Savage Recruit (Ryan Savage Thriller Series Book 8)

by Jack Hardin

  “I guess.” Zoe slipped off the stool and grabbed her phone. “Thanks for lunch, Roscoe. I think I’ll just head on home.”

  The kitchen door swung open again, and Denny stepped through. One look at Zoe and his concerned frown matched Roscoe’s. Denny was half a foot taller than Roscoe but nearly fifty pounds lighter. The Vietnam Vet had been The Reef’s cook for going on six months, and all the locals had just about forgotten what it had been like around here without him. Most of them agreed the food had gotten better, too.

  “You don’t like my cooking anymore?” he asked. “That grouper doesn’t eat itself, you know.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought I might be hungry.”

  Denny came around and set a hand on her shoulder. “You know that Kathleen was a spy in her former life. Some kind of James Bond or something. She can take care of herself.”

  Zoe shrugged.

  Denny placed a hand under her chin and lifted it until she was forced to look him in the eye. “I’m not going to give you false hope, young lady. But I am going to echo what I heard Roscoe tell you. If anyone can figure out what happened to her, it’s Ryan. We’re on your team. If you need anything at all, you let me know. Or Roscoe for that matter.” He pulled her in for a hug and she returned it, not letting go for a long while.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll stop back in tomorrow.”

  The men watched her leave through the front door, and then Roscoe turned to Denny. “I don’t have a good feeling about this. It doesn’t make sense, Kathleen just disappearing like that. Not about to tell Zoe that though.”

  “Me neither.” Denny shook his head as he stared through the box of straws. “Ryan had better get this one right.”

  Zoe stepped into the sunlight and walked across the crushed-shell parking lot to her car. She got into the Nissan Sentra, and as she pulled backward out of the parking space, The Reef’s front door opened and someone walked out. Zoe recognized him as the man who had been eating alone in the corner booth. She waited for him to cross in front of her to a silver Mustang and then pulled out onto the street and accelerated away.

  She tapped the power knob to the car’s stereo, and Kurt Cobain continued belting out “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” Ryan had given her Nirvana's Nevermind CD just before they went sailing around Key West a couple of weeks ago. He had been dumbfounded when he discovered she didn’t even know who Nirvana was. It took her a couple of listens to get used to Cobain’s raspy tone, but now she found herself memorizing the few lyrics she could actually understand.

  There were still days when she would wake up and feel the need to pinch herself. For the first time in her life, she felt like she was a part of a family. After her father had abandoned her as a little girl, she spent the next decade being tossed around from foster family to foster family—neglected, abused, and forgotten. But then Ryan came to Louisiana to save her from a trained killer who had been commissioned to kill her. Her biological father, a career criminal, had upset the wrong people. In their revenge against him, they had decided that everything that smacked of Joel Fagan had to go. Including the daughter he had all but forgotten about.

  After Ryan pulled off a successful rescue in Louisiana, he’d had Zoe’s foster file transferred to Florida, where Kathleen had offered to take her in. In an uncanny twist of fate, it turned out that Kathleen had been engaged to Zoe’s father many years ago, long before she was born.

  Kathleen was firm and tough, but she had provided the rigid boundaries that an insecure and out-of-control teenager desperately needed. For the first time since she could remember, Zoe was no longer waiting for someone to tire of her, no longer waiting to be transferred to another place where the parents would only use her for the monthly check they received from the state.

  Kathleen did not have to take Zoe in. But she had, and in a few short months, she made Zoe feel like she had finally found her home. After laying down a few ground rules, she had invited Zoe in and treated her like the child she never had. Not only did Kathleen take the time to help with homework, but she carved out time for the two of them to go shopping in Miami, watch a movie every weekend, and even get their nails done regularly. If Zoe was an interruption or a hindrance to her previous way of life, Kathleen had never shown it. Through it all, Ryan and Brad had become like uncles, Roscoe and Denny like grandparents, and Amy like an older sister. Zoe was thriving in school and discovered quickly enough that she loved being on the water. Next week she was scheduled to take her first scuba class.

  Until yesterday, life couldn't have been better.

  But now Kathleen was missing, snatched off the streets of one of the safest cities in the world. It made no sense. Zoe chewed nervously on her thumbnail. A tiny orange light flickered on her dashboard, bringing her thoughts back to the present. The Sentra was low on gas.

  Just ahead, the Shell sign stood tall alongside the road, right before the Overseas Highway turned out over Lake Surprise and crooked toward the Southern Glades. She pulled into the gas station and stopped alongside an empty pump. Turning the car off, she got out and twisted off the gas cap. After swiping her card and inserting the pump into the tank, she leaned back against the wheel well and tried to shake off the anxiety creeping through her chest.

  Dark green mangroves flanked the gas station, and a white dusting of sand covered the asphalt. A sturdy gust of wind came off the water, drifted over the mangroves, and lifted thousands of grains of sand into the air, sending a spray into Zoe’s face. She forced her eyes shut and turned away, waited for the gust to die away, and then brushed the sand from her hair and shirt. That was when she saw a familiar, but unexpected sight.

  Across the asphalt, near the dumpster, sat a silver Mustang. Glancing through the windshield, she recognized the man who had been eating alone at The Reef. Her eyes met his, and he jerked his gaze down and looked down at his phone.

  An uneasy feeling shimmied through her stomach.

  The pump clicked off, startling her. Muttering under her breath, she returned the handle to the pump and secured the gas cap before getting in and starting the car. She adjusted the rearview mirror so she could see the Mustang behind her. The man was looking in her direction again.

  She wasted no time pulling back out onto the highway. Before long, she was accelerating up Jewfish Creek Bridge as Key Largo slowly diminished behind her. She kept her attention on the mirror and was relieved when, after a couple of miles, she saw no further sign of the Mustang. She relaxed a little and turned the music up. She continued toward Homestead, passing Manatee Bay and reaching the Glades when she glanced in the mirror and noticed the Mustang far behind her.

  Her grip tightened on the steering wheel. Why was she being paranoid? Kathleen’s disappearance had her on edge. The guy had probably stopped at the Shell to orient himself to his map or to send a text message. And besides, it wasn’t like there was another major road out of the Keys leading up to Homestead or Miami—Card Sound Road was too far out of the way to count.

  Zoe turned the music up and forced herself to keep her eyes on the road ahead as she tried to think about something else. Soon enough, her mind drifted to Kathleen again, trying for the hundredth time to consider a good explanation for her disappearance—one that didn’t entail the worst kind of outcome. She bit down on her bottom lip and held back a flood of tears that had been threatening to burst forth all day. She wanted to call Ryan, to see if he was making any progress and if there were any hopeful developments in the case. But she held back. The last thing Ryan needed was to be interrupted by an emotional teenager.

  Twenty minutes after leaving the Shell station, the calm monotony of the Glades was finally broken up as Zoe passed Last Chance Bar and entered Florida City. She drove on, passing a handful of restaurants and hotels, and then glanced in her rearview mirror to see the Mustang hovering twenty yards behind her. She was about to chasten herself again for being paranoid when a dormant instinct stirred inside her and told her to stay alert.

&nbs
p; Turning onto East Palm Drive, she moved into the crossover and navigated the Sentra onto the main commercial drive that led into Florida City’s outlet mall. The silver car followed suit. Zoe punched the stereo knob, silencing Cobain, and after navigating around the southern end of the outlet mall, turned into the parking lot near the Under Armour store and pulled into an empty spot. It was midafternoon on a weekday; the parking lot wasn’t even at a quarter of its capacity. The Mustang drifted past, and Zoe watched until it finally disappeared around the corner of the COACH store.

  She sighed heavily and slicked her hands down her face. It was almost eighty degrees outside, but a hot bath with some essential oils was just what she needed. Her muscles were tense; clearly, she was on edge. She pulled out of the parking space and turned back toward East Palm. The house was ten minutes away, on the western edge of Homestead. The first thing she would do is get the hot water running in the bathtub and pour herself a glass of sweet tea.

  Returning to US-1, she passed J.D. Redd Park and the Homestead library before finding the Mustang in her mirror again. A lump formed in her throat. It was trailing back a fair distance but maintaining equal speed.

  Zoe reached for her phone, pulled her list of contacts, and tapped a number. No answer. She tried the number again. After it rang another six times, she had half a mind to just turn around and go back to The Reef. She felt a wave of relief when she heard a deep, familiar voice answer.

  “Zoe! How are you holding up?”

  “Brad, are you busy right now?”

  “Nothing I can’t put to the side. Why? What’s up?”

  “I know this is going to sound paranoid, but I think someone is following me.”

  “Following you?”

  “I don’t feel safe.”

  Several weeks ago, Ryan had begun to teach Zoe basic self defense moves. He came over to Kathleen’s on Saturday mornings and worked with her for over an hour, insisting that a young lady should know how to defend herself confidently. A mini canister of pepper spray on a keychain, while helpful, didn’t count. He wanted her to know how to break free from someone’s grasp, how to defensively attack the soft and vulnerable parts of someone’s body, and even how to still think and function through the sudden shock of being hit in the face or struck on the head.

  He had also taught her what to do when she felt unsafe. The best thing, he said, was to call someone or approach a law enforcement officer and to be as direct as possible. Being vague often led to more questions, wasting precious time until the individual had enough information to understand that you might be in legitimate danger.

  “Where are you?” Brad said.

  “A couple of miles from the house.”

  “Don’t go home. Why don’t you feel safe?”

  “Some guy has been following me since I was at The Reef. He was eating there the same time I was. He left right after me.” She went on to tell him about stopping at the Shell station, the man appearing to watch her from a distance, and then following her back out of the outlet mall. “There’s another car between us right now, but he’s still there.”

  “I want you to stay on the road. Double back if you have to, but don’t end up where the traffic or the population thins out.”

  “Okay. Should I try to get to a police station?”

  “No. I don’t want him to scare off. I want to know who this guy is. You should be fine as long as you stay in a busy area. Just don’t stop, and don’t get out of the car for any reason. Try not to let him know you’re on to him.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m at the field office in Miami today,” Brad said. Zoe heard a vehicle door slam shut on Brad’s end of the line. “I can be out your way in fifteen minutes. Where is Charlotte?”

  Charlotte, Ryan’s girlfriend, lived in Miami but had been staying with Zoe while Kathleen was on vacation. “She’s had meetings at MacDill all day. She won’t be home until tonight.”

  “Okay.” Zoe heard Brad’s Jeep Gladiator growl to life. “Don’t call her,” he said. “I don’t want her getting worried. Hang tight, and I’ll call you when I get closer. Call me back if anything changes. Anything at all.”

  She nodded to herself. “I will.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Zoe continued on US-1, pushing up through Homestead and into Redland before casually hooking a U-turn and pulling into a Wendy’s drive-thru. She ordered a small order of French fries and pulled forward. Brad had said that he didn’t want the guy to spook off, so she decided to play it cool, even though she felt anything but.

  The man hung back in an adjoining Cracker Barrel parking lot, pulling around the restaurant and out of sight. He was clearly trying to stay unnoticed. And he might have too, had he not showed himself so obviously when leaving The Reef and sitting idle at the Shell station.

  Zoe knew a fair number of the locals in Key Largo. At least those who frequented The Reef and the two most popular marinas. But this guy certainly wasn’t one of them. She figured it was possible he was a pervert recently out of prison or was actively looking to find his way into one. Either way, it gave her the creeps.

  She received her fries from the associate and glanced at the time, pulling away from the building and tossing the bag of unwanted fries on the passenger seat. She pulled back onto the road and drove more slowly as she headed south again. The Mustang finally reappeared, several cars back and one lane over. Zoe’s fingers started picking anxiously at her thumbs.

  Come on, Brad.

  As if on cue, her phone rang. “Hey,” Brad said, “I’m just entering Homestead. Where are you?” She relayed the name of the nearest cross street. “Okay. Stay on the phone with me. I’m not far behind.”

  Zoe wanted to ask him what his plan was but thought better of it. A minute later, he asked for an updated location. She felt a heavy weight come off her chest when he said, “All right, I see the Mustang. Take your next left. Should be about a hundred yards in front of you.”

  “Okay.” She slowed and flipped on her blinker. The Mustang continued to hang farther back but switched lanes with her. She made the turn. “Now what?”

  “Slow down, but keep going. You’ll be coming up on a sports complex on your right. I want to get this guy blocked in. Turn into the complex and park near the backstop of the second diamond. There shouldn’t be anyone there this time of day.”

  “What if he doesn’t follow me?”

  “He will.”

  Zoe did as instructed, turning into the complex and continuing past the first ball field to the second. She drove up to the chain link fence and put the transmission in park. Moments later, a now familiar car entered her rearview. The Mustang turned in slowly and came to a crawl, finally stopping in front of the first diamond.

  Feeling more agitated now than scared, and emboldened by Brad’s proximity, Zoe rolled down her window, stuck her hand out of the car, and gave the guy the bird.

  Realizing that he’d finally been made, the man put his car in reverse and started to back up just as Brad’s Gladiator came rocketing off the road. Brad punched his brakes, and the Jeep skidded to a halt just behind the Mustang’s rear bumper. The move hemmed in the car, which was now stuck between a chain link fence and the Jeep.

  Brad’s door flew open, and he burst from the Jeep with his sidearm in a two-handed hold. Stepping to the side, he advanced on the Mustang’s driver.

  “Get out of the car! Now! Get out of the damn car! Get your hands up!”

  Zoe couldn’t see the man’s face, but his door popped open and slowly swung outward. When Brad repeated the order, the man came out with raised hands. Keeping his gun trained forward, Brad grabbed the guy’s shoulder and threw him to the ground. Curiosity getting the better of her, Zoe jumped out of her car and ran over.

  Brad had a knee on the center of the man’s back and his gun jammed into his neck. He was frisking him with his free hand. “You have a gun on you?”

  “In—in the glove box,” the guy grunted.

  “What are
you doing following this young lady?”

  The guy didn’t answer. Brad put more pressure on the muzzle of his gun. The guy winced. Zoe stepped in and checked his back pockets while fielding a bewildered look from Brad. She came away with a wallet, flipped it open, and plucked out the driver’s license. “David Raines. He’s from South Miami.”

  “I’m calling the cops!” Raines squealed. “You can’t do this. I didn’t do anything wrong!”

  “I am the cops,” Brad growled.

  The guy quit squirming as all color drained from his face.

  “And even better, I’m Homeland Security. Are you some kind of perv or something? You’ve been following her since she left Key Largo.”

  David Raines was of average build and had greasy blond hair. An earring glistened in his right ear.

  “You might want to start talking,” Brad said, still bearing down on him.

  Raines swallowed hard. “Look, someone told me to capture a video of her. That’s all, okay? I’m not a perv. I was just supposed to get some shots of her.”

  Zoe exchanged a glance with Brad.

  “Who is this someone?” Brad asked.

  “I don’t know, man. I swear. It was just supposed to be a few pics, some video, and then upload it to an email. That’s it.”

  “Don’t move.” Keeping his gun trained on Raines, Brad stood up, reached into the car, and slipped the keys from the ignition. Raine’s phone was lying near the gearshift. He grabbed that too. “Stand up. Slowly.”

  Raines pressed his hands into the gravelly dirt and picked himself up. Brad ordered him to the rear of the car and told him to place his hands on top of the trunk. “Who wants the images?”