McCall disconnected, locked his semiautomatic and shoved on night goggles as he ran, checking the roof. Oh, yeah. One busted tile. Clumsy—too clumsy for an expert—yet he’d disabled two high-tech security systems without alert, and got away while he was right here. This was a pro who’d needed to escape in a tearing hurry, who had risked it all so that he wouldn’t be seen. Which was fair enough—but something inside the story rankled. Was this some kind of crazy setup that made sense only to the perpetrator? Did he bolt because his primary target was Danny, not Beth—or was it because the specialized Glock he’d have to kill McCall with would confirm his identity as a Nighthawk?
A fading set of taillights on the southern road toward the mainland car ferry gave him the probable target. Checking the opposite direction in case of red herrings, he saw only dark emptiness. Flashing a high-beam flashlight he kept in his jacket at all times, he saw nothing hiding in the shrubs lining the road, no glint of light on metal, chrome or even plastic. So he had no choice but to go for the obvious.
He threw himself onto the Ducati and revved it up.
“Give me a helmet! You’re taking me to my son.”
McCall started. Beth was already on behind him, snatching the helmet from his hands. “We can’t risk it. Go inside!”
“Don’t waste time. He must be after Danny. I’m not waiting here for more of his men to get me—and you can’t bring my son back to me on your own. Even you can’t pull off miracles. You need help.” She pulled on the helmet and moved against him, into riding position. “I don’t care who you work for anymore—you can get me to Danny, and that’s all I want.”
McCall tamped down his impatience. He understood her need, but he’d blow this case wide open if only he could see the face of the person in that car. “They went in the opposite direction of the Richards’ house. Danny’s safe for now, Beth—”
“What kind of spy are you, McCall?” she yelled, crushing his ribs in her tight grip. “You think he disabled a security system and broke in alone, in silence? If they were smart, they took two cars, one for distraction while the other takes Danny!”
“Yeah, they probably did, and if they’re smart, they’ll follow us there. Think, Beth! If someone is waiting in a secondary car, we could lead him straight to Danny, and they could outnumber us ten to one. Danny’s safer without us there.”
“What if they followed Donna and Ken earlier, right to the house?” she cried fiercely.
Damn, she was smart. “I’ll cover it. I’ll move my people in to secure the Richards’ house, and they’ll call the local cops to help. Trust me, I’ll make sure he’s safe.”
“Fine,” she growled, the wounded mother lioness wanting to protect her cub. “But you can’t guarantee he’s not already in that car. I’m coming with you. Just go!” she snapped, wrapping her arms around him, molding her legs to his butt and thighs. Snuggling against him as she’d done in the kitchen, when she’d had her eager hands on his half-naked body—
Stuff it in a sock, McCall. Danny could be in that car!
He took off after the disappearing car, knowing he had to go this way first. But if Danny wasn’t in it, he somehow had to get back to the Richards’ house or send backup, stat. As he revved the engine harder, he yelled, “Can you grab the left handlebar? I need to ensure backup is following orders.”
Her breasts flattened against his back as she stretched, making small cries of frustration until she gripped it. “I can’t hold it for long,” she cried.
He hit the button on the two-way in his jacket pocket, pulled out the attached earpiece and shoved it in his ear to receive. “Nighthawks in Project Falcon, this is Commander One calling for immediate assistance. Wildman and Braveheart to 34 Post Road ASAP with all protective measures, including police. Target’s son is to be protected at all costs. Child’s name Danny. If approach necessary, tell him Brendan sent you. Panther and Heidi, head to subject’s house to secure and collect evidence. Subject is with me, tailing suspect heading south on the road to car ferry.”
Within seconds all operatives responded in the affirmative, and the directional device proved that each operative was in his or her proper place. None of the four of them could be the rogue, then…they couldn’t have gone so far in five minutes.
He couldn’t vouch for Beth’s house remaining unmolested; but right now, Danny was all that counted—and finding the bastard who could terrorize an innocent woman but didn’t dare face him.
But he wasn’t so focused that he couldn’t still feel Beth’s arms holding him, her body curving into his back, butt and thighs like a lover’s urgent caress—the starving-woman-on-fire caress she’d given him minutes before—and it shoveled testosterone on adrenaline like raw fuel tossed on an exploding fire.
He took the handlebar again and kicked up the accelerator to one-forty, letting it scream over the winding back road. Loving the speed, and the feel of Beth holding him so close, he could hardly breathe.
He leaned far out, angling his knees to compensate for bends like a motorcycle racer, but without padding, his jeans tore and his knees ripped and bled before the third bend. Didn’t matter; he had Beth safe, and they’d catch up to this jerk. Close, closer—while the car before them screeched and swerved in the darkness and the night wind roared in his ears and froze his face.
McCall’s heart thundered and his eyes burned, but for once it wasn’t the thrill of the chase, or fulfilling objectives given by headquarters. This time he was totally involved, and he’d make roadkill of himself before he’d stop now. Good people were dying because of this filth, and Beth and Danny Silver deserved to have a happy life—hell, they deserved a life, a life free of the man who only wanted revenge, and an heir for his illegal empire.
They roared through the back roads toward the township. “Ferry’s a few miles ahead,” Beth yelled in his ear.
The only straight stretch of road came ahead. He blasted the guts out of the engine, came up behind the car and screeched around it until they rode alongside the back door of the sedan.
“Use this,” he yelled, passing the flashlight to her.
The car careened toward them, and he swerved. Beth screamed, losing balance; the flashlight flew out of her hand and smashed on the road. He had to fall back. He’d take the risk with his life, but never with Beth’s. Unlike him, she was worth something.
He tailgated the car, awaiting a chance.
A minute later, the twinkling lights of the car ferry terminal came into view, at the end of the gently descending road. The ferry was waiting on the north side of the water.
He had to try again. Revving the bike until the engine whined in protest, he flew south, ready to pass the turbo sedan.
“We’ll have five seconds to do this,” he shouted. “Check the car out as fast as you can.” With that he roared around, revving the Ducati so that they’d pass the car before the driver could smash into them again.
Though they were doing one-forty, it felt as if they were inching up beside the car. Combined with the weaving he had to do to avoid the bashing attack of the big hard sedan, it felt surreal, as if he’d gone into another world, a movie set in slow-mo. But finally they drew level with the car. “Look fast!”
“I can’t see him!” Beth screamed.
There was only one “him” she was interested in, and may Anson shoot him later for it, but McCall didn’t even bother to look at the driver. “One occupant only, and Danny won’t be in the trunk. Falcone wouldn’t stand for such treatment of his son.”
He felt Beth’s body sag against his in relief. “I want to go to him,” she screamed. “Please. I need to know my baby’s safe.”
A week ago, his answer would be a clear-cut no way. A week ago, he’d been a Nighthawk through and through, first and last, one hundred percent focused on IDing the perp in the car.
Now he felt torn. This renegade had taken Nighthawk lives and stolen their memories. He or she was aiding Falcone in his quest for domination of the illegal-arms world, but
all McCall could see in his vision was a thin, sweet little face, with a smile like the sun and hands that trembled when he was scared…
There are operatives there in place, ready to protect Danny—
Wildman and Braveheart were the best operatives he knew, but they were big and dark and intense. Danny didn’t know them, and he was so easily intimidated, because he was a little boy, only six, and he didn’t have a dad to show him the way to be a man.
“Let’s go!” As the car almost smashed into them again, McCall turned the bike and roared toward the Richards’ house with only the briefest glance at the driver—a tall, blond—female?
Angel? He couldn’t confirm ID. But he had a description for Anson, and right now, he had two living subjects for protection.
Racing through the night on an amazing machine he wouldn’t have dreamed of touching as a kid, with the woman his dreams were made of, the career that had been everything to him a few months ago didn’t amount to a hill of beans. Nothing seemed to mean anything compared to the woman clinging to him now, and the little kid they raced to find.
Chapter 11
T hey made it back to the Richards’ house in a time that would make an Indy 500 record.
Not a moment too soon. Beth cried out as they turned into Post Road and saw the lights blazing at 34, the flashing lights outside of police cars. “What’s happened to my baby?”
The headlights of one police car lit the night beyond the house, to the trees and scrub on the loamy ground of the vacant land next to the house, giving an eerie glow to the scene.
“Danny! Danny!” Beth cried.
He pulled the Ducati up in a swirl of wet grass outside the house. Beth was off the bike before he’d booted the kickstand into place, helmet tossed into the grass and running for the door. McCall was only a heartbeat behind her.
“I’m Danny Silver’s mother,” Beth said through gritted teeth when one police officer tried to bar the way inside the house. “Let me by. I want to see my son. Now.” Her tone would have frozen fire.
“Let her in, Officer.” McCall flipped his ID, showing his government clearance. Beth pushed past the cop into the house.
“Danny! Oh, baby, thank God!” she cried a moment later, racing down the hall. McCall let out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Danny was all right….
A quick glance inside the living room told the story. A white-faced, pajama-clad Danny sat on Donna Richards’ lap on a wing chair beside the fire, obviously traumatized. He was trying to shrink back from the towering presence of the cops, Wildman and Braveheart, his face filled with terror. Ken Richards held a gently snoring Ethan in his arms. Wildman and Braveheart wore gentle, reassuring smiles on their faces, but at six-two and six-five, and solid walls of muscle, they were seriously scary to a little kid, especially with their taut, protective stances, legs splayed and arms folded.
“M-Mummy…?” Danny looked around, bewildered, his eyes, hollow with tiredness, also held a sleepy fear, as if he was unsure he was sleeping or awake.
“Danny!” Beth cried, running to him, falling to her knees beside the rocking chair. “Oh, baby, I’ve been so worried about you! All these strangers with guns must have made you so scared…”
She reached out to him; but Danny, his eyes wild, his thin body shaking, turned his face into Donna’s shoulder.
Beth turned to McCall, her face pleading for help.
Donna, looking distressed, said softly, “Danny, it’s your mummy. Don’t you want to go to her?”
But Danny shook even more. His hand pointed backward, right behind Beth, where the big, strange men all stood around the room like avenging furies. They might not be showing it, but they were all packing weapons, and sensitive Danny felt the haunting aura of unseen danger that the Nighthawks always brought with them.
The miracle was, Danny didn’t feel any danger with him, the most dangerous Nighthawk on record…
McCall squatted beside Beth. “He’s in shock,” he whispered. “Don’t push him now. He’s been scared badly, and you weren’t here when it happened to him. Donna’s his security right now. He needs calm and quiet, and a lot of reassurance.”
Beth nodded, shaking as much as Danny, her lovely face ghostlike, her pupils dilated. “I don’t think I can do that. Help me, Brendan,” she whispered back.
That was all the green light he needed. With a quick motion that sent all the cops and Nighthawks half a dozen steps back toward the hall, he concentrated on the shaking boy before him. “Hey, Danny-boy.” Speaking in gentle reassurance, making no move to touch him. “It’s Brendan, pal. How’re you doing?”
No move. Danny didn’t speak.
“What’s going on here, huh? Is all this fuss for you? Why are all these big, rough, tough guys hangin’ out with a little guy? They hear about your skills in two codes of football?”
After a long moment, the tiniest chuckle came, sounding more like a hiccup.
“I’m feeling threatened here, tough guy. I thought I was your special football friend. Did you find new guys to play with?”
“N-no…” A pair of dark brown eyes peeped around, half-terrified still, but with a tiny twinkle, too.
McCall grinned and wiped his forehead in overdone relief. “Well, that’s good to know. Does that mean we’re on for some more games soon, if your mom lets me?”
With a frozen beginning of a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth, Danny nodded. “Her name is Mummy. You say it funny.”
“Yeah, I do. Maybe because I haven’t had a mom—um, a mummy, to practice on, for a really long time.” He smiled at Danny with a tenderness he’d never known or felt in his stark life. “I wish I had a mom—mummy like yours. Mothers are very special people, you know. And I think yours really needs a hug right now.”
Danny blinked at him, obviously not yet ready to leave the security of Donna’s lap. “You don’t have a mummy?” He sounded shocked, and more than willing to think of something aside from the recent terror he’d endured.
Solemnly, McCall shook his head. “My mom took my sister Meg and left me with my dad when I was eight, and my dad died when I was fourteen. That’s how I know how lucky you are to have a mummy like yours. To have a family that loves you so much.”
Danny’s gaze switched to Beth, who was making a valiant effort to stem her tears, swiping at them with her sweater sleeve. “Mummy?”
Beth smiled at him. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m right here with you. You’re safe now.”
Danny frowned and bit his lip. “Brendan’s mummy ran away and left him all alone when he was just a little kid.”
“I would never leave you, Danny.” She reached out, tentative and slow, and touched his face in a gentle caress.
Danny rubbed his face against Beth’s hand, in a gesture of total security. “I know, Mummy. But Brendan’s all alone. He’s real nice, and he plays good games with me,” he added in sweet earnest as he hopped off Donna’s lap at last and snuggled into his mother’s arms, his head on her breast.
Beth blinked, slow and unsteady. A gentle flush mounted her cheek. “Yes, Danny.” She snuggled his head beneath her chin. She looked up and met McCall’s gaze. “He is nice.”
Nice. A damn stupid understatement in most things, yet when Beth agreed with Danny’s assessment of him, more of that thick, black ice around his heart sloughed off. For the life of him, he couldn’t make his throat work. He stayed frozen on his haunches. The man trained to go in with both guns blazing, the man named The Untouchable and The Ice Man, couldn’t move or say a word as he watched the two people he’d been assigned to protect calling him nice, completely stunned, utterly speechless.
Danny smiled up at his mother, sweet and trusting. “You like him, don’t you, Mummy? So do I. So can we ’dopt him?”
Now he couldn’t breathe. With every word he spoke, little Danny Silver rocked McCall’s entire world.
Choking sounds came from behind him, sounds of amused disbelief from men he’d worked with for years. They
only knew the dark, silent “Ice Man” who was always on call, always ready to fight, and rarely joined in any camaraderie on the job.
Which he had been; the job was him, defined him. Until this assignment he’d wrapped himself in isolation like a cloak, accepting that he’d always be alone. Flipper, Commander of Team One, was a complete career man who didn’t need anyone.
Out of the mouths of babes. Shy, stammering Danny Silver had seen straight through the walls he’d used as a shield to hide his loneliness since he was eight, watching his mommy walk out on him without a backward glance. Danny had seen beneath the withdrawn darkness of Team Commander McCall to the unhealed heart of little Brendan, needing love, aching not to be alone anymore.
After all these years walking through the wind-blasted darkness of his isolated world, he thought he’d given up hope on finding love, or a normal life. Danny had shown him that the wound had only festered with time, not healed. Mom had abandoned him, taken Meg and never returned. Delia left him the same night he’d proposed to her and she’d never called or come to him.
Love was a delusion, a myth only idiots believed would last. So he left the women he’d bedded before he could remember their names. Why hang around for the heartache?
After a silence in which Beth seemed as shell-shocked as he did, she answered her son. “You can’t adopt grown-ups, Danny.” She kissed his spiky shock of dark hair. “Brendan’s a man, sweetie, and he’s older than me. I can’t adopt him.”
“But—but that’s not fair!”
“I know, sweetie.” She kissed his forehead. “The world isn’t always fair, and good people sometimes don’t have people to love them.” Her gaze met McCall’s, and clung.
With a tiny smile, Donna Richards made a motion with her hand. The room emptied in silence; the door closed behind them.
“But everybody needs a family.” After a frowning moment, Danny launched out of Beth’s arms and into McCall’s lap, snuggling in as if he belonged there. “Do you live all alone, Brendan? Have you been all alone since your dad died?”
Dangerous Illusion Page 11