Wolfsbane (4 page)

Getting revenge required getting back to the States. Twenty-two kilometers stretched between Dani and hope. Twelve nautical miles that would put her in international waters.

Light stabbed the night.

She whipped around, the army jacket heavy with ocean water as she paddled.

Bruzon’s speedboat roared over the waves.

They were headed straight toward her. A metallic flavor glanced off her tongue. Watching the boat, she quickened her strokes, the wood chaffed her arm. No good. The boat gained too quickly. She’d have to go under.

Inhaling deeply, she slid off the raft and swam through the lukewarm
ocean. Believing herself a safe distance away, she drifted toward the surface. With great control and tilting her head back, she eased her ears and nose above the surface.

A VFA soldier leaned over the edge of the boat and lifted the raft.
“No es nada. Ella no está aquí,”
he shouted toward the front and dropped the board.
Plunk!

That’s right. Keep thinking it’s nothing, that I’m not here
.

The spotlight swung in a lazy circle over the water. As it fractured her space, Dani stopped treading water and sank.

Even with her eyes closed against the saltiness, she could detect the brightness probing the waters, disappear, then probe again. Flutter kicking as gently as possible, she remained in place. Her head throbbed. She couldn’t hold her breath much longer. A burn emanated through her chest and threatened to drown her. She tensed, knowing she’d have to break for air. Maybe it was okay …

The light seemed magnetically drawn to her. It pierced the dark waters again. It glanced over her, pausing. Dani let herself sink again, but her pulse ramped up until it pounded in sync with the drumming motor.

Is this how she would die? Would she never get to see her sister, niece, and nephews again? While she didn’t have the greatest family, she did love her father and sister. Abigail, the wicked stepmother, could take a flying leap. It wasn’t every day your ex-boyfriend’s sister married your father.

But still, Dani wanted to see them again.
Please
.

Finally, water churned under the frantic thrashing of the engine. The boat tore off.

She shoved herself upward—and burst out of the water. Sucking in air, she also caught a mouthful of water. Coughing and gagging, she swatted the hair from her eyes. She spit as she searched for the raft, then swam to it. She dragged herself aboard. Water sloshed her face as the waves tossed her over one crest after another. Although exhaustion tugged at her limbs, she paddled. Had to … get … to—

Dani yawned.

International waters.

Over the next hour, she heard the grumble of more boats and the thunder of a chopper, but she’d exceeded their search radius. As one chopper loomed close, she mentally drew out an RPG and launched it. Then plotted the plastique she could rig to the rotors so the craft and crew wouldn’t have a prayer. Her eyes drifted closed, thinking of
the thing raining down fire on the ocean, the craft in a million pieces. Sick how the mind of a demolitions expert worked after six months’ captivity. To think, she’d once been the sweet, compliant daughter of a senator.

Well, maybe not compliant.

A loud bang cracked the night. Brilliance shattered the darkness.

Dani jerked, terrified they’d found her. Only to spot a storm surging and racing toward her. The negative image of the lightning lingered in her eyes. Another bolt flashed through the sky. Within seconds rain unleashed and blanketed the area. The waters grew angry and threatening. Had she angered Poseidon? The thought would’ve seemed comical were she not facing an endless body of night-darkened liquid. A giant wave rose like the god himself.

It’d toss her into the deep and thrash her like whipped cream. Pulse crashing, Dani wiggled her fingers into the bindings that held the boards together.

The mountainous wall of black rose over her. Waaay over her.

Stricken, she inhaled deeply as the water towered over her, seemingly holding its own breath—then lunged at her. It slammed her into its depths. Swirling, spinning, she clung to the raft, praying it would hold. That it would keep her afloat. Finding the surface after being plunged downward often proved impossible—and deadly.

Miraculously, the raft plopped upward and crested another wave.

Dani sucked in a huge breath before clamping her mouth shut and squeezing her eyes shut as the water plunged her deep again. Then … up … up … It hurled her farther—

Crack! Thud!

Everything went black.

Hands pawed at her.

“Careful!”

“Pull her up,” a man’s voice skated down her neck.

They’d found her! Disoriented, Dani writhed and screamed. Bruzon would beat her, rip out her soul this time. No, she couldn’t go back. She kicked. Raked fingers over flesh.

“Argh! Dad, get her,” the nearby voice growled.

“I radioed the Coast Guard, Grant.” A woman’s worried tone spiraled through Dani, easing her fears.

This wasn’t Bruzon. These people were speaking English. American
English. Not the butchered form she’d heard for months. She pushed her eyes open as she was lowered onto something hard … and dry. Blurry images danced over her.

“What’s your name?” The dark image in front of her swayed and faded.

Pentagon, Arlington County, Virginia

A light rap on the glass door jerked Olin Lambert’s attention to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs lingering outside. He punched to his feet, spine stiff, and pointed to the leather seats on the opposite side of his massive mahogany desk. “Admiral, come in, sir. Have a seat.”

“Actually,” Admiral Langston said, “I’d like you to take a ride with me.”

Halfway between returning to his seat and standing, Olin paused, looking over his silver-rimmed glasses. A ride? He knew better than to question the admiral. He straightened and lifted his hat from the desk. He strode out the door, pulling it shut behind him.

“I have something I think you’ll want to see,” Langston said.

“Very good, sir.” Olin nodded to his assistant sitting at her desk and relayed a silent signal to hold his calls until he returned. He eyed the salt-and-pepper hair of the decade-younger chief as he followed him down the hall and into the elevator.

Since assuming his role as chairman of the Joint Chiefs three months earlier, Langston had kept to himself. There was much to learn and even more to unlearn about his new boss. Would Olin be able to woo him into his court with Nightshade the way he had the man’s predecessor?

Once the door shut, Langston pressed the elevator button. “Coast Guard picked up a woman in the Gulf.”

Olin shook his head. “Illegals just won’t learn.” But Langston wouldn’t call him out for an illegal—that happened nearly every day. So something bigger was happening here.

The doors slid back with a soft whoosh, and Langston stepped into the large atrium of the building. He donned his white hat as the early morning sun embraced them. Inside the Suburban and on their way, Langston leaned on the console that saddled the space between them. “She wasn’t an illegal.”

Olin arched his eyebrows. He studied the brown eyes that held his, as if a hidden meaning should exist. He shouldn’t have waited so long
to figure out the madness to Admiral Langston’s methods. Should’ve taken the admiral to lunch to familiarize himself with the man who now advised the president and the secretary of defense.

Regardless if the woman in the Gulf wasn’t an illegal, if it hadn’t made CougarNews yet, then things were about to get interesting. “Who is she?”

“For security concerns, her identity is being withheld until we can debrief her fully.” He huffed. “Not that it’s done any good. She’s not talking.” Langston peeked up at an orange light as they slid through the intersection without slowing. “We think she’s Senator Roark’s daughter.”

“Roark?” Heat prickled the back of Olin’s neck.
Jacqueline
.

He’d never forget the night the report came in that a Corps of Engineers team had been taken captive in the Venezuelan jungle. Then his heart sank when he saw the name of Jacqueline’s daughter on the list of missing. Although he tried to discreetly search back channels to find out what happened and locate her, he’d been stifled at every attempt. And doing that made it risky to send out his black-ops team to find her; besides, the team had been shelved when Connelly, the former Joint Chiefs chairman, tried to salvage his career. And failed. Thus the new chairman sitting next to him.

“We’ve had her twenty-three hours. Not an iota of information.” Langston dragged his gaze from the road. “She said she’ll only talk to one person.”

Olin waited.

“You.”

Surprise sparked through him. “Me?” Why would Danielle ask for him? The last time he’d seen her, she was thirteen years old and standing beside an oak coffin, begging her mother not to leave her.

Olin held the dash as they rounded the corner to Walter Reed, then parked outside the emergency entrance.

Keeping pace as the admiral worked his way to the third floor, Olin ached for the young woman. If she’d been captured by Venezuelan rebels, held for six months, and managed an escape, no telling what condition she’d be in—mentally or physically.

“Take care of her, Olin.”
The decade-old admonishment raked over his conscience.

Langston marched to the end of the hall where two Marines jerked to attention, eyes forward. Another man sat across from them in a metal chair, looking haggard in his unzipped navy jacket. He rose as they approached and offered a salute.

“At ease,” Admiral Langston said as he scowled at the loner. “You family?” The growl in Langston’s voice could not be missed. No doubt he was ready to throttle whoever had violated the security order and contacted family.

The man’s pale eyes widened. “No, sir. Chief Petty Officer Range Metcalfe, U.S. Coast Guard, sir.” He nodded toward the secured room. “I lifted her from the sloop that found her. I was ordered to remain here until debriefed.”

Ah, that explained the messy hair and exhaustion ringing his eyes. Olin eyed the name over the man’s chest pocket. Metcalfe. Was it possible …? His gaze flipped to the eyes. Same blue eyes. But black hair, and a bit less suave looking. Could this young officer be the brother to Nightshade’s team member, secretly designated “Wolfsbane” in Olin’s reports?

“Let’s talk.” Langston pointed toward a corner as he motioned to Olin to join them. “Tell us what you know.”

Back against the wall, CPO Metcalfe stifled a yawn. “The distress call came in at 0217. Vacationers found a woman drifting on a makeshift raft eight klicks from St. Thomas.” He shifted his gaze between the two of them. “When I arrived on deck, she was clothed only in an army jacket.” His nervous gaze bobbed on that info. “Nothing else.”

“Army?” Langston again scowled.

“Venezuelan—VFA, sir.”

Olin narrowed his eyes. “Are you certain?”

Determination glinted in the rugged face. “The name on the jacket was Bruzon.”

Mind awhirl with that beauty of a piece of information, Olin schooled his response. He met his superior’s gaze. Langston went silent, his face like a stone.

Metcalfe leaned forward. “You know who that is, right?”

Olin ignored the question. “Did she say how she came by the jacket?”

“No, sir. Wouldn’t talk. And I can’t blame her. In the condition she was in, I’m floored she’s alive.”

It felt like grease chugged through Olin’s veins. “What condition is that?”

“Sir, she’d been beaten. Visible signs of rape, torture, too. She wouldn’t let anyone touch her. Well, except me when I lifted her out.” His throat processed a swallow. “I’d kill whoever did this, given the chance.”

Admiral Langston patted Metcalfe’s shoulder and thanked him. He shifted to Olin. “Get what you can from her. We’re running out of time.”

With a large exhale, Olin started for the room. Palm on the door, he looked back to the chief petty officer. “Metcalfe.” He toyed with what he was about to do. He already knew the answer, but he wanted the man to trust him. Trust bought loyalty better than any greenback. “Happen to know Captain Canyon Metcalfe?”