Seth held out his hand.
Heather handed over her phone.
“General Lane,” he began, then frowned. “We’re here to try to find out what Nick Altomari couldn’t tell you: Who was responsible for this atrocity . . . I can’t tell you that . . . Can’t . . . No . . . No . . . I can’t tell you that either. Aside from you, who else knows we’re here? . . . Can you keep them quiet? . . . That would be unwise . . . I assure you, General, you do not want to do that. If you value your daughter’s life, you won’t do that.”
Heather’s heart sank. This was so not happening.
All of the surveillance cameras they had seen at the base had been wrecked like the two obvious ones in here. The miniscule camera Adam had spotted in the wall must have been installed by the men who had come in and cleaned up the mess.
Now her father knew. His memory would have to be erased.
Her eyes began to burn with tears.
And she would lose him.
David suddenly stepped up behind Heather, turned her slightly to face the camera, and slid a hand around to grasp her neck. Though he applied no pressure, she knew it would look to her father as though he did.
“You will keep this quiet,” Seth snapped, “or we will kill your daughter while you watch us do it on your hidden camera.”
She squeezed her eyes closed. How had this gone so wrong?
“If you will cease . . . We are not your enemy, General Lane,” Seth said after a pause, the anger in his voice lessening. “I have no interest in harming your daughter, but your threats may leave me little choice.”
David leaned down and whispered in her ear. “We won’t hurt you, Heather.”
Oh, but they would . . . if they hurt her father.
Adam shoved a desk over to the wall with the camera and climbed up on top of it.
“Should you do so,” Seth warned her father, “I will reveal that your daughter is telepathic and tell them she led us here.”
Drawing a knife from the sheath on his thigh, Adam pried the tiny camera from the Sheetrock and held it up, silently asking Seth what he should do with it.
Seth drew a finger across his throat. “It doesn’t matter how I found out. The point is that I know and—if you wish me to remain silent, if you wish your daughter to live—you will cease your threats and listen to me.”
Adam dropped the camera onto the table and crushed it beneath his boot.
David removed his hand from Heather’s neck and gave her shoulder a gentle pat.
“Wise man,” Seth praised. “First, you will destroy whatever video footage your hidden cameras have captured of our presence here on the base. You will destroy it without making copies or letting anyone else view it. And you will ensure that the soldier monitoring the surveillance feed there will not say a word to anyone about seeing us. You’re a smart man and know that the first person they will come after is the one they can most easily identify: your daughter . . . I may as well be a ghost for all the luck they would have finding me . . . No . . . Such would be futile . . . You could try, but I would advise against it. Need I remind you I have your daughter? . . . I see we understand each other . . . You will meet me tonight, and you will come alone. I shall call you soon with a time and place. Until then, I will be the one monitoring your every move, so do not think to betray me.” He ended the call.
“Well,” David said, “that could’ve gone better.”
Heather wasn’t one to cry easily, but damned if she didn’t burst into tears at that proclamation.
David wrapped an arm around her and drew her against his broad chest. “Don’t panic,” he murmured, voice kind as he patted her back. “Your father is still well.”
But he might not be after tonight’s meeting.
“Adam,” Seth said, “do you see any other hidden cameras in this room?”
Heather heard the soldier move around the room as she closed her eyes and continued to soak David’s shirt with her tears.
“No, sir. We’re good.”
A moment later, the air filled with a dozen or so conversing voices.
“What the hell?” Ethan snapped.
Heather raised her head and felt no relief when she discovered that Seth had teleported them back to David’s living room.
Ethan leapt out of the chair he had been lounging in and hurried forward. “Heather? What happened?”
Heather latched onto him like a drowning woman would a life preserver. Locking her arms around him, she squeezed as close as she could get. Sobs shook her shoulders while an uneasy hush descended upon the room.
“Is she okay?” Darnell asked softly.
No, I’m not, she thought and tuned out Seth’s response.
Any chance they had had of netting her father’s cooperation had died the moment they had threatened her life.
Ethan held her close. “Shh. It’s okay. Don’t cry, honey,” he murmured, sliding his hands up and down her back in soothing strokes.
But it wasn’t okay. Nor was it going to be okay.
In just a few hours, she would lose her father.
Though over a dozen people filled David’s home, a troubled hush had befallen it. Ethan occupied the living room with Zach, Lisette, Aidan, Imhotep, Chaahk, Darnell, Sheldon, Tracy, Ed, Marcus, Ami, and little Adira. As usual, the toddler seemed to pick up on the somber mood of the others and barely made a sound.
Heather sat in a chair, some distance from the rest of them, staring blindly through a window. Ethan had claimed the chair beside her, but—aware of how the night might end—didn’t know what to say or do to help her. So he just stayed close and lent her whatever silent support he could.
When Adira sensed Heather’s sadness and tried to go to her, Marcus tugged her back and drew her up onto his lap.
Ethan stared at Heather’s tight lips, red-rimmed eyes, and stiff shoulders and could find no hint of the playful woman who had threatened to draw a mustache and bushy eyebrows on his face if he fell asleep. He didn’t have to be telepathic to know she was preparing herself for the worst. Preparing herself to say good-bye to the father she loved. Knowing that in less than an hour she might have to watch Seth erase hours of memories that, because of the mental barriers her father had built over the years to protect his wife and daughter, could either damage his brain beyond repair or kill him outright.
Ethan reached over and took her hand, so grateful when she clung to him instead of blaming him and pulling away.
As Seth and David strode into the room, Ethan hoped like hell her father would cooperate and allow himself to be swayed to their side.
Chapter Fourteen
General Lane sat in the driver’s seat of a Humvee, every nerve stretched taut.
The GPS coordinates he had been given had led him to the middle of a damned field with nothing around for miles. No farms. No crops. No isolated country homes. Nothing but grass and weeds adorning rolling hills and, in the distance, trees.
He glanced at his watch. The bastards were late. “Anything?” he murmured softly.
“Negative,” a voice returned in his earpiece.
Only a sliver of a moon clung to the star-filled sky. General Lane had opted to leave the headlights on. Might as well let them know he was there. And let him see the bastards coming.
If anything had happened to Heather, if they had hurt her in any way . . .
“Shit!” a voice whispered in his ear. “Targets sighted.”
“What the fuck?” another murmured, astonishment in the barely audible murmur.
Five figures materialized from the blackness beyond the headlights, striding forward as casually as though they were just out for a stroll. Four men. Tall. Three of them damned near seven feet. A fourth three or four inches above six feet. All save the tallest wore black shirts, black cargo pants, long, black coats, and . . . were those swords in sheaths on their backs?
The tallest wore black leather pants and no shirt. A bandolier sporting numerous throwing knives adorned his hips.
General Lane’s heart began to beat faster when his gaze alighted upon the fifth figure.
Heather. So small compared to the others. She, too, wore black cargo pants and a black shirt. No coat. Sheathed knives and holstered guns were strapped to her hips and thighs.
He frowned. What the hell?
She held the hand of the shortest man, who nevertheless towered over her.
General Lane scoured every inch of her pale, exposed skin, looking for injuries or signs that she had been beaten or harmed.
He found none.
“Target one locked,” a voice murmured in his ear. Similar words were repeated by several others.
“Wait for my order,” the general whispered and slipped from the vehicle.
The group stopped just inside the light cast by the Humvee’s beams.
As he approached them, General Lane noted that Heather’s eyes and nose were red, as though she had been crying.
Fury rose within him.
“I believe I told you to come alone,” one of the men said, his voice that of the man General Lane had spoken to on the phone.
From a few yards away, the general gauged the man at standing six foot eight and could see now that he had long, black hair that fell to his waist. The way he carried himself and the fact that he had spoken first led the general to believe that this was the leader of the group.
The man to the right of him was only an inch shorter, with skin as black as midnight and dreadlocks down to his hips. The man to the left of the leader was maybe six foot four and built like a professional football player. Broader shoulders. Lots of muscle. Short, dark hair. And he kept a tight hold on Heather’s hand, urging her closer as his eyes searched the night.
The man to the left of him, the one without a shirt, looked like a natural-born killer. Just a hair short of seven feet tall, he possessed a distinct air of ruthlessness, as if he could snap Heather’s neck without a second thought and toss her body to the wolves.
Meeting the general’s gaze, he arched a brow.
“I did come alone,” the general lied.
The ruthless one snorted.
“Dad,” Heather pleaded, “they’ll know if you’re lying. Just tell them the truth and cooperate. Please. You don’t know what’s at stake here.”
Yes, he did. Her life was at stake. Which was why he hadn’t come alone. He had wanted as much backup as he could afford to bring. “Are you okay?” he asked, surprised when none of the men told him to shut the hell up so they could make their demands. “Did they hurt you?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
The leader drew in a deep breath, searched the night, then looked to his black comrade. A moment passed. The black man nodded.
The leader turned back to the general. “Have your snipers lower their weapons.”
“What snipers?” he asked, poker-faced.
“The ones in the trees and atop the hills.”
Heather’s look turned panicky. “Dad, you brought snipers with you? You were supposed to come alone!”
“And leave you unprotected if they kill me?”
“They’re the ones protecting me, Dad! Tell your men to stand down.”
He frowned. “What?” They were protecting her? What the hell did that mean?
“Just do it,” she said, “and listen to what these men have to say.”
In his ear, a voice murmured, “I have a clean shot. On your mark, I’ll take out the man holding your daughter.”
The man who held Heather’s hand frowned and looked to the west. Shifting Heather to his other side, he nudged her toward the ruthless one, who sort of reminded General Lane of a buffer, more rugged Jim Morrison. “Zach, get her out of here.”
Heather dug in her heels. “No way. I’m staying.”
“The hell you are,” the man said, still trying to push her toward the other. “I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire. There are six rifles aimed at us right now and one is drawing a bead on my head.”
Unease and confusion struck the general.
How had he known there were six shooters? How had they known there were shooters at all? Had they been here all this time, waiting and watching?
Even if they had, he hadn’t heard or seen the soldiers arrive and get in place, so how had they?
“All the more reason for me to stay,” she insisted. Squirming out of her captor’s hold, she planted herself in front of him like a shield. A short, slender shield half his weight.
“Heather,” the man said with exasperation as he settled his hands on her hips, “you’re a foot shorter than me. If you stay and he shoots, you won’t block the shot, you’ll just get showered with my brains.”
The dismay that swept her features filled the general with dread.
“Then pick me up,” she ordered, spinning to face the man.
He looked at her as if she’d just sprouted horns. “Are you insane?”
“No. Use me as a shield.”
“I am not going to let you sacrifice yourself for me again. You already did that once, damn it, and I nearly lost you. So get that crap out of your head right now!”
The general’s thoughts spiraled with confusion. What the hell was happening?
He looked at the leader.
The leader shrugged. “They’re sort of smitten with each other. Young love and all that.”
He spoke with an accent General Lane couldn’t quite place.
“Fine,” Heather said, the word full of defiance. Swiveling around once more, she drew a 9mm and aimed it at . . .
Shit! General Lane stared down the barrel of his daughter’s gun.
“Fire a single shot,” she shouted into the night, “and I’ll shoot General Lane!”
The ruthless one smiled. “I like this woman, Ethan.”
The leader nodded, his face relaxing. “General, how well do you trust the men you’ve brought with you?”
“Heather, honey,” General Lane blurted, “what the hell are you doing?” Was this Stockholm syndrome? Had she fallen for her captors? They’d only had her for a day, hadn’t they? What the hell had they done to her to force her to switch her loyalty so swiftly?
“General?” the leader prompted.
“I trust them with my life,” he muttered absently, still trying to come to grips with the fact that his daughter had just threatened to shoot him.
“Do you trust them enough to tell them where you saw us earlier today and what transpired there two weeks ago?” the leader pressed.
“They don’t have clearance.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Yes,” the general snapped. “I would trust them with the information, if necessary.”
The leader studied him a moment. “Have your men lower their weapons and remove their earpieces.”
“Hand over Heather first.”
“Dad,” Heather said, “I’m armed. You see this weapon. I would’ve already shot these guys if I thought they intended to hurt me.”
The man with his hands on her hips grinned. “Damn, you’re appealing. I love strong women.”
Heather rolled her eyes. “Now is not the time, Ethan.”
General Lane stared. “Heather—”
“I’m bored,” the ruthless one interrupted.
“Zach,” the leader spoke, a warning in his voice.
“This is taking too long. Why don’t I just . . . move things along a little faster for you?”
The leader grumbled something under his breath. “All right. But do not hurt anyone.”
The ruthless one—Zach—loosed a disgruntled sigh. “Fine.” Then he vanished.
General Lane gasped and felt his eyes pop wide.
He just . . . vanished. Into thin air. There one second. Gone the next.
Odd sounds came over the general’s earpiece.
Zach reappeared, his arms full of rifles. Tossing them on the ground, he brushed his hands together. “Done. Now call your men in.”
“What the fuck just hap
pened?” one of the soldiers blurted in General Lane’s ear.
Another swore. “The target is now in possession of my primary weapon.”
The others confirmed the same.
General Lane’s mouth fell open. “How did you do that?”
The leader answered for him. “Bring your men in and we’ll talk.”
Heather lowered her weapon. “Trust me, Dad. You’re going to want to hear what they have to say. You need to hear what they have to say.”
Bewildered, afraid for her, the general called in his men.
The swishing of leaves and crunching of grass and weeds filled the night as six men—men so loyal to General Lane that they would do anything he requested, no questions asked—marched out of the forest and down the hills. As he watched them enter the ambient light of the Humvee’s beams and come to stand on either side of him, the general wondered anew how Heather’s captors had known they were there. All of the soldiers had blackened their faces, worn black fatigues, and covered their upper bodies with ghillie suits that mimicked the foliage around them so they would blend in with the night.
And they had blended in. These men were professionals. General Lane hadn’t been able to spot them even with a nightscope.
The soldiers doffed their ghillie suits, then studied Heather’s captors.
“Heather,” General Lane ordered, “come stand by me.”
The man behind her shook his head. “She’ll stay with us for now.”
The leader nodded to the soldiers. “If you don’t wish these men to know what you’ve been investigating—what we were investigating ourselves today—then tell them to get inside your vehicle and drive away. We will see that you return home or reach a destination of your choice safely once we’re done here.”
Tim, one of the soldiers, glanced at General Lane from the corner of his eye. “With all due respect, sir, we aren’t leaving you alone with these men.”
Wayne nodded. “If you want our silence, sir, you’ll have it, but we aren’t goin’ anywhere.”
The general nodded. If they ended up having to fight their way out of this, one or more of these men might be able to get Heather to safety.
“Very well,” the leader said.
“Who are you?” General Lane demanded.
Shadows Strike Page 22
