Ruthless Peril_Military Romantic Suspense

by Emily Jane Trent

  “You look nice,” Travis said, nodding at her new blouse.

  “It’s just dinner…nothing more.”

  Travis shoved a hand into the pocket of his jeans and leaned against the wall beside her.

  “You know, when I asked Melanie out, she said it was just dinner too.”

  Tessa smirked at him. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, but it’s not like that. Hunter is just one of the guys.”

  Travis nodded, yet she could tell from the way he smiled that he didn’t believe her. But she didn’t really believe herself either. “Grin all you like, but it’s just dinner. I love Vietnamese food. Hell, if the guy that had been stalking Marlene had known a good Vietnamese place, I probably would have gone there with him.”

  Travis gave her an odd look, and she wondered if she had gone a little too far with her bad joke. But when he laughed instead, she brightened.

  “Don’t let Garrett hear you saying that, or you’ll be in for an earful.” Her boss pushed away from the wall, and looked at his beeping phone. “All right, kiddo, I have to get home. It’s my turn to make dinner, and the girls have requested pancakes.” He looked down the darkening street. “Are you going to be okay out here alone?”

  Tessa shrugged. “I’m not alone; Rip’s got one eye on me.” She gestured over her shoulder at the blinking red light of the security camera over the entrance door. Rip was always watching the security cameras, even when he wasn’t in the office.

  Travis smiled and gave her a nod. “Busy day tomorrow…I’ll see you bright and early. And I promise not to say anything if…”

  Tessa recoiled. “Don’t even think about saying anything about me showing up to work in the same clothes. That was one time, and I had a legitimate excuse.”

  Travis laughed and folded her into a brotherly bear hug. She squealed when he lifted her off the ground then set her down again. “You’re the worst, Hewitt. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Travis waved at the security camera, then turned and headed for his SUV. Tessa shook her head as he walked away. She really did have the best job, and the best boss—even if he did act like an obnoxious older brother sometimes.

  Tessa checked her phone, expecting another text from Hunter. It was a quarter after six, and he was now officially late. She sighed. “You are not off to a good start, Davis,” she muttered.

  She glanced up and down the street. The sun had just set, and the stain of it hung on the clouds, spreading across the steadily darkening sky. The light on the building above her flickered, then went out.

  “Melanie?” a male said.

  Startled by the sound of the unfamiliar voice, Tessa spun around. “What?”

  “You’re Melanie. I know you. I’ve seen you around.” A figure appeared from the shadows, a man with broad shoulders, wearing a dark hooded sweatshirt and jeans.

  Tessa narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know who you’re talking to, but I’m not Melanie.”

  The man stepped closer, and she recognized him. He had a jagged scar across his cheek. The guy from the beach. Tessa tightened her hold on her bag, her hand poised to dig for the pepper spray canister that hung from her keychain.

  “Yeah, you can’t fool me, Melanie. I’ve been watching you. I don’t appreciate your brush-off this morning.”

  Tessa plunged her hand into her bag, frantically searching for the hard metal of her keys. She looked over her shoulder at the security camera and edged closer to the building, so Rip could get a good look at what was happening. She hoped to God that he’d look at the camera feed soon. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she cursed under her breath as her fingers slipped over her keys, then she lost them again in the depths of her bag.

  Alarmed, Tessa raised her voice. “I don’t know what in the world you’re talking about. I’m not Melanie.” Then her phone rang, and the sound echoed against the building.

  With a snarl, the man reached out and grabbed for her phone, knocking it out of her hand and onto the sidewalk, where it landed with a crunch.

  “Hey! What the hell?” Tessa was pissed now. Her fingers closed over her keys and she wrapped her fist around the tube of pepper spray, pulling it out of her purse and holding it in her attacker’s direction. Without hesitation, she pushed down on the trigger and blasted the man in the face.

  But nothing happened. Tessa pressed the trigger again, swearing loudly, but only a small, foamy stream erupted from the nozzle. The man chuckled, his tone sinister, and her heart beat faster. With a frustrated cry, Tessa swiped at the man with her keys, backing away from him. She knew that she should run, but since she had put on those damned ankle-strap heels, her escape options had shrunk dramatically.

  “I don’t know who the fuck you are, or who the fuck you think I am, but you need to back off. Someone’s going to call the cops, and then you’re dead meat, buddy. You don’t know who I am or who I work for.”

  In the eerie glow of dusk, the man smiled, but it wasn’t a comforting smile. It was twisted and malicious. “Oh, I know exactly who you are, and who works in that building. I know more about you than you think, Mrs. Hewitt.”

  Tessa froze. He thought she was that Melanie—her boss’s wife?

  “You can’t lie to me. I saw you with him, that smug bastard, and I’m going to make him pay. And the only way I can do that is with you.”

  Tessa felt the blood drain from her face. “Look, you’re making a big mistake. I’m not who you think I am…”

  The man’s hand flashed out, knocking Tessa’s keys out of her hand before she could react. They jangled across the concrete, sliding under a car parked against the curb. Her only weapon gone, Tessa turned to run, not caring if she twisted her ankle or looked ridiculous. As soon as she got home, these shoes were going in the trash, along with that damned useless pepper spray.

  She had barely gotten ten steps when she felt a painful tug on her hair. The man had caught her in a few easy strides and had his hand wrapped painfully tight around her hair close to her scalp. He gave a hard yank, and Tessa spun toward him with a yelp, crashing into his chest and throwing him off balance.

  Using his momentum against him, Tessa twisted in his grip, and he stumbled off the curb and into the street, pulling her with him. “You bitch!”

  He landed heavily with Tessa on top of him, and she felt his hand loosen on her hair enough that she could wrench herself away. Her knee stung where it had struck the asphalt. She gritted her teeth against the pain, then tried to get to her feet so she could run while he was down. She had to flag a cab, or find someone, anyone with a phone. She was off balance, poised to run, when the man’s hand closed on her ankle and ripped her foot out from under her.

  Tessa crashed to the street, and the force of the fall knocked the wind out of her lungs. She gasped for breath. Everything hurt: her scalp, her elbows, her knees. Where was Hunter? Where was Rip? Black boots appeared in front of her eyes, and she tried to roll away from the kick that was coming, but she wasn’t fast enough, and the world went blinding white. Then everything was dark.

  Chapter 4

  When he hit another red light, Hunter cursed. The universe was out to get him tonight, that much was certain. He’d spent a distracted day thinking about Tessa more than he had been focused on planning his routes. When midafternoon had rolled around, he realized that his route times were way off, and he had to start over. It had been a frustrating afternoon, to say the least.

  The bonus was that he had his dinner conversation all planned out. Tessa knew everything about the guys at Stealth, from their pant sizes to their social security numbers. She had a file for everything. But Hunter didn’t know anything about Tessa.

  It would be easy enough: he would ask a question, and then sit back and let her talk. Simple, straightforward, and, hopefully, interesting. A motorcycle tore past him in traffic, and he looked at the accusatory glow of the dashboard clock. It was late, really late. And if there was one thing he knew about Tessa, it was that she hated being late.

&n
bsp; He gritted his teeth and stomped on the accelerator. He could picture it now: Tessa checking her phone, fuming, then he’d finally show up, a sheepish grin plastered on his face, and the date would be ruined. Tessa didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would have the patience for second chances, especially in this case.

  He rounded the corner, squinting to see if he could make out Tessa standing under the light in front of Stealth’s building, but he couldn’t see anything. He pulled his SUV into the first open parking spot, swearing under his breath as he tried to maneuver the large vehicle into the space.

  “No one in LA knows how to fucking park.” It was something he had muttered at least a hundred times since he had started working with Stealth. Finding parking was no easy feat, and he hated being forced into walking the long city blocks unnecessarily.

  He threw the vehicle into park and launched himself into the street, slamming the door behind him. The doors automatically locked and the alarm chirped, then Hunter noticed how quiet the street was. It was a Monday night, and the area should have been busy, since the nearby restaurants had opened their doors for the dinner trade.

  All at once, a shout pierced the quiet and Hunter’s SEAL instincts kicked in. With fast reaction time, he ran toward the noise in time to see a man dressed in dark clothing bent over a woman who was sprawled limply on the concrete. The lighting was too dim to see clearly.

  With a yell, Hunter pumped his legs harder, putting on speed, while keeping his eyes on the man. Oblivious to his surroundings, the abductor lifted the woman over his shoulder and dropped her into the trunk of a vehicle. The red glow of the taillights told Hunter that this attack had been planned, because the guy had his car running for a quick getaway.

  Hunter winced when the woman’s body struck the inside of the trunk, and he hoped that she hadn’t hit her head. He shouted again, trying to distract the man long enough so he could help the obviously injured woman. A bolt of cold anger rushed through him. What if that was Tessa?

  “Hey, you bastard…stop!”

  The man in the dark sweatshirt turned his head to look in Hunter’s direction, finally registering that someone had seen what had happened. With quick movement, he slammed the trunk closed, but the car was older, and the lock didn’t catch, bouncing up and striking the man in the elbow. The man cursed and slammed it again. By then, Hunter was nearly at the scene of the crime.

  Turning, the man ran for the driver’s-side door and threw himself into the vehicle. Hunter used his last burst of speed to launch himself at the car, and managed to catch the door handle with his fingertips, yanking it open again. The driver turned toward him, and Hunter stared into the man’s face long enough to register a few features: stubble, menacing expression, and a freshly healed scar along his cheek. There was blood on his face, and Hunter experienced a moment of pride in the woman who had obviously fought back against her attacker.

  The man hit the accelerator and peeled away down the one-way street, ripping the door out of Hunter’s fingers. Hunter recited the license plate, committing it to memory, then sprinted back to his SUV. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something on the ground in front of the office entrance. It was a bag. He ran over and grabbed it.

  Tessa’s bag.

  His worst fear confirmed, Hunter sprinted as fast as he could back to his still-warm vehicle. He flung himself inside, not caring that the car alarm was screaming into the night. He had to catch up to the bastard. He only had a small window of time before that shit-box car would be headed to the freeway, where he would be able to disappear into heavy traffic.

  Hunter revved the engine and threw the vehicle into gear before hammering the gas and giving chase. He repeated the numbers of the license plate over and over in his mind, scanning every bumper for the right car. Taillights flickered, and Hunter pounded his fist against the steering wheel, willing the light to change.

  Ahead of him and to the right, a dark sedan pulled out of the line abruptly and hugged the shoulder, heading for the turnoff at top speed. He narrowed his eyes and tried to make out the license plate.

  He jerked the wheel and pulled the SUV over into the right lane, ignoring the honking horns of commuters around him. The car he had his eye on careened around the corner, and Hunter gritted his teeth. If this guy was going to go residential, this chase would get more difficult. At least on the highway he would be able to move swiftly and easily through the flow of traffic, but Los Angeles residential streets were not built for high speeds or keeping a low profile.

  Hunter swore again as he pulled onto the shoulder and sped toward the turnoff. He tightened his grip on the wheel and ran up over the curb to avoid a car that was waiting patiently for the light. He didn’t have time for that. Tessa didn’t have time.

  Hunter ran through all the possible turns the car could have taken. Most of the streets ended in a cul-de-sac or a dog park, so that left only one possibility. Hunter stepped on the accelerator, dodging around parked cars and thudding over ineffectual speed bumps. He wrenched the steering wheel hard to the left, taking a corner far faster than he should have. Ahead of him, he could see brake lights, and a grim smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Gotcha.”

  He slowed then pulled over to the curb, allowing a few cars to get between him and the sedan, before he pulled out once more, his eyes fixed on the trunk. He wondered if Tessa was awake, or if she had attempted to get free. Most of the newer cars were fitted with escape triggers, but this piece of crap was an early-’90s model, and unless Tessa had a flashlight and a steady hand, she wouldn’t be able to find the car’s trunk release.

  The sedan turned again, and Hunter followed at a controlled speed. He’d wait, but once the guy pulled over, he could take action. He could see the outline of the kidnapper’s head, with his short-cropped hair.

  When the light ahead turned red, the man punched the steering wheel with short, sharp blows. There was only one car between them now, and Hunter hoped that the other man was too distracted to notice that he’d been followed for the last few blocks.

  The farther he drove into the residential area, the more cars were parked along the street. It was a nice area, but nothing like what Hunter was used to when handling cases for Stealth. Their clients were from West Hollywood, or had flown in from New York, or needed a safer route to Beverly Hills. They didn’t drive the back streets through Encino.

  Hunter’s eyes flicked to his GPS, and he realized that they had come quite a distance. The Stealth office was about forty-five minutes away now. So even if Tessa had been able to get away, she wouldn’t know where she was. He barely knew where he was. His phone vibrated with a reminder that his logistics reports were due in Tessa’s inbox.

  The sedan turned right abruptly on Addison Street, and Hunter hammered the brakes. He turned on the next street and raced down to the stop sign before circling back and turning up Addison. He prayed he’d get there in time.

  Hunter turned off the lights and slowly cruised up the street. His eyes adjusted to the dark. Addison had precious few streetlights, and now that the sun had set, he was at a distinct disadvantage. If the sedan had pulled into a garage or carport, he would be up shit creek.

  Hunter needed to call this in. He’d hoped to nip this all in the bud, and avoid calling in the rest of the guys. But now that he had tailed the kidnapper this far, he needed help, and Rip was usually the most accessible.

  “Davis? Aren’t you supposed to be on a date? Don’t make me tell you again—”

  Rip sounded like he was ready to launch into one of his lectures, but Hunter cut him off.

  “Change of plans, Rip. I don’t have time to explain.”

  “Where are you? Topanga? You sound like shit.”

  The phone connection bleeped out for a second, and Hunter looked around in annoyance. “No, I’m in Encino. Don’t ask me why. I need you to run a plate. Can you do that? Just the plate. I need a name and an address.” Hunter rattled off the plate number, not waiting for Rip to agree, or
give him a chance to drag out the call.

  “Fine, fine…what was that last number again?”

  Hunter recited the entire plate number again, and pulled up to the curb in front of a darkened brick house. He scanned the street, looking for any movement.

  “All right, I’ve got a name for you. Caleb Vincent. Well, you’re in the right neighborhood. The address is Encino.”

  Hunter was distracted by a flash of light at the side of the road ahead of him, a car’s interior dome light. He leaned forward, straining to see in the darkness. A few houses up, a sedan had parked on the opposite side of the street, facing Hunter’s SUV. A dark figure got out and walked toward the trunk.

  “Addison Street? Just tell me it’s on Addison Street, Rip.” Hunter’s heart beat faster when he spotted the flash of a gun being tucked into the man’s beltline. There went the knight-in-shining-armor trick. If the other man had a gun, he might shoot Tessa, or gun Hunter down in mid-stride if he ran to save her.

  The trunk opened, hiding the man from view, and Hunter tightened his grip on the wheel.

  “Davis, that name rings a bell…Vincent. Can’t be sure why, but it’ll come to me.” Rip paused. “Do you need backup? This joker has a traffic violation list about a mile long. If he cut you off in traffic, I’d just let it be. It’ll take us some time to get to you… Davis?”

  When the man in the dark sweatshirt stumbled back against a truck parked just behind the sedan, Hunter ended the call. “Yeah, I hear you, Rip. I’ll let it be. I’ll give you a call if I need anything.”

  Tessa must be fighting back. He smiled grimly, but his smile faded when the guy pulled the gun from his jeans and pointed it at the trunk.

  Chapter 5

  Tessa’s head throbbed, and she was surrounded by darkness. Her hair was in her mouth and her muscles were cramped. She tried to move her arms, but they were tied at the wrist with a plastic cable tie. The smell of a spare tire underneath her, motor oil, and stale socks meant that she was in the trunk of a car—the trunk of a shitty car.