Seized (Hostage Rescue Team Series, #7) (7 page)

And if it turned out to be his last stand instead, well... At least he would know he went down swinging.

“You sure?” she prompted, sounding worried. “I mean the chatter level is...”

Unprecedented. Yeah, he knew. “I’m sure. So how did it go at the summit over there?”

His question wasn’t just an attempt to spur more polite conversation. After over two weeks without hearing her voice, almost five since he’d last seen her, he missed her, dammit. And maybe it was just asking for more heartache, but he hoped like hell she missed him on some level too.

Summer sighed and he could picture her dropping her forehead into her hand, her red hair falling forward like a curtain. “Frustrating. Our so-called ‘allies’ speaking out of both sides of their mouth, as usual. Saying one thing and secretly doing another behind our backs. You know how it is.”

Yeah, unfortunately he did. Most of his Special Forces career had been spent in deployments around the Middle East and south Asia. Attempting to gain the trust of various warlords or militant groups who could help American interests. After all
, the enemy of my enemy is my friend
, or however the saying went. “Yeah, I do.”

I do.
As soon as they were out of his mouth the words echoed deep inside him.

He’d said those exact words to her on their wedding day, had meant them with every bit of conviction he possessed. And she’d vowed the same to him in turn. Yet here they were, on the verge of divorce. They’d made so many mistakes along the way.

Like shutting each other out when they should have turned to each other to deal with their pain. They were both so fucking proud and independent, and that had cost them.

“So there’s been a development at work I wanted to tell you about,” she finally said.

“What’s that?” he asked casually.

“My boss is talking to his contacts at the Bureau, DHS and NSA, but there’s a link between someone we’ve been watching and what’s going on there on the West Coast.”

Something inside him hardened at the news. She said she’d called to check up on him, but now he realized it was probably just a way to work up to this. He shifted his stance, clenched his jaw once. “I’m listening.” They both had high security clearances, so she was free to share information with him about a case.

“We’ve been tracking several links between things happening in Amman and Jakarta. You’ve heard of a player named Aziz?”

“Yes.” The guy suspected of bankrolling whatever plot his sick and twisted little cell had cooked up. Intel said the guy was already somewhere in the Seattle area, which might be a signal that the attack was about to go down.

“We think he’s linked to the cell leader we’ve been investigating in Jakarta. He’s been transferring large sums of money to offshore accounts and we think that’s where the flow is going to. From tracing phone records and unscrambling encrypted messages we’re sure there’s a solid link there, we’re still trying to nail down the specifics.”

“I’ll mention it to my commander, and Alex Rycroft is here as well.” The guy was former SF, like him and Vance, and a legendary NSA agent.

She let out a relieved sigh. “Great. I know they’ve been in communication.”

“Any idea when you’ll be coming home?” she asked, sounding a little guarded now.

He dragged a hand through his short hair. Her question sounded sincere enough, but he was a little surprised she’d care if she’d called solely to deliver the news. “Not yet. But we should be flying back as soon as we wrap up things here.”

After hopefully capturing the wastes of skin behind whatever attacks were planned for the West Coast. “Will you be there?” He didn’t ask her to come out to see him. He would be wrapped up with work anyway and he didn’t want her here with such a dangerous threat hanging over them all.

“Should be. I don’t have any more trips scheduled for another couple weeks.”

“Okay, that’s good then.” Was it? Hell, he didn’t know anymore. But they had to do something about the state of their marriage. Maybe they could steal a couple days away together or... God, he didn’t know if she’d even be up for that. There were so many things he wanted to say but wouldn’t. Not over the phone when they were thousands of miles apart. Not until he knew his heart wouldn’t get smashed by her rejection.

“All right, well... Take care then.”

“Yeah. You too. I’ll be home soon.” He hoped it was true.

He disconnected and headed back to the SUV, feeling like a lead weight was squashing his ribcage. He’d tell DeLuca about what Summer had told him once they got back. Right now he needed time to himself.

He climbed into the driver’s seat, felt the way Evers was watching him as he turned the ignition over.

“That Summer?”

He hadn’t said much about his crumbling marriage except to Cruz a couple months back, but all the guys knew things weren’t going well at home for him and hadn’t been for a while. “Yeah.” The terse answer did the trick because Evers didn’t say anything else on the subject. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all on the drive to the Seattle field office.

Which was good. Because Adam didn’t feel like talking to anyone at the moment; not even one of his teammates.

****

I
t wasn’t the first time he’d needed sewing up, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

Sawyer sat motionless on the edge of the tub in the hotel room Schroder was sharing with Blackwell while the team medic stitched up his shoulder. What had taken Schroder less than ten minutes so far now that the cops had gone would have likely taken hours at the hospital, when he took into account the long wait and all the paperwork involved there. Besides, Doc did great stitching.

It was always weird to feel the thread pulling through his skin but not feel any pain each time the needle pierced his skin. He’d been stitched up without freezing before out in the field, which was no fun at all, so he was glad Schroder had been able to inject some lidocaine in there before starting. And this way he didn’t have to sweat and grit his teeth for each stitch while Carmela was watching.

Out in the bedroom she was perched on the foot of one of the queen size beds, watching the process through the open doorway with a concerned expression. He knew she wasn’t squeamish about blood but he could tell she was trying not to wince each time Schroder poked the suture needle through his skin. She’d been out there since the cops had left after taking their initial reports. Ethan had offered to come get her but she’d declined.

Either because she didn’t want to ruin her brother’s night with Marisol, or maybe because she hadn’t wanted to leave Sawyer. Secretly he hoped it was the latter.

He was as conflicted about her as ever and still didn’t know what to do about it. His past had taught him the perils of getting involved with Carmela, and that old fear wasn’t letting go. While Schroder stitched him up his thoughts drifted back to a memory of when he was a kid.

The catcalls and threats started the instant he stepped off the road and into the glade of trees he had to pass through to reach the edge of his father’s ranch.

Sawyer gritted his teeth and walked faster down the pathway, his fist tightening around the strap of his backpack. Every day when he stepped off the bus, he braced for this. Some days he beat the other boys here, but unfortunately today he wasn’t that lucky.

“Vance, you black piece of shit, get over here!”

Laughter and more insults followed him, the voices growing louder. He pretended to ignore them, even though he heard every vile word and ugly name they called him. It didn’t hurt him the way it used to, but the fear was still there, curdling in his stomach like sour milk. If he could just reach the fence line and get through it before the pack of bullies reached him, he’d be in the clear. Even Richard Allen and his gang of thugs weren’t stupid enough to come after him on his father’s land.

He maintained his brisk pace, refusing to look over his shoulder or let them know how scared he was, his boots crunching over the carpet of fallen autumn leaves. His breathing was a bit shallow, his senses heightened. The sounds of nature faded beneath the taunts being shouted at him. He knew every inch of this place, knew all the shortcuts, none of which would help him now. At ten he was already an expert hunter, tracker and stalker.

But since school had begun a few weeks ago without his best friend there to run interference, he’d become the prey.

His father’s stern voice sounded in his head. A real man doesn’t have to use violence to prove himself. A real man has the strength to walk away from a fight.

But Sawyer had tried walking away many times before and it never worked. And he wasn’t his father.

The voices behind him drew closer, then the sound of running footsteps reached him. Sawyer tensed. Through the trees up ahead in the distance he could make out the northernmost boundary of his father’s property. He’d never reach it before they caught him.

But he refused to run from these assholes. If they wanted a fight, he’d give it to them, even if it meant he’d have to face all four of them alone and getting the shit kicked out of him again.

When the footsteps got close he dropped his backpack and whirled around to face the threat. Richard and three of his goons, all bearing down on him. The tallest one ran straight for Sawyer, tried to tackle him. Sawyer caught him around the waist with a growl and threw him over his shoulder onto the leaf-strewn ground.

Then it was on.

The remaining three converged on him in a flurry of fists and feet. Sawyer held his own until one of them slammed a fist into his mouth, busting his lip open. He stumbled back and another one of them knocked him to the ground. Now all four of them were on him, throwing punches and kicking at his ribs while he curled into a defensive position and covered his head with his arms.

Then a yelp of surprise and pain rang out. In the lull of punches that followed, Sawyer struggled to his knees and saw his best friend, Danny, standing there like an avenging angel. Two years older than Sawyer and in junior high now, he was taller and stronger than the gang of bullies.

Danny went right for Richard, slamming a fist into his nose with a crack. Richard let out a sharp, shrill scream and fell to his knees, blood gushing out beneath his hands as he held his busted nose. The others all backed away warily, their bloodlust rapidly vanishing now that Danny had stepped in to even the odds and their leader was out of action.

“Get the fuck outta here before I bust all your faces in,” Danny snarled, fists raised as he stared them all down.

The boys dragged Richard up, who was still bawling as he covered his nose with both hands, and beat a hasty retreat back down the pathway.

Panting and trembling under the whiplash of adrenaline still coursing through his veins, Sawyer winced and pressed a hand to his left side where someone had kicked him in the ribs. Danny turned to face him and held out a hand. Sawyer took it and allowed his friend to haul him to his feet. “Thanks,” he mumbled, grateful but ashamed that he’d needed the backup.

Danny shook his head, his blue eyes burning with frustration. “I always got your back, you know that. Dammit, I wish you’d tell somebody about this.” He stared at Sawyer, taking in the damage, then shook his head. Despite the age difference and them being in different schools now, Danny never treated him any differently just because he was black, and younger. They were still best friends, no matter what. “This is bullshit, Saw. You need to at least tell your dad what’s going on.”

“No.” His dad would either give him hell for fighting, or cause so much trouble with the other boys’ parents that Sawyer would be bullied for the rest of his life. “I can handle them.” Every time they came after him he got better. A little tougher, a little faster with his fists. He was tall for ten, but given his dad’s size, he had a lot of growing left to do. Soon he’d be big enough that the bullies would stop picking on him and look for an easier target.

“Yeah, because four against one is a real fair fight,” Danny said, his voice dripping with derision. “Seriously, what do you care what happens to them once your dad finds out what they’ve been doing? They’re all racist assholes. They deserve to be punished.”

Because their parents were racist assholes too. But fortunately not everyone around here was like them. “I don’t want my dad involved with this.” He had enough crap to deal with as it was, and it would be embarrassing for Sawyer to have his dad step in and take care of something he needed to handle himself. Some people around here still treated them like second-class citizens just because of the color of their skin. As one of the only black ranchers in the area, his father didn’t need any more problems with the locals.

Danny grunted in disgust and bent to grab Sawyer’s backpack, eyeing him as he straightened. “Got a spare shirt to change into before you go home?”

Sawyer glanced down to see the blood staining the front of his T-shirt. Hell. Once his dad saw that, there’d be hell to pay.

Danny slung Sawyer’s backpack over one shoulder and beckoned with a jerk of his head. “Come on. You can come home with me. We’ll get you cleaned up and I’ll lend you one of my shirts.” Then he grinned and added, “My mom’s making meatloaf for supper.”

As if he’d needed another thing to tempt Sawyer with.

Despite the pain in his split lip, Sawyer grinned back. Danny was a great guy and his family was awesome. Since he and Danny had become friends four years ago they’d always welcomed Sawyer at their house. A few times a week he came over after school and did his homework at the big, wooden farmhouse table with Danny, eating homemade chocolate chip cookies Danny’s mother served warm from the oven.

To Sawyer, being at their house was like living in a dream world, and he savored his time there the way most boys his age savored a new video game.

Those days he went over after school he enjoyed homemade treats and drank glasses of cold milk while finishing his assignments, stalling to stretch out the time as long as possible, knowing that Mrs. Decker would probably invite him to stay for dinner if he was there long enough. He’d eat with the family, help clear the table afterward and do dishes with Danny and his sister, Trina.