He was familiar with the antigovernment mentality. He’d grown up in a remote town in Montana called Stone Creek. Many people he’d known growing up there liked to stay as far off the grid as possible. Some were preparing for the apocalypse; most were avoiding the IRS or warrants for their arrest.
As a kid, he’d liked horses and dogs way better than he’d ever liked people. But he’d been drawn to the FBI from a young age with stories of agents tracking down the Unabomber not that far from where he’d lived. The idea of danger had also been an attraction for him. Although, as everyone liked to point out, no negotiator had ever been killed over the telephone.
Eban took another sip of coffee and basked in the quiet of the office. This was the life. This was perfect. Relaxed. Peaceful. He looked out the window at the lush greens of the forest that surrounded the National Academy and Critical Incident Response Group compounds. He took a bite out of an apple and savored the sweetness. Maybe he’d go for a run or hit the firing range. Everything around here seemed to be running like clockwork.
The phone rang, and he snatched it out of the cradle, still leaning back in his boss’s chair. “Winters.”
“Eban. It’s Steve McKenzie. I’ve got some bad news.”
“What’s up?” Eban had worked with McKenzie at SIOC in the spring when someone had attempted to bomb headquarters.
“I received a call a few hours ago from Savage. The hotel he was staying in was attacked by armed terrorists.”
Eban dropped his feet off the table and stood. “Where is he now?”
“I don’t know.” McKenzie cleared his throat. “Local police arrived by helicopter, but the bad guys were gone, and they’d set fire to the hotel and, apparently, it’s a bloodbath. They found a couple of survivors who were seriously injured. They are being transported to Jakarta for treatment. The legat will interview them as soon as they can talk. Neither of the survivors were Savage.”
The piece of apple Eban had eaten soured in his stomach. Quentin had to be okay. “What’s being done to work the scene and track the militants?” To find Quentin?
“The conference was attended by many different nationalities but primarily Americans. Wealthy and powerful Americans. We’re sending a forensic team including a forensic anthropologist to identify the burned remains of as many people as we can as quickly as possible. Indonesian government is cooperating. People are searching for survivors…”
“I’m going out there.”
“That’s not up to me.”
“I wasn’t asking,” Eban said. “I’ll meet up with the negotiator we have in Jakarta. He’s due to be relieved soon anyway. I’d like to do whatever I can to help.”
“Can you contact the FBI office closest to Savage’s next of kin? They need to hear about this from us before they see it on the news.”
Eban dropped his chin to his chest. “You think he’s dead, don’t you?”
“Maybe Savage got away and is hiding for unknown reasons, or he’s injured and lost in the jungle. We won’t know for sure until we get forensic teams out there examining bodies and search teams scouring the area.”
“The other option is he was taken hostage.” Eban refused to believe Quentin had been murdered. He was a great guy. A brilliant guy. Eban wouldn’t lose hope until he knew for certain Quentin was gone.
McKenzie huffed into the receiver. “It’s definitely another possibility. But these terrorists murdered close to a hundred delegates and about twenty locals. That’s the rough estimate. Why would they take Savage and not some rich CEO?”
“You know why.”
To embarrass the US government.
McKenzie was quiet for a few moments. “Interestingly, the Indonesian foreign minister and an Australian billionaire, Cecil Wenck, both left the hotel a few hours before the attack. Wenck had been scheduled to stay until morning.”
Eban had heard of Wenck. Most people had. Head of the world’s largest mining conglomerate. “You think they were tipped off?”
“I’d like to know why Wenck’s plans suddenly changed that’s for sure. We need people to interview him and see if we can get a warrant for information on his incoming calls or texts, but I doubt he’ll want to talk to us.”
“You think he was warned but didn’t tell anyone else?” Rage stirred within Eban.
“I don’t know. Talk to your unit chief—”
“Good idea,” Eban snapped. “My unit chief is in Indonesia, so I’ll go find him to ask.”
McKenzie sighed tiredly. “Look, a flight leaves in three hours from Andrews Air Force Base with the rest of the team who have been assigned. I’ll put your name on the list. Don’t be late. Now I have to call Alex Parker to tell him that his business partner and one of his best friends is also feared dead.”
Eban ground his teeth together.
Feared dead.
It sucked, but he didn’t have time to dwell on emotions. He had a million things to do before he caught that flight, but the most important was calling Quentin’s family in SoCal.
One thing was for sure. He had no intention of being left behind.
Chapter Nine
Pain stabbed Quentin’s brain with needle-sharp spikes. Sunlight hurt his eyes. His mouth tasted like smoke and blood, and he was so parched, it felt as though someone had blowtorched his throat. Sweat poured off him in the unbearable heat, and his clothes stuck to his skin. A damp cloth pressed against his brow. The coolness was welcoming, and he groaned and strained toward it.
Memories from the night before flashed through his mind, and he opened his eyes and found himself lying on an uncomfortable cot in a primitive hut. Haley Cramer sat on her knees beside him on the dirt floor.
He caught her hand.
Thank god she was still alive.
“You’re awake. I was beginning to think they’d fractured your skull, and you were in a coma, and I couldn’t do anything to help you…” Her voice was a furtive whisper with smoky undertones. She blinked rapidly as if to staunch tears. She must have been scared out of her mind.
He sure as hell was.
The back of his head throbbed like a motherfucker where one of the attackers had smashed their rifle butt into his skull. Bastard could have killed him.
Why hadn’t they?
“How long have I been out?” He kept his voice down. The last thing he wanted was anyone knowing he was awake or coming to check on them. Separating them. Hurting Haley. He needed time to gather whatever wits he had left.
“A long time. Hours.” She checked her watch. A fancy one with a silver band. He was surprised she still had it. Plus, there were sparkles in her ears that were probably the real thing.
Although there wasn’t any rush to steal their belongings. He doubted their captors thought they’d be going anywhere soon.
“We were in the boat for two, maybe three hours, traveling flat out. Then we were dumped in this rather luxurious accommodation around dawn. You’ve barely moved since. Half the time I couldn’t tell if you were still breathing.” Her blue eyes looked distraught, and she bit her lip. “I am so sorry they hurt you for trying to defend me.”
That was a lot of guilt to carry. Not trying to protect her would have caused him more.
He brought the back of her hand to his lips. It was a different sort of intimacy to what they’d shared in bed last night. “I thought they were going to kill you on the beach and decided I’d rather die fighting than let them eliminate us one at a time like cattle in a slaughterhouse. I had Chris’s Glock in my pocket, and I grabbed it and pulled the trigger.”
Her eyes went wide. It was hard to remember they’d been strangers less than a day ago.
“Chamber was empty, but they weren’t happy that no one had thought to search me, so I got a beating. The question is, why didn’t they kill me?”
“They specifically targeted you. I found this…” Haley dug into the pocket of her stolen camo shirt and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.
She handed him a printed picture o
f him from the conference handout. A generic FBI portrait in front of the flag that the public relations office had sent out. Shit.
Did these terrorists want to make an example of him? Sell him off to the highest terrorist bidder? Pump him for information or simply humiliate the shit out of him for entertainment and revenge value? Was he the reason all those other people had been murdered?
“Did they bring anyone else from the hotel?” he asked.
Haley shook her head, sending her soot-darkened, blonde hair into her eyes. She pushed it back behind her ears. “I didn’t see anyone else get out of the boats.”
Quentin levered himself up off the cot, ignoring the stabbing pain where his ribs had taken a hit, until he was sitting upright. His brain spun inside his skull, and he grabbed his head, trying to squeeze the tension away. He gave himself a moment of breathing deeply and evenly as Haley watched him with concern.
“Tell me everything you remember,” he murmured to distract them both and also because he wanted information. What the hell was going on?
She did so, ending with a description of where they’d landed. “There was a yacht anchored in the harbor.”
“A yacht?”
“About a thirty-eight to forty-footer. My dad had one about the same size when I was growing up.” She nodded. “The gunmen forced me to walk up a dirt path through the jungle for about forty minutes. Someone carried you and put us in here. One guy brought a bowl of water to wash off the blood.” She dipped the cloth and went to wipe his brow again, but he took the cloth from her and tentatively dabbed at the wound on the back of his skull where his hair was matted with blood.
She looked at the water longingly. “I didn’t think I should drink it, even though I’m really thirsty. You must be too.”
“At some point, we will need to drink, but let’s see if we can find potable water that these guys also drink first. That source might make us sick, too, but it’s the best we can hope for.”
She swallowed and nodded. “I know. I guess I’m pretending to myself I’ll have a choice.”
Having your free will violently yanked away was a terrible thing. At least the Army had prepared him for some of it. “I’m sorry you got caught up in all this. Obviously, they were targeting me.”
She sat back on her heels. “Are you kidding me? None of this is your fault. Without you, I’d have been repeatedly raped and then shot.” She gave a laugh that sounded anything but happy.
“I wish I knew what they wanted with me. And why the fact I told them you were my wife meant they let you live too.” He didn’t get it. “Why the hell are they interested in me? For some sort of terrorist coup? Because bringing down the wrath of the US government isn’t worth it.” He tore the crumpled picture in half and handed it back to her. Vertigo hit him in a wave. “Can you get rid of this? Rip it into tiny pieces and push it out through the gaps in the rushes. We don’t want them to know that we know.”
He’d take any advantage he could get until they figured this out.
She stood and did as he asked. Tearing off tiny bits of paper and pushing them through the sides of the hut and letting the wind catch them. The shack was built from branches interwoven with leaves. She moved around so there was no accumulation of the paper on the ground.
He watched her, thinking through their options. Didn’t like any of them. Usually the best thing for a hostage to do was to wait for a ransom to be paid, even though it could take months, even years. The US government was unlikely to let this situation stand though and would come after these assholes with everything they possessed. Also, the chance of being beheaded on some jihadist online video was too high for him to trust the process he usually endorsed. Plus, there was Haley…
She sat beside him on the cot. A gray blanket was spread over the branches and dried grass that formed the mattress. At least the bed was raised up off the floor, so less chance of snakes and insects joining him and spreading disease, although who was he trying to kid?
The cot was narrow, and they’d have to share if they were lucky enough to remain together. He wasn’t sure how she’d feel about that, considering what had happened to her over the last couple of days. Just because they’d had sex once didn’t mean she’d want to be physically close again. No denying he was attracted to her, but there was also no chance in hell he’d behave inappropriately while in a terrorist camp. But she didn’t know that. She didn’t know him.
“No one has come to check on us yet?”
“No.” She sighed deeply, dark circles around her eyes emphasizing her fear and fatigue. He doubted she’d slept. “I need to use the bathroom, and I’m insanely thirsty, but I’m too scared to ask them.”
He could tell she wanted to cry. He wanted to tell her it would be all right, that he’d figure out a way to save them both but in reality, he didn’t know what they were dealing with yet. And, as a negotiator, the only lies he told were to bad guys who’d exhausted the process of talking and were about to receive the sharp end of the CIRG playbook.
Honesty had always been his default.
“Haley, I’ve no idea what’s going to happen next, but I doubt it’ll be pleasant. No matter what, I want you to promise me something. Don’t try to rescue me. If they take me for what is probably going to be regular beatings, make yourself as small and insignificant as possible. I won’t think less of you. I’m not going to fight them, not until I’m able to win anyway. I will try to figure out a way for us both to escape, but I don’t know when that will be.”
She went to open her mouth, but he gently placed a finger on her lips, and she stopped.
“They think you’re my wife, and they might use you to get to me. Do not tell them the truth about us not being married.” He took her hand, spread her fingers and entangled them with his. “These are not nice guys. They are criminals and sociopaths looking for a way to justify their lifestyle choices. You’re a beautiful woman and being blonde makes you stand out.” He swallowed uneasily. “Sexual assault is a possibility, because that’s how men like this often assert power. Pretending to be my wife should help protect you in the short term.”
Her eyes were huge, and she swallowed repeatedly. He wasn’t saying this to make her uncomfortable. He was saying this so she understood what was going on here. What might happen even though he’d do everything in his power to protect her. He couldn’t guarantee he’d be able to save her.
He thought about Abbie and their child. He hadn’t been able to save them either. He forced those memories away. “We need to avoid them splitting us up and getting you alone if at all possible.”
She grabbed his other hand and squeezed. “You said I wasn’t allowed to rescue you, but you’re not allowed to rescue me either if they end up deciding to rape me.” She was shaking, even though her voice was unwavering.
He wanted to argue, but she spoke over him.
“I can survive being raped if I have to. I’ve done it before.” Her direct gaze held his unflinchingly, and his heart broke at the truth he saw there. “But I don’t think I can survive this ordeal without you.”
He was shaking too, and it wasn’t just dehydration. The fact she’d been raped made him mad as hell, and yet now wasn’t the time to indulge in his own rage or curiosity.
He nodded. “Okay. We’ll both do whatever it takes to get out of here alive, hopefully untouched.”
“No man left behind?” The smile that played on her face was watery.
“No person left behind. So.” He moved on to the practical. That’s what he was good at. “A few details in case they ask. We got married in secret a few weeks ago, which is why it isn’t common knowledge. We met at a social event in the summer at—”
“A wedding. My business partner, Alex Parker, married FBI agent Mallory Rooney. Lots of other agents were there. It was in a vineyard in Virginia. I was in the wedding party.”
“Okay, good. You looked amazing, and it was love at first sight. So where’d we get married?”
“Vegas,” she
suggested.
“I think those online records are available too easily.”
“Bali?”
He shook his head again. “They might know someone they can ask for confirmation within Indonesia.”
“What about the Caribbean? I own an island down there—”
“You own an island?”
“A small one.”
Quentin tried to mask his surprise. Who owned an entire island? “Well, thank goodness it is just a small one.”
She sensed his incredulity and tried to withdraw her hands, but he didn’t let her.
He knew she was not usually shy or retiring—her confidence and vivaciousness in the bar last night while wearing that gold dress and then in his bed, naked, told him that—but being held captive changed everything and made you question what you thought you knew about yourself. He appreciated this academically. He figured he was about to endure a practical lesson.
“It’s good, in fact it’s great. You’re rich. That’s another reason for them to keep you alive.” Unlike him. What the hell did they want with him? The only thing he had going for him was his FBI credentials, which he doubted they appreciated for his expertise.
“We can use the island thing. Private ceremony. A colleague of mine, Eban Winters, has a license to officiate, and that gives us an added bonus, because if they contact him for confirmation, he’s a trained negotiator and can think on his feet.”
Quentin thought back on a conversation he’d had with Dominic Sheridan last week, about how if he was ever in a tight spot, he’d want Dominic doing the talking before the bad guys chopped off anything vital.
Didn’t seem so amusing now.
“I suspect these guys are hiding their evil beneath the shield of religious fundamentalism, so we need to get out of here before they figure out the truth about our relationship. As soon as the media find out we’ve been captured, they will dig through all the records and probably end up ruining our story.”
Colder Than Sin (Cold Justice - Crossfire: FBI Romantic Suspense Book 2) Page 8
