by Casey Hagen
“Pleasure to meet you all,” she murmured. She cast a glance at Dylan and then turned to them. “Do you think you can get my daughter out? Don’t sugarcoat it. Please.”
“If you don’t mind, Dylan, I’ll answer that,” Cookie said. “It’s dangerous, but we’ve got the manpower and we’ve got the equipment. Nothing but the best. I’m hoping Tex can work his magic here and turn out the lights.”
“I can make that happen,” Tex said, nodding.
“Good.” Cookie nodded to Tex. “The minute it does, we go in. We’ll be able to see. They won’t. It’s going to be a quick punch, in and out, with your daughter and Harlow’s brother safe in the end.”
“My concern isn’t with the brother. He’s the asshole whose gambling debt got my daughter caught in this in the first place.
Harlow gasped. “Dylan!”
All eyes turned to him. He fought the urge to squirm. Harlow straightened her spine stood with her feet planted wide and her hands on her hips. “Despite Dylan’s disdain toward my brother, he’s just as much a victim in all of this. He’s an addict and he deserves a chance to recover.”
“Understood,” Wolf said.
She jutted her chin in the air. “Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take a shower and get dressed,” she said before turning on her heel and heading back down the hall.
Abe whistled and shot Dylan a look. “You’re in trouble,” he said in a sing-song voice.
“Tell me about it.” Dylan sighed.
“A part of me thinks she might just be formidable enough to go in with a weapon of her own,” Dude said.
Dylan rubbed his still-aching jaw. “Yeah, you should see her self-defense moves. She made me bleed.”
“Damn, I’m sorry I missed that,” Wolf said, clapping him on the back.
***
Harlow showered, dressed, and twisted her hair into a knot on the top of her head. She took a calming breath before returning to the kitchen to grind some beans for a fresh pot of coffee.
Knowing Dylan showed so little regard for her brother had her questioning if they could really go on like this, like a family, when he couldn’t even accept hers. She loved her brother. She hated that he had gotten them into the mess he had, but she truly believed that this experience would put the fear of God into him to seek help and change his ways.
Despite her anger and the sting of betrayal, she’d be there to help him, support him, and hopefully see him return to being the productive person he had been before he’d taken this ill-advised turn.
The minute the machine beeped, the men lined up with smiles. By the time everyone had a cup, including her, there were only a couple sips left in the bottom of the carafe, so she made another pot.
She didn’t have enough groceries to make breakfast for Dylan’s crew, but she had a couple dozen homemade cinnamon buns in the freezer from a day she and Ashton spent baking. She took them out and defrosted them in the microwave while the guys talked about ops, weapons, and the building footprint.
When both platters were heated to steaming, she turned toward the table and hesitated. The small home had ten foot ceilings that had always managed to make it feel bigger. Not now. Not with all of this muscle and power in the room.
She didn’t know a single one, but here they sat in her sanctuary with nothing more than Dylan’s word that they were trustworthy.
Her hands shook as she reached in between the guys and laid the pastries on the table, careful to avoid the blueprints, computers—she blinked—and four guns.
She sucked in a breath and held it as it all hit her. It’s like she had been running, running, running, trying to avoid thinking about what was to come. But seeing those guns lying there, glancing at the guys wearing weapons in holsters, one thanking her with some sort of rifle in one hand, a sticky bun in the other, holy hell, this was really going to happen.
It’s like someone had plucked her out of her life where she quietly showed real estate to prospective buyers, working her schedule around her daughter’s activities, and spent her weekends at the beach, hiking, or baking with her, and plopped her into the middle of one of those violent, realistic video games.
Only, the stakes were as real as they could get.
Real lives hung in the balance. Ashton’s, Kevin’s, Dylan’s, his team’s, and her own.
She stepped back and let the men work. Dylan gave her a worried glance and looked as though he wanted to break away from the planning to check on her, but she forced a smile that had him turning back to the plans at hand.
She glanced out the kitchen window. The morning now cast in the sun’s warm glow as it rose over the horizon bathed her little beach community in light.
What were her neighbors going through right now? Were they happy? Was it business as usual for them? Were they getting ready for the last day of the work week, their minds already on the upcoming weekend and what they would do when it arrived?
It all seemed so normal. Yet here, in her little corner of the world, nothing felt as though it would ever be the same again.
And maybe it wouldn’t. In the best of circumstances, the team, her daughter, her brother—they’d all get out and everyone would physically be okay. But what about emotionally? What kind of help would her daughter need to overcome this experience?
The thought that her daughter may come home a completely different person reached out and wrapped its gnarled fingers around her throat and squeezed her with anxiety.
This is why she had forced herself to stay busy. This right here. She dropped onto her sofa and held her head in her hands as she fought for control. She willed the fear to crawl back into the black pit it came from and leave her the hell alone.
She was a mother. And she had work to do.
Dylan found her there, in a weak moment, and crouched in front of her.
“You okay, Harlow?”
She scrubbed her hands over her face and met his worried gaze. “Yeah, or at least I will be.”
“Look, it’s going to be a long day. A lot of waiting. Maybe you should reach out to your parents,” he said.
Laughter bubbled up and ended on a scoff. “And tell them what? ‘Hey, sorry I didn’t tell you before, but your son was kidnapped, and when I wouldn’t pay money for him, they upped the ante by taking your granddaughter. Oh, and I guess I should have told you, but I’ve been trying to keep you from finding out what your son had become, meanwhile hoping he could turn his life around. And while I was doing all that, I got my daughter caught in the middle. Mother of the year, right here.’ Is that what I should tell them, Dylan?
“This isn’t your fault, Harlow,” he said quietly.
“Oh, Dylan,” she murmured, cupping his cheek. “Yes, it is. At any point I could have chosen a different road, and all it would have taken was one different turn to not end up here.”
“But—”
She rested her fingertip against his lips. “Shhh, I know I’m not the only one at fault. I’m not saying I am. I’m saying I only have control over myself and I made some bad choices, creating the perfect storm for this to happen. If you’re honest with yourself, you know it’s true. I can’t change it, but I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“What are you saying?”
“Is there any chance your connections can find the best gambling rehabs in the country?”
“You can’t force him to go.”
“No, I can’t. But I can give him every opportunity to change, and if he doesn’t…” She shrugged, not wanting to think about what would happen if he didn’t take the offered help.
“If he doesn’t?” Dylan asked.
She should have known he wouldn’t let it go. And why should he? After all, he had given her a pass in all of this and rested all the blame on Kevin’s shoulders. “If he doesn’t, I’m done with him. That’s it.”
Dylan kissed her forehead. “I’ll get that list.”
“Thanks,” she said, her voice low and rough.
Chapter 8
Dylan and his crew sat five hundred feet from the warehouse, in full gear, waiting for Tex as he hacked the power company’s grid to turn out the lights on the property. The team split up between two black vans, one driven by Nebraska; at the other wheel… Harlow.
He had told them absolutely no way would Nebraska and Harlow drive for them.
They had taken it to a vote.
Dylan lost.
He stopped short of calling them traitors, but only because they’d moved heaven and earth to join him for the most important mission of his life.
And because the vans were bulletproof and Nebraska and Harlow were under strict orders to abort if the conflict spilled outside of the warehouse.
Still, Dylan had made Harlow and Nebraska promise to wear Kevlar vests. Something Slyder seconded. Evan and Cole snickered. Not that Evan and Cole didn’t feel the need for protection, it was more watching Dylan as he fell head over heels for their client that had them laughing at him. The rest of the crew nodded in solemn agreement. They understood what it was like to have your heart walking outside of your body.
Calm settled over the team. The guys went silent. Fingers stopped drumming on thighs. Feet stopped tapping on the van floor.
Each man waited—mind clear, instincts sharp, ready to pounce.
“Got it! Take that, you son of a bitch,” Tex muttered, snapping his laptop closed and adjusting his night-vision goggles over his forehead as the lights surrounding the warehouse went black.
“Move,” Wolf commanded, speaking into a radio system to keep the team in constant contact.
The van doors slid open on each vehicle and the guys poured out. Dylan shot Harlow one last look, saw the desperation in her eyes, and ducked out into the night.
They advanced as one team, rolling their feet to keep silent to a layperson’s ears; only, as SEALs with heightened senses, the sound of their rhythmic footsteps resounded in their ears as if they stomped through the night.
Within twenty feet of the warehouse, their gazes scanning the area and their guns up, they split again. Dylan’s group rounded the back, preparing to enter closest to where they knew the stairs to be that accessed the second floor. The other group had been tasked with securing the front where the table full of people had been identified the day before.
He double-checked his earpiece. “Ready?” Dylan asked.
“Ready,” Wolf answered back.
Dude, their explosives expert, hooked up each team with a prototype he’d created for quick entry with minimal injury. The small bombs looked like square nicotine patches, with sensors inside so they’d detonate with a remote.
Abe had adhered four along the door. Three at the hinges, one at the latch.
“On three. One. Two. Three,” Dylan said before clicking the detonator.
Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Smoke billowed up, then vanished into the darkness.
The door fell straight out onto the ground.
They ran in, in a V-formation, guns aimed, and night-vision goggles on. Just inside the door his team fanned out around him, and within seconds Dude and Cookie took care of the armed guards at the door.
The stench of cigarettes, mildew, and marijuana filled the air, the sharpness stinging his sinuses. They’d suspected they were handling money or drugs in here. Looks like it was drugs.
Screams pierced the air as the other team took control of the front of the warehouse, while Dylan and his crew made their way up the back stairs as quietly as possible. The guys upstairs would know someone had made their way in, but they didn’t necessarily know they were working their way upstairs.
Reaching the closed door, they lined up along the walls and waited. Listening.
“Find out what the fuck that is,” a guy inside instructed.
“Get the girl,” another said.
At just that moment the door burst open. A man armed with a semi-automatic rifle burst through with a flashlight.
Abe snatched the guy’s wrist, and before he could so much as get out a syllable Abe snapped his neck and lowered him to the floor. Cole moved around Dylan, followed by Evan. They searched the larger room and secured the perimeter while Dylan focused on the door to the office.
A beam of light flickered against the closed blinds in the window. He flattened himself to one side while Slyder did the same on the other.
He held a finger to his lips then reached for the handle. He’d go slow and hope to hell the office wasn’t locked, because he had no interest in using the explosive on the door that led to the twelve by twelve foot room holding his daughter.
Oh, and Harlow’s brother.
With a quick prayer to whoever might be listening he closed his fingers over the knob and, millimeter by millimeter, turned.
At the ninety-degree mark, the handle made a faint click before giving the rest of the way.
They were in.
On the other side of that door was his daughter.
For a fraction of a second, even amid the danger, knowing so many things could still go wrong, excitement flickered inside him at the thought of laying eyes on her for the first time.
He got the door open to the halfway point, when a lamp flickered to life, illuminating the room. Two guards loomed over Kevin as he sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, and Ashton, tied to a chair in the center of the room.
Defiant yet frightened brown eyes met his. Her chin lifted a fraction, causing pride to swell inside him and fuel his rage.
The barrel of a gun turned on him but he caught it just as it fired, the sound splitting the air. He wrapped both hands around the stock, snapping it back against the face of the guy with a satisfying thud.
Blood spurted. The thug dropped the gun and grabbed his face. Rivers of red ran through his fingers and down his wrists as he screamed in pain.
Dylan snapped his gun up, searching for the last man standing, and in two seconds found him. His team spread out, all keeping their guns trained on the guy who stood behind Ashton with his forearm wrapped around her neck, tugging at her jaw and forcing her to tilt her head up. His pistol aimed at her temple.
His heart lurched in his chest and a bellow of anguish took root in his lungs and tried to climb up his throat. He focused on the anger and swallowed it down with a low growl.
Every scenario played out in his head in a matter of seconds, all of them resulting in Ashton being hurt or dead.
In a moment of weakness, with his crew training their guns on the guy, he dropped his gaze. A tiger eye ring winked at him from the guy’s pinky.
And Ashton’s formerly-tied hands slid slowly from behind her back.
Her eyes met his and she gave him a slow blink. He couldn’t explain it, but somehow he just knew what she was trying to say. She had every intention of causing a distraction… just long enough that he might be able to take advantage of the situation.
She curled her finger and jutted out her palm where it met her wrist, and with a lightning-fast jolt she snapped the guy holding her up under his jaw. The sound of his teeth snapping together echoed in the air as his head snapped back.
Ashton slipped from his grip and dropped to the floor.
Dylan sent a bullet into the underside of his exposed jaw.
“Go get your girl. We’ll get the brother,” Wolf said, moving in to secure the area.
He crouched down to Ashton and pulled her hands away from her ears. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you. Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said, wishing his first words to his daughter were different.
She pushed herself to her feet and met his eyes. “I knew you’d come,” she whispered.
His lungs seized. She couldn’t know who he was. It was impossible. Yet she stood there staring at him, her head tilted, studying him as if comparing their features.
He reached for her hand and she curled her fingers into his with zero hesitation.
“Let’s go, let’s go!” Slyder called from the doorway, Kevin next to him.
The son of a bitc
h not only didn’t say a world upon being rescued, but he made sure he got to the door before his own niece. He never once said a word to her to make sure she was okay after a man was shot right above her, leaving her clothing and hair spattered with blood.
Dylan resisted the urge to knock the asshole out. No way would he do it in front of Ashton.
Slyder ran ahead, the rest of his team securing them as they made their way back down the stairs and across the parking lot.
The second part of the team joined them not long after they took off at a run toward the vans. The sound of their boots clicked in unison.
Dylan reached the door first and slid it open before hoisting Ashton in.
“Mom!” Ashton cried, wrapping her arms around Harlow’s neck.
“Baby. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” Harlow hugged her before she held her away and ran her hands over her child’s face, hair, and arms.
“She’s okay,” Dylan said, not that Harlow heard him.
“What is that?” Harlow pulled her hand back and saw the blood. “Oh, God. You’re bleeding. Where are you hurt?” Harlow cupped Ashton’s face and searched her eyes.
“It’s not mine,” Ashton said, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“What? Then whose is it? Where’s Uncle Kevin?”
“I’m right here, Harlow. I’m fine,” he called from the seat he took in the back.
Dylan laid his hand on Harlow’s shoulder. “Neither of them is bleeding. I’ll explain the rest later. Drive.”
She gave him a jerky nod before putting the van in gear and pulling away.
Being late at night and with little traffic, they made the drive in ten minutes.
Ashton sat between the front seats on the floor, holding Harlow’s arm. She cast glances back at him and caught him looking at her more than once. The girl seemed to see everything; the jury was still out on whether or not it was a good or bad thing.
They had just enough time to shed their gear before both vans rolled to a stop across the road from Harlow’s house and they all headed in.
“I need to get her cleaned up,” Harlow said with a pained glance at Dylan.
He nodded. He wanted his girl scrubbed free of the night’s events just as much as Harlow did.
