by Abby Gordon
Nodding, mute with fear, Charlie moved to obey. Impulsively, Max pulled him roughly into his arms. Thin arms wrapped around his waist. Max closed his eyes. His arms tightened around the boy. This was his son. Whoever was in those vans would have to get through him to get to Charlie.
“Your mother and I will handle this. You stay put and stay low,” he whispered against his son’s unruly hair. “Hide? You understand me?”
Charlie lifted his head and nodded. “I understand,” he managed through his fear.
In a flash, he was racing to his room. Ginny had closed and locked the back doors, and was tugging on the curtains over the floor to ceiling windows leading onto the back porch.
Max pulled out his cell phone, quickly pushing two buttons.
“Mark, shit’s about to hit the fan. Pour the speed on.”
“You got it, boss,” came the Carolina drawl. “Shove it, Al,” he muttered to the other agent’s comment. “Boss wants speed so he gets speed.”
Max shut the phone, automatically disconnecting the line, and tucked it back in his pocket.
“You have any weapons?” Max asked, pulling his Glock from the small of his back. His bag was in the car. He cursed himself at the oversight. “Ginny?”
“Second row to the left of the fireplace, push the fourth stone up,” she replied, going past the stairs to the room just beyond.
Finding the stone, he pushed it and grinned as a long narrow recess was revealed. Two semi-automatics with ten clips were stored neatly within a space just three feet high and five inches wide. Above him he could hear Charlie moving furniture across the floor. That heavy scraping sounded like the bed. And then Ginny was next to him, loaded for bear.
Or was that a mama bear, he wondered, taking in the semi in her hands and watching her load a clip. Her hands moved automatically as her eyes alertly swept the room. Her entire body was tense as she bounced lightly on her toes, ready to react at the first hint of attack.
This was the Ginny he’d known. The one that had stunned him with her ability to react to training situations, take in what was happening around her, and report in detail what was going on. Now, there was a look in her eye that had not been there before. She glanced upstairs then back at Max.
He pulled out a semi-automatic and grabbed a clip. His hands loaded the clip instinctively as he flipped the safety off. Standing, he met her gaze and nodded. They both understood the rules of engagement. Shoot to kill. With Charlie upstairs, they weren’t worried about prisoners. Only Charlie mattered.
“You get to refinish the floor in his room from the scratches,” she commented. “I’ve told him not to drag his furniture like that.”
He smiled slightly. She was talking about the future.
“I’ll do it this weekend,” he nodded.
Just then an object the size of a softball crashed through the window, making the curtain billow.
“Down!”
Ginny dropped, grunting as Max landed on top of her.
There were two more crashes and smoke burst from the grenades.
“How many of us do they think are in here?” she muttered, raising her upper body as if doing an oblique ab crunch.
The front door crashed in as two men landed on the floor. Ginny looked over Max’s shoulder and brought up her gun. Max’s body kept her from getting a decent shot but she fired anyway.
The first man up dropped back down as Max turned to kneel over her and dropped the second. The next three men were clustered and dropped under the hail of bullets the two sent their way. The next through the front door tossed a fourth grenade toward them.
Max saw the purple stripe as it landed near the couch and swore. All the men coming at them were wearing gas masks. They were screwed.
“Deep breath!” he snapped at Ginny.
She obeyed instantly. Flipping her weapon from semi to full, she turned to fire through the front window. Max didn’t know what she thought she was shooting at. The curtains were too thick to reveal if anyone was outside.
The bullets cut through the curtains and shattered the glass. Ginny fired again. Max kept the ones at the front door pinned down. Screams came from the yard as her bullets found their targets.
But neither could hold their breath forever.
The gas filled the room and Ginny coughed as her lungs spasmed. In seconds, she was unconscious. Max held on for a bit longer. A moment after Ginny collapsed, he dropped next to her. Even as his mind and body struggled against the toxins filling his airways, his arm reached around her and his body moved to protect hers.
The fight was over in less than two minutes.
Silently, men went past their prone bodies and up the stairs.
Chapter Five
Ginny was warm. She could hear muted voices around her. Some were familiar. Mark and Al, her mind told her. And then she heard Max’s voice. Deep and rich. He was nearby. She was safe.
Her lips curved slightly and she sighed as the memory took her back.
“Max,” she whispered.
“Ginny? Ginny, wake up.”
Her brain snapped awake.
That was not Max’s voice. Al. That was Al.
She heard a second voice yell Max’s name as the most recent memory flooded her brain. Mark was there her brain told her. She remembered Max calling Mark.
Reality crashed in on her. One voice was missing.
“Charlie!” she screamed, sitting upright. “Charlie!”
Suddenly, Max was there, sitting on the edge of the couch and gripping her shoulders.
Where was her son? Where was…she forced herself to look at Max’s face.
“Where’s Charlie?” she whispered. “Max? Where’s my son?”
The sorrow and anger in his eyes stunned her.
“Max?”
“They took him.”
In denial, Ginny shook her head. “No. You’re lying. There’s no way that monster has my boy. Charlie is upstairs. Maybe hiding under his bed. Maybe in his closet. He’s smart. I’ve been teaching him things all his life. He would know…”
Through her babbling and growing hysteria, Max clenched his jaw. She saw tears in his eyes. The truth ripped through her heart. “No!”
She shoved him away and bolted from the couch. The other men backpedaled to get out of her way. She charged up the stairs. Max was right behind her.
“Charlie! Charlie!”
She stopped suddenly on the top step unable to believe what she was seeing.
The door had been shot at. Not just to unlock it, but it had been blasted at several times with a shotgun. The upper half was gone. She could see Charlie’s bed through the hole. The room was in shambles. As was the loft area. Her son had fought hard to stay free.
There were two forensic scientists in the room and another crouched in the loft. A tall muscular black man appeared in the doorway. Her gaze was drawn to the baseball bat and two short blades in the bags in his hands.
Her poor brain went numb, flipping to automatic. She felt Max behind her, his hands on her shoulders.
“You’re his mother?”
She nodded. “Those are Charlie’s,” she whispered.
There was a straightforward respect in the dark eyes as he looked at her.
“Your son drew blood. Quite a bit of it.” He glanced back. “Ready? Let’s get going.” He looked at Ginny. “Hopefully, it matches something we’ve already got in the system. Maybe help you get him back faster.”
“Thanks, Carl,” Max nodded.
Ginny closed her eyes and turned away. The forensic people went downstairs. She prayed that the red clinging to the silver blades, the drops she could see in the bags, and the dark smears on the baseball bat that had been signed by the orange and black’s home-run leader the previous season weren’t her son’s.
Her son had fought the way she’d taught him. How many had been needed to get him out of the house? She and Max had killed several of the people sent after them. Had that enraged those who had taken Charlie? Seei
ng their teammates injured or killed by the man and woman, how had they treated the boy? She whimpered at the thought that her son wasn’t alive. She and Max were alive, surely their son was.
Except…did Polaris know that Charlie was Max’s son? If Charlie didn’t say anything, that could keep him alive. But if Polaris knew that he had his arch-nemesis’s son in his hands…
With Polaris’s apparent connections, he probably knew that Ginny was the head of the analysis team that focused on Polaris, examining every possibility that remotely matched the elusive outlaw’s modus operandi.
She couldn’t believe they had missed something, lots of somethings, leading up to this moment. There had been an increase in arms that several agents had been nitpicking at. And arguing about. Arguments that had stopped when they saw her nearby. She frowned. She’d have to think about that.
But for now, maternal ache hit her. The pain slammed into her and she shuddered, giving in to the terror gripping her heart. Groaning, she wrapped her arms around her waist. Max put an arm around her waist and guided her back down the stairs.
He had to practically carry her down. Her feet didn’t want to move. At the landing, she paused, craning her head to see over his shoulder at the torn door of her son’s bedroom. Max turned her in his arms and held her tight.
“I want my son,” she wept. “Max, I want my son.”
“I’ll get him back, Ginny,” he murmured. “I promise. I’ll get him back for you.” His hands stroked her back. “I promise, Ginny. I will rip to pieces anyone and everyone who stood between us and our son. Very, small, put through a shredder, pieces.”
She could hear the pain in his voice, felt the stiffness in his body as if he was hurting as much as she was. Tilting her head, she saw the fierceness in his eyes even as his arms were strong and protective around her. For the first time in a decade, she realized she might not be alone.
Mark and Al were the only ones in the living room. The bodies of their attackers were gone, taken away in the three vans that were pulling out of her drive. Ginny looked at them and smiled slightly. But the smile didn’t reach her eyes. Her sorrow was in her every movement.
“Hi, guys.”
“Hey, Ginny,” Mark smiled gently. “We’ll get him back,” he echoed Max’s words. “Sounds like he’s a tough boy. He’ll be all right.”
She nodded, letting Max hold her against him.
“Has there been any word?” She felt Max’s chest rumble as he spoke.
“Not yet,” Al told her, standing just behind Mark.
“How did you get here so fast?” she whispered.
“We were following Max. He didn’t want to wait for us or for Frank,” Al replied, shooting Max a dirty look.
Ginny stiffened. She remembered Max on the cell phone. There was more. Much more. She needed quiet to think. And knew she wouldn’t get it. Somehow, she had to get this done on the move. It was the only way to get Charlie back.
“You knew where I was?” she asked quietly.
She had to focus. Had to.
“Well, yeah, of course,” Al nodded.
“No one below a senior team leader is supposed to know where I live,” she whispered.
So many reasons. So many secrets. Whose reasons? Whose secrets?
“Vince gave Frank your file,” Max told her. “It must be the shortest one on record. Only your picture and address…”
“That’s it?” she frowned. “Nothing else.”
“I noticed there wasn’t an emergency POC,” he smiled.
Reflexively, she smiled. Max smiled back. Ten years ago, she had teased him that missed details would one day bite him in the ass.
She closed her eyes a moment and took a deep breath. Opening her eyes, she met Max’s gaze. She hoped he would have patience with her. So much was going on. And right now, she didn’t know who she could trust. There was more than Charlie at risk. Right now, she’d focus on something guaranteed to get reactions that would help her make future decisions.
“Vince knows my POC,” she murmured, trying to think fast. She didn’t know who to trust. Charlie’s life depended on her ability to figure this out. “Frank should, but I’m not sure...”
As her voice trailed off, Max nodded, eyes narrowed. She was thinking. But along what trail and how many steps behind her would he be?
“How did George and Sam die?” she asked.
Max’s body stiffened. She didn’t want anyone to ask about her POC. Why? Was it Charlie? That was a bit much for a nine-year-old to take on. Which meant there was something else she was hiding. What? Why? And what did that have to do with Charlie? Was he in more danger because of it? That didn’t make sense. She’d said she hadn’t told him about his son because of the danger from his enemies. But her question made him wonder if she was protecting someone else.
Al shook his head at the change in subject. “What? Ginny, you’re not making any sense…”
“There’s a mole,” she stated quietly. Then just as quickly she shook her head. “Too much has happened. It would have taken more than one. They have to be in both Analysis and Operations.”
“Impossible!” Al exclaimed, shaking his head dismissively. “Dammit, Ginny! You came up with some crazy shit ten years ago, but this is a helluva lot worse!” He paced away from the other three. “The idea that there could be…”
“Al, shut up!” Max ordered.
He wondered what the hell was going on in her mind. Was she trying to irritate people to the point…He caught the desperate blaze in her eyes. And more. A fury born of maternal rage. Ginny was completely and deadly serious. Someone inside the agency was aligned with their country’s enemy. Polaris had their son. The traitor might have told him what a prize he held.
He’d meant what he’d told Charlie. He was a bad-ass in the field. And God alone could save the bastards who’d taken their son. Max realized that he was now thinking of the two of them as parents. Together.
“Did you listen to her?” Al demanded, turning around. “Did you hear what she said?”
“Yes,” nodded Max, eyes calm. Charlie. Ginny. Charlie. Ginny. The mantra centered him, stilled the hot rage until it was cold fury. Cold fury was much better. He could think through the cold. The hot was too close to pain and he’d never function with that. “I heard her.”
“What the hell happened here?” Frank stood in the doorway. He took a step in and scanned the living room and kitchen with narrowed eyes. “A fairly high body count from what I heard on the radio.”
“You! You started this entire situation. If you hadn’t given Max my address…”
“Ginny,” Frank rasped, shaking his head. “Calm down. This is no time to get hysterical.”
“Get out of my house!” she shrieked, dodging Max’s hand. “How can you even think of coming into my house? No. Out! Out!” She marched across the room and glared up at him. “Get out of my house. Now.”
“Ginny, I had to send Max,” Frank began, raising his hands. “He’s a trained agent. You’re just an analyst and…”
“Oh, you so do not know who you are dealing with! But I will be more than happy to adjust your thinking!”
Max saw the shift in her hips as she rose up on her toes. Any worries he’d had about her martial arts ability disappeared as she swung her right leg around and dropped Frank like a stone. Even as the older man fell, her foot kept pace. As he hit the floor, the arch of her foot landed on the vulnerable, exposed throat.
“I don’t want you in my home,” she growled.
“Damn,” Mark whispered. “I’ve only seen the leader of the elite team take him down.”
“Do you have any idea how many laws and regulations you just broke?” Al demanded.
Max spared him a glance. The other agent was nearly apoplectic in his shock.
“Fifty-three,” she replied calmly, her eyes never leaving Frank’s face. His jaw worked but nothing came out. Max, Mark, and Al came closer but stayed out of reach. “Do I have your complete attention now?” F
rank managed a nod. “Let’s get a few things clear. I am an active agent for only as long as it takes to get my son back. You will do everything you can to make that happen. Everything. You understand me? And I will know if you hold back.” Her foot pressed on his throat. “We in agreement?” Frank swallowed and nodded again. She smiled slightly. “Good. Now, get out of my house.”
Nimbly she moved back, maneuvering herself so that Max now stood between her and the men. Max noted with some satisfaction that she appeared to trust him.
Ginny’s gaze was fixed on Frank’s prone figure.
“Frank. Up. Out. Now.”
Obviously embarrassed and humiliated at being so easily taken by a woman half his size, Frank gained his feet and glared at her. Slowly Frank backed out of the house, his eyes never leaving Ginny.
Max knew it was time to get moving. Time to get Ginny to a safer place. Much safer. And away from everyone else so he could find out what was going through her mind. He figured he better be sitting down when she told him the truth.
“Mark and Al, could you get some of Charlie’s things from his room?” Max asked them. “Shirts, jeans, pajamas,” he continued. “I don’t know. Maybe a few games or books.” He looked at the top of Ginny’s head and was relieved when she lifted her eyes and met his gaze. “He will want his own things when we find him.” The bleak grief in her eyes nearly undid him. He gripped her shoulders and made her face him. “Ginny, what will he want most? Besides you.”
Struggling with her voice, she silently shook her head. She took a deep breath, fought back the urge to break-down, and turned to where Charlie had dropped his backpack. Mark followed her gaze and went to the bench. Taking the pack by a strap, he brought it to her. With a grateful nod, she clutched it to her chest.
“I think he had everything in here,” she murmured.
Max remembered something Charlie had said.
“Mark, find a container or something in the kitchen. A big one and fill it with every cookie you can find. And any fresh bread.” Ginny looked up at him. Max gave her a small smile. “Charlie said it was a good thing I hadn’t interrupted you this morning when you were starting on your list.”