by Abby Gordon
“Max picks them?” Paul questioned sharply. “Art’s senior and…”
“Paul, you don’t get it,” Ginny said quietly, looking at him calmly. “Right now, Max is the only one I trust to do everything necessary and possible to get Charlie back.”
Paul’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened. He sent Art a look. “Are you going to let her get away with that?”
The hardened mask that Art typically wore dropped for a couple heartbeats before returning. “I don’t think we’ll debate that issue right now. You’ve got the ball, Shannon. What do you want to do?”
Max gazed down at Ginny, fully understanding what she’d done. Smiling, he bent lower and dropped a kiss on her forehead. Straightening, he looked at Zach. “Is the team here?”
“Should be on campus, either on the range or in the training arena.”
“Contact all of them,” Max told him, then smiled. “Tell Clark to get his bag of toys.”
“You just made his day,” Nia commented as Zach pulled out his phone.
“Then he’ll be in a good mood,” he smiled. “We’ll need his skills to pinpoint where everyone is.”
“I can do that,” Ed frowned.
“I’m sure you can,” Max replied easily. “But I’ve worked with Clark on nearly a dozen missions and he’ll know what I need before I even ask.”
“Boss,” Zach looked up. “Where do you want to meet them?”
“Parking lot. My car.” He pulled Ginny up. “You ready to get our son back?”
She turned and met his gaze, drawing strength from the steady strength she saw there. They just might be able to do this. She didn’t know what Max might want after that, although him kissing her in front of everyone had sent her hopes soaring.
“That’s about the first thing I’ve heard in the past hour that I’ll agree with.”
“Shit,” muttered Peter as everyone started packing up and moving toward the door. “Who the hell is running this operation? An emotional, irrational woman who fucked up the last time she…”
Ginny didn’t hesitate. She took two steps toward her cousin. Mark grinned.
“Watch this,” he murmured to Zach and Nia.
Peter sneered as Ginny came closer. “What the hell do you—”
Ginny reached out, grabbed his shirt with both hands, and jerked him toward her. Caught off balance, he stumbled forward. Into contact with her knee. As he howled in pain, Ginny released him and let him fall to the carpet. She was on him as he fell and her hands locked around his throat.
“One, do not question Max’s authority again,” she growled. “Two, do not ever question my abilities as an agent or an analyst again. And third, and most importantly, when we find Charlie, do not swear in front of my son. Or I will use something besides my knee. Is that clear?”
Panting for breath as pain rocketed through his body, Peter nodded.
“I couldn’t hear you,” she snarled, loosening her grip slightly.
“Clear,” he gasped. “Where did you learn that trick?”
“I taught her that when she was fourteen,” Art spoke up. “In case a date started something she didn’t want any part of.”
“Thanks,” Max sent him a sideways glance.
“She used it on you?” Art was visibly startled.
“The timer went off for her pie,” Max drawled. “There are certain priorities, you know.”
“Pies are important,” nodded Art. “What kind was it?”
“Apple,” Ginny replied, rolling off Peter and springing to her feet. “It’s Charlie’s favorite.”
“Cookies, breads, and apple pie,” murmured Max. At her puzzled look, he shrugged. “Just committing his favorite things to memory. Along with baseball, large dogs, programming, and reading comic books under the willow tree.”
“How did you know all that?” Art frowned.
“Some from the talk we had and the rest I figured out from what was in his room.” Max extended his hand and Ginny caught it as she hopped over Peter. “Now that Ginny’s established a few boundaries, I think we’ll get a move on. Unless someone else has any other brilliant things to say to piss her off?” His gaze swept the room. “No? Good. You’re learning. Let’s go.” Hand in hand, he and Ginny started for the door. “Why the obsession with bad language?”
“Charlie showed a talent for repeating everything he heard when he was about nine months old.”
“First word?”
“Dammit,” she replied with a grimace. “I had just stubbed my toe.”
“Ah,” he nodded. “By the way, what’s his favorite dinner?”
“Hamburgers, fries, and baked beans.”
“That’s yours.”
“Yeah,” she smiled up at him as he opened the door. “The cottage gets a little smelly on summer Fridays.”
“Fridays?” he echoed, pausing. “Last night.”
“Yeah,” she nodded, humor draining from her expression. “We sit on the patio and watch the stars come out while we eat and then go watch movies until we fall asleep.” A ghost of a smile flitted across her face. “He’s into movies with low humor right now. What is it about boys and body noises?”
“Gender secret,” Max told her as they strode down the hall.
The rest of the way was silent as they led the group through the corridors to the side exit. The other five members of Max’s team stood near his SUV, while another sat nearby with its engine running. Max stepped forward and started outlining the mission.
“Polaris is active. And a woman. Her operatives attacked Erickson’s house as we were about to evacuate.” His expression hardened. “They gassed us and kidnapped our son, Charlie. He’s nine, but was able to give his mother information that tells us where he’s being held. There are two dozen targets in a rural farmhouse. Erickson and I will get Charlie. Everyone else is fair game, although a few alive for questioning would be appreciated.”
“And Polaris?” asked a man hefting an olive green laptop case.
“She’s mine,” stated Max. “Unless Erickson gets to her first. If that happens, I suggest you stay out of her way.”
“You got it, boss,” another man nodded. “You’ve got lead?”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “Lock and load.”
A dozen semi-automatics were bolted before the group split up and went to their vehicles.
Max paused outside the passenger door.
“Did he tell you where they put him?” came his low voice.
She nodded, briefly leaning against him. She needed the strength of his arms around her and no one could overhear.
“The attic.”
“That’s our goal,” he whispered. “And God help anyone who gets in our way.”
Chapter Twelve
Ginny crouched between Max and her brother as they studied the farmhouse. She could just imagine how they looked—two men who looked like they stepped straight out of a spy movie and her. One of these things is not like the others. All her life she had just wanted to be accepted, yet it was when she’d been rejected that she had found her strength. She had focused on Charlie, on creating a home for him, and let the pain be replaced by the joy of her son.
She shook her head, unable to believe the way her mind had wandered. Her first psychological review had called it a sign of optimism, that she was so certain a dangerous situation would work out that her brain skipped over the actual danger to focus on daily routine. But who was she to act as if she had loads of experience in this area? Anymore than she had experience in sex. One mission. One night of sex. And she realized she’d repeated the past. Sex and a mission with Max. She sighed. Maybe she was crazy just like Al was always accusing her of being.
The rain came down harder.
“Chalk another one up to the weatherman,” Art scowled with an angry look at the dark clouds.
“I don’t mind,” Ginny spoke up. “It’s good for my garden, although I’ll have lots of weeding to do.”
She chuckled.
“What’s so a
musing?” Art murmured.
“I guess I should be careful what I wish for,” she told them, her voice barely audible. “Yesterday morning I was complaining to Charlie about how little rain we’ve had this season.”
Art shook his head, smiling slightly. “Make mudpies later, Gin,” he told her.
Over their headsets, Clark’s whisper came. “Five men just left in an SUV. They seemed to be in a good mood. They came from upstairs in the west corner. No one else has changed position.”
“Gordon, contact the local authorities for priority one pick up,” Max replied, with a glance at Art. “Five less to worry about.” He touched the throat mike. “We move in ten beats.”
Ginny shifted, restless. Ready to get her son back. Max’s hand rested between her shoulder blades.
“Ginny, stay safe,” he whispered in her ear. “For my sake.”
“You, too,” she managed, before Art moved forward.
A half-step behind him, the pair rose slightly and cleared the bushes.
From the tree line that rimmed the cleared acreage, the agents moved from their positions. Most were thirty feet from the foundation when an alarmed shout was heard inside.
Max tapped his mike.
“Move in and clear ’em out.”
As Art sprinted up the porch steps and burst through the side door, Ginny and Max were on his heels, rolling and bringing up their guns. Two men crouched behind a table. When three semi-automatics pointed in their direction, they raised their empty hands.
Throughout the first floor, they could hear shouts. After quickly cuffing and gagging the two, the trio moved to the hall door. Ginny opened the door and stepped into the wide corridor. She looked to the right. The front door opened as Max and Art came up behind her.
“Down!” Zach warned as he came in the front and looked past them down the hall.
As he and Nia brought up their weapons, Ginny was dragged down and under by Max and Art. She grunted. An exchange of gunfire and smoke filled the corridor.
“God, why do I seem destined to be smushed by overprotective testosterone-filled men?” she complained as first Art and then Max got off of her.
Sort of, she noticed. Max had his right arm around her waist as he crouched low and Art had a hand on her right shoulder as he knelt on the hardwood floor. Wistfully, she wondered what life would have been like if Art had treated her like this from the beginning. And mentally shoved that thought aside. If she kept thinking about what if’s, she’d drive herself crazy. He was doing it now. That’s what she would focus on.
“Just lucky, I guess,” Art grinned.
He and Max stood, pulling her with them.
“Nice shooting,” Art told the younger pair as he stepped toward them. And saw a shadow on the yard. “One got out.”
“I’m on him,” Zach shouted, darting out the door.
Nia went out after him and Art followed.
Ginny turned toward the stairs and started up.
“The attic,” she whispered.
Charlie had remembered what she had taught him despite the eye-rolling and groaning on days when he wanted to do anything but listen to her. He’d used the defense training in his bedroom, remembered how to track distance in a moving vehicle, and used the code words. He had used the word “riots,” which meant he was in the attic. That he’d put in so many code words without Polaris realizing what he had said still astounded her.
She was going to find her son. That’s all that mattered. Max caught up with her and pulled her under him as he fell to the stairs.
“Max…”
Her complaint was silenced as a bullet just missed her head. Max was already returning fire.
“Never mind,” she shook her head.
Raising her head she saw the splintered railing. All righty then. Never again would she complain about men and testosterone. In the space of two minutes, they’d saved her life twice.
“Is this your idea of safe?” he frowned.
“Not even close,” she assured him, placing a hand on his hip as he automatically shielded her from anyone else above them. Did he realize what he was doing? Was it simply because he was a man and they instinctively protected women? Or was it because he cared? She wanted both. Well, more of the latter. As much as she could get. Her fingers flexed and he glanced down at her. “Max, I want my son in my arms and Polaris dead. My feet. Your feet. I don’t care. For that, I have to stay…”
“Mom! Mom!”
Without missing a beat, the two sprinted up the stairs. Max’s longer legs allowed him to take them two at a time. At the top though, he slowed down and Ginny caught up as he peered around a corner.
He gave her a “wait here” gesture and stepped out.
“Hi, Dad. I knew you’d come. Where’s Mom?”
At her son’s voice, Ginny peeked around and nearly burst out laughing at what she saw. Her son holding off two men each easily three times his size. And somehow Charlie was holding what looked like an old M-16. She saw the absolute certainty on their son’s face. Charlie had believed in them. Believed they would come for him. Called Max “dad.”
Max brought his gun up as the men’s heads rotated around. She stepped forward and whispered. “Charlie.”
As she reached Max’s side, the men turned in their direction, bringing their weapons up. As if the three had rehearsed what to do, they all acted. Max and Ginny aimed and Charlie dropped to the floor. The two men fell, each with a third eye blossoming in their foreheads.
Barely holding onto her gun, Ginny raced to her son, knelt, and pulled him into her embrace.
“Charlie,” she breathed. He was safe. She had her son. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”
“I’m okay,” he whispered, arms tight around her. “Mom, you’re real? I’m not dreaming?”
Ginny squeezed him tight. She was really holding him.
“I’m here, baby,” she told him, tears in her eyes. “It’s all right. It’s all right.”
“Oh, Mom! I saw you when they brought me down the stairs. And…they said you were dead, but I didn’t believe them because there wasn’t any blood. I knew you’d come for me. I knew you would. Suddenly everything you’ve taught me made sense. All the games and training. I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time, Mom.” He sniffled a bit as she rocked him gently. “Are you mad that I ditched the other man?”
“What other man?” Max asked, kneeling next to Ginny and wrapping his arms around both of them.
“He came to the attic and shot the guard with a silencer. He told me to come with him.” Charlie searched his mother’s eyes. “He said your name was Virginia. I could hear stuff going on and I figured it was better to be out of there than in, so I…”
“Baby, did you shoot him?” Ginny framed his face with her hands. Dear God! Had her baby killed a man? He was nine! “Charlie?”
“As soon as we got to this floor from the attic, I grabbed a vase and hit him over the head. He went down but he wasn’t out, and he was turning on the floor and I saw his gun,” he swallowed. “So I…” Charlie shuddered and closed his eyes. “I grabbed a bigger vase and hit him again. That knocked him out.”
“I’ll bet it did,” Max grinned, arms tightening around them. “Where is he?”
“The stairs around that corner…” Charlie turned his head and brought up his hand.
“Well, well, isn’t this cozy?” a voice behind them said.
“Now we can finish off two loose ends for the price of one,” a second voice commented.
Max and Ginny froze with Charlie protected by their bodies. Over his head, Ginny’s eyes clashed with Max’s. They knew those voices. Voices they’d been told belonged to dead men. If they were alive, then the cancer in the agency was worst than she’d believed.
“Drop the weapons and raise your hands,” the first voice ordered. “Come on. You know the drill.”
Max nodded slightly, and the guns clattered to the floor.
“Mmm,” Charlie hummed, lifting his head s
lightly to get their attention.
Shielded by his parents, Charlie tugged on something in his jeans. Max mouthed a quick “wait” and the boy nodded.
“Hands up!” barked the voice. “And stand. Slowly.”
“He’s hurt,” Ginny protested, daring a glance over her shoulder. “I can’t lift him on my own.”
“Fine,” nodded the familiar face. “Shannon, help her get the brat on his feet.”
Slowly, the trio stood. Max used his body to shield Ginny and Charlie as much as possible, even as she tried to shield their son.
“Shannon, step away from them and turn around.”
“Why?”
“Beyond the fact that I’ve got a nine-millimeter pointed at Ginny’s head?”
Before anyone could blink, Max had both of them tucked in front of him. Ginny pulled Charlie so he was practically against the wall. She kept her head turned slightly to keep an eye on Max’s face.
“Fuck…”
“Charlie,” Max breathed.
Without hesitation, the boy raised his hand. Max took the weapon.
“Turn the fuck around!”
“Down!” Max yelled at Ginny, whirling even as he shoved at the middle of her back.
She was already in a ball around Charlie as they crashed to the floor. There was a deafening spat of gunfire and, in the silence, she slowly raised her head. Charlie tried to get up but she kept him under her body.
“Mom?”
Ginny couldn’t breathe. Any fear she’d felt for Charlie suddenly paled at the sight of Max’s still body just a few feet away. Blood streamed from his shoulder.
“No. God, please,” she prayed, scrambling to him. “No. Max!”
Charlie was right next to her as she lifted Max’s head.
“Mom?”
“Max? Max, please, don’t die on me. Stay with me, Max,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. She realized that she was saying the same thing he had ten years earlier. Oh, someone up in heaven had a warped sense of humor. “Dammit, Max.”
Her hands were patting his body as her eyes searched for holes. His right hand suddenly came up and trapped one of hers on his stomach.
“Don’t start something we can’t finish here, honey,” he smiled faintly as he sat up. His left arm wrapped around her waist. “Charlie might get a bit embarrassed,” he winked at his son. “Right, son?”
