by Lara Sweety
Laurel knew something was different about her situation, and figured normally, this would not have been allowed. She could tell her purse had been gone through, her pocketknife and 9mm Beretta were missing. She attempted to repair the damage. Mascara had run down her cheeks, her blush was gone. Despite her attempts at repairing the damage, puffy red eyes told the story. Damn. Derrick and Kate were going to see her at her worst.
Laurel could hear Derrick Jones bellowing orders, as he got closer to the interrogation room. His deep bass had a sexy rhythm and lovely Midwestern drawl. He could cause quite a stir with his voice when he was mad. The door flung open and he rushed in, Kate on his heels. The police captain was right behind them.
Derrick wasted no time dropping his briefcase on the table and, gathering Laurel in his strong arms, lifting her from her seat. “I’m sorry, Laurel.” Laurel started to rattle. He shushed her, “Don’t say a word. Kate and I have this under control.”
He turned to the crowding officers, and over his shoulder he commanded, “Back off, we are old friends. Mrs. MacClain is Kate’s client.”
Kate’s bear hug and quiet reassurance were next.
Gathering himself, Derrick Jones addressed the out-of-breath police captain. “Captain Delaney,” he began, drawing himself to his full height he narrowed her eyes at her. “Do I need to speak to the commissioners?”
He was impressive in stance alone, but it raised the hair on the back of Captain Delaney’s neck when the threat was posed. He didn’t have that damn much pull, did he? She narrowed her eyes in return. “Why don’t you get this shit cleaned up?” He gestured toward the teeming office floor.
Media, off-duty officers and unprocessed arrestees cluttered the normally orderly twenty-sixth floor. Delaney knew this was a sensitive case for some reason. She wasn’t accustomed to hearing from an Army CIDC investigator, a U.S. Senator, and the Assistant District Attorney concerning a simple prostitution case. Things were way out of line; this had turned high profile in a heartbeat.
Delaney stiffened, regaining composure as she put her hand on the doorknob, turning to leave, “I don’t know who the hell you think you are. I’ll speak to you in my office Mr. Jones.”
It’s possible she was in way over her head and didn’t realize it, she thought. She certainly wasn’t used to an Assistant District Attorney posing threats to her.
No. Jen Delaney would play along and investigate this further. Hide and watch, just like her Aunt Rose had taught her. She wasn’t going to let a six-month investigation go now. She exited the interrogation room, letting the heavy door slam and started barking orders.
“Derrick, can I please have some answers. Arrested for my own protection? This is absurd!” Laurel was still in the dark.
Kate rubbed her shoulders and nodded in agreement. She looked at Derrick, urging him to give Laurel something to calm her fears. Derrick shook his head and bent to Laurel’s ear whispering. “You’ll be all right,” he promised her, whispering short details of what was about to happen.
Jen Delaney was in her office fuming. “To hell if some two-bit whore is going to derail my command,” she confirmed to herself out loud. She would be getting to the bottom of this. She cleared the floor of gawking officers and media hacks, sloppy drunks, bloodied punks and high-heeled streetwalkers, barking orders to those who should have been responsible for order in the first place. Thanks to flawed electronics, the building’s fourth floor had been rendered completely unusable; all the activity that was normally handled there had been rerouted to the temporarily to the top floor, her floor. Damn, what a mess. The building was prepared for communications in any affront or disaster, except when the system went down, obviously a contingency not planned for.
Delaney made her way through the busy floor, giving orders and asking questions. Sitting down in her office sometime later, she realized that things had finally quieted down. She reviewed the notes of the investigation concerning Laurel MacClain. Hoffson and Johnson had everything in place prior to this afternoon’s arrest. Now nothing was jelling.
Why wasn’t this a federal case if there was more to it? Why were so many people making such a big deal about this woman? Going through the file envelope, she realized there were documents and evidence missing. Voice recordings on flash drives were gone. Her mind raced through everything she knew about this particular prisoner. She looked through the pebbled glass as he heard the cell door clank shut and lock from across the large room that led to her office. What was going on? What was so special about Laurel MacClain?
Jen Delaney found herself in need of a drink, a soft bed—and a man. How could she be thinking about her personal life at a time like this? She was always focused; that's how she’d arrived at this position. Focus.
She picked up a couple of files, pausing to grab a particular cold case and shoved them in her already full brief case. Pulling the MacClain file back out, Delaney opened it across her desk. “One more review, Mrs. MacClain.” She took a deep breath and pored over the report.
Later, preparing to leave, she peered into the cell that held the woman who was such a mystery. Laurel MacClain had on jeans, faded cotton t-shirt from a country music concert, and boots. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore just enough make-up. She didn’t look like someone who was involved in prostitution and money laundering.
Delaney’s gut told her she was right. As if she didn’t have enough to do, now she was obligated to play detective on this one. She drew a deep breath as she turned to lock her office. It was quiet now—too quiet, something told her. She caught the familiar vibration of helicopter blades and turned to check the lock once more. Touch-and-go’s with the new pilot, no problem.
Suddenly, she felt a rush of heightened awareness that her martial arts training had taught her. She dropped her briefcase to reach for her gun. It was too late.
Umph. Blackness drizzled down through her senses.
Chapter 6
The entire floor went pitch black as Laurel roused from her exhaustion induced semi-slumber, rising from the less than comfortable cot. She knew things were about ready to get weird once again. For a farm widow from mid-Missouri, she had sure gotten herself into a big mess without even trying.
She heard the cell door slide open, but barely felt the presence creep in behind her. Laurel sucked in a breath and tried not to scream as she felt a familiar hand graze along her neck moving quickly to cover her mouth, quieting her.
“Shhhhh. Let’s go.” Laurel smiled in the dark. The large male frame guided her out of the cell, straight past a large plate glass wall that overlooked the city, to the stairs, and up to the roof.
The large slicing blades belonged to a SH-60 Seahawk that had landed in place of the detained police helicopter. The blades now woofed through the air in steady four-four time it seemed. Her dark clad captor tossed her into the waiting bird and she shivered a little. The adrenalin coursing through her veins caused time to suspend its steady march and the events seemed to unfolded in slow motion. His large frame grasped hers, hugging her as she looked into familiar eyes. With everyone in, he touched his headset, “Morrison, get us out of here.”
They moved off the building and rushed into the night. Breezing by the ballpark, she looked down and wished she could have been at the stadium to watch her favorite baseball team. She would rather have been watching the birds on the bat than flying through the sky any day.
Chapter 7
Reeling like fish on strong line, Laurel fought a mental battle of fatigue. She sat, stunned, in the cabin of the Seahawk. Dumb semi-grin on her face, she looked like a teenager who had just ridden the newest roller coaster at the park. They were over the Mississippi before she realized there was a body slumped beside her. She jumped. Her captor shook his head and yelled over the noise, “She’s okay.” Laurel looked around and recognized, one by one, each of the men in the helicopter. Each had earned her trust.
Void of sleep, weary from continual stress and adrenalin rushes, Laurel
eventually drifted into a fitful sleep leaning on her man in black. The SH-60 would soon transfer its precious cargo.
Brian Tanner grinned at the pilot and bent his head to plant a face-black-laced kiss on Laurel’s forehead. Morrison turned back to chuckle to himself. He checked gauges and pushed the ‘Hawk through the din. The sun would soon make them very visible.
__________________________
The next day, Detective Bradley Johnson watched the proceedings knowingly. He shook the Commissioner’s hand and accepted the temporary position with grace. He wasn’t sure what the connection between the Captain and Laurel was, but he was going to find out. He hadn’t been shocked to find out that the Captain had been removed as Laurel had.
“Captain Jennifer Delaney is on personal leave due to a death in the family. The female suspect brought into custody yesterday evening was released to federal custody in an ongoing investigation. Detective Johnson will assume command until further notice.” It wasn’t hard to get a commissioner on the take to cooperate so he could cover his ass. “Everyone back to work,” was Johnson’s first order. The hubbub resumed and no one questioned the change in command or the missing prisoner. Why would they? Nothing was out of place, nothing. Bradley Johnson smiled as he entered his new office. He mused to himself, “Those SEALs are good, damn good.” He was joined by his friend and partner Detective Hoffson.
“How are Alena and your new baby girl?” Johnson grinned at his partner sitting across from him.
“Wonderful!” He beamed as any new father would. “I came to ask for some time off.” Johnson nodded and then watched his friend hang his head for a moment, his face dropping as his thoughts wondered back to Laurel.
“What does she know?” Johnson knew who his friend was talking about.
“I dunno, G. I dunno.”
Chapter 8
Feeling a sudden jolt, Laurel roused from her exhausted haze. The jet had finally touched down at their destination. She barely remembered the last transfer. They’d landed somewhere not far from the Gulf, and had been moved very quickly.
Judging from their hopscotch transfers and the placing of the sun, she surmised they were probably on a private island somewhere in the middle of Caribbean Sea. Engines whining in reverse thrust strained to bring the plane to a halt before the runway disappeared.
Disembarking, she blinked at the bright sun and surveyed her new surroundings. Laurel turned her face into the island breeze, closed her eyes, and breathed in deep.
“Not bad boys, not bad!” After a pregnant pause, she finished her announcement. “Now, I need a shower, a margarita, and a swimming suit!” The group relaxed, chuckling. Their mission had been accomplished, their cargo delivered.
“Is that all?”
Laurel turned to face the laughing voice behind her. There he stood. Several years older and as ripped as ever. Pick an adjective. Dashing, sexy, and extraordinarily handsome, Jake LeGrande would make any woman weak in the knees. The combat boots and blue, green, and sand colored camo fatigues served him well. It was obvious that he was in command by the snaps to attention that came from the uniformed personnel in the group. He pushed his aviators back over his head, revealing sparkling blue eyes.
“At ease, men,” he commanded easily. Shaking the awe out of her head, Laurel’s face went from shock to a furious scowl. She made a beeline for him, fists clenched. A strong arm snaked around her waist after a couple of steps. Stopping her progress, Brian scooped Laurel off her path.
“Laurel, hun, I think we can come up with what you need. Come on, you and I’ll go get a drink.” Brian towered over her, flashing his trademark grin as he handled her easily. Laurel was not getting out of his grip.
Finally, she planted her feet in the direction everyone else was headed. She stomped forward and looked over her shoulder, fuming. Jake LeGrande was bent over in peals of laughter as he watched his team direct her into a waiting Escalade. She hadn’t changed a bit; swing first and ask questions later—that was Laurel.
__________________________
Forty-five minutes later, the pilot, Robert Morrison, and Laurel’s escort, Brian Tanner, were sitting on the beach with Laurel watching the sun go down. In island print shirts and cut offs, faces no longer blacked, the young men looked more like they were on spring break instead of a SEAL mission. Finally, she broached the subject that was still an elephant in the room—or on the beach.
“So, would either of you two clowns like to tell me why I am sitting on the beach of a private island, in the middle of the Caribbean?”
The two looked at each other like two little boys trying to figure out how they could blame the other. Laurel was not supposed to have any idea where she was.
Sipping their drinks, they peered over their sunglasses at her and then at each other. “Uh..., umm...,” neither had an answer.
“Do I at least get dinner on this date?” She put her hand on her stomach, which had been grumbling loudly. She realized she’d had nothing since her lunch at City Creek over twenty-four hours ago. The camouflaged cabana top fluttered in the breeze.
“But of course, mi amour!” Strong hands came up behind her in the cabana, ridding her shoulders of the day’s tensions. “What can I make for you Laurel?” Seth Stater smiled as he massaged her shoulders.
“Seth! Oh my gosh!” She twisted around to pull him into a hug. It was starting to look like a Siddy Creek Farm family reunion.
The men had formed a strong network, based on a common brotherhood bonded by the same woman. Little did she know just how important she was to them. Each man stood with the other when it came to Laurel. They thought of each other as brothers, they shared common values, and an appropriate respect for the opposite sex. Most of the Siddy Creek Farm brotherhood were Navy SEALs or law enforcement of some sort. It made her smile, knowing they were together because of her.
Seth escorted Laurel back to the main house of the island compound. They strode easily off the beach together, arm-in-arm, through the large scrolled iron gates of the tropical garden to the dining room.
A wide lanai circled the house, giving the occupants a sense of security. The path to the house was lined with sculpted greens, which defined the immaculate grounds. Old World Spanish architecture was combined in brilliant marriage with local island style. Guards were at every turn.
Laurel’s thoughts wondered. It was the vacation she always wanted, and there was no one to share it with. She and Jahn hadn’t taken an island vacation, although they had talked about it. Laurel shook her head a little and looked at Seth, her eyes misting over. She had to let go, but how could she? How do you find a way to hold on and let go at the same time?
“Laurel, are you okay,” Seth asked. “I know the last few days have been crazy for you. We are goin’ to take care of y’all. The Captain will fill you in. Try to relax until they get to the bottom of things.” She nodded and focused on the pathway, listening to Seth talk about the evening menu.
“Laurel, I know you. Other than you not being here of your own accord, there is somethin’ goin’ ‘round in circles in that wonderful head of yours. What are you thinkin’?” The Texan chef was always thoughtful when it came to her.
“I was just thinking this would be the honeymoon I never had. Here I am in paradise and I have no one. I’ll be okay. ‘Just feeling a little sorry for myself.” She gave Seth a half grin, breathed in deep and sighed with regret.
“Hey, what am I, chopped liver?” He feigned a look of offense.
“No, sweetheart you’ll do just fine—for the woman who wears your ring.” They smiled at each other. “She’s a lucky girl, Seth.”
“Thanks Laurel. That means more coming from you than anyone, ever.”
After a moment of silence, punctured only by the snap of their flip-flops, he turned to her. “Ya know, Laurel, there are a lot of eligible men on this island. And honey, I think y’all are going to be here for a while.”
She bit her lip, “Seth, if you are referring to who I think yo
u are—you’re crazy.” Seth flashed a mischievous grin.
Opening large French doors, Seth ushered Laurel in. The dining room, meant for large gatherings, glowed beautifully, with custom lighting and a hint of candlelight. The Spanish style table was made of long timbers worn in a well-appreciated way and accompanied by intricately carved chairs padded with plush royal blue velvet coverings. Potted Hibiscus rose on either side of the long buffet. Its carvings matched the chairs. It was easy to imagine the table seating a pirate captain and his trusted crew or a wealthy rumrunner.
The atrium style gave the room a warm glow as the hues of the fading sun turned orange. A crystal and iron chandelier hung over the center of the table. At the back of the room, a service door opened to the left, and double French doors to a large study, opened to the right.
Looking at the faces seated at the table, she smiled and fell into the adventure. The group rose when she entered as if she were an honored guest. Blushing, she took time to hug and kiss everyone before settling at her post, at the end of the table.
Chapter 9
Laurel was impressed with the gathering. Included at the table were the very best of men, and women, she knew, both in character and of stature. To her left were the two who had followed her in, Lieutenant Tanner and beyond him, Lieutenant Morrison. Her beautiful daughter, Shannon, was smiling at her as well. Seth was seated with his wife Rachel.
The faces warmed her. Jess LeGrande—Jakes son, Adam MacClain—her son, and the restrained Captain Jennifer Delaney were to her right. Ben Pisano and his wife Ellia were there as well. There were others, all familiar faces. She noticed the only open seat was at the other end of the table.
