by Rita Herron
But tonight, all he could think about was Mila and the sadness and fear in her eyes.
* * *
SOMETIME IN THE wee hours of the morning, Mila finally fell into an exhausted sleep.
She dreamed about the surgery.
She was on her feet for hours. Long stressful hours when she could barely focus for worrying about what Izzy was going through.
Her head throbbed and her feet ached. Sweat poured down the side of her face. She was so thirsty she had to pause for a quick sip of water.
“What are you doing?” one of the men barked.
“I need water,” she said, then grabbed a bottle from the side table.
He kept his gun aimed at her. “Get back to it, Doc. If you try to pull anything or if the cops show up, you’ll never see your kid again.”
Rage heated her blood. She wanted to throw something at him, take that gun and turn it on him.
But she was a doctor, not a killer.
Although if they hurt Izzy, she might forget her oath.
She guzzled half the water bottle, then wiped her forehead with a cloth and returned to work. With every maneuver of the scalpel to alter his looks so he could walk away free, she imagined digging the blade into his cold, cold heart.
Voices echoed from the side. Concern flickered in one of the men’s eyes as he answered a phone call. He motioned to the other man, and they surrounded her.
“Hurry up, we need to move.”
“I need more time,” Mila said. “What you’re putting him through is dangerous.”
“His choice,” the brute said with a wave of his gun.
“I can’t in good conscience finish if his blood pressure drops again.”
“Just do your job. We have a place set up for his recovery.”
“I can’t work 24/7,” Mila protested. “My hands aren’t steady when I haven’t slept.”
“You’ll have help and supplies where we’re going,” the man snapped.
“He’s not up for travel,” Mila argued.
The men conversed in Spanish for several seconds. Short, clipped angry words. She’d picked up a few phrases but wasn’t fluent.
But she thought they said something about a medical facility close by.
Another clinic? A hospital?
The man with the radio jammed the gun at her chest. “Finish and do it now. We have to go.”
Mila jerked awake, her heart racing. For a moment, she was so disoriented she thought she was back in the clinic operating room. But the curtain in the room was flapping, the soft whir of the furnace rumbling.
She glanced around, clutched the bedding in her clammy hands and blinked to focus. No, not in the clinic or her house.
At Hawk’s Landing. Brayden’s cabin.
She pushed the covers aside, then padded to the door. A dim light burned from the desk in the corner of the den. Brayden was slumped over the desk snoring lightly.
She tiptoed into the room, which was bathed in early morning sunlight shimmering through the French doors leading to the porch. Dawn was just breaking the sky.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she padded over to him and laid her hand on his shoulder.
“Brayden?” she whispered.
He startled, then jerked his head and looked up at her. “Yeah?”
“I remembered something. They said they had a place with medical supplies set up for DiSanti to recover. I think it was close to the clinic.”
Chapter Thirteen
Brayden sat upright and rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Did they say where it was?”
Mila ran a hand through her tangled hair. Flannel pajamas be damned. Sleepy eyed with those unruly strands draping her shoulders, she looked young and sexy.
Not a good thought, man.
“Not specifically,” Mila said, her voice riddled with frustration. “They were speaking in Spanish. I’m not fluent, but I understand a few phrases and words from our trips abroad.”
Needing a distraction from his earlier thoughts, he stood, walked over to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee.
“Did they mention a direction they were going? A landmark?”
Mila pinched the bridge of her nose. “It sounded like they said something about a corral.”
Brayden frowned. They were in Texas, a land rich with ranches, farmland and corrals.
He poured her a cup of coffee and himself a mug, then offered cream and sugar.
“Black,” she said, and thanked him.
He carried his coffee to his desk, then checked his phone for messages. Beck still hadn’t returned his call. He checked his email next and had one from Dexter listing a property that Jameson Beck owned that he thought they should search.
He sent his brother a text asking him to look for locations that might involve a medical setting, old doctor’s office, abandoned hospital or lab, using the word corral.
Dex sent him a quick response that he was on it.
“Hopefully, Dex will get back to us about the corral. I’m going to talk to Jameson Beck.”
Mila sipped her coffee. “What does he have to do with this?”
“He may be involved with DiSanti’s operation,” Brayden said.
Mila looked perplexed. “Jameson Beck is supposed to be helping citizens, not exploiting them.”
“If we prove he’s involved,” Brayden said, “everyone will know exactly what he’s done. Not only will his political career be over, but he’ll serve time.”
“I’m going with you,” Mila said.
Brayden hesitated. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I haven’t told Lucas—”
“I don’t care,” Mila said. “DiSanti’s people still haven’t contacted me. If Beck is involved and knows what’s happening with my daughter, then he should have to face me.”
She had a point. It might be easier for Beck to blow him off, but not so easy when Mila made the situation personal.
“All right,” Brayden said. “But let me do the talking.”
Mila agreed, although determination flared in her eyes. “I’ll get dressed.”
He rushed to shower himself. Jameson Beck could be an imposing man. He wanted to present himself as an equal.
But if he had anything to do with Mila’s daughter being taken, those kid gloves would come off.
* * *
MILA STUDIED JAMESON BECK with a skeptical eye. She’d always considered him a slick, cunning politician. He was impeccably dressed, hair groomed, teeth postcard white. He said the correct things and smoothed ruffled feathers with locals over unemployment, issues facing the ranchers and taxes.
He pretended to be an advocate for the lower income although he sported an expensive foreign car and the cost of his Italian loafers would go a long way toward feeding the impoverished.
Nerves pricked Mila’s spine. Beck shook both their hands, invited them into his office and offered coffee. But her stomach was twisted so tightly she could barely swallow water.
She certainly didn’t intend to swallow his lies if he dodged their questions.
And what if he was conspiring with DiSanti and tipped him off that she was cooperating with the police?
“I received your message late last night,” Beck commented. “You said it was urgent.”
“It is. I’m assuming you saw the news story about Dr. Manchester’s arrest,” Brayden said. “I’m representing her.”
Beck’s gray eyes showed no reaction. “I’m afraid I didn’t see the story,” Beck said. “I was out of pocket all day yesterday and didn’t get in until late last night.”
Mila didn’t believe him. In his position, he had people who kept him informed of what was happening in his city. With the upcoming election, he could pounce on anything juicy or topical and bend it to impress his constituents.
“Dr. Manchester was forced at gunpoint to perform surgery on DiSanti, a man suspected of spearheading the Shetland operation. You are familiar with that, aren’t you?”
Brayden’s biting tone seemed to raise Beck’s hackles, but he quickly masked a reaction.
Beck rolled an expensive pen between his fingers. “Of course. I believe your brother made some arrests a few months ago and recovered four missing girls who’d been abducted by that group.”
“That’s correct.” Brayden used a calm voice. “We need your help. If you know anything about DiSanti and his whereabouts, it’s important that you tell us.”
Beck leaned back in his desk chair, a picture of calm. “I wish I could help you, but I’m afraid I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Brayden asked, his voice challenging.
Beck clicked the pen. “I represent the people, Mr. Hawk. I would never associate with someone involved in illegal activities.”
Brayden stood and leaned his hands on Beck’s desk. “We both know that’s a lie. Now, listen to me. I’m not after you. All I want is information about DiSanti and where he’s hiding.”
Anger slashed Beck’s eyes. “I told you that I’m not involved with him.”
“Maybe not,” Brayden barked. “But if you’re connected with someone who is, then tell me what you do know.”
Beck buttoned his suit jacket. “I’ve asked and answered your question. Now it’s time for you to leave.”
Mila couldn’t stand it any longer. She lurched up from her chair. “Mr. Beck, this man not only abducts and sells young women as sex slaves, but his people kidnapped my three-year-old little girl.” Her voice broke. She snatched a picture from her wallet, a candid of Izzy at Christmas holding her baby doll. “Her name is Izzy,” Mila said. “She’s three, and she’s afraid of the dark, and she likes macaroni and cheese and rainbows and ice cream.”
A vein throbbed in his neck.
Mila gave him an imploring look. “If you know where he’s holding her, please tell me.”
His gaze met hers. His was full of steel, although a twinge of something akin to worry flickered in his eyes. Worry for himself or for her daughter?
He exhaled. “I’m sorry, Dr. Manchester. I hope you find her.”
The calmness in his tone infuriated her even more. He was lying. She sensed it and refused to let him off the hook.
She snatched him by the collar and jerked his face toward hers. She expected Brayden to yank her away, but he didn’t.
“If he hurts her, and I find out you knew where she was and didn’t help me,” she said through gritted teeth, “worrying about winning the election won’t be an issue.”
His gaze shot to Brayden. “You need to calm your client, Mr. Hawk.”
Mila shook him. “This is calm, Mr. Beck.” Venom laced her tone. “I promise you that if I don’t get my daughter back safe and sound, jail will be the least of your problems.”
“You heard her threaten me,” Beck said to Brayden.
Brayden shrugged. “I didn’t hear anything of the sort.”
Mila straightened and reluctantly released Beck.
Beck cleared his throat, his nostrils flaring. “The next time you want to talk to me, go through my attorney.”
Brayden shot him a cynical smile. “Fine. I’m sure the residents of Austin will be interested in knowing that instead of helping us find a known sex trafficker and a missing child, that you lawyered up to protect your own ass.”
Brayden didn’t wait for a response. He took Mila’s arm and they left the room.
Her heart hammered in her chest. Brayden Hawk was a formidable man and lawyer.
He was also one of the good guys, not like Beck, who was all show with a selfish, greedy side lurking beneath.
* * *
BRAYDEN’S PHONE BUZZED as he and Mila climbed back into his SUV. Dex.
He quickly connected. “I’m just leaving Beck’s office. That bastard knows something, but he sure as hell isn’t talking.”
“I’ll keep digging,” Dex said. “I did find something though—at least I think I did. You said Mila mentioned something about a corral?”
“Like I said, they were speaking in Spanish, so she wasn’t sure of the translation.”
“I found an abandoned hospital in a small hole-in-the-wall town called O’Kade Corral,” Dex said.
Brayden’s pulse jumped. “Where is it?”
“Sending the address to your phone now,” Dex said. “The town was built around some old mines, which was the reason for the hospital. But the mines yielded nothing, so the workers moved on and the town crumbled.”
But it would provide a hiding spot for DiSanti during his recuperation.
Dex agreed to meet him there, and Brayden hung up, then glanced at the address Dex had sent. Mila was checking her own phone, willing it to ring again, he guessed.
Disappointment lined her face as she laid it back in her lap. “What’s going on?”
Brayden explained about Dex’s call. “The town isn’t far from here.”
Mila fastened her seat belt. “Let’s go.”
Brayden fastened his own seat belt, started the engine and veered into traffic. He wove through the downtown streets of Austin, then onto the highway leading out of the city.
Mila twisted her phone between her hands, constantly checking it as he raced down the highway. He considered calling Lucas, but he didn’t want to waste Lucas’s time if this was a wild-goose chase.
The city landscape gave way to farmland and ranches, then he veered onto a narrow road that wove through miles and miles of nothing. The road was bumpy and filled with potholes, another sign that the area was deserted.
He maneuvered a turn, then spotted several small buildings in the distance. The town looked like a ghost town—a small building that had once been a mercantile, a bank, a diner and honky-tonk. All deserted, the buildings weathered, paint fading.
He scanned the streets and surrounding land for cars or signs indicating someone was here. A few pieces of rusted mining equipment had been left near the overgrown trails leading to the mines.
“It looks vacant,” Mila said, disappointment tingeing her voice.
In the distance sat a larger building that could be the old hospital. A white van and an ambulance were parked near the building, half hidden by weeds and patchy shrubs.
Mila clutched his arm. “They were driving a van the night they brought DiSanti to the clinic.”
Brayden pulled over between a clump of trees to wait on Dexter. The last thing he wanted was to alert DiSanti’s men they were here before backup arrived.
If he got himself and Mila killed, he couldn’t save Izzy.
He texted Dex to tell him to approach with caution and pull off where he’d parked. The air in the car felt charged with tension as they waited, Mila’s anxiety palpable.
Five minutes passed, then Dex coasted up in his black pickup. He slowed and veered into the space beside Brayden and parked. Brayden removed his handgun from the locked dash and checked the magazine.
Both he and his brother eased their doors open and slid out, carefully closing them so they didn’t make noise. Mila joined them, but Dexter and he exchanged understanding looks.
“Stay here while we take a look around,” Brayden said.
“But if Izzy’s there, she’ll be scared and need me,” Mila whispered.
Brayden gently touched her arm. “It’s too dangerous, Mila. Once we scout out the hospital, we’ll let you know if it appears anyone is there. If DiSanti’s here, we’ll call Lucas for backup.”
“But if Izzy’s in there—”
“Rushing inside without a plan could work against us,” Brayden said. “We have to play it smart. The most important thing is to get Izzy out safely.”
Mila sighed and gripped the edge of the SUV. “P
lease find her, Brayden.”
His heart stuttered. Dex’s face twisted with emotions, as well.
“We’ll do our best,” Brayden said. “But I need you to stay in the SUV, lock the doors and keep down. If DiSanti has men watching or riding the property, we don’t want them to see you.”
Mila agreed, and he waited until she was locked inside the vehicle, then he and Dexter headed through the woods toward the building.
Dex pulled binoculars from his pocket and focused on the van and ambulance first, then across the property.
He shook his head, indicating he didn’t see movement.
Brayden gripped his gun at the ready, and they crossed behind some trees, taking cover as they moved toward the building.
Dex motioned that he’d check the side windows, while Brayden veered around the right to the back window near the parked ambulance.
Just as he grew close, something caught his eye.
A small stuffed monkey. It looked well-worn and loved, its ears frayed.
His throat closed. If it belonged to Izzy, she might be here.
Chapter Fourteen
Brayden stooped down, picked up the stuffed monkey, his heart clenching at the tattered ears. Izzy, or some child, had loved this little toy. It had probably given comfort.
He stuffed it inside his pocket and inched forward until he reached the back door, a metal one with a window covered to offer privacy to patients it had once served—or to hide whoever was inside.
Dex gave a low whistle from the side of the building and gestured that he couldn’t see inside.
In fact, all the windows were covered.
Suspicious.
Brayden crept forward and gently turned the doorknob. Locked.
Dex appeared a second later. Brayden ignored the fact that his brother carried a lock-picking tool and that they had no warrant. If he had to, he’d say they thought they heard a child crying inside.
Dex picked the lock and turned the knob, pushing it open an inch at a time. Brayden peered through the opening. The interior was dark. Quiet.