Forged in Fire (16 page)

Mac shook his head. “Did he say anything else?”

“Didn’t get a chance. Every time he opened his mouth one of those guards stepped in. Figured the parents had told them to keep their spoiled little brats away from everyone. You know—” his voice dropped to a sneer, “—so’s our lower-class stink didn’t rub off.”

Cosky swore. So did Zane. “He didn’t say anything?”

The vendor shook his head. “Not that I recall.”

This time Mac was the one to swear. “What about the younger one?”

“Nah, that little bugger didn’t say a word. Just squealed every time the older one hit something.” The vendor scowled. “Which was too fucking often.”

Although their controlled faces didn’t reflect any emotion, Beth had spent enough time around the four men to pick up their frustration. It seethed in the air surrounding them. The same disappointment clotted in her chest, tightening her throat. So close, they were so close, only to walk away with nothing.

Scowling, Mac glared at the endless march of yellow ducks. Suddenly, he frowned, cocked his head to the side.

“What?” Zane asked quietly.

Mac continued staring at the ducks. “You have to hit ten targets to claim the prize.”

Zane glanced at the metal targets. “Yeah?”

With a shake of his head, Mac frowned. “On the video, he said I got all eight of them. Emphasis on the word ‘eight’.”

Falling silent, Zane thought about that, only to shake his head. “He’s a kid. Could have miscounted.”

Mac nodded slowly, but he didn’t look convinced. “We know there were three men shadowing the boys here at the fair.” Grimness flickered over his face and his jaw clenched. “Three more on the video with the wife. That makes six. There could have been two more with Clancy’s family.”

Cosky frowned, tilted his head to the side. “You think he was giving his dad a head count? Hell, could mean nothing.”

“Maybe.” Mac suddenly swung around and stared at the BB guns resting on the counter. “The kid held the gun up and said he wanted one just like it for Christmas, but Chastain said he has a pellet gun.”

“A pellet gun’s superior to a BB gun,” Zane said thoughtfully.

In unison, all four men swung around and headed for the counter and the BB guns they’d discarded.

“Which gun did he use?” Zane asked.

The vendor followed them to the counter. “First time he used the one on the right. Second time he used the one in the middle.”

“Has anyone used the gun in the middle?” Zane asked.

“No.” Cosky shifted closer to the counter. “We’ve been shooting from the ends.”

Zane picked up the BB gun under discussion and studied it. “Did he have trouble making the target with the first gun?”

“Hell no. Little bastard made contact every time.”

“So he wanted that one.” Cosky nodded at the gun in Zane’s hand. “Question is why? They’re identical.”

An arrested expression settled over Zane’s face. “Not quite.” He turned the gun upside down, exposing a thick crack running the length of the plastic stock. “You wouldn’t see the defect from above.”

Everyone watched as Zane opened the barrel, shook out the extra BBs and tilted the gun toward the sky, until a shaft of sunlight pierced the crack in the plastic. His hissed exhale filled the sudden silence.

“What is it?” Beth asked, stepping closer, trying to peer into the crack herself.

“Some kind of paper. It’s wedged in. We need something to dig it out with.”

With shaking hands, Beth unzipped her purse and dug around for her travel-size first aid kit. Once she found it, she popped the lid and rummaged through Band-Aids, Neosporin, and baby wipes until she found a pair of tweezers. Silently, she handed them to Zane.

“Give him room,” Mac snapped when everyone pressed closer.

It took Zane a few seconds of wiggling the tweezers back and forth before he worked the ragged slip of paper free. He handed the tweezers back to Beth and carefully unfolded his prize.

For one long moment he just stared at it. “Son of a bitch,” he finally said, pure disbelief in his voice. “The kid left us an address.”

* * *

“Assuming the kid was passing along a body count, we’re outmanned two to one.” Cosky flipped on his blinkers and took the Federal Way exit. “Plus, while there’s some damn fine weapons in my dad’s collection, those assholes stashed MP5s on that plane.”

“If they’ve got MP5, we’re outgunned no matter what your dad collected. We need a distraction,” Zane said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Bottle bombs come to mind.”

“Bottle bombs?” Beth felt a sinking sensation in her chest. Anything with the word ‘bomb’ attached to its name sounded like something to be avoided.

“Molotov cocktails. Beer bottles, tampons, and gasoline, and you’re set. It wouldn’t take long to whip up a six-pack.”

He had to be kidding!
She caught the round of nods traveling through the car.
Or not
. “What about Kyle and Ginny and Chastain’s family? They could get caught in the blaze or pass out from smoke inhalation.”

“Depending on furnishings, flooring and interior composition, we’ve got four to seven minutes before spread and smoke became a problem.” Zane shot her a reassuring glance. “Plenty of time to get in, and get back out again.”

Four to seven minutes? Plenty of time? Good God.

“I’ve got a better idea.” She sat up straighter. “Why don’t we call the police?”

What made perfect sense to her, apparently, made no sense to her co-passengers, because they shook their heads in unison.

“It could tip off the kidnappers,” Zane told her quietly.

Oh, come on.
The hijackers couldn’t have their hooks into everyone. Chances were the police hadn’t been compromised. And the more people who swarmed the house, the safer everyone would be.

Beth tried again. “It’s unlikely that anyone in the police department is corrupt. It makes sense that they’d go after Agent Chastain or Todd since both men served a purpose, but the cops wouldn’t be able to help them take that plane.”

Zane glanced at her. “A corrupt cop would be a gold mine. They could direct patrols away from the neighborhood the hostages are stashed, bury reports if something leaked. Besides, the more cops you add to the mix, the more likely something will go wrong. There’s a reason we work in smaller teams.”

“Besides,” Cosky glanced in the rearview mirror, “the police aren’t going to take our word on this. They’d contact the FBI. Any hostages would be killed within minutes.”

“If your friends are alive, we’re the best shot they have,” Zane told her. “We’re trained for extractions. We’ll get in and get them out.”

But at what cost? If Brendan Chastain’s cryptic comment had been a head count, they were going up against eight kidnappers. Eight ruthless, heavily armed kidnappers.

Ginny’s face flashed through her mind, followed by Kyle’s. God, she wanted them safe. She wanted them free from this nightmare, but not at the expense of Zane’s life or the lives of the other three men in the car.

“We’ll need to stop and grab supplies,” Mac said.

They were going to do this with or without her blessing.

Beth took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ve got tampons in my purse.”

Cosky sent her an approving look via the rearview mirror. “There are empty beer bottles in mom’s recycle bin and a gallon of gas in the garage.” He paused, turned the car onto a residential street. “We’ll need to strip the weapons. They haven’t been touched since dad died.”

Cosky’s mother lived in a subdivision in Federal Way. Her home was an older ranch style that looked recently painted—a rich blue-gray with charcoal trim. The front yard was small, more flower beds than lawn, and studded with ceramic birdbaths and colorful bird houses. Honeysuckle and lavender swamped the car the moment they opened the doors.

As everyone piled out of the sedan, the entry door swung open. The woman who stepped onto the raised landing sported a cloud of silver hair and a sweat suit of peach.

Beth liked her on sight, which was somewhat of a surprise considering she was Mr. Chilly’s mother, but Mrs. Simcosky radiated warmth. Even from a distance, her face glowed in welcome. Cosky, Beth discovered as she climbed the steps, had inherited his gray eyes from the woman above.

“Mom.” Cosky bent to kiss her cheek. His accompanying hug lifted her off the porch.

The move was so natural, Beth didn’t doubt it was habit, which forced a reassessment of Zane’s buddy. Any man who loved his mother enough to show his affection with a kiss and hug couldn’t be as unemotional as he wanted the world to believe.

Straightening, Cosky set his mother back on her feet and nodded toward the men who’d followed him onto the landing. “You remember Zane? Rawls?”

“Of course, dear.” She swatted his arm. “I haven’t gone senile yet.” And with that, she headed for Rawls.

Beth choked back a giggle as Rawls shot a panicked glance in Cosky’s direction and froze, submitting to the hug with a deer-in-the-headlights glaze to his blue eyes.

“I just pulled some brownies out of the oven,” Mrs. Simcosky said as she released him. “You go right in and help yourself.” She moved on to Zane.

Her curiosity rising, Beth watched the woman approach. How would Zane handle the display of warmth? But he not only accepted the affection, he returned it with another hug that cleared Mrs. Simcosky’s feet from the porch. Zane, apparently, was a man well used to female attention. The realization gave her pause, reminding her how little she knew about him. He’d said his mother was still alive, and he didn’t have any sisters, so was his ease with women due to motherly affection or a girlfriend in every port?

SEALs, she suspected, visited
a lot
of ports.

A sharp spurt of irritation pierced her, followed by an equally sharp spurt of dismay. Good Lord, she was jealous. She was actually jealous over a man she hadn’t even known a full day.

“This is Mac, Mom. Commander Jace Mackenzie.” Cosky watched with a gleam in his eyes as his mother headed across the porch.

Mac’s eyebrows slashed into a scowl and a furious glare lit his dark eyes. As she drew closer, his shoulders pulled back—his posture and expression clearly warning her against trying any of those nefarious hugs on him.

The threatening stance had the same effect on Cosky’s mom as Rawls’ panicked one had had—which was to say, none at all. With determined cheerfulness she reached up and grabbed hold of his shoulders, tugging him down. After one long moment of pulling back, Mac finally conceded—grudgingly. With his arms stiff at his sides, he bent at the waist and submitted to her hug.

From the contorted expression on his face, you’d think the effort was killing him.

Cosky’s hard lips quirked.

“This is Beth Brown, Zane’s fiancée,” Cosky introduced smoothly as his mother turned in Beth’s direction.

“You’re engaged? Congratulations. You couldn’t ask for a better man.” She wrapped Beth in a surprisingly hard hug. “Except for my Marcus, of course.”

They followed Mrs. Simcosky into the house. Their hostess led them down a bright hall lined with family photos—where Cosky aged from infant to adult—and into a travertine-tiled kitchen. An oak table was positioned in an alcove beneath a huge window dripping with sunlight. Directly in the middle of the table was a platter stacked high with brownies.

“We need to borrow Dad’s guns,” Cosky told his mother as he crossed to the table and snatched up a brownie. “Zane, you know where the garage is, how ‘bout you start on the bottles. There’s some paint thinner on the counter from when we painted the house last fall. The rest of us will sort through the weapons.”

“It’s your collection now, dear.” A shadow slipped through his mother’s eyes. “Why do you need guns?”

Cosky made a beeline toward a narrow door at the back of the kitchen, Rawls and Mac hard on his heels. “We have a situation,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll explain later. There isn’t time now.”

Putting together the Molotov cocktails sounded fairly easy from Zane’s description, something she could handle, while the men concentrated on the weapons.

“If you’ll show me how to do the first bottle, I’ll do the rest,” she told Zane, who’d grabbed a brownie and was headed directly toward her, no doubt in search of the tampons. “It would give your friends another pair of hands sorting through the guns.”

Zane eyes softened. “Good plan.”

He led her out of the kitchen, and into an attached two-car garage. A Chrysler SUV sat squarely in the middle of the space. The interior of the garage was spotless. Tools neatly fixed to white pegboard, garden and yard tools hanging from the walls. A waist-high counter ran the length of the back and left walls.

“You’ll need wire and wire clippers,” Zane said, as he headed toward a recycle bin. “There’s a coffee can and paint thinner on the counter. Dump the paint thinner into the coffee can. Drop the tampons inside. I’ll find four beer bottles.”

Beth found both the can and paint thinner. The turpentine filled the coffee tin a third of the way up. She quickly rummaged through her purse, removed the tampons and dropped them inside the can.

“You painted this house?” She spotted the wire and wire clippers hanging from the pegboard and reached up to release them.

“Rawls and I gave Cosky a hand.”

Painting a house was tremendous work. He must have given up an entire leave to help Cosky out. The realization warmed her. He was a good friend. A good man.

A red plastic gas can sat in the far corner. She lugged it over to the counter, arriving as Zane lined up the beer bottles in a neat row on the cement.

“Fill them with gasoline. I’ll start sealing them with duct tape.”

While Beth filled the bottles with fuel, Zane rummaged through the drawers running the length of the counter. He hit paydirt on his second try and returned with a roll of duct tape. Ripping a chunk off, he slapped it over the mouth of the bottle and pressed it tight, smoothing the edges down the neck. Once the liquid was sealed inside, he set the bottle on the counter and went to work on the second cocktail.

“I thought the tampons were taking the place of rags,” Beth said as she filled the last bottle. Setting the gas can down, she confiscated the tape from him and went to work sealing the last two.