by J. Kenner
Even with the Angels and the Foundation, he knew he could only make a dent in the pain and corruption in the world, but every life he saved or helped rebuild made it worth it. He’d paid a huge price to have this, not the smallest part of which was walking away from Ellie.
It was worth it, he told himself. Even though she could never be his, the life he’d now built would be enough.
It had to be.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The present…
Devlin took his hands off the wheel and slowly raised them into the air. He glanced sideways and nodded, silently telling Brandy to do the same. She’d gone pale, completely white, and terror seemed to come off her in waves.
He wanted to tell her they’d get through this. That it would be okay, but he said nothing. For one, he didn’t know if his captors had itchy trigger fingers. For another, he was afraid to make a promise that he might not be able to keep.
He knew that they’d been followed by one of the cops assigned to watch the house. For a moment, he let himself hope that the cop had seen the attack and radioed in before casually driving on. But then he heard one of the thugs talking to the other. The pig died at the corner, and Devlin’s hope that their situation had been reported faded to nothing.
“Out of the car, you fucking bastard.” The voice was unfamiliar. Rough. And though Devlin tried to match it to a voice in his memory, he couldn’t. It didn’t matter. He knew that this man must be tied to Joseph Blackstone. He knew why they’d been carjacked, and he was kicking himself for underestimating Blackstone’s men. Without a leader, he’d truly thought they would scatter.
Now, here he was, surrounded by the very species of men that he’d dedicated his life to fighting. And Brandy was the kind of woman he’d spent his entire life trying to protect. And yet here they were, facing death because of the choices he made.
“Come on, bitch,” said another one, yanking open the passenger side, and grabbing Brandy’s upper arm. She fumbled to undo the seatbelt, and he screamed at her, telling her to keep her hands up.
“She’s trying to get out, you son of a bitch,” Devlin said. “Can’t you see she’s strapped in?”
The gunman at his side lashed out, smacking Devlin across the forehead with the side of his gun. “Shut your mouth.”
Devlin’s head rang, and he saw flashes of light from the impact. He wanted to punch the fucker. He wanted to lash out and smash him in the face. One on one, he knew that he could take him. But there were no good odds in this circumstance, and if he did start a fight—even if he had the slightest chance of winning—he knew damn well that Brandy’s presence reduced his odds.
At the end of the day, one of them would be dead, and he couldn’t live with himself if it was her.
Bottom line, he wasn’t a stupid man; he wouldn’t fight. And he wouldn’t let her fight either. “Do what they say,” he told her, glaring at the man and daring him to hit him again. “Just do exactly what he says.”
The man beside him said nothing. Just gestured with the gun for both of them to get out of the car.
“Hands behind your backs,” a third man said. Brandy’s eyes met Devlin’s over Shelby, and the terror he saw there made his gut twist.
“It’ll be okay,” he said, and he hoped desperately it wasn’t a lie.
“The hell you say,” one of the men said.
The two standing closest to each of them used cable ties to bind their hands behind them. Devlin had one more chance to meet Brandy’s terrified eyes before the men pulled bags over their heads, loosely tied around their necks. There were no eyeholes. He was in the dark, just a bit of light sneaking in from the bottom.
Then someone took him by the elbow and shoved him forward. He heard the gunning of an engine, then the sound of brakes. He was told to step up, then shoved roughly inside. Another set of hands grabbed him and settled him on a bench, and he assumed they were in one of the vans he’d seen in the parking lot.
“Sit down,” his captor said. “And shut up.”
He did as he was told, and from the shuffle of movement he could hear through the sack, he was certain that Brandy was complying as well. Good. The situation was fucked, but the more cooperative she was, the longer she would last, and the better their odds.
Who was he fooling? Their odds were shit. No one would know for a while that they’d even been taken, much less the destination. He hoped that there were security cameras around the strip mall that would help the police and his own team identify the van and then track it.
He knew that ultimately, once they realized that Brandy and Devlin had disappeared, Ellie and Lamar would be able to find Shelby. He’d had a tracking device put in her after the accident, and the app was on El’s phone. That would be the first thing she’d do.
But that was cold comfort, since Devlin and Brandy would be gone. Their only hope was that his friends found the van in time and were able to follow it. And that, he knew, was a damn thin hope.
The thought wrecked him.
The memory of that morning swept over him, along with the fear that the quick brush of a kiss across Ellie’s lips would be their last kiss. No. He couldn’t let himself think like that. He had to stay clear, and he had to keep her at the forefront of his mind.
He and Brandy would come through this somehow. No other outcome was acceptable.
Across the van, he heard Brandy breathing. He wanted to console her, but was afraid that if he did, they’d both get punished.
Instead, he concentrated on Ellie. On visualizing being back in her arms. Of getting out of this. He had skills, after all. Training. But this wasn’t a movie, and he could hardly fight off a half-dozen men with guns. Especially not with Brandy in the crossfire.
Instead, he focused on gathering intel. He paid attention to the turns, to the texture of the road. To when they switched from the van to a regular car.
He could tell when the pavement shifted, when the car accelerated, when they were on a highway, and when they merged with another.
Inland, he thought. They were heading inland, and he tried to count so that he could estimate how far they’d traveled. It might do no good at all, but it was information, and right then, information was the only asset he could acquire.
The other benefit of concentrating on the road was that it kept his mind off the nagging fear that Ellie was in danger, too. For all he knew, there’d been a second raid at the house, and she’d been taken as well.
He didn’t know. He couldn’t know.
And no matter what they did to him once they reached their destination, Devlin knew that horrible gap of information would be the worst punishment of all.
Chapter Thirty-Five
“Dammit, Lamar, I don’t know!”
I’m sorry to yell at my friend, but I am completely freaking out. “All I know is that I got this bizarre text from Brandy telling me not to worry, and that they were on their way back home.”
As soon as the text had landed on my phone, I’d called Ronan, only to get his voicemail. I’d called Lamar right after, not feeling the least bit guilty about trying Ronan first. Devlin and Brandy are in trouble, and Ronan isn’t fettered by rules.
I want his help desperately, but I’m also so grateful to have Lamar on my side.
“Deep breaths.” His voice is calm and level, but I know him well enough to know that he’s worried, too. “I’m on my way. Tell me where I’m meeting you.”
“That abandoned strip shopping center at the intersection of Hancock and Grace Street.” I’m in Brandy’s car, and I have my phone on speaker since I’m not tied into her system. I’m so thankful that Devlin installed a tracker on Shelby, but at the same time I’m terrified as to what I’ll find when I get to the shopping center, and whatever mojo I had as a cop has completely fizzled away in this crisis. I’m numb and I’m scared. But I force myself to think. To talk. “I’m about a mile away.”
“I’ll be be right behind you. Stay on the phone with me, and if there is anything
at all going down, you drive on past. Do you understand me?”
I swallow, not certain I’ll have the strength to keep driving, but understanding why I have to. “Yes. Anything. Just hurry.”
I let silence linger on the line, too terrified to talk, but I’m reassured by Lamar’s presence on the other side of the phone line. I know I’m not overreacting— there’s absolutely no reason in the world for Brandy to send me the text that she did—but I’m desperately hoping that it’s just a horrible, terrifying mix-up.
What’s going on? Don’t worry? We’re on our way back to you.
On the one hand, Brandy’s text clearly suggested an emergency, but it sounded like I was the one who had called out for help. Except I hadn’t. So what the hell was Brandy talking about?
All I know for sure is that they were in Shelby, that I have the ability to track Shelby, and that Shelby is now parked less than a block away. I’m driving like a banshee, putting Brandy’s little Ford to the test as I race the final distance into the lot, then screech to a halt beside Shelby.
“Ellie?” Lamar’s voice sounds thin over the speaker.
I hear the catch in my voice as I say, “They’re gone.”
I throw the door open and launch myself toward Shelby. I don’t touch anything, but I peer into the cab, as if maybe they’re hiding on the floorboards. But they’re just gone. No sign, no clue.
“Don’t touch anything.” Lamar’s voice drifts from the open door of the Ford, and I return to grab my phone, then hold onto it as if it can keep me sane.
“Lamar…” I hear the fear and hate myself for it. I want to be stronger, but I’m not, and it is taking all of my strength not to collapse onto the asphalt.
“Don’t touch anything,” Lamar says again.
“I know. I didn’t. They need to dust for prints.”
“I’m one block over, and I’ve got a team responding. Not just prints. The car could be rigged.”
“Oh, God…”
“I’m sorry to be so blunt, but I don’t want you to get hurt.”
I nod my head. I understand; I do. And I try to dig deep into my training, to my heritage, but none of it’s coming through. Something has happened to the man I love and my best friend in the world, and I am having one hell of a time thinking straight.
As he promised, Lamar is right on my heels. He slams his car to a stop beside me then lurches out of the car. “Help is on its way,” he says, though the sirens in the distance already tell me as much. “Now let’s go over everything again.”
I run him through the whole thing once more—how I got the text, the text not making any sense, and me realizing that something had to be wrong. “And now here’s the car and no Devlin or Brandy. So obviously I’m right.”
Beside me, Lamar nods his head. “Yeah, I think you are.”
I press my fist hard against my lips, as if that strange and uncomfortable pressure will keep the tears at bay. It doesn’t work, and the next thing I know I’m in Lamar’s arms as he tries to console me.
But I’m not consoled. I won’t be—I can’t be—until I find Devlin and Brandy. But I do manage to get the tears under control, and I pull back from Lamar, my cheeks wet and my heart racing. I’m helpless, and I hate it.
As he’s been holding me, other cops have arrived, and the team is scouring the area for vagrants who may be living inside the abandoned buildings and might have seen something. Apparently the owner lost his financing and the space has become a haven for the homeless. “There are security cameras,” Lamar tells me. “Benton’s talking with the bank. Hopefully they kept the feed on after the foreclosure.”
I nod, reassured by the activity, but it isn’t enough. It isn’t nearly enough.
I turn again to Lamar, wanting to beg for a next step, but he’s already looking at me, his forehead creased. “What?” I demand.
“I already told Devlin this, so you might know. But Walt fessed up to being paid a hundred large to file the lawsuit.”
“So he’s in on this?” I hear my voice rise with incredulity. Walt’s an ass, but none of us really saw him for the bombing. He’s a whiner, not a fighter. And I can’t imagine him pulling off a kidnapping.
Lamar shakes his head. “I don’t think so. He says he swears it was anonymous. Someone came to him and told him that he should file the suit, and if he did that the guy’s boss would pay him. He filed, they paid, and he said that was the end of it.”
“Do you believe him?” I do, but I want Lamar’s take on it, too, especially since my judgment is impaired right now.
“I do,” Lamar says. “He’s an asshole, yes, but he’s not a stupid asshole.”
“Agree. He realized that he’d stepped in it, and told you everything he knew.”
“Right,” Lamar says. “We would have found that eventually, but him bringing it up on his own is a mark in his favor.”
As much as I despise the man, I can’t disagree.
I start to pace, my mind churning. “They’re still watching him,” I say. “I mean, maybe not this second, but they have been. This isn’t about getting Walt to sue Devlin, it’s about manipulation. I bet they even suggested that Walt ask for this meeting. He did, didn’t he?”
Lamar frowns. “Yeah. It was his idea.”
“They needed a way to grab Devlin when he was alone and feeling safe. Like on the way to the police station.”
“They couldn’t have foreseen that Brandy would go public. But they weren’t going to pass up their chance just because Brandy was in the car.”
“Oh, God,” I say, hating that she’d been pulled into all of this, and knowing she must be terrified.
Assuming she’s still alive.
I choke a bit at the thought, then try desperately to pull myself back together.
“We got video!” A cop I don’t know waves to Lamar from across the parking lot, his words helping me get centered. Lamar and I race that direction, but as soon as I see the image, I want to throw up—Devlin and Brandy, hands bound and faces covered, being shoved into the back of a white panel van.
But they’re alive. At least at that moment, they were both very much alive.
“Start checking traffic footage,” Lamar orders. “Let’s trace these fuckers.”
“Lamar,” I begin, then stop when my phone chimes. I’d programmed a specific tone for Ronan after I left the messages and now I stiffen with anticipation. “I—let me take this. It’s Ronan. I should tell him what’s happened.”
Lamar knows that Ronan and Devlin are close. That, however, is all he knows.
He nods, signaling to another officer, then hurries away as I check my phone.
It’s not a call, it’s a text.
I’ll be there in five. Make your excuses. You’re coming with me.
My breath catches, and I look at Lamar. Ronan must have some intel—although how he even knows about the abduction is a mystery. But I can’t tell Lamar about Saint’s Angels.
Instead, I decide I’ll tell Lamar that Ronan came at my request, and now we’re leaving together so that I’m not alone while Lamar works.
It’s a story he doesn’t even question, as he’s too intent on his conversation with the tech guy pulling the video feed.
“Shouldn’t we wait?” I ask Ronan when he pulls up. He never asked where I was, and I realize that Devlin must have put a tracker on Brandy’s car. Or my phone. I’ll ask about that later. At the moment, I’m just glad he did.
“No. They dumped the van at Fashion Island. The cops will realize soon enough. After that, it’s a dead end.”
“Fashion Island?” That’s an outdoor mall in Newport Beach. “How did you even know that Devlin’s in trouble?”
“His watch,” Ronan says. “It has a tracker. He triggered the SOS.”
I exhale, relief mixing with hope. “You found him? Ronan how—”
“Ellie, no.” I hear the regret in his voice. “We found the watch.” His voice is hard. “Charlie and Grace are still there working the eviden
ce. Apparently their abductors had them change into jump suits. We found their clothes and the watch in the Dumpster. Nice watch, too. Tempting for a criminal, but they dumped it. Our perps are being careful.”
“And Brandy’s clothes? She’s really with them?” I hate that she is, but at least that means she’s alive. For now.
He sucks in air, and his hands tighten on the steering wheel. “That woman does not deserve this. She’s been through too damn much.”
“She’ll be okay,” I say, but I hear the shake in my voice.
“She’s stronger than she looks,” Ronan says, glancing sideways at me. “I heard her interview. She’ll get through this.”
I nod, appreciating that he’s trying to console and soothe, but I know the score. I might be one variety of victim in this scenario, but I’ve been on the other side, too. And I know that strength doesn’t always matter, and that the real truth is that I might never see either Brandy or Devlin again.
I absolutely hate feeling helpless but that’s how I feel for the next hour, during which time I’m wanting things to happen that are already in motion, but no results have come in yet.
The Saint’s Angels who are in town, like Charlie and Grace and a few others I’d seen at the reception are in the field. Ronan is coordinating from the kitchen. And Reggie—who I hadn’t realized was a whiz on a computer—is working remotely from the Seaside Inn, hacking into the traffic camera system.
Me? I’m feeling useless as I pace the kitchen.
“Excellent,” Ronan says. “Run with that.” He taps his earpiece to mute the call, then tells me that Reggie found an image of a Toyota leaving Fashion Island, and the angle was just enough that it caught a glimpse of the backseat. “Passenger with a bag over their head. Doesn’t get much more certain than that.”
“Right,” I say. “What about more cameras? Can we figure out the route?”
“We’re working on it. And we’re coordinating with the police, too,” he says, making me look up in surprise. “Really?”
