Infallible

The moment detective Scarlet Anne Martin stepped into that prison, her resolve began to wane, a struggle she had long forgotten between heart and head. Unable to deny it any longer, the feelings she had for Alaric were strong, and her desperation to save him would ultimately be what would kill them both.

For a super cop, her judgment in men truly failed her. But while her life and anyone’s who tried to stop her was in mortal danger, she had to forget every single detail about Special Agent Blade. Her primary focus was getting through the next twenty-four hours without killing anyone.

Thereafter, her purpose would be to find a way to put behind bars those who were framing her for murder and the bombing in New York City. It would prove to be an almost impossible task, as she had become a fugitive in a foreign country.

This time, her drop-dead gorgeous looks and South African accent would work against her in every way—she would be recognized in a heartbeat on the streets. With nowhere to run, she made the decision to face the peril head on and ensnare the evil that was coming for her, and the only way to do that was by giving them what they wanted.

Behind her, the elevator doors closed with a soft echo into the vast underground facility. Warden Jones stepped down from the platform, nodding for the detective to proceed ahead of him down the stairs. Wearing blue contacts and a blond wig, she was hidden from his suspicion.

Treading over the iron threshold, solitary confinement had become more than just a word to the beautiful detective. Inhaling against the darkening heaviness of the chamber, she had to force herself to become blind to the crimes that would pass her by from that moment on.

The warden led the way down the three flights of stairs, the air becoming thicker the deeper and farther they traveled down into The Cave. It had been about five years since he had last visited solitary confinement. It was where the worst of criminals were kept, left to rot until the government needed some form of information from them, their knowledge the only reason they had escaped death row.

He stopped before the last door, the dim light slowly flickering on and off above them. “You’re sure that this guy is the man you are looking for, agent?” The light flickered on again. He couldn’t help but stare at the beautiful blond in disbelief.

With a firm nod of her head, her eyes shifted from his face to the door. She wasn’t one for words but judging from her swollen lip and her slightly bruised eye, it was probably as good a reason as any.

He’d tried to say something about it earlier, but she’d just given him a blank stare. He had to admit, though, that her beauty was somewhat intimidating.

Scarlet nodded at the prying warden, trying not to say too much—imitating an American accent was not her forte. She placed her gun in the metal box at the last checkpoint.

The warden slid the panel closed, sealing it inside the wall, his eyes skimming over her breasts just before he drew his attention to the security door.

Scarlet felt both disgusted and pleased at the same time. Using her beauty as a weapon went against everything she stood for, but if he made it that easy, he deserved it.

Two officers, as well as the warden, stood stiffly beside her as they stepped into the elevator. A few seconds later, they exited. Behind her, the door closed with a soft echo.

Warden Jones stepped down from the platform, nodding for her to proceed. “After you, agent.”

Taking the metal steps even farther down, she scrutinized the layout of the area; roof and exterior walls were solid stone, and the metal interior walls were made up of three large squares, one on each side, with the last running along the back wall. No windows, no air vents—the cause of the stale, stifling, damp air crushing down on her chest. Descending to the ground floor, she anxiously flexed her fingers inside the pockets of her jeans, asking God for forgiveness for what she had gotten herself into.

Lights flickered on each passing step as they walked down the aisle toward the metal box on the far end, where the prisoner she was about to break out had been held for a decade. The guards at her side looked nervous. Scarlet couldn’t blame them. Perhaps they sensed what was about to go down.

Her black, thin, high heels clickety-clacked on the hard stone floors, keeping time with the steady beat of her heart as she steeled herself against her instinct to flee, or arrest the crooked cop ahead of her. Looking up, she saw the narrow pipes that ran down the length of the walls and into the metal chambers—the means by which food and water was supplied to prisoners—which were too tapered otherwise for any human to climb through. The conditions these prisoners faced did not surprise her.

Having worked organized crime for the past 11 years had hardened her heart against humanity. She faced evil daily, and her current situation was no different. A part of her unwillingly understood that bad men like these deserved exactly what they got, and her inability to empathize with criminals lay claim to her skills as an asset to any government agency that contracted her.

Detective Martins was fearless, brave—perhaps another way of saying reckless. And because of her stupid, reckless heart she would have to come to terms with the dreaded consequences.

Halfway down the passageway, her heart began to beat erratically within her chest, reminding her of what was at risk should she fail the task put before her. So, with limited resources at her disposal, she had no choice but to act like any man would expect of a beautiful lady cop. She felt like a big freaking idiot doing it too, pretending that the thin heel of her boot snagged on the hem of her pants as she walked. Faltering forward and losing her footing, and of course being the gentleman Warden Jones was, he leaped forward at the chance to save the agent from herself.

Unaware to him, Scarlet grabbed on to his belt as he came too close, pulling herself into him. He was taken by surprise at their close proximity, at her gorgeous eyes staring up at him. And he never saw his own Taser being pulled on him. Without hesitation, the two accompanying officers came at her as the warden dropped to the ground, shaking like a gasping fish as the current ripped through his muscles, claiming him, then rendering him unconscious.

Scarlet’s leg swung out low, connecting with the first guard’s knee. As he fell to the ground, she heard three shots go off. Without a second’s hesitation, she jumped from the crossfire, somersaulting across the floor and landing on her feet, Taser at the ready, fury griping her insides.

One bullet had missed its target and rebounded off the metal pipes with a loud clang until it lodged itself within the bedrock. Two guards were down, the other smiling from behind the barrel of a gun.

“Holy shit!” Scarlet whined, straightening her jacket.

The remaining officer smiled. “Perfect timing that was!”

Giving her accomplice a nasty glare, she walked over to the comatose warden and searched his jacket for the torch she needed to cut through the metal wall. “We don’t have time for your macho crap. I’m pretty sure that was you being stupid, and not so much Lady Luck being on your side.” Staring up at him, she tucked a wisp of the wig that had escaped behind her ear. “And you didn’t have to kill them, you sadist.”

“Whatever,” he retorted.

Scarlet rolled her blue contact lensed eyes at the stupid American, always so eager to take the kill shot.

The ‘officer’ immediately went to work, strategically placing tiny, black detonators along the metal walls in the other windowless rooms. The plan was to break out all the prisoners in hopes of causing so much chaos that they’d have enough time to escape undetected.

Pulling up her sleeve, she stared at the map drawn on her wrist, hastily finding the hidden swat shield behind one of the pipes against the far wall. Running over to the warden in order to retrieve the torch, Scarlet pressed down on the black cylinder. A searing green beam of light shone from it, lighting up the hallway beyond the junction. Walking over to the designated spot, she pointed the metal cutter at the thick sheet of steel. “This is going to take too long,” she snapped in frustration.

“Give me one of those.”

She walked over to her accomplice.

“Stick to the plan, detective,” he ordered, attaching the last button.

“And that is why you will always just be the minion.” Grabbing two of the black buttons from his grip, she sniped, “If you didn’t pack spares, you will be responsible for our deaths.” Turning back around, she stuck one of the small flat devices to the groove on the welded plate, and the other on the opposite side.

“Ready?” he called to her, his voice floating on the taut air.

They crouched behind the shield, holding their hands over their ears as the trigger was activated.

3…2...1…BOOM.

The room shook violently, like the very earth beneath their feet would be ripped apart at any second. Sand and stone sprinkled down from the ceiling, causing a puff of dust. Scarlet kept her eyes and head shielded behind her arms as shards exploded from all three walls before them, the blast leaving them both disorientated and dizzy for a moment. Even with their ears covered, the roar of the trembling cave above was impossibly loud—shaking at their brains. Lights flickered then ebbed out.

Grabbing the green torch to use as a light source while coughing and hitting away at the wafting dust, she came out from behind the shield and walked forward toward the end of the passage.

Out of the smoke, Lazarus took his first step into the outer room.

Covering her mouth and nose, she gagged at the putrid, musty air that escaped his hole.

Taking another step forward, Lazarus assessed the situation with narrowed eyes as the other prisoners began to creep out of their holes. He focused his gaze on the tall woman in front of him and gave a very approving grin.

A slight shudder went off inside her as their eyes met. For a moment, she thought the quiver was an aftershock from the blast. But as Lazarus kept his grin on her, she, not uncertain in the least, felt the bad taste of betrayal fill her mouth. The bitter kiss of Judas, a sweet, sorrowful brand.

All Scarlet could do was stand still in fear of her failing legs. If it were not for him being the only thing that stood in the way of getting Alaric back alive, she would have killed him right there and then, using nothing but the damn chain around her neck—the one he had given her on their first wedding anniversary.

Whenever detective Martins entered an interrogation room, the suspect’s reactions were always the same. First, the look of utter confusion clouded their condescending expressions, brows furrowed so tight it cast dark, ugly shadows across their faces. But when the detective took a seat, her slim legs crossing neatly over each other, and the name above her shiny, golden badge finally readable, their looks fleetingly morphed from shock to relief, finally settling into something resembling smugness. Female cops, she reckoned, were treated with the same disrespect in any country.

Laying her South African accent on real thick, she talked painfully slow in case they couldn’t understand her. “So, let’s get this over with right now.” Detective Scarlet Anne Martins, better known to her loved ones as Sam—derived from her initials—smiled slightly while she spoke. Her hands calmly opened out over the worn-out case file. Looking up, her big green eyes met the suspect’s only briefly. “Yes, I am a woman and yes, I am extremely good looking, but don’t for one second think that your ‘bad boy’”—her fingers mockingly made quotation marks in the air—“behavior is in any way attractive.”

Scarlet flashed him a brilliant red, glossy, sarcastic smile with the cocky tilt of her head. “I am here to put you behind bars, so don’t let the package throw you. The fact that I even found you after your case had been labelled ‘cold’, should be an indication as to how tenacious I truly am at nailing scum like you.”

But the suspect still looked at her from behind a patronizing gaze. She thought back to what the captain had said to the chief of police on her first day at NYPD: “Women can act tough, but they break easily.”

Detective Martins stared past the unsuspecting man into the mirror, lifting her chin, a daring smile creeping across her gorgeous face. “Seven days.” She held her fingers up, placing a bet to her squad members watching from behind the glass wall.

“For what?” The suspect laced his nervous fingers together on the table before him.

“Until I put you out of your misery.” Her penetrating gaze meeting his full-on, a promise she intended to deliver on.

“Is that a threat, Detective Martins?” The perp’s lawyer pushed the tape recorder an inch closer in her direction, eager to catch her on some technicality that might set his client free.

In his eyes, she could see every thought that crossed his mind. She knew that he knew she either had or was on the brink of having something concrete on his client.

The lawyer scrutinized the detective, fully aware of her reputation to close cases such as the one he sat with now. Her devilish stunning looks part of what made her infallible, paired with her take-no-prisoners attitude, it could knock any man off course, even the best of criminal minds.

“No, Mr. Workman,” Scarlet smiled politely at the lawyer, “it is simply a warning to Mr. Rogers here to get his family affairs in order before I throw him behind bars for good. If he has any respect for himself and that of his loved ones, he will go gracefully. Or I will take down each and every one who stands in my way, including his wives and children for having concealed him for so long.”

Mario Rogers shifted uncomfortably in his seat. How could she possibly know about his other families? He struggled to keep his composure, forcing spite into his words, as well as keeping cool and controlled. “They never got me the first time around, sweetheart, what makes you think there is anything you can pin on me after so many years?” he snickered.

“There is simply not enough evidence against my client, detective,” his lawyer interjected.

Scarlet could tell he was pulling out anything at this point to throw her off her game, hoping he could rile her up, thereby making her lose focus. He wanted her to slip up, save him losing face in front of such a high-profile client as the ‘retired’ organized crime boss.

Calmly, Detective Martins stood and took a step back from the metal table, folding the excessive paper file between her crossed-over arms. “That’s what they all say.” Smirking, heels clicking and hips swinging with sexy conviction, she exited the interrogation room.