by Katie Reus
Before Dax could respond, her phone buzzed across the nightstand. She typed in her security code and looked at the screen. An unknown number. Her stomach dropped as she opened the message. “Dax,” she whispered, unable to squeeze any more words out as she gave him her phone.
It was Shaun with a gag over his mouth and his hands bound behind his back, stretched out on a couch. The message underneath gave an address with the message to come alone in twenty minutes with her phone. If she didn’t, Shaun was dead.
“Fuck.” Dax’s jaw tightened.
“What—”
Dax picked his phone up from the bed and speed-dialed Burkhart. He didn’t have time to waste answering questions. He shoved up from the bed, heading for his closet as the phone rang.
His boss picked up on the second ring. “Yeah.”
Dax started pulling on clothes as he talked. “Hannah just received a text with a picture of her friend Shaun Holland. Bound and gagged. No identifiable landmarks or other features in the picture to determine location but I’m forwarding to Karen anyway. Guy gave an address to meet him in twenty minutes or Shaun is dead.” Dax quickly relayed the phone number the text was sent from and the address.
“Hold on.” Burkhart’s voice was all business as he passed on the information to Karen.
Dax could hear the sound of the keyboard clacking in the background as Burkhart said, “We need to involve the locals.”
Dax shot a glance at Hannah still sitting on the bed as he slid his shoulder holster on. “There’s not enough time.” And he could take down one guy easy. He sure as hell didn’t need backup.
Burkhart paused for a few seconds. “Hold on . . . The address is a condo owned by Joseph Sandor. It’s through a corporation but he’s the owner. This isn’t our jurisdiction.”
Yeah, Dax knew that. He also knew that he could end this situation in seconds once he breached the condo. “Can Karen get the schematics for me?”
Burkhart cursed. “Yeah. She’s sending them to your phone now. Leave now, but I’m calling Captain Nieto. He’ll work it out with his team, and they’re getting credit for this takedown. I’ll make sure that officially you were working in tandem with the Miami PD. The official story will be that we lent you to them for training.”
Dax snorted, not caring about any of the bureaucratic bullshit. He knew that Nieto and Burkhart had worked together on the Westwood bombing and all the events after and had a good working relationship, and that Burkhart would cover his ass. “Fine with me. I’ll contact you when I’m there.” He just cared about saving Hannah’s friend and getting this guy Sandor behind bars, where he belonged.
As soon as they disconnected, Dax stepped out of his walk-in closet, fully dressed and armed. Hannah hadn’t moved from her spot on the bed. “What is it?”
“I’m going to save your friend. Stay here. Set the alarm and don’t leave the house for anything. I don’t have time to answer questions.”
She nodded, her eyes wide as she crossed the distance between them. She pulled him into a tight grip, her voice thick with tears as she said, “Thank you, Dax. Please be safe. And . . . you better not do anything that’ll get you hurt.”
He dropped a quick kiss on her head before hurrying out of the room. It stunned him that she wasn’t barraging him with questions and that she had such trust in him to bring her friend back, but it probably shouldn’t. Hannah might look fragile, but she had a steel spine. It was one of the things that had first attracted him to her. Back in Delta the marriages he’d seen fall apart were the ones where the wives couldn’t handle the separations, the radio silences, and the simple not knowing. That kind of life was tough. The way Hannah had just let him go with those simple words told him a hell of a lot about her. And made him love her even more.
Love.
Fuck. Yeah, he did. Now it was time to take care of this situation for her and start their lives together.
* * *
Dax eyed the five balconies of the exclusive condo building above him. Three stories up was where Sandor had wanted Hannah to meet him. There was only one way in and out of the address he’d given her. An elevator that opened right into the foyer. It was likely why he’d wanted her to come here. He’d see her coming, given the security cameras in the lobby. He’d know if she wasn’t alone.
Unlucky for Sandor, Dax wasn’t coming in the front door. He was taking a risk being seen scaling the balconies, but it was the only other way in while remaining undetected. And according to Karen most of these condos were rented out during the summer. As of now, there were no barriers to his entry.
“Everything’s clear,” Dax murmured into his comm. Even though this wasn’t a typical mission, he was staying patched into a feed with Karen and Burkhart so they were kept apprised of the situation. And so Burkhart could relay everything to Nieto’s team, who would be here soon enough.
“Judge has already given Nieto a warrant to bring in Sandor. With the information from Hannah about his affair with Corrine Frye and the woman’s recent murder, they want him brought in quietly and in one piece.” A soft warning edged Burkhart’s voice.
“He’ll be alive.” Dax wasn’t going to kill anyone unless he had to, and something told him bringing down a middle-aged surgeon wouldn’t be too hard. Still, he wasn’t going to get cocky. He treated every mission with respect, especially since innocent lives were at stake. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the beach beyond the grassy area empty. “I’m going in.”
Stepping onto the metal railing in front of the bottom-floor condo, he balanced himself for a moment before jumping up and grabbing onto the bottom floor of the next balcony. The drapes were pulled shut on the first floor and he hoped it was the same on the next one. He didn’t feel like dealing with a freaked-out civilian.
His arm muscles tightened, his body straining as he pulled himself up inch by inch. Once he had enough traction, he grabbed the bottom part of the rail with one hand.
Using all the strength in his upper body, he continued pulling himself up using the rail until he could swing his legs up to get his footing. He swung himself over onto the balcony. The curtains were pulled shut.
One more floor to go. He repeated the process, not looking down as he worked. In any operation he broke everything down into small tasks.
His heart rate kicked up a notch as he pulled himself up onto the third floor. There would be a small window of time before he got onto the balcony, where he’d be vulnerable to an attack.
As he silently maneuvered himself over the last balcony, he moved across the patio area, flattening himself against one of the walls. There was a large round mosaic table with a small centerpiece and two chairs on the far side of the patio opposite him. The drapes were pulled closed on both big sliding doors. According to the plans Karen had accessed on the building, the one on the left led to a bedroom and the one on the right to a living room area.
Since the picture of Shaun showed him on a couch, Dax guessed he was in a living room or another sitting-type room. He hated guessing.
He drew his pistol, his boots silent on the concrete as he moved down to the middle of the first set of glass doors. He leaned close, listening for any voices.
Nothing.
Testing the door, he was surprised when it gave way, sliding to the side. He’d brought his lock-pick kit with him but was glad he didn’t have to waste time with the lock. The soft snicking sound of the door sliding to the side ratcheted up his tension. A rush of cool air rolled over him before he stepped inside, behind the thick curtain.
He was vulnerable here too, unable to see an attack coming. As quietly as possible, he slid the door back into place, wanting to mute the ocean waves in the distance. Moving along the interior of the curtain, he listened for any giveaway sounds that someone was in the room.
“Damn it, damn it,” a man cursed, at least a room away, given the muffled quality.
<
br /> As he reached the end of the curtain, Dax let out a quiet, steady breath before pulling it slightly back.
Bedroom. Empty except for furniture.
“You weren’t supposed to wake up,” the same man snarled. Had to be Sandor.
Dax stepped out fully from the curtain, moving across the carpeted room to the half-open door. The bed was rumpled and the scent of alcohol lingered in the air.
At a muffled sound, like someone trying to talk, he moved quickly across the floor to the open door.
“I didn’t want to kill you. You weren’t supposed to die, and I’m sorry, but . . . Damn it,” the man snarled again in that same rage-filled tone.
The muffled sound came again. Must be Shaun.
Dax couldn’t wait any longer and let the guy kill Shaun. He moved to the edge of the doorframe and peered around the corner.
Sandor stood with his back to Dax, his hands on his hips and a big blade in one of them. Shaun Holland was trussed up on the couch, just like in the text picture. He was bound and gagged, his eyes bleary and red rimmed. He’d either drunk too much or had been drugged. Maybe both, given that Sandor didn’t seem like he’d wanted to kill him. Maybe he’d drugged him and brought him here.
Whatever, didn’t matter now.
Dax stepped out from the bedroom into the living room, weapon aimed at Sandor. Before he could tell the surgeon to freeze, Shaun’s eyes widened as he saw him. Sandor immediately pivoted.
He let out a gasp of surprise and lifted his blade higher.
“Drop the weapon, hands in the air. Now!” Dax ordered. “Miami PD’s on the way and you’re under arrest.”
The surgeon stared at him in shock, as if he couldn’t believe what he was looking at. Dax knew this could go badly quickly, so he took a step forward, closing the distance between them. “They know about Corrine Frye.” Sort of a lie, but he wanted to see the man’s reaction. “And they know you’re the one who tried to attack Hannah Young. It’s over. Just put the knife down and surrender peacefully.”
Sandor glanced at Shaun, his eyes wide and terrified now, before he looked back at Dax. His expression was utterly defeated. When he raised the knife before him, pointed at his own chest, Dax knew exactly what he planned.
Hell no.
This guy wasn’t getting off that easily. Dax fired, striking Sandor’s wrist as he arced downward, ready to stab himself.
Screaming in pain, Sandor dropped the knife and fell to his knees. Closing the rest of the distance between them, Dax secured the man’s hands behind his back—earning an earful of cursing—and removed the knife from Sandor’s reach.
He freed Shaun’s bindings, then said, “Sit tight.” He motioned that he was going to secure the rest of the condo. He doubted anyone was there, but he needed to do a sweep. After he returned to the living room, he found Shaun sitting on another couch farther away from a still groaning Sandor. The nurse looked as if he might be going into shock.
Dax holstered his weapon and knelt in front of him. “Shaun, look at me.”
His eyes were slightly dilated and he weaved in his seat once. “I’m good. Drugged . . . I think. But good.” He pronounced each word slowly.
Dax tapped his earpiece. “Target is secure and the hostage needs a medic.” They would have already heard everything, but he wanted to relay this each step of the way in case he got called to a trial later. “How far out are Nieto’s guys?”
“Less than ten minutes.”
Dax looked at Shaun again. “Help is ten minutes out. You’re going to be fine.”
“What about me, you asshole?” Sandor shouted from where he lay facedown on the ground, his ruined wrist trailing blood. With that injury, he’d never operate again.
Dax ignored him and kept his focus on Shaun. “I’m going to get you some water, get you hydrated, all right?”
Shaun scrubbed a hand over his face and nodded. “Yeah.”
Relief surged through Dax as he made his way to the kitchen. Hannah’s friend was alive and Hannah was now safe. Because that fucker on the ground wasn’t getting out of this. With all the evidence against him and the fact that he had a bound, gagged kidnap victim in his condo, Sandor was going to jail for a long time.
* * *
Dax leaned against the wall outside Shaun’s hospital room as he waited for Hannah, who was visiting with her friend. After the shooting and arrest of Sandor, Shaun was taken to the hospital to be looked at. They were keeping him overnight for observation.
Dax had had to fill out a shitload of paperwork, but Burkhart and Nieto had finally let him leave the police station. This was a win for the PD, so they were more than happy to take credit for so quickly bringing down a man who’d murdered a local nurse. The way it looked, Burkhart said he thought the surgeon was going to try to plea a deal. Sucked, but it would be better than a long, drawn-out trial. But with kidnapping and murder on the table, he’d be in prison for life, so it wouldn’t be that good a deal.
As he waited, he scanned the hallway out of habit for any potential threat. Didn’t matter that the danger to Hannah was gone; he wanted to get her back to his place, where it was just the two of them. A couple holding hands approached the door. They were vaguely familiar looking. The man was Asian, about five feet ten, and the woman was a petite redhead. It took about two seconds for Dax to place them. He’d seen their wedding picture at Hannah’s house.
“Hi, are you a friend of Shaun’s?” the woman asked as they came to stand in front of him.
Dax nodded. “Sort of. I’m just waiting for Hannah.”
At that, he got twin looks of surprise. Almost instantly Hannah’s brother’s look turned to more than curious. “You’re waiting on my sister?”
“Yes. I’m Dax.” He held out a hand.
The man paused a moment but stuck out his hand in a friendly gesture. “I’m Paul; this is my wife, Gina.”
As they shook hands, the door opened and Hannah stepped out. When she saw her brother and his wife, her dark eyes widened. For a moment she looked like a deer in headlights. “Uh, Paul, Gina, hey. How’d you guys, uh . . .”
“Shaun texted me,” Gina said, a mischievous grin on her face. “Said something had happened and he was at the hospital, but not to worry, Hannah’s new boyfriend had saved his life. I didn’t believe him, but . . .” Her gaze swung to Dax, openly questioning.
Dax slid his arm around Hannah’s shoulders. Relief slammed into him that she leaned into him. Not that he’d expected otherwise, but a small, insecure part of him had worried she might not be ready to tell her family about him yet.
“Shaun’s got a big mouth, but yes, he wasn’t lying. This is Dax Costas. My boyfriend. Why don’t you guys go see Shaun? We’ll head down to the coffee shop on the first floor and wait for you.”
It looked as if her brother wanted to argue, but his wife pinched his side not very subtly and they headed into Shaun’s room.
As soon as they were inside, Hannah turned into Dax fully, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face against his chest. “Dax—”
“Don’t thank me again,” he muttered, kissing the top of her head. She’d been nothing but thankful since he’d seen her, and while he appreciated that, they weren’t the words he wanted to hear. And he didn’t care if it was too soon. He’d lived an adrenaline-filled life from pretty much the time he was eighteen. But nothing made him feel alive like Hannah did.
She leaned back to look up at him but didn’t loosen her grip. “I’ll thank you every ten minutes if I want.”
A grin tugged his lips. “I love you, Hannah,” he blurted, not bothering to censor himself or analyze it. He loved her. Period. And he wanted her to know. More than most, he knew how fragile life was, and he wasn’t going to go another second without telling her.
Her lips parted a fraction before pulling into a wide grin. “I love you too.”
<
br /> Just like that. No hesitancy in her voice whatsoever. He’d never told another woman he loved her, and to have those words returned so quickly touched him on his deepest level. He knew they had to stick around and talk to her brother and sister-in-law, but as soon as he was able, he was getting her back to his place and showing her exactly how much she meant to him.
Epilogue
Three months later
Hannah strode out of her therapist’s office building feeling better than she had in a long time. It had taken a couple of tries to find the right psychologist, but once she’d found someone she liked, she’d realized how desperately she’d just needed to talk to someone about her kidnapping. She’d had to go through someone the NSA vetted so she could freely talk, and every week over the last few months she’d had a standing appointment. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t realized she’d had a low-level form of PTSD all this time, but that’s what she’d been diagnosed with. Intellectually she knew it could happen to any trauma victim; she’d just always associated it with men and women who went to war.
She shivered as a breeze kicked up, and she tightened her scarf around her neck. It was a week until Christmas and she still had a lot of last-minute shopping to do. As she strode down the short sidewalk to where her car was parked right in the front row, her heart kicked up a notch at the sight of Dax leaning against the passenger side door.
“Dax!” She hurried down the sidewalk as he pushed up from her car with a grin, meeting her by the hood. She threw her arms around him as he buried his face in her neck.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he murmured, his voice a soft growl against her neck.
He’d been gone for only a week, but he wasn’t supposed to be back until after the New Year. She had no idea where he’d been or what he’d been doing, but at least this time they’d been able to talk every night. She couldn’t believe he was standing in front of her. “Is everything okay?” she asked, pulling slightly back so she could look at him but not removing her arms from around him. She never wanted to let him go.
