Lexi Blake - Dungeon Royale

He shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

There was a moment of silence. “Thank you.”

Someone moved in behind them. This wasn’t Jake, though he moved quietly. Damon heard the way the pew creaked under his weight. He closed his eyes as he listened. Male. He wasn’t sure why he thought the person behind them was male, but his instincts said it was so. He was breathing in a calm manner, but it was audible. He leaned back against the bench, making it bend against his weight.

“Candice? Is that you?”

Aussie. No mistaking that accent. Damn it. Unless Walter Bennett had put on a whole lot of weight and developed a really authentic accent, then they were in a bit of trouble.

Walter had hired some muscle. It was the only explanation. Smart boy. It’s exactly what Damon would have done. If he was on the run and knew damn well several people wanted his head on a silver platter, he would have hired some muscle to make sure his head stayed on his body.

Walter likely wasn’t actually here.

Slippery motherfucker.

Candice stiffened and started to turn around. Damon put a hand on her thigh to stay her. She stilled. “Yes. It’s me. I mean Candice. I’m Candice.”

There was a low chuckle. “Hello, Candice. I’m Brody Carter. I’m representing Walter Bennett. You need to understand that he has to know you haven’t been compromised. There are a lot of people looking for him.”

“From The Collective?” Candice asked.

It took everything Damon had not to curse.

Brody went quiet for a moment and then, “You know about them? Well, Walter heard you were smart. Is this Robert? Do you have all the papers we need to get Walter on board? I’ve got Robert’s plane tickets here.”

“Yes.”

Damon wouldn’t have believed her. Her answer was too quick. There had been a breathy gasp that accompanied it.

“Brilliant.”

Shit. The new guy’s voice had gone from relaxed to tense in a word. He’d heard the same thing in Candice’s voice, but he was too professional to give it away by questioning her.

And then he heard something that made his blood go cold. It was a laugh that held not an ounce of humor. “Oh, that’s not Robert Tilman. But then you’re not Walter Boy, are you?”

Damon turned. Baz was sitting two rows away, directly behind the massive man taking up the fourth pew. The Aussie had close-cropped blond hair and a square jawline that might have been hewn from the same granite as the church. He had to weigh eighteen stone, and every bit of it was pure muscle. He was built like a brick shit-house, and Damon was slightly intimidated at the thought of having to take the bloke down.

Maybe reason would work. He was their only connection to Walter Bennett. He had just become deeply important, so important that Damon couldn’t allow him to fall into Baz’s hands.

“Didn’t buy my play, eh? Well, I can’t win them all. I can, however, murder anyone who could possibly help you out.” Baz gave him a wicked smile. “Did I mention you look really good, Damon? Also, I have a high-caliber weapon pointed at this bloke’s spinal column.”

“Fuck,” the Aussie cursed under his breath.

“Hey, stay calm. I’m going to get you out of this. He’s with The Collective. I’m not. I’m the good guy in this scenario.” Damon didn’t look around. He didn’t want to tip off Baz if he didn’t know how many people he had inside the church.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could already see Jake moving in. He could see Penelope was walking toward the exit, very likely trying to get to the Taggarts.

Baz seemed to be focused solely on his target. “Now, big guy, we’re going to stand up. I don’t want to cause a fuss, but I will if I have to. Stand up now or I’ll fire directly into your back. How do you feel about being a paraplegic?”

Brody Carter’s whole body stiffened, but he stood. His face went cold, blank, as he stared forward and Baz leaned in.

“Don’t move too fast or I’ll fire. Let’s walk outside. I’ve got a car waiting. I have a couple of questions for you. We’ll see how long it takes for you to give our mutual friend up,” Baz said.

Damon had zero intention of giving up his prize. “You’re surrounded, Baz.”

Jake was walking down the aisle. Ian was in a sniper position. He didn’t need to do anything. His team would handle the problem.

Baz put a hand on Brody Carter’s shoulder, his other hand in his jacket pocket. A nasty smile lit his face. “I might be surrounded, but I’m not alone. I figured you might decide to roll the dice. I hired a friend who had one job and one job only.”

Cold fear snaked along Damon’s spine. He looked toward the front of the church, his eyes seeking Penelope’s form, praying he couldn’t find her.

She moved into the sanctuary, her body stiff, her pretty face tight. Someone was walking behind her. Damon’s eyes focused on his target. A man, roughly mid-forties. He walked close to Penelope, more than likely because he had a gun pressed to her delicate spine.

That body he’d held, found such pleasure in, was in danger. He’d known he shouldn’t let her get close. He’d known it would all end badly.

“Step back, Jake.” He couldn’t allow that man to send a bullet into her.

He was a man who had sacrificed his body for a mission, sacrificed pawns, given up anything to complete his operation. Nothing came between him and the completion of his task.

Nothing except Penelope Cash.

She was his weakness, the one thing he couldn’t give up.

Jake’s jaw tightened and he stepped back, allowing the Aussie and Baz to enter the aisle. He held his hands at his sides, letting Baz see they were empty.

Baz gave him a wink. “It’s not the prize I was after, but it will have to do. We’re going to walk out of here very carefully. If I even get a hint of trouble from you, I’ll make sure you never walk again. We’re going someplace private, and you’re going to contact Walter for me. It’s time he understood there’s nowhere to run. I think I should take the reporter, too.”

Candice shook her head. “No.”

Baz gave her his best smirk. “Oh, darling, you don’t get to say no to me.”

Damon went completely still because Baz had never known when to be satisfied. He just always had to overreach.

Tension slid across Damon as he realized Candice was going to panic. He caught the Aussie’s eyes. The massive block of muscle stared at him as though reading his mind. Damon noticed that he wasn’t wearing a jacket. His big biceps were on display and there was no way to miss the tattoo on his left arm. A sword with golden wings and the Australian Special Forces motto written in script—Who Dares Wins.

Carter was SASR. A commando or a former one at least.

His eyes narrowed slightly, and he cocked his head to the left. He was going to do something, very likely throw a punch over his left shoulder, and Damon would have to be ready when Candice finally broke. Because she was definitely going to break and then all hell would bust loose.

Candice took off, rushing down the pew, screaming for help.

Damon was left staring his greatest enemy down, praying he wouldn’t give the call to end Penelope’s life.

“Don’t move or I’ll fire.”

Penny stopped at the words. She’d moved away from Jake Dean because she’d caught sight of a big man walking toward the place where Damon and Candice were sitting. He was huge, somewhat incongruous amid the flock of tourists. He stood out and that had caused Penny to stare. He had at least three inches on Damon and likely five or so stone of muscle. She couldn’t tell exactly what the color of his hair was because it was so closely cropped. He looked like someone had taken a massive hunk of rock and carved a man out of it.

He didn’t look anything like Walter Bennett, but he was walking straight to Damon. Fear snaked across her skin. Taggart was outside watching over the entrance. Jake was moving through the crowd toward her. Charlotte was keeping the van warm and running in case they needed to get away, and Simon was in front. Damon had no one close.

She had a gun. She could help him.

She felt the press of something hard against her lower back and her blood started to pound. She wasn’t the only one with a gun.

She had to stay calm. Jake was twenty feet away, but he’d noticed the big guy, too. His attention was on the man as he sat down in the pew directly behind Damon.

“Don’t to be moving.” The man at her back spoke with a heavy accent.

Calm. If she stayed calm, perhaps he would as well. “All right. Are you working for Mr. Champion? Is he here? Perhaps you should take me to him.”

He stood very close to her. He smelled of tobacco and the faintest hint of licorice. Salmiakki. Her grandmother had loved the salty licorice candy. “You to be staying still.”

She switched to Finnish. His accent could be from any of the Nordic countries but the Salmiakki made her think he was from right here in Finland. “I’m not alone here. I don’t know what Mr. Champion told you, but you’re very likely not going to survive this.”

He tensed behind her, replying in Finnish. “You speak my language.”

“Yes. And I’m employed by people who won’t take kindly to you killing me. Are you with The Collective?” It occurred to her that his answer would tell her a great deal.

He wrapped an arm around her waist. She was sure they simply looked like affectionate tourists. He spoke low and close to her ear, his Finnish coming much more surely. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m supposed to hold you here until the boss tells me we’re ready to go. He wants you real bad.”