Reluctant Burglar: A Novel

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  He should have known better. Desi and harm’s way were a matched set.

  Tony slid out his weapon and stepped from his car. He eased the door shut. A few steps took him to the driver’s side of the surveillance vehicle. He looked inside and groaned.

  The car window was shattered, and the former agent lay sideways across the seat. Something dark and ominous coated his head. Tony leaned in and felt for a pulse. None.

  Thoughts blanked of emotion, he scanned the quiet neighborhood. No backup yet. Seconds counted. He wasn’t waiting.

  Tony crossed the street at a speed walk, watching the curtains. They didn’t stir. The garage door was up, and the Webbs’ big SUV was gone. Not a good sign, but he could assume nothing.

  At the front door, Tony stood with his back to the house and tried the knob. It turned. Forget procedure. No way was he going to announce his presence with potential hostages’ lives at stake. He entered fast and low, up the half flight of stairs on cat feet, and then a full stop.

  The empty room narrowed to a single point—the splotch of crimson on the carpet.

  Colors pulsed behind Desi’s closed eyelids, keeping rhythm with the pounding in her head. She lay curled on her side on a hard surface that hummed with motion. Her temple and cheek rubbed against something fibrous, like carpet, but scented with an interesting mixture of old tennis shoes and orange peel—potent as smelling salts.

  She pried her eyelids open and faced said tennis shoe, lying on its side a couple inches from her nose. Next to it was a chunk of something that, in the fitful illumination of passing streetlights, could be the shriveled peeling. Even her scrambled brain had little difficulty adding up the clues to mean that she was riding in the cargo area of the Webbs’ mammoth Yukon Denali.

  What? Why?

  The last she remembered, she was eating crab dip and pretending to watch a movie with Max.

  Max! Events rushed back—bringing along fear so rank she could taste it. What had they done with her friend?

  Desi lifted her head to look beyond the shoe, and her stomach did a whirling skydive. She sank back down before crab dip and crackers could join the other odds and ends on the carpet. Another body lay close to her, but in what condition? The last she saw before getting clobbered, Max was bleeding from a gunshot wound.

  “Desi? Thank God!” The redhead’s voice feathered across the space between them.

  Hope … adrenaline … maybe some of both pushed back the pain in Desi’s head. “Max? Are you all right?” A heavy feeling of dread abraded her senses like a blanket of thorns.

  “Relieved now that I hear your voice, but still spittin’ mad.”

  “That’s my Max. You got a plan?”

  “Get untied and strangle a few people.”

  Untied? Desi checked. Yes, her hands were bound behind her, and her feet were lashed together. Okay, restraints limited their options a bit, but she had a few tricks up her sleeve—er, her shoe.

  “Lynda Carter’s got nothin’ on you, girlfriend.” Max chuckled.

  The actress who played Wonder Woman? “Where did that come from?”

  “The way you handled that terrorist fulfilled every red-blooded American woman’s secret fantasy”

  “How do we know he’s a terrorist? Besides, I acted on reflex.”

  “You will be silent back there.” The cold, accented voice came from the seat ahead of them.

  Yeah, Max might be right on the terrorist peg. This guy scared her enough to deserve the title, whatever criminal organization he hailed from.

  She angled her head to get a look at who might be riding where, but the seat back blocked her view—except for the shadow of a face turned in her direction. Mr. Terrorist. Jacqueline Taylor and Dean must occupy the front positions out of her line of sight. Dean was likely behind the wheel.

  No need to guess where they were headed, not with a jet pilot in on the theft ring. The Webbs lived twenty minutes from the airport. How long had they been driving already? Desi had no idea. Not much time to act. She eased her knees toward her chest, lifting her feet toward her bound hands. No real weapons, but if she and Max could get loose, they could make a run—

  Something slammed her already aching head, and Desi couldn’t hold back a yelp. “Ow!” The creep had just hit her with his gun again! Nasty habit you have there, bud!

  The terrorist leaned across the seat toward her. “Not moving. Not talking.”

  His hot breath brushed Desi’s face. Her heart jerked.

  “Abu, stop behaving like a Neanderthal!” Jacqueline Taylor’s tone was as in command as always. “No wonder the rest of the world sees your fanaticism as little more than an excuse to indulge a savage nature.”

  Abu jerked around. “Woman, you have become corrupt. The West has filled you with greed. Do you forget we share a grandfather? While your mother married an infidel and moved to this country, my father’s lifeblood watered the soil of our homeland. While your mother indulged herself and threw off the burka, my mother starved to death because the United States sanctioned our country.”

  “So you lump my side of the family in with your enemies?” Taylor sneered. “Never will I die poor. My mother made me swear an oath on it. She seared the horrors of her childhood on my heart. Yet you condemn her for escaping and assuring a better life for her children? If my mother hadn’t made wise choices, I wouldn’t have achieved a position to be of use to your precious cause.”

  Abu growled deep in his throat. “Do not mock. Our cause is just. Allah smiles. Our lives are a small price to pay for the destruction of our enemies—the Great Satan America and the terrorist nation of Israel.”

  Taylor trilled a laugh. “Well, while you beat your breast and utter war cries, why don’t you thank me for funneling millions of the Great Satan’s dollars into your coffers? You didn’t much mind the euros and shekels either.”

  Abu subsided. Silence brooded like an unvoiced threat.

  Desi kept a chuckle to herself. Taylor, you’re a disgusting Jezebel and a dirty, rotten thief, but I’ve got to give you credit for winning that debate.

  Desi had heard this type of rhetoric blasted over the news from terror leaders, and it always sounded utterly adolescent. IRA, Shining Path, al Qaeda—the terrorist mentality in any language never seemed to change. Maybe because it came from the same author—the real Satan. Unfortunately, these overgrown bullies liked to play with bombs and guns and treated human lives like disposable toys. Now she and Max were caught up in one of their games.

  Desi lay still, pulling in shallow breaths. Thinking. Listening. Max had gone quiet with the air of a capped Mount Vesuvius. Don’t try anything stupid, girl. The throb in Desi’s head sharpened. Max’s wounds went far deeper than her flesh, and the pain of betrayal must be making her crazy. No telling what she might try.

  The SUV pulled over and stopped in a dimly lit area. The butt of the terrorist’s automatic flashed upward, and the overhead light shattered with a crunch and spatter of flying plastic. Then the three in the seats got out.

  A moment later, the rear doors opened. Night air rushed in, scented with cooling tarmac and jet fuel. They must be in the parking lot near the charter plane hangars. Desi lifted her head and tried to see out.

  A pair of man’s hands grabbed Max’s ankles. She kicked. The man punched her in the leg. Max let out a sound between a squeak and a gasp.

  “Stop it!” Dean stormed up to the rear of the vehicle.

  Abu pointed his gun at him. “I lose patience.”

  “You’ll lose a pilot if you touch my wife again. We leave her here.”

  “It’s all right.” Taylor said. “We can secure her arms to the metal bar on the headrest, then gag her and lock the vehicle. Someone will find her in the morning after we’re gone. Rachel said we only need the Jacobs woman to keep Lucano in line.”

  Desi’s jaw clenched. Just let me scratch out a pair of coffee brown eyes. What had Daddy seen in this woman?

  Abu thrust his gun into his belt. He jerked Desi
out of the vehicle and hauled her upright. Black buzzards swooped the death circle around Desi’s consciousness. She swayed.

  Smack!

  Her head snapped back, cheek blazing fire.

  “Do not pass out.”

  Abu clamped her under one arm. Her toes barely touched the ground. She struggled to inhale and hated it when she did. The man’s nervous strain was evident in his body odor.

  Dean produced a roll of duct tape from his glove compartment, then crawled into the cargo area beside his wife. Desi tensed for fireworks.

  She heard a small sniffle. What? You’re not going to tear a chunk out of him?

  “You protected me from a terrorist.” Another sniff.

  “Sure did, sugarplum. Now, you know I have to tie you this way and then put this tape over your mouth so they’ll agree to leave you here. When folks come to work in the morning, you just get someone’s attention, and you’ll be right as rain. Are you still bleeding?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “In pain?”

  “Not much.”

  “You’re my strong Texas woman, honey.”

  The sound of a quick kiss, followed by the scritch of unrolling duct tape.

  “Take care of Des—” Max’s sentence was cut off.

  “I’ll send for you and the children when I get settled.” Dean backed out of the Yukon’s cargo area. He slammed the doors, turned, and led the way without a glance toward Desi.

  Abu half dragged, half carried her like an overgrown sack of flour. They reached the hangar without seeing another soul. Dean unlocked the side door. They all stepped over the threshold and stopped in the darkness. A switch clicked and bright lights whitewashed the building.

  Head throbbing, Desi squinted at a massive streak of silver. As her eyes adjusted, a plane took form.

  No wonder Dean coveted this bird. It can’t wait to fly! Lord, please clip its wings.

  She pinched back a whimper. Once they were off the ground and out of United States airspace, she would have no value as a hostage. And when that happened, this magnificent jet would cease to be a miracle of aerodynamic engineering and become something entirely different.

  A coffin.

  Mrs. Webb!” Tony knocked on the window of the SUV “Mrs. Webb, are you all right?”

  The bound and gagged woman in the rear compartment lifted her head. She shuddered, eyes huge and wet.

  A SWAT team van rumbled into the parking lot. Men in body armor piled out. Tony waved them over.

  The team leader approached. “You Lucano?”

  Tony stuck out his hand. “That’s me.”

  “McCluskey.” The man’s grip was firm. “What’s going on?”

  “I’ll brief you as soon as we get Mrs. Webb out of the vehicle.”

  “You want it slow and quiet or quick and noisy?”

  “The people we need to surprise are no longer in the area. Just get it done.”

  “No problem.” The man gestured to one of his team. “Janecek, front passenger window.”

  A rifle butt swung. Glass shattered. Doors opened.

  Tony climbed into the rear of the SUV and sliced the tape from Maxine’s wrists. He gripped an edge of the tape to ease it from her mouth, but she grabbed it and yanked.

  “Thank heaven!” She fell against him, sobbing. “You’ve got to help Desi. They’ve taken her. Some scary dude named Abu and this awful woman! And Dean, he’s—”

  “Sh-sh-sh. Yes, we know.” Tony patted her back, and she stiffened and gave a cry. “You’re hurt!”

  “Bullet to the shoulder. I think it passed through.”

  “McCluskey!” Tony leaned out the hatch. “Get an ambulance here. But tell them no siren. And bring a blanket and a first aid kit from your truck.” He turned and helped Maxine sit in a more comfortable position.

  Had Desi been shot, too? What if she were in the clutches of a monster, bleeding and helpless?

  Stop it!

  “Was Desi wounded, too?”

  “She wasn’t shot, but she got a nasty crack over the head. She was awake and talking when they took her away. You’re going to get her back, aren’t you?”

  “You can count on it!” A SWAT member handed him the blanket, which he draped around Maxine. “Where is your husband’s jet hangar?”

  Max gave him concise directions, and Tony nodded. “Thank heaven that bullet didn’t take the edge off your mind. Now, you stay with these agents, and wait for the ambulance.”

  “Oh, no!” She gasped and swayed.

  “Your wound?” Tony steadied her.

  “My kids!”

  “The paramedics will help you contact whoever you need to take care of them. Our people should be at your house right now, processing the crime scene. Someone will look after your children. I promise.”

  “Th-thank you.” She clutched her blanket and wept.

  Tony broke away and walked to the front of the SUV His hands were clammy, and his mouth tasted like paste. Just seeing the feisty redhead shattered that way rocked him like a stampede had trampled through his gut. What must Desi be going through?

  I can’t let myself think about it.

  Tony leaned a palm on top of a parking lot post. His other hand closed around the perimeter cable.

  He could do this. He had to. Desi was counting on him. He couldn’t fail. Not this time. Not when the Greater One lived within him. He didn’t have to do this on his own.

  And neither does Desiree.

  You’re right, Lord. Tony stared at the dark blobs of hangar buildings. She was out there, probably scared cross-eyed but, he’d wager, without an ounce of give-up-and-quit. God was with her, and somehow He would bring about justice. The time had come for evil men to be stopped. Use me, Lord. Use me.

  Tony straightened. “Al Khayr, you’ve shattered and stolen lives all over this globe. But I declare in the name of Jesus that tonight you’re finished. The blood of the Lamb stands between you and Desiree Jacobs.”

  Footsteps approached, and he turned to find McCluskey coming up beside him.

  “You talking to yourself?”

  “Nope. Laying a foundation. Let’s get to work.”

  As Tony briefed the man, McCluskey put his foot up on the parking lot cable and leaned his elbow on his knee. “So what you’re saying is we have to stop a terrorist from flying away with his hostage. Easy, just have the tower deny him clearance. We’ll wind up with a standoff for a while. Could get tedious with him shut up in the plane and some hostage negotiator blathering at him from out here, but he won’t be going anywhere.”

  Tony shook his head. “Push this man into a corner, and that plane will take off anyway. Al Khayr will be happy to cause an air traffic disaster. And to kill the hostage.”

  The SWAT leader looked at the ground. “Doesn’t sound like the hostage stands much chance anyway. Best if we just storm the plane on the ground. At least it’ll be over quickly.”

  “And some of your guys will wind up dead, too.”

  McCluskey straightened. “So we need to find a way to incapacitate the jet and al Khayr without him killing the hostage or risking any of our men. Just how do you propose to do that?”

  “I don’t know, but let’s get in closer and take a look at the possibilities.”

  “All right.” The man nodded. “I’ll get my men deployed around Webb’s hangar.”

  As he turned and strode away, a pair of Bucars and an airline open-topped Jeep swept into the parking lot, followed by the airport ambulance. Tony stepped toward the new arrivals, then stopped and turned.

  Freshly set snubbing posts … new cable … What if …?

  No, that was nuts. He’d gone past the border of lunacy if he thought anything like that could work.

  His eyes narrowed. Maybe …

  Lunacy was exactly what they needed.

  Abu shoved Desi into a plane seat and pulled a switchblade from his pocket. The knife snicked free from its housing.

  Longer than a sword! Desi fought down a ch
oking sensation. Don’t be silly. It’s just a small knife.

  The terrorist yanked her around by one arm. Desi tensed, but the ropes on her wrists fell away. Abu let go of her.

  Quivering in every nerve ending, Desi eased back in the seat and looked up at her captor. The knife had disappeared. Instead, he held the rope from her wrists, now sliced into two equal pieces.

  “Put your hands on the arms of the seat.”

  Desi did as he said. Dad, I hope I remember how to do this right. We didn’t practice very often. Didn’t seem like something I’d ever need. Wrongo!

  Abu bent over, focused on the ropes. Desi balled her fists tight and tilted her wrists twenty degrees. Or was it supposed to be thirty? Probably not. Too noticeable. Too late anyway.

  The terrorist walked away toward the cockpit.

  Desi’s heart persisted in frog-jumping around her chest. Get a grip, girl. You turn into a gibbering idiot, and you’re done for.

  She took steady, even breaths and looked around. Dean wasn’t kidding when he described his new baby as a luxury jet. This thing had everything a high-powered executive could want to finesse midair deals.

  Six sets of passenger seats faced each other with oodles of legroom in between, and even a tall man like Abu could stand up straight without bumping his head. A gleaming ebony and chrome wet bar dominated the front of the cabin behind the copilot’s chair. Crystal wine goblets hung upside down from a rack, and a large serving tray etched with gold was hooked to the back of the cabinet. A state-of-the-art sound system filled the wall behind the pilot’s seat. The scents of new carpet and leather mocked Desi’s nose.

  Welcome to Crooked Air International, first-class getaway jet for the rich and nasty. All other passengers, please don’t expect to land alive. Desi swallowed deep and hard. Okay, Lord. I’ll leave morbidsville behind. You must have this covered, because I sure don’t.

  She wriggled her arms against the ropes. More give would have been nice. She was going to lose a little skin.

  Better than losing her life.

  “We’re in position.” The SWAT leader’s voice came over Tony’s headset. “The recon unit is almost to the hangar.”