Hot SEAL, Midnight Magic (SEALs In Paradise)

by Teresa J. Reasor

  With adrenaline still surging through his system, Gage didn’t even think about the Glock the guy poked against his ribs. “There’s no warrant out for my arrest. I haven’t done anything to be arrested for. Not even a parking ticket. And you never identified yourselves as police officers. And besides, I know Mason Blanchard sent you, so you can cut the fucking crap.”

  Harrison shot a look over his shoulder at his partner.

  Gage looked directly at Isaacs when he continued pointing his Glock at him. “Blanchard’s father died this morning, and he got a copy of the will today. Came into his sister’s office and threatened to end her. Marc Blanchard left her everything.”

  Harrison drove two blocks more, then turned to the left. They seemed to be circling for some reason.

  “While you’re driving around in circles, taking up time and trumping up charges, Mason’s probably found a way inside Promises and is hurting Mia. He was angry enough today to kill her if he hadn’t had witnesses.”

  Harrison turned left again to find the road blocked by a costumed party crowd. They were close to Bourbon Street, and the party had spread to the surrounding restaurants. The car crept forward.

  Gage kept talking, hoping to get through to them. “Did he call you on his own phone? The first phone number they’re going to see on his phone is one of yours…he’d never have thought to use a burner to cover his tracks. They’re going to think he hired you two to do the job. Maybe that’s what he’ll testify to during the trial.”

  “Shut up,” Isaac said and tried to hit him in the head with the butt of the gun. Though his hands were zip-tied behind him Gage dodged the blow, but the detective managed to hit his shoulder. Pain radiated down his arm and he gritted his teeth against it. He supposed he deserved at least that after breaking the guy’s nose.

  “Be smart. Let me out, drive away, and wash your hands of the whole thing. I’ll take care of Mason. Hell, help me save Mia, and maybe she’ll reward you with enough money that you’ll still have a life after IAD comes down on you.”

  Harrison pulled into an alley and stopped the car. The older detective seemed to be the brains and the leader of the pair. Gage hoped he would do the right thing.

  Unless they were going to kill him. That was also a possibility. But he wasn’t going down without a fight. He’d take what evidence he could with him, so investigators would trace his death back to them.

  Harrison turned to speak over his shoulder. “He just asked us to keep you out of the way so he could reason with his sister without your interference.”

  “And you believed him?” If he did, he wasn’t much of a detective. Mason wouldn’t bother reasoning with her. He was ripe for physical retaliation.

  Fear for her racketed around in his head but he breathed through it. “If he kills her, you’ll be charged as accessories because of that phone call.” Surely they understood that. “I’m reporting to you both that he’s a threat to her. You have to do something.”

  Gage glanced at Isaacs. His eyes were starting to turn black. And he needed medical attention.

  “We need to have a conversation,” Harrison announced, and climbed out of the car.

  “Don’t even think about moving,” Isaac warned before he climbed out and shut the door. The two detectives moved up the alley about ten feet but never took their eyes off him.

  Gage leaned forward, pulled against the zip ties as hard as he could, and brought his hands down hard against his ass, once, then twice. The zip ties snapped, and he dropped them behind him. The two detectives started back to the car.

  The street party had caught up to them and the loud crowd trooped past the alley, their revelry fueled, he was sure, by lots of alcohol.

  Gage hooked one hand through the car door handle but kept the other behind his back. Harrison opened his door at the same moment Gage shoved his open, rolled out of the car, and, keeping low, ran as fast as he could for the end of the alley and the partying crowd.

  A bullet pinged off the asphalt at his heels. He dodged into the crowd. The last glimpse he had of the detectives as he let the partying crowd carry him down the street, was of the two standing, guns drawn, unable to fire.

  *

  Who did Mason pay off to do away with her building security? One of the guards? One of her employees? Or had he done something to the guards? The last thought concerned her. What if they were knocked out and tied up somewhere?

  She twisted in Mason’s grip and tried to break free. He grabbed her by the hair and knocked her head against the wall with enough force to make her yelp in pain.

  If he’d knocked her head against a support beam it would have killed her.

  “Stay still and I won’t hurt you.”

  He already had. And he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. Right now he was the cold bastard he turned into in her office earlier today. And this one scared her more than the hot-tempered screamer.

  Her head and neck throbbed. “What do you want?”

  “We’re going to talk about that in a few minutes, once we’re downstairs.”

  He shoved her forward into the elevator, used her keycard to unlock the elevator and pushed the down button for the first floor.

  As soon as the doors opened, he dragged her out of the elevator by her hair and one arm, and then through the gift shop and into the common area. She stumbled and nearly fell and cried out as his grip on her hair tightened and he dragged her back to her feet.

  He stopped at the main aisle that ran the length of the building. A chair from the café sat in the center of the aisle. Beside it set a large canvas bag and what looked like a six-pack of beer.

  He shoved her down in the chair and released her. She jumped up and ran, panic giving her wings. If she could get to the restrooms, she could lock herself in.

  He grabbed the back of her shirt and she screamed, “No.” She whirled around and slapped him as hard as she could. He slapped her back, the momentum of the blow driving her back. She landed hard with her arm beneath her and lay stunned. Blood like iron tainted her mouth. Though the immediate impact of the blow burned, her cheek soon went numb.

  Mason grabbed her wrist, jerked her to her feet, and shook her—hard. “I’ll use my fist next time.”

  She didn’t have a hope of fighting him off. He was too big and too strong. She’d have to cooperate until she could find a way to get away from him. And she would. Somehow.

  *

  All the training he had, and they never once told him how to keep his cool when he thought someone he loved was in danger or being hurt. His teammates were at risk when they were on a mission, but they were trained and armed. And they had each other to watch their backs.

  Mia knew how to fight with words but didn’t have the physical strength to defend herself against a man of Mason’s size.

  But her will was strong, and she’d be using those words to try and reason with him.

  But there were two hundred and fifty million reasons for him to not be reasonable…

  Mason was hurting her. Gage knew it. If he killed her, he’d get nothing. But he and his mother were experts at hurting her.

  Please, God, let her still be alive.

  He allowed the crowd to carry him down the block, pushing ahead of them when he could. The people were packed in, shoulder to shoulder, and the stink of alcohol, perfume and body odor mingled with the smells of car exhaust and food.

  He finally fought free, cut down a side street, and was caught up in the foot traffic for the hotels and clubs farther away from the French Quarter, though the decorative lights flashed, garish and overbright, just like in the quarter.

  It seemed the whole city was in costume and out in full force. A guy in a skeleton mask pedaled by on a bicycle to prove it.

  Gage needed a phone and a ride. He looked for street signs that he might recognize to get his bearings. When he found Basin Street, he started running full tilt. He was only about a mile from Promises. He could do that in five minutes.

  *


  Mia’s head pounded and her cheek was already swelling. Mason paced back and forth like a caged tiger. She hadn’t seen him wearing exercise gear since he was in high school, but his black nylon jogging pants, hoodie, and gloves didn’t quite give him the sinister look he was aiming for.

  His hair cut was too expensive, his features too patrician, but the cold, emotionless gleam in his eyes made her believe he had distanced himself one too many times. Had he been born this way? Or did Camille mold him into what he’d become?

  He’d secured her hands and feet to the chair with zip ties, and every time she even tried to adjust and get comfortable, they bit into her flesh.

  “Once the will is probated, Mia, you’re going to give me half of everything.”

  “I can’t do that, Mason. The money is set up in a trust to be spent as our father designated. I can’t go against the will. I can give you what he left me outright, but I can’t touch the trust.”

  “There’s always a way around things like that.”

  “Father set up a board of trustees. I have to submit expenditures and detailed plans for each project, and they have to okay them before they go through.” She closed her eyes against the glare of the security light overhead, which was making her headache worse. “I know you want to hear something else, but you read the will, the same as I did. I’m the executor for those personal things he left people. But the big money will be used to benefit humanity as a whole. He set up a board to keep this very thing from happening.”

  “I need that money, Mia. I want that money, and I’m going to have it, or I’m going to kill you to get it.”

  The announcement didn’t really make much of an impression. She’d been expecting it. “Even if you kill me, you won’t get it. My will leaves the trust in place as is—under the control of the board—and the money I have goes to a children’s cancer hospital.”

  She craned her neck to look up at him. “Why do you need the money so badly?”

  “Camille is running the company into the ground. I’ve been slowly separating our interests, but she continues to choose risky projects that won’t generate a profit for several years.”

  “I’ve earned the right to my own company, my own money.” His eyes grew distant and his skin flushed. “I’ve put up with that bitch for thirty-six years, day in and day out, while you walked away. You’re going to give me what I want.”

  “Like I said before, I can give you the money father left me, but the two hundred and fifty million is locked away from us both.”

  “Ten million isn’t enough.”

  “It’s all there is, Mason. You kill me, you get nothing.”

  “If I kill you, I can fight in court for the rest.”

  “Henry Thorpe structured the will. He knew exactly what he was doing. You won’t get anything if you kill me. I’m trying to compromise with you.”

  “I’ll have Gage Fontenot killed if you don’t sign everything over to me.”

  She’d known he was the driving force behind Gage being taken.

  Tears rushed up, and she closed her eyes against them. “You know I love him. How will killing someone I love get you what you want, Mason?”

  “It won’t, but you won’t have what you want either.” He opened his phone and pushed a button. It rang a moment. “Do it.” He listened for a moment, then shut the phone.

  The look on his face was lethal. He bent and unzipped the bag he brought with him and took out several strips of fabric. Next he unscrewed the lids of each of the beer bottles and tucked the strips down in the top of each bottle. The strong smell of gasoline and oil assaulted her, and she caught her breath. He used a box cutter to cut a piece of duct tape to seal the top of the bottle where the wick trailed out.

  “Gage Fontenot will never have what he wants, either.” He picked up one of the bottles and walked down the aisle to the bookstore, where he lit the wick and pitched the bottle like he was playing baseball. The sound of broken glass and the whoosh of the flames reached her while she struggled against the straps binding her to the chair and felt the grinding bite of the plastic on her ankles and wrists.

  Mason sauntered back for another bottle. “Before you die, Mia, you’re going to know what it is to lose everything that matters, too.”

  *

  Gage slowed to a jog as he closed in on Promises.

  The detectives might have circled back around and could be lying in wait for him. He sensed that Harrison had taken stock of the situation and was trying to convince Isaacs to turn him loose. Maybe Isaacs would have been more open to that if Gage hadn’t broken his nose.

  His wallet and phone were in the detective’s car, probably dumped by now, his keys along with them. But he only locked the doorknob when they left the apartment. Being in a rush, he hadn’t thrown the deadbolt, so he’d be able to break in. He scanned the alley again.

  Smoke carried on the breeze and blended with the nauseating smell of the garbage in a dumpster fifteen feet away.

  He paused in the shadow of the building diagonal to the apartment. The smell of smoke was stronger. He sprinted across the street to the stairs. Wisps of smoke drifted out over the edge of the loading bay.

  Oh, shit! Gage tossed caution aside and bounded up the stairs, where he gripped the doorknob and tried to turn it. Locked.

  He backed away from the door and kicked it. The knob gave, and the door swung open to reveal smoke hanging like fog in the room. The coffee table lay sideways against the couch, and the fancy bowl Mia kept on it was broken. Gage picked her phone up off the floor to find the screen was broken, but it opened to the password screen when he pushed the button. He typed in Mia’s password and hit 9-1-1.

  “This is Gage Fontenot. We have a fire at Promises on James Street. I need police, an ambulance and the fire department ASAP.”

  He searched through the apartment while he made the call. She wasn’t here. She had to be downstairs. He went into the bedroom and saw the door to her escape hatch cracked. He opened it and stepped out on the landing. The smoke was thicker in the stairwell. He started down. The next door led into Mia’s office bathroom. He rushed into the office to find the phone off the hook and the door partially open.

  He went to the fire alarm on the wall and pulled it. Nothing happened.

  The heat reached into the room before he ever walked out onto the second floor. From the landing he saw the smoke and fire undulating up the back wall of the bookstore and Lottie’s Café. Gage looked down over the railing into hell.

  Mia was tied to a chair in the center of it.

  *

  She was in hell. The heat from the fire was getting so close it felt like her skin was blistering. She could barely draw a breath. Fire surrounded her and was spreading quickly.

  Mason only had one more bottle left, and she had never felt more afraid. Was he saving it for her? Dear God, let her be gone before he used it on her. She leaned forward to cough and turned her face toward her shoulder to try and block some of the smoke, but with her hands tied to the back of the chair, it did no good. Her throat and chest hurt. Her eyes were streaming tears, and her nose was running.

  Mason came back for the last bottle, now wearing the pressurized oxygen tank and mask he’d retrieved from the bag. Where he’d gotten the equipment, she couldn’t begin to guess.

  He flipped up the mask. “I have to go, sis. I’m sure you understand.” He picked up the last bottle of fluid and, like a snake, she watched, mesmerized, while he flicked the long-stemmed lighter on and brought it close to the fabric.

  Standing above, Gage noticed a narrow path clear enough to reach Mia.

  He ran down the stairs, but when he got to the bottom the fire had already reached the carpet.

  But an eight-foot drop at one side looked clear.

  He climbed over and dropped down. The fire licked at his T-shirt and he jerked away. The heat was unbelievable, his skin seemed to shrink from it, and his face burned.

  Skirting around the blaze, he followed the narrow tra
il he’d seen from above and wormed his way around to the main aisle. The path brought him out to one side of where Mia was tied to the chair. Her face was glazed with tears and other fluids the smoke had triggered. He struggled not to cough.

  “I don’t know if this will be quick or not. They say that smoke inhalation gets you before the fire does, but I’m not content to leave it at that. I have to be certain you’re dead before I walk out that door, Mia.” Mason shouted above the roar of the fire.

  Gage picked up a wooden sculpture of a goose in flight much like the one Mason destroyed.

  Mason lit the cloth wick and walked a few feet away.

  “Hey, Mason?” he shouted.

  Mason turned, gaping.

  Gage threw the goose at him. Mason raised a hand to shield his face and the wooden piece hit his elbow and ricocheted off. He yelped in pain.

  Fire gobbled its way up the cloth wick, burning his hand, and he dropped the bottle. It hit one of the display cabinets and shattered. The gas and oil mixture splattered his pants and shoes. The fire ignited with a whoosh, and his nylon pants burst into flame.

  Mason screamed and started beating at his clothes while they melted onto his skin. He dropped to the floor and started rolling, frantic to put out the flames.

  Gage ignored everything but Mia as he rushed to get her. Every breath she drew was followed by a choking cough. He stripped off his T-shirt and tied it around her face to block some of the smoke. Seeing that the zip ties had dug deep furrows into her ankles and wrists, he searched the bag next to her. Finding the box cutter, he cut off the zip ties’ locking mechanisms and peeled the straps away.

  He lifted her in his arms and ran toward the front entrance, skirting past Mason, who now lay in a heap in the center of the aisle.

  As he backed against the door to open it, a column of fire spiraled up to the second floor, next to the stairs. Just as Mia predicted.