Blake (Lighthouse Security Investigations Book 5)

by Maryann Jordan

  Lining up his shot, Blake halted as the leader whirled around, clutching Sara in front of his body with his own weapon pressed against her temple.

  The man called out, “You shoot. She dead.”

  Blake knew that he could easily take out the two men in the motorboat, but he did not have a clear shot at the leader holding Sara. Hotel guests began screaming and racing around at the sight of men with guns, some running through his line of fire. Moving steadily forward as the leader backed away, he was determined to take down the man that dared to point a gun at Sara.

  Ignoring the footsteps he heard coming from behind him, he was soon surrounded by French Guiana police, some with their guns pointed toward the thieves and others with their weapons trained on him.

  “Pose ton arme!” came the shout.

  “American,” he called out, his gun still aimed at the leader, who was now dragging Sara into the water.

  “Put down weapon!” one of the policemen shouted.

  “There are the thieves! They’ve got a hostage!” he retorted, his weapon still held on the boat, cursing that he could not get the right shot.

  Several of the policemen fired their weapons toward the boat, and Blake shouted, “Stop! They’ve got a hostage!”

  “Arrêtez-vous!” the policeman speaking broken English shouted. “La femme est un otage!”

  Blake could only assume the policemen grasped the situation, but by this time, the leader had dragged Sara through the water, lifted her into the boat from the back side where he was protected from their weapons, and climbed aboard. The engine started, and the boat turned, heading toward the west.

  Over the waves, he watched as she scrambled to sit up, her eyes pinned on him, and he heard her scream his name...a sound that he knew would haunt him forever.

  Hours later, Blake paced in a corner office overlooking a small city park on one side and a busy street on the other. The beige concrete walls were mostly bare, adorned only with a few framed photographs. A wooden desk sat in front of one of the windows, a worn leather chair behind it.

  The name on the door identified the office as belonging to Police Superintendent Charles Moreau. The past hours had been pure torture for him, and he was at the end of his tether. He had been cuffed and hauled into the police station. He proceeded to give them all the information and details on three thieves, but it was not until he mentioned the tattoo that he was immediately taken to the Superintendent’s office. They looked at his passport, his permission to carry a weapon in the country, and his LSI security identification before the Superintendent had him uncuffed.

  Livid that his phone had been taken from him, he paced the floor, growling as the door opened and a man walked in. The Superintendent was of medium height but carried himself with military precision. His tan uniform was perfectly pressed, and his salt-and-pepper hair was cut short. Clean-shaven, his steely eyes landed on Blake.

  Another man walked in with the Superintendent, younger but with an equally sharp appearance and intelligent eyes.

  “I’ve given you my passport and my identification. Every second that goes by that I’m sitting in this fuckin’ office is one more second that young woman is in more danger of being molested or killed or worse.”

  The younger officer held out Blake’s phone as the Superintendent said, “I’ve spoken with your boss. He’s on the line now.”

  Blake growled as he snatched his phone, pressed it against his ear and said, “Mace?”

  “Know you’re pissed, but you’ve got to lock it down. Superintendent Moreau gave me what he knows. I need to hear from you. You’re on speaker with the rest of the Keepers.”

  Sucking in a cleansing breath through his nose before letting it out slowly, Blake willed his pounding heartbeat to slow. “I need Josh to locate Sara Lancaster’s phone. She’s an American, working as a translator for a company based out of New York City. She was working at the economic summit here and was flying back today. She was the one the thieves took as a hostage, and she still had her purse worn across her body when they put her on the boat. I don’t know how long it’ll be before they realize she has her phone and get rid of it or it dies…”

  “Josh is on it.”

  “I left Stanley Cooper at the hotel—”

  “The Superintendent gave him a police escort to the airport. He’s already through security, and his plane will leave shortly,” Mace said. “He had arranged his own travel back to his university, so as of now his mission is complete, and you’re on a new mission if you want it, and it sounds like you do.”

  He appreciated the fact that Mace did not question his interest in the change of mission, but instead took the information Blake was giving and funneled it to the other Keepers.

  Blake described the scene exactly as he remembered it, from the moment the thieves entered the shop until the moment their boat roared away from the beach. He described the tattoo on the wrist of one of the thieves, saying, “I’ll sketch it out, take a picture and send it to you.” He had already sketched the tattoo and given it to one of the policemen in the station but had no idea if anyone had looked at it. Nonetheless, he wanted Josh and Tate on it. “It was a snake curved around a blade, making the letter ‘B’.”

  “I’ve seen the tattoo and understand what it means,” Superintendent Moreau said, stepping closer, his eyes fixed on Blake.

  “What are you telling me?” Blake asked, standing in the middle of the office, his fist on his hip, staring at the man in charge. Putting his phone on speaker, he added, “You’re talking to me and my team now.”

  Sucking in a deep breath, Superintendent Moreau said, “Until you mentioned the tattoo, my thoughts were that this was perpetrated by locals. But that tattoo indicates that it’s gang-related. French Guiana is inundated with migrants from some of the neighboring countries. Bordered by the Dutch-speaking Suriname and the Portuguese-speaking Brazilians, we only have rivers separating us.” Lifting his hands from his sides, he added, “We are not opposed to immigrants coming in, but unfortunately, gangs are using our country to ship drugs straight into Europe through France.”

  Hesitating, the Superintendent looked as though he was battling to continue. Then, with a glance at the other policeman, said, “There are drug lords living in the southern regions of our country.”

  Blake knew the entire country of French Guiana was approximately the size of the state of South Carolina. “Can’t your military and police crack down on the gangs?”

  The Superintendent shot him a hard glare. “The majority of my country is a dense jungle. Amazon rainforests dissected by dozens of rivers. We have neither the manpower nor the money to go into the jungles to fight this war. It’s mostly fought at international airports. We monitor closely for drugs leaving our country, and in Paris, they monitor closely what comes in.”

  “Superintendent Moreau.” Mace’s voice sounded out from Blake’s cell phone. “My company is prepared to do whatever we need to in order to assist Blake in the rescue of Sara Lancaster.”

  Blake watched as the Superintendent turned toward him, unknown thoughts working behind his eyes.

  “What is she to you?”

  A muscle ticked in Blake’s jaw as he tried to control his temper. “She’s an American. She was working at the university’s economic summit. I met her for the first time last night. But I would think you would want to save the life of anyone in your country who was kidnapped, regardless of who they are.”

  Superintendent Moreau had the decency to blush. “Of course, I am concerned about anyone kidnapped. But you must understand...the odds of you finding her are not good. They left by boat, and by now…” He lifted his hands from his sides once more.

  Blake stood to his full height and stepped closer to the Superintendent. “I’m not leaving without her. You can help or not. If not, then stay the fuck out of my way.”

  Superintendent Moreau’s eyes flashed, but he remained silent for a moment before saying, “You cannot just go into the jungle and barge ont
o a drug compound thinking to find her. Those men may not even be taking her there. And if they are, you can’t just waltz in.”

  “You don’t know what I’m capable of. My guys’ll find out where she is with her phone, and I will get her back.”

  The Superintendent shared a look with the other policeman and finally said, “You’re working unofficially in my country. You have leeway to find Sara Lancaster, and I am assigning Officer François Pelletier to you.”

  It was on the tip of Blake’s tongue to disagree, not wanting to be saddled with what could be an overeager but under-experienced policeman.

  As though seeing the doubt in his eyes, Superintendent Moreau said, “He’s the leading authority on drug gangs in my department.”

  Blake’s gaze shot toward the other man as though searching for the truth in his superior’s praise. François held his gaze, making no motion other than to lift one eyebrow slightly. Both men took a measure of each other, and Blake had to admit he liked what he saw. With a dip of his chin, he acknowledged the partnership.

  Mace called out, “Blake, we’re behind you.”

  “Then let’s get to planning,” he said, not willing to waste another moment. He wanted to rush out of the building and immediately go after Sara but knew planning was necessary for the success of the mission. He just prayed she would be safe when he found her. And I will find her.

  5

  Sara’s body shivered uncontrollably, and she concentrated on slowing her breathing for fear of passing out. She clung to the seat of the small boat as it bounced along the waves. She had read articles of travelers’ horror stories but knew those were rare. And yet, here she was, stuck in her own nightmare. She glanced to the side and considered hurling herself overboard. They would surely shoot her or she would be eaten by a shark if not drowned but thought that was better than what she was possibly facing.

  Her arm was already bruising from the grip of the kidnapper. Her ankle hurt slightly from being twisted, her wedge sandals not being the right shoes for being dragged along with someone in a hurry. The ridiculous thought of her comfortable sneakers packed in her suitcase ran through her mind. She normally dressed for comfort when she traveled but had hoped to see Blake before leaving the hotel and slid on her wedged sandals in an effort to look more chic.

  She glanced behind her, the vision of Blake racing toward her, gun drawn, sure that he was going to get to her in time. The last she saw of him, his hands were on his head as the police surrounded him, their guns trained on him.

  The cold reality sunk in that no one was going to get to her. Would Blake even keep looking? She knew he had been assigned to the man from the economic summit and their plane was leaving that day. Would the French Guiana police take the initiative to try to find her? If not, she was truly and well alone. Another shiver wracked her body, and she looked back down into the blue waters moving by.

  As though he could read her mind, the leader spoke in broken English. “No jump. You die.”

  She had no idea if that meant he would kill her if she jumped or she was going to die no matter what. She could have replied in French but was uncertain her voice would be steady enough for him to understand her or loud enough to be heard over the boat’s motor.

  Listening to the three men talk as they neared the harbor, she discerned that they were concerned about the police having been alerted and on the lookout. The boat slowed as they maneuvered toward several other boats.

  It dawned on her that they were speaking freely in front of her, assuming she did not understand French. While it was a Creole French, she was able to understand most of what they said. Unsure what the right course of action was, she decided to stay quiet, letting them think she had no idea what they were saying.

  As the boat slowed, she tried to remain still while constantly looking for a possible escape. If she jumped now she might be able to swim underwater far enough to get to another boat. Just as she was gathering her nerve, the leader swung his gun around and ordered, “Down,” while pointing to the bottom of the boat. She hesitated, and he repeated his order.

  Her shaking increased as she slid her butt to the floor of the boat, and he moved next to her, keeping his gun pressed against her back. Swallowing deeply, she listened, but they were only giving instructions back and forth about maneuvering through the other boats.

  She had hoped that they were staying in the city of Cayenne, but as they turned south and began weaving through the other boats in the harbor, her stomach sank at the thought of staying on the water heading away from civilization.

  An image of her mom moved through her mind, and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut to keep the tears from falling. Her mother worked for the Peace Corps and traveled extensively throughout the world. She could not imagine her mother ending up in a small boat after having been kidnapped. But then, her mother cut an imposing figure, and no kidnapper would probably have dared to take Jane Lancaster.

  She thought of her roommate, another translator who was currently in Italy, the last she heard having left a conference with a handsome man and was touring southern Italy before she flew back to New York City.

  Then her mind slid back to Blake, a man she barely knew, and yet, had spent the most wonderful night with. For her, it was not just a fling, even though she knew it could be nothing more. He had raced out of the shop, following in an effort to try to save her. With her head bent forward, her forehead resting on her knees, she sucked in her lips and thought of the night they shared. She was glad she had studied his face because now, filling her mind with his image helped to quell the shivers.

  She lifted her head, pushing the damp strands away from her face, but felt the hard barrel of the gun pressing against her back and halted.

  “Down.” The one-word order came from the leader again, and as the boat continued to motor along, the hope of rescue lessened.

  With her head down, Sara had no idea where they were. Afraid to look, she felt the boat slowing once again, and finally, the engine cut. The boat rocked back and forth, and then her body jolted forward with an impact. Her eyes flew open as her head jerked up, and she could see that the front of the boat was resting against a sandy shore. Trees grew in a thick forest to the edge of the river, obliterating the view of anything else.

  She bounced back and forth, grabbing onto the sides as the two men in the front rocked the boat as they climbed onto the riverbank. The man holding the gun waved it around, ordering, “Out.”

  Seeing no one else in sight, she pushed upward on shaky legs, too afraid to stand upright. She bent over at the waist and held onto the seats, crawling toward the front of the boat. Uncertain what to do when she got there, she stopped. The smaller of the men turned and held his arms up toward her. As much as she wanted to deny him, with the gun still at her back, she moved forward.

  Placing her hands on his shoulders, he grabbed her waist and lifted her onto the steep riverbank. The first man turned and reached his arm down, grasping her hand and hauling her up to solid ground. Her legs felt like rubber, and she was once again reminded of her wedged sandals as her ankles wobbled over the rough ground.

  She followed the first man as they walked through the trees, soon coming out of the forest to a dirt road. There were no vehicles on the road, and with thick trees all around, she had no idea if they were near civilization. The leader talked on his phone, arranging transportation. Afraid to turn around, she continued forward. Her purse, the strap across her body, slapped against her side.

  The thought of escape by running flashed through her mind but was quickly dismissed. She had no idea where she was and would barely be able to take a few steps before they were either on her or shot her. Drawing in a ragged breath, she waited quietly, hoping that if she did not cause them any trouble they would let her go as soon as they felt their escape was complete.

  As they came to a halt, she stood with her arms wrapped around her waist in a protective stance. She licked her dry lips, her eyes darting about. They conversed
amongst themselves, and it seemed as though they had forgotten she was there. Listening, she gleaned no new information about what their plans were for her.

  The sound of a rumbling engine came closer, and she looked up to see an old Jeep driving toward them. It slowed, and the driver smiled widely, his hand lifted in a wave. His eyes landed on her, and his smile dropped slightly.

  “Qui est-elle?” Talking to the leader, she heard him ask who she was.

  “C'est notre assurance.”

  Insurance. He called me their insurance. Still pretending to not understand French, she kept her face blank but felt her muscles quiver. She watched the driver offer a simple nod to the leader. One of the thieves jumped into the front seat of the Jeep, and she was nudged forward with the butt of the gun against her back again. As terrified as she was, she seethed at her predicament, fighting the urge to rip the gun out of his hands and use it against him. She doubted she would be successful, but if nothing else, she would like to poke it in his back for a change.

  Having no choice but to climb aboard, her thoughts battled. Was it better to resist and die then or go with them and undoubtedly die later? She thought of all the times that she had read articles about women being attacked or kidnapped, and how easy it was to think If that was me, I would do…

  When faced with her own situation, she realized that she wanted to live and would fight to do so.

  The leader followed her into the Jeep, and the other man climbed into the other side, leaving her squished between the two. Terrified that they might begin assaulting her, it appeared that they had no intention of doing that. At least not right now. She barely breathed in an effort to not draw undue attention to herself.

  With everyone now seated in the Jeep, it lurched forward, and she looked at her surroundings, hoping to see something she recognized or could remember. The dirt road was filled with potholes, and she bounced so hard she felt that her teeth would rattle out of her head. It did not take long for them to pull onto a main road made of asphalt, but it was not much smoother than the one they had just traveled on.