by Paula Graves
He left the cabin, not looking back.
THE SCENE AT the bait shop was pure chaos. Fire trucks, police cruisers and a couple of ambulances filled the parking lot, and the whole area crawled with men and women in uniform. Luke spotted Aaron sitting on a gurney in front of one of the ambulances, his left upper arm wrapped in a large white bandage. He was arguing with the emergency medical technician trying to coax him into the ambulance.
“I’m not going to the damned hospital,” Aaron growled, pushing to his feet. He spotted Luke and moved the EMT aside, crossing quickly to his brother’s side. “Sons of bitches shot me from behind, shoved me into the bait room and locked me in.”
“Where’s Riley?”
Aaron nodded toward the second ambulance, where Riley Patterson was giving his own technician a hard time, trying to rise from the gurney where he sat. “Grazed his skull and knocked him out. Then the bastards got to Mom and grabbed the kid.”
Luke tried not to picture how the snatch-and-grab must have gone down. He prayed the men wouldn’t hurt Stevie before he found them. “Mom’s okay?”
“She’ll be fine. She’s just furious.” Aaron examined the bandage on his arm. “I’m sorry, man. You trusted us to take care of the kid—”
“You can’t stop bullets,” Luke said firmly. What had happened to Stevie was his own fault. He should never have allowed the boy out of his sight for a second.
“The guys who shot me—they were Gabe’s fishing clients this morning. Nobody’s seen or heard from Gabe.” Aaron’s voice went raspy a second. “I’m going to kill those sons of bitches.”
“Not if I get there first.”
“Mom says they headed into the woods on foot. They know you’re here somewhere. Maybe they guessed you’d be stashed in one of the cabins.”
Abby, Luke thought, his stomach knotting. She’d be a sitting duck. “Are you okay, Aaron? Good enough to back me up if I need it?”
Aaron nodded. “One good arm left. I can still shoot.”
Luke laid his hand on his brother’s face, tamping down the emotion that threatened to paralyze him. “See if you can get J.D. on the phone. I need Sam and Kristen here, even if he has to go get them in that helicopter and bring them back.”
“Sam called in just before this all happened. He’s an hour away, tops. They made good time on the trip back.”
“Stay in touch with him. Get us plenty of backup from the sheriff’s department and the Gossamer Ridge police, too.” He dropped his hand and headed over to the other ambulance to check on his brother-in-law.
Riley had talked his way off the gurney. “I’m fine.”
“You were out at least a minute. You said so yourself,” the female EMT said flatly. “You probably have a concussion.”
“Not the first, won’t be the last.” Spotting Luke, Riley sidestepped the technician. “Have you heard from Hannah?”
“Talked to her a few minutes ago. She was fine.” At least, he hoped she was. She and that Damon character should have gotten here by now.
The sound of a boat motor rose above the chaos surrounding him. Riley peered over the gathered crowd. “That’s her boat.”
Luke followed his brother-in-law’s gaze and saw Hannah’s boat pull up to the dock. A tall, well-built black man was in the boat with her. So was a soaking-wet Gabe Cooper.
“Thank God,” Luke murmured, hurrying to the dock. Riley and Aaron were right behind him, there to help the man named Damon help Gabe out of the boat.
“Riley!” Hannah’s face went pale at the sight of the bloody bandage on the side of her husband’s head.
Riley pulled her into a fierce hug. “You’ve been telling me to get a haircut—”
“Not funny!” Hannah looked at Luke. “We found Gabe in the water—the bastards coldcocked him and threw him in the lake.”
“I woke up fast when I hit the water.” Gabe’s teeth chattered wildly. “Thought I’d freeze to death before I got to shore, though. Thank God Hannah spotted me.”
“Get him up to the house and into warm clothes,” Luke said. “I need him battle-ready as soon as possible.”
“Where’s Cody?” Hannah asked, panic rising in her voice.
“He’s okay—they didn’t touch him.” Riley cradled Hannah’s face in his palms. “Everybody’s okay.”
She reached up to touch the bandage on her husband’s head. “You’re not okay.”
“I’m fine.”
“So’m I, thanks for askin’,” Aaron drawled.
Hannah dragged her eyes away from Riley. “They shot you, too?” She looked up at Luke. “Who are these people?”
“They’re employees of MacLear Enterprises,” Damon said, impatience infusing his deep voice. “From a section called Special Services Unit. The two who attacked your family are named Tristan Hennessey and Malcolm Holly. Not their real names.”
“Is Damon your real name?” Luke asked, equally impatient.
“No. I’m undercover at MacLear. I actually work for a company called Chimera Security.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Not under that name, no.” Damon’s teeth flashed in a grim smile. “My division does things that the government can’t—or won’t—do. Such as infiltrate a private firm like MacLear.”
“Why?” Luke countered.
“To find out who’s financing MacLear’s special projects.”
“Barton Reid,” Luke said impatiently.
That seemed to surprise the man. “How do you know that?”
Luke ignored the question. “Where are Hennessey and Holly?”
“I got a text from them a couple of minutes ago. They’ve tracked down the record of the helicopter trip that brought you here last night. They’re sure you’re holed up in one of the Cooper Cove guest cabins.”
Abby. They were going after Abby.
Luke took off at a run, trying frantically to remember the cabin number as he pulled out his phone. He had to warn Abby.
“Wait!” Damon raced after him, catching up at a dead sprint. He grabbed Luke’s arm, whirling him around.
“Back off!” Luke growled, jerking his arm away.
“They’re not alone,” Damon warned him. “MacLear is sending backup. They’ll be here within the hour.”
Luke dropped the phone to his side. “How many?”
“Six, including me. But they have an office in Atlanta and access to private helicopters and jets—they can have a dozen more here within an hour or two.”
Hannah, Riley, Gabe and Aaron caught up with them in time to hear Damon’s warning.
“We can have the sheriff’s department SWAT team here in ten minutes,” Aaron said.
“We may not have ten minutes,” Luke warned. “I’m heading to the cabin to see if I can waylay Hennessey and Holly.”
“I’ll go with you,” Gabe said through chattering teeth.
“You’re going to the house to change into dry clothes,” Luke said firmly. “Drink something hot. We’ll need you before this is over, believe me.”
“I’ll go with you,” Riley said.
“Nobody goes with me. The more people running around in the woods, the easier they’ll spot us. I need the rest of y’all to gather up all the reinforcements you can get. Make sure Sam and Kristen get here as fast as possible, even if you have to send J.D. after them in that damned helicopter. Get all the firepower and ammunition you can find. We might need it. Damon can fill y’all in on what to expect.” He turned urgently to Hannah. “What’s the number of that damned cabin?”
DON’T THINK ABOUT STEVIE.
Abby zipped her olive drab jacket, glad she’d packed it back in San Diego four days ago. Was it really just four days? San Diego seemed like another lifetime.
For the fourth time since Luke had left the cabin, she checked the clip of the Smith & Wesson, reassuring herself that it was fully loaded. The gun box had contained an extra magazine, which she filled with more ammunition and stashed in her jacket pocket. Each clip held twelve r
ounds, plus there was a round already chambered in the pistol. She’d have twenty-five shots if she needed them.
She prayed she wouldn’t need them.
They won’t hurt Stevie. Not yet. He’s leverage.
Luke had told her to stay here. Protect the laptop. But if he thought she was going to sit around in this cabin while her son was out there—
They won’t mistreat him. They need him to cooperate.
She’d protect the laptop, she thought, reaching back to check for the small bundle duct-taped to her back, beneath three layers of clothing. She’d just protect it her own way. She’d also copied the files Luke had stored on the laptop onto a flash drive she’d found in the bottom of her purse.
The cabin phone rang, the sound harsh and jarring. Abby pressed her lips to a tight line to keep them from trembling and grabbed the phone. “Hello?”
“Abby, there are two men heading your way. Tristan Hennessey and Malcolm Holly. You’ve met Tristan. I don’t know if they have figured out which cabin you’re in yet, but they’ll be coming. I need you to get out of the cabin and find somewhere to hunker down in the woods. Don’t worry about the laptop or anything else. Just get yourself out of there and get hidden in the woods. You think you can do that?”
Abby smiled grimly. “I can.”
“He’s going to be okay, Abs. They have every reason to take good care of Stevie—”
“He’s leverage,” she finished for him.
“Go. I’ll find you.” He rang off.
Abby hung up and picked up the backpack she’d filled a few minutes ago. She’d found the lightweight pack in the bottom of Luke’s duffel bag, already outfitted with survival basics like a flashlight, waterproofed matches, a water canteen and several protein bars. She’d added more supplies of her own, including a soft-sided first-aid kit and some juice boxes she’d found in the refrigerator. Stevie was small and might dehydrate sooner than an adult would. She had to be prepared in case they had to hide out in the woods longer than expected.
Stevie’s going to be all right. Because I’m going to get him back.
She strapped the pack to her back and walked to the nearest window, peering through a narrow gap in the curtains. She stayed very still, letting her eyes adjust to the bright sunlight outside. The glare off the windows would provide limited protection from watching eyes, but any movement would give away her position.
A light breeze blew through the woods outside, the rustle of dying fall leaves audible even within the cabin. Abby scanned the woods, a section at a time, just as her father had shown her all those years ago when he taught her how to hunt. She’d been too tenderhearted to be any good at the sport, but she’d enjoyed the one-on-one time with her father, and he’d turned her into a pretty decent woodsman.
She was losing precious time, looking for possible intruders, but she saw it as a calculated trade-off. Luke wanted her to get to safety. She wanted something different.
She wanted to get her son back. Now.
There. Movement south of the cabin. She waited out the seconds that passed before she spotted movement again in the same area. A sandy-haired man dressed in a dark green jacket moved in a slow, stealthy zigzag toward the cabin, taking advantage of the cover provided by tree trunks and underbrush. The path he traveled followed a gentle incline upward, giving her the advantage of high ground. He was more exposed in the woods than she was in the house.
Of course, that could change at any moment.
She moved back slowly from the window and headed toward the back of the cabin, where a mudroom led out to a small stone patio about sixty yards from a bluff overlooking the lake. She had less room to maneuver out back, the drop-off limiting her means of escape. Of course, the intruders faced a similar downside. There was nowhere to hide behind the cabin.
The house phone rang, making her jump. Luke again? It had to be, didn’t it?
What if something had happened to Stevie?
She returned to the great room and picked up the phone, her heart pounding. “Hello?”
She recognized the man’s Boston accent immediately. “Hello, Mrs. Chandler. Nice to talk to you again.”
“I want my son back.”
“I want what your husband took.”
“You don’t even know what my husband took, Tristan,” she answered coldly, anger giving her courage.
Her use of his name shocked him into silence for a moment.
She followed her advantage. “My husband stole files. Photocopies of ledgers proving that Voices for Villages facilitated the illegal trade of arms for drugs. They document e-mail correspondence between Voices for Villages director Janis Meeks and State Department South American liaison Barton Reid that show Reid’s direct knowledge of the illegal arms trade and subsequent facilitation of further transactions.”
“Indeed,” he said calmly, although she heard an undertone of consternation. “Congratulations for finding the information. Now you have something to trade for your son’s life.”
Abby managed a grim smile, the weight of the laptop’s hard drive heavy where it was strapped to her back. “Where are you? I’ll bring it to you now.”
She heard a soft grunting noise on the other end of the line, then silence.
“Hello?” she said into the phone.
The call disconnected.
Her heart in her throat, she ran to the window and looked outside. She didn’t wait long to spot movement this time.
The woods were crawling with men.
She counted ten at first flush, all raven-haired and swarthy-skinned. They were dressed in woodland fatigues, armed to the teeth. A few wielded small machetes, hacking through the underbrush as they moved relentlessly toward the cabin.
Abby’s blood turned to ice.
Los Tiburones.
She had run out of time and options. The back exit was her only choice. She ran to the back of the house and took a quick look out the window to make sure none of the men had circled around the back yet. The backyard was clear.
She pulled the Smith & Wesson 9mm from the side holster tucked into the waistband of her jeans, then headed out the back door as quietly as she could. She was left with only one route of escape now. The bluff.
She stayed low and went straight toward the drop-off, using the house as cover between herself and the approaching men. At the edge, she saw that the drop wasn’t as precipitous as she’d feared. It was steep, but not impassable if she took care.
But before she could make another move, she heard a sound that froze her firmly in place.
“Mama!” It was Stevie’s voice.
And he was close.
A TWIG SNAPPED behind him.
Sheltered by the low-hanging branches of a young pine, Luke scanned the woods for movement. He was a quarter mile from the cabin now, approaching from the bluff side, which added precious minutes to his mission. But this angle of attack would also give him the advantage of surprise.
“Caught me.” The voice, coming from impossibly nearby, belonged to the man who called himself Damon. He stepped into the open from behind a nearby oak, hands raised in surrender.
“I should shoot you right now,” Luke growled.
“Got a text message. My team was ambushed. Malcolm is wounded. He thinks Tris is dead.”
“What about Stevie?” Luke asked urgently.
“He got away. Malcolm couldn’t follow—his leg is broken.”
Luke went cold, his mind searching for a scenario that didn’t end in disaster. “Who ambushed them?”
Damon didn’t have to answer. The truth burned in his eyes.
“Oh, God.” Los Tiburones.
“Malcolm says there are a dozen of them, armed with rifles and machetes. They used a machete on Tris.” Damon looked grim.
“Where’s Malcolm now?”
“About fifty yards from the cabin, holed up behind a bush.”
Fifty yards from the cabin. Was Stevie old enough to know to look for shelter?
Suddenly
, he heard a cry. Distant but audible. “Mama!”
His heart in his throat, he began running uphill toward the sound. He heard Damon behind him, keeping pace. The cabin came into view over the bluff, then Luke was at the edge. He peered over, spotting a flash of dark green disappearing around the side of the cabin. Abby? If she’d been hiding out here, waiting for him, and heard her son’s cry—
A gunshot rang out. “¡Alto!” a man’s voice called out.
Luke held his breath.
Then he heard Abby’s voice, loud and clear. “Who are you? What do you want?”
For a second, all he felt was sheer relief. She was still alive. Then the truth hit him like a two-ton truck. His worst nightmare had come true.
Los Tiburones had the woman he loved. And it was only a matter of time before they killed her.
Chapter Seventeen
Luke hauled himself over the edge of the bluff and raced to the back door of the cabin, praying Abby hadn’t thought to lock it. It opened easily and he slipped inside, listening for movement within.
There was nothing.
Both rifles were still in the closet, as was his laptop, which lay on the floor. He grabbed a rifle and two of the ammunition magazines.
Hearing the back door open, he wheeled around, leveling the rifle at the intruder.
It was Damon, who raised his hands quickly. “Don’t shoot.”
Luke lowered the weapon to his side slowly.
Damon eyed the rifle. “Got another one of those?”
Luke weighed his distrust of the man against the odds stacked against them and pulled the spare rifle from the closet. He handed it to Damon, along with another magazine and a box of rounds.
Damon started loading it. “They’ve got the woman. I didn’t see the kid.”
Luke hurried to the front window, peering through the narrow gap in the curtains, which gave him a decent view of the woods just to the south of the cabin. It didn’t take long to spot a clump of men gathered in a tight huddle. They weren’t exactly hiding.
One of them moved, and Luke caught sight of Abby standing in the center, her hands held behind her back by one of the men.