Page 175 of Blood Stone

Roman hesitated, then leaned over the sleeping guard. “I suppose you learned that out of a book?”

“Red Zone,” she replied. “Spy thriller. My third movie.”

“Of course,” he sighed, patting down the guard. He yanked a wire from under the guard’s nylon windbreaker and unhooked it from his ear.

Kate squatted down next to the guard and dug through his pockets.

“What are you doing?”

“Take his weapons.”

“We’re doing this silently. Last thing Nial wants is a neighbourhood shoot out on Redondo Beach.”

“Last thing we want is a pissed off ex SEAL with a headache coming up behind us with his guns blazing.” She shrugged. “You know guns. You can disable them and toss them as we go.” She handed over a stubby gun she found in an ankle holster and a knife in a flat holster that had been tucked into the man’s trousers. “That one, you can keep.”

“Thanks,” Roman said dryly and lifted her to her feet. “Enough. Time is wasting. The others will be waiting for us.” He hesitated. “I’m not sure having you stay behind me is the best place for you.”

She grinned. “Don’t like having someone on your six?”

He gave what sounded like a growl. “You make too many movies. Let’s go.”

* * * * *

Garrett heard it long before anyone else in the room and just barely managed to school his face to neutral. The sound of a body hitting a floor was quite distinct. It had come from above them. No one else in the room reacted, which meant it had been soft enough that human ears couldn’t hear it.

The three that had been working him over as punishment for ruining the chair and moving himself over to the sofa were talking in the corner of the room, their voices soft enough that he could only hear sibilants and the odd consonants – not enough to string together to form a coherent conversation.

They had arrived toward sunset, after leaving them alone for nearly six hours. Despite the windowless basement room, Garrett was still attuned to sunrise and sunset, and his internal clock was far more accurate than a human’s, so he knew where the sun was in the day sky when they stepped into the room and found him leaning against the sofa and Winter curled up, sleeping naturally, with her body fully restored and her head on the arm. The alarm and panic that had ensued had been almost funny.

It had taken five of their biggest men to lift him, the chair and the chains off the ground and the five of them hadn’t had the coordination necessary to fit the chair back onto the base.

In the end one of them got the bright idea to unlock the chains, unravel them and release him from the chair. While four of them had held him down, two more had fixed the chair and tied Winter into it.

Then they had beaten Garrett.

As beatings went, he’d had worse. Before Scotland had been won, the English had beaten him more than once. The English had been vicious about it and he had not been able to heal the way he could now. Now, the pain was momentary and it was an inconvenience, but that was all.

As soon as he heard the body drop to the floor above, he knew he would take a dozen such beatings, if it meant keeping five, ten or a dozen of them occupied while whoever it was worked their way through to them.

He lifted himself up into a sitting position, which caused a stir of concern, as the two who had been left to watch over him surged to hold him down.

“I don’t think so,” Garrett said. It was too easy. They weren’t expecting it. He grabbed both their heads and smashed them together. They dropped like stones to the floor as he pulled his legs out of the way.

The other three turned, alerted, as Garrett tugged the Berretta 9mm out of the thigh holster. “I’m betting you want to avoid gunfire at all costs,” he said, raising the gun to point at them. “But I don’t and in this room, the only people vulnerable to bullets are you three.” He grinned. “Shouldn’t’ve worn your sidearms into this room, huh?”

They raised their hands.

“Good move,” Garrett agreed. “Release her.” He waved toward Winter.

They didn’t move. So Garrett carefully put a bullet in the shoulder of the one closest to him. “I grew up with a broadsword in my hand,” he told them, “but I got really good with a handgun, too. Hand-eye coordination transfers over nicely.”

As the wounded guard crumpled, clasping his shoulder, the other two hurried over to the chair and untied the leather straps binding Winter.

She moved to the wounded guard and bent over him, touching his forehead. He fell back onto the floor and lay still. “He’ll be out for a few hours,” she told Garrett.

“Handy talent, that.”

“It has its uses.” She stepped over to him and rested her hand on his shoulder.