Navy SEAL Rescuer

by McCoy, Shirlee

  “She’s got a point,” Darius responded, opening the window and pressing a button on the intercom.

  “Can I help you?” a disembodied male voice asked.

  “We’re here to see Senator Kensington.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but we do have something he might be interested in. A document of his.”

  “Leave it in the mailbox, please.”

  “That’s not going to work. It’s sensitive material, and I don’t think he’d want it to get into the wrong hands.”

  “I’ll come and get it.”

  “I don’t think you understand. We want to deliver the document personally. If we can’t do that, we’ll take it with us,” Darius responded.

  “Hold on a minute. Let me see if he has time to meet with you.”

  “I have a feeling he will,” Taryn said, tapping her fingers on the back of the seat. Obviously, she was anxious. Catherine was, too, because no matter how many times she tried to convince herself that there was no connection between Kensington and her mother, she couldn’t deny the reality of the check.

  “It’s going to be okay.” Darius patted her thigh, his hand resting there as the intercom buzzed, the warmth of it comforting and familiar. She wanted to believe him, but something about the house and the landscape and the steel-gray sky made her anxious, panic clawing its way up her throat.

  “Senator Kensington will see you, but he only has a few minutes. Drive up to the front door. Someone will meet you there.”

  The gates swung open, a cement drive curving away from it. Not a crack, not a hole, not even a tire tread mark marred its perfection, and Catherine wondered how much manpower and how many hours it took to maintain.

  “Taryn, you want to stay in the truck? Make sure no one plants a tracking device on it while we’re inside?”

  “Why would anyone do that?” Catherine asked as Darius parked in front of the house. Wide cement stairs led to a wraparound front porch, everything as gleaming and perfect as the driveway had been.

  “I don’t know, but I’m not willing to take a chance. For now, our safe house is secure. I want to keep it that way.”

  “I’ll babysit the vehicle, but don’t take too long in there. I’m getting hungry.”

  “You always say you’re hungry when you’re on assignment.”

  “Yeah. Well, this time, I mean it. I didn’t get breakfast, what with waking up and having to track you two down.”

  Catherine’s cheeks heated at the reminder.

  She’d stood on the beach with Darius. Stood in his arms.

  Kissed him.

  Again.

  “There are a couple of packs of crackers in the glove compartment. Help yourself to one.”

  “Only one?”

  “Take whatever is there.” Darius got out of the truck as a tall blond man walked out of the house. He jogged down the porch stairs and offered a hand.

  “Darius Osborne, right? I’m Mitch Stanford. Head of security.”

  “You ran my plates,” Darius responded, shaking Stanford’s hand. They were a study in contrast. One dark. The other pale. One lean and muscular. The other bulked up.

  “It’s protocol. Who are your companions?”

  “Taryn Derringer and Catherine Miller.”

  “Give me a second.” Mitch spoke softly into a radio, then speared Catherine with a look that made her squirm. “If either of the ladies is carrying a purse—”

  “I’m staying in the car, bub, so you don’t have to worry about what I’m carrying.” Taryn flashed him a smile.

  “How about you, ma’am?” His gaze returned to Catherine. Deep blue eyes that should have been warm, but were cold as ice.

  “I don’t have a purse.”

  “Any weapons?”

  “No.”

  “How about you?” He turned his attention to Darius.

  “A handgun.”

  “I’ll have to—”

  “I’ll hold on to that for you, boss.” Taryn cut Stanford off, and Catherine sensed a change in her, a tension that didn’t fit with her bright smile and cheerful expression.

  “Thanks.” Darius handed over the gun, then offered a hand to Catherine. “Ready?”

  “I guess so.” She allowed him to help her out of the truck, then followed Mitch into a large ornate foyer. Marble floor. Crystal chandelier. Oil paintings on the walls.

  The place looked more like a museum than a home.

  “You can wait in Senator Kensington’s study. He’ll be with you shortly.” Mitch opened a door to the left of the foyer and gestured for them to enter, leaving the door open as he walked away.

  Like the foyer, the room was large. A mahogany desk sat in front of a bay window, four leather chairs positioned nearby. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, each filled with books.

  “I guess the senator likes to read,” Darius commented, but Catherine wasn’t in the mood to respond.

  This place...this house that looked like a piece of art...belonged to a man who’d paid a child ten thousand dollars.

  Paid her mother.

  A family photo sat on the desk, and she picked it up, studying the senator’s face.

  “You really do resemble his wife.” Darius leaned over her shoulder, his breath ruffling her hair. She wanted to turn into him, wrap herself in his arms again. Forget about Kensington and her mother and the check.

  “Actually, she doesn’t. My wife is a natural brunette,” Gerald Kensington said as he walked into the room. Tall and slim with broad shoulders and an upright carriage, he looked exactly like his photos.

  Catherine placed the photo back on the desk, her cheeks heating as she met the senator’s dark blue eyes.

  “You must be Catherine,” he said, extending his hand.

  “That’s right.”

  “And Darius?” The senator shook Darius’s hand next, every movement, every gesture practiced.

  “Nice to meet you, Senator.”

  “I hear you have a document of mine?”

  “A check, actually. Signed almost three decades ago.”

  “I’ve signed a lot of checks in my lifetime, young man. I’m not sure why you think the one you have is important.”

  “It was for a large amount. Ten thousand dollars. That was a lot of money twenty-nine years go.”

  “I’ve made larger donations.”

  “This wasn’t a donation. It was made out to a fifteen-year-old girl.”

  “Is this some kind of joke?”

  “Why would we joke about something like this?” Catherine finally found her voice and was rewarded with Kensington’s scowl.

  “For the same reason that half a dozen people a year claim that I’m their father or grandfather or uncle. Money. That is what this is about, right?”

  “I—”

  “This is about finding answers, Senator,” Darius cut in, moving closer to Catherine.

  “What answers?”

  “The girl the check was written to was my mother, Jessica Lamont. I want to know why you gave her the money and what connection you have with my family.”

  “The answer is—I didn’t and none. I’ve never heard of your mother, and certainly wouldn’t have written a check to a child.”

  “I have a copy of it here.” Catherine pulled out the photocopy and handed it to him, watching as he scanned the document.

  “Do you know how easy it is to forge something like this? Maybe your mother was
desperate for funds. Maybe she’d seen me on a campaign trail, worked at a hotel where I was staying. It wouldn’t have been that difficult for her to get her hands on one of my checks,” he said, his brows pulled together, his jaw tight.

  “If that’s the case, why didn’t she cash it?” The question burst out, and Darius put a hand on Catherine’s shoulder, squeezing gently.

  “I don’t know. Why does anyone do anything? Maybe she was afraid she’d get caught and chickened out at the last minute.” He sighed, running a hand down his jaw.

  “Stealing a check, forging it, that’s a lot of effort to make and then not go through with it,” Darius said.

  “I’m just speculating. Like I said, I get people coming to me all the time, making claims, wanting something from me. Nothing surprises me anymore.”

  “I’m not making any claims. I don’t want anything. I just want to know the truth,” Catherine tried again, but the senator just shrugged.

  “Of course you do. I understand that.” He touched her arm, and Catherine’s skin crawled.

  Something about him just felt off.

  He was saying all the right things, acting in the right way, but his eyes were empty.

  “I’ll tell you what. How about you bring the original document here? Better yet, just send it. That will save you a trip. I’ll have a couple of experts take a look at the signature. I’m sure they’ll be able to prove that I’m telling the truth.”

  “If you didn’t sign the check, then who did?” Darius asked.

  “Who knows? Maybe your mother can tell you, Catherine.”

  “My mother died when I was five.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, and I really wish I could help you, but an expert is all I can offer.”

  “It will be easy enough for us to find our own expert, but thanks for the offer. When we determine that it’s your signature, we’ll be back,” Darius responded, and Kensington sighed.

  “Let me tell you what I think. I think that you believe I had an affair with Catherine’s mother. I can assure you that I did not. I built a career on honesty and integrity. Sleeping with a fifteen-year-old girl would violate everything I believe in.”

  “Honest people do dishonest things all the time, Senator. Men of integrity lose their way every day.”

  “I’m not one of them. In my line of work, reputation is everything. I wouldn’t have risked having it tarnished. Not for anything or anyone. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting in ten minutes. If you change your mind about the check, just send it. I’ll have Mitch show you out.” He walked away, his pace brisk, his carriage straight. Everything about him seemed buttoned-up and straight-laced, and Catherine could almost believe that he knew nothing about the check.

  Almost.

  Somehow, though, she didn’t.

  * * *

  Darius wasn’t going to wait for Mitch.

  He wanted out of the senator’s house and off his property.

  The sooner the better, because no matter how quickly and easily the senator had answered the questions they’d posed, Darius was sure he was hiding something.

  Too practiced. That’s how it had all felt. As if Kensington had been expecting them to show up and had prepared for it.

  “Let’s get out of here.” He took Catherine’s hand, pulling her into the foyer.

  No sign of Mitch or the senator, and that didn’t sit well. A house that had the kind of security this one did had split-second communication. One word from Kensington, and Mitch would have appeared to escort them out.

  Obviously, Kensington hadn’t given the word.

  Why not?

  Darius opened the truck door, ushering Catherine into the vehicle, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

  “How did it go?” Taryn asked, passing him his Glock.

  “About like we expected.” Darius slid the gun into its holster and started the engine, his gaze on the front door.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Just a feeling.”

  “I’ve never much liked your feelings, Osborne. How about we get out of here while the getting is good?”

  “Good idea.”

  “You think they’ll open the gates for us?”

  “Why wouldn’t they?” Catherine asked, leaning past him to stare at the house.

  She must feel it, too.

  The heaviness in the air.

  “The gates are going to open. One way or another,” Darius responded, because he couldn’t answer her question. Couldn’t quite put his finger on what was bothering him.

  Practiced, yes, but there’d been something else. Maybe the way the guy had talked about not letting anyone or anything tarnish his reputation.

  He pulled away from the house, circling the drive until they were at the gate again. It opened slowly.

  “Looks like it runs on a sensor,” Taryn said, any semblance of humor gone from her face. He knew this person, this hard-edged, tough-as-steel woman, and that was the reason he’d asked for her help.

  “Looks like it.” He drove through, the hair on his nape still on end, his mind screaming “danger.”

  The road wound away from the estate, meandering through thick pine groves, a sheer drop to the shore on the left, deep pine forest to the right. Darius glanced in the rearview mirror but saw no hint of pursuit. Just the empty road.

  That should have made him feel better, but it didn’t.

  Something was coming.

  He knew it.

  It was just a matter of when it would find them.

  NINETEEN

  It came for them twenty minutes into their drive. A dark car pulling out from a side road, blocking both lanes. Darius braked hard, turning the wheel, tires squealing, Catherine screaming beside him, Taryn yelling into her cell phone, calling for help.

  Behind them, another car appeared, slipping off a side road the same way as the other. A trap, and they’d driven right into it. The truck slid to a stop, nose against an oversize pine tree.

  “Get down,” he yelled, pushing Catherine’s head down as the driver of the black car hopped out, a gun drawn.

  The first bullet flew, slamming into the windshield, the glass bowing with the impact.

  “Osborne, you sure know how to find trouble.” Taryn opened the door, fired several shots at the car behind them. “This isn’t going to hold them off for long.”

  “I’ll keep them distracted. Take Catherine and disappear.”

  “You have your radio, so we can find each other?”

  “Yes. Now go!” He fired three shots in rapid succession, taking out the gunman and turning his attention to the other vehicle.

  No movement there. Had Taryn taken out the driver?

  He fired a round at the car as Taryn dragged Catherine from the truck and shoved her into deep foliage. He caught a glimpse of pale skin and dark freckles, blue eyes filled with fear, and he wanted to tell her everything would be okay.

  Only he wasn’t sure it would be.

  Two cars, and he didn’t know if more were coming.

  In the distance, sirens blared, the sound splitting the sudden silence. The black car’s engine revved, and it backed onto the road it had come from, disappearing from view as quickly as it had arrived.

  He pulled his radio, his gun still trained on the place where the car had been. “Taryn? It’s Osborne. Copy.”

  “I copy. Over.”

  “The car and driver retreated. Stay away from any roads.”
<
br />   “Will do. You want us back there?”

  “Not until the police arrive. Stay away and stay hidden until then. Over.”

  “Will—”

  Her words were cut off by a loud pop, and Darius’s blood went cold. He knew the sound, knew what it meant.

  “Taryn? You still there?”

  Nothing.

  Not a buzz or a hum. Not a hint that the radio was on.

  A police car sped into view, but Darius didn’t have time to wait for the officer to get out. He plunged into the woods.

  * * *

  Catherine knelt beside Taryn as she tried to staunch the flow of blood that poured from Taryn’s temple.

  Dear God, please don’t let her be dead.

  She pressed a finger to her neck, felt the pulse pounding there.

  Alive.

  For now.

  She had to get her out of the woods, get her to help.

  Quickly.

  “Don’t move.” Something pressed against the back of her neck, cold and hard and terrifying. She didn’t dare look, didn’t dare breathe.

  “We’re going to walk away from your friend and get in my car, and if you give me any trouble, I’m going to kill you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, and he yanked her to her feet, shoved her forward. She stumbled, landing on her knees on thorny brambles. She didn’t feel the pain. Felt nothing but terror.

  “Get up and walk!” He yanked her upright, and this time she saw his face.

  Mitch!

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked, desperate to stall him, to keep him from doing whatever he planned.

  “Because it’s what I’m being paid to do.”

  “You’re being paid to commit murder?”

  “I’m being paid to retrieve some information for my boss. Hand it over and you won’t have to die.”

  Liar.

  She wanted to shout the word into his face.

  “You already shot someone. It’s too late to take that back.”

  “Some people are expendable. Be glad you’re not one of them.” He shoved her out of the woods and onto a dirt road where a black Cadillac idled.