He slammed his hands against the steering wheel. No! They needed her to get the film from him. They must know by now she didn’t have the disc on her. They’d use her to get the film from him—then they’d kill her...and him, too.
Suddenly, the yellow dot on the display stopped moving in an area near the airport—validating Slade’s darkest fear. He continued heading in the direction of the town car, the stationary yellow indicator acting like a beacon of hope for him. Even though it had stopped moving, it was all he had—all he had left of Nicole.
Slade drove for another forty-five minutes, panic rising in his gut as he kept one eye on the unmoving target. The GPS led him to a parking structure about a half mile out from the airport, and he glided down the second level until he spotted the black town car with the tinted windows.
He didn’t expect them to be sitting there waiting for him, but he drew his weapon anyway and approached the car silently from the side, gun at the ready.
Releasing a long breath, he tried the door while peering in the window. At least they’d had the courtesy to lock up.
He broke the window with the butt of his gun and quickly disabled the alarm system. He brushed the glass from the driver’s seat before sliding in and shutting the door behind him.
Placing his hands on the steering wheel, he inhaled Nicole’s lingering scent in the car. Then he shook his head. Daydreaming about Nicole was not going to save her.
He started searching the car—the seats, the floor, the glove compartment. Then he tried his luck in the backseat. Nicole’s scent was even stronger here, and in a strange way it gave him hope. Bending forward, he inspected the floor and saw the corner of a white piece of paper peeking out from the floor mat.
He freed it and shook out a dirty envelope, but it was so much more than that. Nicole had jotted down a few quick notes. She’d been able to tell him about the two men who’d abducted her—Conrad, Trudy’s ex, and a stranger with a French accent.
French? The gunman in the club who’d killed Dahir was French.
So, Nicole had left a few clues. How had she known he’d find the car? Had she known about the GPS or did she just have some ridiculously misplaced faith in his superpowers because he’d saved her once before?
That rescue operation had been child’s play compared to this. He was no spook, but he’d have to pretend to be one. Just as he was working out a plan to try to track their movements, his cell phone rang.
He glanced at his cell, which showed Nicole’s number on the display. He didn’t have to track them after all. They’d reached out to him.
He answered. “Yeah?”
Conrad’s voice, his German accent more pronounced, greeted him. “Hello, Steve, although we all know you’re really Slade Gallagher. Do you have the disc?”
“Do you have Nicole?”
“You know we do.”
“Safe? I want to speak with her.”
“Fair enough, but just know my associate has a gun pointed at her head in case she tries something funny.”
Hot anger pounded behind Slade’s eyes, and he squeezed them closed for a second. “Put her on.”
Nicole’s voice, sounding firmer than Conrad’s, came on the line. “I’m sorry, Slade. I should’ve waited for you at the gate. I got into the car, and this scumbag pulled a gun on me. At least you have the film footage. Take it wherever it can be analyzed and don’t worry...”
She grunted and Slade gripped his phone so hard it cut into the sides of his hand. “Don’t touch her.”
“She tried funny business. You’re not going to listen to her, are you, Navy SEAL hero? You bring us the disc and we’ll hand her over to you.”
Yeah, right.
“Where are you?”
“I suppose we don’t have to tell you that if you bring anyone with you, she’s dead on the spot. No questions. We hear a siren, a helicopter, a boat, see anyone other than you approaching...fftt.”
The noise Gunther made sounded like a silencer, whether he meant it or not, but Slade got the idea. Slade wasn’t sure he’d trust the chain of command to rescue Nicole, anyway. They’d want the disc first and foremost.
“I’ll come alone. Where are you?”
“Where are you? Still at Coney Island?”
Slade’s mind whirred into action. “No. I’m back in Manhattan.”
“Then it should take you a while to get here.”
That’s what Slade was hoping he’d think. Conrad had no reason to believe otherwise.
“Where’s here? Where do you want me to go?”
Conrad whispered something Slade couldn’t catch and then spoke up. “We’re in a little seaside town about halfway between the airport and Montauk. Since it’s going to take you a long time to get out here, let’s set up this little meeting for later tonight. We have a few things to arrange first, anyway.”
So did he.
“Give me the time and the location.”
Conrad reeled off the directions, and Slade scribbled them down on the envelope Nicole had used to describe her captors.
“We’ll have Nicole on the beach in front of the house at ten o’clock. We’ll be able to see your arrival from land, air or sea, and if you do anything other than approach us with your hands up, Nicole is dead. If you try to show up before the appointed time, Nicole is dead. If we see any suspicious activity on the beach in the hours before our meeting time, Nicole is dead. Got it?”
“Got it.” Slade ended the call and immediately placed another.
He’d bring Conrad the disc, all right, but he had no intention of giving it to him in some phony exchange for Nicole.
He’d see him dead first.
Chapter Sixteen
Nicole shifted on the uncomfortable chair, her arms tied behind her back. She’d tried to escape once after they’d given her some food and had gotten a kick to the small of her back for her efforts.
She didn’t want Slade to give up that disc. Too many people had died trying to protect it. If she had to be the next in line, so be it.
Her gaze darted between the two of them, speaking German, their faces devoid of emotion, and she swallowed hard. Yes, they would really kill her.
She surveyed the front room of the small seaside cottage that had to be worth a couple of mil. They must’ve rented it...or maybe they’d just broken in.
How would they have known about the trip to Coney Island? They probably followed them or somehow gotten their travel information from the car company. Maybe they’d scouted out this location earlier or just figured it was a deserted enough spot to carry out the exchange.
Slade would have to be a fool to think these two men would simply allow him to give them the disc and saunter off with her into the sunset—and Slade was no fool.
Knitting her eyebrows, she glanced out the window at the Frenchman strolling in front of the house, back and forth, back and forth. He wasn’t taking any chances of a surprise attack.
What could Slade do at this point? If he came in shooting, Conrad and his buddy would kill her. And with Frenchie out there on patrol, Slade, and whoever he might bring with him, had no opportunity to take them by surprise.
There were boats docked at a small pier several yards down the beach, but there was no way Slade could come in on a boat without being noticed.
She chewed on her bottom lip. She’d heard the meeting time was ten o’clock, and it had to be close to that now—and she was still sitting here.
She eyed Conrad and cleared her throat. “How did you kill Trudy?”
Conrad looked up from his phone and glanced over his shoulder at Frenchie making one of his endless rounds. She’d already figured out pretty quickly that the Frenchman discouraged any communication with her, and the majority of his exchanges with Conrad were in German, which she didn’
t understand. He wanted to keep her in the dark.
But Conrad liked to talk. He liked to brag, and if she was going down tonight, she at least wanted to know what it was all for.
He shrugged. “Trudy had epilepsy.”
“Which you used somehow to cause her death and make it look like her condition was at fault.”
“It wasn’t hard, really. I replaced her medication with...something else. I was going for the dramatic. I thought she’d collapse in the middle of the play, which needed something to liven it up.” He rolled his eyes. “You saw it. Dreadful.”
Nicole gritted her teeth. “And the woman walking my dog?”
“Sloppy, I agree. I’m actually glad that turned out the way it did, since she wasn’t you anyway, and I do like dogs.”
“It’s just the two of you? Where are the rest of your buddies?” She strained against the rope binding her wrists. There had to be a way she could help Slade so that they both didn’t die.
“Buddies?”
“There’s you, the sniper in the park outside the bar and the man who followed us on the train—Marcus Friedrich—the one who rigged that house in Queens with the explosives.” She tossed her head back to get the hair out of her face. “Marcus was ID’d from the prints on his gun. Not too bright, is he?”
“That’s why he excused himself from this operation.”
“So, that man—” she tipped her chin at the window “—is the sniper from the park?”
Conrad narrowed his eyes as if trying to figure out where her line of questioning was leading. He pressed his lips together, probably figuring his French friend was right—better to keep mum about the details of their operation.
“The shooter in The Blues Joint was French, too, but he’s dead. How’d you get Dahir to cooperate with you and lure me out? His family?”
“Dahir Musse’s family is gone.”
Nicole blinked, feeling the blood drain from her face.
Conrad grinned and then studied his fingernails. “My turn. What’s your SEAL doing operating in the States? Isn’t that illegal or something? Maybe I should report him.”
He seemed to think this was hilarious, since he giggled for several seconds.
She dragged in a deep breath to clear the shock of the news about Dahir’s family.
Conrad could be lying about that, and he wasn’t too bright, either, since he’d just revealed it was just the two of them and Slade wouldn’t have to deal with a third party. Not that it did a whole lot of good, since the two here had a clear view of all approaches to the cottage and a gun to her head whenever they needed it, and of course, Slade didn’t know how many he’d have to handle.
And he could handle them—she had faith in the rich boy.
A knock on the front door had her jumping out of her skin, and then the Frenchman called out, “It’s time. Bring her out. No chances. Do you understand?”
Conrad snorted lightly. “Oui, ja, yes.”
He picked up his gun from the table and pointed it at her. “Get up very slowly. I don’t have to tell you. At this point, any move you make out of the ordinary will result in your death. Do you understand?”
“Oui, ja, yes.”
Smirking, he waved at her with the barrel of his gun.
Licking her lips, she rose to her feet, her gaze pinned to the window and the darkness beyond. Slade was out there somewhere, and she hoped he had a hell of a plan.
* * *
SLADE SURFACED AND hauled his weapons bag onto the boat, keeping out of view of the beach just about a half a mile away. As he peeled off his wet suit, his friend and team member Josh Elliot broke the surface of the water and joined him.
“You for sure know there are just two of them?” Josh unzipped his own weapons bag and yanked out his .300 Win Mag.
Cradling the M107, his weapon of choice, Slade said, “Two grabbed her. They might’ve picked up more along the way or met someone at that house, but I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
Josh slid his scope in place. “Isn’t this exactly how you met this woman? She’s the one who was on that boat when we took down those four pirates, right?”
“I wouldn’t say we exactly met at that time—only through my finder.”
“It’s a helluva way to pick up women, bro.”
They worked in silence, breathing heavily as they assembled their sniper rifles—or maybe that was just his breathing. He’d never been more nervous before an operation.
He’d never been in love with a rescue subject before, either.
As soon as he’d learned how much time he’d have to prepare, he knew what he had to do to rescue Nicole. That spy stuff wasn’t his strong suit, but this? Second nature, baby.
He’d made a few calls, arranged to have some weapons delivered and managed to locate one of his team members, Josh Elliot, who happened to be in the States preparing for a trip to South America for some reason he wouldn’t reveal to Slade.
Studying a map of the area and the coastline revealed exactly what he needed to do to get close to the house without being seen. The terrorists’ first mistake was doing the exchange on the beach.
He got it. They’d figured the beach would be deserted at night, a reasonable place to hold a woman at gunpoint. They’d also reasoned that on the beach, in the open, Slade wouldn’t be able to sneak up on them, bringing other people with him.
Guess they forgot about the sea part in SEAL, because they had to know who he was by now.
Josh grunted as he positioned his weapon. “The powers that be think it’s Vlad we’re dealing with, don’t they?”
“I may have heard his name once or twice.”
“You know what that means, don’t you? He’s luring each one of us out, one by one. You know about Foley’s run-in with Vlad’s operatives in Boston, don’t you?”
“Yep.” He slid a sideways glance at Josh. “Are you up next?”
Josh rolled his shoulders. “Bring it on.”
Slade grinned at his good luck in finding Josh stateside. Josh was one tough SOB, all about justice—his own brand.
Josh clicked his tongue. “Looky, looky. They’re waiting for you.”
Slade shifted forward, aiming his weapon at the beach—two men, just as Nicole had indicated—and Nicole. This was how he remembered first seeing her—strong, fearless, standing tall with a gun at her head.
“I’ll take the guy who has Nicole. You can have the other guy.”
“Of course you’ll take the guy who has Nicole—hero.”
And just like last time, Nicole shifted away from her captor. Could she sense his presence? “You ready, Josh? They’re going to start getting antsy in about one minute.”
“No time like the present, dude.”
Slade tightened his finger on the trigger and did the honors. “Five, four, three, two...”
The terrorists on the beach dropped. Never knew what hit ’em.
This time Nicole didn’t spit on the body at her feet. She turned her face to the ocean and raised two thumbs.
Chapter Seventeen
Hours later, with the light of day making its first appearance, Nicole hovered over the back of the sofa where Slade sat, hunched over his laptop.
“Here we go.” Slade tapped the keyboard. “I don’t think I’ve ever anticipated a movie more than this one.”
“Does Ariel know you’re having a peek at the footage before sending it off?”
“Yeah, she wants me to—and I’m going to send it off to them right now, anyway. They can have a copy while we look at this one.” He took her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. “Conrad and Frenchie are gone and Marcus Friedrich may be on the run, but there are others to take their place. The sooner we figure out the significance of this film, the better.”<
br />
She came around from the back of the sofa and sat beside him, her shoulder meeting his.
Slade double clicked the video file, and as the film came to life on the monitor, Nicole covered her mouth with one hand.
“Look, it’s all of us.” She jabbed her finger at the image on the screen. “Me, Giles and Dahir.”
She was giving instructions to Lars, who was laughing and cutting up, while Giles was making goofy faces. Now they were all gone, including Dahir’s family. A sob bubbled in her throat, and Slade put his arm around her, pulling her even closer.
The footage switched from the four of them joking around to Lars testing his focus on her practicing interview questions to Giles and Dahir in a deep discussion. Then the interviews started.
Tears blurred her vision as she watched the brave interview subjects talk about their lives and their hopes and dreams and the courageous acts they were taking to make those hopes and dreams come true. She sniffed. “I hope one day I can tell their stories.”
“This is incredible stuff.” Slade squeezed the back of her neck. “You did some amazing work here.”
They continued to watch the film. Lars had already done quite a bit of work on it, merging all the different shoots into one. The story, with Nicole’s narration, took them from village to village, from town to town, including shots of the war-torn countryside and their trips in the ramshackle Jeep with Giles at the wheel and Dahir getting them out of some tight spots. Too bad he hadn’t been able to get himself out of the tightest spot.
“I don’t see it.” Slade ran a hand through his short sandy-blond hair. “Unless this well-oiled terrorist organization, which was responsible for two deaths overseas and two more here, wanted to stop these women from speaking out, I just don’t understand their frantic need to stop this footage from going live.”
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