Delta Force Die Hard

by Carol Ericson

  “I didn’t see you set one.”

  “I didn’t. I don’t always arm it.”

  “Why not?” He pushed off the stool and, spreading his arms, did a slow turn around the room. “There’s some artwork on that wall over there that could feed a family of five for life.”

  Heat surged into her cheeks. So he’d only pretended not to notice the luxury of the house. “This is my father’s house.”

  “And you don’t care if your father loses his assets?” His brows shot up to his hairline.

  “Considering how he amassed his fortune?” She tossed her head, sweeping her hair from her shoulder. “Not really.”

  “He’s a real-estate mogul, not a drug dealer, right?”

  “Forget it.” She didn’t want to go into a petulant first-world rant about her father’s wealth in front of Joe. “I will definitely set the alarm system tonight.”

  “Good, because you’re the most valuable thing in this whole house.”

  And just like that, her heart flip-flopped, but not from fear.

  “Do you think I might actually be in danger?” She took a swig of her wine.

  “I think you’ll be fine if you stick to your original story and don’t make waves about Marten.”

  “That seems—” she swirled the last of the liquid in her glass “—wrong.”

  “You can’t do anything for Marten now, Hailey. Stay on script. Any chance your father is coming home anytime soon?”

  “He’s in New York with his wife. She prefers it there.”

  “And your brother?”

  Hailey swallowed. Joe really knew her entire family history. “My brother, Win, will be wherever our father is, playing lapdog.”

  “Speaking of dogs, you don’t have a German shepherd hiding out somewhere, do you?” Joe leaned forward as if to peek under the sofa in the next room.

  “Mel, my stepmother, can’t stand animals. As soon as my cat died, she declared a moratorium on pets in this house.”

  “Don’t you have a house of your own?”

  “No. I gave up my apartment near the Haight when I went to Syria. When I came back home, my father asked me to live in and watch his place.”

  “You could do a lot worse.” He crushed the water bottle with one hand. “As long as you’re here and as long as there’s an alarm system, use it.”

  “I will now.” She held up her phone. “Do you want me to call you a car? Where are you staying, anyway?”

  “Hotel back by Fisherman’s Wharf.” He pulled a wallet out of his pocket. “I’ll pay you back for the car.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’ll only be a few bucks.” At least Joe didn’t assume Miss Moneybags would be picking up the tab for everything.

  He waved a twenty in the air before slipping it beneath her wineglass. “Take it for the transportation and the dinner.”

  “The dinner?”

  “I stole your chowder and then ruined your appetite.”

  “You did do that.” She tapped her phone to accept a driver in the vicinity. “Your car’s on its way, a white Prius.”

  “Thanks, Hailey, and I’m sorry I messed up your evening.” He held out his hand. “It was nice meeting you.”

  She took his hand, and it enveloped hers in a warm clasp. “I appreciate what you did tonight—I mean, ensuring my safety. What’s next for you?”

  “I’ll continue looking into the claim that Denver was part of the group that planted the bomb on your car.” He flipped up the collar of his jacket. “I might track down the journalist who was with you.”

  “I told you, Andrew Reese is back in England probably working on other stories.”

  “Do you have his phone number?”

  “I do.” She searched through her phone. “What’s your number? I’ll send it to you.”

  Joe recited his number, and she saved it in her phone before forwarding Andrew’s number to him. “Your car is one minute away.”

  Hailey suddenly felt a rush of panic, almost as if she had to tell Joe something before he walked out of her life forever.

  He started to turn and stopped. “If...if you remember anything else, you have my number now. Feel free to call me—anytime.”

  Had he felt it, too, then? Something unsaid between them?

  She clasped her phone to her chest. “Yes, yes, I will.”

  When they reached the front door, he tapped the alarm system on the wall. “Set it.”

  “I will. Goodbye, Joe.”

  He raised his hand, and she watched him jog down the first few steps before he made the left turn and disappeared behind the bushes.

  She clicked the door closed, locked it and punched in the code to set the alarm system.

  She picked up Joe’s crushed water bottle and pressed it against her warm face. One brief encounter and she’d constructed a mental picture of Joe McVie as superhero to the rescue.

  Snorting, she tossed the bottle into the recycling bin. She’d been fooled by that type before. She rinsed her glass in the sink and sighed at the silence of the house.

  The wine had taken the edge off a little, but she still couldn’t believe Marten was dead...murdered. Maybe Joe had been wrong about everything.

  She walked into the den and turned on the TV, flipping over to the local news. The ten o’clock version hadn’t started yet, so she ran upstairs and got ready for bed.

  Her face washed, her teeth brushed and her hair in a ponytail, she went back downstairs and tripped on the last step when she caught sight of Marten’s hat on the coffee table.

  What would’ve happened if Joe hadn’t been around to notice the man tailing her? Would that man have delivered the same warning he’d hoped to convey with the hat? Keep quiet.

  It was not in her nature to keep quiet. Her father had found that out the hard way.

  Helping to ID Marten’s body was not endorsing any change of heart he might’ve had about the statements he’d made regarding their abduction. She hadn’t even known Marten was going to retract what he’d claimed about Denver’s presence with their captors. Surely, giving a name to an unidentified dead man wouldn’t get her in trouble.

  She sidled into the den, avoiding the hat, and curled up in a recliner with the remote in her hand. She turned up the sound when the local news started. The incident on the ferry was the top story.

  Hailey drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped one arm around her legs. The coast guard hadn’t found the body yet, and nobody had reported anyone missing from the ferry. The check of tickets on the boat hadn’t completely matched up with the tickets sold. People on the boat must’ve slipped off without showing their tickets to anyone.

  How would they ever identify the man who fell overboard? Would they even believe someone had fallen overboard? What evidence did they have?

  Even the man’s black hat was gone.

  Hailey sighed again and turned off the TV. She still had some work to do on a fund-raising gala taking place this week, which would be a good way to get her mind off Marten...and Joe McVie.

  She swept her laptop from the kitchen counter and tucked it under her arm as she climbed the stairs. She threw back the covers on her bed and settled cross-legged on the sheet, placing her laptop between her knees.

  She tapped her keyboard to get things moving and double clicked the folder that contained her guest list and venue layout. Daisy, her event coordinator, had done most of the work these past few months, booking the hotel ballroom, setting up the catering and the decor. All Hailey had to do was look through everything, approve it and write the checks.

  She verified the price for the band Daisy had given her and did another count of the guests. Then she opened her email to send Daisy a message.

  Before launching a new email, Hailey skimmed through her messages, deleting most of them. An email with an attachment from some
thing called the Syrian Refugee Campaign caught her eye, and she opened it.

  The message had no text except for a link. She almost deleted it, but the subject line jumped out at her. It contained a name—Andrew Reese, the British journalist who’d been captured with her.

  She squinted at the date. It had been sent tonight. Maybe it was from Andrew. Maybe he’d heard something about Marten.

  Her heart thumped as she clicked the link. A video filled her screen, with no sound or introduction.

  The video took her down a long, dark hallway, and Hailey stopped breathing. The blood thrummed in her ears. A door came into focus, and the shaky video continued as someone reached out and opened the door with a gloved hand.

  It swung open on a dark room, a single light in the corner, but the camera stayed away from the light, tracking along the shadows instead.

  Hailey’s fingers curled around the edge of her sheet, bunching the material into her hands. The camera took her farther into the room, suddenly swinging toward an object in the corner under the light.

  Hailey gasped at the hooded figure tied to the chair, chin dropped to his or her chest. Was this some kind of sick joke? Some snuff film?

  A hand appeared in the frame and whipped the black hood from the person in the chair. The poor soul’s head bobbed, but still hung down, long hair obscuring his face.

  The hand made its way into the frame again and prodded the man in the chair. Slowly the captive raised his head, looked into the camera from eyes sunken into his swollen face and in a hoarse voice whispered, “Help me, Hailey.”

  Chapter Four

  Joe stretched out on the king-size bed and toed off his shoes. The TV newscast hadn’t done much of a story on poor old Marten. Would his body ever wash up?

  Joe regretted not getting right to the point with Marten to find out who put Major Denver’s name on his lips in the first place. He’d wanted to hold off to see where he went and who he met. He hadn’t thought the guy would wind up dead. He’d underestimated the enemy.

  A tingle of fear crept across his flesh. Hailey didn’t know anything, hadn’t retracted her story about hearing one of the terrorists address Denver by name—and now she wouldn’t.

  His phone, charging next to the bed, rang, and he checked the display. He’d memorized Hailey’s number, and he bolted upright to answer her call.

  “Hailey, did you remember something?”

  “Oh my God, Joe. It’s Andrew. They have Andrew now.”

  “Wait. Slow down. What are you talking about? Who has Andrew?”

  “The same people who killed Marten. I’m sure of it. They have Andrew, and they have my email address.”

  Joe swung his legs off the bed. “Someone sent you an email?”

  “It’s horrible, Joe. It’s Andrew. Th-they’ve tortured him.”

  A knot formed in Joe’s gut. “This was a video sent to your email address?”

  “Yes.” Hailey sniffled. “I didn’t recognize the email address, but Andrew’s name was in the link, so I thought it might be something he was sending. I’m sorry I clicked on it.”

  “Was anyone else in the video?”

  “No, just the cameraman’s gloved hand, and I’m pretty sure the video was taken with a phone. It’s shaky.” She drew in a long breath. “I—I don’t know where he is, but we have to help him. We have to call the FBI.”

  “There are no hints in the video? Background.”

  “It’s horrible, Joe. Andrew’s in a room, tied up. They had a hood over his head. When they pulled off the hood, I could tell they’d tortured him, beaten him, but Andrew still mentioned my name.”

  “He said your name?” Joe launched from the bed and stuffed his feet back into his shoes. He had to see this video for himself.

  “He asked me for help.” She sobbed. “It was terrible. I’m sick to my stomach.”

  “I’m coming right over.”

  “Y-you are? I can forward the video to you.”

  “I want to see the original email.” Did that sound like a good enough excuse? He didn’t need an excuse. “You shouldn’t be alone right now, Hailey, not after everything that happened tonight.”

  “If it’s not any trouble, I’d appreciate your input.”

  “Did you set the alarm system on the house?”

  “I did.”

  “Okay. I’m going to download that car app right now and grab a ride over. Fifteen minutes? Don’t open the door to anyone else.”

  “Do you think I’m crazy? I wouldn’t open my door to the police chief himself right now.”

  “Stay in that frame of mind.”

  Twenty minutes later, Joe bolted from the car and ran up the steps to Hailey’s house. He’d texted her from the car, and she must’ve been watching from the upstairs window. Seconds after he rang the bell, the door swung open.

  Hailey grabbed his arm and practically yanked him across the threshold. “Thank you so much. I’m jumping at every little squeak in the house.”

  He shut the door behind him. “Arm the system.”

  She reached past him to punch in the code, and he inhaled the fresh scent that matched her fresh face. Devoid of makeup, her hair pulled back, Hailey looked like a college girl—a scared college girl.

  “Show me this email and video.”

  “My laptop’s upstairs. I was just going to do a little work on a fund-raiser that my foundation is sponsoring when I tripped across the email.” She hugged herself and hunched her shoulders. “I don’t know how I’m going to go to sleep with the image of Andrew’s poor face in my mind.”

  She said all of this while climbing the stairs with her head twisted over her shoulder. In her agitation, she tripped a few times, and he put out his hand to steady her so she wouldn’t take him with her as she tumbled down the stairs.

  He followed her into her bedroom, his gaze riveted by the sway of her hips beneath a very nonsexy pair of flannel pajamas with pink clouds on them.

  She turned at the door and pointed to the laptop on the bed as if gesturing toward a rattlesnake ready to strike.

  The computer sat at an angle, probably where it landed after she’d pushed it from her lap.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the laptop toward him. “Is the video up?”

  “It should be. I didn’t close it out or turn it off.” She crept up and hovered over his shoulder, one bare foot on top of the other.

  Joe tapped the keyboard, and the still of a dark hallway appeared on the monitor. He clicked the arrow in the lower-left corner and watched the sickening display with a dry mouth.

  Hailey had backed up and turned away before the video ended and stood across the room twisting her fingers in front of her. “What do you think?”

  “These are some seriously sick people.” He didn’t tell Hailey he’d seen a lot worse. Of course, she’d been at that refugee center when it had been bombed. She’d seen a lot worse, too.

  “Can we report this to someone?”

  “The police aren’t going to know what to do with it, but you can call the FBI. Do you still have the contact info of the agents who interviewed you when you got back?”

  “I have their cards. I’ll call them tomorrow. Do you think they can do anything?”

  “They can at least touch base with their British counterparts if Andrew is in England and this occurred there. They may be able to do some computer forensics and find out where this came from.”

  “And why?” She crossed her arms over her midsection. “I have to know why this is happening. Why Marten? Why Andrew? Why me?”

  “You all have one thing in common.”

  “We were all kidnapped by the terrorist group that bombed the refugee camp and destroyed the peace talks.”

  “And in one way or another, you all called out Major Denver as being one of them.” Joe closed the video an
d shut the lid of the laptop, as if that could keep the horror away from Hailey. “What about the other two? Have you had any contact with Naraj and Ayala since the incident?”

  “Not with Naraj. I exchanged a few emails with Ayala just to check on things at the center, send some money and tell her about the fund-raiser.”

  “When was the last time you heard from her?”

  Hailey’s dark eyes got huge in her face. “A few weeks ago.”

  “Did she mention anything out of the ordinary?”

  “No. Should I contact her again?”

  “You don’t have to tell her what’s going on over here. Just feel her out.”

  “I’ll do that now.” She waved a hand at the laptop. “Is the video off?”

  “I closed it and the email.” He opened the computer and turned around to face her. “It won’t bite.”

  She approached the bed and dropped to her knees. Using the bed as a table, she launched her email and typed a message to Ayala. “I’m just asking her for a progress report and an accounting of the money I sent. I need that for my tax guy, anyway.”

  She hit the send button with a flourish. “I’d better not find out anything has happened to Ayala, or I’m going to lose it. Do you think Andrew’s okay? Did those injuries look life-threatening to you? They’re not going to kill him, are they?”

  “Like they killed Marten?”

  Covering her mouth, she sat back on her heels. “What do they want, Joe? Do they want to shut us up? We’re not saying anything—at least, Andrew and I aren’t saying anything.”

  “You don’t know what Andrew has or hasn’t said.”

  “Are you trying to tell me he also retracted his story about Denver? Someone is going to a lot of trouble to keep driving that narrative forward.”

  “You have no idea.” Joe bent his head forward and pinched the tight muscle at the back of his neck.

  Hailey braced her hands on her thighs. “It’s more than us, isn’t it? They have more on Denver than just a few aid workers implicating him in a bombing, don’t they?”

  “There’s a whole framework around him.” He shifted to the side and patted the bed. “Come up off the floor and have a seat.”