Out-Foxxed. Debra Webb
Number Two stalked over to where Sabrina, the woman and her children cowered in fear.
“What’re you doing?” Sabrina asked, her voice infused with terror.
“The boy,” the man demanded. “Give me the boy.”
The mother howled in agony. “No, no, no, not my son. Not my son!”
The man slapped her hard. “The boy,” he commanded.
“Wait.” Sabrina reached toward the man.
He reared back to slap her. She lunged at him, her right hand fisted, the pad of her thumb set against that extra stone on the back of the ring she wore. She rammed her fist, ring first, into his throat.
The back of his hand connected with her cheekbone sending pain radiating up the side of her head. Then he froze. He stared at her for a moment as if he didn’t understand what had just happened. When he started to reach for his neck, his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed to the floor.
The woman and children started to wail and sob, Sabrina joining the cacophony.
The tall guy barged into the room. “What the hell is going on in here?” He spotted his pal, then aimed a suspicious glare at the women. “Shut up!” He leveled his weapon on Sabrina. “Move against the wall.”
Sabrina flattened against the wall next to the window behind her. She reached for the woman and ushered her back as well. A child clung to either side of her. All were sobbing hysterically.
“What happened?” the tall guy demanded, his question directed at Sabrina.
“I don’t know.” She forced her voice to quiver. “He came over here to get the boy and he just stopped, looked kind of strange and then crumpled to the floor.”
That she hadn’t reached for the downed man’s weapon would lend credence to her innocent bystander status.
Keeping an eye on her, the tall guy squatted down just far enough to touch his fallen comrade’s neck. He felt for a pulse, a frown overtaking his expression.
Speaking in that broken foreign tongue again, he called out to his pals in the other room.
The torturer in the other room stormed in next. “What is taking so long? I need the boy.” He drew up short when he saw Goon Number Two on the floor.
Sabrina held on to one of the woman’s arms and made small sounds of terror; the woman did the same. The children continued to whimper and sob, amping up the frustration level of the enemy.
Sabrina figured that this was as good as it was going to get. Only one, the boss, was left in the room with Stavi.
She pulled downward on the other woman’s arm. Their gazes locked. Sabrina nodded to the floor. The woman moved her head up and down in acknowledgement.
Her right hand easing down to the hem of her uniform, Sabrina watched the two men prepare to drag their friend away, probably to join the dead security detail in the en suite bath.
As soon as each man had crouched down and hooked an arm under the dead guy’s, she snatched her .32 out of its holster. Two rounds, one in the temple for the tall guy, one smack in the middle of the forehead for the torturer who turned to look up at her in surprise.
She was halfway across the room when the boss suddenly loomed in the open doorway, his weapon leveled on her. Two more shots, this time straight through the heart. She hit the floor and rolled just in time to avoid the round he managed to squeeze off before he dropped. Unlike the jarring blasts from her .32, a swift hiss and pop were the only sounds his silenced weapon made.
Back on her feet, she holstered her weapon and rushed to the corner where the woman and children huddled together near the floor.
“Everything’s all right,” Sabrina assured. “Come on, let’s check on your husband.”
Thank God the woman and children hadn’t been in the way of the single shot the bastard had managed. One of the lavish pillows on the bed hadn’t been so lucky.
The husband was already shrieking and making all kinds of noise. He kept calling a name—his wife’s, Sabrina presumed.
While the woman and children crowded around the injured man, Sabrina checked the two other hostages bound and still unconscious on the floor to ensure they were still breathing. Both were alive—drugged, she presumed.
Time for her to get out of here.
Other guests would no doubt have called the front desk by now to report the sound of gunshots.
Sabrina propped the door open and prepared to wheel her cart out of the room.
“Please wait.”
Sabrina hesitated, then turned to the woman who’d called out to her.
She hurried to where Sabrina stood poised to get the hell out of there. “Thank you.” The tears rolling down her cheeks and the quiver of her lips told Sabrina that she wanted to say much more but wasn’t sure how.
Sabrina smiled. “You’ll be fine now.”
She had to get out of there.
Pushing the cart with all her might, she hurried to the elevators and stabbed the call button. “Come on, come on,” she muttered.
The control team in the rooms on either side of 1012 would stay put until hotel security had arrived and called the local authorities. Once the Federal Bureau of Investigation was on site to take charge, the control team would withdraw.
No one would ever know that IT&PA had ever been there.
That was the way it worked.
Anticipation seared through her as she trekked the slow movement of the damned elevator on the digital readout above the closed doors. If security caught her up here, they would want to question her. She couldn’t let that happen. Abandoning the cart wasn’t doable since it was rigged. She had no choice but to ride this out.
One of the two elevators stopped on her floor and she held her breath as she waited for the doors to slide open and reveal the occupants, if any, of the car.
Empty.
Her arms weak with relief, she shoved the cart into the empty elevator and selected floor six. No sooner had the doors started to close when a ding announced the arrival of the second elevator.
Close. Too close.
Even as her car started to descend, she heard running steps pounding in the corridor beyond the elevator alcove she’d just vacated.
Hotel security had arrived.
Director Marx wouldn’t be happy that she’d had to take out all four of the perpetrators, but there hadn’t been any other option.
Those men would have killed her and the hostages had she not used deadly force. Wounding one of them in hopes of interrogating him later simply hadn’t been feasible.
Outside 608, she had just reached for her passkey when the door opened.
“He’s not happy,” Trainer said.
Angie had already grabbed the other end of the cart and was helping Sabrina guide it into the room.
“It was my call to make,” Sabrina countered, not the least bit intimidated or sorry she’d chosen the course of action she had. Stavi was alive. He surely knew what those men wanted with him. All the Bureau had to do was convince him to share the information. As far as Sabrina was concerned, that was their problem.
She’d done her job. All four hostages were rescued.
Angie, still sporting a maid’s uniform, rushed over to help Sabrina disrobe.
Trainer turned his back and focused on unrigging the cart. Big Hugh jumped into the fray and helped get the job done.
When all the equipment and disguises