by Mallory Kane
The kidnapper yelled something that Matt didn’t catch, then several bullets thunked into a tree to Matt’s left. He was shooting at Al Hamar again.
So, they weren’t working together.
Al Hamar yelped and toppled forward.
When Matt looked back at the kidnapper, the high-powered gun was aimed at his head. From that distance, the man couldn’t miss. But before Matt could react and dive, he swung back toward the Hummer.
Why hadn’t he shot him? He might not get as good a chance again.
Rising to a crouch, Matt took a precious split second to make sure his head was as clear as possible, then sprinted toward the Hummer, spraying bullets on the ground in front of the kidnapper. He couldn’t kill the man. He needed him alive—at least long enough to find out where William was being held.
As he crouched behind a stand of bushes, he heard the hitch in the engine noise that signaled shifting gears.
Good, Aimee! Now turn around and get out of here!
But a Hummer didn’t turn on a dime, or even a quarter. Still, she was trying.
Careful to stay hidden, he lifted his head just in time to see the kidnapper raise his weapon and aim at the Hummer’s windshield.
Alarm ripped through him. The kidnapper was about to shoot Aimee. The high-powered blast would be enough to penetrate the tempered glass.
Matt raised his weapon, his breath catching as his finger sought the hair-trigger of the MAC-10.
Aimee would hate him if he shot the man who could lead them to her baby. But if he had to kill the kidnapper to save Aimee, then so be it. He’d find her baby some other way.
Chapter Four
FRIDAY 1600 HOURS
Just as Matt’s finger started to squeeze the trigger, the kidnapper lowered the barrel of his gun to the tires.
Matt’s scalp tingled with relief. At least he was no longer aiming at Aimee. Still, he had to stop him from disabling their only means of getting down the mountain. He vaulted to his feet, brandishing the MAC.
“Hey!” he shouted. “You want your money? Then stop now! Or you’ll never see it.”
He swayed, but immediately caught himself. Blinking away the haze that threatened to obscure his vision, he yelled, “In fact, you’ll never see tomorrow!”
He strafed the ground in front of the kidnapper. But the other man didn’t take the bait. His rifle barrel didn’t even waver. He fired.
A tire exploded with a loud crack.
A second shot. A second crack.
The Hummer rocked dizzily, then tilted to the passenger side. It was going over.
Aimee!
Matt loosed another volley of bullets, closer this time. He still hadn’t ruled out killing the man.
The shooter dove for the ground. But in one smooth motion, he righted himself and fired again—this time at the Hummer’s gas tank. Metallic thunks peppered the vehicle’s frame.
Wincing each time the kidnapper shot, Matt tried to draw a bead on him, but the kidnapper’s duck and roll had positioned the Hummer between them.
Matt sprinted toward the vehicle. He had to stop him. It was only a matter of seconds before a bullet hit the gas tank.
Suddenly, the man stopped shooting, slung his rifle over his shoulder and ran toward the disabled vehicle.
He was going after the money.
Matt had to stop him before he got to Aimee. He broke into a run. His legs pumped, his heart raced. The earth and the sky went topsy-turvy and he stumbled, but he recovered his footing and kept going.
The tranquilizer was doing more than turn Matt’s world upside down, though. His legs were as heavy as lead weights. It was like a bad dream. As hard as he pushed, he couldn’t beat the other man.
The kidnapper vaulted up the vehicle’s undercarriage like a free climber and ripped open the driver’s-side door.
Reaching in, he grabbed Aimee’s parka and yanked her up and out through the door. She struggled, but she was no match for the big man. He shoved her over the side. Then he dove back down and popped out immediately with the briefcase.
By the time Matt rounded the rear of the Hummer, the kidnapper was back on the ground.
Finally, Matt had a clean shot. He stopped and took aim, blinking rapidly. He wanted to disable him without killing him.
But Aimee’s crumpled form filled his wavering vision. She was lying near the Hummer. Too near. Her feet were mere inches from the widening puddle of gasoline.
The kidnapper seemed preoccupied with the briefcase, but Matt couldn’t count on that. In one stride he’d be close enough to grab her. He could use her as a shield.
Or kill her.
Swallowing against dizziness brought on by the tranq, Matt carefully tightened his finger on the trigger.
Aimee stirred and moaned, distracting him for a split second. When he turned his full attention back to the kidnapper, the man had produced an old-fashioned silver cigarette lighter in his hand. He flipped open the lid.
Matt aimed at his right shoulder, concentrating on keeping the sights of the machine pistol steady.
Aimee sat up. The kidnapper’s sharp gaze met Matt’s as he stepped backward and sideways, putting her between himself and Matt. He crouched down, making himself too small a target to hit without endangering Aimee.
As Matt watched helplessly, he nodded at him, then struck the lighter and tossed it over Aimee’s head and into the middle of the pool of gasoline.
The small flame looped through the air as if in slow motion. When it was a couple of inches above the puddle, the fumes caught and flared. By the time the lighter splashed into the liquid gasoline, the flames were two feet high and spreading.
The kidnapper turned and sprinted away to the east.
Matt couldn’t worry about him. The fire was growing, and flames were rising only inches from Aimee’s legs.
“Aimee, get back!” he yelled.
She scrambled backward, her eyes wide and bright with terror.
Pocketing his gun, Matt rushed toward her. A shot rang out—but not from the direction in which the kidnapper had run.
It came from the south. Al Hamar. Matt dove the last few feet. He landed next to Aimee as red flames licked at her hiking boots.
Scooping his hands under her arms, he lifted her and heaved her as far as he could and then dove on top of her, covering her body with his, shielding her head with his hands.
Behind them, the flames roared and spit like a massive beast. The ground trembled beneath them and a whistling sound filled the air.
The flares! He’d packed a dozen of them into the rear of the Hummer.
“What’s that?” Aimee whispered.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re okay. Just stay still.” Matt hunched his shoulders and pressed his cheek against hers, doing his best to shield every inch of her body with his. He could feel her panicked breaths against his cheek, hear them sawing in and out through her throat. He could smell the lemon sweetness of her hair.
She stopped wriggling and turned her head a little more, which put her lips about an inch away from his. He closed his eyes and pretended they weren’t there.
He couldn’t tell how many of the flares fired because suddenly, with a deafening roar, the gasoline exploded.
For an instant, the air grew totally still and quiet, as the conflagration sucked in oxygen. Then a blast of heat strafed them, like the breath of a fire-breathing dragon. Matt felt the sting of heat across the backs of his hands and the nape of his neck.
After several seconds, he lifted his head slightly and peeked at the Hummer. It was still engulfed in flames, but they were weakening.
Their supplies and equipment. He stiffened, and felt Aimee move beneath him.
“Matt?”
“Stay still,” he commanded. He rose to a crouch with his weapon drawn and rapidly scanned the clearing, but they were alone. The kidnapper and Al Hamar gone.
He turned back to Aimee. “Why didn’t you turn the Hummer around and get out of here like
I told you to?”
“He shot you!” she hissed. “I saw you go down. I thought you were dead. I had to save my baby.”
He held her gaze for a moment, wanting to berate her for endangering her life by not obeying him, but she lifted her chin and stared at him with defiance in her eyes.
It occurred to him that there was probably no emotion in humans stronger than the one radiating from her. The fierceness of the love of a woman for her child.
There was no way he could counter that.
Setting the machine pistol down, he shrugged his daypack off his shoulders.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Ignoring her, he quickly assessed his clothing. Had he landed in gasoline when he dove for Aimee? He didn’t see any stains, and didn’t smell gas.
“Don’t move,” he said, pointing at the ground where she sat. “I’m going to see if I can salvage anything out of the Hummer.”
“You can’t go near that,” Aimee said. “Wait until the fire dies down.”
He shook his head. By the time the flames died down there would be nothing left. Hell, there was probably nothing left anyhow.
He approached the burning vehicle cautiously.
Everything inside was black and smoldering, or still burning. By the red-and-yellow flickering light, he saw what was left of the baby seat, melted down to a nearly unrecognizable lump of plastic. Behind it, in the back of the vehicle, he could see the damage caused by the flares that he’d packed to help Deke set his helicopter down in the dark.
Then he spotted his backpack. There was nothing left of his supplies and equipment. The nylon webbing that crisscrossed its lightweight frame had burned and melted.
Matt cursed silently. Everything he’d packed so carefully—planning for any contingency—was burned and useless. His double sleeping bag, the concentrated nutrient packs, rain gear, snowshoes, spare batteries for the GPS locator and phone, first aid kit, even the water canteens, were gone.
He sucked in a deep breath, and coughed as smoke scalded his throat. It was getting thicker and blacker as the flames died.
There was still plenty of heat, which would have come in handy if it weren’t almost certainly toxic, judging by the smell. Between the upholstery, the gasoline, oil and other fluids, and the various plastics and dyes, there was no telling how contaminated the air was.
They couldn’t stay near that fire.
He headed back to where Aimee was waiting.
She took a breath to speak, and coughed when she got a lungful of smoke. She took his hand and let him help her stand.
She looked over her shoulder. “I need to get my bag. William’s baby food and diapers and—”
“They’re gone. Burned up. My supplies are, too. We’ll have to make do.”
“But—”
“Come on. We need to get away from here. That smoke is toxic.”
Aimee coughed again, proving his point. She looked up at him and gasped. “Oh! Matt, you’re bleeding. It’s all over your face and neck.”
He touched his ear and winced, then looked at his hand. A fresh smear of blood stained his finger. “Don’t worry. I’m okay,” he said shortly, as a wave of dizziness reminded him just how handicapped he still was by the tranquilizer.
“Hell, another quarter inch and the bullet would have missed me completely.”
Aimee pushed his hand away and stood on tiptoe, looking at the wound. “That’s not funny,” she snapped.
She touched the curve of his ear, near the raw scrape. “It looks like the bleeding has almost stopped.”
He shrugged away her touch. It took concentration to ignore the gentle brush of her fingers.
“Stand behind me.” He held the pistol waist high and swept the clearing with it and his gaze.
She grasped his sleeve and pointed toward the east. “He ran into the woods in that direction. We’ve got to go after him.”
Matt twisted away from her grip and put a hand on her shoulder. “He’s long gone. The fire gave him a big head start.”
“No! We’ve got to go. We have to catch up—”
“Aimee. He’s twenty minutes ahead of us. It’s getting dark. We’ll never catch up to him tonight.”
She turned and stared at him, the brightness of her green eyes fading as understanding dawned. Her hands covered her mouth. A stray flake of snow caught on her lashes.
“But—he got the money,” she cried. “And he’s still got William. He doesn’t need my baby any longer. What if—”
A giant fist squeezed his heart at the utter desolation on her face—in her voice. He opened his mouth to lie, to feed her false hope. “We’ll find him, Aimee. Don’t worry—”
“Don’t worry? Don’t—?” She gulped in a desperate breath. “He’s my baby. He’s so little. He’s only seven months old. He will die without me.”
She doubled her hands into fists. “Don’t tell me not to worry!” she screamed.
He steeled himself for her attack, figuring she had a perfect right. He hadn’t kept his word. He’d let both men get the best of him. One had sneaked up on him because he’d let his guard down. The other had turned his own equipment into a weapon against him.
But she didn’t. She pressed her fists to her eyes. “What do we do now?” she whispered.
Matt gently pulled her hands away from her face. Then he touched her chin. “Aimee. Look at me.”
She raised her gaze to his, and he winced at the unbearable sorrow in her eyes.
“The kidnapper doesn’t have the money,” he said.
Aimee’s eyes went round. “What?”
“We put a few thousand dollars in the briefcase, on top. But as soon as he digs down a few layers, all he’ll find is scrap paper.”
“He doesn’t have—?” Aimee’s pale cheeks flared with pink. She sent Matt an incredulous smile.
Matt shook his head. “I’ve got it here, in the daypack. If he’d given William to you, I’d have given him the pack.”
“He doesn’t have the money,” she said in awe.
Matt nodded. “That’s right.”
“So he has to take care of my baby until he gets it.”
If the money is what he’s after.
For an instant he allowed himself to bask in the joy on her face. Then a flake of snow drifted past her cheek, followed by another, and another.
He looked toward the west. The sky was dark with thick, gray clouds. He grimaced and shivered as a fat snowflake slipped down the back of his neck.
Where was his parka? There, on the ground near the woods.
“We’d better get going,” he said as he went over to get it. “The storm’s heading this way. As soon as it’s over I’ll call Deke and we’ll—” He bent over to pick up the parka, and suddenly the world turned upside down—several times. His knee hit the hard ground with a painful thud.
“Matt?”
He jerked his head up. Her blurry, wavering face filled his vision.
“Matt! What’s wrong?”
He held up a hand. With more than a little effort he closed his fist around the down-filled jacket and pushed himself to his feet. “I’m okay. I got a little dose of a tranquilizer dart when the second guy grabbed me. It’s almost worn off.”
“Tranquilizer dart?” Aimee’s smile faded. “I don’t understand. Why did the kidnappers need a tranquilizer dart?”
He rubbed his eyes and shook his head.
But she wouldn’t let it go. “I don’t understand. These men, these kidnappers—why bring all those weapons—” She stopped, her eyes narrowing.
“Why did you need a machine gun?”
When he met her gaze, his throat spasmed, and that punishing fist tightened and twisted until his heart wanted to burst. But before he could answer, she lifted her chin.
“Okay. Let me make it easier on you. Just answer this one question for me. The question you never answered yesterday. How did you happen to show up back in Wyoming just in time to be available when William was kidnapped
?” she asked.
“What?” Matt answered automatically.
“You. Heard. Me.” A muscle ticked in her jaw and her nostrils flared. She took a step toward him, holding his gaze. “I woke up at six-thirty yesterday morning to find that my baby had been abducted from right under my nose. And then before noon you showed up.” She pressed her fingertips to her mouth for a second. “You must have been here for days, or—or weeks for all I know.”
Matt swallowed. “I flew in Tuesday night.”
She nodded shakily. “Not even two days.” She looked away, as if composing herself, and then looked at him again. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Matt, stop it. Why did you fly back here on Tuesday, and my baby was kidnapped on Wednesday? Am I supposed to believe that was a coincidence?”
“Aimee, I don’t know what you’re thinking—” He was lying again. He knew exactly what she was thinking.
What was the connection?
“Answer me.”
More snowflakes fell. The storm was almost upon them. By sheer force of will, he stopped himself from examining the sky. Aimee needed as much assurance as he could give her right now—which admittedly wasn’t much.
“I came back to Wyoming because Irina called me back. She had to stop looking for Rook.”
Aimee’s mouth fell open. “Had to stop? Oh, no. I didn’t think she would ever give up. She must be devastated.”
He nodded. “She is. But she can’t do it anymore. She’s out of money.”
A little frown appeared between her brows. “She called you last week?”
He nodded, wondering what she was thinking. She didn’t have the information he and Deke had. She knew nothing about Rook’s relationship with Novus Ordo, or the threat he’d posed to the mysterious terrorist as long as he was alive.
“These men—”
“Aimee, I don’t know either of them.”
She shook her head slowly. “They don’t have William, do they? This isn’t about my baby at all.” Her hands pressed against her chest, as if trying to stop the pain.
“Oh, dear heavens,” she gasped. “That other man—he wasn’t speaking English.”