Running Strong

by Christy Reece

  Raphael had chosen LCR. He’d wanted to be an operative almost from the moment Noah had met him. Although Noah had opened some doors for him early on, everything he had accomplished was Raphael’s alone. His tenacity and determination had made him the man he was. He’d had numerous opportunities and talents for other careers, but he’d never changed his focus from his original dream—to work for Last Chance Rescue.

  When Giselle had left Raphael, though, Noah had worried. Optimism had always been one of Raphael’s core qualities, but he had changed after that. In a way, he’d become even more focused, more determined, but he had also lost a lot of that bright shine of optimism.

  Noah couldn’t help but wonder what kind of impact Giselle’s reappearance would have on Raphael. Or what it would do to him if she left again.

  Giving in to exhaustion and pain, his head pounding, body aching, Noah closed his eyes. What was Mara doing right now? Were she and the kids together? Were they being mistreated?

  He wasn’t one to believe in psychic connections, but as he lay there, he put every ounce of his energy into thinking about her, communicating his love and commitment to her and their children. From their first meeting, he and Samara had shared an amazing connection. His love for her had only grown stronger through the years, and their bond was deeper than ever.

  In the darkest of dark despairs, he prayed that their bond was strong enough to break through all barriers so she could know he was coming for her, that he would do whatever it took to get her and the kids safely home. In his mind, he told her to stay strong, to believe.

  He would be with her soon.

  ***

  Samara woke with a start. She had been dreaming of Noah. His soft growl had been whispering in her ear. She couldn’t remember all the things he’d said, but for some odd reason she was warm all over. And despite the fact that tears seeped from her eyes, she felt surprisingly optimistic. She knew it was only a dream, but it had been so real, as if Noah had been right beside her. She could almost feel his arms around her, his warm breath in her ear, whispering everything would be okay. That they would be together again soon.

  “Mama?”

  Hurriedly wiping tears from her face, she turned to Evie. “Yes, darling?”

  “I gotta go to the bathroom again.”

  Her poor baby. On top of everything else, Evie had an upset tummy. She had a sensitive stomach already, and the stress had exacerbated her issues. Between the greasy food they’d been given to eat and the stress, her little girl was hurting. Just one more reason she wanted to make these people pay.

  “I’ll call them.” Standing, she pushed Evie behind her. “Micah, come stand beside your sister.”

  So far, the men had been mostly accommodating, allowing bathroom breaks three times a day. This would be the fifth time today she’d had to request a trip to the bathroom. She and the children always went together. No way was she leaving either of them here by themselves. The men hadn’t physically hurt them, but she would take no chances.

  Rapping on the door, she called out, “We need to go to the bathroom.”

  There was no answer.

  She knocked on the door again, called out louder, “We need to go to the bathroom.”

  Still no answer.

  “Mama.” The distress in her daughter’s voice punched her anger to the top.

  Pounding on the door, Samara used every expletive and curse she could come up with. When this was over, she was going to owe the bad-word jar they kept in the kitchen a good twenty-five bucks.

  The door swung open, and the man who usually took them to the bathroom stood there. He was usually accommodating, if not terribly friendly. The glint in his light hazel eyes said he wasn’t in the best of spirits.

  “We need to go to the bathroom.”

  “You’ve used up all your bathroom allowances. Now shut up before I shut you up.”

  “My daughter has an upset stomach.”

  “Tough shit.” He didn’t laugh, but she saw a trace of amusement at his own joke.

  At barely five two and a hundred and seven pounds on a good day, Samara knew she could do no real physical harm to this six-foot, two-hundred-fifty-pound man. And while she had no problem using shame and reproach with lavish flair, this big jerk would likely not be moved, no matter how much she piled on the shame factor.

  Giving him details of the consequences of not doing as she asked was her best bet.

  “In about five minutes, maybe less, there is going to be an ungodly stench in here. If you don’t allow us to go to the bathroom, the smell will get worse, permeating the entire boat. Even a shithead like you won’t be able to handle it.”

  He glowered as the facts sank into his thick skull. “Fine. But only the kid.”

  “No. Absolutely not. We all go together.”

  He looked like he was about to argue, but when Evie started crying, he snarled, “Okay. Come on.”

  They followed him, single file, with Samara in the front, Evie behind her, and Micah in the rear. This was the third day of their imprisonment, and they had gotten used to the routine. That didn’t stop Samara from looking for something, anything that would give her an advantage over her captors. They had been rude, crude, and careless, but as yet had not physically hurt them. She hoped it would stay that way, but a weapon would give her a better chance if things changed.

  As they walked down the narrow passageway, she was aware of eyes watching her. She knew there were at least four men on the boat, but she suspected there were more. The stark reality of their situation had come to light the first time they had been allowed to go to the bathroom. She had looked out a porthole and had seen nothing but water. She had been prepared to fight, but trying to take on a half-dozen men or more in the middle of a large body of water would be stupid. If anything happened to her, her children would be left alone. No way could she take the risk.

  “Mommy, hurry!”

  Before she could turn to reassure Evie that they were almost there, the man leading them snarled out a curse and reached back for her daughter. He never got the chance to touch her. Grabbing his arm, Samara twisted hard and quick, stomped on his foot with her left foot, and brought her left knee to his groin. It was a move her brothers had taught her and Noah had helped her perfect with skillful precision.

  Howling a curse, the man backhanded her, knocking her against the wall.

  The man hadn’t counted on the McCall children.

  Micah flew at the man, managing to clock him in the jaw and then the gut in a one-two punch his father had taught him.

  Though unable to deliver the punch her brother could, Evie let loose an ear-piercing shriek as she went for the man’s knee, kicking with all her might.

  Horrified, Samara sprang toward her children. Ringing ears and a throbbing jaw were nothing compared to her need to protect them. Pulling them away from the furious, cursing man, she pushed them behind her and stood before him, her entire body trembling with the force of her anger.

  “You touch my children, you will die. You understand that?”

  The man reared back as if to slug her again, but another man’s voice, harsh with command, snapped, “Enough,” stopping him cold.

  She kept her children behind her as she faced this new man, one she hadn’t seen before. He was shorter by several inches than most of the muscled men that surrounded him, but he had such a commanding presence it was easy to assume he was the one in charge. Light blond hair with a few strands of gray, a thin, narrow nose, and full thick lips gave the impression that he was both cold and merciless.

  “My apologies, Mrs. McCall. Clark here had no right to put his hands on you or your children.”

  “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “That will be answered in time. Rest assured, our business is not with you, but with your husband. As soon as he obliges us, you and your children will be set free.”

  She tried not to show it—giving this man any advantage was not a good idea—but as relief flooded thro
ugh her, she couldn’t stop the words, “So Noah is okay?”

  “But of course he is. Perhaps a few bruises and, I’m sure, quite a bit of worry, but otherwise he’s fine. We’re not barbarians.”

  “No, you’re just child abductors.”

  He made no move toward her, but the icy humor in his eyes gave her chills. The other men were conscienceless mercenaries, paid to do a job but without any kind of real malice. This man with his slick suit and expensive haircut was evil personified.

  “Evan,” the man said in a mild tone, “please take Mrs. McCall and her children to the bathroom and see that they have everything they need to make their stay as pleasant as possible.”

  Before she could respond, another man came to stand in front of her, blocking her view. He gestured toward the direction they had been headed. “This way.”

  Taking each of her children’s hands, she continued her walk down the corridor toward the bathroom. As they turned a corner, she dared a look back. The man in the suit was gone and so was Clark, the man who had hit her.

  She was in the process of assisting Evie when she heard the unmistakable blast of a gun and then a large splash.

  Samara had a feeling they wouldn’t be seeing Clark again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dusk was settling in when Raphael arrived at the safe house. Located in a more rural area of Northern Virginia between Warrenton and Culpeper, the cabin was one of three safe houses LCR owned in the area. The closest neighbor was a small farm three miles away.

  Things were in place, ready for the meet. Reddington just needed to give them a location. LCR would pretend to play the bastard’s game and then turn the tables once Noah’s family was safe.

  With the exception of Giselle, all people playing Reddington’s family were LCR operatives. It’d taken more than a little creative magic to find an operative who could pass as an eleven-year-old boy. Fortunately, one of their female operatives, Mia Ryker, was game. With the help of an award-winning makeup artist known only as Cleo, Mia had been transformed into a believable Eric Reddington. Since Reddington hadn’t seen his youngest son since the kid was three years old, creating a convincing facsimile had been easier than it might have been.

  Cleo had come to LCR a couple of years ago. Retired from the movie business, she now offered her services to aid in helping others. LCR had used her several times, and her immense skill had saved lives.

  When Reddington saw his family, he would have no doubts that they were Sarah, Amelia, and Eric. By the time he realized they were well-trained, highly dangerous operatives, it would be too late.

  Their biggest concern now was protecting Giselle. If her theory was right and this was a ruse to get her out in the open, they needed to be prepared for anything.

  Raphael pulled into the graveled drive and parked. The guard at the front of the house acknowledged his arrival with a nod. Raphael returned the nod but stayed inside his vehicle. He’d been so focused on what needed to be done, he hadn’t allowed himself to deal with the reality of what had happened. Giselle was here—actually here—behind those walls.

  Now that he was about to see her again, spend time with her alone, he needed to get his head on straight. Truth was, he felt numb. Yesterday he’d thought she was dead. He had barely begun to deal with that blow when she had appeared, alive and well. Surreal didn’t even come close to describing the situation.

  Having her back in his life made him remember things he’d forced himself to forget. The way her hair fell across her brow, the little half gasp she would give when she was surprised, the tender curve of her jaw and how it felt when he cupped her face in the palm of his hand. Her silky skin, joyful laugh, the way she—

  Aw, shit.

  Rubbing his hand down his face, he released a disgusted snort. So much for being objective.

  With more determination than energy, he got out of the car and headed toward the house. On the porch, he asked the guard, “Any trouble?”

  “Quiet as a mouse.”

  “You guys need anything?”

  “We’re good.”

  Nodding his thanks, he opened the door. “Giselle?”

  “I’m in the den.”

  The house wasn’t large. Just two bedrooms, two baths, a kitchen, and a den. Raphael figured it had once been used as a hunting lodge or weekend getaway for a small family. The decor was rustic and basic but comfortable enough for a short stay.

  He found Giselle sitting in a rocking chair beside a cold fireplace. He noted that her pallor was still a little off, and the shadows beneath her eyes were more pronounced. As he stood there, staring at her, he also noticed she was shivering.

  “I’ll build a fire if you’re cold.”

  “That’s not necessary. I just caught a bit of a chill from the rain earlier.”

  Grabbing a throw from the sofa, he draped it over her body and then stepped away quickly before temptation got the best of him. No use going down a road to nowhere. He’d traveled it once already.

  “You get anything to eat?”

  She grimaced. “Tried to, but just couldn’t eat anything.”

  A good meal would help both of them get through the next hour, but he felt the same way. Eating right now didn’t appeal to him either.

  He sat on the sofa, which was the closest to her chair. He wanted her to be as comfortable as possible when he started with the questions. She had been too vague earlier. The information had been enough to get them started, but if they were going to help her, they needed details. And admittedly, there were a helluva lot more things he wanted to know.

  “You need anything while you’re here, let me or one of your guards know. We’ll do our best to get it for you.”

  “Thank you. Is there any news?”

  “Yes. Reddington called. Mostly to taunt Noah, I think, but he said he’d call back with a time and place for a meet.”

  “He did say he wants my family for Noah’s?”

  “Not outright, but it was clear nonetheless. That’s what this is all about…at least for him. ”

  “I can meet him alone. Explain that Mama—”

  “We’ve got this handled. Reddington will see what he wants to see.”

  “How is that possible?”

  He wanted to trust her, but at this point he just didn’t. Not totally. Yes, he believed most of what she’d said, but there was more. Both he and Noah had felt it. Until she told him everything, he’d keep the details of the op to a minimum.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “You don’t trust me.” There was resignation in her tone.

  He didn’t like seeing Giselle look so defeated or sad, but neither would he lie. Those days were over.

  “The things you told us earlier only grazed the surface. If we’re going to succeed, pull this off, you need to tell me everything. Starting now.”

  “I know,” Giselle said softly. There were things she hadn’t revealed. There was just so much, and what she’d told them earlier had given them only a brief glimpse of Daniel Fletcher’s treachery.

  They needed to be prepared, ready for whatever Fletcher and Reddington had planned. Telling Raphael everything would be painful, but she could no longer keep her secrets. Not when they could cost lives.

  Raphael remained silent, allowing her to go at her own pace.

  She breathed a shaky sigh. “I’ll start from the beginning, since there’s a lot that happened before I met Danny. Maybe you’ll see some things that might be relevant.” She swallowed and added, “After we left and went into the WITSEC program.”

  His expression never changed, showing none of the anger and hurt she knew he must have felt back then. Maybe he had recovered quickly. She hoped so.

  “We moved around a lot. They warned us we might have to for at least the first few months. Turned out to be more like a year. It wasn’t until our fifth move that they found the mole within their organization.”

  “Reddington had a mole in the WITSEC program?”

  �
��No, not exactly. A contractor they used—it was a long, involved process to suss him out. Once they did, it got much better. We settled close to Wilmington, North Carolina.

  “Mama worked in a bookstore. A day care center was right next door, so she could work and be close to Eric, too. Amelia started public school, and I was accepted at UNC.”

  “So you had some kind of normal life?”

  “Our actions weren’t totally limited, but we couldn’t just go anywhere we wanted.”

  Not that they had wanted to. Having been hunted had made all of them paranoid.

  That’s all she would say about that first year. The other information wasn’t relevant—at least not yet. She looked down, noticed that she was literally wringing her hands, and forced herself to stop. Raphael would be trained to pick up nonverbal clues.

  “Things were good for a while. It got to the point that Mama would only hear from Mackie, the US marshal protecting us, every other day. And then, after that, less and less.”

  Those first few years of safety had been both heaven and hell. She had ached for Raphael like he was a missing appendage, but there had been other reasons to be happy. She had learned that there were a number of ways to be fulfilled in life.

  “We were safe.”

  And if not for her, they would have stayed safe. Everything was her fault…all of it. She swallowed past a dry throat, remembered she had a glass of water on the table beside her. She took several sips.

  “When did you meet Fletcher?”

  “My senior year. We had a psych class together. I didn’t know who he was.” She grimaced. “I didn’t have a lot of friends. He was nice to me. Made me laugh. I didn’t realize he was off-limits until it was too late.”