Her Special Forces

by Sophia Roslyn

  Gemma quickly turned down the volume before anyone who might be hanging near the vehicle could hear. She cleared her voice, then whispered. “Um, Dr. Taylor, this is Gemma Mansfield. I’m in the Jeep with Kacey.”

  He must have gotten the idea, as he also moderated his voice. “Gemma, let me speak to Kacey.”

  “Um, you can’t. She sorta got shot as we were taking off. She’s mostly unconscious now.”

  “Sorta got shot? Mostly unconscious? Who’s driving?”

  “Um, I am. It’s okay, I know how.”

  Dr. Taylor’s voice kicked down into calmer mode. “All right, Gemma. What’s your status.”

  Her mind raced. Status? “Um, the GPS shows twenty-one miles to your office in Winterpine. Miss Kacey has two holes in her side, one going in the back and one coming out the front. I packed gauze pads over them, like she said. I can’t tell if the bleeding has totally stopped, but it doesn’t look like it’s leaking out anymore. She’s passed out again. I pulled over in a parking area to call you. I think that’s our status.”

  Dr. Taylor chuckled. “Eleven years old. You’re a brave kid, Gemma.”

  “I’m nearly twelve, and tall for my age.”

  “All right, nearly twelve. Gemma, this is what I need you to do. Since you seem to have the Jeep under control, you can save us time and get Kacey into our care faster by continuing to Winterpine. When you reach my office, drive around to the back of the building, then pull straight into the garage. We need to get you under cover before the sun comes up. We’ll be waiting for you. Can you do that?”

  “Ten-four.”

  He chuckled again, which made her feel better. “Good girl. Ten-four.”

  As directed, thirty minutes later Gemma pulled smoothly into the cavernous garage behind the doctor’s office, parked the Jeep. Using the rear view mirror, she saw the big steel door closing behind their vehicle. She’d made it safely off the road, but couldn’t stop shaking. She tried to calm her trembling body, with only limited success. Men swarmed around the vehicle, some calmly and quietly giving orders, others following those orders. Kacey was transferred to a gurney, with an IV stuck in each arm. Dr. Taylor wheeled his patient away toward another vehicle, a bigger SUV.

  A tall man with short, sandy hair starting to go gray and bright blue eyes leaned in the driver’s door of the Jeep. He offered his hand. “Miss Gemma Mansfield, pleased to meet you. You gave us quite a scare. I’m Jack Cannon, Special Agent in Charge of the FBI’s Child Abduction Rapid Deployment unit.”

  Still shaky, she shook his hand. “Hi.”

  “You are a very smart and very brave young lady to have responded so brilliantly. You probably saved Kacey’s life, and yours as well.”

  She felt her cheeks grow warm. She wasn’t accustomed to receiving accolades from adults, other than from the household staff. Her father never praised her, but the servants she’d grown up with thought she was great.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Gemma, I know you must be eager to talk to the senator, but I must ask you to hold off a bit longer, if that’s all right.”

  “Sure.” She shrugged. “My dad only remembers me when cameras are around, anyway.”

  His sharp look didn’t go unnoticed, and Gemma flinched. She probably shouldn’t have said that. Even if it’s true, it was still rude. Mama wouldn’t have liked that.

  “Gemma, it will be light soon, and we need to get people and vehicles situated before the local police discover they’re on a wild goose chase and return to the station. We have a secure location out of town. I’ll drive the Jeep, and you’ll be with me. Are you good with that?”

  She nodded, then yawned. “Yeah, it’s all good. Maybe I can lie down for a little while when we get there. I haven’t had very much sleep.”

  He ruffled her flyaway curls. “Put the seat back, and try to catch a nap on the way, too. After everyone is settled, you can sleep for as long as you’d like. I promise.”

  True to Agent Cannon’s word, once she and Kacey were at a secure location—a large, rambling, postcard-pretty log chalet with a pool and pool house, set in a picturesque clearing in the deep woods well outside of Winterpine–Gemma was shown to a snug bedroom, its bright yellow and white paint scheme reflected in the early morning sun. A folded nightshirt was on the bed.

  In the private bathroom, she stripped off the clothing the kidnappers had provided—her own black running pants with pink racing stripes, and a matching short-sleeved top. Her underwear joined the pile. She felt a little better after doing a quick wash up. The nightshirt was loose and too long, but crisp, clean, and comfortable. She closed the drapes, then snuggled under a yellow knit afghan appliquéd with large white daisies and green leaves.

  According to the bedside clock, it was early afternoon when she woke. She smelled food, and her tummy growled in response. Her clothing wasn’t where she left it, so she wrapped herself in the afghan, then followed the sound of voices until she reached the large, open kitchen area. Coffee mugs, glasses, plates of sandwiches, and containers of side dishes nearly overflowed the long kitchen table. She counted eight chairs.

  A big, muscled man with hair and eyes the color of dark honey, smiled when he saw her. “Well now, it’s the woman of the hour. Welcome, Gemma Mansfield.” He gave a bow. “Nate Weatherly, at your service.”

  Gemma blushed again, then gave a little finger wave. “Hello.”

  Agent Cannon pulled out a chair for her. “Sit. Eat. Drink.” He waved his hand over the deli spread on the table. “Sorry about your clothes. I bagged your stuff as evidence, but new clothes are on the way.”

  She chose egg salad on a hard roll, placed it on a paper plate, added pickles, then celery stalks with ranch dressing. She opened a bottle of spring water, guzzled nearly all of it before she came up for air. About to wipe her mouth on the sleeve of her nightshirt, she blushed again. Instead of using her sleeve, she reached for a pretty paper napkin with a sunflower design. “How is Captain O’Donnell?”

  Doc Taylor walked into the kitchen, spoke from behind her. “I can answer that.” He looked around at everyone in the room. “Holding her own, thanks to this young lady here.”

  Agent Cannon made a face. “The only thing I asked is that Kacey return the helo undamaged.” Hand to forehead, he sighed. “Since bullet holes seem to be involved, I guess repairs are in order before I send the bird back to my buddy.”

  As other members of the rescue team filled their plates, they were introduced by their first names or call signs. Gemma had a talent for remembering people.

  The men seemed to be built from the same mold—medium tall to tall, all hard angles and muscled like athletes, all clean-shaven, all tanned. Snug black T-shirts, cargo-type black pants. Short, military-style haircuts. Well, except for Nathan, whose hair touched his shoulders. They all had wicked-looking tattoos on their upper arms. She was only eleven—nearly twelve—but still female. A warm flush reached her cheeks at the overwhelming presence of so many manly men in such close proximity. In a flash, Justin Bieber became so yesterday’s news.

  Gemma addressed the light-skinned black guy with amazing gray eyes who was built like Conan the Barbarian, who was also very hot looking. “Barracuda? That’s not your real name, is it? I remember. You carried me from the hotel room and pitched me into the helicopter.”

  He laughed, his voice deep and booming, ended with a smile. “My mother calls me Marcus. But in the water, I’m fast and deadly, like a barracuda.” Palms together, he snaked his hands through the air, mimicking the toothy predator slicing through the ocean. “Yeah, sorry about tossing you into the bird. Didn’t have time for a tea party.”

  She thought he was handsome enough to be an actor or a model, and couldn’t help grinning at him. “Thank you. All of you. For saving my life.”

  The FBI agent sat across from her, placed a notepad and pen on the table. “Gemma, do you think you’re up to discussing what happened?”

  She’d just bitten off a mouthful of sandwich
, so she nodded instead of speaking with her mouth full.

  “Other than Kacey, who’s still resting, most of the crew is here. We won’t need to repeat anything.”

  Gemma nodded again.

  She told them about the squeaky floor board in her bedroom, then losing consciousness. “When I woke up, I was laying on, like, a camping cot in a big garage or someplace like that, with plastic tie things on my wrists and ankles.”

  “Zip ties? Like the police use for handcuffs?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. They snipped the ties, let me use the bathroom, and put on my own clothes.”

  Agent Cannon interrupted again. “Your own clothes?”

  “Uh huh. The same stuff I left on a chair after I changed for bed. I’m supposed to put my clothes in the laundry hamper at night, but I forgot.”

  That seemed to interest Gemma’s audience, as looks were exchanged.

  “They made me wear a black hood so I couldn’t see, except when I was in the bathroom. The man who brought me didn’t stay—I think he was the one who kidnapped me. After he left, the others let me take off the hood. I was afraid they’d kill me because I saw their faces, but no one seemed to care. They told me they wouldn’t drug me again if I didn’t give them any sh…trouble. Then one of the four men left, too, but he came back with, y’know, burgers and drinks and stuff. I was really thirsty.”

  Agent Cannon cocked his head. “Why do you think the man who left you with the others was the actual kidnapper?”

  “He smelled.”

  “Explain.”

  “When he grabbed me in my bedroom, just before I was drugged, I smelled something. I smelled it again when he was close to me in the garage. I’ve been trying to remember where I smelled it before.”

  “But it was familiar?” That came from Nathan. “You would recognize it again?”

  “Um, yeah. I mean, yes. At least, I think so.” Her mother wasn’t there to correct her grammar, but Gemma didn’t want to forget her mom’s influence on her good behavior. Thanks to her father, those memories were all she had.

  “His accent was different, but I didn’t recognize it. The others spoke Russian.”

  “And you’re sure they were Russian?”

  “Uh huh. A girl in my class, her dad is a Russian diplomat. She’s been teaching Russian to me, and I help her with English. That’s how I recognized them.”

  The agent continued. “Then what?”

  “I couldn’t tell the time, but it seemed like hours later when they got a phone call. Lots of yelling after that.”

  “Could you understand any of it?”

  Gemma wiggled in her seat. “Maybe. Just a little. I heard preevyet, for hello. Then ubityy, killed. Something about a ship or big boat, sounded like bol’shaya lodka. They kept repeating a name, Moskva Minsk, with the words for boat.”

  Aye-Aye, the communications expert, nodded. “Moskva, for Moscow. Minsk was a district in old Russia for a while. Could be the name of a ship, maybe a freighter, or a container vessel.”

  She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “The same four men stayed with me. Two or three would watch me, one or two would sleep in another little room, then they’d switch. They spoke English to me, but not so good. Usually pitaniye, food. Golodniy. Hungry. Was I hungry? What did I want to eat? Everyone knew pizza without translating. They really liked junk food, like potato chips, nachos, and stuff. They used their hands a lot when they talked.”

  She hung her head. “I could have the words wrong, though.”

  Nathan moved closer, tipped up her chin with a finger. “You’re doing great, kiddo, and your impressions are important. Did they rough you up, pressure you? Did anyone try to question you, maybe about your father?”

  She shook her head. “No, which was kinda weird. I thought they’d ask me stuff, him being a senator. We even had a workshop in school about kidnapping, and how to cooperate. But none of the men made any threats after telling me they’d drug me again if I didn’t behave. They mostly played poker or Scrabble.”

  Jimmy Ray laughed. “Scrabble?”

  Gemma gave a nod. “I think to practice their English. Kinda funny to listen to them. They made up lots of words, and asked me if the words were real. They’d argue and threaten each other with guns, but then they’d laugh like they didn’t really mean it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Fingers were never on the triggers. They just waved the guns in the air.”

  Agent Cannon returned to his notepad. “Do you have any idea when they moved you?”

  “After the phone call. They hurried me out of there. They made me wear the black hood before we left the garage. Zip-tied my hands again, made me lay on the floor in the back seat of something like an SUV. It was high, someone had to lift me up to get inside. We rode for a while, long enough for seven songs on the radio. I smelled salt water, heard helicopters. Then we arrived at the nice hotel. We were waiting for the pizza when…well…when you found me. They said they were expecting an important visitor and that I should act all kinda polite, but I guess you got there before he did.”

  Billy Boy reached across the table, handed Gemma a plastic basket of plump strawberries. “Seven songs?”

  She nodded, took a juicy berry. “Couldn’t see, so I counted songs. I remembered reading that songs on the radio usually last between three and four minutes, so twenty-one to twenty-eight minutes. It was a mostly music station, four commercial interruptions, so we drove for maybe half an hour.”

  “Hmm. Songs, very clever. Live and learn.” Billy Boy popped a strawberry in his mouth.

  Gemma reached for another bottle of water. She played with the top, but didn’t crack it open. “The guys who watched me. Are they dead?”

  The men glanced at each other. Nathan finally spoke. “Not all. The one who shot Kacey was killed. There was no choice. The other three are in custody.”

  Gemma nodded. “I know they were bad men, but they were kinda nice to me. Joked around and everything.” She gave half a little shrug.

  Agent Cannon stopped taking notes, sat back. “You’re one brave kid. You did a hell of a job. Most adults wouldn’t remember the details that you have.”

  Gemma was beginning to believe she really had done a good job, which made her feel lots better. Important people thought she was brave.

  Maybe I am brave.

  Chapter Eight

  The blood-curdling scream brought everyone out of their chairs, but Nathan was the first to reach Kacey’s room. He found her upright in bed, her eyes wide, staring, focused on nothing, her hands fisting the sheet. The scream continued until her voice gave out, until the sounds were reduced to pitiful croaking.

  When Nathan knelt on the mattress next to her, she jumped, reached for her sidearm—or where her sidearm would be. Then she whimpered, crossed her arms over her middle, and folded up.

  He put his arms around her, felt her stiffen.

  “Kace. Kacey, baby, it’s okay, it’s all right now.”

  Her hand found his arm, the grip of her fingers leaving nail marks in his flesh. “Nathan?”

  “Yes, it’s me. I have you, you’re safe, not to worry.”

  “What happened?”

  “Shh. Bad dream. That’s all, only a bad dream.”

  “Oh, God. I hurt. Why do I hurt so bad?” She laid her cheek against his chest. She shivered, but her face felt overly warm to him.

  He ran his fingers through her tangled hair, tried not to pull the snarls left by dried blood. No one worried about esthetics when Jonah worked to clean and patch the holes in her body. “You took a hit, remember?”

  She sniffled, then nodded. “Okay, yeah, right. Did Jack get the girl?”

  “Yep. All safe and all secure. Good job you did, babe, especially perforated as you were.”

  “Bad guys?”

  “Either dead or in custody.”

  Her voice cracked again. “Dead is better.”

  “That might be true, my little vampire, but it’s tough to squeeze i
ntel from dead guys.”

  Her body slumped, limp against him.

  “Kace? Kacey?”

  He turned to Jonah, who’d been leaning against the door frame. “Doc?”

  Jonah quickly checked her vitals. “She’s stable. Exhausted. Still a bit dehydrated. I wonder how long she’s been having night terrors. I suspected, but didn’t know for sure.”

  Nathan shook his head. “Don’t know. Didn’t have them when she was with me. Cranky, though.”

  Jonah arched a brow and opened his mouth to speak, but a full complement of men with side arms drawn crowded the doorway, so he declined to continue. At least, that’s how Nathan read his friend’s expression, and gave silent thanks for the reprieve. He didn’t need the guys whooping and hollering and making rude comments like a bunch of adolescents. Seeing the crisis managed, the crew disappeared as quickly and as quietly as they’d arrived.

  Nathan arranged Kacey so the IV lines weren’t kinked and her bandaged side wasn’t against the mattress. He propped himself on some pillows, then carefully spooned against her.

  By the time he had Kacey settled, Gemma was the only one left standing in the doorway. She had the afghan wrapped, shawl like, around her shoulders.

  “Will Captain O’Donnell be okay?”

  Petting Kacey’s head, Nathan nodded. “She’s tougher than she looks. I’m sure she’d like it if you call her Kacey. She’s a Marine veteran, but not a Captain anymore.”

  “If she hadn’t come for me, she wouldn’t have gotten shot.”

  Nathan’s gut clenched at the matter-of-fact comment from the eleven-year-old child. He sat up, careful not to disturb the patient.

  “Gemma, honey, don’t think that way. We weren’t forced to take on the operation, we all volunteered to find you, including Kacey. As a matter of fact, Kacey asked me, and I called in the guys. It’s not your fault you were kidnapped. The last thing she’d want you to do is blame yourself. We made the choice, and we did what we were trained to do. The plan worked, you’re safe, and that’s what matters. Kacey’s tough, and she’ll heal.”