Breakpoint

by Ross, JoAnn

  “What if we can’t get through?”

  Dallas took hold of her ice-cold hand. Squeezed. “We will.”

  And oddly, because it was him telling her that, Julianne believed him.

  “You’re supposed to be the mad scientific genius,” she complained. “Why haven’t you invented a beam-me-up machine?”

  “Sorry. I was a little preoccupied the past thirteen years fighting bad guys around the world. But I promise to move it up on my to-do list. Right after rescuing your sister from whatever mess she’s in. And making sure Lieutenants Murphy and Manning receive the justice that’s due them.”

  “I hate leaving Ramsey behind, strutting around the bridge of the O’Halloran like the king of the world on that Tiger Cruise.”

  “It’s not like he’s a flight risk. He’s not getting off until they reach San Diego. By then we’ll have Merry back in the arms of her loving Marine and we can nab him when he gets off the boat. Besides, the more I think about it, my money’s more on the CDO committing the murders than the captain,” Dallas said.

  “Why?”

  “Because, getting back to where we were at the beginning, if Ramsey is the father, there was no point in his risking killing Mav. Because she didn’t intend to have the baby. Once she had the abortion, even if her roommate did blab, which she didn’t seem the type to do, they both could’ve denied it.”

  “Because both were ambitious.” Julianne followed his line of thought. “Each of them had too much to risk facing an adultery court-martial.”

  “Exactly.”

  “They also would’ve known that about each other. Even if it was mostly hookup sex, from what we’ve heard, she would’ve been more than willing to use his influence on her own climb up the ladder. So they probably shared some pillow talk about goals after the cruise. Which means he would’ve known she wasn’t any threat to his career plans.”

  “So why risk murder?” Dallas asked.

  “Perhaps the captain was afraid she’d change her mind, once the time actually came for the abortion, and he was going to get stuck with her.”

  “She doesn’t sound the type.”

  “No. Like the roommate said, I think Mav was all about Mav. But why kidnap Merry?”

  “You’ve got me,” he admitted. “But if things have gotten out of control, which the murder of the LSO suggests they have, then it’s possible someone got the not-so-great idea to try to use her as a bargaining chip.”

  “Thinking we’d agree to drop the investigation in exchange for her freedom?”

  “Would you do that?”

  “Only long enough to get her away safely. Then I’d want to kill them. Slowly. Painfully.”

  She wouldn’t really do that, Julianne assured herself.

  Would she?

  She also realized that whoever had Merry would have already considered that. Which meant they were being led into a trap.

  “So, tell me how the Uniform Code of Military Justice works,” Dallas was saying as she was considering the very real probability that even if she and Dallas were to agree to drop the investigation and sign off on a suicide, they’d probably be killed as well. Because it’d be too dangerous to leave them alive, able to screw up the master plan. Or even show up with a blackmail scheme down the road.

  Like either of them would be willing to do that.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “I’m trying to sort out the logistics. Would it be possible to assign Ramsey and Wright to quarters once the ship docks? Just in case whichever one of them did the killings doesn’t go wacko on us and decide to run?”

  Julianne was deep into an explanation of the specifics of arrest in quarters, Navy NPJ regulations, and other aspects of the UCMJ, when something occurred to her.

  “I just realized what you’re doing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’ve got me talking to try to keep my mind off Merry.”

  Dallas didn’t deny it. “Is it working?” His eyes were warm and caring, making her feel, even as her blood continued to run cold, that she’d just been wrapped in a very soothing cashmere blanket.

  “A bit.”

  “How about this?” he suggested.

  Before she could read his intention, his head swooped down and he took her lips.

  61

  Merry had never felt so torn. It wasn’t that she was afraid, which she was. Especially since the TV the men had turned on when the first smoke started appearing was making it look as if the entire San Diego region was about to go up into flames.

  Since she couldn’t hold an entire wildfire back with a garden hose, even if her captors let her go outside, she had to concentrate on what she could control.

  Fortunately, after her third trip to the bathroom, apparently deciding that a pregnant woman the size of an elephant was no great threat, the men hadn’t bothered to tie her back up.

  Could she escape? Maybe. There were certainly enough guns in the place that, if they stayed distracted enough with their TV watching and constant telephone calls, she might be able to snatch one.

  She’d watched Tom breaking down his M16 rifle countless times. Enough that she thought that if she could get her hands on the one leaning up against the door, she might be able to use the element of surprise and blow them both away before they knew what had hit them.

  Although she’d grown up in a military family, and both her brothers and sister had followed in their father’s boot steps, Merry had honestly never believed she could take a human life under any circumstances.

  That was before she’d gotten pregnant.

  But, even if she did kill them, the fires were complicating things. Most people thought California didn’t have weather. But having experienced fires, floods, and earthquakes, and the nerve-rackingly unbearable Santa Anas, Merry knew better.

  Even if she did escape the house, she could end up in worse shape. Even if there weren’t more guards outside, she’d be jumping out of the proverbial frying pan into the all-too-real fire.

  She picked up the other side of the argument: Surely if the fire got really close, the sheriff would call for a mandatory evacuation. Then, the way she thought it worked, deputies would come door-to-door and she could somehow let them know what was happening and they’d arrest her captors.

  Or, if they didn’t get an official order, but the evacuation was called, the news stations would report it. There’d be the inevitable long lines of cars. And firefighters. Surely if she could get out of here, she’d be able to get help from someone.

  So, hoping that someone might have seen her taken away, and that the GPS Tom had insisted she get with her new phone—which her captors had taken with her purse—was turned on, Merry decided that the thing to do was to stay alert.

  But calm.

  Which was difficult with the winds rattling the two-story-high glass windows and the smoke beginning to seep beneath the door.

  She took a deep breath. Just like she’d learned in prenatal classes.

  Let it out.

  Took in another.

  Exhaled.

  Tried to focus on something pleasant. Something peaceful. Anything to get her mind even temporarily away from here.

  In her mind, she was no longer being held hostage miles from home while fires were raging around her.

  Instead, she was browsing the aisles of her favorite fabric store, stroking the bolts of silk, looking for exactly the perfect one.

  After discarding at least a dozen, she found a gorgeous flame red that was calling out to her like a siren.

  As the picture of a red sheath that would be perfect on the country’s stylish new first lady began to come together, even as a part of her stayed alert, waiting for any opportunity to escape, Merry had just begun to relax.

  Until a third man, whom she recognized as the driver of the car, came into the cabin.

  A heated argument began about what to do with her.

  Which was when the Chuck Norris wannabe insisted that they were running o
ut of options, and the easiest way out of this clusterfuck would be to just to kill her now.

  Then torch the house.

  62

  Despite what T. S. Eliot had written about April being the cruelest month, Julianne knew that here, in southern California, that designation could be more accurately applied to October.

  That was when the Santa Ana winds blew in from the desert, racing down canyons and through the mountains toward the coast, driving the deadly flames before them like a fiery torch.

  Some called them the devil wind—the santanas, after the Spanish name for Satan. As they raced from the naval air station in the Hummer Dallas had commandeered, Julianne couldn’t disagree.

  “It’s more than just the winds,” she said. “It’s the way they make everyone so crazy.”

  “There was a study a few years ago that found that for the ten or twelve hours preceding these kinds of winds, the air carries an unusually high ratio of positive to negative ions,” he said. “No one knows exactly why. Some scientists suggest it’s friction; others ascribe it to solar disturbances. Whatever, the positive ions are definitely there, and they cause disturbances in humans.

  “In Switzerland and Austria the winds are called foehn, and doctors always report more depression and nervousness. Some surgeons in Switzerland won’t even do elective surgery during the foehn because they say blood doesn’t clot. The one thing everyone agrees on is that an excess of positive ions does, indeed, make people unhappy.”

  “Merry’s always hated them,” Julianne said. “She’d be scared and upset today anyway. Now, with whatever’s happened to her, she must be terrified.”

  “I can’t say I blame her.”

  Belatedly, Julianne remembered his recently acquired fear of fire.

  “This can’t be a picnic for you, either,” she said.

  “Hey.” He shot her that bad-boy cocky grin she knew would still have the power to cause heat to curl inside her when she was eighty. “We Spec Ops guys live for this kind of stuff.”

  She wasn’t going to argue. Either he really meant it or, more likely, he was going to do what any true warrior would do: suck up his fear and charge into the breach.

  Knowing that Tom would never forgive her if they left him out of the rescue of his wife, Julianne had used her political and military pull to get him taken off the training mission. Fortunately, since she wasn’t certain they could have kept him from going Rambo on his own, he’d just arrived at the Marine base when they reached Oceanside.

  They’d considered using a helicopter, but the local authorities had shut down the skies to any aircraft other than those fighting the flames. And besides, there was always the problem of what to do once they landed. If they could even land with fires raging.

  “At least we know your sister’s still in the same place,” Dallas said.

  “Or her phone is,” said Julianne, who’d been studying the tracking screen since they’d landed.

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t think of that,” he said as they drove past charred land that had, from the standing chimneys and even the occasional refrigerator and rubble, appeared to have been a subdivision only hours earlier.

  As heavy as the Hummer was, a sudden gust of wind nearly blew it into the approaching lane.

  When they’d left San Diego, the waves offshore had been higher than Julianne had ever seen. Wild and dark, crashing onto shore with a vengeance.

  The closer they got to Big Bear, the more surreal things got as ash drifted down like dirty snow from a blazing red sky. There was an almost doomsday, apocalyptic feel to the scene.

  The lanes coming down the mountain were bumper-to-bumper with cars. But, according to the GPS, Merry wasn’t in any of them.

  The fire had jumped the road; the grass on each side was scorched as black as the asphalt.

  The smoke was so thick it obscured their vision, blowing into the Hummer, scorching her throat.

  “It’s like one of those end-of-the-world movies,” she murmured as she watched a fireman in a yellow jacket running down the street with two ash-covered pugs in his arms. He shoved them at a TV reporter, who was doing a stand-up, then raced back to the fire.

  “The sky reminds me of a sunset in Afghanistan. Or Iraq,” Dallas said.

  “It’s all the dust in the air,” Tom, who was seated behind him, said.

  Although he was breaking Marine regs by not having changed out of the desert cammies he’d been wearing on whatever training mission he’d been on, Julianne strongly doubted, under the circumstances, that any superior would be likely to write him up for the infraction.

  She was accustomed to seeing the adoring, openly besotted husband. The man who’d joined them on the mission was all warrior, making her think how ironic it was that two sisters who’d sworn off ever getting involved with military men would’ve each given their hearts to one.

  Something, a dog, a coyote, or maybe even a mountain lion, suddenly raced in front of them. Dallas slammed on the brakes, cursing as he nearly sent the Hummer into a skid.

  “Well, I just broke every rule of driving in the Spec Ops books,” he said over the squeal of brakes rending the smoky air.

  “I’m glad you did,” she said.“There’s going to be enough death from this. I wouldn’t want to add to the count.”

  “We’re in perfect agreement about that, Uh-oh,” he said as he saw the police van parked sideways across their side of the road. “Wait here.”

  Julianne watched as he got out and, with Tom beside him, strode toward the deputy, who’d squared his shoulders, obviously prepared for an argument.

  Which apparently didn’t happen. As Dallas showed the snazzy badge they’d both been given, and pointed up the road, Tom flashed his ID, and together they must have done an effective job of explaining their situation, because the deputy suddenly nodded, got into the van and pulled it out of their way.

  “The O’Halloran charm strikes again,” she said with open admiration when they returned to the vehicle.

  “He’s one of the good guys. Plus, it helped that he’s former Marine, so he and Tom here had that ‘Semper Fi’ thing going on,” Dallas said. “He also wanted to come along and help us, but couldn’t leave his post. But he did call the kidnapping into headquarters.”

  “Unfortunately, he also told us the road to the house where Merry’s being kept is closed,” Tom said.

  “So is this one, and that hasn’t proven a problem,” Julianne said.

  “He means really closed off,” Dallas said.

  “A bunch of trees fell and are burning,” Tom supplied. “According to the deputy, no one’s getting in.”

  “Or out.” Julianne forced the words past the painful lump in her throat. And this time, as her heart sank, the burning tears welling up in her eyes were not caused by the acrid smoke.

  63

  “Okay,” Dallas said. “I realize this looks as if we’re in deep suck. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned during thirteen years in the Spec Ops business, it’s that there’s always another way into anywhere.”

  “Like we’re going to count on the GPS at this point?” Julianne asked. “How will we know any roads it shows won’t be closed, too?”

  “We don’t. But we’re not using it.” He reached into his rucksack on the floor behind him. Pulled out a map. “I picked this up while I was getting us some additional firepower at the SD base.”

  Firepower which was in the backseat with Tom. D allas also had gotten some bulletproof armor, which all three of them were wearing, because he’d had the feeling that this wasn’t going to go down without some gunfire.

  “I hate to admit this,” she said. “But I can’t read a topo map. Well, I mean I can tell where the mountains and stuff are, but I’m not going to be any help as a navigator. And no way would I even attempt to drive this thing.”

  “I’m up for either one,” Tom volunteered.

  “No sweat,” Dallas said. He was studying the map, using a Maglite for additional illuminatio
n, since the sky was nearly midnight dark with ash and smoke. “Okay. I got it.” He started the Hummer up with a mighty roar of its engine.

  “The amazing thing is, I believe you.”

  He treated her to his best, most reassuring grin. “That’s what you’re supposed to do. Driving through a wildfire isn’t exactly a Sunday drive in the park. But it sure as hell beats dragging your battle buddy up a snowy mountainside while tangos are firing all sorts of rockets and shit down at you.”

  Julianne knew the details of that mission so well, she had no trouble imagining them. In fact, there’d been times during the investigation when the battles the men on that mountain had faced had forced their way into her sleep.

  “The street signs are melting,” she said with a combination of awe and horror.

  “Doesn’t matter.” He turned off the road and took off across a scorched piece of ground he guessed only yesterday had probably been a mountain meadow. “We don’t need no stinkin’ roads.

  “Meanwhile, why don’t you and Tom get out the firepower. Because your sister doesn’t know it yet, but the cavalry’s ETA is about two minutes and thirty seconds.”

  When she first heard the roar of the engine, Merry feared that her kidnappers’ reinforcements had arrived.

  They’d heard it, too, stopping their argument about whether to hold her as a hostage or kill her.

  Their reaction was one of the first reassuring things to happen that day.

  “Shit,” the first guy said.

  “We’re fucked,” the other one seconded.

  So fucked, Merry thought.

  Because she had no idea whether Julianne had sent someone, or whether Tom had shown up to save the day, but she knew, without any doubt, that her rescue was at hand.

  Not that she had any intention of hanging around to let these bastards grab her and use her as a human shield while they got away.

  While they ran around gathering up all their guns, turning the already smoke-filled air blue with their curses, she took advantage of their distraction and edged toward the door.