Her Own Best Enemy (The Remnants, Book 1) (35 page)

“Nogales Medical center.”

“You got it. This entire thing reeks of a setup. Why give the kid numbers to a bunch of useless accounts? Unless this bastard wants to be found. Unless he wants you to find him.”

Keith’s phone beeped. Quinn. “I need to take this call. Contact Nogales Medical Center and see if you can get a name of the patient who went missing the day we were there. I need a name, Cam. I have a feeling he’s our guy.” He switched over to Quinn’s call. “Talk to me. What the hell is going on?”

“My partner is with Ryker. I’m following the van right now. Arizona plates. Zero, One, Five, Juliet, Alpha, Kilo,” Quinn said using the Army Alphabet to spell out the letters on the plate. “We’ll know exactly where he takes her.”

“How did someone get past you in the first place?” Fear and anger roiled through Keith. “Damn it, you were supposed to make sure she was safe!”

“I’m sorry, Keith. I was watching the house from across the street. Grace told me to expect someone from the Disabled Vets. She was donating some of her ex-husband’s stuff. When the handicapped van pulled up, blocking my view of the house, I assumed he was from the DV.”

“Did you get a good look at the guy?”

“Not for long. Five-Seven, shaggy brown hair in need of a cut, braces on his legs. He looked like a handicapped veteran, for God’s sake. Suddenly Ryker came running out of the house, screaming, and the next thing I know the van tore off.” Static crackled across the line. “I’m sorry, Keith. We’ll get the bastard.”

Keith ground his teeth together. “I’m on my way.”

He clicked off the phone and stepped into the hanger.

An OH-6 Cayuse helicopter sat on the concrete holding area. It could catch up with Quinn in roughly an hour and a half. Not as fast as he’d like, but much better than the five hour trip by motorcycle.

He stepped up into the chopper.

“King. Where do you think you’re going with that bird?”

Keith looked through the windshield of the chopper to find his superior, Captain Jonathan Perkins, staring him down.

“Sir. I’m taking an unauthorized absence.”

“Not with my helicopter.” Perkins narrowed his eyes. “Do you even know how to fly that thing?”

“I’ve had emergency flight simulation training.” Years ago, but he left that small detail out. He’d fly the damn chopper with one hand tied behind his back if necessary. He flipped on the instrument panel.

Perkins stepped to the opening of the chopper. “Step down, King. That is not a request.”

“I’m sorry, Sir, I can’t do that. Two people I love very much are in trouble.”

Perkins’ lips thinned. “Stealing a chopper to go AWOL a second time will wreck your career. You’re already on thin ice here.”

“With all due respect, I don’t give a rat’s ass about my career.” The pressure in his heart eased. Grace and Ryker needed him. His career, the one thing that’d always meant everything to him, suddenly paled in comparison. “If JAG wants to court martial me up, down and sideways, let them. If they want to discharge me, fine.” His hands shook as he gripped the controls. “I have to save her, Sir.”

Perkins tightened his jaw and met his Keith’s stare. He refused to back down.

Perkins sighed. “King.”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s get you authorized.”

Keith struck the chopper with his hand. “I don’t have time to go through all the red-tape and paperwork bullshit. I have to go now. Before it’s too late.”

Perkins gave him a terse nod. “No paperwork. As of right now, you’re on authorized leave. For as long as it takes.” He pointed at Keith. “But there’s no way in hell I’m letting you take off with this bird. Let me call you a pilot.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Cobwebs grazed Grace’s face as she was shoved inside the dilapidated one room cabin. Weak sunlight filtered through the high skylights and reflected off the dust particles that sifted through the broken section of railing in the loft overhead. Windows framed the back door that broke up the small length of countertop that passed as a rough kitchen. Wood crunched under her feet, and the cabin’s grime clawed at her raw throat.

Ryker was safe. She knew Quinn and Keith would make sure of that. But who would find her here, out in the middle of nowhere?

“Why did you bring me to this place?” She spun to face her captor and met the barrel of his gun instead. Her breath hitched as she drew up short, her knees wobbling. “What do you want with me anyway?”

He arched a brow. “Absolutely nothing. It’s Keith I want. It’s time I had a long overdue chat with my best bud.”

Keith would come. But he had to find her first.

Grace laughed with feigned harshness. “You’re crazy if you think he’s coming to my rescue.”

“He’ll come,” he said, echoing her thoughts.

The passage of fourteen years had not treated him kindly yet even with the braces on his legs impeding his movements he still managed to walk with a cocky swagger that set Grace’s teeth on edge.

He gestured to the lone spindle-less wooden chair near the stone fireplace. “Sit.”

She stiffened her spine. “No.”

“Suit yourself.”

He shrugged and turned his back on her. Big mistake. She launched herself at him and knocked him off his unsteady legs. Metal crashed against metal as he went down hard across the dirty wooden floor and took Grace with him.

She sprawled across his back. Her chin struck his spine and her teeth scraped across her tongue. The taste of copper filled her mouth and her ears rang making it impossible for her to move fast enough. He rolled and pinned her beneath him.

His blue eyes went hard as glass shards. “Bitch!”

She hadn’t anticipated the weight of his metal braces across her body or the surprising strength in his grip. Pushing at his chest, she tried to wriggle free, but his heavy body held her immobilized.

His nostrils flared and his eyes turned from ice to blue flame. He pressed a thumb against her throat. His other hand cupped her cheek.

She froze. Her stomach churned from his touch when he ran a finger across her skin.

“So, Graceless is all grown up, huh?” His gaze honed in on her lips and his hand slid down to the side of her breast.

Oh, God. No. “Don’t touch me.”

“Why?” His narrowed eyes bored into hers and he increased the pressure of his thumb along the hollow of her throat. “Think a cripple can’t get it up?”

Fire spread through her chest and robbed her of a clear breath. “Let-me-go.”

He shook his head and pressed a hard kiss to her mouth. “I may not have had much practice since your sister, but I assure you, the equipment still works.”

“Tell me you’ve got her.” Keith pressed the phone to his ear in order to hear Quinn above the roar of the helicopter.

“The old abandoned cabin at the Tapatillo Copper Mine.”

Thank God.

His hands shook and he almost dropped the phone. Relief flooded through him, but it was short lived. The Tapatillo Copper Mine wasn’t a random destination. Set against Arizona’s Mogollon Rim, the mine and cabin had long been forgotten until he and Colby had discovered the cabin one weekend, and turned it into their personal party place. The night he’d fought with Colby had changed the course of their lives forever and relinquished the cabin back to its forsaken status.

Colby was bringing them full circle.

Keith clenched his jaw. “Where are you now?”

“I can’t get close enough to the cabin without being spotted. I’m on the forest service road about a mile beyond the mine. There’s a big clearing ahead. Perfect place to set down the helo.”

“ETA five minutes. Do not go inside. Wait for me.”

Keith snapped his phone shut as the pilot adjusted his course. The helicopter veered sharply to the left.

If Colby so much as breathed sour breath on Grace, he’d kill the bastard.

He gripped the rail overhead to steady the shakes that wracked his body. Grace was okay. She had to be.

She was tough. That’s one of the things he loved most about her—how she could be tough as nails one moment and then soft and sweet the next. He loved her no holds barred emotions. But if something happened to her before he had the chance to tell her...

“What the hell is taking so long?” The raw growl ripped through him. These were the five longest fucking minutes of his life.

The pilot pointed out the windshield as they rose over a cluster of trees. From the wide strip of green valley three short bursts of reflected metal winked at him.

Quinn’s signal.

The chopper descended towards the ground. Keith jumped from the open cockpit before the runners touched the grassy scrub. He pulled the clip from his pistol, checked for adequate ammo, and slammed the clip home.

Quinn strode from the cover of the trees. “Let’s go.”

“No. Stay here. Let me handle this.”

“You shouldn’t go alone. You need backup—”

“I know Colby. He’s unpredictable at best. I won’t take a chance of Grace getting caught in the middle. No, if the bastard wants me, he’s got me.”

“Look, Keith, I want to nail him as much as you do—”

“That’s not possible.”

“All I’m saying—”

“You can follow, but you stay back. Got that. If anything happens to me, I’m counting on you to save Grace.”

He didn’t wait for Quinn to agree as he sprinted through the trees. The rocky terrain poked the soles of his boots and jarred his knees as he ran.

Every minute that passed felt like an eternity. Finally, he burst through the last cluster of trees. The cabin perched high on the dusty red rocks of the large crevice that split the earth in front of him.

His boots slipped along the clay colored earth as he skid to a stop. He shaded his eyes from the setting sun and looked across the ravine to the back of the weathered cabin.

He and Colby had added that makeshift plywood deck that jutted out over the ravine one weekend when they’d hosted a huge spring break party. They’d added a rope so they could climb into the ravine and get drunk under the stars. The fact that the flimsy deck still existed was a testament to how few people knew about the place.

A shadow moved across the yellowed curtain that framed the kitchen area. Keith hit the dirt and sucked in a breath.

Shit, he’d forgotten about the ravine. It stretched at least ten feet across and broke up the terrain for miles. He didn’t have time to go around. He’d have to climb the thirty feet or so to the bottom and then make the same climb back up the other side.

He swung over the edge, his boots slipped through the dirt before he regained his footing on a chunk of rock that protruded from the earth. His forearms burned as he clung to the side. Using the thick roots that poked out at odd intervals, he began his descent to the ravine floor. He paused halfway down to catch a quick breath. Sweat dripped from his forehead and slid down his nose. He swiped his face across his shoulder to wipe away the moisture.

The crack of wood penetrated the harsh sound of his breathing. Suddenly, the thick limb he clung to separated from the dirt. He fell back, his boots slipped off their rocky foothold.

His heart jumped into his throat as he fell. He grabbed fistfuls of air hoping to catch hold of a branch, a rock, a root—anything to halt his descent. His hand snagged a thick vine and he curled fingers around it, but his palm met sharp thorns and the limb slipped from his grasp, slicing open the fleshy part of his hand.

“Son of a bitch.” Fire spread across the cut, his head smacked the side of a rock and he went down. The impact of his body against the ravine floor knocked the breath from his chest.

Nausea swam in his gut.

Get up.

His arms and legs refused to listen.

He blinked at the wavy deep blue sky.

Grace is counting on you! Get your ass up there!

He gulped for breath then let it out, slow and steady. His vision cleared and he hauled himself to his feet. He forced his way up the ravine wall using scraggly pine and juniper roots to haul his body to the nearest outcrop of rocks.

The smooth face of the ravine loomed above him. Now what? Damn it, he did not come this far to fail. He scraped his fingers through the dirt, hoping he could hold on by sheer willpower. He had to get up there.

His fingers brushed a thick piece of braided material embedded in the dirt. The rope. Fourteen years buried kept the nylon from completely decaying in the sun.

He dug it out and yanked on it. The rope grew taut and held. Thank God. It was still attached to the two by eight joists they’d used to support the deck. He had no choice but to trust that it would still hold his weight.

Keith wrapped his hand around the rope and began his ascent. He ground his teeth against the throb in his palm and pushed his muscles past their burning point.

Almost there.

His pistol slipped from its wedged position in the waistband of his pants. Letting go of the rope with his good hand, he lunged to catch it. His other hand slipped against the braided material and ripped his palm open further. His fingers brushed the butt of the pistol—and missed.