Overboard: Nightforce Security Series - Book 3

by Beck, Keira

  Once he got back to his car, drove away, and was certain he wasn’t being followed, he hit the button on the steering wheel to call Danny.

  “Caruso.”

  “Did you get the number to Nico?”

  “Yeah. He already hacked in. The car is in a parking lot. I can text you the address.”

  “I know where it is. I just planted the tracker on it. Let me know when it moves.”

  “Okay. Listen, Dec, Mako’s been trying to reach you.”

  “I’ve had my phone on me—No. I left it in the car when I was sneaking through the parking lots.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.” He glanced at the handset. It showed three missed calls from Mako. “What’s going on? Was there a problem with the evac?”

  “Not exactly. Mako checked the Morgans into a hotel under his name, so they shouldn’t be found.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  “The Bratva. They tracked down the Windsor family and grabbed the bride-to-be.”

  Declan’s hands gripped the wheel tighter.

  “You hear me, Dec? They have Blair. And they’re using her as leverage.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Declan stopped at a scenic overlook and rested his head on the steering wheel.

  “Dec? You there?” Danny asked.

  “Yeah. I’m here. Tell me what you know.”

  “Mr. Windsor called Mako about an hour ago. He isn’t sure how long ago they got Blair, but she’s missing.”

  “Doesn’t he have security?”

  “Yeah, but—Doesn’t matter. She’s gone. The Bratva have her.”

  “And we’re sure she didn’t run away to get some air or go to the jail for visitation?”

  “Windsor got a call.”

  “Ransom demand?”

  “Worse. They’re going to hold Blair until Adam agrees to plead guilty and take the fall. If he doesn’t, they’ll kill her.”

  “So either way, she loses her man.”

  “Right.”

  “Did Windsor at least get proof of life?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Danny said. “They put her on the line, video chat. She screamed her head off to let her die and save Adam.”

  “I didn’t hear ‘saving Adam’ as one of her options.”

  “That’s what her captors told her. Right before they punched her in full view of her father then ended the call.”

  “Fuckers.” Declan squeezed the bridge of his nose.

  “The guy’s beyond distraught.”

  “Goes without saying.”

  “He already reached out to their lawyer. He can’t get in to see Adam until tomorrow morning, but when he goes, he’s been instructed to relay the information.”

  “And of course Adam will sacrifice himself for her.”

  “For nothing. You know they’re not going to give her back.”

  “I know,” Declan said. “That’s why I make my move tonight.”

  “How are you going to find her?”

  “They took someone we want. I’ll just have to take someone they want.”

  “You’re going after Kristina.” It wasn’t a question.

  Declan blew out a long, slow breath. “If we get her to come clean to the cops, we can save Adam. Unless your boy has movement on the GPS, that’s my only play.”

  “Nothing from him yet. But give him some time.”

  “We don’t have time. Besides, it’s not his fault if they don’t take the car anywhere.”

  “I know, Dec, but you’re all alone there. Mako isn’t going to want to leave the Morgans unprotected to help you. And Kristina’s place will be heavily guarded. If she’s even there anymore. She could be with the Bratva right now. And they could have her stashed anywhere. At one of their houses. The restaurant. Any number of warehouses. The docks. A—”

  “Shit. Danny, look up the address for Samovar.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  The clatter of a keyboard played through the speakers, then Danny said, “I got it. You need me to text it to you, or—”

  “No. I need you to do a search for the address of the restaurant that’s beside it. They share a parking lot.”

  “Hang on. I’ll have to guess whether the street numbers go up or down.” More key clacking. “The building that shares a lot with Samovar isn’t a restaurant. Well, it was, but it’s closed.”

  “I had a hunch.”

  “How?”

  “The lot was full when we were there, but Samovar was empty. I thought people must have been at the adjoining restaurant, but then I realized I never saw any activity there. Not even any lights.”

  “Okay, you’re probably right. I can do a property search to prove it.”

  “Don’t waste your time. I’m going to change my clothes into something less conspicuous, then I’m going.”

  “What the hell are you wearing? A clown suit?”

  “White shirt. Too noticeable.”

  “Well, don’t rush. Noah and I can be there in two hours, maybe less. And I’ll see if I can juggle a few of our other guys.”

  “Dan, there’s no time.”

  “That’s a parking lot full of Bratva soldiers, and you’re only one man. You’ll fucking wait for backup.”

  “They already sent a proof-of-life video. Blair Windsor is on the clock. And a body’s much easier to dispose of in the dark. How would you feel if we waited and were too late?”

  “How are you going to feel if you rush in there alone and get killed?”

  The display flickered and a beep sounded.

  “Gotta go, Dan. Mako’s on the other line.”

  “I’m texting him and telling him to talk some sense into—”

  Declan swapped calls. “Mako?”

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  “On the phone with Danny. He brought me up to speed, and we’re finalizing our plan.”

  “So why didn’t Alana answer her phone?”

  “What do you mean, she’s not answering her phone?”

  “Fuck, Declan. Isn’t she with you?”

  Shame and dread swirled in a nauseating amalgam in the pit of his stomach. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “No. She ran off.”

  “She ran off?” Mako bellowed.

  “She was with two security guards at the amusement park.”

  “Everything going on, and your ass is on a fucking Ferris wheel. Great.” He was going through a string of curses when the line went dead.

  Declan didn’t have a chance to explain. Didn’t know if he had the words, anyway. He and Alana might not have been riding roller coasters, but they’d been quite recreational in the parking lot. And his tactless effort at conversation afterward was what sent her away.

  More likely than not, he had two women to rescue. And the clock was ticking.

  He headed back to the cabin for a change of clothes. And his gun.

  * * *

  The contents of Declan’s luggage consisted mostly of shorts and swim trunks. His go-bag in the car was no better. He didn’t have cargo pants or sweats with him—either of which would give him more maneuverability than jeans—and his legs, tan as they were, would shine like a beacon in the dark. So he kept the jeans but swapped his white polo shirt for a black long-sleeved t-shirt, the only insurance he brought in case of a chilly rain.

  He also didn’t have his arsenal with him. Usually he had plenty of options and could arm himself for any occasion. Even a K&R extraction scenario. But all he had was his Glock and one spare clip—not nearly enough ammo to get through their first line of defense, let alone in and back.

  If he wasn’t going in hot, he was going in stealthy. Trying to avoid another argument with Danny, he went online himself and tried to find a blueprint for the building attached to Samovar’s parking lot. Took him less than two minutes to realize he didn’t have the time or knowledge to complete that task. So he called.

  “Danny? Can you call Nico and ask him to… actually,
just give me his number. It’ll be faster.”

  “Noah and I are on the road. The way he’s driving, we’ll probably be to you in an hour. Maybe less.”

  “I told you not to come.”

  “Fuck you, Declan. You’re my responsibility, and you’re disregarding my orders, which pisses me off. But more importantly, you’re my friend, and you’re in trouble. You think I’m just going to sit on my ass and hope it works out?”

  “I’m sorry, Danny. But Alana’s in there, and—”

  “You mean Blair, right?”

  “Right. They have Blair, and probably Alana. Have you talked to Mako?”

  Danny sighed. “Yeah, I talked to him. Don’t you think you might have mentioned losing Adam’s sister while we were on the phone?”

  “It didn’t come up.”

  “Yet somehow she’s become your priority, not Blair Windsor.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Yeah, you kind of did. Fuck, Declan. You have something going with her?”

  “No, I…” He dropped onto the bed and scrubbed his face with his hands. “I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

  “I know that tone. Hell, I’ve spoken in that tone. It’s not complicated. It’s clear as fucking day.”

  “Can you please just see about getting me blueprints for that building?”

  “Are you going to wait for us?”

  “Blueprints, Dan.”

  “You know, you’re as big a pain in the ass as everyone else in this company.”

  “At least you’re consistent with the type of guy you hire.” He rolled to his feet, grabbed his gun and spare clip. “I’m on my way over. It would be nice if I had some intel before I got there. But I’m not waiting.”

  “Declan—”

  Ending the call, he dashed to his car.

  He made it back to Samovar in record time. A sign on the door indicated the restaurant had closed. Instead of parking in the lot or across the street—both areas were certainly under surveillance—Declan drove down the road and parked a block away. The street was dark and deserted, and while he wasn’t crazy about potential hidden dangers between his location and target, he did appreciate having access to easy escape routes.

  Just before he opened the door, his phone dinged. Didn’t recognize the number, but opened the message, anyway.

  This is Nico Micelli. Add me to your contacts. Dan said you needed schematics. This is what I found. With more time, I could find more, but I hear you’re in a hurry. Be careful. And good luck.

  The text came with several attachments. Declan scoured each one, looking for any weakness he could exploit, any window that might be untended. He studied entrances and exits, closets and staircases.

  The last blueprint was of Samovar rather than the other building. He almost dismissed it, but in case the women were being held at the restaurant rather than the abandoned building—an option he doubted but needed to prepare for—he studied the plans. And that’s when he saw it.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Declan looked back and forth between the Samovar blueprint and the others. There was a door in the basement of each into a small storage room. He might not have given them a second thought, but neither facility needed a small storage area when bigger ones were built closer to the stairs. Furthermore, they were precisely across from each other.

  They weren’t storage rooms at all. Unless he was way off base, they were doorways to a tunnel connecting the two buildings under the parking lot.

  That tunnel would likely be guarded—heavily guarded—on both sides. But the more men at those areas, the fewer elsewhere.

  Declan switched his phone to silent, pocketed it, then headed down the street. He stuck to the dappled shadows from the tree canopies and paused behind thick trunks. The night was quiet. Traffic noise from the main thoroughfare was at a minimum, and his progress seemed to have scared the crickets.

  The trees ended about twenty yards from his target. He’d be exposed if he darted down the street. Even if he dodged the spotlights of the street lamps, someone was bound to see him.

  Instead of going in from the front, he darted between two little shops and ran to the alley. He planned on infiltrating from the back of the property—assuming he could get through the parking lot and to the building without being seen. There was a window on the ground floor that was smaller than the others and set apart from the rest. Based on the blueprints, it was in the utility closet. Unless the women were tied to the water heater, getting in that way would be his safest bet.

  The cars in the lot had thinned considerably, but he used the few that were left for cover. The number of vehicles buoyed his spirits. Fewer cars meant fewer guards.

  Declan crept to the building then plastered himself against it. He listened for any indication of Bratva soldiers. Nothing but the chittering screech of a nearby bat.

  He scooted around the corner, found the window. A quick glance inside showed the room to be empty. After searching through his Swiss Army knife, he found the blade and slid it into the groove by the latch. Then, with a quick flick of the wrist, unlocked it.

  Pushing up, he paused and listened. No alarm. The pane rose soundlessly as he shoved the window the rest of the way up. He left it wide open and again stood still, listening.

  Nothing but silence inside.

  Declan boosted himself up and in. He closed the window to hide his trail but left it unlatched. While his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he drew his gun. He’d needed both hands to get inside, but now, in the belly of the beast, all bets were off.

  Based on the files Nico had sent, there were three likely places to hold Alana and Blair. Declan headed toward his first choice, a restroom two doors down. It had no windows, and the whole room was probably tile, which made for easy cleanup.

  He wouldn’t dwell on that.

  The restroom was dark, quiet. Deserted. One down, two to go. Things were never easy.

  Declan made his way toward his second choice, a storage room off the kitchen. He walked by old fryers reeking of stale oil, then passed pots hanging over stacks of pans on a central counter. A rat skittered over his foot, and he jerked back. His elbow grazed one of the handles, and the whole stack of cookware plummeted to the floor.

  Fuck.

  He dashed into the storage room, shut the door, and flipped the lock. Leaning against it, holding his breath, he waited for someone to find him.

  Two men thundered into the room.

  “Who’s there? Come out.”

  “There’s no one here.”

  “Someone knocked the pans over. Check the storage room.”

  A few heavy footfalls, then the doorknob rattled. Declan adjusted his grip on his gun.

  A high-pitched squeal echoed through the kitchen. Even through the door, Declan heard it loud and clear.

  “What the hell, man?” The voice was right outside the door.

  “Did you see that?”

  “See what?”

  “That rat? It was at least the size of a mailbox. Bigger, maybe.”

  “Sure it was.” Footsteps clopped away from the door. “You sounded like a little girl.”

  “I don’t care. I’m telling you. It was fucking huge.”

  “Then that explains the pans. Let’s get out of here. I’m hungry.”

  “I can’t eat after seeing that.”

  “I didn’t say you had to eat. I said I’m…” Their voices trailed off.

  Declan waited to the count of one hundred before he released the lock and cracked open the door. The guys were gone. And, as he’d hidden in the storage room, he could scratch that area off his list.

  His last guess was the basement, in one of the rooms closest to the tunnel door. Hiding the captives there was a crap shoot. It was unlikely anyone would see or hear them in the basement, but if anyone breeched the tunnel, the Bratva would have problems getting the women up the stairs and out of the building. That meant they’d be prepared to fig
ht their way out.

  So, most of the security force would be downstairs. That explained why it had been easy to that point.

  As Declan crept through the kitchen, careful to avoid any pans in his path, a magnetic strip on the wall caught his attention.

  Five knives still hung there, waiting for a sous chef. Or for him.

  He chose two, tucked them into his belt, then made his way toward the basement.

  The hallway leading toward the stairs was dark. They probably had to keep all the lights off on the ground floor so they didn’t attract public attention. That could work to his favor.

  One guard stood at the top of the stairs. Declan grabbed a knife. It wasn’t weighted and balanced for throwing, so he’d have to get closer. He searched the floor for anything useful. There was random paper trash, a broken bottle, a can, and a spoon. Not much of a selection, but he could work with it. He grabbed the spoon and flung it down the hall.

  It had to have sailed right past the guard’s face, though he didn’t seem to notice. He did turn toward the clatter where the spoon landed. “Who’s there?”

  Declan sneaked down the hall, staying in the shadows as much as possible.

  “Hello?” The guy stared into the darkness, away from Declan. Then he started walking.

  Once he was clear of the basement door, Declan ran up behind him, jumped onto his back, and held him in a choke hold. The guy struggled, thrashed. Slammed his back into the wall, smashing Declan in the process.

  His grip slipped, and the guy got free. As long as he didn’t scream, Declan liked his odds.

  The guy grinned and lunged.

  Declan thrust the knife.

  The ridiculous sneer faded from the guard’s face as the blade buried to the hilt in his belly. He looked down, eyes wide, mouth agape. A guttural groan died on his lips.

  Dec twisted the weapon, then waited until he stopped flailing about. A semi-automatic hung around the man’s neck. Declan slipped it over his head. Now that was fire power.