The Stolen Girl

by Linsey Lanier

  Axel didn’t flinch. His gun pointed at the other man’s head, he sneered. “It was too much for you, Draco. This was your mistake.”

  “I don’t think so.” Draco sneered back. “What did you do with the kid, Axel?”

  “She’s my daughter. I wasn’t going to let you blow her up.”

  A shockwave rippled through Miranda, almost as powerful as that explosion. It was true. Imogen was supposed to have been left at the plane wreckage site. And it sounded like Axel was supposed to have put her there. But he’d changed his mind.

  “You disobeyed a direct order,” Draco barked.

  “We’ll see what Savko has to say about that,” Axel said.

  Savko. Group 141.

  “Savko put me in charge. It’s my call. He said so. You’ve betrayed the organization.”

  Organization. There was an organization. Sloan’s hunch had been right.

  “The organization asked too much this time.”

  “The organization never asks too much.” Draco sounded agitated as he spat out the words. “You never say no to the organization. I’m sick of your sniveling and complaining.”

  A siren sounded in the distance. About time.

  Axel cocked his head and grinned. Hear that, Draco? “The cops are coming. You’re going down for this. We’re all going down.”

  “Like hell. I’ve got protection.”

  “I don’t think so. Not this time.”

  “Think again. But that’s more than I can say for you. You’ve had this coming for a long while.”

  He raised his gun and aimed for Axel’s head. Instinctively, Miranda raised her own weapon and pointed it at Draco. Could she stop him in time?

  Just then a small voice came from under one of the tables in the wedding set. “Daddy?”

  Axel turned his head toward her. “Run, honey. Run.”

  A little girl dressed in pink pajamas shot out from under one of the cloth-covered tables, running like a deer, as fast as she could toward the sound stages. At the same time a blond figure appeared at the edge of the pavement below.

  It was Olivia.

  She held out her arms and hurried toward her daughter. “My baby.”

  Draco shifted his gun in the direction of mother and daughter.

  Miranda steadied her weapon, aiming for Draco’s torso.

  Axel started to lunge at him. “Don’t you dare, you asshole.”

  Draco turned back and fired at Axel, hitting him square in the chest. He fell back and onto the ground.

  Miranda fired. Her bullet hit Draco in the ribcage knocking him to the side. Another shot rang out from somewhere, and Draco’s body twisted forward as he fell to the ground.

  Miranda stepped toward the bodies, stared at them in shock as Olivia and Imogen reached the scene.

  The mystery shooter was gone. She couldn’t see anyone else through the haze.

  “Daddy.” The little girl dropped down and put her arms around her father’s neck.

  Axel patted her head with his free hand. He was still alive, but barely.

  He held his other hand over the spot where he’d been hit. His chest and hand were soaked in his own blood.

  Looking bewildered Olivia bent down next to him. “Axel, what have you done? What’s happened to you?”

  He smiled up at her. “It’s okay, Livvy. Imogen’s safe now. You’re both safe.”

  Olivia began to weep. “Why did you do this, Axel? Why did you take her from me?”

  “It wasn’t my idea. But I should have said no. I should have stopped them. I’m sorry. So sorry.” His eyes pleaded with her.

  Olivia stared at his chest. “You’re hurt. We need an ambulance.”

  “No. It’s too late for that.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know. I’ve been in too many gunfights not to.”

  He took her hand while the little girl sobbed on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I was such an asshole when we were together, Livvy. Can you forgive me? For her sake?”

  Olivia couldn’t answer. She was listening to her daughter’s cries.

  “Daddy, Daddy,” Imogen moaned. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “I’m sorry, honey. I’m going to have to leave soon.”

  “No, no.”

  “It’s okay. I’m going to a better place.”

  She lifted her head and touched his cheek with her small hand. “You are?”

  “Yes, I am. At least, I hope so. Though I sure don’t deserve it. But remember, I’ll always be watching over you from up there.” He raised a bloody hand to the sky as he drew in a wheezy breath. He was in the throes of death.

  Olivia looked down into his face. “Oh, Axel. I wish things could have been different for us.”

  “Me, too. You deserve better.” His chest moved in and out. His breath grew shallow. “Livvy?” he said with a soft raspy breath.

  “What is it, Axel?”

  “Will you do one thing for me? For our daughter?”

  “Yes. Anything.”

  “Get her a puppy.”

  And he closed his eyes and stopped breathing.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  A shout came from the bottom of the hill. A bit of smoke cleared and Miranda saw three figures hurrying up the slope.

  The first one was Wesson.

  Miranda holstered her weapon and ran down the hill, meeting the party halfway.

  “Oh, my God, Steele,” Wesson cried. “You’re alive.”

  “Barely,” she said.

  “Thank God. Thank God.” As she reached her, Wesson threw her arms around her and gave her a big hug.

  Aching from the kick Draco had given her, she stifled a groan. A hug from Wesson was something Miranda never would have believed possible before this very moment.

  Wesson peered over at the trio on the ground. Her eyes went wide. “Is that Imogen? And Livvy?”

  “Yes. You’d better go talk to her.”

  With a quick nod, she hurried off to join them. Miranda watched her rush over and go to her knees as she hugged her sister tightly.

  “Steele.” She turned around. It was Holloway. With Becker beside him.

  “You’re okay. You’re both okay.” She put her arms around the tall Marine and gave him a hearty hug, not caring that her ribs hurt. Then she did the same to Becker and added a kiss on his cheek.

  Her team hadn’t been killed. They were still here.

  “So glad to see you alive,” Becker grinned. Then he pointed toward the sound stages. “Sloan and O’Cleary are down there with the police, rounding up gang members. We got Crow.”

  “Crow? You got him?”

  Becker nodded. “Actually Janelle and Sloan did. She’ll want to tell you all about it later.”

  “That’s great.” But as happy as that made her, it wasn’t all she wanted to hear. “Where’s Parker? Have you seen him?”

  Holloway looked at Becker. Becker looked at Holloway.

  “We didn’t see him anywhere down there.”

  Miranda felt her stomach drop. Where was he? Surely he had survived the blast, if everyone else had. But he’d been the last one out from the back of that set.

  She fought down a sudden sense of panic and took charge. “We’ve got to look for him. You guys take that fake city over there. I’ll go back to the jet wreckage scene.”

  Holloway nodded. “Will do. Don’t worry, Steele. We’ll find him.”

  “Right.”

  Her heart racing, she turned away and hurried through the darkness and smoke until she reached the debris field.

  “Parker,” she called. “Parker.”

  Nothing.

  She kicked around at the mounds of dirt, then picked up a pipe and started digging through the ashes with the end of it.

  Her tears were coming now. She’d sent Holloway and Becker to the other side of the field because she wanted to be the one to look for him here. If they were going to come across his body, she wanted to be the one to find it.

  She dug har
der and coughed with the smoke and the choking tears. She turned to gaze at the sound stages below and thought of Becker’s words. Gang members had been everywhere tonight. Had Parker gone down there and faced one of them?

  If Parker were dead, what in the world would she do? How could she go on without him? He was her life. What would happen to the Agency? His legacy?

  If Parker were gone, she’d want to be dead, too.

  She dug harder, found nothing. She moved to a higher spot, dug some more. Where was he? She felt as if she were losing her mind.

  And then through the smoky haze, she saw something.

  On a mound of ash a few yards away from her stood a figure. A man.

  He was tall, dressed in a suit and double-breasted topcoat that looked very expensive. His hair was combed back in perfectly curved gray waves. Behind him in the distance was a long black limousine. Had he driven it onto the back lot from some access road behind the hills?

  But it was his face that had her frozen in place. It was furrowed with rage, dark and evil-looking.

  And yet, he looked—exactly like Parker.

  Was she hallucinating again?

  And then she saw a weapon in his hand. He raised his arm, about to fire at her.

  Sirens sounded nearby. Blue and red lights flashed against the corrugated walls of the last sound stage. Police were coming up the hill. And firemen.

  A wisp of smoke drifted between them and the man was gone, leaving her to stare after him as she reached for her holster.

  A deep shout sounded behind her. “Miranda.”

  She spun around and saw Parker coming toward her up the hill.

  At the sight of him, her heart broke in two with an unbearable stab of joy.

  She ran to him arms outstretched, but not as fast as he ran to her. An instant later, they were together on another mound of rubble. She threw her arms around him.

  He grasped her face with his hands and pressed his lips to her, hard and strong and delicious. And real.

  This wasn’t make-believe. This was the real thing.

  He was alive. Parker was alive!

  She broke the kiss and pulled away. There was blood on his lip. She wiped some of it from her mouth with her hand. “What happened?”

  His gaze drank her in like a man dying of thirst. But he replied. “After the blast, I woke and went down to the stages to find you. I found Savko instead.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Savko? He was here?”

  Parker nodded as he reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and started to wipe first her lips, then his own. “We had a conversation that didn’t go my way at first.”

  Conversation. “You got into a fistfight with him.”

  Parker managed a wry smile. “He throws a mean punch. He seems to have had formal training.”

  “Did he get away?”

  Parker shook his head. “I managed to come out on top. Then Sloan arrived and arrested him. They found several of the Savage Skulls lurking around. The FBI and the police will be processing new prisoners until early morning, I believe.”

  She let out a breath of deep relief. Thank God, he’d made it. And for once, she was thankful for Sloan. She told Parker what had happened to Draco and Axel, and that Imogen was with her mother and Wesson.

  Parker closed his eyes and exhaled. “Thank the Lord the little girl is safe at last.”

  Yes, she was safe. It was what they had come here to do. Her destiny. She thought of the angel who seemed to be her brother. More devils to fight. But no more tonight.

  Not when Parker was alive and well and standing right in front of her.

  She took his hand and pulled him to her. “Hold me again,” she murmured.

  He didn’t need any more prompting. He slipped his arms around her, pulled her to him, and put his lips to hers again.

  Her ribs protested a little, but she didn’t care. His arms were right where they belonged. His mouth moved over hers, devouring her, making her stomach flutter and her head spin. Right there on the back lot, in the middle of all the rubble and destruction, he kissed her, kissed her, kissed her, as if he’d never stop.

  And she never wanted him to. He was alive. The love of her life was alive.

  She would never let him out of her sight again.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Two days later, Miranda was on a jet—a real one this time—sitting next to Parker on her way back home to Atlanta.

  As they climbed up to cruising speed, Parker relayed to her what he’d learned from Sloan earlier that morning.

  “Savko lawyered up as soon as they got to the station the night of the blast,” Parker told her. “But Crow, as Sloan put it, squealed like a stuck pig.”

  “Imagine that.” She smiled at the vision of the green-haired punk spilling his guts to the Feds.

  “According to Crow, Imogen’s kidnapping had been ordered by Savko, but Draco was the mastermind. Draco was the one who told Crow to set up the fake bombing at Pacific Bank. Draco also told him to rig the wreckage set in the back lot to explode the way it did. Crow said Savko wanted to intimidate Thunderclap into selling the back lot to him after they refused.”

  A chill went down her spine. “A mob tactic.”

  “Yes.”

  “I guess that luncheon we spied on was a clue after all.”

  “Of sorts. Thunderclap Executives are livid and ready to sue Savko’s company. Though they have insurance to cover the damages. The destruction of the back lot set was costly.”

  “Did Sloan get anything out of Crow about the Ukrainian syndicate?”

  “Nothing about that, but he’s hoping he can get something out of Savko, once he cuts through the red tape with his lawyer.”

  Good luck with that, Miranda thought, as she let the details sink in. “I’m glad Olivia got her money back.”

  “And her daughter.”

  “Yes.”

  That night when they took Olivia home with her little girl, she couldn’t stop thanking and hugging all of them. Imogen would no doubt need some therapy after the trauma she’d been through, but she had seemed very happy to be back with her mother, although she’d caught a cold while she’d been held captive.

  Miranda sat back and watched the clouds float by the window.

  It still seemed odd that Savko had chosen the daughter of one of his own to kidnap. Though she’d heard Draco telling Axel he’d been getting out of line lately. Had this been payback? And how did the kidnapping relate to the explosion on the back lot?

  It didn’t.

  They’d barely made it this time. She thought about what Draco had said to her. This wasn’t about Imogen. It was all about them. Parker and her and the team. He’d wanted to kill them.

  But he hadn’t.

  They were all okay.

  All about them. Had the kidnapping been a ploy to lure them to that spot? One planned by people who didn’t care who else got hurt in the process?

  She wasn’t sure. But as a strange cold feeling stole over her heart, she reached for Parker’s hand.

  “Do you think someone’s after us, Parker?”

  He took a moment before he answered. “I don’t know. But it would be wise to use some extra caution for a while.”

  Caution. They were always cautious. Maybe not enough.

  But Savko was in jail. That would take care of any Ukrainian syndicate. No one would be coming after them now.

  And then she thought of the man in the topcoat she’d seen in the midst. The one who looked like Parker. He couldn’t have been real. She’d been seeing images of her nightmares come to life lately. He had to be one of them.

  How could he be real?

  Shaking off the uneasy feeling she peeked over at Holloway and Becker. Her teammates were across the aisle zonked out in their seats. Wesson had decided to stay with Olivia a few more days to get to know her niece. And to plan a quiet memorial service for Axel. They’d said goodbye to the sisters in a park where they were playing with the Golden Retriever puppy th
ey’d just picked out for Imogen.

  Her heart brimming with happiness for them, Miranda reached for her phone and scrolled through the text conversation she’d been having with Mackenzie before they took off.

  How’s it going, kid?

  Fine.

  Haven’t heard from you lately.

  Been busy.

  Me, too. How’s school?

  Fine.

  Good. Maybe we can get together and go for a run soon. Or do something else together. What do you think?

  There had been a several minute lapse before Mackenzie had answered.

  I’m going to be busy for a while. Algebra exams are coming up. Maybe in a couple of weeks.

  A couple of weeks, Miranda sighed to herself.

  She turned and saw Parker’s concerned face.

  Grimacing, she handed Parker her phone. “She’s avoiding me.”

  He read through the text and handed it back. “She’s going through a phase. Girls her age want to spend time with their friends. Not their parents.”

  He was probably right.

  “Why don’t you get some rest. It’s a long flight.”

  “Good idea.”

  But as she closed her eyes and nestled her head against Parker’s strong comforting chest, she couldn’t help feeling something was off.

  She thought of her dream of Leon and Tannenburg holding her little girl by the hands. Did Mackenzie know who her real father was?

  Once again, Miranda couldn’t tell.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Donovan Santana stood at the window of his office in Boston fingering the glass of vodka in his hand. A quiet rage simmered in his viscera as he watched the gentle snow falling to the traffic in the streets of the financial district fifty-five stories below.

  He thought of the night in LA.

  The fire bomb in the back lot of Thunderclap Studios. The sight of that magnificent blast had filled him with a satisfaction almost as great as when he’d made his first million dollars. His enemies had been vanquished. In one glorious burst of compressed energy all of them were dead.

  And then it had all gone to hell.

  Anger bursting inside him, he turned and hurled the glass of vodka against the wall.