Midnight Abduction (Tactical Crime Division Book 3)

by Nichole Severn

  It’d been reckless and dangerous and wrong, but she hadn’t done anything to fight it. She’d laid out the rules in no uncertain terms when it came to what’d happened between them, but in that moment Benning had broken past the defenses she’d taken so long to build with a single sweep of his tongue past her lips. Just as he’d always been able to do. He’d stirred things inside her she hadn’t let herself feel in so long, and there’d been nothing she’d wanted more. In those few seconds she’d been stripped bare, left raw and exposed to the truth. That she... She’d been in love with him, too. She’d denied how she’d felt in the name of saving lives, when deep down the real reason had been festering all along.

  She couldn’t take the pain of losing anyone else.

  Not after losing her baby sister at two years old, not after failing to recover Samantha Perry before her body was found decimated in that alley. She’d ensured she’d never have to feel that grief again by leaving behind the one man who’d undeniably break her into a thousand pieces if given the chance in order to protect herself. Benning.

  She wasn’t going to die out here. Not until she fulfilled her promise.

  Using the exterior of the cabin as a stabilizer, Ana hobbled toward the SUV as fresh snow fell from the sky. Her lungs burned, nausea churning in her stomach. She’d already lost so much blood it felt as though ice sludged through her veins, but the pressure of being exposed—out in the open—took priority. Her attacker had taken her gun and nearly her life. She could only do something about one of those things right now. Twisting her head around the corner of the cabin, mere feet from the SUV, she listened for movement, waited for the next ambush. Only the pounding of her own heart behind her ears registered. Exhaustion compelled her to rest here, to close her eyes and wait until her strength returned, but time was running out. She had no idea who that gunshot had been meant for, if Benning was alive, or if Olivia had gotten to safety. And as long as she was conscious, she’d fight to find out.

  “Now or never, Ramirez.” She took a few deep breaths, the burn in her lungs a dull piercing now. Blood was still leeching from the wound across her pant leg. It hadn’t slowed, which meant the piece of glass wasn’t doing a great job holding her together. Benning wasn’t the only one out of time. “You didn’t come all this way for nothing.”

  She searched the side of the house one more time. Then ran.

  A bullet ripped past her left arm, an inch—maybe two—from her heart as she lunged for the tail of the SUV, but she had to keep moving. Her leg dragged behind her, her toes and calf muscles numb. Two more shots embedded in the side of the cabin and another in the passenger-side door of her vehicle as she took cover. Out of breath and ideas, she pulled her injured leg behind the SUV and closed her eyes as another four rounds exploded through the night. Hostia. Bloody hell. She pressed her neck and back into the vehicle’s bumper and got to her feet, compressing the hatch’s lever. Locked. The breath rushed out of her as she scooped a fist-size rock from the snow and shattered the back windshield. She cleared glass from the bottom track, discarded the rock, and opened the hatch from the inside. Crawling inside, she bit back the urge to scream as the glass shifted in her thigh, and she closed the gate behind her. She was hidden. At least temporarily. It wouldn’t do much considering she’d left a trail of blood and glass in her wake, but none of this would matter unless she got the bleeding under control. If she was going to get Benning and Olivia the hell out of here, she had to focus. “Okay, okay. If I were a piece of rope, where would I be?”

  Tossing extra raincoats, flares and spare water bottles from the emergency kit, she dumped the rest of the contents into the SUV’s cargo space and nearly collapsed back in relief. She grabbed the single bungee cord, still in its package, from the mess. Closing her eyes, Ana set her back against the second row of seats. She prepared herself for the pain that was coming before pinching the glass between both sets of fingers. She sucked in a deep breath. Pressing her heels into the vehicle’s floor, she locked her back teeth to keep from giving away her position. “Like a Band-Aid. Nothing you haven’t survived before.”

  She pulled the large piece of glass entirely through her leg with everything she had left, then tossed it aside. Reaching for the bungee cord, she discarded the packaging and wrapped the braided fibers tight around her leg, above the wound. She slammed her head back into the row of seats as pain exploded through her. Tingling sensations shot like lightning down through her calves and toes as feeling rocketed back into her nerves. Darkness closed in around the edges of her vision, but she had to stay awake. Had to get to Benning.

  “I know you’re in there, Ramirez.” Snow crunched beneath heavy footsteps outside the vehicle. “And from the trail you’re leaving behind, it looks like you’re not in very good shape.”

  A knot swelled in the pit of her stomach.

  Sifting through the supplies she’d dumped across the cargo space, she gripped a screwdriver. The bright orange head faded in and out of focus as she tried to pry open a hidden storage panel beside the tailgate. The plastic cover finally fell away, and she wrapped her hand around the backup piece she’d stored before she’d left TCD headquarters. Always be prepared. That was what her brothers had taught her from the time she’d been five years old. That, and how to disassemble a gun so it’d fit inside any small storage compartment. She made quick work of assembling the pieces into place and loading the magazine as the footsteps pierced through the pounding in her head. “Only eight more lives left. Don’t suppose that means you’re going to cut me some slack—”

  Gunshots exploded from outside. Blood burst across the tinted side window of the SUV, and the large outline of a man fell against the side of the vehicle. Ana fell back onto her side and raised her weapon. Waiting. Tension stretched across her shoulders as the seconds ticked by. Maybe a full minute. Slower than her instincts told her to go, she unlatched the tailgate and slid out of the vehicle, gun in hand. Her breath shuddered in her chest. She swung around to the passenger side of the vehicle, ready to pull the trigger.

  But no one was there. Only a trail of blood—separate from hers—and a larger set of footprints led away from her position and into the trees.

  “Ana.” Movement registered from behind, and she twisted around and took aim.

  At a familiar face.

  “Benning.” She released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, adjusting her grip around her weapon. Her hands shook, the pain in her leg the only thing keeping her in the moment. She lowered the gun to her side as a sob nearly broke through her control.

  Just before she collapsed.

  * * *

  “ANA!” HIS BLOOD ran cold, heart jerking in his chest. Lungs emptied of oxygen as a different kind of pain exploded through him. Benning pushed his legs as hard as he could to catch her before she hit the ground. But he wasn’t fast enough. His boots slid across an iced-over patch of snow, bringing him to his knees, but it couldn’t stop him. Nothing would stop him from getting to her. Clawing through snow, he discarded the gun he’d taken from her duffel bag inside the cabin after he’d woken and slipped his uninjured arm around her limp body. Fresh blood dripped from her nose and mouth, her skin too pale. He pressed his index and middle finger to the base of her throat, and a rush of relief flooded through him. Her heartbeat pulsed against his finger, slow, thready, but there. “Come on, Ana, open your eyes. Look at me.”

  No response.

  Hauling her upper body out of the snow, he gritted through the pain in his shoulder and skimmed the pad of his thumb across the bluish tint in her lips. The bastard who’d shot him had run before Benning had gotten another shot off, but it was the bright red stain of blood that had pooled beneath her, such a sharp contrast in the snow, that hiked his blood pressure higher now. Hell, she looked like she’d gone four rounds with a professional boxer and been stabbed in the process. He had to get her inside. Had to get her warm. He brought her into
his chest, then scanned the tree line twenty feet to the north. The bullet to his shoulder had taken him down for a few minutes, and when he’d come back around, the shooter and his daughter were gone. Where was Olivia? Every muscle down his spine tightened with battle-ready tension, and Benning shook the woman in his arms. “Ana, wake up. You have to get up. You have to tell me where Olivia is.”

  He’d searched the cabin after he’d woken alone in the snow. No one—not even the bastard who’d attacked him—had been inside. Which meant his daughter was somewhere out here or...or the killer had taken her, too. If the same man who’d tied him to a tree was responsible for taking his son, the SOB had made a grave mistake. Benning set his hand over Ana’s heart, blood crusting to her angled features. The skull was still out there. Benning didn’t know where, or who had taken it from the fireplace, but he’d be damn sure the shooter never got his hands on it.

  “Benning.” His name struggled past her lacerated lips, barely a whisper over the constant whine of the wind through the trees.

  He fisted her T-shirt in his hands and pulled her upright. Desperation and hints of anger bled into his voice. “Ana, where is Olivia? I need to know what happened to my daughter.”

  “I couldn’t stop him.” Hazel-green eyes struggled to focus on him. Her hands fell limp at her sides, and for the first time he noted her bloodied knuckles and what looked like a knife wound across the top of her arm. “I tried, but I wasn’t strong enough. I screamed at her to run. I don’t know where she is.”

  “You told her to run?” He loosened his grip on her shirt, and everything—the darkening bruising around her throat, the busted lip, the torn stitches, and her black-and-blue index finger—rushed into focus. Sweat sheened across her flawless skin, dark circles more prominent than a minute ago. He recovered the gun he’d dropped and shoved the barrel down the back of his jeans. “Hang on to me.”

  A groan ripped from his throat as he hauled her into his chest and got to his feet, and the hollow space behind his sternum ripped wider. In these temperatures, combined with the loss of blood, her body was bordering on hypothermia and shock. He’d prioritized his daughter’s life over hers.

  Without Ana, he and Olivia would already be dead. He owed her his life.

  His legs burned as they climbed the stairs, maneuvered her through the sliding glass door and swung her down onto the nearest couch in the living room. First-aid kit. He’d left it on the kitchen table after stitching her the first time, but first, he had to get her core temperature back up. Ripping every blanket he could find from the beds, he dashed back into the living room to find her struggling to her feet. “What are you doing? You’ve lost a lot of blood, but stitches aren’t going to do a damn bit of good if you die from hypothermia.”

  “You know you’re bleeding, too, right?” Heavy eyelids drooped lower as she shuffled toward him.

  “Bastard shot me after Olivia attacked him. Now I don’t know where she is. At least I can say I shot him back.” But the man in the mask had slipped away before Benning could get the answers he needed. The echo of Olivia’s scream still played in his head, the memory of the suspect advancing on his daughter fresh. The cut on the back of his head throbbed. “Now, get back on that couch so I can keep you alive.”

  “She’s a smart girl, Benning. We’re going to find her.” Ana fell against the kitchen table, strands of beautiful dark hair sticking to her skin and neck. Her gasp destroyed the lingering effects of their last conversation and pressurized the air in his lungs. “I promised I would keep your daughter safe, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Right after we take care of that wound of yours.”

  “Damn it, Ana.” He lunged forward before she hit the floor. Taking her weight, he settled her back against his chest as he slowly lowered them both to the hardwood. Her skin was hot, sweat slicking down the side of her temples despite having been discarded in the snow for who knew how long. “How the hell are you going to do that when you can’t even stand?”

  “I’m not going to lose you again, Benning.” Long lashes rested against the tops of her cheeks as she closed her eyes, but when she opened them again, a fire he’d never seen before burned in the depths. “And I’m not going to lose her, too. I can’t.”

  Her voice broke, right along with his heart. Something shifted then. Something he couldn’t explain as she rested against him. He’d been wrong before. She’d detached herself from the people she’d been assigned to find, but not because she didn’t want to feel the pain and loss of another victim, someone she cared about. How hadn’t he seen it before now? It’d been there in the way she’d kept her bullet wound to herself to get them to safety, the way she’d shouldered the blame of Samantha Perry’s death, how she’d sacrificed herself to give his daughter a chance to run. Even now, she was determined to put his medical needs above her own, despite the fact she was on the verge of passing out.

  She wasn’t protecting herself from being hurt again.

  She was punishing herself.

  For what’d happened to her sister, what’d happened to Samantha Perry seven years ago. All of it. She’d taken the blame and twisted it into her own personal responsibility, leaving her wrung out and nothing more than the empty shell he’d accused her of becoming. She’d cut herself off from the things—the people—she cared about the most, not because they were a distraction, but because she didn’t believe she deserved them to be part of her life. That because she’d failed, she didn’t deserve to be cared for. Benning swept her hair out of her face. He held her tighter, counted her slowing inhales and exhales. No. She wasn’t going to die here. Her lashes dipped to the tops of her cheeks once again, and his eyes burned with the possibility of losing her all over again. “You’re not a ghost of the woman I fell in love with. I was wrong. I know now why you left, why you think you need to put your own life on the line for everybody else to make up for the past, but if you keep going like this, you’re not going to have anything left to give, Ana, and my kids need you.” He took a deep breath as the truth surfaced. “I need you.”

  “It’s my fault.” Her voice vibrated against his chest. She struggled to open her eyes, her hands limp by her sides. “I was the one who was supposed to be watching my sister the day she went missing. I’m the one who should’ve found something we could use on Harold Wood before he killed that girl. No one else. Me.”

  Warmth spread through him as he set his cheek against the crown of her head.

  “You were five years old when your sister was taken, Ana. Five. You couldn’t have even saved yourself at that age, let alone someone else. You were a child, and nobody in their right mind blames you for what happened. Just as nobody blames you for what happened to Samantha Perry.” Tension built at the thought of how many times she’d internalized that blame, made it a part of herself, carried it on her shoulders day after day, how it affected her life. Her happiness. “The criminals who abducted them, they’re the ones who need to answer for their crimes. Not you. Don’t you see that?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “You told me the work you do makes it so you have to walk in the dark, and I believe you.” He smoothed blood from her bottom lip, and a new level of awareness heightened his senses, chased back the pain in his shoulder. He shouldn’t be surprised. She’d always had this effect on him, always been able to shut out the chaos around them, grounded him, kept him in the moment. Gave him confidence. “But nobody said you have to do it alone or that you don’t deserve to see the light.”

  She shook her head. “I should’ve been able to save her.”

  “Think of how many others you have saved, Ana. They’re alive because of you.” He’d been down this road, blamed himself for not being strong enough to protect Owen and Olivia, but in the end, that wasn’t what mattered. He could tell her it was because his kids were out there, possibly in the hands of a killer, that he’d laid it all out there, but that wouldn’t be the truth. He car
ed about her. From the moment she’d walked onto that construction site asking him questions about the Samantha Perry case seven years ago, he’d known she was the kind of woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. She was intelligent, independent, insightful and caring when she let that part of herself show. And, damn it, she deserved more than this, more than a life filled with unanswered questions, heartache and pain. She deserved to be happy. He and the twins, they could make her happy. The thought should’ve scared him, but a sense of rightness, conviction, burned behind his sternum. Hadn’t he’d always felt that way when it came to her? “This obsession you have with saving everyone but yourself only has one end. Yours.” A hint of anger bled into his voice. “Damn it, Ana, you have people that care about you, but you’re too consumed by your own mistakes to see it.”

  She hauled the gun off the floor and struggled to her feet, unstable. Eyes heavy, she limped toward the kitchen table and collapsed into the same chair she’d sat in as he’d stitched the wound in her side. “There are only two people I care about right now, and after you help me stitch up this wound, I’m going to find them.”

  Chapter Eight

  She wiped crusted blood from her face, flashlight to the ground.

  The power was still cut from the cabin, but they didn’t have time to fix it now. Olivia was out here, in the cold and on the run. Whoever’d pushed Ana through that window would be on the girl’s trail. Had maybe even caught up with her already. The thought exposed the very real fear climbing her spine, but she pushed forward, forcing her attacker’s parting words to the back of her mind. She might not be strong enough to beat this particular threat, but she’d sure as hell slow him down. As for Benning... Whatever illusions he had about her would have to wait. The kidnapper had given them twenty-four hours to hand over the evidence Benning had pulled from that wall. They had three hours left until the deadline. Not enough time to recover the skull, find Olivia and save Owen, but Ana would fight until the end. “Over here.”