Special Agent in Charge. To not answer was to risk his job. But…Francesca wasn’t answering her phone. Caleb hit ignore, unable to shake his worry because Francesca was down two bodyguards. He shifted gears, making Hamilton’s prize Lamborghini race through traffic, a high-speed game of Tetris, on his way to the byways of Jamaica Plain. His guy assured him that she was stuck in traffic. It was the only thing that was keeping him calm.
He was going to lecture her until her eyes rolled back in her head, then he was going to make love to her until she cried out his name and promised never, ever to do this to him again. He dialed her number. Voicemail.
It took him ten minutes to meet up with his people on the road…not five. They were five additional minutes of fear he’d rather not have experience. The beat-up black sedan tailing Francesca was one car up and one lane to the right of Caleb’s borrowed Lamborghini. Caleb’s phone rang. It was his people.
“She’s in that white sedan next to the white van.”
“Gotcha. I got her now.”
Hanging up, Caleb dialed Francesca again. As the line rang, he saw activity from the van next to Francesca’s car. The door opened and his stomach dropped as a masked man, dressed in black, spilled out and rushed to Francesca’s window, slamming his knife’s hilt through the glass.
“Fuck!” Caleb hit his door opener and was out, running before his mind fully registered what was happening. He saw sun reflect off the masked man’s blade. Caleb roared, charging forward, desperate to distract as the man slashed the knife in through Francesca’s window. “No!” His heart skipped a beat. Then the masked man pulled her from the car and tossed her into his van, kicking and screaming. Caleb was almost on top of them, and lunged for the van’s door…he slammed into it just as it closed. The driver peeled out into the busy intersection, as Caleb landed hard on the pavement, rolling to his feet, gun already in hand. Two of his guys flanked him, seeing the same thing he saw. The ass end of a van that had Francesca Hamilton in it. None of them had a clear shot.
Caleb ducked his head into Francesca’s abandoned sedan. No blood. “She’s alive.” He pointed back to their car. “Get after it!” Caleb’s men ran back to their car, as he raced to his.
Behind the wheel, he shifted gears, tuning out the confusion caused by the van’s dangerous getaway. Traffic was wall to wall, and the van had caused an accident that made traffic stall. “Fuck!” He slammed his hand on the steering wheel. She’s alive. There’s hope. He dialed Sullivan, needing access to the police network. The call connected. “It’s Smith. Francesca Hamilton has been kidnapped at the corner of Centre and South Street in Jamaica Plain. How close are you?”
“I’m with MacLain. Ten minutes out. Which direction are they heading? Give me the make and model for a BOLO.”
“West,” he said. “White standard-size van, no back windows, didn’t see the tags.” Traffic remained snarled in the intersection. Car horns were blaring, venting drivers’ anger, but no one was moving. “Fuck this.” He shifted gears, jumped the curb and drove on the grassy median strip until he could drive directly into the intersection. Oncoming cars honked, skidding out of his way as Caleb pursued the van. “Sullivan? You still there? I’m in pursuit.” He sped down the road, and said a little prayer of thanks when he saw the van ahead. “No tags. I’ve eyes on the van. We’re on the Arborway, heading toward the pond. Hold on.” Caleb put him on hold and dialed a contact.
“Chuck here. Who is this?”
“Smith. Where are you?”
“Drinking a beer on my back porch. What do you need?”
“You, your rifle and scope, on your roof. Aim it at the Arborway. A white van with a red Lamborghini chasing it. Take out the van’s tire. You’ve got three minutes before target is within sight.”
“Shit.” The line disconnected.
Caleb pressed the hold button, retrieving Sullivan’s call. “You there?”
“Maybe five minutes out. Still on the Arborway?”
“Fucking traffic everywhere else, but not where I need it. This is happening fast. I need you here now.” Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped into his eyes. His thoughts veered toward Francesca, and what was happening in that van. It near crippled him.
“Who took her?” Sullivan said.
“Don’t know. Pond Street coming up.”
“We’re hitting traffic,” Sullivan said. “Shit!”
“This is happening now.”
“What?” Sullivan said. “What the hell does—”
Caleb disconnected the line, shifted gears and changed lanes, pulling in front of the only other car on the road. He pumped his brakes, slowing both cars down. Behind him, the sedan’s wheels screamed and the driver honked his outrage.
If Chuck was on his roof, the van should be within his rifle’s scope range soon. The car behind him honked a continuous, long, loud blare as Caleb continued to slow it down, protecting it from what was about to happen on the road ahead. Three, two, one…a rifle discharged, the van skidded out of control, jumped the curb, hit a hundred-year-old oak with a screech of tearing metal. The whole thing seemed to happen in slow motion, as Caleb imagined what was happening to Francesca inside.
Steam billowed from the van’s ruined front end. It was a wreck.
Caleb shifted and sped to the crash site. He popped his door open and ran to the van. His fears prepared him for the worst, so when he wrenched the door open and found Francesca unconscious on the floor, but alive and seemingly okay, he nearly wept with relief.
Three masked men were strewn inside, not moving. Caleb climbed in, removed their masks, took pictures, and then gently cradled Francesca in his arms, carrying her out of the van. He hurried away and crossed to his car, reclining her still-unconscious body in the Lamborghini’s passenger seat. A moment later he was behind the steering wheel, speeding off with a squeal of tires.
His phone rang. The dash identified the incoming caller as Chuck. Caleb hit accept.
“We good?” Chuck said. “Have I paid off my debt?”
“In your dreams.” Caleb ran a red, swerving around oncoming traffic, ignoring their honks and subsequent squealing skids. “Your sister’s life is worth more than a shot you could make in your sleep. I’m busy.” He disconnected the line and dialed Sullivan. When the line connected, he glanced at Francesca. She was too pale. “I’ve got her.”
“We’re coming up to the van now,” Sullivan said.
“There are three of them, armed. I want first crack questioning them. I’m heading to the hospital now.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Sullivan hung up.
Caleb shifted gears and then broke every speed limit on his way to Massachusetts General Hospital. He contacted Francesca’s security detail, heard their report that his cutting traffic had caused a pileup, but they were driving on the Arborway now. Caleb ordered them to meet him at the hospital. She remained unconscious the whole drive, even when he prodded her and talked up a storm, hoping to rouse her. He arrived at the trauma entrance, heart racing, stumbling over himself to lay her on the gurney. His voice wouldn’t work when the orderlies asked questions. He clutched his throat, squeezing, forcing it to obey him.
“Car accident,” he said. It was little more than a growl, but they understood and wheeled her off. Broken.
His people were parked, crossing the lot to his side. Silently, they waited for orders. “She’s inside,” he said. “Keep her safe.”
They hustled into the trauma entrance, as Caleb answered his ringing phone. Inhaling deeply, he forced himself to breathe…to allow the air out his lungs in a slow, steadying breath. He had to function. Then he answered, controlled enough to sound reasonably sane. “You got them?”
“No. Where are you?” Sullivan said.
Rage blossomed and moved through every atom of his being, blinding him. They lost Francesca’s abductors. Sirens, flashing lights, people milling about the hospital parking lot, every distraction was blocked out as Caleb forced words past his clenched teeth
. “Mass General.”
“There was nobody in the van, Smith. What the hell is going on?” Sullivan said.
Unable to deal, he hung up, paralyzed by his rage. It seized his throat again, making it impossible to cope. His link to who stole Francesca was gone. He filled his lungs and vented his frustration by releasing it with a roar of pain. “Ahhhhhh!” He squeezed his phone, playing with the idea of whipping it to the tar, punching something, or simply howling until he didn’t feel this way.
He caught sight of a uniformed policeman cupping his holstered gun.
Caleb glared at him, then calculated the cost of beating the shit out of him. It took a moment, but he got himself under control enough to hustle to his car and redial Chuck.
“I’m uploading three photos. You want a chance to be square? You get these men. You get them, bring them to my place in Dorchester. My guy Webster will expect you. Call me when it’s done.”
“Sure thing, Smith.” Chuck’s tone was full of excitement.
“Chuck. You’re the first I’m calling. Not the last. Only one earns this free pass. Understand?”
“Understood.”
“I want them yesterday.” He hung up and then rested his forehead on the steering wheel, breathing heavy, fast, out of control. Francesca was a Hamilton. It might not be Caleb’s enemies after her. It could be her father’s. He needed to be patient, gather information, throw a wide net. She was safe in the hospital now. Time to crack some heads together and kill this threat at its root.
Caleb took a steadying breath before dialing Walter, and then explained how it was in his best interest to hide the kidnapping and say it was simply an accident. They both knew what Hamilton would do to the bodyguards if he ever found out they’d failed so spectacularly. Walter assured Caleb he and Ralph would go along with the prevarication. Caleb’s next call was to his second best tracker, and then his third beset tracker… He didn’t stop until he plundered his list of IOUs.
His phone rang. It was Sullivan. Caleb hit ignore.
Chapter Fourteen
Francesca woke with a headache and a horrible taste in her mouth. She smacked her lips, annoyed at the beeping sound that wouldn’t stop. It burrowed into her head and was remarkably similar to those heard on her favorite show, Grey’s Anatomy. Francesca’s eyes popped open, and she instantly noted she was in a hospital. She sat, gasping, remembering the man, the mask…a movement to her right had her recoiling in fear.
Caleb was slouched in a chair next to her hospital bed. She was in a small private room. “You okay?”
Dizzy. She fell back on the pillows, exhausted and woozy. “You scared me.”
“You were chloroformed.”
She nodded. She remembered the cloth, the smell, and then fainting. “What happened?”
“I got you back.” His expression was dark and harrowing. And never before in her life had she ever been so grateful to have such a scary man in her corner.
“Thank you.” She closed her eyes, fighting the urge to drift off. “I thought they were going to kill me. I was…I was really scared.”
He took her hand, squeezing hard enough to warrant her opening her eyes again. “I told your father you were in a car accident. I didn’t want to take a chance he’d…overreact.”
“Overreact? There was a knife. Is he here?” She glanced at the door, not sure she was up for a verbal sparring match with her father, but knowing he deserved an explanation. Caleb shook his head. “But he knows, right? That I’m here?”
Caleb nodded and wouldn’t meet her gaze. It made Francesca feel stupid. Here she was, worried about her father’s reaction, only to discover he had none. “Did he at least ask about me?” She’d attempted a blasé tone and failed. Caleb remained silent, and was that pity in his gaze?
“He…spoke with your doctor. Like I said, he thinks it was only a car accident.” He seemed exhausted…tortured. “I’m sorry. I thought it was for the best with his health and all. The doctor agreed.”
She forced a smile, which had the unintended consequence of making her tears spill past her lashes. “It’s okay, Caleb. You did the right thing. And…I don’t care. Me and my father don’t have a normal relationship. We might as well be strangers.” Why was she having such a hard time coming to terms with that? “I wish I had never returned to Boston.” Caleb brought her hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to her knuckles. She felt her bottom lip quiver so bit it hard, hoping to distract herself from her thoughts. She’d been kidnapped again, but Caleb saved her…everything would be all right. He’d saved her.
“I’ll—” Caleb didn’t finish his thoughts. He just wrapped his big, bruised and cut-up hands around hers, dwarfing it, and kept his lips on her knuckles.
“You’ll take care of this. I know.” It’s what he always said. But it wasn’t possible. He couldn’t make her father care. He couldn’t stop people from wanting to use her to hurt her father.
“I promise.”
She studied his eyes, not sure what he was promising. Sniffing, she wiped a tear off her cheek. “Who did this?” They probably wanted ransom. Money.
“I’m in the process of finding out. Be patient. And please, Francesca. Try not to worry.” Caleb nudged a curl off her cheek.
She’d never seen him so sad. That meant he cared for her. Right? With Caleb, she didn’t know. Wasn’t sure. She wanted to ask, but then he frowned and squeezed her hand again, shaking it gently.
“Why—” His voice failed him. He cleared his throat, and tried again. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?” His frustration was reined in. She could see his worry, that he’d suffered, too. But she wasn’t strong enough…not yet. She couldn’t handle his freak-out on top of hers.
And her damn chin was quivering again. She bit her lip, but that didn’t help. She trembled, too, as she remembered her panic, the man, the busted glass, and the knife. She struggled to keep her emotions in check, but all she could think of was the large man in the mask coming at her.
“The phone?” She tried to think. “I had it…but…I forgot to charge it. A lot was going on.” Her smile was shaky, but it was as good as she could make it. His sad expression was killing her. She lifted her other hand, and drew her index finger along the worried furrow at his brow, then she dragged its tip to his nose, to his wonderful lips, now all tight with tension. “Was it only this afternoon you carried me upstairs and made mad passionate love to me? Or was it just a dream?”
He kissed her palm. “It happened. This is the dream. A bad one, and it will fade. I’ll make sure of it.”
She pointed to the pink plastic water container on the room’s overbed table. “Please?”
He did as she asked, directing the straw to her mouth. “You feeling any better?”
She really wasn’t. In fact, she felt scarred for life. “He punched in the driver’s side window—”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“I was five cars back. Walter called to say he’d lost you and you weren’t picking up the phone. I found you, but…not in time. Promise me you’ll keep your phone with you from now on, okay? Charged.”
“Promise.” The water helped. Struggling to sit, she was stymied by Caleb’s hand, and then he hit a button on the bed, making it mechanically tilt her into a sitting position. “Oh. Thank you.” He arranged the cotton blanket across her lap and pushed her hair off her face. “So, what do we know?” The IV in her hand was tugging, hurting, and making her hand ice cold.
He brought up pictures on his phone. “Do you recognize these men?”
Francesca shook her head. “Sorry. Do you know them?”
“No. But I will.” His gaze was stark, the lines on his face deeper than she remembered. Caleb was strong, always up before her in the morning and always asleep long after. Nothing fazed him…until now. That scared the bejeebers out of her.
His hand rested on the bed’s railing. She covered it with hers. “You saved me.”
The muscles along his jaw tightened and
then relaxed. “If I hadn’t been there—”
“But you were.” Caleb sank into the chair, brooding. She felt nauseous and her head was pounding. “I don’t feel well.”
He gave her a commiserating frown. “The drug. It will fade.”
“How do you know?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Still brooding.
She yawned so hard her eyes were forced shut, and then she didn’t want to open them again. “You’re in a mood, but I’m the one who almost died. I’m the one who should be complaining.” She smiled slightly, not opening her eyes, thinking never in her life had she ever anticipated saying those words.
“I know.”
“But you saved me.” Oblivion was scratching at her consciousness
“I will always save you, Francesca.”
She couldn’t stop yawning. “You seem to make a habit of saving people. Is that what you’re doing for my father? Saving him from the spy? Between you and me, I’m beginning to think he doesn’t deserve you.” She felt and heard the bed’s motor lower her flat. She forced her eyes open, and saw Caleb hovering, looking worried. “You’re a good man, Caleb.”
“Yeah?” He pressed a tender kiss to her lips. “Is that what I am?”
“I owe you my life.” Sleep tugged at her consciousness.
“I saved you because you are my life.”
Her consciousness drifted as she felt Caleb’s light, peppering kisses on her face, and she thought, such a lovely dream…but a dream nonetheless.
Chapter Fifteen
Caleb sat with Francesca while she slept. He did it for himself. She didn’t need him here, not with the two uniformed policemen guarding the door and his people patrolling the hospital’s hallway. She was sleeping off the lingering effects of the chloroform, so safe for now, but it didn’t feel that way as he sat, paralyzed by a helplessness that kept him planted in his chair.
Seduced by Sin (Unlikely Hero) Page 16