Navy SEAL Surrender (9 page)

Chapter Fourteen

John crossed the hay field without any problem. He approached straight down the fencerow next to the drive, using the trees as cover.

There were actually two old houses, both probably built before indoor plumbing. The southern one closest to him, just a box with steps, had no lights and no activity. Storm cellar to its east. Barn to the north, then a shed, tractor and some baled hay.

Between him and the main house was a circular drive with a large oak in dead center. All laid out just like the gridded map in his head.

The larger house had started small with rooms haphazardly stuck to it. One of those additions was definitely the bathroom. He could see pipes and a hole in the ground from plumbing work. Two he could assume were bedrooms. They each had a small window air-conditioning unit identical to the one in the front room.

Weber had taken his sweet time pulling up the driveway. He parked near the smaller house and was still in the dang truck. No one reacted to his arrival. No doubt due to the window unit and blaring television.

A blind rescue. He hated being without intel on how many assailants were inside or where the hostage was located. What he wouldn’t give for some heat imaging to locate hostiles.

When Weber finally got out of the old truck, he was covered from head to toe, including gloves. Not good. It had to be almost a hundred degrees still. Obviously, he didn’t want to leave evidence behind. The situation had all the markers of going south fast.

Pictures. Video.
Why hadn’t he brought Dev’s cell to record the exchange? He’d thought only of rescuing Lauren, and that Alicia needed the phone for her safety. Nothing else. It was too far to run back and retrieve the thing. He’d taken images of Weber in the truck, but a recorded conversation would be damning and convict the Webers, clearing Alicia. It couldn’t be explained away as easily as a ride in an old truck.

After the rescue, mother and daughter would be together. At least that met his priority objective.

Weber appeared nervous and hesitant walking up the steps to the wide well-lit porch. He shifted the gym bag from shoulder to shoulder. If he and Shauna had nothing to do with the kidnapping, delivering the ransom without police involvement wasn’t a good idea. They had to be guilty.

Then where’s the money?
Dev was the best, and he was having problems finding it.

The outside light flicked on. Weber was greeted by a surprised young woman. A man yelled. As soon as he walked inside, an argument began. Indistinguishable words, but John could guess what it concerned.

John darted behind the darkened house, pausing at the raised earth of the cellar. No outside guard. No one standing watch. No cattle or horses in the field. No dogs and not even a sign of a cat. He zigzagged the open twenty yards to the corner of the bathroom.

Words like
in charge
and
highfalutin
popped through the thin walls, along with a host of four-letter words. Unless Patrick Weber’s voice had shifted from a tenor to a deep bass, the man he’d joined wasn’t a happy camper. Weber showing up—especially without the extra cash—wasn’t to their liking. But neither was the surprise demand for more. The way the men discussed the details was additional proof that Lauren’s step-grandparents were in charge of the entire kidnapping. But there still wasn’t evidence that would clear Alicia or Brian.

John kept his back to the paint-peeling wood, glancing into the windows of each room. At the rear of the house, one of the window units had plywood over the glass.
Bingo.
Lauren had to be in that room. The wood was new and the nailing sloppy, but he couldn’t pry it loose with just his hands or the multitool that lived in his back pocket. There wasn’t anything lying around to help. He couldn’t risk losing time searching the barn.

Just past the window was another porch. Kitchen. Back door. He tried the knob. Unlocked. He cracked it open. No squeak.

Weapon ready, John crept inside, leaving the door open behind him, and silently got his back to the cabinets near the main room. Only one way into the rest of the house. In fact, there weren’t any hallways. All the rooms opened onto the front room, where everyone was located.

“You ain’t gettin’ the kid till I get the rest of the dough,” the second man screamed.

The yelling grew louder. More erratic. Covering several subjects. About staying in an old rattrap of a house. About Tory, the woman who had answered the door. About how tired he was of babysitting a kid. The woman screamed back, seeming to hold her own until the big guy backhanded her. And Weber remained silent, looking edgy.

The anxiety landing in the pit of John’s gut wasn’t good. This second man seemed to be strung out—no telling what drug he was high on or what he was capable of doing. Tory kept trying to appease him, calm him.

It didn’t work. And after a second brutal slap, she pressed against the wall and out of his reach. Getting Lauren out of the house fast was imperative.

“Take the money,” Weber encouraged. “There’s twenty-five grand here.”

“We decided we need more, and you gotta pay to keep us shut up.”

“Then leave it.” Weber shrugged.

John surveyed the living room via a wall mirror he could see from where he stood. The girl was blond, petite and had a deeply black eye. There were bruises up and down her arms.

“Come on, babe. This is what we’ve waited for.” The girl tugged on the man’s arm. “Twenty-five thousand gets us on a beach in the Bahamas.”

“Stop hanging on me, you whore.” He propelled her away and she collided with the TV stand. The old set crashed to the floor and Weber didn’t cringe or react. “I told you, you ain’t getting the kid for less than half a mil.”

“You’re certain about that?” Weber dropped the bag from his shoulder.

John heard the zipper. Did Weber really think he could convince this guy to take the money by showing it to him? Aw, hell. There must be a gun in the top of the bag.

Should he wait for Weber to draw and hope the big guy could defend himself? Then he’d proceed to where he thought
Lauren could possibly be located. Or should he stop Weber before he killed the only two people who could prove Alicia’s innocence?

“Hold it.” John spun around the corner and aimed his 9 mm at Weber.

“Who the hell are you?” The big man took a step closer to him.

“Far enough.” John shifted his aim between the two men. The second was easily five inches taller than John and outweighed him by a good eighty pounds. The man was a damn giant.

“What are you doing here, Sloane?” Weber asked.

“You know this bastard?” the other man said to Weber, but advanced toward John.

“Stay back and, Weber, show me your hands.” He gestured with the gun for them to move to the outside wall. “Slowly stand up and back away from the bag.”

“I’m going to tear you both to shreds.”

“Back to your corner, Gargantuan.” He kept both men in his view, but lost sight of Tory. Served him right if something hit him over the head for being so careless, but it wouldn’t help Lauren.

“You should leave. I’m here to get the kid back and you’re mucking everything up.” Weber stood, but suspiciously slipped his hand into his pocket.

“I know why you’re here, and it won’t work.”

“I disagree.” Weber dived for the bag, rolled and fired.

John couldn’t discharge his weapon for the same reason he’d tried to prevent Weber from shooting. He couldn’t risk injuring Lauren or the kidnappers. But that wouldn’t stop the others from taking the risk.

When Weber dived toward the front door, Gargantuan dived straight into John. The woman who cowered in the corner scurried in the opposite direction. John lost sight of Weber when a thick shoulder hit his kidney, stunning him with the force. He kept his grip on his gun, hitting the giant of a man in the side of the head.

Gargantuan didn’t flinch, just locked his arms around John’s midsection and started squeezing. He wasn’t just huge, he absorbed all the hard-hitting blows John could deliver. The deadlock around his ribs had him struggling for air. He couldn’t get any traction with his feet dangling. Then the giant shoved him into the wall.

The gun flew while old picture frames banged to the floor. John watched his defense land close to the front door. Hand to hand it would have to be.

John used his legs to do his own shoving. They both shot across the room. Gargantuan lost his balance but not his grip as they crashed between the chair and couch. John could only see the nicotine-yellowed ceiling, but the voice of a child was very distinct behind one of the doors.

“Help.”

* * *

A
LICIA
RAN
TO
the farm, imitating John’s movements, and following as much of the path as she’d watched earlier. The car she came to warn John about was still parked—waiting for something. Just like when they’d run from the house that morning, she got close to the fence and tried to blend in with the trees. Once she reached the open yard, she skirted around the edge of the houses before getting close to the back porch.

The door was open. She heard thrashing inside and then distinct sounds of a car door out front. Could John already have Lauren?

* * *

J
OHN
THRUST
HIS
elbow under
Gargantuan’s ribs. Again. Then again.

Blessed relief around his chest was followed with direct hits simultaneously to his ears. He saw two women—or maybe it was one and he was seeing double—twist a dead bolt on one of the doors.

They were moving Lauren. He had to get free.

A quick shake of his head, attempting to clear it, just made the double vision worse. His ears burned as much as his anger at being taken by surprise by Weber’s bully. And Weber.

He flipped around and landed a couple of punches to a massive chest. He saw the woman running, dragging Lauren behind her. Escaping.

Time to end this.

* * *

A
FRAID
SOMEONE
WAS
leaving with
Lauren, Alicia ran around the house to stop them. The porch light was enough to see Patrick running to the driveway, waving an arm above his head. He carried a bag, but didn’t have Lauren. She stayed in the dark at the edge of the porch. Should she go in the house? Where was John?

More crashing. Shadows of bodies hit the curtains. Two men were fighting. It must be John. She searched the darkness, trying to get her eyes to adjust to find Patrick, but he’d disappeared. A car—most likely the one from the road—was headed toward the house.

A tiny, frightened whimper. Alicia’s attention snapped to the porch.

“Patrick, wait,” a woman shouted, shoving the screen door against the wall as she ran through.

“Lauren.” Though a little dirty, her daughter seemed uninjured.

“Mommy! Mommy!” Lauren struggled to free her wrist from a familiar young woman. The struggling forced the woman to pause and get control. When Lauren couldn’t get free, her daughter threw herself to the porch, taking her captor to her knees and turning her face toward Alicia.

“Tory?”

* * *

G
ARGANTUAN
WOULDN
’
T
STAY
DOWN
. John threw his head backward, connecting with the man’s nose. He heard the familiar crunch of cartilage breaking and took advantage of his opponent’s momentary stunned state to scramble to his feet.

Twelve years in the navy had taught him a couple of things about hand-to-hand combat. It was time to let some of it kick into high gear. There was no guilt at a few dirty tricks to get this kidnapper on the floor.

Another punch caught him in the chin, but he returned with three quick jabs of his own. He hit a bloody nose twice, obtaining a groan of pain from his opponent. He spun, kicked, connected. Boot sliced flesh.

Gargantuan finally looked dazed. Another kick to the head. He fell through the kitchen doorway and didn’t get up.

Where the hell is my gun?

* * *

A
LICIA
WATCHED
AS
Tory waved the
handgun like an inexperienced teenager afraid of what she held. She yanked Lauren onto her side, the gun so close she could accidentally hit her little girl.

Lauren squirmed on Tory’s hip.

“Be still!” the frightened young woman shouted. “Stay away. Just stay back.”

“It’s okay, princess.” Alicia tried to sound calm while coaxing her baby to keep out of the line of fire. “Stay there and be still, sweetheart. Do what Tory says.”

“I don’t want to stay with her no more, Mommy.”

“Shut up,” Tory hysterically screamed, pounding the gun against her skull. “I can’t think what I need to do.”

“Princess, please be still and let me see if Miss Tory will let you come home.”

“That ain’t never goin’ to happen. Not until— Patrick?” Tory searched the dark, the gun pointed casually toward Lauren again. “God, Patrick, don’t leave me.”

Nervous, anxious, uncertain... Alicia shoved a stopper into those emotions before they clouded her judgment. But whatever she felt, Tory was horrifically worse. She’d clearly been beaten and was terrified. She searched the yard, pointing the gun practically everywhere, including at Lauren.

Alicia couldn’t wrap her mind around who held the hand of her daughter. Shauna had to be responsible for the kidnapping. Tory worked for minimum wage at Mary’s day care. She didn’t have enough money or influence to create a money trail that would frame her.

It was Shauna. It had to be.

“We’re going to get in that car and drive away from here.” Tory wrapped Lauren tightly across the front of her body, using her daughter as a human shield. “Do you hear me, Alicia? Nobody comes near me or I’ll shoot. I don’t want to, but I will.”

Lauren cried, chanting, “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.”

It broke her heart not to sprint to Tory and lock her daughter into a tight embrace of love.

“You don’t have to do this, Tory. We can work things out. No one will ever know.”