What happened? Where was she? Was Wendy okay? Had he hurt Travis?
Snatches of memory swirled in her head. They’d rescued Wendy, Grayson had arrived from London, and Travis had taken her home. After that it got a little fuzzy. They’d kissed and she knew there was more she couldn’t recall.
Had Daniel killed Travis? Was he dead?
Hot tears pricked her eyes.
Why her? Why this?
The overwhelming sense of dread settled on her, and the weight of it was suffocating.
Bliss didn’t want to die. Not like this. Who would take care of Wendy? What about her bucket list? There were so many things she wanted to see and do before she died.
She drew in a shaky breath and covered her mouth.
Panicking never solved problems. That’s what she told Wendy. When something bad happened, she needed to take stock of her situation and make a plan. That approach had weathered the storms before, why not now?
Bliss inhaled and wrapped mental arms around all her fear, anguish, and sorrow. She shoved it into a mental closet and locked the door. There was time to fall apart when she was dead. But for now she was still alive, and Daniel Campbell had no clue who he was messing with. She might not be a badass SEAL, but she’d never rolled over and given up for anyone. Someone would come for her, and when they did, she intended to be alive.
Oh, God.
She gulped down a deep breath.
Freaking out wasn’t going to do her any good.
Bliss peered through the bars, taking in her surroundings. This had to be some sort of converted motorhome. The insides had been gutted. The floor was covered in metal sheeting. A table, or something, was bolted to the center of the narrow space, maybe an arm’s length from her prison. She craned her neck to look toward the back of the motorhome, but it was shrouded in shadow.
The motorhome turned a wide right. She could see out through a few feet of the windshield. An awning blocked out the light. The vehicle lost speed and lurched to a stop.
A gas station.
She shoved her hands down to her sides and closed her eyes, forcing her body to relax. Playing possum was her only defense right now.
The engine died, allowing the ambient sounds of country and western music to infiltrate the motorhome.
It wasn’t soundproof.
Good to know.
The driver groaned and shifted. He must have stood. One heavy footstep after another on the metal flooring made it easy to track Daniel’s movements to the door. It went against her instincts to remain quiet when it squeaked open, and the motorhome shook with each step down the stairs. The door slammed shut and for a few blessed seconds she relaxed.
She was alone.
Her body hurt, but a quick wiggle of fingers and toes suggested she seemed to be okay. Nothing hurt in a bad way, and nothing was chopped off.
She shifted so she lay fully on her back and began exploring her prison by touch. The bottom was plywood with a thin egg crate laid over it. An act of kindness? Or was that to muffle her sounds? She stomped on the walls at her feet and knocked on the ones over her head. They appeared solid, but not metal like the bars holding her prisoner.
The top of her prison was heavy, but appeared to have some give in it. The hinges were up against the wall, but what was holding it closed was a mystery.
She pulled her knees up as far as she could and wedged them against the top, pushing with everything she had.
The motorhome door opened. She squinted in the sudden light and pain stabbed her behind the eyeballs. She wrinkled her nose and forced herself to see past the pain.
Daniel Campbell.
The man chuckled and climbed into the motorhome.
That sound, it was the stuff of nightmares.
Bliss sucked down air and screamed, praying someone was outside, that they would hear her.
Daniel swore and closed the door behind him.
She grabbed the bars, shook them, and screamed again.
He went to a knee, fumbling with something on the outside and moments later the lid lifted. He swung his arm and punched her, right in the face. Stars lit up her vision, and for a second she couldn’t believe what had just happened. White hot pain seared her nerves. She cradled her face in her hands and rolled away from him, hunching her shoulders. It was instinct more than anything else, a weak attempt to protect everything vital.
“You shut up, or I’ll slice your throat now. They’d like that—my children. You’re only alive right now because you’re useful.” He dug a hand into her hair and pulled her backward, until she had no choice but to look up at him.
He held a syringe in his hand.
Her neck twinged, and a memory broke loose from the fog.
Wendy had called. Bliss had left her bed, no, she’d left someone.
Travis.
Travis had been in her bed.
She’d left him to go call Wendy back and something bit her.
No, it was Daniel.
She held up her arms, weakly trying to fend him off, but he jabbed the needle into her forearm. He shoved whatever was inside into her veins, watching her.
“W-why are you doing this?” she asked. There wasn’t a reason she could accept in existence, but she still wanted to know.
“Because I can,” he replied.
Her vision hazed, fading to black and all the fight leeched out of her.
She wasn’t dying, but she might as well be. She wasn’t a SEAL, she had no training. It was only a matter of time until Daniel killed her. Just like the other women.
2.
Travis peered through the binoculars. By all appearances, the mansion on the hill was just that, a luxurious getaway outside of Las Vegas. That was, until one of the security guards came into sight. Even the most A-list celebrity didn’t have security packing semi-automatic weaponry, unless they were looking for attention. From his vantage point above the outpost, Travis could document the comings and goings of all the personnel assigned to Grayson Horton’s security detail.
Wendy had just become the most protected asset in America, and Bliss was paying the price.
What chapped Travis’ ass the most was that these weren’t just any hired toughs. These were federal agents. Badge carrying CIA officers. Which might explain some of Grayson’s hesitance about speaking to the FBI. The two agencies didn’t always play nicely together.
The phone in Travis’ pocket vibrated. For a moment he considered ignoring the call. Chances were it was Ryan Brooks calling him again to relay some bit of knowledge that wouldn’t help him find Bliss.
It wasn’t Ryan.
“Tell me something good, Gavin,” Travis said.
Next to the FBI’s technical analyst, Gavin might be his best shot at getting a lead on Daniel’s current whereabouts.
“Bliss’ cell phone last pinged off a tower off I-95 north of Vegas at four this morning.” Gavin was all business, unlike yesterday. No one at Aegis liked that someone had been kidnapped from under their noses. By now, everyone at the home base would know.
“Shit. There’s everything north of Vegas.” Still, it cut out the lower half of the country.
“I’m still working on Campbell’s history. The FBI doesn’t want to share, so you might get the same thing twice.” Keys clicked and things beeped in the background.
“I’m fine with that. Maybe the second time around it’ll jog something lose.”
“You about to go pay our CIA friend a visit?”
“Friend is a bit much.”
“Cool.”
“Hey, in my email I have a folder called KC. Look through it. See if it doesn’t help in the search for Campbell.”
“You want me to hack into your email?” Gavin asked. The sound of keys clicking in the background stopped.
“Don’t you already do that?” Travis chuckled.
“Well...yeah.”
“Then get to it.”
“What’s KC stand for?”
“Killer Club.”
; “Okay...”
“It’s the project I’ve been looking into for the FBI. A club of serial killers.”
“The thing with your sister?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m on it.”
The line went dead, and Travis pocketed his cell phone.
He rose into a crouch and waited for the guard to circle around to Travis’ side of the building.
Three...
Two...
One...
Like clockwork, the CIA agent came into sight.
Travis slid off the outcrop of rock and down a sand and stone embankment. The scrub and brush kept him out of sight from the building below. He hit upon the footpath up to the radio tower at the top of the rise and got his feet under him. For the span of a few seconds he listened, testing the wind and allowing his senses to think for him.
Satisfied he was still undetected, Travis proceeded along the path. Judging from the lack of tracks, no one had bothered to scout up this far from the house.
The property butted up to the rocks with a fence on the other three sides. In theory, this house functioned as a layover and hideout for CIA operatives in the field. It also could double as a command center in case of an attack on the region.
For as high-tech as the structure was, it still had blind spots. Like the cameras that couldn’t be used due to the cluster of nests built around the poles. Because the southwestern willow flycatcher was endangered, the nests couldn’t be touched, and that left the whole back half of the property vulnerable.
Which just went to show that Mother Nature had the last laugh in the end.
He crouched behind the line of decorative boulders that fenced off the pool area. Grayson and Wendy Horton were twenty yards away, safe and snug inside the multi-million dollar mansion.
Travis checked his watch and counted down to the minute mark. The interior sweep at the top of the hour would be concluding, and if he was lucky, the CIA agents were bored and sloppy. If he wasn’t lucky, he might end up with a few more scars to add to his collection.
The time for hiding was over.
He slithered past the rocks, landing on his feet and strode around the pool.
Despite the tinting on the wall of glass, he could still see movement inside.
Travis reached the French doors. He held his breath, bracing for the gunshot and opened the door.
It swung open.
“Oh my God, Grayson!”
Travis ducked into the house as a man threw a weak punch at the air he’d just occupied. He shoved the man against the glass and held him there with his forearm.
“Grayson Horton, I’m Travis Ration,” he said.
“W-what?”
“Grayson, he’s not our enemy.” Wendy stood ten feet away, clutching a baby to her chest. There were dark circles under her eyes, but she’d showered and cleaned up since he last saw her.
“Ma’am? Sir?” Right on cue, a man in a suit strode into the living room, hand at his hip. From the befuddled expression, he hadn’t parsed out yet how or why Travis was there. Some security detail.
“He’s not hurting us,” Wendy said, reaching out to stop the CIA officer with one arm and hefting the baby up with the other.
“What the hell?” Grayson snapped. Travis let Grayson shove him away. “How did you get here?”
“I walked up to the door and let myself in,” Travis replied.
Pampered idiot.
“Who are you?” The CIA officer frowned. He hadn’t even pulled his weapon.
“Have you found Bliss?” Wendy stepped closer, her big brown eyes so much like Bliss’ it hurt to look at her. The sisters were almost complete opposites, except for the eyes.
“Not yet. Got a ping off her cell phone from early this morning. Looks like he was headed north.”
“Back to where...?” Wendy’s voice stuttered and died on her. Chances were she wouldn’t be able to speak about what had happened to her for a long time. The baby in her arms gurgled, content despite his mother’s anxiety.
“No, farther north it seems. He’s gone.”
Wendy sat down on a cream L-shaped sofa. Her tears could have been his, if he knew how to cry. She hugged the baby closer and rest her cheek on his head.
“He’s gone? Are you sure?” Grayson asked. He moved to stand next to his wife and lay a hand on her shoulder. The child waved a hand at his father. “Here. Give him to me”
Travis gritted his teeth and watched the tender exchange. Grayson took the baby and passed her a tissue, sticking close to her side while she fought a losing battle with the tears.
“Sir?” The CIA suit glanced between them.
“Get on already.” Travis waved the agent away.
Grayson nodded, and the suit went without argument.
So much for security.
“Where is he taking her? What are they doing about finding her?” Wendy sniffled and dashed the tears off her cheeks, but they kept coming.
“We don’t know. At this point, he’s disappeared completely. We have no leads.” But there were always leads. This time, Travis and the FBI didn’t have them, but the CIA was another entity altogether. He’d learned that every time someone said there weren’t any. The problem was asking the right people the right questions, and when necessary, applying pressure.
“He won’t get you, Wendy. You’re safe.” Grayson took a knee and gently wiped his wife’s tears away.
“But what about Bliss?” she asked.
Grayson glanced at him.
The man would do anything for Wendy—it might as well be stamped across his forehead—but he didn’t give a damn about Bliss. If he did, the CIA would already be leveraging their considerable weight.
“Your husband could help,” Travis said.
“He could?” Wendy glanced from Travis to Grayson, who suddenly found something interesting on the carpet.
“The people your husband work for could be very helpful.” Travis watched the hunch of Grayson’s shoulders, the furrows on his brow.
Wendy didn’t know.
“They could? How could they help?” She blinked her dark brown eyes at her husband, and Travis knew the man was a goner.
“Honey, let me talk to Mr. Ration for a moment alone, okay?” Grayson helped Wendy to her feet and guided her to a hallway.
He watched her leave before turning to look at Travis.
“She doesn’t know?” he asked.
“No. How the hell did you get in here? There are cameras and two CIA agents.” Grayson strolled to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water.
“I’m the best.” Travis accepted the water Grayson offered, but didn’t take a drink. He never trusted a man backed into a corner, especially when a woman was concerned. “You going to help find Bliss? Or hope Daniel Campbell stays content hacking your sister-in-law to bits?”
“I don’t want Bliss hurt,” Grayson said in a rush, hand up defensively.
“But you aren’t exactly calling in any favors to help her.”
“I...I’m not in good standing with the CIA right now.”
“That’s your problem.”
“I’m not paying you to rescue Bliss. Why do you care?”
Because...the reason was just there, out of view. Bliss was special. She was important.
“Because she’s an innocent in all of this. She wouldn’t have become a target if she hadn’t have been trying to protect Wendy.” Travis set the bottle on the counter and stared at Grayson. “Are you going to let her die, or are you going to do something to help?”
“What do you think I can do?” Grayson spread his hands.
The man might look like a weak patsy, but he was no fool.
“You design buildings. You figure out ways for the American government to hide their spy tech in those buildings. Which means you must know the people at the NSA. The ones who can run facial recognition software on all the security cameras they supposedly aren’t watching.”
Travis pulled out a photograph of Daniel Campbe
ll and pushed it across the marble surface. Grayson frowned at the picture.
“The FBI is on the case. Why can’t they do it?”
“We all know there’s the NSA they tell us about, and then there’s the other one. Ask them, or when Daniel Campbell is done tearing Bliss into bits, he’ll come back for Wendy. A man with a plan this detailed isn’t going to let a loose end go.” His body was cold, numb. He’d never felt this way before. Rescuing people had mattered, but this time, it mattered to him.
Travis pushed off the counter. Time was ticking, and they didn’t have a second to lose.
DANIEL STOOD ANKLE deep in the fresh powder and inhaled. The weather blowing in would cover his tracks off the main road, and then he could settle in for the winter. By the time spring rolled around, no one would be looking for him. Or the girl.
Speaking of, he needed to check on her. The drugs should wear off before too much longer and he’d need to do something with her. The bench cage was fine for travel, but he didn’t want her underfoot.
He pulled out his keys and examined the compass attached to the ring. With his bearings set, he trudged due west through the trees, counting off his steps. After the first few years, and one close call with the law, Daniel had implemented this back-up plan. A crash spot. The clearing along the hunting path was just big enough to fit his RV, and most importantly, his secret stash.
There.
The A-frame structure was small, not even big enough for a person of any considerable height to stand upright. He pulled the thatch door open. Snow and layers of leaves fell to the ground, but the shelter was otherwise intact. The only things inside were gas cans, and judging by the layer of dirt, they hadn’t been disturbed since his last trek up to check on the site.
He grabbed two cans and made the return trek back to the RV. While he could use the ATV to run out for supplies, the fewer people he saw the better. The gas in the shelter should keep him for two weeks.
A whole winter without the demands of work or society. Months to just be. And experiment. It was enough to make him almost forget the loss of his last wife.
Wendy.
He’d reclaim her someday, but not today.
A metallic clang interrupted his giddy daydreaming.
He frowned and picked up the pace, kicking up snow as he closed in on the Winnebago.
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