Last True Hero (23 page)

I
start awake. Staring around the room, my brain feels fuzzy around the edges, like I'm only seeing my surroundings through a tunnel deep under the ocean. I shake my head, but it doesn't clear. I sit up on the twin cot beneath me, the thin mattress shifting as I move.

“Oh, my God.” I breathe. “What the hell happened? Where am I?”

I try hard to think, but my head just won't cooperate. I was in my apartment, with Grisham…no, wait, Grisham left with his dinner. Then what? My face scrunches up as I try to remember.

The room I'm in is small, and it's clearly an office space. It reminds me of the office at See Food, only much grungier. Other than the cot I'm sitting on, there's a battered wooden desk cluttered with papers and used mugs. Apart from a dented filing cabinet and a calendar hanging on the wall, and—oh, my God, so gross—some dead roaches on the floor, the room is pretty bare.

My eyes are still focused on the roaches when the door opens. My muscles immediately tense as a feeling of foreboding creeps over me. Whoever may set foot into this room isn't my friend.

A man in his early thirties emerges around the door, and behind him stride two men in black jeans and sweaters. Their heavy black boots indicate that they mean business, and that's before I get to the hard expressions on their faces.

The first man, obviously in charge, curls his lips into a mean grin. “Berkeley. How are you feeling? I'm sorry I had to take you out of your home, but I have business to settle here and I needed you with me in order to do that.”

Feeling like I'm the leading actress in a feature film, I gape at him. “You needed
me
? Does this have something to do with my father?”

Confusion flashes in his eyes for just a moment before he smoothes out his expression. The man speaking to me is tall and broad, with thick, black hair that curls over his forehead. He's wearing fitted jeans and a thermal shirt, and his shoes are—is that
alligator
?—expensive-looking. I can detect a slight Latino accent when he speaks. His eyes are basically dead. Like the eyes of a shark circling a tasty assortment of chum.

“I do not know your father. This is business with your boyfriend, Dare, and his brother. Chase owes me money, and he will give me what he owes one way or another.”

One way or another.
The words chill me to the bone, and I'm not even sure exactly what they mean. It can't be good, that's for sure. But if this is about Chase…

“Does Dare know I'm here?” I try to keep my voice even, because the thought of Dare knowing I've been taken means he will probably move mountains in order to get me back. Not to mention if the Admiral's been alerted. This man has no idea the hell that's about to rain down around him.

My thoughts must have made me smirk, because the man's eyes narrow.

“Who are you?” I ask quickly to distract him. They won't hurt me, at least not until they get what they want. But that thought doesn't keep my palms from turning sweaty or my heart from attempting to thump right out of my chest. I feel a bead of moisture drip down the back of my neck, where my hair is sticking uncomfortably.

“I'm Javier Chavez. And, Berkeley? I'm the best friend you have right now, so you should stay on my good side.”

With that, he nods to one of his goons, and all three men walk out of the room.

I sit back on the bed and let out a breath I didn't even know I'd been holding. Then I proceed to freak out.

OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGodohmyGod.

I try to breathe deep to keep my breath from totally running away from me but it's difficult. I've been freaking kidnapped. Like in the movies. And the guy…Chavez? He's freaking scary. Maybe even legitimately evil. And I'm here all by myself.

What am I supposed to do in this situation? I scan the room again, searching for an exit that doesn't involve going out that door. Because I doubt that's a possibility. The room has no windows. There's an air vent in the ceiling, but I'm not a freaking ninja.

Biting my lip, I sink back down on the cot. My head is searing, and I've found myself in the most dangerous scenario I could have imagined. I need help.

I need Dare.

D
rake's tone is incredulous. “I can't believe you called him.”

We watch Berkeley's father, the Admiral, as he paces back and forth in front of the wall of windows and barks orders into his phone.

“It had to be done.” My tone is cool and functional, and I notice Drake eyeing me from the corner of my vision.

The absolute last thing I wanted to do was call Berkeley's father and tell him I'd let his baby girl be taken away from us. I made it clear to him that I wasn't going to stop until I had her back. He had insisted on joining our ranks, and now was determinedly attempting a takeover of the team, getting his word in wherever possible. I can see the irritation on Jacob's face growing as his jaw clenches tighter and a vein begins to bulge on his temple. I wish I hadn't had to make the call.

I can only imagine what he's going through. The loss of Berkeley, no matter how temporary—because it
is
temporary—is tearing me apart inside. To know your only child has been kidnapped, and you have the skills and connections to help bring her home? I had to make the call.

Drake studies me. “It's nice to have Cujo back in the building.”

The old nickname causes a twitch of my lips and nothing more.

In my Ranger days, the men in my unit called me Cujo whenever we were preparing or embarking on a mission. They said it was because I was like a rabid dog with a prey in its sights when I was on the front lines. I feel that way right now more than ever, the nickname settling comfortably into my whole body once again.

“Everyone needs to get your asses over here and lean in.” Jacob raises his voice to be heard over the din surrounding us. “Conners here is going in without wearing devices, so it's our job to make sure we have ears and eyes in the place.”

I didn't know I'd be going in blind, but I know what I need to do, and nothing and no one will stop me from doing it.

As an elite soldier, everything was done to make sure we had the most intel possible before entering any situation. We received information, we assessed the need, and we trained until any possibility of failure was eliminated. Didn't matter how prepared we were though, there was always a chance for something to go wrong. Always a slight element of the unknown involved.

Berkeley's rescue? No different. The unthinkable has already happened. Now it's my job to go in and kick ass until the danger is maintained and the target is eliminated. Without innocent casualties. And Berkeley is beyond innocent in this scenario.

Henderson leans over the table we've gathered around and points to a small listening device I recognize from my time as a Ranger. “Shaw and Teague will enter the dive about forty-five minutes before Conners, as patrons. Stupid idiots are leaving the place open, so it won't look suspicious if they're dressed like punks. Make sure these are in your ears, men.”

Both Teague and Shaw nod their understanding. They've both dressed down for this evening's operation in jeans and long-sleeved T-shirts. Their feet are clad in boots, and with their shaved heads and tats, they look badass. I nod to them.

“You two,” Jacob says as he gestures to Drake and me, “will carry in the briefcase containing the cash Chavez has asked for. In a perfect world, you hand over the money and he hands over Berkeley. Then Five-O can storm in when you're clear and arrest the bastard. But we don't live in a perfect world, do we?”

Better than anyone in this room, I know we don't. I can hope and wish and pray that this goes down without bloodshed, but I'd be dreaming if I did. I know better, and based on what Chase told us about Chavez, I don't think he'll be playing fair.

Jacob and Henderson run through a few more notes and then run it all down one more time just to make sure everyone's got their head on straight. I successfully push all thoughts of whether or not Berkeley's unharmed, whether or not she's scared and asking for me, out of my mind. If I let myself go there, I'll crumble.

And I will never crumble when there's a job to do.

Drake bumps my knuckles. “Shoot, man. I swear to God I never thought I'd be doing this shit again. You ready?”

I nod. “I've been ready since the first phone call, Drake. Do me a favor and go call the girls. I don't want them to worry. Tell them we'll bring Berkeley home tonight.”

He hesitates, and then leaves the room to make the call. I turn to the windows and stare out at the darkening sky above a rolling sea. I close my eyes, trying like hell to send a message to her.

I'm coming for you, baby. Be strong. Stay safe.

I feel movement next to me, and see the Admiral standing there, also staring out. I wonder if his thoughts are similar to mine. I'd be willing to bet they are.

“This is all your fault, you son of a bitch,” he growls.

I turn to look at him, but I try and keep any hint of anger I'm feeling out of my voice. This isn't the time to get into it with Berkeley's father. I look him straight in the eye.

“I know.”

“I chose the right man for her a long time ago. I knew what was best for her. I'm her father. Maybe I shouldn't have demanded that of her…taken away her choice. But dammit, look at what's happened now!”

My blood rushes to my ears, pounding a deep rhythm. He's talking about the conversation that changed everything between Berkeley and me.

“We're not together anymore, sir, so you don't have to worry about it.” I clench my teeth together and hope he's done talking. All I want to do is find her. Thinking back to that night just long enough to send shards of pain slicing through my chest, I can only nod. “She made her own choice, sir.”

The Admiral sighs wearily, clasping his hands behind his back. “She made the choice because I was threatening to pull everything away from her. My money, my support…even my love.”

I stare at him. What kind of father does that to his daughter? I can only imagine the kind of pressure she was under, hearing that from him. I can only imagine the things she might say in order to…oh, shit.

“Whatever she said that night,” he continues, “she said under duress. She was very upset, Conners, about what I said to her. I can't stand the thought that wherever she is right now, she's angry with me. I don't like you for her now any more than I did before. If it weren't for you…but it looks like you might be the only one who can make sure my daughter comes back to me.”

If I'm understanding the context of what she said that night…about not planning a future with me, about me not being worth ending her relationship with her father over…damn. Maybe she hadn't meant it.

The night on her couch flashes into my mind. How hurt her eyes were, how evident it was that she'd been crying. Over me.

A wall of pain slams into me. I hurt her…I hurt her because instead of letting her explain the conversation with her father and what she meant, I just dropped her out of my life.

Fuck. I'm an asshole.

My hands ball into fists at my sides. I was going to save her before, but now I'm in beast mode. I want to get to her, and I want to get her out of Chavez's dirty grasp. I want to bring her home, and I want to make her
mine.

I offer the Admiral my hand, and he shakes it.

“Bring my daughter home, Conners.”

Nodding, I take his words and stake my life on them. “I'll die before I let anything happen to her, sir. I'm not coming home without her.”

They weren't lying when they said the restaurant/bar was seedy. The area is just north of downtown Wilmington, and I'm being nice when I say the place is run-down. There are sketchy characters hanging around smoking out front, under a holey, striped awning, and on the adjacent corner are girls in short skirts calling out at any male who passes by. Speaking out of the side of my mouth to Drake, I comment on the trashiness of the place.

He nods. “I'm really missing my Kevlar and my M16 right now, dude. And I want commo in my ear, giving me a play-by-play.”

I nod my agreement. In the field, we were always able to communicate with our Signal Corps, and right now I feel very naked. But there was a time while I was in the field that I was more alone than I am right now…so I can deal with it more easily than Drake can.

There's no line at the door, but as we enter the dark establishment we can see that the place is plenty crowded. There's a girl in a short black skirt and a skimpy tank top wobbling on thick high heels at the platform near the door.

Stepping up in front of her, she shoots me a flirty smile. “Well, hi there. Can I get y'all a table for two? Or do you want to go sit at the bar?”

She leans over her podium, allowing her breasts to squeeze together and nearly spill over the front of her top. Refraining from rolling my eyes, I smile at her.

“We have an appointment. Is there someone here named Javier Chavez?”

The smile disappears from her face, and fear lurks in her eyes as she nods. “You're supposed to follow me.”

She turns and begins walking toward the bar, and we follow suit. I scan the restaurant as we move, spotting Teague and Shaw perched on stools at the bar. I don't nod to them, but it's evident they both notice Drake and me as we walk past them.

Carrying the briefcase at my side, we follow the hostess past the bar and down a dim, narrow hallway. The walls are dingy and the carpet beneath our feet is filthy. Rage that Berkeley's been forced to stay in a place like this for an entire twenty-four hours threatens to consume me, but I swallow it down and relax my features.

“Atta boy, Cujo,” mutters Drake beside me.

As we file past a closed door with brass letterings reading
OFFICE
hanging on the front, my legs grind to a halt.

Fuck me. I don't know where it's coming from, but every fiber of my being is telling me that Berkeley is behind that door. I could bust in right now and grab her. My fingers twitch, itching to grab the doorknob and turn.

Drake pauses, turning his head and speaking through clenched teeth. “Don't do it, brother. Let's follow the plan.”

“Excuse me?” says the hostess, turning around to stare at us.

“Nothing.” I force my feet to keep moving, and my heart to slow its frantic pounding.

Finally, we're led through a back door and out onto the loading dock for the restaurant. Empty pallets and cardboard boxes are strewn about the concrete surface, and the dark blue night sky smiles down on us.

The girl turns around and hurries back into the building, letting the door slam shut behind her. We're left facing a small group of men.

One, obviously the leader, steps forward. His hair is thick and shiny on his head. He's young, maybe early thirties, and he's dressed to the nines with alligator shoes gleaming under the light of the lamp on the wall beside us.

He speaks with a slight accent. “Dare Conners, I presume?”

I nod, my eyes narrowing on him as I take in every single detail of him and our environment as I can.

“Chase couldn't accompany you tonight, Mr. Conners?”

“My brother is no longer a part of this equation, Chavez. You made this very personal to me when you took my girl. Where is she?”

His cold, calculating eyes lighten as he smiles. “Oh, Berkeley? She's inside. An associate of mine will bring her out as soon as I get my money. She's really been a delight, Mr. Conners. That body…a man could get used to —”

“I wouldn't do that, asshole.” Drake interrupts Chavez, which is good because I'm starting to shake with anger. Any second, if he kept talking, I was going to have to shut him up.

“I won't be handing over shit, until you show me that she's not harmed.”

Chavez studies me closely, my tone telling him I mean what I say, and so he nods to the two men behind him. “First, I want you to show Mr. Conners here why he's not in charge.”

One of the men walks over to me, frisking first me, and then Drake. After he's sure we're weaponless, he turns back to Chavez and nods. Then he lifts the hem of his shirt to show us the heat he's packing. The comrade still standing beside Chavez does the same.

“Now that that's settled, you may go and fetch the girl, Montanero.”

The man beside Chavez moves, walking past us and disappearing inside the restaurant.

“He'll bring her. Now, let's see what's in that briefcase, shall we?”

My grip tightens on the case, and Drake tenses beside me. I'm sizing up both Chavez and his entourage. He should have brought more men. Even when we aren't armed, Drake and I are lethal.

I smile. “Come and get it.”

Just then, the back door opens once more, and my whole world is dragged out.

The breath leaves my body when I see Berkeley. She's rumpled, and she looks exhausted, but otherwise unhurt.

“Dare!” she screams.

The man who has her—Montanero—yanks hard on her arm to pull her over toward Chavez, and I almost lose it right there.

Clenching my teeth tightly, I thrust the briefcase out in front of me.

“Place it on the ground about ten feet away from you.” Chavez's voice is almost gleeful as he gives the command.

I glance at Drake, who shrugs. Then I slowly walk forward, depositing the briefcase on the ground. Movement catches my eye in the alleyway beyond where Chavez and Montanero are standing with Berkeley. I purposely avoid letting my gaze wander in that direction.

“There,” I say, keeping my voice level. “Your money is all there. Come here, baby.”

I gesture to Berkeley, and she yanks herself loose from Montanero's grasp.

“No!” shouts Chavez. Montanero dives to grab ahold of Berkeley again, and her fingers graze mine right before she's jerked back into the asshole's arms.

I can't contain my rage this time. “Get your fucking hands off her. Now. Or you're all dead.”