Someone Like Her (A K2 Team Novel)

by Owens, Sandra

  Jake gave one last critical study of the suitcase open on his bed. He didn’t like that he couldn’t strap a gun or knife on him before boarding the plane, but if their contact spoke true, everything they needed would be waiting when they arrived.

  He had three hours before Kincaid picked him up, and he decided to call Maria. She should be out of her last class about now. “You a lawyer, yet?” he asked when she answered.

  “Almost. One more day and then next step, the bar.”

  “I’m proud of you, Chiquita.” And he was. He wanted to be there when she walked out of school for the last time. It was a milestone he wished he could share with her. “You headed home to study?”

  “I’m on my way to see Angie for a few minutes and then, yeah, it’s hit the books for the last time.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “No, I think her mom’s having a meltdown, and Angie hopes I can help calm her down. Jake . . .”

  Just the way she said his name and then stopped alerted him that something between them was about to change. “Yeah?”

  “I lo . . . Never mind, just stay safe, and I’ll see you soon.”

  He fell heavily onto the bed. Had she almost said she loved him? “Take care, Maria.” He clicked off and stared at the phone as he tried to decide if he was sorry she hadn’t taken that next step—if that’s what she had been about to say.

  His finger tapped on the face of the cell, itching to call her back and demand she finish the rest of the sentence. “Damn.” He tossed the phone on the bed. This wasn’t the time to tangle his mind up with anything but the mission.

  All he had to do was get through the next five days and he’d be home where he could give his full attention to Maria and their future. After a lengthy shower—probably the last one until he was back in the States—he grabbed a bite to eat.

  The boss honked his car horn at precisely 1700 hours and Jake picked up his duffel bag from next to the front door, locking up behind him. After he was belted in, Kincaid handed him an envelope. Jake took it and checked both sides, but there was no writing on it. “What is it?”

  “How the hell would I know? It’s sealed and Maria made me promise not to open it. I seem to be making a lot of promises to my sister lately because of you, Tiger Toes. I don’t like it.”

  “Get used to it.” Jake slid a finger under the flap and opened it. He peeked inside and grinned. She’d sent him a picture of her taken on the beach with her back to the camera like the girl in his painting. Only difference, Maria wore a bikini that showed off her very fine ass.

  It hadn’t occurred to him to ask for a photo, and he was pleased she’d thought to give him one. When he returned home, he’d get one with her facing the camera—one he could put in his wallet to show off to anyone wanting to know what his girlfriend looked like. Damn, he had a girlfriend. He slipped the picture back in the envelope and tucked it into his shirt pocket.

  “What was it?”

  “None of your business, boss.”

  “See, that’s what I’m talking about. All of a sudden you both have secrets. I don’t like it.”

  “You already said that.”

  “Bears repeating,” Kincaid muttered.

  After parking and entering the airport, they parted ways. As Jake waited to board, he studied his men who had joined him at the gate. Stewart seemed calm, but Bayne was on edge. As second in command at K2, Jake had read the background reports on both men when they were hired.

  Kincaid only hired ex-SEALs, so the two men were experienced in military operations, but Bayne had once been captured and held for five days by insurgents before being rescued. Even under torture, Bayne hadn’t given anything away, and that was impressive.

  Jake worried, however, that they were putting him back in action too soon. “I’m thinking this little operation’s gonna be a cakewalk compared to what we’re used to. Our biggest problem will be babysitting the kid until we can turn him over to his dad.”

  He waited for both to nod their agreement. “But that doesn’t mean we treat it like playtime. We stay alert, we follow the plan, and we watch each other’s backs. When we get home all safe and sound, beer’s on me.”

  “Works for me,” Stewart said.

  Bayne shrugged one shoulder. “Sorry, but I’m a scotch man, myself.”

  “You got it.” Jake glanced at his watch. They should’ve started boarding ten minutes ago. About the time they were due to depart, an announcement came over the speakers that the flight would be delayed for one hour.

  That was annoying. He was ready to get this mission over with. Considering it would be the next day before they reached their destination, Jake decided to break the K2 rule of no alcohol on an operation. Besides, he didn’t count it as starting until they were on the plane—wheels up.

  “Let’s wait in the bar.” He almost warned his team one drink only but held his tongue, wanting to see if either was stupid enough to get drunk. Thirty minutes later, he and Stewart still nursed their one beer, but Bayne had ordered a second Scotch. Jake’s unease increased.

  As he listened to Stewart boast about his latest conquest, it struck him that he was glad he’d left that lifestyle behind. He’d wondered if he might miss partying, but he didn’t. All he wanted was Maria.

  Somehow, she’d performed a magic act and made his issue with commitment disappear. He had no desire to have anyone in his bed but her, and the part of him that had believed he couldn’t be faithful no longer worried. That he was starting to think he wanted only her for the rest of his life was some kind of miracle.

  She’d said she planned to stop by Angie’s, but by now she was probably back home studying for exams. Was she having trouble sleeping without him like he’d had since she’d returned to school? He considered calling her, but he’d probably blurt out that he thought he might be falling in love with her. When he told her, he wanted it to be in person.

  “They should’ve called for boarding by now,” he said, checking his watch. “Looks like another delay.”

  His phone buzzed and he answered, listening with a sinking heart to Detective Nolan. “The bastard has Maria,” he said, standing up so fast he knocked his chair over. How the hell did they let Fortunada post bail?

  “Who has her?” Bayne asked.

  How was he supposed to get on a plane and travel sixteen hours away from her knowing she was in trouble? He couldn’t. Kincaid’s flight had left already so there was no way to get in touch with him. Even if he could, he’d still be headed for Tallahassee, and if it cost him his job, he didn’t give a rat’s ass.

  “What’s going on?” Stewart asked.

  Jake jerked his head up. “What?”

  The airport’s speakers crackled to life and announced boarding would commence for their flight in ten minutes. Options raced through his mind.

  “Who’s got Maria?” Bayne asked again.

  “The bad guy. I don’t have time to explain. Here’s the plan. You two go on ahead, and I’ll catch up with you at the safe house . . . Friday night, latest.” Was he making a mistake sending them off without him? They were experienced soldiers, but this was their first K2 mission. Yet, if someone didn’t show up to meet their contact, the dude might get spooked. He pulled two twenties out of his pocket and handed them to Bayne.

  “Pay the tab. We’ll wait for you at the gate.” Time was wasting and he needed to get to Maria. What was the fastest way?

  “Listen,” he said when he had Stewart alone. “Bayne’s a little jumpy. Do what you can to settle him down. I’ll be there no later than Friday night, probably sooner. Assure Har-Shaf that everything’s proceeding as planned. Don’t even think of leaving the safe house and venturing into Egypt on your own. Spend the time going over the plan. It’ll give you both something to do.”

  “And if you’re not?”

  “Then you’ll come back
home, but I’ll get there.” As soon as he rescued Maria and could see for himself she was safe. “I’ll keep in touch and let you know when to expect me. By the way, Har-Shaf means terrible face, but it would be a mistake to ask him about his nose. He’s rather touchy on the subject. One reason he likes us is we don’t make fun of him like his countrymen.”

  “What happened to it?” Stewart asked.

  “Rats ate it off when he was a baby.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Stewart’s got the lead until I arrive,” Jake said when Bayne caught up with them.

  “Go kick ass,” Stewart said.

  “That’s the plan.” As he strode down the concourse, Jake dialed his friend, Bob Michaels, who not only owned a Lear based at a nearby private airport but was in possession of a few things he’d need. If his flight had left on time, he wouldn’t have known Maria was now a hostage until he’d changed planes in Miami. Thanking whatever fates were at work, he caught a cab to take him the short distance to Executive Airport and the jet that would take him to her.

  The only advantage he had was the tracking device he’d taped under the lining of her purse, and he hoped to hell she hadn’t changed purses. When he’d made a detour to K2 Sunday morning before taking her home, she’d questioned the necessity of his precaution now that Fortunada was in jail. He couldn’t explain his unease and attributed it to knowing he’d be out of the country and out of reach.

  “The bastard’s blaming you for all his problems. He’s come after you once, and he’ll do it again given half a chance. If nothing else, knowing we can track you should something happen makes me feel better, all right?”

  She’d looked at him then, brown eyes damp with unshed tears, and said, “Can I put one on you so I’ll feel better too?”

  Because he couldn’t make sense of what was going on with his heart, he’d simply answered her with a kiss.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Maria glanced at the fuel gauge. “If you’re planning on us going very far, we’ll need gas. The gauge is on empty.” Did he even know where he wanted to go?

  “You got money?”

  “Just a few dollars.” If she steered the car off the road, could she manage hitting a tree and killing Fortunada without killing herself?

  When she’d knocked on the door, it had opened and she’d walked in, never expecting to see Carol and Angie bound and gagged. The door had slammed behind her before she could turn and run. Now, she was driving Carol’s Taurus to God-knows-where with a man—who might or might not be her father—who was in possession of a gun, one pointed at her. At least he’d left Carol and Angie behind, and by now they’d surely found a way to get untied and call the cops.

  “We need a different car and some money,” he said, looking at her as if she could snap her fingers and make that happen.

  The last thing she wanted was a different car. The cops would be looking for this one, something that had obviously occurred to him. Knowing her car would be easy to spot, she’d suggested they take her Mustang, but he’d given her a suspicious glare and ordered her into the Taurus. Lesson learned. Next time she wanted him to do something, suggest the exact opposite.

  “How much money’s in your account?”

  As if she’d tell him there was enough for him to easily disappear into Mexico and live comfortably for a long time. The lie came easily. “About five hundred dollars.”

  She glanced at him. He really wasn’t bad looking with his Latino features, but as hard as she tried to find any semblance to her, she couldn’t. No way this man was her daddy, she decided, and prayed it was true.

  “Find an ATM,” he said, lifting the gun.

  “Unless you want to be sitting on the side of the road out of gas, you need to let me find a station first.” Where this courage to speak up to him with the black hole of a gun barrel pointed at her came from, she didn’t know, but she wasn’t going down without a fight. What she couldn’t decide was whether or not to tell him he might be her father. Would that help or make things worse?

  “There.” He pointed to a Shell station ahead on the right. “You get out and fill the tank and don’t try anything funny. Don’t think I won’t shoot you.”

  There went taking off when he got out. On to plan B. She slipped her purse onto her shoulder before leaving the car. Plan B was to run inside the station, but he was waiting at the back of the car when she came around the trunk.

  Plan C then. She dug out her credit card and swiped it. “I have to pee,” she said after removing the nozzle from the car’s tank and putting it back on the pump.

  “No, you don’t.” He lifted his chin. “Get in.”

  Although the gun was in his pocket, so was his hand. No doubt he had his finger on the trigger. She crossed her legs. “Yes, I do. Please, I don’t want to pee in my pants.”

  He glanced from her to the station and back. “You try anything and not only will I shoot you, but also anyone else nearby.”

  He grabbed the bathroom door before she could pull it closed behind her. “I’ll be right here. Hurry up.”

  She did have to pee, or at least she had to before a crazy man with a gun stood on the other side of the cracked door. Unable to bring herself to pull her panties down with him standing there, she hurriedly rummaged through her purse for her phone. Unable to talk with him listening, she wondered whose number she should call. Jake was on his flight by now, and her brother was on his way to DC. That left one person. She dialed Jamie’s number.

  “You have thirty seconds before I come in.”

  In a panic, she pushed the phone into her bra, hoping Jamie answered and not a recording. Then she prayed he was smart enough to catch on and listen. She flushed the toilet, then turned on the tap. When she went to grab her purse from the door hook, she remembered the tracking device Jake had put in it.

  “Thank you, Jake,” she whispered. Afraid Fortunada might take her purse away at some point, she fumbled with the lining until she felt the device, pulled it off the tape, and stuck it too in her bra. As long as Fortunada didn’t make her strip, she at least had two ways for them to find her.

  The door flew open, and startled, she shrieked, dropping her purse. “It’s a sad day when a girl can’t even pee in private,” she muttered, bending down to pick up her purse. “Not that a Shell station is my favorite place to pee,” she added, praying Jamie was listening.

  “Whatcha got in there,” he said, snatching the strap out of her hand.

  “That’s mine, Mr. Fortunada.” Did you hear who I’m with, Jamie? God, she wished she knew if he was listening.

  Ignoring her, Fortunada rummaged through it, finally settling on taking the forty or so dollars in her wallet. He pushed her out of the bathroom and with his fingers digging into her elbow, he steered her to the cooler. After grabbing a tall can of beer, he herded her to the counter. As he paid for the beer with her money, Maria tried to catch the attention of the clerk. When he finally glanced at her, she mouthed the word “help.” He grinned and in heavily accented English said, “Have nice day.”

  If only. “Great place you got here,” she said. “Never knew there was a Shell station on Lumford Street.”

  The clerk’s head bobbed. “Have nice day.”

  “Shut up,” Fortunada growled as he pushed her out the door.

  Back on the road with a full tank of gas, she drove in a wide circle, keeping the Shell station in the center, hoping Fortunada wouldn’t notice. So far, he’d been enjoying his beer too much to give her directions. Did the creep even have a plan?

  “Find a money machine,” he finally said.

  The only one she knew the exact location of was near her apartment. “There’s one on College, not too far from here.” That would get them back into her neighborhood.

  “Go there.” He crushed the empty can, then tossed it onto the back seat. “Why’d you come to my house?”
>
  Crap. She chewed on her bottom lip, debating whether to tell him the truth. “There’s still time to let me go before the cops find you. I’ll get you money and you can take the car, go wherever you want.”

  “No. You’re my insurance.” He fiddled with the gun resting on his thigh, sliding it back and forth. “You’re the reason the cops are after me, so you got this coming.”

  “I really wish you wouldn’t point that gun at me.” If she could only figure him out, she might be able to decide what to do. Sometimes it seemed as if he was confused as to how he’d gotten in this mess. Other times, he’d look at her with so much hate that she feared he’d pick up the gun and shoot her just because it would please him to do so. Every once in a while he would eye her as if he were trying to undress her.

  A shiver traveled up her spine at the thought of him putting his hands on her. Somehow, she had to get away before he either shot her or touched her. Although she continued to check in the rearview mirror for any sign of a police car, she saw none.

  “Turn here,” he said all of a sudden.

  “Governor’s Square Mall. I love the stores here,” she said, still hoping Jamie was listening.

  “Shut up.” With the nose of the gun, he pointed. “Go there to the back.”

  Twenty minutes later, they were back on the road in a stolen car. “I’m really impressed you know how to hotwire a car but if we were going to steal one, couldn’t you have picked something nicer than a green Ford?”

  “Do you ever shut up?” He changed the radio from a talk show to a country station, then turned the volume up.

  That was going to make it harder for Jamie to hear her if he was listening.

  “He just stole a car, a green Ford. Don’t know what model or year. She let us know he’s got a gun.”

  The bastard was a dead man. Jake walked up the sidewalk to Carol and Angie’s house, the phone to his ear. “She’s still got the tracking device on her, right?”

  “We’re assuming it’s on her and not riding around in someone else’s car,” Saint said. “She hasn’t said anything about Fortunada tossing her purse away. We’re following its movements on the big screen, and the direction jibes with everything she’s saying. Right now, they’re on College, a few miles from State Street. You gonna tell the cops we’re tracking them?”