A SEAL's Triumph Page 23

  Walker kept reading. “He says they’re fine. They’re being taken to another building.” He exchanged a glance with Boone. If they’d been at the capitol tasked with Elizabeth’s safety, they’d both be on high alert. Unexpected events meant a mission could go off the rails. “She could be in danger.”

  “I’m sure there’s a ton of security,” Boone said. “All those senators…” He let his thought trail off.

  Boone was right. Besides, there was nothing he could do from here. He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure how to proceed. At the very least, he could remind Gabe to be extra vigilant.

  He started typing.

  “Forty minutes until the ceremony starts,” Angus reminded him. “Time to focus. Elizabeth will be fine.”

  A pounding on the door startled them. More than one man reached for a holster.

  “Boone? Walker?” It was Riley. “Avery’s gone!”

  “…can’t believe you fucked things up this bad.”

  “Can’t believe you missed your shot, asshole.”

  “… hell to pay when…”

  “… eyes on the fucking road, Owen, and let me figure this out. The bomb scare will give us more time.”

  Avery woke up slowly, blinking several times and licking dry lips before she understood where she was. A plaid blanket, much too hot for this weather, covered her. Her hands were tied behind her back. She was lying down on the seat of a car or truck, bouncing and bumping around as it drove.

  She remembered the hand clamped over her mouth, the strong arm lifting her.

  Who the hell had kidnapped her? How long had they been driving?

  Bomb scare?

  Fear spread through her. Whoever had grabbed her had tried to kill Elizabeth.

  What would they do to her?

  She fought to control her breathing as her heart sped up, thumping in her chest. It was still light, she saw as she turned under the blanket. Sunshine was seeping under its folds. She bent her knees, poised to kick the thing off, then paused. Maybe she should stay quiet, listen to her captors. Get a sense of what was happening before she let them know she was awake.

  There were two of them, judging by their conversation. Americans. Their voices had no discernable accent, not even a country twang. She wondered what they planned to do with her. By the sound of it, they were wondering the same thing.

  “Step on it. We’ve got to go to ground. They’ll be out looking everywhere for us.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then we make the call. Tell Blaine exactly what she’s got to do.”

  Avery held as still as she could, listening, but a moment later, the vehicle swung hard and parked. Two doors opened. Someone whipped the blanket off her, and the barrel of a handgun pressed against her temple. It was a Glock, she recognized. Walker had one of those.

  “Don’t scream, don’t fight, don’t do a damn thing to call attention to yourself. You’re going to get out of the car and walk inside with me. Don’t be stupid,” a middle-aged man with the build of a retired boxer told her, his blue eyes searching hers. “You know what this is about. You know we’ve been trying to silence your friend. You know we failed. Trust me when I say I’m in a very bad position right now, which means you’re in a very bad position. Got it?”

  She got it. Someone had put a lot of effort into stopping Elizabeth from testifying. Whoever it was wouldn’t scruple at her death.

  “Come on.”

  The man pulled her from the car, wrapped the blanket around her and hustled her up the steps of the house. Her updo was spilling apart, and she nearly tripped over the hem of her wedding dress. She struggled to shake the hair out of her eyes and almost yelped in surprise; they were still in Chance Creek, right in town, in fact, across from the Whispering Pines motel. A snatch of music filled the air. That was the Dancing Boot down the block. It was early, but from the sound of things they were gearing up for a good night.

  “Inside,” the man growled. His friend, Owen—a tall, muscular man with shaggy blond hair—was right behind them, shielding her from sight of anyone on the street. The man holding her seemed to be the brains of the operation. Owen was the muscle.

  She just had time to spot a small plaque by the door as the man pushed her past it. The Cozy Cottage Guest House. This was a vacation rental.

  They hurried her up the stairs and tossed her onto a bed decked out in cheerful yellow, daisy-patterned linens, where she curled up on her side, her wrists aching from the tight ties binding them. Someone had put a lot of effort into this room, she noticed. If she’d chosen the place herself for a vacation, she’d be very pleased with how pristine it was.

  “I need a bathroom,” she said. Maybe there’d be something in there she could use as a weapon—or to cut the ties that bound her wrists.

  “For God’s sake,” Owen said. She noticed a bandage visible under the stretched-out neckline of his T-shirt—large enough to cover most of his shoulder. Had he been the one taking shots at Elizabeth? The one Gabe hit?

  “Take her.”

  Owen hauled her to the bathroom, cleared the counter of anything useful and shut her in. “Hurry up,” he said through the door.

  She wished she knew how to concoct a weapon from the deodorant and bar soap near the sink, since that was all that was left, but she really did need to use the facilities, so she took care of that first. It wasn’t easy to wipe with her hands tied behind her back, especially in a wedding dress, but she managed it. She flushed the toilet out of habit and then wanted to kick herself as she realized she’d just lost any time she’d bought to be alone. The door swung open again.

  She had to give it to the guy; Owen helped her wash her hands before hauling her back into the main room. A true gentleman.

  But then he spoiled it by looping another length of rope through her arms and through the spindles of the headboard, tethering her to it.

  “Sit down, shut up and watch the television,” he told her.

  “You’re Owen. Who’s your friend?” She wanted to establish she wasn’t afraid of them, but it was a lie. She was terrified. One of these men had shot at Elizabeth. They’d probably shoot her soon.

  Her throat was dry. She was a moment from panicking. Should she start screaming?

  She eyed the weapons holstered on both men’s hips. No one would save her before she was dead.

  “You can call me Mr. Smith,” the other man said. “Now keep quiet.”

  She perched on the bed as best as she could with her wrists tied behind her back, scanning the room, trying to make some sort of plan to escape, but she couldn’t see any way to get past them, even if she could get free.

  She braced herself for whatever might happen next, but Mr. Smith simply grabbed the wooden desk chair, moved it so he could see through the sliding doors onto the balcony outside and down to the street. Owen stood on the opposite side of the room, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Mr. Smith turned on the TV, found C-SPAN and grunted when he took in a screen that said, “Please stand by.”

  “At least something’s gone right. They’ve cleared everyone out of there.”

  “How long do we have?” Owen asked.

  Mr. Smith pulled out his phone. Tapped on it. “No word yet on how long they’ll be delayed, but they’ve admitted a bomb threat was called in. The building is being swept.”

  “What happens when they don’t find anything?”

  “They start the hearing again.” Mr. Smith sent Owen an exasperated look. “But by then, Blaine will be long gone.”

  “You think she’ll skip testifying—just to save this one?” Owen nodded at Avery. “I hope you’re right.”

  Was that what they were counting on?

  Avery’s heart sank. Nothing would stop Elizabeth from testifying. She’d already put them all in danger to make sure she made it to the hearing.

  “She’s a bleeding-heart liberal,” Mr. Smith said. “She’ll cave.”

  He was dead wrong.

  Which meant she was as good as dead, A
very thought. She had to look for any opportunity to get away.

  “Call her,” Owen urged.

  “I’m calling her. Time to put this to bed.” Mr. Smith tapped at the phone again. Held it to his ear.

  Waited.

  “What the fuck?” he finally growled. “She’s not picking up!”

  “Call her again.”

  Mr. Smith did so. “Still not picking up,” he said a minute later.

  “She’s got to pick up.” Owen paced closer, blocking the television. “This is fucked, man. We are in trouble—”

  “Shut the fuck up. Get out of the way.” Mr. Smith waved him off. Made the call again. “God damn it, she’s not answering. Who doesn’t answer their fucking phone?”

  Someone who turned it off because she was determined to focus on her testimony, Avery thought.

  “Call her friend,” Owen said. “That dick for brains who shot at me.”

  Mr. Smith turned to Avery. “What’s his number?”

  “Who’s number?”

  “Gabe Reller. What’s his number?”

  “I don’t know!”

  Mr. Smith stood up. Advanced on her. Stuck his handgun against her temple again. “I’m giving you one more chance.”

  “I never called him. I didn’t have to; he was at the ranch with us.”

  “You don’t have his phone number?” The weapon pressed harder into her skin.

  “He might have texted me.” Avery shrugged. “The number’s probably on my phone.”

  Mr. Smith reached out as if he meant to pat her down and find it.

  Realized she was wearing a wedding gown.

  “Where’s your fucking phone?”

  “At the Russells’.” Avery cowered, thinking he was going to hit her, hating herself for letting him see her fear.

  “For God’s sake, this is a shitshow!” Mr. Smith sat down again. Tried another call on his phone. Threw it down.

  “Now what do we do?” Owen advanced again. “Call those Base Camp people. One of them has Reller’s number.”

  “No way. Right now they’ve got no idea what’s happened to her.” He pointed his weapon at Avery. “She could have run off on her own, for all they know. Runaway bride. It happens. We can’t give them any clues.”

  She would never run from Walker. She didn’t say that, though.

  “We’ve got to get in touch with Blaine somehow.”

  “We’ll keep calling. She’ll pick up sooner or later.”

  “What if she doesn’t?”

  Mr. Smith picked up the remote again. Found a game. “Shut the fuck up. Let me take care of this.”

  “What about the hearing?”

  With an overblown sigh, Mr. Smith toggled back to C-SPAN. The same bland screen greeted them. He put the game on again.

  Owen threw his hands in the air. “We’re fucked.”

  “We’re not fucked!” But Mr. Smith looked grim. “We’ve got time.” He tried his phone again.

  “Well?” Owen challenged him.

  “No answer.”

  Avery flexed her wrists behind her back, trying to wriggle out of the ties that bound her. Her arms, wrists and shoulders ached.

  “Stop squirming,” Mr. Smith barked at her.

  She stopped.

  She had no idea what to do next.

  “Check the trucks. Are our vehicles still here?” Jericho ran outside past Maud and James, who had come to see what all the fuss was about.

  “He thinks someone stole one of our trucks?” Win asked.

  “No,” Walker said slowly, his blood running cold in his veins. He knew what Jericho meant, and it wasn’t that. “He thinks Avery took it.”

  “Avery?”

  “There’s no way Avery ran off,” Savannah asserted, stepping forward. “Why would he think that?”

  “She wouldn’t run,” Riley agreed. “She just went outside to get a breath of fresh air. Someone took her!”

  “Buddy up—start the search!” Boone called. The men scattered, Walker following the others heavily. Avery wouldn’t leave him. He knew she wouldn’t, but even as he pounded out the door and down the front steps, a small part of him wondered if he should be so sure. He’d led her on for months. Put Elizabeth first again and again. Let her impose on their wedding day.

  Then there was the whole mess he’d made of blaming her for stealing his fan. Maybe she’d gotten cold feet, decided to drive to Vegas again.

  Jericho was back. “All the vehicles are here. Avery didn’t take one.”

  Relief whooshed out of him, followed closely by a wash of cold fear.

  If Avery didn’t leave on her own—

  Someone else took her.

  “Angus, Kai, Anders, Greg, search the grounds,” Boone called out. “Jericho, call the sheriff. Tell him what happened. Tell him we need help. Walker, I’m coming with you.”

  Walker ignored him, halfway to a truck already. When Boone slid in beside him, he gunned the engine, reversed and headed down the Russells’ drive.

  “Which way?” he asked when they reached the street. No one was in sight in either direction.

  Toward town or toward the country? Where would he go if he was stealing Avery?

  “That way.” Boone pointed the opposite direction from town. “They have to know we’ll call this in. No way they’d head to town.”

  Cab Johnson and his deputies would be coming from that direction, anyway, Walker figured. They’d intercept anyone suspicious driving toward Chance Creek from the Russells’ place. He spun the wheel, put his foot on the accelerator and drove.

  Ten long minutes later, Boone took a call. “That was Riley,” he said when he was done. “They’ve searched the grounds. Avery’s definitely not there. Cab has got all his men out looking. The women are calling all the guests and everyone else we know, getting them to join the search for Avery. They’re asking some people to drive around looking for any sign of her. Others are making more phone calls and knocking on doors.”

  “Good.”

  Boone’s phone buzzed again. “It’s Cab.” He put it on speakerphone.

  Walker’s pulse leaped.

  “I’ve got the state police on the case.” Cab’s voice was staticky but audible. “They’re getting their choppers out. We’ll have blockades on the surrounding highways pretty soon.”

  “No sightings?”

  “No sightings,” Cab confirmed. “Hang in there. Be safe. We’ll find her.”

  The next call came from Savannah. “We’ve got a room at the community center where we can coordinate with all the volunteers. Maud and James have offered to bring the food and drinks they were going to serve at the wedding for the search parties. They’ve got Avery’s parents with them. It’s already becoming a major operation. Everyone’s helping us look.”

  “Tell people to check their outbuildings,” Walker said, eyeing a barn as they drove past. “There’s a million hiding places they could go.” There was still no one in sight. Had they chosen the wrong direction? Had Avery’s captors already pulled off the main road and hidden somewhere?

  Or were they still ahead of him?

  He accelerated again.

  “They’d have to hide their vehicle,” Boone pointed out.

  “Millions of places to do that,” Walker said. “Get everyone to check their own properties as best they can,” he told Savannah. “But tell them to be careful!”

  “Will do,” Savannah said. “We’re heading over with the Russells to the community center.”

  “Okay. Stay safe.” Boone cut the call. “We’ll find her,” he assured Walker. “I swear.”

  But would they find her in time?

  Avery’s stomach growled.

  For heaven’s sake, she thought. She was in a life-or-death crisis here. What did her stomach want?

  Food.

  It growled again.

  She’d barely eaten today. Should be eating her wedding dinner right about now.

  Should be married to Walker.

  A sob w
elled up in her throat, but she forced it down. She wouldn’t give these men the satisfaction of knowing how terrified she was—and how angry.

  She wanted Walker’s ring on her finger. Wanted to be in his arms. She was supposed to spend her life with him—

  Not get shot in the bedroom of a stupid vacation rental.

  Mr. Smith was listening to his phone again.

  “Well?” Owen demanded.

  “Still not picking up.”

  On the television screen, the hearings were finally getting started. People filed into a large room and took their seats. Avery shifted on the bed.

  Her stomach growled again.

  “Go get her some food!”

  “Are you serious?” Owen crossed his arms.

  Mr. Smith pointed to the door, and Owen didn’t ask any more questions. He went downstairs and returned with a stale banana-nut muffin that looked like it had been purchased at a gas station mini market.

  “Eat.” He aimed his gun at her head, set the muffin down on the bed, broke it into pieces and fed it to her a bit at a time with his other hand.

  Avery followed his instructions. Might as well keep up her strength. She gratefully took a long drink from the water bottle he held for her, gasping when some of it splashed down her gown.

  She’d noticed a smudge or two on it already but had been telling herself Alice could fix it—

  If she made it out of here alive.

  Another sob welled up. Avery fought to contain it. Where was Walker? Were they trying to find her?

  How would they know where to look?

  “You talk to the boss yet?” Owen asked Mr. Smith.

  “Why would I?”

  Owen narrowed his eyes. “We fucked up the plan. He needs to know about it.”

  Mr. Smith didn’t answer.

  “Jesus, Blaine’s supposed to be dead already. You didn’t check in and tell him what’s going on?”

  “Of course I didn’t. I’m buying us some extra time,” Mr. Smith snarled at him. “He doesn’t need to know we’ve fucked up if we can fix it.”

  “What if we don’t fix it? Those Lawrence Energy guys aren’t going to be happy, which means the boss isn’t going to be happy, which means we’re fucked.”

  “We’ll get it done. No way her friends let her die.” Mr. Smith pointed to Avery.