Kevlar vests – courtesy of one of Gray Lombard's manufacturing contacts – with the addition of blunt trauma shields beneath to absorb the shock of an incoming round in the event they were fired upon.

  The body armour was heavy, and they were all sweating, but no one complained. They weren't taking firearms, but damned if they would die from getting shot. The parts of their faces not covered by balaclavas were smeared with camouflage paint. They had voice-activated radio headsets with lip microphones, and state-of-the-art night-vision gear, which at present they didn't need, because the moonlight was so bright. Their hands were bare for climbing, but when they reached the cliff top they would immediately pull on black, thin-skinned leather gloves to reduce the risk of naked skin reflecting light. The only weapons they carried were fighting knives sheathed in matt black pouches, again so as not to reflect light.

  There would be no fingerprints, no gunfire, no trace of their presence when they left, except the rope they would leave behind. They would be in and out of the fortress estate before de Rocheford realised they had even been there.

  Carter went first, moving with fluid ease. Blade followed, then McCabe, with West bringing up the rear. When they reached the edge of the cliff, they anchored the rope they would use for the descent by securing it around the trunk of one of the gnarled pohutukawa trees that fringed, and in some places grew down, the cliff face.

  West took point. He had a sniper's patience and a hunter's uncanny awareness for what moved and how it should move. If de Rocheford had men patrolling this close to his house, West would spot them.

  Minutes later, they were at the house. Ben went to work on the alarm system, stripping wires, attaching connectors, quickly bringing up the main menu on his laptop. He had the system neutralised in seconds. De Rocheford had made the basic mistake of spending big bucks on his main gate security and had left his back door standing wide open. His laxness was perfectly understandable, of course; it wasn't every day that a sea assault was mounted on a private residence.

  They ghosted through the house, searching with silent efficiency. There was a couple watching television in a back apartment, the housekeeper and the gardener. They left them undisturbed. By the time they reached the second floor, Blade knew the main part of the house was empty. He hadn't found Anna, and he hadn't found a room with bars in the window. He stared out of a window, adrenaline pumping, his gut knotting because he knew she was near, eyes raking the manicured grounds. Nothing about the view from these windows tallied with what Anna had shown him. It was all trees and lawn, the sea a more distant component.

  There had been no sign of de Rocheford. They hadn't known whether he would be in the house or not. His absence probably meant he was down at the gate-house, where his main security system was installed – a small bunker housing an ultra-modern system that incorporated video cameras, electronics, spotlights and a sophisticated series of lasers, which must have driven the security guard crazy every time a small animal tripped one.

  The shape of a roof further along the cliff caught Blade's eye. On the aerial photos there had been an overgrown ruin of a house, and it was a lot closer to the sea than this one was.

  *

  Anna crouched in the deep well of darkness by the storeroom door, ignoring the ache of muscles frozen too long in one position, back braced against the rough chill of t
he wall. She was awake and alert now – the cold had taken care of that.

  She shivered and wrapped her arms around her middle, hugging Blade's shirt close against her body in a hopeless attempt to warm herself, her heart squeezing tight when she caught a faint whiff of his scent drifting up from the folds.

  Blade would be on his way to rescue her, maybe even here by now, and be would be walking into a trap. Anger ignited like a hot flame, steadily feeding her fury as she doggedly watched the darker patch she knew was the door. She didn't know what she could do to help Blade, but she had to try.

  How long before someone came to check on her? And when they did, would she be able to take them by surprise?

  Long minutes passed. The moonlight gradually seeped from the room, until there was only a single thin beam slanting through the window. She caught the faint vibration of footsteps – not the heavy, deliberate tread of Seber – then the metallic scrape of the bolt. The door opened no more than a few inches, so little that she strained to see, not sure if her eyes were playing tricks on her. She waited, senses painfully alert for the preternatural jolt that signalled danger, but there was no prickling at the base of her neck, no kick of alarm deep in her stomach. Anna tensed, confused. She knew someone was there.

  The darkness abruptly became darker, and she realised she was staring at the shadowy outline of a man. Someone had slipped into the room, moving without sound. The door softly closed.

  His head turned toward her. The thin shaft of moonlight passed across a face that was blank shadow except for the cold glitter of his eyes. An executioner's face, hooded and formidable. Something else glinted, a knife, appearing in his hand as if by magic, although he had probably been gripping it when he entered the room.

  So this is how it feels to die, she thought blankly, launching herself at his legs. No great surge of adrenalin, no wrenching sadness or regret, just … nothing.

  Her shoulder caught him at mid-thigh. Pain exploded all down one side. The man grunted, reeling off balance, and the odd disconnected feeling shattered as she landed heavily on her hands and knees. Anna launched herself at the door and wrenched it wide. Her right shoulder was numb, her arm and hand slow and clumsy, and as she lunged into the inky black opening she knew was the corridor, she cursed herself for not thinking to use her left shoulder as a battering ram.

  A powerful hand landed at her nape, grabbing a fist full of hair and shirt, jerking her to a halt. A leather-clad hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the small panicked cry that exploded up from deep in her belly. His arm snaked around her waist, yanking her up and back against a hard, muscled body, so that her feet were left dangling.

  His hold was so tight on her mouth and jaw that she was forced to breathe through her nose. Her nostrils flared as she fought to draw in enough oxygen to satisfy the pounding of her heart, the burning ache in her lungs, and as abruptly as if some internal switch had been flipped, she knew who her attacker was. As always, Blade's heat startled her; he seemed to hum with energy. She sagged in his hold, enduring the almost electrical tingle that just touching him engendered.

  His grip on her mouth loosened fractionally. "It's okay, baby," he soothed, his voice a bare whisper, the tone lulling, as if he thought she might not be in a state to comprehend words. "It's me, Blade, and I've come to take you out of here. You don't have to fight anymore. I'm going to take my hand off your mouth in about two seconds, and when I do, I want you to be as quiet as you can. Nod your head if you understand."

  Anna moved her head the fraction of an inch his hold allowed.

  His gloved hand slipped away. He set her back on her feet, his arm still around her waist, holding her against him. He bent and whispered against her ear, his voice slightly muffled by what she now realised was a balaclava.

  "Don't talk at all until we're out of here. Follow directly behind me, and be careful where you step, there's a lot of debris on the floor. Do everything I tell you, when I tell you."

  She nodded again. His arm tightened in encouragement, and then she was free. She followed as he moved ahead of her down the short corridor. He was almost disappearing in front of her eyes, as she strained to see him, even though she knew he was only a step away. They passed through a doorway into what used to be the sitting room. Here, the gutted run of the old house was lit by moonlight filtering through holes that used to be windows. She stepped carefully, trying to emulate Blade's eerie silence. He paused beside a long shape on the floor and took her hand, his leather glove warm and smooth against her skin as he led her around what she realised was the crumpled body of a man.

  Blade still had hold of her hand. He stopped, his head cocked; then he bent to whisper in her ear again. "Someone's coming."

  He pulled her into the remains of the kitchen, positioning her in the darkest corner. The rest of the room was frighteningly light in contrast, dappled with silvery moonlight where pieces of the roof had fallen in. Blade placed himself directly in front of her, his big body completely obscuring hers, she realised, so that anyone looking in would see only him. He was dressed completely in black, more like a moving shadow than a man, but her breath dammed in her throat at the risk he was taking.

  Seconds ticked by. Her face was pressed against Blade's back, which felt bulky and hard, and she realised he was wearing some kind of protective vest. But even so, heat radiated from him, instantly penetrating the layers of her clothing and making her aware of how cold she'd become sitting in that bleak room. She shivered in reflex but resisted the urge to crowd closer still, unwilling to do one thing to disturb his concentration.

  Her nostrils filled with his scent every time she drew a breath, and as it had when she'd caught his scent from hugging his shirt, her heart squeezed with painful delight. She had thought she would never see him again. He smelled hot and sweaty and delicious, faintly briny, as if he'd been splashed with seawater. She felt the brush of his hand against her thigh, looked down and realised he still had the wicked-looking knife in his hand and was holding it partially behind him, presumably to stop any light from gleaming off it. She wondered why he didn't have a gun.

  Footsteps sounded. Seber. Anna couldn't see him, but she easily identified his tread. Tension grabbed her stomach tight. Their hiding place was no more than a dark corner. All Seber had to do was look, yet Blade remained utterly motionless. He was as steady as a rock, the rhythm of his breathing unchanging as he stood in front of her, using his body as a living shield to protect her. If Seber shot at them, Blade could be killed, despite the protective vest.

  A violent oath erupted from the storeroom, a loud bang, as if Seber had kicked a door against the wall in fury, then lower sounds, as he talked into a radio or a telephone. She could hear doors opening and closing and that deliberate tread. He was searching the house now, room by room.

  Blade moved, his hand once more banded around her wrist, keeping her close as they picked their way around fallen timber and drifts of leaves. A gaping hole loomed, as if some giant creature had ripped away a whole section of wall.

  He vaulted soundlessly down onto the ground, then reached up and lifted her, his hands warm at her waist. Immediately, dark figures detached themselves from the shadows.

  Blade's hand once again clamped over her mouth, anticipating her startled gasp. "They're with me," he whispered.

  His hand clasped hers, and she was pulled along with him as the group closed around them, holding her in the centre. It was like being held in protective custody by a pack of half-wild panthers, and they didn't relax their vigilance, even when they reached the cliff's edge, fanning out in an arc and crouching down low, so that they were invisible unless someone stumbled right over them.

  Blade pulled his balaclava off, shoving it into a pouch, which was attached to some kind of webbing. His face still looked wrong, and she realised it was streaked with camouflage paint. He grabbed a harness, which was laid out on the ground, and began explaining what they were going to do.

  "This is modified abseiling gear," he
said in a low voice as he clipped them both into a double harness. He showed her a small ratchet device. "This is a descendeur. It controls the rate of descent. If we slip, it'll stop us falling. Don't worry, we won't be abseiling – the cliff isn't vertical. This gear is just going to help us get down quickly and safely. All you have to do is use your hands and feet to steady you as we go down, I'll do the rest."

  He clipped the descendeur onto another rope, which one of the men had readied, pulled it taut and stepped back over the edge. Anna felt a moment of stark disbelief as she was drawn back with Blade, then she was over the edge with him, her hands gripping the long grass and the rough broken rocks as they began the descent.

  The wind had strengthened, blowing directly into the cliffs, blowing her loose hair wildly about her face. Blade and the harness provided some protection, but she couldn't prevent the shivers that racked her. He hovered protectively behind her, letting her take her time, encouraging her when she hesitated, calling her "sweetheart" and "baby."

  Blade kept his mind fixed on their descent. The rock was sedimentary and treacherously crumbly. Centuries of being battered by sea winds had further weakened the already soft structure. They were going down fast, but still, they had to negotiate their way down at a slight angle.

  Strangely enough, given that they had faced an armed force, the cliff was the part where it was most likely one of them would be hurt. Aside from the problem of finding out exactly where Anna was being held, they had achieved the rest of the mission with relative ease. None of de Rocheford's men had seen them, not even the guy who had been keeping guard on Anna, and who was probably still unconscious. But they had stirred up a hornet's nest.

  It wouldn't take the small army of men de Rocheford had employed very long to exhaust their search of the grounds and decide to check on the cliffs. They needed to be off this peninsula ASAP.