by Terri Reed
In response, the man roughly grasped her upper arm and yanked her out of the room. He then dragged her down the narrow hall. They entered what appeared to be a dining hall. Four tables with benches sat in the middle of the room. Meghan’s stomach rumbled at the smell of greasy food.
Another man sat at one end of the farthest table, eating a hamburger purchased from a popular fast-food joint. He had a narrow face and dull gray eyes that studied her as if she were a tasty dessert to his dinner out of a bag. She flinched, wanting nothing more than to hide from his greasy, probing gaze.
“You’ve cost me time and money,” he said in a heavy guttural accent. “I don’t like when people cost me time and money. Especially a woman.”
This must be the man Mr. Sharp was so afraid of. The man Christina called Roman. He had soulless eyes and angular features that bordered on ugly. He made a twirling motion with his index finger, which Meghan interpreted meant he wanted her to turn around.
Indignation warred with fear until she thought she might explode. She wasn’t going to put on a show.
“Who are you?” she demanded, the indignation edging past the fear. If she was going to die, she was going out with a fight.
“Spirit,” Roman said through a hamburger patty, special sauce… “That will be good. Fun to break.” He said something else in a language she recognized as Russian. The other thug laughed, a raucous sound that sent a shiver of distaste down her spine.
“You have no right to hold me here. I demand you let me and the children go.”
He shook his head. “Now why would I do that when I can make money instead?”
Meghan swallowed the panic tightening her throat. “You’re making a mistake, mister. You won’t get away with this,” she said with more bravado than she felt.
“I already have.” He rose from the table, his movements fluid, making her think of a cobra rising up ready to strike.
“There’s no one to pay a ransom for me. You won’t gain anything by holding me,” she said, despairing the truth of her words. She had no family save Georgina left in this world. Ryan’s image rose. Her heart ached for him.
“Ah, you think wrongly. There are plenty of men who will pay dearly for you. Who will like nothing better than to break that spirit you so proudly display. Even if you are older than we usually offer.”
His words rammed into her with the force of a fist and a tremor of terror worked its way over her flesh.
He planned to sell her. And from the sound of it to more than one buyer.
Her worst nightmare had just come true.
* * *
Ryan’s heart pounded in his ears. He willed Gregson to drive faster. They were headed to Brooklyn. The NYPD’s Information Technology Department was using the GPS system on Meghan’s cell phone to track her movements.
Gregson’s dashboard radio chirped. He grabbed the mic. “Yeah.”
The dispatcher’s voice came across the airwaves. “The signal went dead.”
Ryan’s stomach dropped. No!
“Last location?” Gregson asked.
The dispatcher rattled off the address near the East River.
Ryan’s eyes burned. Fear choked the breath from his lungs. Meghan. She was so special. He couldn’t lose her. Clutching the door handle in a tight grip, he prayed beneath his breath.
Lord, please, let me get to her in time. If anything happens to her…
He wouldn’t go there. Nor would he acknowledge the expanding emotions in his heart clamoring for his attention. They’d only known each other a short time yet it felt like a lifetime. He’d come to know her, to care about her. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her.
I know I’ve been distant, Lord. I know I’ve questioned You and at times turned my back on You. Please forgive me. Please keep Meghan safe.
He focused on the surroundings. The sun hung low in the sky. Gulls cried overhead. The road they were on led to a shipping yard. Large metal containers dominated the real estate. Huge cargo ships, freighters and flat-bottomed barges laid anchor, waiting for their load. Smaller tugboats and fishing boats crowded in between the larger vessels.
Meghan was here somewhere. Inside a container? Or already aboard one of the boats?
Another horrible thought wormed its way to the forefront. Could she be at the bottom of the river?
No. He refused to believe it. She hadn’t been gone that long. They weren’t that far behind her. He had to find her. He would find her.
As soon as the car stopped, Ryan bolted. He didn’t know where to start but he had to do something. He surveyed the area, getting a lay of the land.
“Fitzgerald, hold up,” Gregson called. “Wait!”
Protocol dictated he wait. Normally, Ryan took the rules to heart. Rules, protocol, procedures all were in place for a reason. He understood that. And most days appreciated that fact. Was a stickler, actually.
But not today.
Not today when the life of the woman he cared about was on the line. All the rules, protocol and procedures went out the window with the proverbial bathwater.
He’d pay the price. He didn’t care. Meghan was worth whatever happened to him.
Ignoring Gregson and the line of police cars filing in behind the captain’s sedan, Ryan darted forward. His bum ankle protested. Forcing back the pain, he searched for someone, anyone he could question.
He asked a guy pushing a cart. No. Guy hadn’t seen anyone matching Meghan’s description.
Ryan saw a group of three dockworkers taking a smoking break, their cigarettes glowing red amid a cloud of smoke. The men all shook their heads.
Ryan wouldn’t give up.
To his left, a forklift operator climbed into his rig. Ryan climbed up after him and held on to the door, trapping the guy inside the enclosed cab.
“Hey, you can’t be up here,” the guy said.
Ryan flashed his badge then secured it to the front loop of his belt so it would be visible. “I’m looking for a woman.”
“Aren’t we all,” the guy retorted.
Impatience knotted Ryan’s muscles. “She’s blonde, about five-eight. She had on a white blouse.” His voice sounded tight, constricted with the worry pressing in on him. “She may have had a toddler with her.”
At mention of the toddler, the NY attitude left the longshoreman and he nodded. “Yeah, I saw ’em. She and the kid were taken onto one of the cargo ships.”
Anticipation revved Ryan’s blood. “Which one? Take me there.”
“Sure. Hang on.” The guy started the engine then shifted the gears. The big tires rolled slowly over the asphalt. The guy pointed to a midsize rusty cargo ship that barely looked seaworthy. Deflated tires rimmed the vessel to act as bumpers against the dock. “That one. That’s the one she boarded.”
“Thanks.” Ryan jumped down, a zing of pain shot up his leg. He gritted his teeth and ran for the cover of a container. Peering around the corner, he assessed the vessel, noting two guards on deck, one near the stern and one at the bow. Though he didn’t see their weapons, he had no doubt they were carrying. He took out his cell. No bars. He had no way to communicate with NYPD. He couldn’t wait for them. He needed to go now.
The bridge was empty, mostly likely the captain was belowdecks.
Ryan searched for a way on board the cargo ship.
No convenient rope hung over the starboard side; no gangway connected the vessel to the dock. In fact, the boat wasn’t even moored. It looked ready to sail.
A smoke plume from the engine funnel gave testament to his thought. Meghan. He had to get on board.
His gaze snagged on the larger freight vessel to the aft of the barge. A gangplank was being used to load freight on board.
In a low crouch, he ran for the
large vessel and raced up the gangway, eliciting curious glances from the longshoremen securing crates of melons on board. He crouched behind the railing. With caution, he peered over the side to the boat below.
A ten-foot drop. Maybe fifteen.
No big deal. He’d jumped out of a sugar maple tree much taller when he was twelve. The landing had been jarring but he’d walked away on his own two feet. He flexed his still-tender ankle and breathed in deep, feeling a slight pinch in his ribs. Okay, maybe jumping wouldn’t be the best idea, but it was the only one he had.
His gaze tripped over the cargo deck below his position.
Wait, a rope ladder hung on the port side away from the dock and dangled in the water.
His way on board.
“Thank You, God. I appreciate it,” he murmured.
From the deck of the freighter he could see NYPD spreading out, doing a grid search. He needed to alert them without alerting the bad guys.
A longshoreman stepped onto the freighter’s deck. Ryan showed his badge and pointed to the officers on the dock. “See those cops?”
The guy nodded.
“I need you to get a message to them. Them tell she’s on the black-and-red cargo ship.”
“She’s on the cargo ship,” the guy repeated.
Ryan nodded. “Go. Hurry.”
The guy quickly made his way off the freighter.
Ryan followed and then slipped into the murky water from the dock. The smell of gasoline and brine filled his head as he cut a path through the lapping waves, every stroke of his arms causing pain in his ribs but nothing he couldn’t handle.
He was careful to keep close to the vessel so he wouldn’t be seen from the cargo ship where they were keeping Meghan. He reached the rope ladder and hauled himself on board.
Water dripped from his clothing. A chill ran down his spine. He smelled like the East River or worse, the NY sewage system.
A guard patrolled the deck. The man, bald, thick-necked and barrels for biceps carried an AK-47. Heavy firepower. Ryan let out a controlled breath to calm his careening pulse. He ducked behind a group of rusted steel drums without detection.
He held his breath as the guard continued past his hiding spot. He considered his options—wait until the guard came back by and take him out, or risk making a run for the door that led belowdecks.
The longer he remained undetected, the safer Meghan and Georgina would be because NYPD would be swarming the boat any second. The sooner he got to Meghan before the bad guys realized the authorities were on to them, the better. That left one option. He risked making a run for the door.
He slipped inside unnoticed. His heart pounded in his chest. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. Cautiously he searched for Meghan. The trail of water he left in his wake couldn’t be helped. He prayed no one noticed.
Men’s voices alerted Ryan of the approaching enemy. He evaded detection by slipping inside an empty room, which looked to be the galley. He crossed to another door, which led to the mess hall. Empty, as well. He found another door and went through to another corridor. He tried to get his bearings but decided it didn’t matter. He kept searching.
The faint wail of a baby kick-started a fresh wave of adrenaline. Sure the noise would lead him to Meghan, he raced to the sound and skidded to a halt outside an open door. A single overhead bulb cast shadows around the windowless room.
Ryan’s heart stalled in his chest. Fear pressed down on him as he took in the scene.
Meghan stood between a nasty goon and three innocent children, two infants lying on a blanket and Georgina sitting between them with tears running down her face.
The fierceness on Meghan’s beautiful face took Ryan’s breath away. She was strong and courageous and determined. His heart cried out for her.
The thug chanted at Meghan in a foreign language before snarling in English, “Give me the kid.”
Holding up a hand to ward off an attack, she shouted, “No. You are not taking her.”
She was protecting the children against a lowlife who would clearly do her harm. Pride for her swelled inside Ryan even as rage balled his fists.
“Move!” The goon lurched for Meghan. She danced back, nearly tripping over a baby seat.
Taking advantage of her momentary imbalance, the thug grabbed her and wrapped his beefy fingers around her slender throat. She clawed at him like a wildcat.
Crazed by the sight of Meghan being hurt, Ryan lunged for the guy with a guttural growl. He knocked him sideways. Ryan smashed his fist into the guy’s face. Twice.
“Ryan! Enough. Stop.” Meghan’s plea infiltrated his mind. “You have to stop.”
Her words drew him out of his rage. He abruptly halted midswing and realized the man wasn’t fighting back. Self-reproach and shame washed over him. He quickly checked the thug’s pulse. Faint, but there. The guy was unconscious. He’d live.
Ryan pushed painfully to his feet. His sore ribs throbbed. Guilt for losing his control swamped him. He’d been so enraged over what had happened to Meghan he could have killed the perp with his bare hands.
He gathered Meghan close. “Are you okay?” he asked, knowing she wasn’t, not really. How could she be?
She’d been shot at, kidnapped, assaulted. But she was in his arms and for the moment that was all that mattered to him.
She wrapped her arms around his middle and hung on tight. “I prayed you’d find me.”
“I prayed I would, too,” he said, his voice husky with fear and joy all bundled up into one strong emotion that seared him to his soul and scared him spitless. “God answered both of our prayers.”
He wanted to kiss her, but time was of the essence. They had to move. Now.
With one arm he scooped up the little girl and deposited her into Meghan’s arms. “We’re not safe yet.”
After securing the two babies in their carriers, he hefted one in each hand. “Follow me,” he instructed, hoping he could get them off the boat in one piece.
ELEVEN
Meghan ran after Ryan with Georgina on her hip. She still couldn’t believe he’d found her. God had come through for her. The whole moment was imbedded in her brain, burning in its intensity. One minute she thought her life was ending at the hands of a monster and then Ryan appeared.
She’d never been so happy to see anyone in her whole life. It was more than gratefulness at being rescued that made her heart pound. And made her mouth go dry with a fear far different than that of a physical threat. But now was not the time to process what she felt. They had to get the little ones off the barge and to safety.
Ryan led the way through the dining room and kitchen. He halted as shouts echoed down the outside corridor.
Her guard had been found.
She sent up another plea to Heaven. Lord, You brought us this far. Just a little farther, please.
“There’s a door that leads to the deck at the end of this hall. When we get out, head to the left side of the deck and hide behind a stack of steel drums,” Ryan instructed.
Holding Georgina tighter, she nodded, prepared to do whatever necessary to protect the children.
“On three,” he said.
“On three.”
He leaned close and placed a quick kiss on her lips. Stunned, she took reassurance in the intimate gesture. He would lead them to safety. She trusted him to.
They made it down the short hall to the deck. The minute they emerged, an armed man shouted a warning before pointing a large caliber rifle in their direction. The loud retort of a bullet leaving the muzzles startled Meghan.
Thwack. A bullet slammed into the wood beside Ryan’s head.
“Go!” Ryan urged. “The barrels.”
Protecting Georgina with her body from the spray of
bullets pinging off the deck, Meghan flew to the safety found behind the steel drums. Ryan made it behind her. He tucked the carriers with two screaming babies into a nook between two drums. He withdrew his weapon and fired back. The loud noise made Georgina screech. Meghan covered the little girl’s ears with her hands even as her own ears rang from the gun’s close proximity.
More gunfire exploded.
“Halt! Police!”
“Drop your weapons!”
Relief rushed the breath from Meghan’s lungs.
A deathly silence descended.
A man’s shout rang out. “Ryan Fitzgerald!”
“Here,” Ryan said and slowly stood.
Meghan followed suit. Her eyes widened. Uniformed law enforcement officers surrounded the bad guys left standing. Several were on the deck, dead or wounded, she didn’t know.
“We need help with the kids,” Ryan called out.
Officers rushed forward and carried the babies off the ship. Meghan wouldn’t release Georgina as she walked off the ship, careful to shield Georgina’s eyes from seeing the trail of bodies strewn across the deck. She averted her own eyes.
An officer escorted her to a parked cruiser. “It’ll be a little while before we get moving,” the officer informed her before walking away.
Meghan sank into the backseat and snuggled Georgina close. “We’re safe, little one. We made it,” she murmured. Ryan had promised they’d find Georgina and they had. He was an amazing man. Her heart filled with joy and tenderness.
A few minutes later Ryan joined her in the backseat. “We made it,” he said.
His words echoed her own thoughts. “Yes. Thanks to you,” she replied, entwining her fingers through his. The intimacy of the car wrapped around her. “Where are the babies?”
“Safe in another car with two officers watching over them until CPS can get here.”
Glad to hear the babies were safe, she searched his face and asked, “How did you find me?”
“Your phone has GPS,” he explained. “That was smart thinking on your part.”
“I was afraid the call hadn’t gone through.”