She didn’t glance around the club for Cole. He would be close. Always within eyeshot. Since they were both targets for Vincent’s men, it was safer if they weren’t spotted together, even with the disguises.
When Tiago dropped her off at the dance floor, Camila and Lucia were already there, dancing together. She didn’t make eye contact as she sashayed past them.
The acoustics in the rafters thundered with the music and the pound of countless feet. Beams of lights crisscrossed over the crowd in an array of blues, acid greens, hot pinks, and gold. The booming rhythm fused with the bouncing bodies, and she joined them, rolling her hips, tossing her head, and miming sex with every person—man or woman—who approached her.
There was no talking, no need to fake an accent. This was all about tactical flirting, eye-fucking, heavy petting, groping, panting, and humping with clothes on. In the carnal beat of the music, in the heart of the nightclub, a hundred people bumped and writhed in a public gang bang.
While everyone danced to that lustful vibe, she danced for Cole. She knew he watched her. He saw every woman who touched her, every man who humped her, every flirty, grabby dancer who tried to reach under her dress. She kept the unwanted molesting at bay, refusing to give anyone what belonged to Cole.
The dancing lasted hours. Perspiration glistened on her brow. Her breaths labored, and her muscles burned with exhaustion. As the night wore down and the crowd began to thin, she knew it had been another wasted effort.
Disappointment crashed through her, but she kept moving, dipping her hips with someone at her back, dipping with her. Masculine hands molded to her hips. A warm mouth nuzzled her neck. Then she felt it—the sudden chill as he stepped back, the brush of fingers against her wrist, and the round egg-shaped object touching her palm.
Her heart rate exploded, her elation bursting in shimmery waves. She couldn’t contain it, her cheeks rising with the stretch of her laughing smile as she thrust her free hand in the air and extended her index and pinkie fingers in the sign of the devil horns.
To anyone watching, she was just waving her arm to the music. But to the team, her hand sign just alerted them that the man at her back was the target.
She spun around, but the man had already turned away, his head down and shoulders hunched around his ears. She glimpsed dark hair and an average-build as he quickly slipped through the jumping crowd.
Cole had demanded she not engage or chase the target for fear he would panic and run off. Her job was to lure him in and mark him. The team would do the rest.
Without any pockets, she reluctantly dropped the egg and glanced around the dance floor, noting the absence of Camila and Lucia. They were already on the move, trailing the hacker. As she turned toward the exit, she came face to face with Cole.
Electricity sparkled across her skin, heating her up. She wanted to scream, We have him! But she pressed her lips together and kept herself in check.
Within the shadows of his baseball cap, his beautiful features showed no reaction, no shared excitement. This was his work face, the one he wore in fight mode, when he was hyper-focused, detached from emotion, his mindset cold and competitive. She’d seen this expression often during his captivity in Texas.
He pulled her closer and rocked his hips with purpose as he led her off the dance floor. Then he gave her a discreet nudge toward the exit. She walked ahead of him, knowing the rest of the team was focused on the target. They would stay with the hacker until he left the building. Then they would engage.
Since her role was finished, Cole’s only priority was getting her out of the venue and somewhere safe. Once they had PaulVer in their possession, Cole would take her to him so she could help plead their case.
Outside, she quickly crossed the busy street, keeping close to the shadows of buildings, parked cars, anything that provided cover. After being hunted for over a year, stealth and concealment had become second nature to her.
Any stranger walking along the sidewalks could be a hitman.
At the end of the block, she hid in a recess of the building and glanced back. Cole was nowhere in sight, but he was there, somewhere. He would never let her out of his sight.
Their rented vehicles waited just around the corner. She headed there, rounding the bend, and stopped.
A man stood in the empty side street between the medievalesque buildings made of stone and arched windows. He faced the opposite direction, but she recognized his build, his dark jacket, and short black hair.
Twenty feet before him, Camila strutted forward, wearing red leather pants and stiletto heels. The drape of her off-the-shoulder shirt was deliberately baggy, hiding the weapons beneath it.
“PaulVer,” she purred, laying on the seductive ruse. “You speak English?”
He stiffened, his shoulders curling forward and hands flexing at his sides. A small satchel hung against his hip with the strap crossing his upper body.
“I don’t know that name.” His English was succinct, despite the heavy inflection of a Romanian accent.
Lydia’s muscles trembled as she flattened herself against the corner of the building, remaining hidden.
Matias and Lucia leaned against their rented SUV, which was parked at a distance behind Camila, well in view of PaulVer. Kate would be inside the vehicle. Tate and Tiago stood in the shadows at the edges of the side street, mere feet from PaulVer’s position. Their unmoving forms would be difficult to detect by an unsuspecting eye.
Behind her, people strolled along the main road, coming and going between the bars and nightclubs.
After a moment of searching, she spotted Cole crouched beside the building across the street. He held a gun at his side, his gaze flicking between her and PaulVer.
“I have a proposition for you, handsome.” Camila slowly placed one heeled shoe before the other, sashaying her hips as she approached.
“You have the wrong person.” He pivoted, revealing a shockingly youthful face before he ducked his head and strode in Lydia’s direction, not seeing her.
Jesus, the guy couldn’t have been older than eighteen.
As he hurried away from Camila, nervous tension tightened in Lydia’s gut. Fourteen months of searching and hoping, and her answer was walking straight toward her. She knew the team wouldn’t let him get away, but it took everything inside her not to jump out and grab him. She would do it in a heartbeat if she weren’t being hunted by Vincent’s goons.
Tate swept out onto the street, walking casually behind PaulVer. Then Tiago emerged, joining the slow, heart-pounding chase.
PaulVer marked them and tucked his hands in the pockets of his skinny jeans, picking up his pace, gaze on his sneakers, and reeking of fear as he inadvertently strode directly into Lydia’s path.
He must’ve decided to head back to the nightclub. In about three seconds, he would turn the corner and see her. She would have to engage him, try to push him back onto the side street and out of view without making a scene.
Something stirred behind her, lifting the hairs on her nape. She didn’t have time to consider who or what before someone crashed into her back. A split-second later, gunshots rang out.
The impact of two-hundred pounds slamming into her knocked the wind from her lungs and sent her pummeling toward the ground.
More gunfire erupted, booming through the side street.
The next few seconds slowed to a crawl.
As she hit the ground beneath the weight of her attacker, PaulVer froze. His shoulder kicked back as if punched by an invisible fist. He staggered. His eyes bulged, locked on her. He reached for his chest, then his arm, and pulled his hand away, smeared in blood.