Fianceé for Hire

by Melinda Minx

  Jack

  “Brody took him--Aldus did--he’s..working for Aldus.”

  “Took him…” I say, my voice going cold. “Noah…”

  The phone is at my ear, but I feel as if I’m floating outside of my body. This can’t be real.

  Elisabeth is looking up at me in utter disbelief.

  I need to act fast. I need to act immediately. My soldier instincts start to kick in. I need a gun.

  “Where?” I ask.

  “Where we go sledding,” Jane says. “I just heard the tires squeal. I didn’t see him--”

  “He’s going toward Canada,” I say. “And then Seattle.”

  He put that line about my heirs into the contract to throw me off. To make me think he didn’t know. In reality, he wants Noah as his own heir. If he can’t get his own, he’ll take mine. He’s never considered me his blood, but the fucking hypocrite knows that Noah is as close as he could get to having a son of his own.

  “I’m going after him,” I say. “Don’t call the police. Aldus isn’t bluffing.” My voice sounds calm, but I’m a raging inferno inside. “Brody would need a direct order from Aldus to carry out that threat, but if Aldus finds out we involved the police, he will give that order.”

  As much as Aldus wants an heir, he’d take hurting me beyond measure as a decent consolation prize.

  I hang up.

  “What’s happening?” Elisabeth says. “He can’t be--”

  “Brody took Noah,” I say. “But I’m getting him back. I need your rifle. Is it loaded?”

  Elisabeth lets out a tortured wail, but I grab her by the shoulders and lock eyes with her. “Every second counts. I need the rifle. I will get him back.”

  She nods, running toward her bedroom.

  I follow her, and she unlocks her gun case and pulls out the rifle. She hands it to me along with an ammo case.

  “Go get our son,” she says.

  I’m in the car just moments later. The one advantage I have is that there’s only one way out of Anchorage. He could go southwest—in theory—and take a boat from the gulf. He won’t, though, because if we did call the cops, that would be the easiest way to catch him. He’d have to hit shore around Anchor Point, which has fewer than 2,000 people. A strange man with a child would stick out like a sore thumb.

  No, he’ll go northeast, wrapping around the mountains toward Canada. There are plenty of places to hide along that route. To disappear into.

  I race down the road, going faster than I’ve ever driven. The place they were sledding was a good 10 minutes west of here, so I have that much of a lead on them. Brody can’t risk driving fast with a kidnapped child in his car.

  Shit. What does his car look like?

  I call Jane even as I tear down the road.

  “Did you--?”

  “What does Brody drive?”

  “A black SUV, he--”

  I hang up. No time to chit-chat.

  I know I’m ahead of Brody, but not by much. It’s still early enough that there isn’t much traffic. Brody knows what Elisabeth’s car looks like, so I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb when he catches up to me.

  I drive, hyper-alert and vigilant. It’s a three-lane road, and there aren’t a hell of a lot of cars. I’ve slowed down now. My plan is to watch for any black SUVs in my rear-view mirror. I’ll get close enough to shoot out a tire. I’m a good shot.

  After five or six miles, a speck of black catches my eye in the mirror. I hold my speed, as if I’m just some old fart putting along in the rightmost lane.

  The SUV is in the middle lane, going what looks like five over the speed limit. Nothing makes a cop more suspicious than a car going exactly the speed limit.

  I watch closely as the SUV starts to gain on me. If I’m lucky, Brody is too dim to notice Elisabeth’s car. In that case, I can pull almost right up next to him, line up a clean shot, and hit a tire. He’ll be forced to stop, and Brody won’t stand a fucking chance against me man-to-man.

  The SUV gets closer and closer, and then I realize there’s another man in the passenger seat. Shit. More hired goons.

  I shouldn’t have assumed Brody was working alone. Just because he was the only one who showed himself doesn’t mean he was the only one here. Aldus knew that getting Noah from Alaska to Seattle would be a big job, and putting just one guy on it wasn’t wise.

  This doesn’t change my plan. It can’t change my plan. Two guys? Three guys? I still have to disable that SUV, and I still have to fight through whoever the fuck stands between my son and me.

  The SUV stops getting closer. It holds its distance behind me.

  Shit.

  I grab the rifle. It’s not the ideal weapon for shooting out of a car, but it’s all I’ve got.

  They must have spotted me, right? Why else did they slow down?

  The SUV merges into my lane. It’s directly behind me now.

  Noah’s probably in the back seat. There’s no way I can take a shot from here. I have to get close enough to make sure my shot hits a tire. I cannot risk hitting my son.

  I’ll give it a few more moments, then I’m hitting the brakes and taking aim.

  The SUV starts racing toward me. It gets bigger and bigger in my mirror. They’re making their move. Time to make mine.

  I slam my brakes and spin the wheel. The car spins 180 degrees. Even before I come to a complete stop, I slam the rifle into my windshield, breaking through it. I take aim, and the car comes to a complete stop. A stable firing platform.

  The SUV swerves wildly, trying to emulate my maneuver. I see a muzzle flash come out of the passenger seat, and I hear the hiss of a bullet whizzing right past my ear. The SUV grinds to a halt, and just before it accelerates, I fire at the back tire.

  I see it pop, and the SUV struggles forward with a blown-out tire.

  I hit the gas, and the shattered shards of windshield slide across the dashboard and rain down on me. Not that I give a shit.

  I feel the cold wind hitting me hard as I accelerate. The back windshield of the SUV shatters open, and a bullet hits the passenger seat, popping a big hole in the leather.

  I can’t fire back now, all I can do is dodge.

  I swerve wildly--we’re both driving into oncoming traffic at this point. Cars are honking their horns and swerving out of our way. A bullet hits my tire, and I hear a loud pop. I’m going so fast that the metal grinds against the concrete, and my car swerves completely out of control. The whole thing starts to tip, and the momentum carries it forward into a roll.

  The shattered and jagged glass comes off the floor and hits the ceiling. The car rolls again, and the glass falls back down. I feel it cutting me each time it’s jostled, and my seatbelt locks tightly against my chest, holding me in. The car stops rolling, resting on its side. The glass, now bloodied, is resting on the inside of the driver’s side door, and my shoulder is pressed into a jagged shard.

  I rip the sharp glass shard from my shoulder. It was in deep. I tear off the seatbelt and fall onto the door. I get my feet under me, grab my rifle and my axe, and leap through the front of the car. Where the windshield used to be.

  Less than half a mile ahead, I see the black SUV parked on the tree line. Those trees lead right into Chugach State Park. A huge mountainous region filled with fjords forest, and rocky mountains. If I can get in there fast, I should be able to track them.

  I reach the SUV in just a few minutes. It’s empty. Abandoned. I’d held onto some shred of hope that they’d just leave Noah in there and run for their lives. That Aldus hadn’t paid them enough--or that they didn’t fear him enough--to want to keep fighting me. But no, Noah isn’t there. They took him into the woods with them.

  I cut into the woods. Rifle and axe in hand.

  The woods are on foothills, with tall peaks visible over the horizon. The trees kill my visibility, though. I have to look at the ground, searching for a trail. There’s still snow on the ground, though it’s melting. I see footprints as the patches get thicker within th
e tree line.

  It looks like...only two? There were most certainly three guys in the car: the driver, the guy I saw in the passenger seat, and the third one who fired at me from the back. Unless the guy in the passenger seat jumped into the backseat to open fire on me, there must be three of them. So where did the third one go?

  There’s no footprints from Noah. They must be carrying him.

  The thought of those pieces of shit with their hands on my son sends me into a rage. I grip the axe so hard that I worry the handle will splinter apart.

  Then I calm my breathing, trying to control myself. I have to think. Rage won’t help me here. Not now. I put the axe onto my belt holster, and I hold the rifle in two hands. The axe feels more comfortable--more familiar--but it’s unlikely to be the right weapon for this job. I need to keep the rifle in both hands and be ready to fire.

  This missing third guy is an issue. I didn’t assume that Aldus’s hired goons would have any form of advanced tactics, but at this point I need to begin considering it.

  If I was in their shoes, it would make no sense to bunch up at this point. Their objective is not to escape me together. Their sole objective is to get Noah to Seattle without me catching them. The best way to achieve that would not be to stay in a group with Noah. It would be a lot smarter for them to send at least one guy after me, to slow me down while the other two pressed on.

  The trees are thick, basically impassable at most points, and the only real path forward is the path in front of me, the one they took. Then I notice the third set of footprints. Off at the edge of the tree line, and then disappearing into it.

  If I pursue the main footprints, I risk this third guy flanking me. Potentially being behind me, hunting me as I hunt the other two.

  If I go after the lone wolf, the other two get further and further ahead of me and Noah slips out of my grasp. I may never catch up.

  Unacceptable.

  I ignore the lone wolf and press forward. I’ll just have to watch my back.

  24

  Elisabeth

  I call Jack. It goes straight to voicemail.

  “I’m telling you,” Jane says. “He’s in the woods. Neither he nor Brody will have signals. Do you get what I’m saying?”

  “The cops are already looking for them,” I say, pointing at the TV.

  There’s helicopter footage of my car tipped over on the highway. Of a black SUV outside the tree line bordering Chugach State Park.

  I bite my lip.

  The cops are already there. We didn’t call them, the shootout on the highway alerted them. Surely Aldus has already seen it, too.

  “There’s no way Aldus can give the order,” I say. “If he can’t contact them. This wasn’t part of their plan.”

  “Exactly,” Jane says. “But we need to call the cops and tell them that Noah is there. Otherwise they may shoot first, ask questions later.”

  I nod, grabbing my phone. I dial 911.

  I tell the operator that it’s my car, and I’m immediately transferred.

  “Detective Weissner,” a gruff voice answers. “That’s your car?”

  “Yes,” I say. I take a deep breath, and I give Weissner the whole story.

  “We can’t see where they are,” he says. “Even with helicopters, the trees are too thick. Your husband is going to get himself killed in there.”

  “He’s not my…” I say, trailing off.

  Who cares if he’s not my husband? He will be, if we make it through this.

  “We’ll help him,” Weissner says. “Without risking your son.”

  25

  Jack

  I heard helicopters for a while, but they stopped. They probably couldn’t see shit through the trees. The highway shootout must have gotten the attention of the police. And Aldus. He won’t give the order to kill Noah now. He can’t. It’s his guys who fucked up. It’s not like I called the cops on him.

  I sigh. The disadvantage of this situation--the kidnappers being cut off from Aldus and with the police on their tail--is that their main objective at this point will be to escape. Their best bet for keeping the police from mauling them will be to keep Noah close to them. If they try to leave Noah behind and hightail it, they will get no help from Aldus, and the police will have no reason to cautiously approach them.

  The trail is moving southwest. I’ve probably walked three miles by now. It will be 20 miles or more before they can exit out of the woods and foothills to the peninsula. Maybe they had a plan A and a plan B all lined up. Plan A was driving out through Canada, and plan B was getting into a boat on the gulf.

  Plan B is just as shitty as it ever was. Now that the cops are on them, they can’t reasonably expect to reach the gulf. Probably the only way they could pull it off would be holding a gun to Noah’s head.

  That image alone is enough to push me forward faster. I can’t let it reach that point. Once Brody and his fucking goons realize there’s nothing left to lose, they’ll get reckless as hell. Noah’s life will be little more than a bargaining chip.

  The trees thin out as the elevation increases, but then the sun starts to set. There’s not a lot of daylight in the Alaskan winter. Tracking them at night will be that much harder, but they won’t be able to move quickly. They’ll need to start a fire, too, which will be my best bet at finding them.

  I slowly follow the tracks as the last of the light dies down. The moon is bright enough that I can hobble on in the silvery light.

  The cuts from the glass have all crusted over, but the deeper cut on my left shoulder is starting to hurt. It might be getting infected. I rotate my left arm as I grasp the rifle in my right hand. It’s sore as I move it, and I move gently so as not to reopen the wound. I need to keep the arm from getting stiff, as I’ll need to be ready to move when I spot these assholes.

  I stop dead. The tracks diverge. Shit.

  One set of footprints is going left, and suddenly--to the right--the other set of footprints becomes two. A set of big boots, and small ones. Noah’s feet.

  Either the guy got tired of carrying Noah, or he intentionally did this to lead me toward him. If I have a choice, clearly I want to follow the asshole who has Noah alone with him.

  Strategically speaking, it’s a shit move to do the most obvious option. I’ve already got one guy tracking me, following me from behind, and now--if I follow Noah’s footprints--I’ll have two unknowns on me. The two of them could even meet back up and hit me in numbers.

  I sigh. Even if I’m doing exactly what they want, I have to follow Noah. There’s no other choice.

  I follow the footprints for 10 or 15 minutes, and then I hear a gun go off. Behind me.

  I drop to the ground. Instinct takes over. I spin around and sight across the rifle. I wait for another shot, but it doesn’t come. I can’t see shit anyway. If he’s not shooting at me, then who the hell fired?

  Then I hear a man shouting.

  It’s close behind me. Even though Noah is the other way, this is too much of an opportunity to pass up, picking this guy off will not cost me a lot of time. Once he’s down--or better yet, if both of them are down--I can press on straight ahead without watching my back. That will get me to Noah faster than anything else.

  As I head back toward the shout, I suddenly hear another. Followed by another gun shot.

  I start running now. They are not shooting at me. They’re fucking shooting each other. I overestimated my enemies, I thought they were splitting up as some form of advanced tactics. But no, they must have argued amongst themselves over what to do. Should they leave Noah and run? Should they stick together? Should they split up? It wasn’t a strategic decision they reached together; they argued with each other, and unable to reach a consensus, they split up. Now they’re shooting at each other.

  I reach the top of a hill, and I see a dark figure running, full speed ahead.

  I crouch down beside a tree, and I steady my rifle against the trunk. I aim at the figure--who definitely doesn’t see me--and I fire at his
center of mass. He collapses down into a heap.

  I stand still and wait. By firing, I just gave away my location. If the other guy is still alive, he’ll--

  Three gunshots crack out from the distance.

  “Jack!” an unfamiliar voice shouts. “I’m a cop! He’s got me pinned down, clear my flank!”

  It could be a trap, I realize, though the guy I just shot dead probably wouldn’t have sprinted straight into me like that if it was a trap. I heard the choppers earlier--it probably really is a cop.

  I move forward, keeping my eyes open for whichever kidnapper is shooting at the cop.

  “He’s taking cover behind a tree,” the cop shouts. “Flush him out!”

  Two more gunshots go off, and then I hear the telltale click click of an empty magazine.

  “Fuck! Man!” a new voice shouts. “I’m sorry I shot you, alright? I just wanted to get away, you weren’t supposed to be there!”

  “You shouldn’t have kidnapped my fucking son then,” I shout. “Now I’ve got an axe to grind with you.”

  I pull out my axe. “Literally.”

  I stalk toward where his voice came from.

  “I know where Brody’s going!” he says. “I can help you find him.”

  The cop laughs from the distance. “The fucker shot me, Jack. If you kill him, I’ll claim it was self-defense.”

  “Where is Brody going?” I shout.

  “Take me with you, I’ll show you.”

  “Tell me!” I shout into the darkness.

  I’m still moving closer toward his voice. I’ve strapped the rifle to my back, and my axe is in my hand.

  I see him. He’s got his back pressed against a tree, and his gun is still in his hand.

  “You got no bullets,” I bark.

  I see him spin toward me, holding the gun out.

  I move toward him, holding the axe up. “When I started competing,” I say, “the axe throw was not my best event. But I’ve had years to practice, and now I rarely miss.

  “Fuck, man,” he says. “I’ll help you! I swear! I was doing this for the money, but it got too fucked up, I shouldn’t have--”