Trusting Xavier

by Casey Hagen

  He nodded, his mouth quivering.

  “Would you like to see your wife before you go?”

  “No. She’d have my hide if”—fresh tears ran down his pale face—“I didn’t go straight to our baby.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll take you back to be with your little girl. Does she have a name?” he asked.

  “Charlotte,” he whispered as he loosened his grip on Laramie and stared down at her. “I don’t know how he managed it, how he found out, but you know who did this.”

  Laramie jerked her chin in response.

  “You go, you get those women out. This ends here. Tonight. You hear me?” Harland pleaded with her, a spark of determination coloring his voice.

  “Yes,” she said, her eyes solemn yet full of resolve.

  Harland turned to him again. “He’s here and he’s behind it. I would bet my li—” He froze and shook his head as though he thought better of his choice of words.

  “You’re one of them, right?” Harland asked him, nodding to the team behind Laramie.

  “Yes.”

  “He doesn’t get to separate one more mother and child. Go with her. Don’t let her out of your sight for a second. Promise me. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

  “I promise.”

  Harland let her go and took a step back. “You’re a doctor, and it’s not right for me to ask, but don’t hesitate to stop that fucker’s heart if you get the chance.”

  At one time his calling to heal clashed with his capacity to kill. But not now. Not with Laramie on the line and seeing just how far Caine would go.

  “Done. Now let me introduce you to your daughter,” Xavier said, taking Harland’s arm as he lurched on his feet.

  “I’ll be right back. Then we go,” Xavier said to the team over his shoulder, his lethal tone leaving no room for argument.

  They traveled in four vans along Interstate 215 with Dylan driving the lead vehicle. Sitting on benches that ran along the sides, Laramie watched Slyder, Cole, Jake, and Doc open case after case loaded with guns and knives.

  One at a time they checked clips and chambers. By the time they were done, they had guns strapped to their hips, thighs, and tucked in holders clipped to their lower back just below their Kevlar vests.

  She shifted in her armor, trying to get a feel for the bulkiness that constricted her. She had gotten stronger, yes, but any additional weight and restriction of her movements would drain her energy that much faster…and with precious little sleep the night before and watching Harland’s wife—

  “Hey,” the doc said softly next to her.

  She blinked up at him.

  “Keep your mind clear,” he said, clasping her chin gently. “I know it’s hard, but this will be fast, and you’ll need to be focused.”

  “I will be.”

  “Good.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “I love you.”

  Holding his face between her hands, she kissed him. “I love you, too.”

  “Hey,” Jake said, crouching down in front of her. “Remember the plan. Quick in, quick out. They leave everything behind.”

  “Got it,” she said, yanking the shoulder of her vest.

  He reached for the adjustments and cinched her tighter. “That’ll help. I got something for you,” he said, handing her the folded flip knife he’d begun teaching her how to use in self-defense class. “Now show me how it’s done.”

  The cold metal fit neatly in her hand. Tucking her thumb in the loop so it didn’t fall out of her hand, she tapped the button; the handle flipped open, and she closed her fingers on the grip, the sharp four-inch blade gleaming in the light.

  “You got it. The leggings we gave you have a built-in panel two inches under your belly button.”

  She automatically reached for her stomach, her pinky catching the thin edge. The leggings fit her like a second skin, and she never even realized they had extra pockets built in. “I’ve got it.”

  “Keep it there and only take it out if you need to defend yourself. Anything else you need, we’ll be right there beside you to provide it, but if something happens, you’ve got one shot with that blade. Make the decision and execute. Do not hesitate.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Good. If anything happens, remember to protect your face,” Jake reminded her, earning a sharp glare from the doc next to her.

  “Nothing’s going to happen to her,” he said, his gravelly voice a harsh promise as he morphed from doctor to SEAL.

  “We have to plan for everything, and she’s not a hundred percent healed, no matter how good she feels,” Jake said, aiming his words at the doc. Glancing back at her, he smiled. “Protect your face.”

  “Here,” the doc said, handing her a helmet.

  “This is a bit much, isn’t it?” she asked, lowering her ponytail and squeezing the helmet onto her head.

  “We’re all wearing them. We’ve got an hour left of daylight, and we’re going to be conspicuous. If Caine is there, if he’s waiting, he might see us before we see him.” He adjusted the straps under her chin, his eyes narrowed on his task, his mouth hard.

  She reached out and touched the corner of his lips, wondering when she’d see that smile of his again.

  His eyes met hers and softened. Taking her hand, he kissed her fingertips and laced his fingers with hers.

  Glancing out the windshield, her stomach dropped to her toes with the realization that in just minutes they’d be moving the women. “This is it coming up, Van Buren Boulevard. Head right off the exit, and in a half mile, take the left on Plummer Road.”

  “What are we looking for after that?” Dylan called over his shoulder.

  “A service road a tenth of a mile down on the right. You’ll see the gate once we get over the small dirt ridge.”

  She held on as he sailed along the curve of the exit. This was it. They’d get them out, bust the case wide open, and these women would have their lives back.

  She, Harmony, and the doc would have theirs.

  Chapter 19

  Dust billowed up behind them as they rolled along the service road. The minute they pulled over the crest of the dirt hill, the chain-link fence surrounding the checkpoint came into view. Weathered tin signs with the words “Keep Out” in bold letters flapped in the breeze, slapping against rusty posts that held the fencing upright.

  “I don’t like this. The damn ridge goes all the way around,” Dylan said, searching the area around them.

  “We’re exposed,” Tex said, his voice coming over the radio.

  “Surround the building on four sides and keep our men on the perimeter of that barrier while we get them in. The vans will give decent cover if we need it.”

  “Great cover, but the potential for ricocheting bullets catching a fuel tank sucks. Okay, guys, four walls. I’ll take East,” Dylan said. “Zane, take north. Wolf, take south. Cole, take west,” he said, giving directions to the men driving the other three vans.

  Laramie tried to see it through their eyes. Jackson couldn’t have enough men to come up over every ridge. It would take hundreds. But if he did come up, it was anyone’s guess where. They’d be constantly scanning the distance, wondering if a shot would ring out and if it did, where it would strike.

  Or who.

  And what if he didn’t just charge? What if he had a few men, adept like the doc, blending into the surroundings, their aim tried and true. Before anyone detected them, they could coordinate and pick each of them off one by one. Kevlar only covered so much.

  A wave of dizziness swept over her when the vans skidded to a stop. Dylan flipped the gearshift in reverse and punched the gas, backing them into place.

  “Doc?” she whispered.

  “Right here with you,” he said, meeting her eyes.

  “Do me a favor. No joke today. If bullets start flying, you go for the kill zone. Whatever you were taught, head, heart—” she said, just a little breathless with her heart racing out of control until the pounding echoing in her head competed with th

e sound of their feet as the guys began to file out the double doors, one by one.

  “Every single time,” he promised, tucking her behind him, his gun already aimed, an extension of him as he led the way into the sunlight.

  “Stay behind me until we get inside,” he said over his shoulder, his frame so large, it kept her in the shadows as she stayed tight to his back.

  She followed his footing, their boots crunching over sandy dirt peppered with small rocks, her face just inches from his spine as the men flanked around them as they headed for the door.

  There’d been no complex plan for this, and that’s where she realized waiting to give them information until the last minute added so many strikes against them.

  Harland’s wife—dead, and his baby fighting to live remained fresh stark reminders why she didn’t feel like she had any other choice.

  Jackson had proven himself to be an insidious poison—everywhere, all the time. He leeched into the narrowest of spaces, using charm, charisma, and once he had you—fear. He did it so flawlessly, his malicious intentions seeped into every corner on a person’s life unseen and all-consuming until he destroyed the very foundation of their morals, leaving them bankrupt of all human emotion.

  She’d watched it over the three years she worked in the shadows against him. She’d lain awake at night, terrified he’d get to her too, so she focused on that child sleeping in the next room to keep her grounded. To remember who she was.

  She had the benefit of intimate knowledge where the men surrounding her did not.

  Ducking against the dust-caked steel of the door, she hooked her fingers and caught the chain around her neck, dragging the key out of her shirt. With one click, she flicked the clasp, grabbed the key, and shoved it into the lock.

  It took three tries and some wiggling before the key finally glided all the way into place and the door popped open.

  “Go,” the doc said as he scanned the area one more time. “Where’s the hatch?”

  “Over here,” she said, crouching down under the desk that doubled as a metal counter running the length of the wall. Years of dust covered the surface. Thick cobwebs filled every corner, the carcasses of dead bugs piled along the edge of the floor.

  Her instinct as a mother, as a wife and homemaker, had been to clean it, and that was the moment she knew she had to put those old instincts away and think smart. Leave it looking like a relic forgotten by time, because everyone else would forget it too.

  She flipped the handle up, twisted, gave it a hard yank, and the panel next to her broke free. Flipping the dusty switch just inside, the bare lightbulb caked with decades of filth shone on rusted metal stairs.

  “Wait,” he said, reaching for her arm as she went to take the first step.

  “It has to be me, Doc. It’s narrow down there, and they have to see my face. We talked about this,” she said.

  His jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue and instead nodded hard once, his mouth a thin line.

  She slid her finger along the inside of her jaw strap, swiping away the sweat that formed there, making the vinyl itch. Holding on to the rail, she made her way down ten steps, the doc right there after her.

  With three solid thumps, she pounded on the steel door and waited, keeping her face exposed for when they slid the steel panel open.

  She jumped with the sound of metal scraping against metal and kept in view, hoping the helmet didn’t make it hard to recognize her in the scant light.

  Gretchen’s wary gaze met hers, and she narrowed her eyes, then widened them with a flare of recognition.

  The sound of locks disengaging brought a rush of relief surging through her blood. “They’re letting us in.”

  “So far so good,” he said, giving her a brief nod.

  The screeching of old hinges and tracks echoed throughout the bunker, and she flinched. The minute she opened her eyes, Gretchen had her arms around her. “Thank God. Emma needs a doctor.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, pushing her way inside, going straight to the youngest one of them lying on the bottom bunk, gripping—oh God—gripping her rounded belly.

  “She’s pregnant,” she whispered.

  “Yeah, the son of a bitch got to her six months ago, right before you got us out. She’s cramping,” Gretchen said.

  “I’ll take care of her on the way. We’ve got to go,” the doc said next to her, his gun aimed at the direction they came in.

  “He’s a doctor. Come on, we’re leaving. All of us. We’ve got men outside. Fast.”

  “I need to pack my—” Amber began.

  “There’s no time. Whatever it is, we’ll replace it. Come on,” she said, ushering them toward the stairs.

  “Who’s that?” Neely asked, getting to the stairs first but shrinking back with her foot on the first step.

  Laramie glanced up and smiled. “One of the good guys, my brother, Lucas.”

  With a new look of determination, Neely headed up. Amber followed, and one by one the others scrambled up each step.

  Three remained when the first shots rang out overhead.

  Jackson was here.

  She met Tara’s eyes, and an eerie calm filled her knowing they had so many men above protecting them. They just had three more to go. Emma being the most difficult.

  Pop!

  Pop—pop—pop—pop!

  Tara yanked her foot from the step and shrank back even as Lucas hollered for her to keep going. “Gotta go, gotta go. Come on!”

  Terror filled Tara’s eyes, and she froze.

  Laramie flattened her hands on Tara’s back and shoved her forward.

  Tara’s knee bashed against the step, and she cried out, but she kept moving, the pain snapping her out of the paralyzing fear that gripped her. The minute Tara’s hand cleared the surface, Lucas hauled her up and disappeared, covering her until he passed her off at the door.

  The doc moved into position covering the stairs every time Lucas shifted away. The sound of pops from gunfire and familiar voices yelling out unintelligible orders drifted down. Laramie smiled at Rachel even as her stomach knotted, knowing they’d have to go up and face the chaos.

  What if one of the guys got hurt or worse? What if they didn’t make it out? Underground they had no way of knowing how many men Jackson brought with him, and there was only one way in and one way out. With his questionable resources that kept him slipping free from justice this long, the possibilities were endless.

  Now, with the worst-case scenario unfolding, she just wanted out. Let the authorities find him. As long as she got these women to safety, and the team helping her all made it out with their lives, the rest would come together in time. Jackson had taken so much, for so long; the ripple effects from the pain he’d inflicted would spread far and wide for years to come.

  It all ended today.

  “Come on, Emma, hold on to me, and we’ll get you up there,” she whispered to her as she scooped her hands under Emma’s shoulders and supported her upper body as she eased her up.

  Emma’s green eyes shuttered, and her hand slid into her pocket.

  Sweat rolled down Laramie’s forehead, the droplet breaking through her eyebrow and rolling into her eye. She blinked away the moisture, then opened her eyes.

  Time slowed and movements took on slow beats, like pieced-together frames of an old movie, each jagged transition bringing stark clarity to the finest details.

  “I hope you can forgive me—” Emma’s words dragged and distorted as she pulled a handgun out of her dress pocket, her shaking finger edging toward the trigger before Laramie lost sight of it altogether and the barrel lodged under her jaw.

  Emma stood straight and true, the pain gone—all an act to get them in this very position. She sidled around Laramie until she stood behind her, the gun now aimed at the base of Laramie’s skull.

  Laramie had forgotten the very first lesson he ever taught her…even one of your own can turn against you.

  The doc locked eyes with her, and the torment there told her he was already blaming himself, already thinking he’d failed her.

  He raised his gun, his healing hands steady, keeping the barrel aimed right at them, and Laramie knew what he was doing.

  Waiting for a clean shot.

  He could put that bullet wherever he wanted in a fraction of a second.

  But the woman behind her was pregnant. He wouldn’t be just taking her life, but he’d be taking the child’s life as well.

  With a barely perceptible movement, she shook her head no, worried he might miss it, but a man with his eyesight, he caught it.

  His mouth hardened and his gaze narrowed.

  “Why?” she asked. Maybe if she could find some shred of humanity in Emma, she could play on it, and they could get the advantage.

  “I’m sorry. He told me he’d never let me go. He’d make sure I never saw my baby again unless I helped him,” Emma said, her voice high and thin with threads of panic that told Laramie she had no clue what she was doing.

  She was acting in the moment, not on a long-term plan. How the hell had Jackson gotten to her? And when?

  “We gotta go!” Lucas called down, his voice tight.

  “Who?”

  The bathroom door opened behind them, and Laramie froze.

  “Why, your husband, of course,” Jackson said, his voice oozing with sarcasm. “Aww, did you forget me so soon…wife?” he said, growling the word wife, the sound animalistic and claiming.

  Tremors shook up her spine at the way he mingled the playful tone with telltale warnings of retribution.

  Gunfire raged overhead, and all he cared about was the game he’d set up down here.

  “I’ll take it from here, darlin’,” he said, his hand sliding around Laramie’s neck. Deft fingers popped the strap, and he yanked her helmet off and threw it to the ground. “You just keep that gun on Laramie and watch that shaking trigger finger. We don’t want that gun to go off unless you mean it.”

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