Fast Burn

by Lori Foster

Asshole, Brand wanted to shout. Why give her the gruesome details now? She was already upset. Scott should be reassuring her, not adding to her nightmare memories.

  “I was still pushing farther away when they started the motor and drove away from me. Then I inflated the raft and made my way to shore.”

  “You keep saying them and they. Who was it, Scott? Who did this to us?”

  A gust of wind rode in off the river, causing the leaves over Brand’s head to shudder, spilling more rain down on him. He swiped a hand over his face, determined to keep Sahara in his sights at all times.

  He watched as Scott struggled with the umbrella.

  “Let’s talk in your car,” he said.

  She agreed, but just as they stood, all hell broke loose.

  Two men exploded out of the bushes, guns in hand and shouting orders.

  Brand started to lunge forward, but something solid hit him in the back of the head. He dropped to his knees, lost his hold on the flashlight, but maintained consciousness by a thread. The bastards had a strobe light and that, along with the shouting, added to the confusion. He could hear yelling, heard Sahara’s distinctive voice cursing someone and then he heard a gunshot.

  His heart went into his throat—until Sahara screamed, “Scott!”

  She sounded equal parts panicked and pissed, but not hurt.

  Knowing Leese, Miles and Justice were already on their way, Brand shoved to his feet. Through the wildly flashing light, he saw the men racing toward a small motorboat moored on the shore. In another bright flash he saw that one man had an arm locked around Sahara’s throat, dragging her toward it.

  “No!” He ran full tilt, stumbling twice because of the knock on the head, falling once onto the wet, loamy ground. He didn’t stay down even when he heard Leese call his name.

  The motor revved on the boat and it shot out to the river. Too many bodies filled that small boat, one of them Sahara’s. He didn’t dare shoot, not with her in the mix of the turmoil.

  A gunshot sounded from the boat, and a second later he heard a snarled “Bitch!” along with the sounds of a scuffle.

  “Sahara!”

  “Take care of Scott,” she shouted, the words muffled by the wind and rain.

  “Scott’s dead,” someone said with a laugh.

  “No,” she screamed. “Please...”

  The rest of her words faded away on the dark night.

  Brand realized that he stood waist-deep in the frigid water. His heart felt numb, his lungs unable to get enough air.

  Something bumped against his leg, and he looked down to see Sahara’s mangled umbrella washing against the shore. His throat tightened painfully.

  “Brand,” Leese said urgently. “Come on. We have to go. Enoch has a tracer on her. You know that. We’ll find her.”

  Justice added, “But it’s better if we don’t wait.”

  Brand slowly turned, mud sucking at his feet. “Her brother?” he asked with ominous undertones.

  “Coming around,” Miles said. “He caught a bullet in the arm, just a graze, I think, but apparently he hit his head when he went down. I guess that’s why the goons thought he was dead, why they left him and took her instead.”

  Fury carried Brand to where Scott Silver sat on the sodden ground, his back propped against the log, his head hanging forward.

  Sahara’s phone, still lit up, lay on the ground beside him. Brand picked it up and put it in his pocket. His heart started to pound in thundering beats.

  With one hand, he hauled Scott to his tiptoes and rattled him. “You ignorant fucker! Do you realize what you’ve done?”

  “I was careful,” Scott muttered, wincing with the pain in his head and arm. “No one followed me, so they must have followed you.”

  Driven by blind rage, Brand cocked back a fist—and Justice captured it. Calm to the point of morbid, he said, “Stop and think, man. If you kill him, Sahara will never forgive you.”

  “You heard her,” Miles said with his own measure of anger. “She’s worried about the bastard. For her sake, we have to take care of him.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Scott growled.

  It required three deep breaths before Brand was able to open his fingers and let Scott drop back flat on his feet. He retrieved his fist from Justice, who gave him an apologetic whack on the back.

  “His head, damn it,” Leese said. “Go easy, will you. You saw him get conked.”

  “Butt of a gun, it looked like,” Miles said. “Sorry we didn’t get here quick enough.”

  “I’m fine,” Brand lied...and immediately thought of how Sahara had said the same, how she’d stubbornly insisted it was so. Despite her denials, she was still hurt, and now unscrupulous bastards had her again. “After I get her back,” Brand told Scott, “I plan to finish this.”

  “Suit yourself.” Scott clenched a hand around his bleeding arm. “But we have to move now.” As if he thought he could take charge of the situation, he started for the car, saying, “Tell me who has the tracer on her. How well do you know him? And how many cars did you bring? Jesus, it’s no wonder you were—”

  He squawked when Justice and Miles each grabbed one of his arms and practically threw him into the back of the SUV. Miles climbed in behind him. Brand followed.

  Justice got in the front passenger seat and Leese got behind the wheel.

  “What the hell is this?” Scott demanded, looking a little wary when Brand turned on the flashlight.

  “Take off your coat.” He located the first aid kit and opened it. For Sahara, he’d keep her asshole brother alive—for now.

  “I don’t need—”

  Miles said, “No one gives a shit what you need. We’re doing this for Sahara, so take off the fucking coat.”

  From the front, Leese said, “I’m calling Enoch now, so keep it down.”

  Silently, Scott struggled out of his coat. “I know Enoch. He has the tracer?”

  No one replied, and no one moved to help him with his coat, but as he eased his arm from the sleeve, Brand saw the blood everywhere and quietly cursed.

  Enoch answered on the first ring. “Everything okay?”

  Leese said, “They got her, Enoch. We need to know which way to go.”

  “Oh God.” Worry sharpened his voice. “Oh Jesus.”

  “Stop praying and give us directions,” Justice ordered.

  “I’m on it, I’m on it. Let me see...” The seconds ticked by.

  Needing to occupy himself, Brand got out cleaning swabs, gauze pads and tape. His eyes burned and his guts churned.

  She had to be okay. He had to have a chance to tell her how much she meant to him. She was...everything.

  Every. Fucking. Thing.

  If they touched her, if they hurt her, he’d—

  “Okay,” Enoch said, breathing hard. “They’re on 71 heading toward 75. How long before you can be on the highway?”

  “They crossed the river in a boat, so they have the jump on us. Maybe fifteen minutes or so, given traffic—once I reach the actual roadway.”

  Justice glanced over the seat. “Hold on. It’ll be bumpy for a bit.”

  “Don’t worry about us,” Miles said.

  Leese drove fast over the rough terrain, anxious to get them on solid ground. Every second felt like an hour.

  “Take off the shirt,” Miles said quietly.

  Solemn, Scott did as directed.

  “How bad is your head?”

  “Mild concussion, probably,” Scott said.

  “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  Brand glanced up as he scooted closer to Sahara’s brother. “I’ll live. Let’s just concentrate on getting to her.”

  “We will, you know,” Miles vowed. “Get her, I mean.”

  Brand nodded at Miles. “Call the old guys. See if they’ve found out
anything from Grant.”

  “Douglas Grant?” Scott asked.

  Again they ignored him. “And see if they’ve found a way to contact Ross Moran.”

  “I know how to contact him,” Scott offered quickly.

  Everyone went still.

  Scott cleared his throat. “I paid him, you know. Left the money in his apartment, then texted him and told him so. I figured that’s why they were after Sahara, trying to get what I owed. I wouldn’t have asked her to meet me if I didn’t think that shit was already settled.”

  “How?” Justice demanded. “How did you find him?”

  “I spent a hell of a lot of time tracking him down, that’s how. He’s key to exposing the bastards who tried to murder me.”

  “Tried being the operative word,” Miles murmured.

  Scott nodded. “Ross had done a job for me, but then I was attacked on my yacht and never got a chance to pay him.”

  Everyone went silent while Enoch gave more directions.

  When he finished, Leese ordered, “Start explaining, and make it fast.”

  They now had something to go on. Brand couldn’t think about anything else or he’d lose the fragile grip on his control. “I’ll bandage while you talk.” Examining Scott’s arm gave him something to focus on besides his worry.

  Miles held the flashlight. Neither of them reacted to the raw, ravaged wound in Scott’s arm. Inch and a half wide, about three inches long, already blackened around the edges, it looked painful.

  Knowing it would burn like hell, Brand swabbed at the blood, cleaning enough off around the damaged area so that the wrapping would hold.

  Scott hissed in his breath, but held perfectly still.

  “You need to go to the hospital—”

  “Not until I have my sister back.”

  “—but no one is taking you there yet,” Brand finished. It required everything he had not to blame the brother.

  Still on an open line, Enoch asked, “You found her brother?”

  “Yeah. And a whole shit-ton of trouble.”

  Enoch surprised everyone by gritting out, “Son of a bitch. I don’t believe this.”

  Scott looked momentarily guilty, then rallied. “I have Ross’s number. The bastard moved around a few times, but I found his new apartment. I left the money there that I owed him, then texted him to let him know. He should have found it already.”

  “You paid him everything?” Justice asked.

  “Twice what I owed him, actually. I thought that would be the end of it.”

  “You thought your ass was finally safe,” Miles accused.

  “If that’s all they wanted,” Leese asked, “then who took Sahara today?”

  “I recognized voices.” Scott’s face showed the pain he felt, physically and emotionally. “Not Ross’s, but I definitely heard Olsen Winger. Maybe Terrance. There was so much chaos—”

  “And that damned flashing light,” Justice muttered.

  Scott nodded. “They work with Ross Moran.” Levering carefully to one hip, he dug the phone from his pocket, thumbed the screen and pulled up Ross’s number.

  Miles took it from him.

  Scott started to object, but the dark stare from Miles convinced him to stay quiet.

  “Let’s not call him yet,” Leese decided. “We need to get closer first. We don’t want to push them into doing anything...rash.”

  Brand squeezed his eyes shut. No, they didn’t want the bastards doing anything rash—like kidnapping her a second time, or shooting her brother. In comparison, rash could only mean one thing, but he couldn’t contemplate that.

  She had to be okay.

  Trusting his friends to think clearly, to accurately gauge the situation, Brand busied himself by layering gauze pads on Scott’s gunshot wound, then he wrapped and taped it down. “I have aspirin.”

  “I’ll take three.”

  Brand handed them over. Inside, he felt like a bomb slowly ticking, the explosion getting closer and closer.

  Enoch interrupted with more directions. “They’re off the highway and driving through Darville.”

  “Never heard of it,” Leese said.

  “Just looked it up,” Enoch said. “It’s a dead little town, most of the businesses gone.”

  A perfect place to hide a victim.

  Enoch went through directions for the exit to take, and then the roads to follow. Justice put everything in his phone to use GPS.

  “Tell us if they stop,” Leese said, speeding fast now that he was on wide highway. Luckily the traffic was low, which allowed them to make up some time.

  In the distance, lightning shattered across the black sky. A few seconds later, thunder rumbled.

  The storm matched Brand’s turbulent mood. Sitting back against the wall of the SUV, he narrowed his gaze on Sahara’s brother. “Now,” he said, his voice evenly modulated to hide his rage. “Finish explaining.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  SAHARA SHIVERED IN her wet clothes and bare feet. Why hadn’t she dressed reasonably in jeans and boots instead of hoping to look her best when she reunited with her brother? It wasn’t like he expected her to wear her classiest business outfit to a clandestine meeting at the riverbank. No, the choice of outfit was all her doing. She’d wanted Scott to have a good impression of her after all this time.

  Her only concession to the weather and location had been a longer skirt, snug-fitting sweater and booties instead of stiletto heels.

  The booties should have stayed in place, damn it, but somewhere along the way she’d lost one of them, maybe while getting dragged into the small boat. She had a vague recollection of a long scratch along the back of one calf and a solid crack to her elbow.

  In the process of her second kidnapping, she’d also lost her umbrella and, unfortunately, her phone.

  Worse, they’d taken her gun from her.

  She blamed her stupid panic for that. If she hadn’t seen Scott shot, hadn’t seen him fall, she might have kept a cool head. Instead, blind rage had driven her and she’d jerked out the gun without thinking through the fact that three men surrounded her at close range.

  The redheaded goon had backhanded her so hard she’d nearly toppled out of the rickety boat. The blow was strong enough that darkness had temporarily closed in. It had been an easy thing for him to wrest the gun from her slack fingers.

  Her face still stung. She was so damned cold that she appreciated the throbbing pain; at least it was something she could feel besides worry and stark, gnawing despair.

  One guy looked back from the front seat. “Have you called Ross yet?”

  The redhead who’d struck her in the boat and then tied her hands too tightly in the car muttered, “He’s meeting us there.”

  Sahara cocked a supercilious brow. “Does he know why he’s meeting you?”

  For an answer, Olsen’s frown deepened.

  The driver leered at her in the rearview mirror, licked his lips and murmured huskily, “Ross won’t object, not anymore.”

  “You’d be wise to leave her alone,” Olsen said.

  “Right before he left, he agreed it was a good plan to get her.”

  “With him, Andy. Not without him.” Olsen slumped lower in his seat. “Don’t fool yourself. When he finds out, he’s going to be pissed.”

  Sahara memorized the names as they said them, and the faces now that she could see them. Eventually they would pay.

  If she lived long enough.

  She eyed Olsen. “So Ross is going to join us?” The more she heard, the more she thought Ross might be her best bet for surviving mostly unscathed.

  Olsen spared her a glance. “You’d do best to keep quiet.”

  A tall order. She couldn’t be quiet on her best days, so how could he expect it of her now, when she was so miserable that she really wanted them to
be miserable, too?

  If it was just physical discomfort, she could be all stoic and brave, no problem, but her heart ached, both for her brother and for the anguish she’d heard in Brand’s voice as he’d shouted her name.

  The two men she loved more than life...would she ever see either of them again?

  Her gaze encompassed all the men. “I’ve heard of stupid, but this is off the charts. I almost feel sorry for you, knowing how it’s going to end.”

  His tone taunting, the driver said, “Ross didn’t want you hurt because he considered you more valuable if you weren’t. But the rules have changed, sugar, and you’re now free game.”

  Did he have to sound so anticipatory?

  “You’re a dumbass, Andy,” Olsen snapped. “In case any of you failed to notice, Ross is sweet on her. If she hadn’t tried to blow my brains out, I wouldn’t have struck her. Ross is going to be furious and that doesn’t bode well for any of us.”

  “I tried to kill you,” Sahara said numbly, “because you shot my brother.”

  Terrance snarled over the seat, “You lied to us! You knew he was alive and that he owed us. But you—”

  Olsen kicked the seat. “Shut up!”

  They all seemed out of control, not at all like Ross, who had dictated with calm decisiveness. Sahara swallowed heavily, her fear very real. Ross had told her he wouldn’t let her be hurt—but he wasn’t here and these men seemed more than capable of hurting her in many, many ways.

  She needed the upper hand, and she couldn’t get it by cowering.

  Turning her head, she glared at Olsen. He sat in sullen silence beside her. “Is it your plan to freeze me to death?”

  “You’ll be able to get warm and dry in a few more minutes.”

  Great. That meant the guys could catch up to her that much quicker. She worked up a believable tremor in her lips. “My arms are aching. Those wet ropes are tightening and I can’t feel my fingers anymore.”

  His gaze narrowed on her. “Once you’re inside, I’ll retie you to the bed.”

  Uh-oh. Trying for mere curiosity rather than dread, she asked, “There’s a bed?”

  Andy again looked at her in the rearview mirror. “I’ll help you take off those wet clothes. We’ll have you cozy in no time.”