When Danger Calls (Blackthorne, Inc.)

by Terry Odell

"Would you two stop ignoring me and tell me what's happening?" Frankie snapped.

  "Hang on a sec. How's Molly holding up?" Ryan asked. "We might need to make one quick stop at my place."

  "Perfect," Frankie said. "My car is there, and I'll leave the two of you to your secret agent business and say thanks for a really interesting afternoon. It's been swell, but Molly and I will be on our way."

  Oh, she'd gone way past irritation. Despite the darkened car interior, Ryan glanced in the rearview mirror. Then again, he knew exactly what she'd look like—eyebrows scrunched together, blue eyes that would freeze a six alarm fire, and those soft, luscious lips flattened into a narrow white stripe. "Frankie, please—"

  "Sorry, little lady." Dalton cut him off. "I truly am. It wasn't supposed to go down this way, but don't blame my partner. Ryan didn't know anything."

  "Partner my—" Ryan bit back the expletive. "Ryan still doesn't know anything." And until Frankie and Molly were safe, it was probably better to leave things that way.

  "Mommy, I'm hungry. Are we going to Slappy's?"

  "Not now," Frankie said. "You can talk to Wolf. This is grownup time."

  Dalton leaned against the window, eyes closed, his breathing shallow. Great. Between the two of them, they had half a body. Still, if Dalton could be trusted, the two of them, even operating at half-efficiency could hold their own.

  He felt the familiar adrenaline surge. The one that excited and focused the senses at the same time.

  From the backseat, Molly sing-songed about five monkeys jumping on the bed. Soon, Frankie joined her. To Ryan's surprise, the long-forgotten rhyme surfaced, and he made it a trio. Dalton's lips mouthed the words.

  "Here we are," Ryan said when they reached Josh's house. Torn between letting Frankie disappear—probably from his life—and subjecting her to possible danger if she stayed, he avoided looking at her when she got out of the car.

  "My things are inside," she said. "I'll get them, and if you don't mind, Molly and I would like to use your bathroom before we go." Without waiting for a response, she dragged Molly from the car and up the porch steps.

  Dalton grabbed his arm. "Don't let her leave. She's a target." He rubbed his chest. "Damn, that smarts."

  "So, tell me. What the hell is going on?"

  "There are numerous people of the not-friendly variety who want to get their hands on those files you got from Alvarez."

  "No shit, Sherlock. What is so damned important about a bunch of hidden, stolen or smuggled art? I looked at the files, and that's what they are."

  "Ah, and that's the beauty of the scheme. But can we finish this conversation inside? I'm feeling like the proverbial sitting duck here."

  "First, tell me why Frankie is a target."

  "She was in our company, pard. And if the tangos have seen her with us, they're likely to follow her when she leaves. They'll go after anyone they think has the information."

  "They're here? Now?"

  Dalton shook his head. "Can't be sure. Those two goons you met were the first contingent to arrive. As you noticed, they aren't the best and brightest. The others are probably going to be more difficult. Speaking of Smith and Jones—you left them alive, didn't you?"

  He nodded. "That was the idea, right? So they'll be able to report your death?"

  "You got it. Beats the alternative, which would entail me really being dead." He opened the car door. "Now, what do we do about the woman and kid?"

  "Damned if I know. At this point, I don't think she'll listen to me. I can tweak her car so she'd have to stay, but shit, Dalt—she's no safer here than home."

  "But here we can protect her. On the road, alone—and don't tell me you wouldn't be distracted, and I don't need a distracted partner."

  Protect her. Like he'd protected the Forcadas. His skin got clammy.

  Take them to safety, and Dalton would be alone to face whatever might be showing up. Let them stay, they'd be caught in what could be another clusterfuck.

  Headlights and car engines—big car engines—on the approach—made the decision moot. He bolted for the house.

  "I'm right behind you, pard. Hardware's in the trunk."

  *****

  "Wash your hands and face." Frankie squeezed into the small bathroom behind Molly. She tried hard not to think abut the emotions that had surged as she held two men at gunpoint. Instead of revulsion, she'd been excited. Ryan had been right. It was a rush.

  Ridiculous. She was a schoolteacher. A mom. Her idea of adventure was shooting pictures, not people. She channeled her feelings to the relief that Molly was all right.

  Molly whirled around. "I'm hungry. I want to go to Slappy's."

  Frankie crouched down and held her daughter against her, afraid to let go. "We'll see if Ryan has a snack, and you can eat it in the car."

  "Then can we go to Slappy's?"

  "I don't know. I'll think about it."

  The front door banged open, then slammed shut. The small bathroom window rattled. Frankie squeezed Molly tighter.

  "Frankie? Where are you?" Despite its even delivery, Ryan's voice carried a warning.

  "We're here." She inched open the bathroom door and poked her head out. "What?" She clutched Molly's hand.

  Ryan's eyes met hers, dropped to Molly and then back up. For an instant, she saw fear. She remembered Carmelita. The little girl he couldn't save. She touched his hand. "We'll be all right."

  The muscles in his jaw clenched. "Stay put, okay?"

  He bent low and picked up Molly. "Angel, I'm going to need you to do me a really, really big favor. Will you do it for me?"

  Molly nodded, curiosity replacing her petulance.

  "That's my girl." He set her in the bathtub. "Some of my friends are playing hide and seek. Can you hide in here for me, and be very, very quiet?" He handed her Mr. Snuggles.

  Molly clutched the dog and looked back and forth between Ryan and Frankie. Her chin quivered.

  Frankie pulled Ryan aside. With her back to the tub, she whispered in Ryan's ear. "She's been through enough. She's scared."

  Ryan crouched down by the tub and held Molly's hands. "I'll bet you're super at hide and seek. Those people think they're the best, but you're going to be even better. I know you can do it. I'm going to talk to your mom for a minute, and then she's going to hide with you, okay?" He kissed her forehead.

  Molly took a deep breath. "Okay."

  Not until Frankie exhaled did she realize she'd been holding her breath.

  "Okay, Angel. Your mom will be right back." Ryan slid the curtain shut and pulled her outside the door. "We don't have much time. There's at least one vehicle on the way, and I'm sure it's not the Avon lady. Dalton and I are going to intercept them and keep them away from the cabin."

  Dalton appeared with Ryan's laptop and a handful of DVDs. He thrust them at Frankie. "Maybe you can find one to keep her occupied."

  She took the computer and ducked into the bathroom. Almost immediately, the door reopened.

  Dalton handed her a pair of headphones. "Might get a little noisy. Better she doesn't hear too much."

  Frankie shifted her gaze to the headphones, then back to Dalton. Detached, professional eyes met hers. He projected a calm confidence.

  "Can I do anything?" She realized the ludicrous question as soon as she uttered the words. Substitute art teachers didn't do what these men did.

  Ryan appeared with a Kevlar vest. "Take this." He shoved it into her arms. Momentarily taken aback by its weight, she stepped backward. Ryan disappeared.

  "Wait. He should have this," she said to Dalton. "Not me."

  "You keep it and stay with your daughter, little lady," Dalton said. "I need to know my partner's mind is on the task at hand, and if he's worrying about you and the kid, he can't do his job."

  His job. Putting his life on the line for someone else. "I understand. You…be safe."

  He flashed her a cockeyed grin. "It's what we do. You go watch a movie. Wish we had some popcorn for you." He pulled the door
shut behind him.

  She stepped toward the tub, searching for a way to keep this a game for Molly. She studied the line of sight between the door and the tub and opened the vest. "Look at this. Help me make a little wall, so we can hide behind it, okay? And look what Mr. Dalton gave you. Headphones, so you can hear the computer and nobody will know we're in here."

  She found some towels and lined the tub before settling in beside Molly and booting the computer. She kissed the top of Molly's head, getting hints of Ryan's scent from the soap that Molly had used to wash her hands and face. "Here we are," she whispered. "Snug as two bugs in a rug."

  "Does he have Barbie and the Little Mermaid?" Molly asked in a stage whisper. "Brenda showed me how to play."

  Brenda. Good heavens, she'd forgotten all about the missing money. And her mother running off with Bob. She sighed. This morning, she'd been worried about her mother's love life and some cash. Well, Mom was free to live her own life, and they'd deal with what now seemed the trivial disappearance of Brenda later. She refused to accept that there wouldn't be a later. Not with two warriors on the other side of the door. Where it seemed far too quiet.

  *****

  "Wolf," Ryan said. "Home." He opened the kitchen door. The dog cocked his head, whined, and sat at Ryan's feet. "No, boy. Home."

  With another plaintive whine, the dog trotted outside and turned back toward the cabin. Ryan repeated his command. Wolf barked once, then dashed into the woods.

  "You sure we can't use him?" Dalton asked. "He's got a good set of teeth."

  "He's done his part. I won't have him shot."

  "Gotcha." Dalton turned away. "You sure you can handle this?" he asked without looking at Ryan.

  "Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

  "Because you're loco in love with the woman in the other room, and her kid, too."

  Ryan dragged his fingers through his hair. "It shows, huh?"

  "Like fireworks on the Fourth of July. You want to stay in here with them?"

  He hesitated, but only for an instant. Taking the fight away from the cabin was the safest measure, and Dalton couldn't handle things alone. "I'm with you."

  "Okay, but remember. Detachment." Dalton opened a duffel he'd set in the middle of the living room. "Choose your weapons."

  Ryan swallowed when he saw the assortment of firepower. "What the fuck is going on here, Dalton?"

  "Long story, and we're short on time. The tangos should have been here already."

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. With Frankie and Molly in the house, questions would have to wait. He shoved a pistol into his waistband, strapped a sheathed knife to his ankle, grabbed an AK-47 and wished he was wearing his standard uniform cargo pants. Jeans didn't have enough storage space.

  Dalton pushed him aside, zipped the duffel and hoisted it over his shoulder. "You know the terrain here. My guess is that the tangos are waiting and watching. Where can we dig in?"

  Ryan gazed at the closed bathroom door. "Nothing will happen to you," he murmured under his breath. With weapons in hand, the familiar pre-mission calm washed over him. He crept to the door. From the porch, all looked quiet. "This way," he said to Dalton. Clinging to shadows, they moved through the trees to higher ground as if they'd rehearsed the route.

  Moments later, hunkered down behind a rock outcropping where they could see anything approaching the cabin, Dalton fumbled in the duffel and brought out night vision goggles, followed by two headsets. Ryan set a pair of goggles down beside him. He slipped on a headset, adjusted the earpiece and lip mic, wondering who the hell he'd hear on the other end when he switched it on. Before he did, he tapped Dalton's shoulder.

  "When this is over, after I pound the crap out of you, you're going to tell me everything, right?"

  Dalton stopped rubbing dirt onto his face. His white-toothed grin was visible, even in the dim light. "Ain't no way you can take me, but yeah, I owe you. And I'm sorry it went down like this."

  "I can't believe you'd let anyone hurt a kid. She's probably going to need a shrink for years."

  Dalton's expression sobered. "Nobody touched her. I made damn sure of that. She never saw a thing."

  "You had her out the whole time?"

  "Wasn't that long, and I kept the dosage light. She might be groggy for a day, but she's not going to remember anything."

  "Except now she's stuck in a bathtub. There's no way in hell she thinks she's playing hide and seek."

  "Then let's end this quick and quiet." Dalton held his hand up. "Go ahead, Fozzie."

  Ryan flicked the switch on his headset. Fozzie. Foster Mayhew, one of Blackthorne's controllers. How many missions had the unflappable Aussie talked them through? No way both Dalt and Fozzie had turned. A little more apprehension eased out of Ryan's gut.

  "You alone, Dalt?" Fozzie asked.

  "No, I picked up an assistant. The two civilians are holed up, but not secure."

  Ryan adjusted the mic by his cheek. "Hey, Fozzie. Still pulling desk duty, I see." Of course, his 'desk' was usually in a helo, monitoring stealth equipment. "You up there?"

  "G'day, Harper, my man. Welcome back. No worries. I'm telling my driver to plan on dinner and a movie when this is finished. The two of you can handle the six of them, no problem. No need to wake the neighbors."

  "Six?" Ryan tried to stay calm. He took a breath. Fozzie was right. With the element of surprise, he and Dalt should be able to handle three-to-one odds. If they needed air support, any hope of keeping the local cops out of the mission was history.

  Dalton's voice echoed, from the radio and in Ryan's free ear. "Locations?"

  "Two parked about half a klick north of you. They're on foot, paralleling the trail. One circled around and is coming from the east. Figure their ETA's about ten."

  He reflexively checked his watch. Ten minutes could be an eternity, but it wouldn't give him enough time to get Frankie and Molly the hell away.

  "You got ID on them?" Dalton asked.

  "Those three are Palestinians. You got a couple of Koreans, and scuttlebutt has it that China might be in the picture. They're at least twenty out. Maybe longer. They're not moving fast."

  Ryan shifted his gaze toward the east. "And the two we've already dealt with?"

  "Independents wanting to sell to the highest bidder."

  That helped explain their ineptitude. "We have backup?" Ryan asked. This still felt all wrong.

  "Team Three's about to insert and take out the rest of the party. For now, you've got me, mates." Ryan's headset hissed and clicked. Fozzie was silent for a moment. When he came back, Ryan recognized the undercurrent of urgency in his tone. "Sorry, gotta back up Three. Hoo-Yah."

  "The rest of the party? Would someone tell me what the fuck we've got that's so goddamn important?" But Fozzie was gone, obviously talking with Team Three.

  "In a bit," Dalton said. "You mind the store. I'm going to set down a little welcome celebration." He grabbed a small pack from the duffel and trotted into the darkness.

  Ryan poked through the duffel and assembled his arsenal.

  Chapter 27

  The computer in Frankie's lap came to life. A quick check revealed no games, not that she'd expected any. Maybe she could interest Molly in Gone With the Wind. Right. Wishful thinking. The classic would never entertain Molly, especially when she knew something was wrong.

  Surprised when the screen displayed an image of a Seurat painting instead of the movie, Frankie manipulated the cursor and clicked through a series of works of art, some familiar, some she recognized only by style.

  Molly tugged her arm and pulled off the headphones. "This isn't regular hide and seek, is it?"

  Frankie stared into her daughter's trusting, yet too-wise blue eyes. "No, Peanut. But it's important that we're very quiet, like Ryan and Dalton said."

  "Are there bad people out there?"

  Frankie's heart skipped. "Why do you say that?" What had happened to Molly before they'd found her? She didn't dare ask, afraid to make Molly revisi
t it.

  "Grownups don't play hide and seek," Molly said, a hint of uncertainty underlying her words.

  "Sure they do. A different way from kids, that's all." She squeezed Molly's fingers. "Let's look at some of these pictures, okay? We can make up stories about them." She clicked to another image. "What do you think is happening in this one?"

  "I don't know. What's that in the man's hand?"

  "Let's see. Wait a minute." She zoomed in on the image. "I think it's a flower. What do you think?"

  Molly squinted at the screen. "I think it looks funny. All full of squares."

  "That's right. Those are pixels. Tiny bits of the picture, like a puzzle. When you put all the pieces together, then make it small again, you can see the picture."

  Ryan's laptop didn't have much of a photo editing program, but it would do to keep Molly occupied. She copied a few of the images and turned one upside down, made the sky orange in another, and with a little effort, changed a woman's dress from blue to green.

  "Can you turn the dog into a duck?" Molly asked.

  "Hmm. That's tricky. But let's see." She had managed to create a two-legged creature when the realization that she had Ryan's secret file hit her like a battering ram in the belly. She shuddered. Moving back to the original file, she clicked through the pictures.

  Molly grabbed at her hands. "I want the duck-dog back."

  "Shh. Mommy needs to look at this for a minute." She scanned through the images. Something didn't seem right, but between Molly's tugs and trying to listen for anything happening outside, she couldn't concentrate. She needed some quiet and Photoshop, neither of which was available. She needed to get to Ryan and tell him what she suspected. He could take it to his people and they could run it through some fancy spy technology. Right. She'd simply get up, leave her daughter, and walk into the middle of a terrorist gathering.

  What she needed was to get herself and Molly as far away from here as she could. Her car was outside. Ryan and Dalton were dealing with the bad guys. She and Molly could probably sneak out before anyone knew they were gone. But there was that terrorist thing again. She snuggled Molly closer.