Each man checked his weapons again, including handguns loaded with feathered darts. Animal tranquilizers. Strong, fast-acting animal tranks. As much as they’d like to take out the kidnappers in a more permanent fashion, their primary assignment was to retrieve the girl, but not attract attention by leaving a swath of carnage at a pricey, upscale Boston hotel.
If the plan worked, the bad guys would remain unconscious long enough for Jack Cannon to arrange a mop-up squad to collect the unconscious pigeons, without anyone knowing about the girl. Goon collection wasn’t Nate’s problem—his crew had a specific job to do, as circumspectly as possible. In, out, gone.
Thirty-three minutes later, a pizza delivery minivan pulled into the hotel parking lot. Plans quickly went to hell.
As Nate was about to break cover to meet and replace the delivery man, two stocky, swarthy individuals, dressed in unbuttoned flannel shirts worn loosely over black T-shirts and cargo pants, appeared from between parked vehicles about midway down the front side of the hotel. One of the men waved down the van. After words were exchanged, the delivery driver shrugged, walked to the back of the vehicle. Money exchanged hands. By his expression, the driver, not much more than a teenager, seemed impressed with the amount of the tip. He opened the rear cargo door, took three pizza boxes from insulated hot bags, handed them to one of the men, then gave a quick salute as he drove away.
Jimmy Ray growled. “Houston, we have a fucking problem. Unplanned interception.”
Nathan signaled for Jeffrey, Billy Boy, and Barracuda to head toward the room. “We just ran out of time. Take out the two in the room, grab the girl, get her to Kacey. Go, go, go.”
He motioned for Jimmy Ray and Aye-Aye to hang back. “Cover me.” Quickly stripping off his vest, holster, and ammo belt, he slid his weapon against the small of his back, untucked his T-shirt to hide the gun. He broke cover, headed toward the men with the pizza. One man carried the boxes, the other man continually scanned the surrounding area, his arms loose and free at his sides. Fuck, he hated professionals.
“Hey, guys, have you seen a little white dog with black spots? My wife took him for a walk and he slipped out of his collar again, little bugger. Can’t see why she insisted on bringing the stupid mutt with us on vacation.” He shrugged, then grinned. “Well, you know how wives can be. Nothing to be done about it.”
The kidnappers didn’t miss a trick, nor did they fall for the ruse. The pizza boxes hit the ground as suppressed .9 millimeter Makarovs were pulled from waistbands. The men split, dove left and right. Nathan dropped behind a vehicle, pulled out his own Glock 21 Gen 4 .45 automatic before he hit the ground. Fuck a duck, this was so not the time to engage in a fire fight that would attract civilian attention.
“Boss, right behind ya.” Jimmy Ray’s voice in his ear. “Aye-Aye is in the bushes.”
“Let these boys know we’re serious, so they keep their heads down and don’t make a run for the room. We need to give our guys every second we can.”
Jimmy Ray peeked around the vehicle, made sure no guests were in the parking area. He popped off four shots above the heads of the Slavs, the suppressor sounding pfffttt as each round left the barrel. A civilian wouldn’t identify the noise, but the bad guys would stay low.
A whisper from Jimmy Ray. “Boss, went like clockwork. Two Ivans doing sweet dreams. We have the package, hoofin’ it for the helo.”
“Shit. That’s almost a thousand yards in the open. We need to keep these guys busier.”
“No problemo, chief.” Jimmy Ray’s soft Alabama drawl was calm, unhurried, as usual. “No different than plinkin’ them pesky squirrels at the farm.”
Nathan heard a crack, saw broken shards of red plastic fly as the tail light of the vehicle the kidnappers were hiding behind exploded. A curse in another language was still a curse, and Nathan grinned.
“Jimmy Ray, Aye-Aye, keep them pinned until the helo lifts off.”
Aye-Aye must have changed his location, as the next round of shots came from the hedgerow closer to the front of the hotel. One kidnapper tried to make a break toward the lobby, but Jimmy Ray quashed that with a trank dart.
Aye-Aye chimed in. “Shit. Boss, one of them snuck around past the hotel entrance—couldn’t fire at him without dropping him in front of the lobby doors. He could intercept our musketeers. Guys, do you copy? An unfriendly coming up on your three o’clock.”
Barracuda responded. “Boss, the package is delivered—we’re clear of the helo and back at the vehicles, waitin’ on your lazy butts to get back here. Bad guys zonked out, duct-taped, zip-tied.”
Nathan tapped Jimmy Ray, pointed. Jimmy Ray nodded. If he could make it unseen, he’d pick up the tranked guy, dump him in the room with the others. Nathan rounded the rear of the hotel, sprinted for the helipad in time to see the fourth Russian pound across the lawn, weapon aimed at the helo. The closer Nathan got to the rotating blades, the more difficult to hear if there was suppressed gunfire. Suddenly, the Raven lifted, lurched hard left, then quickly skimmed the water as Kacey fled the harbor.
Good girl, Kace. Go-go-go. With the bird in the clear with its precious cargo on board, he dropped, rolled, came up in the perfect firing position to catch the shooter in the chest with a round. Sorry about that, Ivan.
…
The Raven handled like a dream, which was a good thing. The burning pain in Kacey’s right side took more and more of her attention.
She turned to the curly-haired girl strapped into the co-pilot’s seat.
“Gemma, is it?”
The girl nodded.
“Well, Gemma, I need you to help me strip outta my jacket and shirt. Okay? Can you do that for me?”
The girl unbuckled her safety belt. “Yeah. I’m not a baby, y’know.”
“Of course not. Does the sight of blood bother you?”
“Not sure. Why?”
“Because I’m afraid you’re about to see a bunch of it.”
Gemma helped Kacey out of her jacket, then carefully pulled off her layered clothing. When they got down to the stretchy khaki sleeveless tank top, she sucked in her breath.
To keep the reactive helo level, Kacey couldn’t take her eyes from the horizon. “How bad is it?”
“Don’t know. Sure looks like lots of blood to me.”
“Now, before you lift the last shirt, I need you to find the first aid kit and break it open. Grab all the gauze pads and rolled gauze in the kit, and any stretchy bandaging. Be ready to apply pressure if I spring a leak.”
Gemma lifted the shirt hem. “Yuck. That’s gross.”
“How gross?”
“D’ya mean there’s more than one level of gross?”
“Sweetie, there are many levels of gross. Trust me. If the blood isn’t shooting across the cabin, finish taking off the shirt, then wipe away enough blood to check for an entry wound.”
The girl didn’t move.
“Gemma, I really need for you to do this, or I wouldn’t ask. All right? We’re flying really low, and this baby is responsive to every touch. I’d hate to make a successful retrieval, then plow into a tree or power lines.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
Gemma did as instructed. “Omigosh, that’s really ugly.”
“Sweetie, stay with me, okay? What do you see?”
The girl took a deep breath. “Um, looks like two holes where your waist is. One in the front, one in the back. The one in the front is bigger.”
“Entry and exit. Good. No bullet left inside. Hopefully, no fragments.”
“Those are bullet holes?”
“Yeah. Now, how badly are they bleeding?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay. Spurting or leaking?
“Um, leaking.”
“Good. Pouring or dripping?”
“I’d say dripping.”
“Even better. Now, make two pads from the gauze packs.”
“Um, there are thick pads that look like, well, y’know, like sanitary napkins.”
&nbs
p; “Great. Press two pads over each hole, then wrap the rolled gauze around my waist to keep the padding tight. Ahh, damn it, that hurts like a muthafucker.”
“Sorry. Too tight?”
“No, the bandages need to be snug. Don’t worry about the wrap being too tight unless my face turns blue.”
“Omigosh, really?”
“Don’t freak, I’m only kidding. Okay, maybe I’m not totally kidding, but it needs to stay tight enough to keep pressure on the wounds. I don’t suppose you know how to fly a helicopter, do you?”
“No, but I have over ten hours in a Quicksilver GT 500. The two-seater, so I can fly with an instructor.”
Kacey chanced a quick glance at the girl, who’d cleaned up the blood-soaked mess, then belted herself into the co-pilot’s seat. “Wow, I wasn’t serious. An ultralight? Really?”
“Yeah. I want to learn to fly. My instructor said I’m a natural, but I pay him, so what else could he say.”
Well now, that was a cynical point of view for a kid. “Maybe it’s true.”
Gemma shrugged. “Whatever. When I’m sixteen, I wanna get a Quicksilver GT 400.”
If she could afford to lose ten million from her trust fund, Kacey guessed the kid could afford her own ultralight. And the tow plane. And the air field. And the hangar.
“Good for you, kiddo.” The Raven dipped.
Gemma grabbed at her seatbelt. “Whoa. Are you okay?
“A bit lightheaded, that’s all.”
“Where are we going?”
As her brain fuzzed over, it became tougher for Kacey to think. “Portsmouth Airport. Private hangar. Jeep there.” Nathan, I could use you, buddy. I could really use you right now. I wouldn’t even give you a hard time about it.
Gemma placed her hand on Kacey’s shoulder, shook her tentatively. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
“I guess we were sorta busy, weren’t we?”
The girl nodded. “Everything happened too fast.”
“Viper helo pilot, Kacey O’Donnell, Captain, United States Marine Corps, retired. Pleased to meet ya.”
The bird dipped again, then Kacey brought it level. “Not to upset anyone, but I’m not feeling so well.” Nope, not well at all. Landing the bird could get coyote ugly.
Gemma shook her again. “It’s okay, we should be in Portsmouth any minute. I kinda know Portsmouth. I’ve flown in and out of there lots of times with my mom. We can get help.”
That cranked up Kacey’s attention level. “No, we can’t! No one can know where we are until I speak to Jack.”
“Um, Jack who?”
“Jack…thank goodness, runway lights.”
Chapter Seven
Kacey radioed in for the last time, received permission to land from the air traffic control tower for the main terminal. She set the helo down without too much of a lurch, then promptly passed out. The landing pad was lit, but the surrounding buildings were dark, except for security lights.
Gemma didn’t see anyone around who could help them—but Kacey had been explicit about not contacting anyone except Jack. Whoever Jack was.
And they couldn’t stay where they were, right under the lights, in case air terminal security decided to nose around and check them out. Gemma pushed and poked at Kacey until she got a response.
“What? Time to get up for school already? Just got to sleep.” Kacey’s head lolled to the side again.
Oh, this was so not good. “Captain, Kacey, ma’am. Wake up. Tell me who to call. You need help—you need a doctor or a hospital, like now.”
Kacey stirred. “No hospital. Okay, yes, a doctor. We can do a doctor. Jonah Taylor, in Winterpine. He’s programmed into the Jeep’s GPS. But only Jonah. Tell him that he needs to drive out here…” She dropped off again.
Gemma sat for a moment, gathered her wits. She remembered a phrase Mrs. Bennett, the housekeeper, used whenever there was an issue that needed immediate fixing. Okay, ladies, time to pull on those big girl panties and get this done.
On that note, Gemma grabbed Kacey’s shoulder bag. Cell phone, Jeep keys, other keys, lip balm, more assorted junk that women kept in their purses. Hungry, Gemma found an old Jolly Rancher, unwrapped it, popped the candy into her mouth. She never did get her pizza—and tried not to think about what happened at the hotel.
The Jeep had an EZ Pass toll device adhered to the windshield, so toll payments were automatic. Too bad they’d be traceable. Nothing to be done about that unless Gemma tossed it into the trash. She bet that no one would be looking for the Jeep, and felt marginally better about that. A credit card, in case they needed to refuel. Then she found two hundred dollars in cash. That would work better than leaving a trail of credit cards. She watched true crime on TV, she knew the drill. If possible, don’t leave a paper trail.
Gemma took the helo key and dropped it into a zippered pocket in the shoulder bag. She hopped out, rushed to the darkened side of the main building, pulled down her running pants, squatted. Once that immediate concern was dealt with, she found the Jeep. She thanked the heavens it had an automatic transmission, which made her life a whole lot easier.
Remembering what Mr. Solomon the chauffeur had taught her, Gemma scoped out the dashboard in the Jeep so she knew where the gauges and dials were. Fuel tank, nearly full. Great. Driving slowly at not much more than an idle to get a feel for the vehicle, she moved the Jeep and parked next to the helicopter. It only took a moment to load the shoulder bag and what was left of the first aid supplies into it. She found a lightweight blanket folded in the cargo space behind the front seats.
As ready as she could be, Gemma opened the pilot’s door. The only thing that prevented Kacey from tumbling to the ground was the seat belt.
Oh, this is so not good.
“Kacey? Miss Kacey? You need to wake up now, okay?”
Kacey moaned. “Where—?”
“We’re in Portsmouth, at the airport. Here’s your Jeep. You need to get into the passenger’s seat, okay? I can’t lift you.”
Kacey stared at her, obviously not comprehending. “Passenger seat?”
Being reasonable wasn’t working. Grabbing Kacey’s shoulders, Gemma gave her a good shake. “Look, lady, if you don’t want to bleed to death or be caught by airport security, you need to get your butt into the Jeep. There’s no one here to help, and you said not to call anyone except Jack. I don’t know who Jack is, but Dr. Taylor’s address is plugged into the GPS. It’s about an hour to town, if you can last that long.”
Kacey roused herself to look at the girl, and Gemma noticed how green her eyes were in the reflection of the security lights. Like emeralds.
“Thanks, squirt, but who’s gonna drive. I can’t.”
“No, but I can. So, get your butt into the Jeep and stop wasting my time.”
That finally got Kacey’s attention. “How the hell old are you?”
“I’m eleven, nearly twelve, I’m tall for my age, and I’ve been driving since I was a lot shorter. It’s really late, not too many cars on the road. I’m sure I can follow a GPS.”
Gemma pushed, shoved, and bullied Kacey until she got the wounded woman belted into the passenger seat, then covered her with the blanket. She remembered from school health class that shock could be a problem, so she should keep the victim warm. She’d also found a six-pack of water under the blanket. She handed Kacey an opened bottle. “Here, you’ve been bleeding, so you should drink as much as possible, replace fluids.” Good ol’ health class—wouldn’t Ms. Clark be surprised to know Gemma actually paid attention.
Passenger door closed, she stepped around the Jeep, slid into the driver’s seat, fastened her seatbelt. Taking a deep breath, she turned the key in the ignition.
“Captain O’Donnell, you did your job. Now let me do mine.”
…
Gemma made one stop before heading out to the highway, at the first set of Golden Arches she found. She parked the Jeep away from the front and side windows, made sure she didn’t have any blood stain
s showing before she went in. She used the restroom, washed up as well as could be expected, ordered a variety of finger foods that could be eaten while driving.
The cashier checked out the order. “That’s a lotta food for one girl. You must be really hungry.”
Gemma felt her face flush. Uh oh. Now what? “It’s my little brother, waitin’ in the car with our mom. He’s always stuffin’ his face. You know how boys are.” When the woman grinned and nodded, Gemma carefully heaved a sigh of relief, then smiled. She remembered to thank the nice lady, then returned to the Jeep with the sacks of food.
Before they left, Gemma managed to get Kacey to swallow a couple of spoonfuls of the vanilla shake, but that was it—the wounded pilot nodded off again.
Picking at pieces of fried chicken as she drove, Gemma enjoyed the freedom of actually being on the open road, and wordlessly thanked Mr. Solomon, the family chauffeur, for his patient training.
She considered the little white lie she’d told. More a fib than a lie, she’d left out the part about not driving further than the immediate neighborhood surrounding the twenty-acre Kennebunkport compound. On the plus side, Mr. Solomon had let her practice on every vehicle he drove, as long as she could see over the dashboard and reach the pedals. Gruff though he was, he’d said she was a natural.
She hadn’t been so good with the manual transmissions, but she’d gotten better as her legs grew longer, which made it easier to manage clutch pedals.
Thinking about the staff worried Gemma. Her friends must be horrified and terribly worried. She wanted to call them, let them know she was okay, but Kacey said not to talk to anyone. As much as it pained her to think unkind thoughts, she didn’t care whether her father knew or not.
About halfway to Winterpine, the fancy GPS chimed in. “Thirty minutes to destination.” Gemma carefully pulled into the next rest area, weaved her way through a herd of tractor trailers that resembled sleeping brachiosaurs like those in Jurassic Park. She found an empty slot, parked, found the entry for Dr. Jonah Taylor, tapped the phone number and let the device dial.
A man’s voice boomed over the speaker. “Kace, where the hell are you? Jack and Nate and the guys are going crazy. Do you have the package?”
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