by Katie Reus
Grisha and the blond both frowned, as if in concern. But no way was that right.
“Come on, it’s warm inside.” The blond held out a hand and motioned for the front door. He seemed to be avoiding touching her too.
That was fine with her. She noticed that Grisha and the two others weren’t headed for the house but fanning out along the property, which seemed to stretch on forever. There was thick forest all around them and another building that looked like a barn about a hundred yards away. Even if she screamed she guessed no one was nearby to hear.
They’d gone to a lot of trouble to kidnap her and they weren’t going to bring her somewhere where she could start screaming and alert someone to her presence. No, they would have gagged her if so.
The thought that no one was around to hear her scream made another shiver slide down her spine, this one pure terror. She tried to keep her teeth from chattering but couldn’t help it. She was alone in the middle of nowhere with four scary-looking guys.
“I’m really sorry about this,” the blond muttered as he motioned her up a short set of stone steps. “The others are checking the perimeter to make sure we’re still secure. Then we’re going to sit down and just talk. I’m really sorry we had to take you the way we did, but you’ll understand once we lay everything out.” The man actually sounded sincere as he opened the front door and stepped inside with her.
She resisted the urge to snort. Liar, liar. Instead of saying what she wanted to, she gave a half smile. “I really have to, uh . . . use the bathroom if that’s okay.” Despite the instinctive urge to attempt bolting right then and there, she reined it in. It would be foolish and she knew she wouldn’t get far. She had to be smart.
“Oh, right. Ah . . .” He shut the door behind them and led her through a living room with a modern country feel to it. No personal items like photos anywhere.
He led her to a small room with two windows that was clearly used as an office. There was a futon in it with a blue-and-green-plaid quilt draped over it. There was also a masculine desk with a laptop set up on it and a few framed pictures of nature settings on the walls. No personal photos in this room either. Maybe it was a safe house of sorts. Or where they brought people to torture and kill. Ugh.
The blond started to open one door, which turned out to be a closet, then shook his head and opened another right next to it. The way he did it made her think he hadn’t been here often. She filed that away. “This is the bathroom. I’ll be right outside.” He pulled out a switchblade and before she had a chance to reel back, he expertly cut her flex cuffs free before quickly closing the blade and putting the knife away.
The way he handled the thing made it clear he was comfortable with knives. Exceptionally so. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door-frame, watching her carefully.
She didn’t say anything, just shut the door behind her and let out a ragged sigh. But she didn’t waste time. As quietly as possible she pulled back the shower curtain just a bit. No window, not even a small one. Damn it. No wonder he was letting her in here alone. Since she actually had to pee, she quickly relieved herself, then scanned the medicine cabinet for a weapon. Nothing. Not even hair spray or something aerosol she could use.
That icy fear set in stronger now, slithering through her veins. This was truly happening. The only thing she could do was try to take on the blond guy. It was stupid, she knew, but one against one was better than one against four.
Taking a deep breath, she’d started to open the bathroom door when she heard the guy murmur something. Not to her, though. He continued talking and his voice grew fainter along with the sound of boots stepping away.
He was leaving his protective duty.
That stupid shred of hope bloomed inside her. She had a desperate, likely-to-fail plan, but she had to try. She refused to just give up.
Turning on the faucet, she let the water run and stepped out of the bathroom. He wasn’t there. She wanted to peek out the doorway into the hallway but decided against it. Seconds would matter right now. Moving quickly to one of the windows by the futon, she slid the locks free and pushed it open just wide enough for her to climb through.
Instead of doing that, she moved back to the closet and ducked inside. Blood rushed in her ears as she heard boot steps nearby, then a vicious curse.
“I was only gone a second,” the blond said.
“She went out the fucking window,” one of the other guys snapped. “Call Tucker. I’m heading after her.”
She didn’t have time to contemplate who Tucker was, but she filed the name away. She heard muffled movement as someone climbed out the window. The bathroom door opened and someone turned off the faucet. More boot steps, then a door nearby slamming. Maybe the front door.
Though her hands shook, she knew she couldn’t hide here forever. They’d figure out what she’d done eventually, and she needed to be gone before then. With a damp palm she opened the door and peeked out.
The curtains rippled in the breeze, but the room was empty. Heart pounding, she hurried out of the closet and into the hallway. Her analytical side told her to find a phone or weapon, but the most primal part of her said she had to escape now. She had to get free, to find help.
Instead of heading to the front door, she raced down the hallway to what turned out to be a huge bedroom.
After peeking out one of the windows and finding the coast clear, she opened it and jumped out. Her sneakers sank into the snow. Hating that she’d leave a trail, there was no avoiding it, so she raced toward the nearest line of trees. They’d see which direction she’d gone, but she had a small head start. It was all she could ask for at this point.
Her breath sawed in and out of her lungs as she headed faster toward the woods, uncaring of the noise she made. The next step was finding help. Maybe a neighbor or a road where she could flag someone down. Because she wasn’t letting these bastards get her.
No way in hell.
“Fuck,” Tucker muttered, racing over to the window Karen had escaped from, Brooks with him. He’d yell at Cole later for leaving her unguarded.
For now, they had the SUV keys and this place was on fifty acres with the nearest neighbor even farther away than that. He knew they’d find her, but he hated the thought of her out in the cold too long, and that she’d run because she was scared of them. Not that he blamed her. They’d done a fucked-up thing by taking her, but their survival depended on her help. Because at this point they didn’t know who to trust except Burkhart.
“No footprints,” he muttered as he reached the side of the house. Brooks’s footprints were there, huge and hard to miss, but no smaller prints from Karen.
“Fuck me,” Brooks snarled, and dove back through the window.
Tucker raced along the side of the house, letting Brooks search inside. Cole and Kane had already spread out and had their phones on them in case they found her. It had been only a few minutes, so she couldn’t have gone far.
As he rounded the side of the house, he saw another set of footprints leading from one of the other windows to the trees—and a flash of red disappearing into the forest.
Karen.
That auburn hair of hers was unmistakable. The woman was beautiful and clearly smart and right now had to be terrified. Giving chase, he pulled out his phone and called Cole. “Hold everyone else back. I’m bringing her in,” he said tersely.
She was already terrified; she didn’t need to be faced with all four of them, and while Tucker knew he was probably the scariest-looking of his team, he wanted to talk to her first, to at least give her the illusion of coming back with him without force. God, he hated that they’d resorted to kidnapping a woman. An innocent woman. Who was so fucking beautiful it stunned him. And he hated that he noticed that, but it was hard not to.
As he raced through the woods, he quickly caught sight of her. Her hair was in a ponytail, her bright hair like a flag waving behind her.
She looked back and, when she saw him, let out a s
tartled scream before turning back around and racing even faster. He pushed himself into a burst of speed, wanting to get this over with. Thirty yards and closing.
Twenty.
Ten.
She suddenly stumbled, crying out as she tripped. A scream tore from her throat. One that made something protective inside him flare to life. He hated being the cause of her fear. Though he’d taken on the role of murdering criminal-for-hire for more than one undercover job, this was the real him.
He was on her in seconds, starting to crouch down to help when she rolled over onto her back, a short stick in her hand.
She lunged at him with it. Using moves he could do in his sleep, he disarmed her and tossed the stick away.
“Bastard!” she shouted, grabbing for another nearby stick.
“Damn it,” he muttered, disarming her of that one too. Not wanting her to hurt herself or to drag this out longer than necessary, he flipped her onto her stomach and secured her hands behind her back as he straddled her hips. He didn’t cuff her, though, just held her wrists together. She twisted beneath him. “Karen—”
She started crying. Not all-out sobs, but her body started shaking and he felt her pain and fear and knew what she must be thinking. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
So he did the only thing he could. “My name is Tucker Pankov. I work—worked—with Max Southers as part of an elite, undercover unit. Someone murdered him and set up me and my team to be killed too.” Her struggles lessened a bit, so he knew she was listening. “Professional hits all at the same time. Now our clearances have been revoked and we don’t know who the hell to trust. Wesley Burkhart is pretty much the only person Max trusted.” Well, other than Tucker’s team and of course Max’s own family. “We’ve been trying to get hold of him for days and when we couldn’t, we went after you. We’re not going to hurt you. We need your help.” He paused a second. “If I let you up are you going to attack me?”
She’d gone very still and it was clear that she was debating her answer. “Tucker Pankov is the dumbest, most made-up name I’ve ever heard,” she finally said, her voice shaking with anger. Thankfully she wasn’t crying anymore.
He couldn’t help it, he laughed. Taking a risk that she might attack him again, he let her hands go. When he stood, she rolled over and shoved up to her feet. He noticed she winced when she put pressure on one foot, but she didn’t make a move to grab another makeshift weapon or come at him again.
“Tucker Pankov is my real name.” And he planned to show her his real jacket, not one of his many legends the DEA had for him.
Her lips pulled into a thin line.
She was going to read his file soon anyway, so he went for complete honesty. She deserved all the truth he could give her after what he’d done. “My father was a defector. He married a Southern woman and she refused to give me a Russian first name.” His father was brilliant and, according to his mom, had been a pretentious asshole until he met and married her. Of course she didn’t actually use the word asshole, but it was what she meant. The man had fallen for a true Southern belle and, to his own surprise, had taken to living in America quicker than he’d ever imagined. Not something that happened for all immigrants, especially ones who’d more or less been forced to flee their country, even if it was voluntary in the technical sense.
“You’re just dropping all sorts of interesting information. Is this part of your plan? To convince me we’re on the same side before the torture starts?” Her voice trembled and it was quick, but he saw the covert glance she made at one of the sticks. As if she wanted to lunge for it and attack him again.
“None of us have hurt you, something you’ll realize if you think about it. We’ve gone out of our way not to, in fact.” They weren’t acting like normal kidnappers, and she had to see it. “I can tie you up and carry you back to the house. I don’t want to, but I will.” He injected steel into his voice. “So either walk with me or I carry you. Decide.”
Gritting her teeth, she looked around the quiet woods and he knew the moment she decided to come with him. He knew it because he saw the defeat in her pretty, expressive green eyes.
She took a step forward and couldn’t hide another wince.
“Are you hurt?”
For a moment it looked as if she’d say no, but then she nodded. “Twisted my ankle.”
He moved closer to her, the snow crunching under his boots. When he made a move to pick her up, she flinched. Yeah, he was an asshole. “Listen, I can carry you.”
“Are you ordering me?”
“No.” Even though he wanted to.
“Then I’ll walk.”
Tucker rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, but it didn’t ease any of the tension. “Fine.” It would take a hell of a lot longer to get back to the house this way, and more important, she was clearly in pain, but he had to give her this bit of control.
He was so used to not giving a shit about the people he worked with in his undercover jobs because they were all criminals, all blights on society who preyed on the weak. This was different.
For a while he thought he’d lost the part of him that cared about people, even innocent civilians, but as Karen Stafford held her head high, marching on through her pain back to what she assumed was probably torture or a death sentence, he realized he wasn’t completely dead inside.
Chapter 5
Tradecraft: the methods developed by intelligence operatives to conduct their operations.
“Karen still hasn’t responded,” Wesley murmured as he shot off another e-mail. He frowned at his laptop, then glanced at the time on his watch even though he already knew it was thirty minutes after the time she normally arrived at work. She hadn’t e-mailed him or called and she was never, ever late.
Hell, the woman practically lived with her cell phone attached to her hip. Even when she went running she had it strapped to her ankle. More than an analyst, she’d recently moved into the role of his personal assistant and was invaluable. Well, officially moved into the role because she’d been doing more for him than her job required the last couple of years. In a few more years he thought she’d be ready to take on her own division, and he wanted to get her ready for it. That wasn’t why he was worried. He cared deeply about Karen. She was part of the “family” within his group, and he looked out for his own people.
Selene glanced at him, her cell phone to her ear, and mouthed, Hold on. They were in the backseat of an armored SUV, being driven from the private airport to an off-the-books meeting in Baltimore. “She’s still not at work,” Selene finally said, ending her call. “No one’s heard from her either. Ortiz has tried calling her and nothing.” Her eyebrows pulled together, her normally neutral expression showing true worry.
Wesley tried to tamp down his own worry. Karen was a grown woman, but this wasn’t like her. “I need you to go by her place¸” he ordered Selene before telling their driver to pull over at the next available rest stop. She was supposed to come with him to his first meeting of the day, but that wasn’t happening now.
Selene nodded. “What kind of security does she have?”
“Standard but good. I’ve got the code to her condo, so it won’t be an issue.” He rattled off the six-digit code as they pulled to a stop. The other SUV tailing them stopped also.
“I’ll call you when I get there.” Selene was out of the vehicle and heading to their backup vehicle before he could respond.
Not that there was anything to say. He trusted Selene to do her job without having to micromanage. He had too many crises to deal with on a constant basis to have to follow up with his people. And while Selene was technically done with field assignments, she still did a lot of local, on-the-ground type of work for him when they were in D.C. or Maryland. Which, for her, wasn’t as often, since she was now stationed in their Georgia office. But he’d needed her with him in Germany.
Even though he was close to the meeting point and Selene would likely be at Karen’s place in less than ten minutes, he put in his Bluetooth and
speed-dialed one of the analysts at the office. “Run all the CCTVs in a four-block radius of Karen Stafford’s condo in the last two hours.” He gave the address and the name of the park he knew she frequented. “And try to locate her phone.” He wasn’t sure if they’d be able to. She was careful about her privacy. They all were. Her phone was encrypted and he knew she’d taken extra lengths to ensure that she couldn’t be tracked or located. But with their resources they should be able to find it.
“On it. Want to hold?” Elliott asked.
“Yeah.” He scanned a file on his laptop as he waited, reviewing information on other vulnerable targets in D.C. and surrounding areas. After the attack on the Nelson fund-raiser, all the agencies were on high alert and pooling resources to find the missing drone and find who the hell was behind the attack. Even if Max hadn’t been killed, Wesley would have been back in the country anyway because of the current security situation and the very important meeting he had in less than ten minutes.
“What am I looking for?”
“Her specifically. I want to see when she left to go running this morning and when she came back. And document any vehicles in that radius at the same time of her leaving the building. Expand the search for six blocks.” It would likely be a lot of vehicles to sift through, but they had damn good resources to filter through unnecessary info. There was a chance she hadn’t gone running at all, but the weather was clear, so he doubted it.
“All right . . . give me a few minutes.”
Wesley continued reading the classified document on his laptop and included personal notes about places he viewed as being in imminent danger. He’d already started the process to increase the security level at three of them when Elliott spoke again.
“This is weird. I’ve got her leaving her place, dressed to run, but she never came back. She headed in the direction of the park, but then I lost her. There aren’t any CCTVs in a few places around the park and it’s like she just disappeared.”