Midnight Abduction (Tactical Crime Division Book 3)

by Nichole Severn

  She caught Ericson’s wrist and wound it over her head before twisting around to crush his nose with the base of her other palm. His scream bubbled beneath a fresh wave of blood. Taking advantage as he stumbled back, she kicked him square in the chest. He hit the floor, a groan slipping past the former agent’s lips.

  She stood over Ericson, every bit the woman Benning had fallen in love with. Strong, protective, determined. His. Blood had already started drying along her face and neck. Swiping the back of her hand across her mouth, she swayed slightly as Benning got to his feet. “You can try to kill me as many times as you want and threaten to hurt the people I love, Ericson, but it’s not going to change what happened to Samantha Perry, what you’ve done, or make up for the people you’ve hurt.” Her voice shook as though her throat had tightened, and she relaxed her fists at her sides. “I’m sorry I wasn’t as focused on the case as I should’ve been and an innocent girl died. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you after you found her body in that alley and that I didn’t have the courage to make it to her funeral, and I’m sorry that you think this is the only way to bring Samantha justice.” She shook her head. “But I’ve punished myself long enough. Now it’s your turn.”

  The air rushed from his lungs. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even breathe. She’d done it. She’d finally forgiven herself. The tension in Benning’s shoulders drained, and the pressure around his wound ebbed. Damn, he loved this woman. No matter how well he thought he knew her, she’d hit him with another surprise, and he only hoped he and the twins would be able to keep up with her when all of this was over. If she’d forgive him.

  “You think you’ve paid for what you’ve done because you can admit you made a mistake?” Ericson spit a mouthful of blood off to his right, then recentered his focus on Ana, a cruel smile contorting his mouth. Sweat slipped down the man’s temples, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. “You haven’t even begun to pay, Ramirez.”

  Dim lighting reflected off a piece of metal in Ericson’s hand as the bastard shot to his feet, and Benning lunged.

  “Ana!” He collided with her former partner but came up short from tackling Ericson to the floor. The world threatened to drop right out from under his feet as screaming pain slashed through his gut. One second. Two. He stumbled back. Confusion built a wall between rational thought and the fact the blade had embedded deep into his body. Nausea churned in his stomach as Benning fell to both knees, dizziness throwing him off balance. His head felt heavy, but he somehow managed to level his gaze with Ericson’s.

  “Now you’ve paid.” Ana’s partner pulled the blade free, his expression smooth. As though he’d done this a hundred times and was prepared to do it a hundred more.

  “No!” Ana shot forward, hiking her shoulder into Ericson’s midsection and hefting him off the ground before she slammed him back into the nearest wall. Fists connected with bone, groans and blood cutting through the air as the woman he’d fallen for fought with everything she had left to protect him.

  The gun. Benning could make out the grip highlighted beneath a pulsing fluorescent tube above. He clamped a hand over the stab wound in his gut, blood slipping through his fingers. Locking his jaw against the agony, he forced himself to his feet and stumbled forward to grab it. The weight felt solid in his hand as he turned and took aim. “Stay the hell away from my family.”

  Ericson positioned Ana in front of him as a human shield. The former agent’s dark gaze cut to Benning, and dread curdled in his stomach. “I can kill her faster than you can take that shot, Mr. Reeves. Are you willing to take that chance?”

  “She would do the same for me.” Benning pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was over.

  Red and blue patrol lights skimmed across her vision as Ana studied the scene from her position in the ambulance. Officers and emergency personnel almost seemed to move in slow motion, the strong thud of her heart beating at the base of her skull. There, in the middle of it all, Benning sat with his son on the back of another ambulance as snow fell across the parking lot. The man who’d risked everything that mattered to him in order to find her, and nearly died from a stab wound in the process.

  Pressure built behind her rib cage, but not from the two broken ribs she’d cracked after the explosion in Claire Winston’s basement. No. For the first time she could remember, she hadn’t been the only one fighting. He’d fought Ericson York with her, for her. From the internal desolate landscape she’d created by detaching herself from everyone around her, he’d nurtured an ember and turned it into a wildfire. He’d shown her how to hurt, how to bleed, how to heal and how to feel again. None of which she could’ve done without him.

  The Sevier County medical examiner and her assistant led the charge with Ericson York’s body sealed into a dark bag on the gurney behind them, and her heart jerked in her chest. Her former partner had been a good agent, one of the best she’d worked with before transferring back to DC, then into the Tactical Crime Division, but neither of them had handled the repercussions of the Samantha Perry case well. The only difference between the paths they’d chosen had been that small piece of her that’d belonged to Benning Reeves the day she’d met him, and she’d never forget that.

  Brilliant blue eyes settled on her as Benning recounted his statement to the Sevierville PD officer at his side, chasing back the nightmare of the past few hours. Owen was alive. Dehydrated, bruised, starved, but alive. She hadn’t failed this time, and she realized Benning had been right from the beginning. Isolating herself from the people who cared about her—from the victims of her cases—didn’t make her a better investigator. The detachment she’d relied on for so long had merely been a crutch to try to ebb the punishing guilt she’d taken on once Samantha’s body had been found in that alley. A guilt that still weighed on her chest. Not as heavy, but there. She’d meant what she’d said to Ericson before he’d tried to kill her the second—third?—time. There was no magical number of lives saved or criminals punished to ease the blame they carried. The only way she was going to get past what’d happened on that case was to accept she’d done enough, but seven years of punishment wouldn’t disappear overnight. It’d take time, support and help. Benning smiled at her from where EMTs stitched his wound, with Owen squished right alongside him. Luckily, she had all the support she’d need.

  “I can see you didn’t take my advice to be careful.” Director Jill Pembrook leaned her shoulder against the back door of the ambulance, gray hair tied back in a severe bun that reflected the steel resolve inside. “What was it, two gunshot wounds, a pane of glass through your leg and a broken rib all within the span of four days?”

  “Two ribs, and don’t forget my broken finger, too.” Ana pressed her palms into the gurney mattress in an attempt to sit higher when faced with her boss, but whatever the EMTs had given her to manage the pain hadn’t kicked in yet. Pain shot through her midsection, and she pressed the crown of her head against the flat pillow as hard as she could to keep from groaning aloud. The fight with Ericson had been the most brutal battle not only for her life but also Benning’s, Olivia’s and Owen’s, as well. She would’ve done anything—sustained anything—to make sure they’d made it out of this investigation alive. Because she loved them, all of them, as though they’d always been part of her life. Always been hers. She wanted to keep it that way, to wake up beside Benning every morning and fall asleep beside him every night, to respond to calls from the school when Olivia brought another dead animal to autopsy in the school’s science lab, to brush the cookie crumbs out of Owen’s bed before he went to sleep at night and compete with him on his newest game obsession. She wanted it all. The good parts and the messy parts, but she wasn’t finished saving lives, either, and she wasn’t going to let the director bench her because she hadn’t followed Pembrook’s orders to not let her emotions get in the way of doing her job. Swallowing through the tightness in her throat, she curle
d her uninjured hand into a fist to distract herself from the pain. “Do you have an update on JC and Evan yet?”

  “Agent Cantrell sustained a mild concussion when the explosive went off but is expected to return to the field in a few days. Agent Duran, on the other hand, is currently in surgery to remove a piece of shrapnel from his side. He’ll be out for longer, but his prognosis is looking good.” Pembrook folded her arms over her pressed blazer and crisp white shirt, her expression controlled. “From what they’ve been able to tell me, they wouldn’t have made it out of that basement alive if it hadn’t been for Mr. Reeves disobeying SWAT’s orders to stay away from the scene and risking his life so he could get to you.” A hint of a smile pulled at one edge of the director’s mouth, and Pembrook relaxed her hands to her sides as she straightened. “You’re both idiots, but you obviously deserve each other. In any case, I expect you back on your feet and in the field as soon as possible, Agent Ramirez. The people we help still need you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Ana rolled her lips between her teeth and bit down to fight back her own smile as Director Pembrook headed toward a beautiful African American woman dressed in military fatigues behind the perimeter of yellow crime scene tape.

  Her smile slipped. Claire Winston. It’d been seven years since Ana had been face-to-face with Samantha Perry’s best friend, but she would’ve recognized her at any age. Nausea worked through her. Ericson York had forced that poor woman to relive the nightmare of losing her closest friend so violently when he’d left one Libra charm on Benning’s property and the other inside Harold Wood’s mouth. Infierno, he’d even buried the rest of the killer’s body in Claire’s basement as some sick token of pride. But...that still didn’t answer the question of why Ericson had removed Harold Wood’s skull and hidden it separately from the body. Claire stretched her right hand to meet the director’s in a handshake, and Ana narrowed her gaze on the woman’s wrist.

  A hint of a silver bracelet glimmered under the aura of patrol lights.

  No charm.

  Hadn’t Claire told the director over the phone she still had her charm and wore the bracelet off shift while on tour? So then why wouldn’t she be wearing it now?

  “Tell me you’re okay, and I won’t have to shoot anyone else tonight.” Benning slid into her peripheral vision, Owen petting one of the canine units with another officer a few feet away.

  “Help me up,” she said.

  “What?” Disbelief widened his eyes at the edges.

  “Claire Winston isn’t wearing her charm, Benning.” Ana kept her voice low as she scooted down the length of the gurney toward the end. She slipped from the ambulance, relying on his support to stay on her feet. “Why would she tell the director otherwise unless she didn’t want one of the charms we found during the investigation to be connected back to her?”

  He searched the scene until his attention landed on Director Pembrook and the woman in fatigues near the perimeter. Turning back to her, he clamped his hand into hers and pulled her into his side. “You think she and Ericson were working together.”

  “Ericson told me Harold Wood made the mistake of going after Claire.” She strengthened her hold around his hand as she studied the exchange between Pembrook and Claire Winston. “It wouldn’t be a stretch to believe Claire might’ve helped get rid of the evidence once she learned she’d become Wood’s next target. Why else would Ericson use her basement to hide the body?”

  He kept his voice low. “Maybe to frame her in case he was caught.”

  “Ericson saved her life. He wouldn’t have implicated her for a murder he was proud he’d committed, and he wouldn’t give her up if she’d been involved in Owen’s kidnapping, either.” She shook her head. “Despite how far gone he’d become, he cared about her enough to make sure Harold Wood never got his hands on her.”

  “Then how do you prove she was involved?” he asked.

  “I need to see Ericson’s gun.” Within minutes, Sevierville PD handed her the bagged weapon Benning had used to shoot her former partner and stop a killer, effectively saving her—and so many others. Releasing her grip on Benning, she turned the evidence over in her hand, the plastic sticking to the tips of her fingers. “This is a Glock 22, which shoots .40 caliber rounds, standard issue for FBI agents. Harold Wood was killed with a .45. The same caliber that would fire from the Beretta M9 registered in Claire Winston’s name.” The air rushed from her lungs as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. “She did it. She’s the one who killed Harold Wood, and Ericson hid the proof on the construction site in case the body was found. He tried to take the fall for her, and when you found the skull, he abducted Owen and Olivia to force you to give it back.”

  “Why would he take the fall for her?” Benning asked.

  Claire Winston’s dark, watery gaze followed the ME’s movements as she loaded the bag with Ericson’s body sealed inside, then rose to meet Ana’s.

  In an instant she knew the answer. “Ericson blamed himself as much as anyone else for what happened to Samantha Perry. I think he believed protecting Claire was how he was going to finally redeem himself.”

  The confidence in Claire’s expression bled to fear a split second before the woman ran from the scene. Only she didn’t make it far. Without hesitation, Director Pembrook ordered officers to close off her escape, and Claire Winston raised her hands in surrender.

  * * *

  “YOU DON’T HAVE to do this,” she said. “The doctor said I’m fine on my own as long as I take it slow.”

  “That is in no way what she said. That’s what you wanted to hear.” But that wasn’t the only reason he’d convinced her to recover in Sevierville instead of Knoxville. He’d almost lost her. Twice. Right along with the two most important humans in his life, who, he could see through the front window, were currently jumping up and down with excitement. His in-laws waved from behind Owen and Olivia before giving the twins each a hug and heading for the back door, which would take them to their pickup at the side of the house.

  Maybe he hadn’t chosen the right location for Ana to recover from her injuries, but he couldn’t turn back now. He’d already informed the twins of his plan. Any deviation would only throw him into a world of whining and questions. He brushed his fingers against her low back as she stepped over the threshold to assure her he was there if she fell, but he knew without a doubt she wouldn’t let things get that far. “I know exactly how long you’ll rest before you try to convince the director you’re ready for field work. You’re staying here where I can keep an eye on you.”

  She slowed before reaching the entryway, those mesmerizing hazel-green eyes dark with suspicion. One hand tightened on the single crutch supporting her beneath her arm. “You don’t trust me.”

  “With my life, yes. With your own, no.” Staying close as she navigated slippery terrain on her way into the house—unassisted—Benning swung the front door open to clear her path and immediately held out one hand, palm forward, to stave off the twins from tackling her to the floor.

  Owen and Olivia bounced in place, their grins bigger than he’d seen them in a long time as Ana stepped into the house. Over the past few days, he’d struggled to get their lives back to normal, but so much had changed. Owen had spent two days in the hospital fighting off dehydration and pneumonia but was acting more himself a little bit more every day, aside from the apparent break he was taking from his tablet, which Benning wouldn’t complain about. Olivia had moved into sleeping in her brother’s room, to make sure no one would take him from her. His heart had nearly broken all over again when she’d admitted how scared she’d been for her twin. But Owen was home now. They were safe, but Benning wouldn’t be pulling any more skulls off construction sites anytime soon. As for Benning... Well, the biggest change for him was the woman insisting she could get herself into the house in a timely manner.

  Ana’s laugh cut through the off-the-charts energy emanating from
the kids, but he couldn’t blame them for not being able to hold back. He was just as excited—and nervous—for what came next. Only difference was he had more control over his body, and emotions and pretty much everything else. Except when it came to Ana Sofia Ramirez. “You sure you’re up for this? I’m pretty stubborn, but those faces will knock me down with one hit. It’s going to be chaos. I’m going to be giving them everything they ask for while I’m here.”

  “I think I’m up for the challenge.” He turned toward the twins to distract himself from the heat climbing up his neck and into his face. “Why don’t you guys take Ana to see what you made for her while she was in the hospital.”

  “It’s not another skull, is it? Or a foot or something? I don’t think I could take any more body parts right now.” She leaned heavier into her crutch as Benning moved to close the front door behind them, then pulled back before the stampede of six-year-olds racing toward their rooms ran her over. Turning her gaze up to meet his, she silently questioned his motives.

  “Guess they’re excited.” He motioned her to lead and followed close on her heels, head down to avoid eye contact. Every cell in his body rose in awareness as she limped along ahead of him down the hall, but he didn’t have the capacity to overthink it as they entered Olivia’s room.

  Ana froze, the muscles down her spine pulling her shoulders tight. “What is this?”

  Maneuvering to her side, Benning took in the sight of Owen and Olivia standing at the center of her room. In the middle of the crime scene they’d created together. After convincing one of the agents on Ana’s team to hand over a brand-new roll of crime scene tape, his daughter had gone overboard with decorating her room until the pink paint faded into the background. But more horrifyingly cute was the white chalk outline Olivia had traced around her brother on the blue tarp from one of his inspection sites. Along with evidence markers, thinned out ketchup for blood, one of Olivia’s favorite books, Owen’s tablet, a hammer and a small velvet black box near evidence marker number three. “I know it seems terrifying, but they wanted to plan the whole thing and make sure a little bit of each of us was in there. Hence the book, tablet and hammer.”