Delta Force Defender

by Carol Ericson

Cam twisted around and peered out the back window. “Quiet street.”

  “Well, it is all residential and it’s a weeknight.” She turned off the engine and blew out a breath. “Ready?”

  “We’re ready.” He patted his jacket pocket, feeling the hard outline of his weapon.

  Martha’s gaze followed the gesture. “Nobody’s getting hurt, right?”

  “Would you really care if Scott-Ben-Patriot got hurt? He murdered three people—that we know of—and he’s after you and using Farah, putting her in danger.”

  “I know you’re right, but you can’t just run around shooting people based on a half-smoked cigarette—even if you are a hotshot D-Boy.” She touched his face. “I’m more worried about you than him. I don’t want you getting into any trouble.”

  He captured her fingers and kissed the tips. “And I don’t want you getting into any trouble. Nobody’s going to know you took those emails.”

  “My hand may be forced in the end if we want to put a stop to this guy.” Closing her eyes, she sighed.

  “You’re not going to end up like your father.” He squeezed her fingers before releasing them. “Let’s go.”

  When Cam slammed the passenger door, a dog popped up at a window of a town house and barked. “At least someone’s on guard around here.”

  “Let me do the talking.” Martha pocketed her keys and took the lead to Farah’s place on the corner.

  This neighborhood lacked the understated elegance of Martha’s with the fronts of the town houses closer to the edge of the sidewalk, but still nobody glanced out their windows at them as they passed by.

  The area didn’t scream high crime, but Cam shoved his hand in his jacket pocket and caressed the handle of his gun anyway. The silence of the street had him coiling his muscles in expectation of...something.

  Martha drew up to the steps of Farah’s town house and pulled back her shoulders. “This is it.”

  Cam looked over Martha’s head at the glow from the front window, the drapes tugged close, keeping the warmth and light from spilling onto the sidewalk. No light gleamed from the window to the left of this one, and the town house seemed draped in silence like the rest of the block.

  Martha breezed up the steps and rang the doorbell. Shifting to the side, she said, “I want her to see me from the peephole.”

  Cam kept his eye in the square of light that was the front window, searching for movement or shadows.

  He swallowed. “I don’t think she’s home, Martha.”

  “Not home?” Martha jabbed at the doorbell again. “Where would they be?”

  Cam lifted a stiff shoulder. “Don’t know.”

  Martha stepped back, tilting her head to scan the windows of the second story. “No lights on up there. Maybe they’re in bed.”

  “Farah and Scott?”

  Martha stuck her finger in her open mouth to mimic gagging. “I know. It makes me sick to think about it.”

  “Maybe you should call her.” Cam’s jaw ached with the insidious tension that had crawled through him ever since he stepped from the car. “Call her.”

  Martha shot him a sharp glance and then fumbled with her phone. She tapped the screen and listened for several seconds. “It’s Martha. I’m on your front porch. Something I need to ask you, so give me a call when you get this or let me in if you’re home.”

  “This place has a side door and a back door?”

  “Back door, I think.” Martha folded her arms, clutching her purse to her side. “Why?”

  “I want you to go back to the car, Martha. Just sit inside and wait for me. I’m going to do a quick check.”

  Her eyes got round behind her glasses. “Why?”

  “Just want to make sure.”

  “Make sure about what, that Farah’s not dead behind those doors? Like Casey? Like Tony?”

  Her voice had risen to a squeal, and Cam put a finger to her soft lips. “We came here to check on Farah, didn’t we? To make sure she was okay. I’m gonna do that now, and you’re gonna go back to the car and wait for me.”

  He put his hands around her waist and twirled her toward the car as if they were on the dance floor. “It’s just a precaution. I’m sure she’s fine.”

  She cranked her head over her shoulder and covered her mouth. “What if we endangered Farah’s life by taking off like that? Maybe Scott realized we’d made the connection. I said my mom had a dog. If Scott was the one prowling around this morning, he’s going to know there’s no dog at that house.”

  He stroked her back. “That’s not a given. Could be a lapdog, one of those little fur balls. Don’t think that way. I won’t be long.”

  He watched as she stumbled toward the car, and then he slipped around the side of the town house. If something had happened to Farah, Martha didn’t need to bear witness to it.

  He crept up to the first window and touched the glass with his nose, squinting to see through the gap in the curtains. He saw a slice of neat, undisturbed kitchen, and the threshold of the living room beyond.

  He tried raising the window, but it didn’t budge. If he did break in and discovered Farah and Scott in bed, he’d have a lot of explaining to do—especially if Scott really was just some cheatin’ dog and not a killer.

  Hunching forward, he made his way to the back of the town house where a short gate blocked his path. As he reached over the top to feel for the latch, he froze.

  The eerie silence of the neighborhood had been broken by something much worse—Martha’s scream.

  Chapter Thirteen

  About five feet from the car, Martha aimed the remote to unlock the doors. A sick feeling had been gnawing at her gut ever since Cam’s true purpose for searching Farah’s place and sending her to the car had dawned on her.

  If anything happened to Farah, she’d never forgive herself. How many people had to pay the price for her stupidity of snagging those emails for herself?

  A pair of headlights flooded the street, and Martha caught her breath. Maybe Scott and Farah had come back and if so, she’d have to waylay them out here until Cam finished his search—and then somehow explain where Cam had gone and why.

  The car slowed down, and Martha ran her tongue along her bottom lip as she recognized Farah’s vehicle. She whispered, “C’mon, Cam.”

  The car double-parked next to her own, and just as Martha pasted a fake smile on her face, the driver’s door sprang open.

  “Hey, Farah, we—”

  Martha broke off as the figure moved toward her, the black ski mask covering his face. She tripped backward, throwing her arms out to her sides to recover her balance.

  The man circled behind her and took advantage of her unsteadiness. One strong arm curled around her chest, dragging her to the street and the idling car—Farah’s car.

  She used her last burst of air to scream. She dug her heels into the pavement. They scraped against it as her attacker pulled her to the street. When he reached Farah’s car, he pulled open the passenger door and scrambled in backward, pulling her along with him even as she clawed at his arm and kicked at his legs.

  “Hey, hey!”

  Martha sobbed as Cam’s shouts echoed in the night.

  The man holding her grunted as he landed behind the wheel, and he threw the car into gear. As the car jerked into motion, he growled, “Stay out of this, or I’ll be forced to kill you.”

  He’d released his hold on her, but the car was now in motion and her body was half in and half out, one foot inches off the ground.

  She felt rather than saw Cam launch himself at the moving car. With one hand, he grasped onto the door as it swung wide, his other hand clutching his weapon pointed futilely at the ground. His legs scrambled beneath him, as they tried to keep pace with the moving vehicle.

  Martha screamed again as the car veered toward a pole. The masked man would crush Cam i
f he could.

  Through his panting, Cam said, “Get out, Martha. You have to get out. Fall on me.”

  The driver punched the gas pedal, and the car leaped forward. The car door swung back again.

  Martha braced her foot against the seat as her attacker made a grab for her leg. She twisted and kicked him in the side.

  Her new position gave her a view of the back seat, and she choked. “Cam, Cam.”

  “Out now!”

  Cam yanked her by the arm, and she felt suspended in air for a second before landing on top of Cam’s solid body. His arms wrapped around her, and they rolled together for several feet along a stretch of foliage.

  They came to rest against a rise that broke their momentum, and Martha squeezed a painful breath from her lungs.

  “Are you all right?” Cam’s hands brushed across her face.

  “I—I think so.” She heaved a strangled sob.

  “My God. He was trying to get you into the car.” He smoothed the hair back from her face. “I should’ve never left you.”

  “Cam.” She bunched fistfuls of his jacket in her hands. “He had Farah.”

  “What do you mean? That was her car?”

  “He had her in the back seat. She was knocked out or...” She buried her face against his chest.

  Cam struggled to sit up, brushing bits of leaves and twigs from his sleeves. “We have to call the police now. We’ll stick as close to the truth as possible, but we need to report Farah’s kidnapping and his attempted kidnapping of you.”

  “He warned me again. When it became clear he wasn’t going to succeed in his abduction, he told me to back off. He said something weird.”

  Cam curled his arm beneath her back, and she winced as she sat up. When a car drove by, they both hunched toward the ground, but the driver rolled by without even noticing them.

  “What was weird?”

  “He told me to stay out of this or he’d be forced to kill me.” Martha combed her fingers through her tangled hair. “Forced to kill me. He doesn’t want to, but why? If he took me out now, he wouldn’t have to worry about my finding anything else that Casey left behind for me.”

  “How would that look?” Cam rose to his knees, and cupped her elbow to help her up along with him. “A CIA translator is the conduit for a batch of emails implicating a Delta Force commander in colluding with the enemy. That translator’s roommate kills herself after her congressman lover dies, and then the translator accidentally dies? Disappears? Is murdered? If Wentworth’s death wasn’t on the FBI’s radar, your death and Casey’s would definitely put it there.”

  “This is all blowing up for him and his plans to make the emails seem like some concerned patriot looking out for the good of the country.”

  “You’re blowing it up for him. You and your out of left field decision to keep those emails.” Cam touched her nose. “What happened to your glasses?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t even remember if I had them when he pulled me into Farah’s car.” She bunched a fist against her midsection. “What are we going to do about Farah? He can’t kill her, either. Even though she didn’t receive the emails, she’s a CIA translator.”

  “With no connection to Casey or Wentworth or as you just mentioned, the emails. He could make her death look like an accident.”

  “But we’re friends.” Martha clung to Cam as if she were clinging to hope about Farah’s safety. “That would look suspicious.”

  “If he doesn’t kill her, she’s going to report him.”

  “Maybe not.” Martha took a wobbling step and grabbed Cam’s arm for support. “If he drugged her wine and took her to the car where she passed out, she’s not going to know any of this happened.”

  “Unless we call the police right now and tell them what we witnessed.”

  “Maybe that’s not the way to go right now. We’d force his hand if he we do that.”

  “We have to go to the authorities at some point with what we know, Martha, or what would’ve been the whole point in all this? We have to let them know the emails were a plant to discredit Major Denver.”

  She slipped her hand in his pocket as they limped back to her car parked down the block from Farah’s place. “What happened to your gun?”

  “Dropped it.” He pointed to the ground. “That’s why I’m walking with my head down.”

  “What a pair we are.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I guess Scott knew I realized his identity in the bar.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t beat yourself up over that. If I’d put two and two together about those cigarettes, I probably would’ve assaulted him right then and there, and that wouldn’t have been smart.”

  “It probably would’ve saved Farah.”

  Cam stopped suddenly and she bumped into him.

  “Found it.” He stooped to pick up his weapon, which had landed in the gutter of the street.

  “You haven’t seen a pair of glasses down there, have you?”

  “I’ve been looking.”

  They reached the car, and Martha shivered when she saw the black skid marks in the street. If Cam hadn’t come to her rescue, she’d be God knew where right now with a killer and a comatose Farah in the back seat of her car.

  Cam swooped down and snatched up the keys she’d dropped during the attack. He dangled them from his fingers. “Are you okay to drive?”

  She tapped her temple. “No glasses. You take the wheel.” She looked up and down the empty street. “I can’t believe all that commotion didn’t prompt someone to call the police. Didn’t anyone hear me scream?”

  “I did.” He opened the passenger door and helped her in. “That’s all that matters.”

  As Cam walked around to the driver’s side, two more cars drove by and Martha slid down in her seat.

  He slammed the door and gripped the top of the steering wheel, stretching his arms in front of him. “We need to make a decision about Farah. She’s incapacitated in the clutches of a killer.”

  “On the other hand...” She put one hand over her mouth. “Did I really say that after what you stated as the obvious?”

  “This is me you’re talking to, Martha.” He thumped his chest with his fist. “I understand the gray areas. Let me finish your thought. On the other hand, if Farah’s in the dark about being drugged, or kidnapped or Scott’s wild ride with us clinging to an open car door, she’s still safe and maybe we don’t have to do anything at all right now to help her.”

  Martha nodded, happy that Cam had understood her coldhearted statement. “That’s what I mean. Scott could take her to a hotel and tell her she passed out, got sick, whatever. He wouldn’t have to harm her at that point because she never would even know she’d been in danger—except for us and if we call the police...”

  Cam squeezed the bridge of his nose. “That’s our dilemma.”

  “Cam.” Martha spread her hands in front of her and inspected an abrasion on her knuckle. “I think it might be time for me to call an attorney. Gage at work was joking, but I should call my father’s attorney. He’s a family friend.”

  “Are you thinking of coming clean about the emails?” He traced a scratch on the back of her hand to her wrist.

  “I think it’s the only way now to protect Farah and tell the police and the FBI everything about Wentworth, Casey and Tony. I haven’t heard any news about an autopsy for Wentworth, but they’re still calling it a heart attack and Casey’s still a suicide. The police haven’t asked me anything else about her death or friends or state of mind.”

  “I don’t want you to get in trouble, Martha.”

  “I did that all by myself.” Her nose tingled, and she swiped the back of her hand across it.

  “You tried to go through the right channels about your suspicions, but it didn’t work. Nobody would listen to you.”

  “Coming clean would
also help your cause. This guy, these people, have gone to great lengths, even murder, to set this all up and then deal with the loose ends. It will prompt an investigation of the emails and Major Denver.”

  “Like you said before. It still won’t clear his name.”

  “But the doubt will be out there. What other evidence was fabricated against him? The CIA will have to take a second look.” She dragged her purse from the floor of the back seat and fished her phone from the side pocket. Scanning through her contacts, she said, “I’m not sure I have Sam Prescott’s number on my phone, but it will be on my mom’s computer.”

  “Whoa. You’re going too fast.” Cam splayed his hands across the steering wheel. “Don’t you think you should talk to someone first? Get some advice?”

  “That’s why I’m going to call Sam.” She pointed the corner of her phone at Cam.

  “I suppose there’s no point in waiting for Scott to bring Farah back home.” Cam pulled away from the curb and made a U-turn in the middle of the street.

  Martha’s phone buzzed in her hand and she jerked it in front of her face. “I-it’s Farah. It must be him.”

  “Answer it and put it on speaker.”

  “Farah?” Martha pressed a hand against her chest and her thundering heart.

  “What’s up? What’s so urgent?” Hearing Farah’s voice, clear if slow, sent a rush of relief flowing through Martha’s body.

  “You’re okay?”

  Cam put a hand on her arm and shook his head.

  He was right. If Farah didn’t know she was in danger, that just might save her. Her captor wouldn’t have to kill her.

  “Kinda woozy, but yeah. What’s wrong? I got your voice mail from earlier. What was so urgent that you had to come out to my place?”

  Martha cleared her throat. “Cam thought he left his cell phone at the bar and figured you and...Scott might’ve picked it up.”

  “I didn’t notice any phone. We left pretty soon after you did. Are you going to tell me about Cam? He’s a hot hunk of man, girl.”

  Martha snuck a peak at Cam, who rolled his eyes. He’d probably heard that line a million times.