He looked up to find Savi standing in the doorway to the kitchen, dressed in her tight jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Tonight, he'd get rid of those damned sleeves in public, too. He took another sip of coffee. "Nope. I need to get going." He walked across the room and gave her a peck on the cheek. She didn't pull away. Progress. Slow and steady wins the race. He just hoped he could hold out to the finish line, which sometimes seemed to be nowhere in sight.
In the living room, he picked up his helmet and opened the door. "Keep the door locked. Remember you guys are always under surveillance, at my apartment or Marisol's school, so no one can get to you. I should be home by 1800."
"Yes, Sir." She grinned.
"Six, I mean."
"I know." The smile left her face. "Just be careful and take care of yourself. I know today has to be hard for you."
He nodded.
"Don't worry about us. We'll be fine. Karla's coming over in the Hummer. You're right, Mari loves it. We'll go together to pick up Mari after school."
"Sounds like a plan." Damián lingered a moment, wishing he could be here with her, but duty called. The Patriot Guard had given him a purpose in life—honoring the remains of fallen heroes, while protecting their families from protestors and any dirtbags who wanted to make a political or religious statement, or seek media attention at their expense.
"It's a good thing you're doing, Damián. I'm proud of you. Now, go. You don't want to be late."
He nodded, too choked by emotion to speak. He walked out the door and closed it behind him. A quick survey of the parking lot revealed Victor's SUV in the corner. Someone equally trustworthy would be at Marisol's school. If those bastards came anywhere near his girls, they'd have to go through the Marines to do so.
Damián strapped on his helmet as he walked down the stairs. He got astride the hog, fired it up, and pulled out of the lot onto the street. His focus now turning to the mission ahead. Another combat casualty. Would it ever end?
Not fucking likely.
* * *
"Damián, someone's here."
Fuck.
The urgency in Savi's hushed voice over the cell phone sent adrenaline surging through him. He was still twenty-five minutes from home. "Where are you and Marisol?"
Her frantic whisper shook with fear. "We're in the bedroom closet." He'd hoped to eradicate that emotion from her entirely, but he understood her fear—and helplessness. This time, he had to admit, he was afraid, too. He wished he was closer to them. He accelerated well over the suburban area's speed limit.
He should have been there to protect them. What happened with Victor or whoever was supposed to be watching them?
"Don't say anything else. Just listen, bebé. My seabag is hanging on the left side if you're facing the closet doors. Get Marisol inside there, zip it up, and then cram the hanging clothes against it to hide her. Tell her to stay quiet until she hears Daddy's voice. Tell her I'm coming." Marisol would follow instructions. He hoped the shitheads weren't too smart and would only look at the floor and miss the seabag altogether.
"Are you both wearing your necklaces?"
"Always."
"That's my girl. After you get Marisol secured in the seabag, I want you to move to the other side of the closet to divert their attention from her." He hated that he hadn't been able to convince Savi to carry a sidearm, but her fear of weapons would have just made the situation more deadly to them both.
"If they find you," and they would, if the good guys didn't get there ASAP, "tell them Marisol is with me." So fucking helpless. "I'll be there as soon as I can, mi sueño. Be brave for me." Not wanting her whispers to give her away any sooner than inevitable, he said goodbye and disconnected the call.
Por favor, Madre de Dios, protect them. Don't let anything happen to them. They're my whole life.
He called Dad to report the situation. "Fuck. Victor called ten minutes ago and said something was wrong with Patti. I'm headed that way now, but I've hit rush-hour traffic."
"Just get there. They're in the bedroom closet. Call in reinforcements, too." Damián ended the call and drove the last two fucking miles having to go closer to the speed limit, stuck in the same traffic situation. If he could have ignored all the traffic lights, he would have. The Harley roared into the parking lot and pulled up next to Dad's Hummer. Damián looked up to see Dad entering the apartment. The door was already ajar. Damn.
Grant's Jeep screeched to a stop near the stairs. Not bothering to park in a marked spot, she exited with her sidearm drawn. Grant took the stairs two at a time with Damián right behind her, his fucking foot slowing him down. He needed to get inside. Fast.
Damián and Grant rounded the corner and entered the living room. Grant had both hands on her sidearm as she moved in front of him while sweeping the room. Rage tore through him. While there was no sign of a struggle, he knew they were gone. Dad stood ready to charge into the bedroom. Damián gestured to Dad and Grant that they would go in together and provide him cover. They hugged the walls, listening. No sound.
Dad and Grant entered the bedroom first, sweeping the perimeter as Damián prepared to take the bastards down, but there were no hostiles. Grant gave the bathroom a quick check and the all-clear sign.
Damián's focus went to the closet where Savi had made the call. Maybe the shitheads hadn't found them. They'd better hope they hadn't, because if those fucking bastards had touched a hair on the head of either of his precious chicas, he'd rip their god-damned throats out.
Damián's heart pounded as he walked over to the opening on the right side of the closet, where he'd told Savi to wait. Empty. He slid the doors to the right and his body sagged when he saw the seabag hanging there. No movement.
"Not you, too, Marisol."
A shrill whistle rent the air.
"What the fuck is that?" Dad asked.
Damián grinned. "Mi muñequita."
"Your what?"
"My little doll." Damián reached for the seabag and unzipped it. Huddled inside, the Christmas necklace's steel whistle clamped between her lips, he found Marisol.
"Daddy!" The tears staining her cheeks broke his heart.
"Well, I'll be." Dad held the flaps of the seabag open so Damián could reach inside and pull his shaking doll-baby into his arms. She latched onto his neck and held on almost as tightly as he held her. He breathed in her sweet baby-shampoo scent.
Damián quickly pulled her the rest of the way out of the bag. She pulled away and stared at him. "Daddy, we have to hurry. We have to rescue Maman from the evil prince."
"Don't you worry. Daddy's going to find Maman and bring her home, but you're going to go stay with Karla."
"No! I have to help!"
"Don't argue with me." She glared at him, but backed down. His fierce baby warrior was going to be a force to be reckoned with someday.
"Daddy, there were two of them. They smelled nasty and Maman called one of them Lyle." She concentrated on her description. Very observant witness.
Despite his urgency to find Savi, pride swelled his chest. "You did well, my little warrior." He gave her a kiss on the cheek and set her on her feet. He turned to watch as Marc ran into the room.
"Sorry it took me so long."
A three-days growth of beard told him Marc had been out in the mountains again, searching for answers. Hell, when was he going to wake up and realize the answers he needed were three hours southwest of here, with Angelina?
Dios, who the hell did that sound like? Him. Savannah. Not too long ago, even Dad would have fit the bill.
The man looked as if he hadn't shaved in a week and probably hadn't showered in as long. Hiding out in the mountains again, no doubt. When was he going to admit he needed Angelina and go bring her home?
Right now, the only person he wanted home was his girl, Savi. After filling Marc in on what had happened, Damián hunkered down in front of Marisol.
"Uncle Marc is gonna take you over to Karla's house. I might be gone a while, but she'll take
good care of you."
Marisol wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged the heart out of him. "Please let me help you find Maman, Daddy."
He hugged her right back, saying a prayer of thanks that he'd found her safe and unharmed. "No, querida. But you can bet we'll bring her home safe."
Breaking her tight hold on him, he extended her hand to Marc. "Take good care of her."
"You know I will. I'll rejoin you as soon as I can." Marc turned his attention to Marisol. "Bambolina, how would you like to take a ride in my sports car?"
Her fierce expression made her look more like a Rambo-lina. Marisol stuck her lower lip out, but Damián didn't have time to give in to her sulking. At least he knew she'd be safe. He needed to find Savi—before it was too late.
He watched as Marc led her out of the bedroom, her pissed-off gaze remaining on Damián until she could no longer see him, at which point, Damián turned to Dad. "Bring your laptop in so we can get a fix on her location."
"She's wired?"
"GPS in a necklace I gave her for Christmas."
"Good thinking, son."
"Yeah, if they don't get rid of it."
Grant reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "Damo, we have a good chance of finding her before…" Her voice trailed off, but she didn't need to say what was foremost in everyone's mind.
Damián just nodded.
Be brave, mi sueño. I will find you.
* * *
Savi fought her way back to consciousness, but her mind was numb. No, fuzzy. Her tongue felt three times bigger than the space in her mouth. She groaned.
"About time you woke up."
Bile rose in her throat. Lyle. Her father's puppet. She would give almost anything to make him suffer some of the pain he'd delivered to her when he'd served as her handler. With her hands restrained, that wasn't possible right now.
Savi kept her eyes closed, hoping they wouldn't realize she'd awakened and tried to block out the image of the man who had pimped her body out for over a year.
"Where's your brat, Savannah?"
Who? Mari? Relief washed over her. They didn't have her daughter. Thank God Damián had helped hide her.
Slap!
She gasped as his hand struck her cheek, leaving a sting much worse than anything Damián had delivered with a whip or quirt. Savi's eyes blinked open, but her focus was blurry.
"I asked you a question, you filthy whore. Where is your daughter?" The vehemence in his voice told her he wasn't in control of his emotions. Not like Damián. She might use that to her advantage. People who got emotional also got careless.
"She's with her Daddy."
"That spic on the motorcycle? Is he the father of your bastard daughter?"
Savi didn't respond.
"Your father and I knew you'd whored for him that day he ran off with you."
"You can't hurt me anymore, Lyle—"
She didn't see the fist coming until it crashed against her cheek. Stars exploded in her eyes and it took time for her to regain her senses. Savi fought her way back and smiled. Very definitely, he was out of control. "You won't ever get near my daughter, not as long as Damián and I are alive."
He grinned. "As I recall, Savannah, you don't like to scream. Well, you'll be screaming before much longer." He turned to speak to someone above her head. "Max, get me the wand."
No! Savi tried to get up from the bed, but she'd been restrained in a straightjacket. Looking down, she saw she still had on her jeans, but her legs had been restrained by the ankles to some unseen tethers underneath the metal bed. At least she wasn't naked.
Her relief was short-lived. Lyle picked up a pair of scissors and began cutting the jeans from her ankle upward; the cold steel soon warmed against her leg. When he reached the juncture of her thigh, he made sure he cut her panties, as well. Savi held her breath, hoping he wouldn't cut her skin. When he couldn't cut through the thickness at the waistband, he merely started cutting up the other leg. He admired his handiwork, grinning, then yanked the panties away from her crotch.
"It's been a long time, Savannah. Still have the brand I placed here?" His hand groped her crotch.
Bile rose in her throat again. Don't touch me.
Then she remembered what Damián had told her. This was his pussy, his brand. "If you touch me again, Damián and his Marine buddies will hunt you down and make you regret you'd ever been born."
He pulled back. "I'm not afraid of them."
Oh, but you are. I see it in your eyes.
"I don't have time to play right now. Your father is waiting for you in California."
California? Did she still wear the necklace Damián had given her? She couldn't tell because of the jacket they'd wrapped her in. If not, how would Damián find her? Where was her father waiting? At his house? At least Damián knew where that was.
"We have a long ride ahead of us. I'm sure your father will reward me and let me have my turn with you when he's finished."
She shuddered.
Lyle looked up above her head again. "Give her another dose."
Dose of what? A smelly handkerchief filled her field of vision and pressed tightly over her nose and mouth, before she'd had a chance to fill her lungs with clean air. She struggled to hold her breath as long as she could, knowing the chloroform would knock her out again when she needed to remain aware. Black spots danced before her eyes.
No!
Savi closed her eyes and slumped against the bed, hoping to fool them into thinking she'd passed out, but the cloth remained tightly over her face until she had no choice.
She gasped for air.
The room went black.
Chapter Nineteen
Damián yanked off his ski mask and leaned forward until he was inches from Lyle's face. The color drained from the face of the cabron Dad had tied to the office chair, giving Damián some small measure of satisfaction.
The GPS tracker on Savi's necklace had led the team straight to Savannah's father's mansion in Rancho Santa Fe, California, a day and a half after her abduction. Not knowing about her well-being for thirty-six hours had him ready to rip this fuckface's balls off and cram them down his throat. He'd come close to it, when a search of the man's pockets a few minutes ago had turned up her necklace.
So where the fuck was Savi?
He needed to get this bastard to talk. Damián forced himself to grin at the man who had beads of sweat popping out on his forehead. This interrogation scene wouldn't take long. Damián would get the man to talk, and he'd do it without even breaking a sweat.
His eyes never leaving Cabron's face, Damián extended his left arm and waited for Dad to place the cordless power drill into his hand. Leaning back, Damián held up the drill and revved the motor a couple times. Then he pressed the drill bit against the man's left kneecap. Cabron's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. When Damián applied a little more pressure, the bastard looked like he was about to shit a brick in his three-piece suit.
"Tell me where she is."
Sweat beaded on Cabron's upper lip. The bastard didn't seem to like being the one without any control.
Justice for Savi.
The bastard was in Damián's world now, and Damián had been trained to be a killing machine. He wouldn't hesitate to off the man if he'd done anything to hurt Savi, but first they needed to find her.
Where the fuck was she?
Damián revved up the drill a couple of times, the bit taking hold of the fabric of the man's pants. Without looking anywhere but into Cabron's eyes, he imagined the twisting of the fabric. "Talk or you'll be walking with a limp the rest of your life, just like me."
"Look, man. I had nothing to do with planning this kidnapping. I just work for the crazy old bastard. He runs the show."
Damián remembered how this man—Lyle—had pimped Savi's body out at the hotel where Damián had worked as a bus-boy. With no thought to Savi's safety, the bastard had left her restrained, alone in that penthouse with two known sadists.
Time t
o set things right.
Damián pressed the drill bit harder against the man's kneecap and revved it again. The scream of the motor matched Cabron's screams as the bit worked its way through the man's skin.
He and Dad had anchored the chair to the desk to keep it from moving, knowing the man would twitch and squirm, which he most certainly was doing now. Lyle's movements would only become more erratic as they worked him over until he divulged the information they needed to rescue Savi.
Before Damián had even applied enough pressure to do more than break the skin covering the bone, Cabron's screams drowned out the whine of the drill. Too bad. Damián wouldn't get his satisfaction—yet. Fucking shame.
"Stop! Jesus Christ! You're fucking insane!"
"Oh, I'm perfectly sane—just your worst fucking nightmare." He leaned closer and whispered, "Where. Is. She?"
"He took her to a cabin outside San Bernardino. In the desert, back side of Bear Mountain!"
Damián was familiar with the area, having completed a training deployment at nearby Twentynine Palms. He'd also detoured there on his return trip from California last November and ridden his Harley through that stretch of desert. It was a big fucking area.
"GPS coordinates."
Cabron looked down at the drill pressed against his kneecap. Seeing the slow-growing bloodstain there drained every bit of blood from the man's face. "In my phone!"
Dad, face still concealed by his ski mask at Damián's insistence, hurried over to the restrained man and rifled through his suit coat pockets until he found the smartphone. Cabron revealed the password without any resistance and told them where to find the address without giving Damián the chance to pierce the skin of his other kneecap.
If Damián discovered they'd been lied to or, even worse, if Savi had been hurt, he'd be back to finish the job later. No time to waste now, though. Damián withdrew the bloody drill and laid it on the desk, noticing some blood spatter on his Kevlar vest.
He'd let the bastard stare at the bloody drill bit while they went after Savi. Damián grabbed his mask, and he and Dad ran for the door.
Nobody's Perfect Page 37