Authors: Karyn Lawrence
The brewery had endured heavy Allied bombing during the war, and now this. The fire hadn’t spread, thanks to the updated sprinkler system his mother had the foresight to install. Retrofitting the old brewery building with modern technology had been a pain, and cost a fortune, and tonight it had saved the jewel of Osterhägen’s headquarters.
Shawn couldn’t stand still. He couldn’t stay here. The fire chief was giving some sort of report about the damage, but his mind refused to retain the information for more than a few fleeting seconds. He knew he should remain calm and composed as the commander of this company. People would be looking to him.
Scheiße,
how was he supposed to do that? Every hour that ticked by was worse than the last.
Black sludge flowed like a sick fountain from the windows down the east side of the building where they believed the blast had originated. Media had arrived, not far behind the police. He heard comments about this being a terrorist attack. No. There was no political motive here. This had been what Jason called a “smash and grab” on a much larger scale.
Kara.
“Mr. Dunn?” It came from the man approaching him. The dark figure was tall, at least as tall as Shawn, and big. Intense, furious eyes set above a determined look. “Where’s the marshal?” he asked.
The guy’s German was good, barely an accent, but it was there. American. Tall, and referring to his brother that way… it could only be one person.
“You must be Ethan.” The worry for Kara had his emotions too jumbled to process how he should feel about the man before him. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to help, in any way I can. Whatever resources you or your brother need, you’ve got them.”
Jason had gone off with the police to help with other security footage, but now he appeared through the crowd of people. He thundered toward them, a dark look on his face and his gaze set on Ethan as his right hand curl into a fist. Shawn had seen it before and knew what was coming.
But Ethan must have sensed it, too. He leaned back from the powerful right hook that would have laid him out if it had landed, leaving Jason swinging into the air. And with the follow-through, it exposed Jason’s back to the CIA operative. Powerful-looking arms hooked around his brother, one around his chest and the other around his neck, immobilizing him instantly. It happened so quickly it was stunning.
“Get your fucking hands off of him,” Shawn ordered.
“Yeah,” Ethan said to the man struggling against his grip, “I can understand why you wanted to do that, but don’t.” He released Jason with a slight shove, his guarded eyes watching for another attempt. “As I was saying, I’m here to help.”
“This is your fault.” Jason’s voice was thick with anger.
The tall and dangerous-looking American man’s face didn’t change. “I know.”
Shawn didn’t have time for this bullshit. They could lay blame later. “How can you help us?”
“We’re going to Ettringen,” Ethan said.
“What’s in Ettringen?” both Dunns asked at the same time.
“Two bodies, one of them matching the description of the triggerman. The car’s got the same tags as the one pulled from the security footage.”
Shawn couldn’t breathe. “The other body?”
“Another man. Not Juric.” Ethan combed an impatient hand through his dark hair, looking to Jason. “You coming?”
“Yeah,” Jason replied, not even glancing at Shawn. “We are.” Because his brother already knew that this is what Shawn wanted and it was pointless to argue against it. There was a collection of police and BKA, the German equivalent of the United States’ FBI, wanting more information that stopped them when they tried to leave.
“These are US citizens,” Ethan said. “I’m taking them to the Embassy so that they can speak with their government.”
He considered that a lie on so many levels, but Shawn kept his mouth shut, and thankfully it worked. He was seated in the backseat of Jason’s BMW a few minutes later, his long legs turned sideways so his knees weren’t up against the driver’s seat. There was no time to argue, he kept reminding himself. The car drove fast, barreling down the A96. Shawn wasn’t going to say a damn thing about the speed. They couldn’t get there fast enough.
“What the fuck happened?” Jason said. “
How
did this happen?”
“The decision was made, over my head,” Ethan replied, “that Juric was more valuable as an informant. They thought they could turn him, and when that failed, they tried to contain him.”
Jason swerved around a slow moving car. Anger was heavy and thick in his voice. “And when that failed?”
“Several good people went dark and he vanished.” Ethan had his phone out, scrolling through a map. “When my handler received confirmation the AISE had him in custody, I was sent to collect Juric. Only it wasn’t him. He’d been planning the bombing ever since his escape, and this patsy was a way to make sure you’d feel comfortable out in the open. He wanted you and Laurel there.”
“You
knew
he was planning the bombing?” The muscles of Shawn’s hand clenched into a fist.
He was going to strike and empty his rage at this man. Kara never would have had the chance to volunteer to take L’s place if Ethan had stopped the bombing. The injury to his staff, the destruction at his brewery —
“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t know this was Juric until I heard about the bombing. There was chatter about C-4 and some stolen Osterhägen trucks earlier this week, so I’m assuming now. I had no way of knowing those were connected.” Ethan’s gaze lifted from his phone to Jason. “I’m not authorized to tell you any of this, but if there’s a chance it will help, I’m going to.”
When they arrived at the scene, it was already corded off with yellow tape, an ambulance nearby. The weathered barn’s doors were open on both sides and floodlights streamed out through them. A step led into the front, and several officers were examining the set of tire tracks in the mud leading out the back. Ethan turned in his seat, facing Shawn.
“Someone may recognize you. I’ll be able to talk my way in and probably the marshal, too, but you’ll need to stay in the car.”
No, that was unacceptable. Shawn threw his door open when Jason’s voice cut into him. “She’s not in there, Shawn. Don’t slow us down while we’re trying to find her.”
“I’m supposed to sit here and do nothing.” He’d never sounded more bitter in his life.
“Yeah.” Jason had been there, so his words were raw. “I know it’s hard, believe me.”
He watched his brother go with Ethan, and after a short conversation, the men ducked under the tape and disappeared into the barn.
It got hot and uncomfortable in the car and he shed his jacket and tie. Shawn needed to be in that barn, knowing what they knew so he could start organizing a plan. Five minutes passed. Then ten. He was going to snap. The chime on his phone of an incoming email distracted him. He didn’t recognize the email address, but clicked it open anyway.
No.
He exhaled loudly, then flung open the door and stormed to the barn. Fuck the men trying to stop him. He would get to Jason if it killed him. The commotion outside drew both his brother and Ethan from inside.
One look at Shawn tangled in the officers’ arms, shouting to get off of him, and Jason came running. Shawn hurled the phone at him, wanting to hurl the image away just as easily. It struck his brother in the chest with a thud and the phone fell to the grass, where Jason snatched it up.
The younger Dunn had never been one to wear emotion, unless it was anger. That was what Jason was good at. But now, as his eyes scanned down the screen, there was a look of familiar horror darkening his expression.
On screen, the image was of Kara sitting upright on a bed, a bruise blooming across her cheek and a startled expression in her eyes. She wasn’t wearing anything but a tiny bra and a sheet around her waist. The subject of the email pounded in Shawn’s brain like a hammer beating relentlessly.
Mine.
-13-
Kara flattened her back against the wall beneath the stairs, a heel clutched in each hand, when Juric descended into the room. She had counted on the element of surprise, but hadn’t factored in that exhaustion made her slow, where he seemed rested, alert, and much faster. She swung the heel, trying to stab him, but he caught her hands easily.
“So much for that idea,” he said, squeezing her arms until she moaned in pain and dropped the shoes. “Where are your handcuffs?”
“I threw them away.”
“Where?”
She sank down on the bed, like she was too defeated to stand and pointed to the bathroom. He turned and stepped from the carpet onto the tile —
Now.
He slipped on the floor she’d made slick with shampoo and went crashing to the ground. She wasn’t defeated. She’d been hoping he’d buy her act and he had, hook, line, and sinker. She took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the screaming pain in her body and threw the door open. He was coming up the steps behind her by the time she had the door shut and dropped the bar in place.
She took a step back from the door, sick to her stomach and dizzy from the effort.
Holy crap, it worked.
A male voice came from a room down the hall, asking something in what sounded like Italian.
It was thirteen steps to the door he’d brought her in through. She pounded across the room, vaguely aware it was a furnished sitting area. She had no shoes and absolutely no desire to find out whom that voice belonged to. She hit the door and darted outside, her feet carrying her across a driveway and then into the woods that bordered the house.
She’d have to stay off the road if she had any shot of truly escaping. Branches snapped under her feet, mud squished between her toes, but she paid it no heed. For the first few minutes she simply ran, but then she tried to get smart about it and avoided leaving such an easy trail to follow.
She had wanted to stay away from the road, but at one point she crossed over it when no cars were coming. The clouds above threatened rain. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. It’d slow her down but maybe cover her tracks, too.
It seemed like the adrenaline wore off too quickly and she was bone tired again. The woods were more dense and hilly now, and she had to focus her mind on small tasks to keep going. Make it up this hill. To the tree with the broken branch. Just a little further.
She allowed herself thirty seconds to rest against a tree, but when the thirty seconds were up she had to take thirty more. And then she pressed on. There was a crumbling stone wall across the landscape that she considered hiding against. Trees grew around and through it. It had probably been there for centuries. Something that Americans found fascinating but Europeans took for granted. Commonplace.
No, she’d have to keep moving. Her body was shutting down and if she stopped, she’d collapse. At the top of the next hill, she realized she was close to the road again and a small shop was perched on the corner. In her excitement, her foot hung on a branch and sent her tumbling to the ground. Her cut broke open and it was like he was cutting her with every breath she took.
The two older men in the butcher shop behind the counter stopped speaking and froze with shock. She couldn’t imagine what she must look like.
“Help,” she said in English, “I need to use your phone.”
They continued to vacantly stare, slack-jawed.
Oh, no.
She was a stupid American. Why hadn’t she tried harder to learn another language? She made the gesture for a phone, but one of them said a whole bunch of things she couldn’t understand.
What the hell was she going to do? She didn’t know where she was, how to communicate —
“Osterhägen bier,” she said abruptly. That did absolutely nothing to help the bizarre looks she was getting. They’d go home to their wives tonight and tell them the story of the belligerent, filthy American who’d shown up in their store with no shoes on and demanded a beer.
She put her hand to her chest, trying to make them understand. “Osterhägen.”
The older of the two, and the one that appeared more confused, set a newspaper down on the counter. She didn’t need to translate to recognize the picture on the front page. The brewery on fire.
“Yes! Yes! Osterhägen,” she said, pointing from her to the picture and back again. “I was there!” A thought flitted through her damaged mind.
This is taking too long and he’ll find you.
When he does, he’ll kill these two men, who’ve already seen too much.
Her hand on her chest dipped inside her shirt to extract Shawn’s card. Her shaky fingers set it down on top of the newspaper, the logo on the card matching the one on the side of the burning building. She left her fingers on it for a moment, struggling to let go.
“Call him, please. Tell him about me.” She made the phone gesture again, motioning to the card and then herself. The younger man said something that sounded alarming and pointed to her waist. Blood stained her shirt below her arm.
“Shawn Dunn.
Bitte
,” she whispered, backing away until she was against the door. One of them rounded the counter as if to stop her, but she shook her head and tried to give him a look to communicate he needed to stay put.