The Getaway

by Hope Anika

  “We have a report on the car—it’s in Idaho, along USI84—but we haven’t been able to confirm its exact location, not yet, but we’re working on it.” Agent Kent’s words were strung together like a kid trying to get out of trouble. “Getting to the site has proven problematical due to the storm that tore through the area—this storm, it’s a once in a lifetime event, something we couldn’t possibly have accounted for—and getting boots on the ground is our first priority, but right now FEMA—”

  “You’re babbling, Agent Kent,” Cruz said. “Get to the point.”

  Kent twisted his hands together behind his back. “We have people on stand-by, but many of the roads are completely impassible. The FAA has closed the airspace in the immediate area to everything but emergency transports. Bridges are down, and even with four-wheel drive, we’re forced to wait it out until the Guard can get there and set up something temporary. The storm isn’t over—currently it covers almost seven western states—and the forecasters predict at least three more days of hurricane force winds, torrential downpour and widespread lightning—that, in addition to the FEMA evacuation order, makes it difficult to—”

  “I have no interest in your excuses. I want my sons. Where are they?”

  “We aren’t…certain. We believe they’re close to the location where the car was spotted, but until we can get to the car to ascertain if it is the vehicle Miss Sanchez used—”

  “You have nothing.”

  Color turned Kent’s cheeks bright, rosy red. “We have a sighting of the car,” he said stiffly.

  Cruz’s brows rose. “A sighting of the car? Really?”

  “Yes, sir. Really.”

  A moment of silence punctuated that statement. The clock on the wall ticked loudly; beside Tony, Isabel stood motionless, staring at Donavon Cruz. She watched him with unblinking focus, as though she considered him both predator and prey. Clearly, she did not share Agent Kent’s anxious need to placate Mr. Cruz. But that wasn’t really a surprise. Tony had a feeling Isabel never gave anyone a free pass.

  Standing against the opposite wall, Bob Peabody took in the scene with his typical bland countenance, jelly donut in hand. Rain spat against the window beside him. Neither Tony’s lieutenant nor Isabel’s boss, Special Agent in Charge, Lawrence Gill, were in attendance at this impromptu meeting. But then, no one had anticipated Donavon Cruz suddenly appearing and demanding an update. That he was there at all was an oddity Tony was still trying to understand. All Cruz had to do was make a phone call. Why come in person?

  “And what of an accomplice?” Cruz drawled.

  Kent looked startled. “We believe Miss Sanchez is alone. We have no knowledge of an accomplice or—”

  “You have no knowledge of anything,” Cruz said coldly. “You’re not even certain it’s her vehicle you’ve found.”

  “Well…not for certain, no.”

  “Then tell me, Agent Kent, what use are you?”

  Something sharp flitted across the young agent’s face, then was gone. “I can assure you, Mr. Cruz, we are working diligently—”

  “You are wasting my time. Every moment spent making an excuse is another moment Lucia Sanchez spends assaulting my children.”

  “Assaulting your children,” Isabel repeated, stirring. “Can you be more specific?”

  Cruz’s gaze slid to her and chilled. “That is a family matter, Agent Bjorn.”

  “Child abuse is a criminal matter,” she told him quietly. “An accusation we have a legal duty to investigate.”

  “You cannot even locate my children. Do you really believe I would trust you to investigate something as delicate as an abuse allegation?”

  Cruz’s tone was cutting. He turned away and dismissed her entirely. Ironic, Tony thought, considering she was his biggest possible ally in this mess.

  “Neither your trust nor your permission is required for an investigation, Mr. Cruz.” Isabel’s tone was colder than Tony had ever heard it. “And I will personally see to it that any and all allegations of abuse are investigated to the fullest extent of the law.”

  Donavon Cruz turned back to her, his features hard and lined, his eyes flat. Any semblance of the southern gentleman was gone, the shine stripped away to reveal the ugly, abrasive surface beneath.

  “Be careful, Agent Bjorn,” he said softly. “I am not a man to threaten.”

  Isabel took a step toward him, and Tony barely caught her, hooking a finger through one of her belt loops to halt her.

  “Settle,” he murmured.

  She ignored him and stared at Donavon Cruz with unflinching challenge. “Have you received a ransom demand, Mr. Cruz?”

  Cruz blinked; his gaze narrowed. He stared at Isabel for a minute, as if trying to work out her train of thought. “Not unless you discovered one in Miss Sanchez’s room—which I kindly allowed you to search.”

  “Ah yes, our search. Of Miss Sanchez’s obviously cleaned and cleared room. So helpful of you.”

  Snark. Tony hadn’t known she had it in her.

  “Did you find anything interesting?” Cruz asked, equally as snide.

  “Nothing we are at liberty to discuss,” Isabel replied coolly and smiled.

  Cruz’s gaze narrowed on her.

  “Do you anticipate a ransom?” Kent jumped in

  “Yes,” Cruz replied. “Of course.”

  “You believe this is about money?” Isabel clarified, pulling against Tony’s hold.

  A flicker in Cruz’s eyes, and then nothing. “Obviously.”

  “And the abuse you’ve asserted…is it physical?” Isabel leaned toward him, her head tilted. “Is it sexual?”

  Faint color flushed Cruz’s face. He took a step toward Isabel, and Tony took a step as well, fully recognizing the threat Cruz made no effort to hide. Adrenaline shot through him like a geyser.

  “The children are our only priority at the moment,” Kent put in hurriedly, as if he scented blood, “and we’re doing everything in our power to locate them and bring them home safely. Unfortunately, right now, all we can do is wait.”

  Cruz said nothing, staring at Isabel. She stared back. Trapped in Tony’s hold, a fine tremor shook her, but he didn’t think it was fear. He had the feeling she wanted to go for Donavon Cruz’s throat.

  He approved, but his hold tightened anyway. Now was not the time. They didn’t have what they needed.

  “Either you find them,” Cruz bit out softly, “or I will.”

  Kent blinked. “You should really leave Miss Sanchez’s apprehension to the professionals,” he said.

  An ugly smile turned Cruz’s mouth. “Professionals?” he repeated. “Is that what you call yourselves?”

  Another blink.

  “If you do not find my children and deliver them to me,” Cruz continued matter-of-factly, “I will have you stripped of your badges. I will personally blacklist each and every one of you and see to it that no law enforcement or security agency in the world will hire you. Any career you might have had will be nothing more than a bitter memory. Make no mistake, I will erase you.”

  Kent’s features went taut. Bob only arched his brows above another bite of donut. But Isabel…Isabel smiled.

  Tony tightened his hold, his heart suddenly beating like a drum.

  “I’ll be waiting,” Cruz said coldly. He turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

  A harsh breath broke from Kent. “He just threatened us.”

  “Welcome to the big leagues, kid.” Bob took another bite of his breakfast.

  “Jesus Christ,” Kent said. He looked at Isabel. “We need to get to Idaho.”

  She shook her head and tugged once more against Tony’s hold. He didn’t release her.

  “Knock it off,” she growled over her shoulder.

  “Settle,” he said again, but grinned. He couldn’t help it. “Tiger.”

  Her gaze narrowed, but before she could respond, Kent was talking.

  “Get your stuff,” he told her. “We’re leaving.”


  She stiffened. “No.”

  “Yes,” he snapped. “We need to find that fucking car.”

  Tony’s hackles rose at his tone, but Isabel beat him to it.

  “I am not your subordinate, Agent Kent.” Her tone sliced through the room like a blade; her eyes glinted, polished obsidian. “I was sent here to investigate, not chase a fugitive who has not yet been located. There is no reason for me to run all over Idaho in search of Lucia Sanchez. My time is far better spent trying to discover the motive behind this crime, and Miss Sanchez’s intended destination. If I discover either of those things, you will be the first to know. Until then, I will use my time as I see fit, not as you—or Donavan Cruz—dictate.”

  Kent blinked again. Tony’s grin widened. Isabel tore from his hold and grabbed her bag.

  “Let’s go,” she barked at Tony.

  He reached for his suit coat. “Where to, boss?”

  She glowered at him. “We have an appointment.”

  “We do?”

  “Yes.”

  Tony followed her and winked at Kent. “Good luck with the car, Boy Wonder.”

  “Sorry,” he added to Bob, who only shrugged.

  Isabel was already walking out the door, her stride aggressive, her mouth set in hard lines. Around the handle of her bag, her knuckles were white.

  She was furious.

  “He knows,” she hissed.

  Tony reached out to grab her elbow. “Who knows?”

  She jerked from his hold. “Cruz. He fucking knows.”

  The word “fucking” threw Tony, and he almost stopped. “Knows what?”

  She strode out the front door of the station and swung around, unmindful of the light, misting rain that fell.

  “He knows where they are,” she said, her teeth clenched, her eyes shooting sparks, and Tony’s blood went cold. “He knows exactly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I should have realized it,” she muttered. “What an idiot.”

  Tony gripped her arms and halted her when she would have turned away. “Realized what, goddamn it?”

  Isabel’s black gaze met his. “He’s tracking them.”

  “What?” Dread sliced through Tony. “How?”

  “Microchips.”

  Tony was lost. “What?”

  “I’ve been around hundreds of parents whose children are missing, Tony. Hundreds. Do you know what the common denominator always is? Fear. No matter who they are, they are always scared shitless for their kids. Always. But Donavon Cruz was far more interested in threatening us—in finding out what we knew—than he was in the immediate welfare of those boys. He isn’t worried, because he knows—regardless of the claims he’s made—that Lucia won’t hurt them. And because he knows where they are. Because he’s going after them himself.”

  Tony froze. “How do you know that?”

  “GenTek.”

  “What?”

  “GenTek. They developed GPS capable chips several years ago. Cruz is a major shareholder.” She shook her head. “I should have made the connection sooner.”

  “You’re sure?”

  The look she gave him was cold. “Believe what you will, Detective, but I do this for a living.”

  “Fuck,” Tony said. “Dragovitch.”

  “Yes.”

  Tony stared down at her, his blood a vicious roar. He thought of Lucia, of Sam and those boys. Of Ivan Dragovitch. The hellacious storm bearing down upon them all. The contents of his stomach churned.

  “Fuck,” he said again.

  Isabel pulled from his hold and slid her phone from the breast pocket of the steel-gray pantsuit she wore.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded, tension like steel along his spine.

  “Contacting my CI. Maybe we can lay hands on the chips’ ID numbers.”

  “And track them.”

  “Yes.” Isabel turned away, phone in hand, and Tony pulled his own cell out and dialed Sam.

  No answer; par for the goddamn course. Sam’s voicemail sounded a moment later: Speak.

  “Those kids are chipped,” Tony said brusquely, adrenaline like electric current in his veins. “You’d better get the hell off the grid. Someone is coming. I’ll send you a file.”

  He turned back around to find Isabel staring at him, her arms crossed, her eyes as cold as the outermost reaches of space.

  “Who was that?” she asked quietly.

  The rain continued, rolling down her cheeks, soaking the artful twist of her hair. People walked around them; a few feet away traffic roared past. Tony stood trapped in her dark gaze and knew the gig was up.

  Time to roll the dice or fold. No more in between. And everything hinged on whether or not Isabel Bjorn was a good bet. But instinct told him that without her, he was going to get nowhere fast.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Those kids are chipped. You’d better get the hell off the grid. Someone is coming. I’ll send you a file.

  Sam was going to stop checking his goddamn phone. Because the weather report for the foreseeable future wasn’t bad enough—gale force winds, torrential rainfall, hail the size of golf balls—no, there just had to be another message from Tony warning of a falling sky.

  When Sam opened the file and scanned its contents, the unease that had dogged him since yesterday—when he understood that walking away was no longer an option—turned to cold lead in his belly. Ivan The Terrible. A brutal, ruthless man, with a trail of death behind him, and whose dark, opaque eyes hinted at hell. His history was bloody and violent, and his gaze promised more.

  When Ivan comes, you will understand.

  He would chase her to the ends of the earth, and then, when he found her, he would punish her.

  And he would glory in her pain.

  Sam could look at him and know it.

  Ivan will come for me, and I am prepared for that. You must be prepared, as well.

  Jesus Christ, she thought Sam would let that fucking be?

  “Goddamn it,” he snarled.

  The calm acceptance in her enraged him. She fully expected Sam to allow her to take on Ivan the Asshole by herself. While he ran away with the boys. While he fled.

  Sam could hardly wrap his brain around it. That she would put herself in front of all of them was insanity—not really a surprise, not now that he was starting to know her—but that she expected him to allow it…that was another matter entirely.

  Not fucking happening, sweetheart.

  No way was he letting Lucia go kamikaze, with Ivan or without. That she didn’t seem to think he was capable of keeping her safe—that she believed he would agree to let her simply take on the son of a bitch—was the worst of insults.

  I do not mean for it to be.

  No, she hadn’t. She didn’t expect anyone to fall on a sword for her—him least of all. But those boys…that was a different matter. She’d wanted a promise from him to put them first; they were her priority. Sam understood, but he didn’t agree. He wasn’t going to fucking trade her for them. He wasn’t going to forfeit anyone, and she was going to have to understand that.

  Understand him. Like he was beginning to understand her.

  He got it now. Her rage, her rebellion, her desperation. The crime that had been done to Alexander was one of the worst; a transgression no amount of justice could rectify. There was no equitable retribution for such an act, nothing that could rebuild all that had been destroyed. Alexander would do battle with what had been done to him every moment of every day for the rest of his life. It would affect every aspect of his existence; there would be no escape. A hellish punishment for a crime he didn’t commit.

  Sam had seen his share of abused children. One could not travel the world and go into the places he had been and not see them: chattel, property, goods to be bartered and sold. Sickening and infuriating; he wondered at the soul of the world, that such a thing could be so commonplace everywhere he went. But what was the difference? Perhaps Cruz�
�s crime was worse: a violation of his own child, a sin so great it was incomprehensible. An offense so vile even death was too easy a price.

  Sam’s pop had used him as a punching bag on a regular basis; he’d broken bones, teeth, Sam’s nose, and nearly blinded him with an old army knife. He’d touched him with violence, but never with that kind of intent. It was a jarring realization, Sam thought, to understand that for all the blood and pain and tears he’d suffered, there was worse out there. That he’d been fucking lucky.

  Lucky. A word seven-year-old him would have spat upon.

  Life was fucked up.

  The dangerous, simmering fury he saw in Alexander made sense now. The boy’s aversion to touch, his mistrust, his desperation, so thick and rank it could choke a man. Ten goddamn years old, trying to save himself.

  Sam was a grown man. He knew the savage cost of physical abuse; he knew the horrors of war; he knew the scent and taste of death. But he couldn’t wrap his head around the terror Alexander Cruz was experiencing. Such a heavy burden; that the weight hadn’t crushed him was a fucking miracle.

  But no more. No. Magnus had been right: Sam was strong on the inside. And no matter how shitty he felt about a whole hell of a lot of other things, on this he was crystal clear: he was needed. The guy. And when he thought about the walking atrocity that was Donavon Cruz, he was glad.

  Hang him from his fucking guts and strip him with a dull blade, inch by inch. It would make the picture Alexander had drawn look like goddamn Walt Disney.

  “Are we leaving?”

  As if conjured by Sam’s thoughts, Alexander stood next to him suddenly, the cool sheen in his gaze underscored by anxiety. Fear. He was damned good at hiding it; the kid had more self-control than many of the men Sam had known. But his terror was ever-present, a living, hungry thing that only continued to grow, and the more Sam learned the kid, the clearer it became.

  “Yes,” Sam told him. “The water’s rising. We need to get to higher ground. Wake Ben and Lucia, and walk Daisy. We need to head out soon.”

  No argument, no derision, not even a question. Alexander simply turned and headed toward the tent.

  Well. At least something about today would be easier.