Page 19 of Secrets Beneath the Waves (Beach Read Thrillers #2)

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

Another shove. Ramon might say he was used to it now. They’d walked him nearly all the way across the base—or what was left of it.

He couldn’t figure out if these guys were military or some kind of mercenary unit.

Maybe they came from all over. Disgraced soldiers, former cops, and anyone willing to be trained to blindly follow orders so that rich people could gawk at displays of preserved dead bodies.

Young women taken from their lives and destroyed for others’ amusement.

The toe of his shoe caught on a crack in the concrete. He could hear the breeze swaying the trees, but no traffic or signs of human life this far out of town. They really were in the middle of nowhere.

As they passed the next building, a Quonset hut, Ramon saw a deer hanging by its back legs, suspended above a blue kiddie swimming pool about six inches deep. Blood dripped from the deer into the pool.

“Keep moving.” The guy behind him shoved the barrel of that M4 into the back of Ramon’s shoulder.

“Excuse me if I’m not in a hurry to walk to my death.”

“Don’t blame you.” The guy sniffed. “We have furnaces back here, though. It’s where we put all the trash.”

“Don’t worry,” one of the others said, laughing. “I’m sure it won’t hurt a bit.”

The other three chuckled.

Ramon pressed his lips together, trying to figure out how to get out of this, but his brain couldn’t come up with any immediate solution. At least, not outside of a tactical team suddenly bursting through the gates and descending in helicopters. Too bad that hadn’t happened yet.

He glanced up at the sky and saw nothing.

There was no way to get himself out of this or to tell anyone what he’d seen before he died. The truth of what was going on here would die with him, and it would take who knew how long for the police, or someone else from Banbury Investigations, to figure out what had happened to Zeyla and Ramon.

He still couldn’t believe that Doctor Swanson, of all people, was behind this.

The Count of Shadows. Swanson was the one who arranged for those girls to be taken and then displayed them like that.

He probably needed new victims all the time because the shelf life on those displays couldn’t be long.

A body began to decay the moment after death, and even the best preservation methods couldn’t mimic healthy tissue for long.

It made him sick to his stomach, so bad he could taste it in his mouth. But he could do nothing about it.

The secrets he held, like his past, would die with him.

The fact that the things he’d done would be ended when his life ended was a relief because he felt like he’d been carrying all that around like a weighted vest for years.

He wanted to get the word out about what was happening here, though.

Somehow. But the idea that he could finally be free of the things he’d been carrying held an allure.

His friends would miss him.

But Ramon couldn’t say he had much to regret about the way his life had gone in the last couple of years. He’d been given a second chance to feel free and experience what it was like to be a good person. At least for a while.

Right now, all he had the power to do was decide how to go out on his terms. What did it mean to finally be free in this moment? He got to make the choice and find peace with what was about to happen. If that meant crying out to God in his last moments, then so be it.

This was about making the right choice. The best choice he could.

For Zeyla. For justice. Maybe actually just for himself—so he could be the man he wanted to be, even if it was only for a few seconds.

Then it would all be over.

Ramon followed the guy in front around a corner between two buildings. He didn’t give any indication that anything had changed or that he was about to try something.

That’s all it would be—trying.

In a second, he would probably regret the decision. But he wouldn’t just roll over and go out without putting up a fight.

Ramon spun and slammed an elbow into the man behind him, then kicked his leg into the guy now in front. The guy stumbled back into the wall while the one he’d elbowed rallied, and the man in the lead turned with his gun raised.

Yeah, this wasn’t going to go well.

But that just meant Ramon had nothing to lose right now.

He grabbed the top of the rifle to his right, capturing it with his left hand. With his right hand, he grabbed the man’s knife from the sheath on his belt. He threw the knife at the man to his left.

The third guy, the one he’d kicked, pushed off the wall and came over, swinging his gun down from over his head.

Ramon spun with the grip he had on the rifle and kicked the guy as well, knocking him into the other one before the weapon came swinging down.

The two of them went sprawling, knocking heads and going down to the ground unconscious in a heap.

Ramon turned to the guy he’d flung that knife at, who now had it sticking out of his right shoulder just outside the edge of his protective vest.

He dropped the gun he was holding and pulled the knife from his chest.

Ramon rushed him, unwilling to let the guy start a fight with that blade when Ramon was unarmed.

He tackled the guy to the ground, both of them landing in a heap with a grunt.

The guy yelled, the sound so loud it disoriented Ramon, but he put all his focus into grabbing the wrist holding that knife.

He held it fast.

The guy slapped Ramon’s ear with his palm.

Ringing erupted in his head, the sound even more disorienting than the yell. He wrapped his arm around Ramon’s neck and snaked his legs around Ramon’s hips. Not good.

Ramon ducked his head and elbowed his way out of the hold. He shifted and pushed against the man’s throat with his forearm, making sure the guy didn’t have room to move and bite Ramon’s arm. The clamp of the guy’s legs on Ramon’s legs tightened. He hadn’t managed to get all the way out of the hold.

His grip on the knife slacked just a fraction, barely anything, but this guy took the chance and turned it toward Ramon. He grabbed Ramon’s head in another hold and tried to move the knife toward him.

Ramon watched the tip of the blade move slowly toward him. Every heartbeat in his chest stretched to a string of seconds, drawn out. Would this moment be his last?

No.

He wasn’t at peace with it, and he never would be.

Ramon braced against the guy and pushed with both hands. The knife moved away from him, but he didn’t relax. Couldn’t give this man even a tiny bit of room to rally and end Ramon’s life.

The other man brought his free arm down and slammed it into Ramon’s forearm.

Bone cracked.

Ramon cried out, and the guy rolled them both. He sank the knife into Ramon’s shoulder. “An eye for an eye. Isn’t that how it goes?”

He left the knife embedded in Ramon’s shoulder to the hilt and got to his feet. He lifted his boot and stomped on Ramon’s thigh.

He cried out and curled up on his side on the ground. Pain exploding across his body.

Ramon gritted his teeth and pulled the knife out.

He held it tight in his hand, but the other man had that M4 up and pointed at him again. “That was fun. But it’s time to walk.” He swung around and kicked the other two men in the head, muttering obscenities about their job performance.

Ramon wanted to throw the knife, but with the strength he had, it would probably bounce off the guy’s body armor and clatter to the ground. He wasn’t going to be able to do any damage with it. Instead, he held it tight to his side.

“Get up!”

Ramon flinched. He cleared his throat, swallowing back the saliva that tasted like blood in his mouth. He shifted, tucked his arm tight to his chest, and managed to stand.

“You really think keeping that knife is gonna help you?” The guy chuckled. “Die with it in your hand if it makes you feel better. You’re still gonna die.”

He shoved Ramon, who was forced to hop while his leg felt like it was going to give out at any second. Blood ran down from the wound in his shoulder, soaking his shirt. If this guy burned his body in a furnace, there would be nothing left. No way to ever know that Ramon had even been here.

He shifted the knife to his left hand, but the pain in his arm didn’t let him hold it. Fine. He’d have to do this with the knife hand.

Ramon got some blood from the knife wound on his fingers. He stumbled and leaned against the wall, smearing his bloody fingers across the outside stucco of the building.

A little forensic evidence, just in case someone came looking for justice and needed to know Ramon had been here.

The gunman walked him to the end of the building. “On the other side. The open door.”

Ramon took a step out into the open between the two rows of buildings, just off the main drag. A second later, scores of car engines crested the hill at the entrance and raced down the single lane toward the base.

“Guess you’re out of time.” Ramon threw the words over his shoulder, expecting a bullet to hit his spine or the back of his head at any second. A tiny squeeze, just the barest amount of pressure on the trigger of that gun, and he would be dead before he even realized what was happening.

“Stop where you are.”

Ramon’s footsteps stuttered, and he turned back.

In the middle of the street. The barrel of an M4 pointed at him, and behind it, the man’s gaze was full of intention. Waiting.

But for what?

“Who do you think called them?” The guy’s brows rose. “Swanson is going down.”

Flashing red-and-blue lights lit up the buildings around them, and a Toyota compact pulled between two, speeding over to them and pulling to a stop.

The two men who got out were the detectives from the scene the night before. The ones investigating the disappearances of all those young women.

Ramon dropped the knife on the ground and shifted, which meant he had to hop on his injured leg. “He’s with them!” He supported his broken arm with the other. “They were going to kill me.”

The detective nodded. “Chris.”

Ramon flinched. “What’s this?”

The gunman lowered his weapon. “Swanson is here. You can catch him with all the evidence.”

“Doesn’t mean you get more than we agreed on,” the detective said. “Being a confidential informant isn’t about the money.”

The other detective smirked. “You’re doing a public service.”

“Sentiment don’t pay the bills.” The gunman shifted the rifle, holding it by his leg.

“There’s time for both of you to tell us the whole story.” The first detective lifted his chin, covered in stubble and in need of a shave. His top shirt button was undone, and he hadn’t bothered fixing his tie either.

His partner said, “Let’s go, both of you.”

Ramon looked at the gunman. “I’m not going with him. The guy was about to kill me and toss me in a furnace.”

The detective looked between them. “Don’t worry, we’ll get this all sorted out.”

The gunman wandered off, saying over his shoulder, “Long as I get paid.” He looked at the crest of the hill where the road to the base peaked. A second later, a pair of SUVs appeared, speeding down the hill to the base.

Ramon’s head swam with pain and frustration. “What’s going on?”