The Boss Assignment (Rogue Protectors Book 3) Victoria Paige (top 100 novels of all time TXT) 📖

She’s alive, Antonio’s head echoed and lightheadedness washed over him. The tightness in his chest eased to a certain degree, but breathing in a lungful of air was still proving difficult. “Who?”

“Marco Cordova, Jacaré, was in the CDC.”

“You’re sure?”

Bristow turned around the laptop they were using to discuss the situation. “Beyond reasonable doubt. He made sure to show his face to the camera. He’s issuing a challenge, Antonio. We’re pretty sure he’s issuing it to you.”

30

Charly’s eyes were blurry. She woke up in a small bedroom with cinder block walls painted in butter yellow. A musky smell tickled her nose, letting her know it was an old house or one that had fallen into neglect. It was dark outside and the glow of the lamp on a side table was her only light source. Her eyes tracked on the grout on the cream-tiled flooring. It was dirty, or maybe gray was just its color. Charly didn’t know why she was fixated on it, wanting to take a Brillo pad and scour it until it gleamed. Maybe because she’d been used to the smell of antiseptic and bleach for years, probably because she’d worked in sterile environments for so long that signs of filth bothered her.

How long had she been unconscious?

As her brain struggled to remember the events that landed her in this room, she pushed up from the lumpy cot that reminded her of makeshift hospital camps. It creaked as she sat up. A flash of blood spatter echoed in her memory.

Sandra!

Her lifeless eyes.

Bile rose in Charly’s throat and her breath came in serrated bursts. Struggling to get up, her wooziness had her sitting down again, but rage rooted deep in her soul. On her unsteady legs and propped up by sheer will, she stood.

Each step she took toward the door was with a nauseating effort, her forward momentum threatening to cartwheel her over.

Finally, she made it to the door and tried the handle. Of course, it was locked.

She pounded her fists on the wooden slab. “Hello?”

That sounded inane.

“Hey, asshole!” she yelled, or tried to yell. The words came out a scratchy whimper.

She slapped a palm on the door as she tried to shout again for someone’s attention. “Let me out of here, you murderous sons of bitches!”

Apparently the aftereffects of being drugged made her more courageous. “Hey, assholes! Come and get me!”

She laughed at her own words, paused, and then started to cry. Why did this keep happening to her? Being a virologist certainly was detrimental to one’s health, and now her heart was heavy at the thought that she and Antonio would never see each other again, much less have a future.

Charly had high hopes. But why was she giving up? The rollercoaster shifted into exhilaration. Antonio would save her. Garrison. She trusted Garrison now. And Declan. Bristow. They would not abandon her, right?

She felt fuzzy. She stared at her fingers. Shit. Her brain felt drunk, but Charly finally figured out why her feelings and thoughts were all over the place, why her senses were so tweaked.

Footsteps approached and stopped in front of her door.

“My guest is finally awake.”

“Obviously,” she muttered, and then slid to the floor and hugged her knees. She needed to get out of here.

“I’m sorry if I can’t open the door to have a proper conversation.” There was actually regret in his voice.

“I know.”

“You’re a brilliant woman, Dr. Bennett. I guess you know who I am?”

“Marco Cordova. The asshole who made Antonio, Martinez, and Dante’s life a living hell.”

“My reputation precedes me.”

Charly snorted. “I wouldn’t be too proud of being a monster.”

“And you think the man you let into your bed is not? Do you know he’s a murderer?”

“Pot meet kettle. You don’t have the right to judge him.”

There was silence for a while, and then, “You know how his mother died?”

“Yes.”

“I want him to feel that pain again, but, this time, he will never recover from it.”

Charly thought of the young Antonio, a boy of eleven who struggled through floods to bring his mother her medicine and still lost her. Disgusted fury directed at Jacaré boiled inside her at the thought Antonio would suffer a loss again because he believed Antonio found love with her. “That’s a good plan for revenge,” her voice pitched low. “But that would only work if Antonio loves me. You see, he’s not capable of that emotion. He admitted it to me.”

Jacaré laughed. “Oh, that sorry bastard. He’s in denial. This would have stopped with Renata. I planned for her to receive the latest virus. But after Antonio left the unveiling gala so he could follow you, my plans changed.”

Charly frowned. “But Renata did contract Z-92.”

Jacaré chuckled. “Is that what you guys call the one that originated from the CDC?”

His mockery had her muscles tensing, but her brain struggled to clear the fog in her head as his insinuations became clear.

“Oh, shit.”

“Exactly.”

“This is a job for HRT,” a man in black tactical gear with FBI emblazoned on his chest told Gabby. “I’m not sure your team is equipped to go in there.”

“Our track record speaks for itself,” the female detective countered. “And we’ve been on this case since the beginning. We know who those people are. We know what they want. Holding a bullhorn and negotiating the release of Dr. Bennett isn’t going to cut it.”

As the two law enforcement agencies clashed, Antonio tried to contain the electric fury racing through his veins. Each second that passed knowing that Jacaré had Charly was a second spent in sickening purgatory—relief that she was alive, yet impotent with rage not knowing what that son of a bitch was doing to her.

The CTTF command center was two streets over from the house where Charly was held by Jacaré, possibly Lev Skoryk. From the CDC footage that Bristow showed them, the latter was wearing a mask, but he fit the relative height and build. Thank God, Bristow had the presence of mind to