by Michael Todd
Savage knew she was only ribbing him and attempted to distract him and maybe to get a rise out of him. But it didn’t change the fact that she was absolutely right.
“I don’t disagree,” he said finally, his voice low and not only because he tried to keep a low profile.
“You know, it’s not as much fun to tease you if you don’t fight back, Jer,” she grumped.
“Yep, I know.” His response was automatic but distant, superimposed on an unspoken warning that resonated within him. Something wasn’t right. He could feel it climb his spine and raise the hairs on the back of his neck.
“You know I don’t mean any of it, right?” the hacker asked. “This lawyer might have it all figured out, but when it comes down to the facts, he still needs you to help keep him and his family safe.”
“Safe from a threat I brought on them, remember? Look, I…I know you’re only kidding and poking fun at me to keep me light. But staying quiet is a good way to let me focus on the job and also to pretend it’s any other job—something impersonal and normal.”
“Right.” She sounded a little put out. “Sorry. I’ll shut up.”
“Well, I didn’t say that.” The words seemed to speak themselves without any need for him to pay attention to what he said. Something was definitely wrong. It hovered barely out of reach on the edge of his mind, waiting for him to discern it.
“You don’t want me to shut up?” she asked suspiciously. “Did I seriously hear you say that?”
“Oh yeah, I totally agree.” What was wrong? What was off? He wracked his brain… Lights. The second-floor lights had been on fifteen minutes before but they were off now, and the whole family was still downstairs in the kitchen.
“Jer, you’re not making any sense. Do you have a gun to your head?”
“Shit, they’re in the house already,” Savage whisper-yelled and dropped the rifle when the rest of the lights in the house went out.
“Ah, so you weren’t even paying attention to me,” the hacker said.
“Don’t feel bad,” He yanked the blinds up and opened the window. “You make a fantastic white noise machine.”
“Asshole.” He vaguely registered the lilt of amusement in her tone, his attention already focused on the ground. The house was newer and lacked any arching ceilings and high rises, which meant it wasn’t much farther than ten feet from the window where he stood. He’d made longer drops than that—usually in some kind of power armor, of course, but the concept remained the same. Without hesitation, he heaved himself onto the windowsill and after a few quick breaths, pushed himself clear.
Just like riding a bike. He dropped quickly and landed with loose knees and his feet pointed down, continued smoothly into a roll over his shoulders, and found his feet easily. He’d felt an uncomfortable jolt when he hit the ground, but he shrugged it off. He had left all his weapons in the house except for the pistol under his arm. Thankfully, he still had a ski mask he’d shoved into his jacket pocket, one he had acquired for exactly this kind of situation. He was rather thankful he hadn’t left it in the duffel bag as he’d originally intended to do.
Savage yanked it on quickly using only one hand as the other drew his weapon from its holster. The mask covered most of his face except his eyes and hugged his skin closely enough that it wouldn’t impede his vision.
“Are you all right?” Anja asked. “You’re making that weird noise you make when you’re limping.”
“It’s called breathing, Anja,” he snapped and shoved unceremoniously through the hedges. His mind scanned rapidly through the various problems he faced at the moment. If they were there to kidnap, they wouldn’t risk dragging the family out the back. It worked well enough as an entry point, but when you had to move a family out, there was the possibility that the neighbors would see you and either call the cops or try to intervene themselves. This was America, after all. People had guns and ached for the excuse to be a hero with them.
No, they had another escape plan. They would choose a way out they could use quickly and without too much inconvenience. Out the front door was what usually worked, he thought as he sneaked through the garden between him and the Devers’ house. It still carried the possibility of police involvement, but it would give them time to get away without too much trouble. They would be able to switch vehicles once they were far enough away.
“The van,” he muttered. “The paneled van. Did you find anything on the plates yet?”
“No, nothing yet, why. Do you see it?”
“Nope.” He shook his head and jogged clear of the neighbor’s house to emerge on the road. As he scrutinized the streets in the fading light of the setting sun, a pair of headlights flashed on and tires squealed as a larger than usual vehicle hurtled across the asphalt faster than it should have. “Well, I stand corrected.”
“Do you or do you not see the fucking van?” Anja hissed.
“I don’t know if it’s the same van, but it’s a van and it’s headed directly for me.” Savage held his weapon ready and narrowed his eyes. It was a little difficult to actually judge the distance considering that his eyes were slightly blinded by the headlights, but he didn’t need to be accurate.
Spray and pray, he thought calmly. He held the weapon with both hands, squared his hips, and narrowed his eyes to squint through the lights as he pulled the trigger. The soft whoosh of the unique needles the weapon fired, sent off with the help of the electromagnets, brought a sense of calm. The weapon responded with only a hint of a kick as he pulled the trigger over and over again. It was supposed to be accurate at up to…two hundred feet? Three hundred? He wasn’t sure, but again, accuracy wasn’t exactly his intention right now.
After about the tenth or perhaps the twelfth time he pulled the trigger, the van jerked and turned. The tires screeched once again, the sound shrill in the quiet, as the driver lost control and crashed into a mailbox three houses down.
“Savage?” Anja asked. “Are you still there?”
“Yeah.” He checked the weapon hastily to make sure he hadn’t burned anything out by firing so many times and so quickly. “I made sure our kidnappers don’t have an escape vehicle.”
The sun slid below the horizon and the streetlights came on around him almost immediately. He moved hastily into the shadows cast by the hedges.
“Well, that’s good news, right?” she asked.
He nodded and kept his voice low. “Yep, but now comes the difficult part.”
Chapter Sixteen
“The difficult part?” The hacker sounded confused.
Savage couldn’t risk saying any more. The people in the house would be waiting for their van to pull up outside before they brought the hostages out to keep the time they were exposed and when people could see them at an absolute minimum. He assumed, of course, that these were professionals brought in for a large amount of money. That was the hope, anyway. Professionals would keep their fingers clear of their triggers when things went wrong. The large payday meant they would think twice about simply cutting their losses and killing the victims in order to escape.
He had to hope that—no, he needed to. Otherwise, he would have to charge the house and risk losing people he wasn’t willing to lose.
This was the moment when he had to stay calm, he reminded himself. He had to remain focused on what he was doing there and to do that, he needed to stay calm. It was not the moment to do anything stupid. He sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes. Sweat trickled down his spine and from his grip on the weapon. He dragged in more deep breaths as he fought the same panic he remembered from when the news about his family first came to him. His heart hammered in his chest and his ears rang. The impending panic attack threatened to usurp the control of the situation and leave him helpless. He needed to stay in control.
“Come on, Savage,” he whispered roughly and managed to hold the urge to barrel into the house at bay. “Stay focused. This is exactly like any other job. Remember that time in Bogota? It’s exactly like that. No, it�
��s better than that. Easier than that too. Keep your mind on the prize—no, bad idea. Keep your eyes on the target. That is what’s important. Kill these motherfuckers. Kill them all, and everyone else walks away alive. Stay on target.”
Anja didn’t comment on the fact that he was talking to himself, and for that, he was grateful. He knew he barely held on by a thread. There was no telling if her customary teasing and ribbing would have the unforeseen effect of sending him into a spiral that would end up with too many people dead. Maybe him and probably Andy too, now that he thought about it. He knew what he was capable of, and he didn’t want to push himself to that edge.
What was amazing was that Anja didn’t want to push him to that edge either.
“Where the fuck is the van?” a voice demanded from inside, very clearly and without an American accent.
“That asshole is late. I told you we should have used—” The second comment was immediately cut off by what might have been a snort of derision.
“Your friend? Right. Like he’s fucking Mr. Dependable.”
He couldn’t place an exact location in the house, and they all had different accents. One sounded vaguely European, and another had a tell-tale Afrikaans twang. The west coast of the US was enough of a melting pot that people tended to lose their accents there over time, which gave them the kind of accents anyone could mark down as American but nothing more specific. The fact that these men still had theirs was an indicator that they were new to the scene.
See? Keep thinking like that and you won’t have to think about how one of these motherfuckers has a weapon pressed against your daughter’s head.
“Get out there and see what the problem is,” the first man shouted, the apparent leader of the group.
“Which one of us?” the third asked.
“We’re on the fucking job. That means no fucking names, dumbass,” the leader pointed out. “You! The one I’m pointing my fucking gun at, that’s who. Get outside and see what’s holding the fucking van up.”
Savage had to thank his lucky stars that they didn’t use any comms. Of course, the sheer number of Wi-Fi spots in an area like this would make it impossible to hold a line with anything that wasn’t military grade.
He tightened his grip on his pistol and withdrew deeper into the shadows. It wasn’t difficult to find enough places to obscure him. The driveway would usually be awash with lights from the kitchen and he could make out dedicated lighting from the garage to light the driveway when needed. But with all the lights cut, there were more than enough darkened corners to hide in and he was able to remain low and away from the door when one of the men stepped outside.
Shadows worked both ways, though. Only basic shapes were visible as the operative remained as still as he could manage. He barely even dared to breathe while he watched the man step out into the subdued lighting from the streetlamps, the glow insufficient to highlight any details. The kidnapper wore a ski mask too, with black clothes and combat boots, judging by the heavy footfalls as he crossed the driveway. He carried a pistol in his hands, and the silhouette outlined the elongated barrel that signified a suppressor. The make and model were, of course, hidden in the darkness.
While he searched the street from halfway down the driveway, Savage remained in place, tense and focused. He sucked in a slow, noiseless breath and remained utterly motionless.
The man looked around but didn’t move far enough along the driveway to see what had happened to the van. If he did, Savage would have to kill him and hope he could do it quietly enough that he wouldn’t draw more of the attackers out of the house.
There was no need, fortunately. The man cursed softly and returned inside.
“It’s not there,” the scout declared unhappily. The operative used the cover of the shadows to move cautiously closer to the door.
“We can’t stay here,” the second voice said. “We should simply kill them and get out of here. Cut our losses.”
“No one will touch them,” the leader commanded harshly. “None of you idiots will hurt a hair on their heads. You read the contract. If any of them is hurt, none of us get paid and there will be serious pain for anyone involved. They want these…people alive and unharmed. Let’s get them out of here. Maybe we’ll take the family car to the drop off point instead.”
Savage sucked in a deep breath as a surge of hope entered his body. He pressed himself tighter against the hedge to his back. Someone was being smart—get moving, stay out of sight, and use the family car.
He could hear the sound of movement from inside, soft cries from Abby, and a curse from Jules.
“Next time you touch her, I’ll kill you myself,” he heard her familiar voice say.
“Do what they say, Jules, please,” Andy pleaded. “Nothing will happen to us, I promise.”
The man clearly had his thinking cap on. He knew Savage was around and probably realized that he was the reason why things hadn’t gone smoothly or according to plan.
Dammit. He still wanted to hate the bastard but, as always, the emotion was lost in the fact that he actually liked him on some level.
“Keep moving,” the leader snapped. “You, dad-guy. I want the keys to the SUV outside.”
The jangling indicated that the keys changed hands. The door opened and Abby was the first one out, shoved through although she kept her balance smoothly. She tried to run but was quickly caught by the man who emerged first.
Jules came out next, a firm hand on her shoulder as a second attacker moved through behind her. Andy was the last one with another man directly behind him and a pistol pressed into his back.
Savage had an odd moment of clarity. He could step in and raise the alarm. Or he could save the family, pull his mask off, and let them see who he was. He could win his family back, exactly like in the movies
The moment passed as quickly as it had come. He didn’t like that it had even occurred to him. Doing anything like that would simply put his family in a different kind of danger, and that was the line he would never cross.
He was still a monster but not the kind who would give his own daughter trauma that would last a lifetime.
The group moved past him and he acted smoothly to snake his hand out and yank the hand that held the weapon away from Andy. His first instinct was to aim it at one of the other attackers and make the man pull the trigger, but in this kind of darkness, there was no telling who would be caught if he missed.
Instead, he pressed the barrel of his pistol to the man’s head and the kidnapper’s weapon fired harmlessly into the ground with the tell-tale cough and snap of a suppressed weapon. He still couldn’t tell what make it was.
It really didn’t matter now, he decided and pulled the trigger. He both felt and heard the whoosh of the needle as it exited the barrel. A splatter of blood soaked through his mask as he hauled the man aside and shoved Andy out of the way when the other two men turned to see what was happening. He raised his weapon and a sudden calm infused his body. The man who held Abby was the first to die. Savage brought the pistol to bear and pulled the trigger twice. The comfortable non-kick of the weapon tapped his hand. His target stumbled and his weapon fell from already lifeless fingers before the body toppled in slow motion.
The third man, clearly the brains of the operation, saw what was happening and immediately avoided the first shot in his direction. He tried to circle Jules and use her as a meat shield and ducked his head continuously to create a difficult target in these conditions. The operative lowered his expectations as well as his aim.
The kidnapper screamed as a pair of needles drilled through his knee. He lost his balance and landed with a thud. His hand flailed at his pistol which spun from his grip and skidded away across the driveway.
Savage wanted to say something badass at this point. Jules grabbed Abby and dragged her to where Andy was still on the ground.
You wanted to hurt my daughter, you son of a bitch? If you want to go for the pup, you’d better make sure the hound is put down first. A
sshole.
Yeah. Something like that.
But he couldn’t. The fact that he wore a mask was the only reason why he hadn’t been made as a dead man. No words were allowed, only actions.
The man began to crawl to where his gun lay. Savage raised his weapon again and punched two needles casually through his forearm, then one through his hand. He uttered another piercing scream, barely human anymore. Blood splattered across the driveway. Jules would have covered Abby’s eyes and maybe her ears too.
It was best to bring an end to this. Still, he couldn’t resist delivering a round into the man’s other knee before he finally put him out his misery and killed him with a double tap to the head. The kidnapper sagged and lay still.
He’d needed this, he realized. There was nothing quite like being able to blow off steam at the expense of people who really, really deserved it.
In the silence that followed, he took a moment to collect himself. He dragged in a deep breath and checked the strip of needles he still had available. There were more than enough, exactly as he’d suspected.
His gaze drifted to the family he had saved and possibly traumatized and studied the three of them. Abby was all right. Her mother had covered her eyes and ears as Savage had suspected. Jules looked okay as well. Her bright red hair was a mess, though, and a few tears were visible, reflected in the streetlight. She tried to be brave, but she was as terrified as Abby was.
Andy looked rather terrified too. He knew the thoughts that ran through the mind of the masked man in front of him, the desire to pull the mask off and show his family that he was still alive. The lawyer’s expression stiffened as if he could envision the scene—differences set aside, a passionate kiss, and a happy ending with the little girl reunited with her real daddy again. Savage could see it in his eyes. Andy was afraid for his family but he was also afraid of losing them.
