Page 68

Red, of course, carried no weapons, or she wouldn’t have made it through the X-ray machine. Here, the kitchen was filled with possibilities, but that worked both ways; a knife in her hand was a cleaver in theirs.
Bursting through the doors, Red found a kidnapping underway.
A man on either side of Elena gripped her arms above her wrists, dragging her toward the back door held wide by the third tango. The man at the door pointed a gun at the kitchen staff, who were cowering together in the back corner in confusion and fright.
He wouldn’t aim or fire at Red. First, even with his silencer, it would make noise and pull attention. Second, he’d have to be a damned good shot because his teammates and Elena were grappling between them. A hand clamped around her mouth, muffling her screams.
The gasps from the kitchen workers dragged the gunman’s attention their way, allowing Red to grab a cloth and wrap it around the handle of a cast iron skillet. Lifting it high, food flying out, Red brought the pan squarely down on the head of the goon holding Elena’s left arm. Red failed to knock the guy out cold. Dazed, he sprawled on the floor, but his grip hadn’t loosened.
As he fell, Red set up for her next swing.
To protect Elena from being hit, Red spun, gripping the handle like a tennis racket, the heat from the cast iron now burning her palms.
While the standing man maintained his grip on Elena, he threw up a middle block to protect his own head.
The cracking noise was nauseating. She did some damage to his forearm. Maybe even broke it.
But the men didn’t let go of their quarry. The man on the ground dragged Elena toward the floor. The standing man held Elena upright. She was like a tug toy in the jaws of two alpha dogs.
Red tried to spin again to take another swing at the standing man.
But the guy on the ground had been gathering the cloth of Red’s gown, and when she spun, she effectively trussed herself in the fabric.
The swing still landed. But it lost its oomph. Red fell, taking Elena and the standing man down with her.
The gunman kept his gun on the kitchen staff. There were too many of them for him to lose control because of a woman with a skillet.
The man that Red had taken out with the tray was back on the scene. He grabbed Elena under the arms, bodily lifted her into the air, and went out the back door.
The man on her left clawed up a fistful of Red’s hair as he stood and dragged her out the back door.
There, a catering truck stood with yawning doors. A plastic tarp lined the floor. Above was a pipe. Someone had developed this catering van as a mobile interrogation site.
With the light from the alley shining into the van, Red focused on a pile of four bodies, naked but for their undershorts, heaped at the back. And now Red knew a few things.
She knew how this team had thwarted security—dressing as catering staff, coming in with boxes or bags with their evening wear, and changing surreptitiously.
She knew they were deadly, brutal, and mad as hell.
Red knew Grey had no idea she was no longer in the ballroom, waiting for him by the stairs.
And she knew that if something wildly improbable didn’t happen, Red would be subjected to whatever was coming Elena’s way.
The man whose arm dangled at an improbable angle—yup, broken. Shit.Held a gun on her.
If Red thought they’d take a kill shot, she might opt to go that route.
But no. The gun, with the silencer, was aimed at her leg. They’d just add shooting her until she looked like Swiss cheese to one of their questioning techniques.
Miracles happened. Red tried to reassure herself as the men first attached Elena and then moved on to attach Red to the overhead pipe. The thick riot-style zip ties ratcheted tightly and wouldn’t be easy to thwart.
Before losing the ability, Red took every opportunity to snap pictures with her earring, knowing they would flow to Color Code computers. Her team would have pictures of these faces, the van, and the circumstances.
Someone could avenge her.
The man from the door, the only one Red hadn’t hit, took Elena’s purse from her. They patted her over and found nothing more.
Red was next, her pockets emptied of comb and hairspray, lipstick and phone. She watched the fake Fire of the Desert fall to the ground unheeded.