Lock, Stock and Secret Baby

by Cassie Miles

  Slowly, painfully, Eve became conscious. The inside of her head felt as if it was going to explode. Her limbs were stiff and cold. Her mouth tasted as if she’d been sucking on cotton balls. She licked her lips. God, she was thirsty. She pried her eyelids open.

  Her wrists and ankles were bound with rope. She was huddled on a couple of blankets inside what seemed to be a barn. The only light came from a couple of hanging bulbs. One wall was completely open. The air smelled of machinery and grease.

  Looking through the door into the moonlit night, she saw a long, flat stretch of land that had been cleared except for occasional clumps of persistent weeds. An airstrip. This wasn’t a barn; it was an empty hangar.

  Ignoring the throbbing inside her head, she struggled to sit up. Since her hands were tied in front of her, she might be able to unfasten the ropes at her ankles. She bent her legs to the side and twisted around. With numb fingers, she attacked the knots.

  Outside the open door, she saw the shadows of evergreens rising on hillsides, and she heard the silence of the mountains. How far had they gone? She turned her wrist and checked her watch. It was only ten o’clock—not enough time to make a long drive. They were still fairly close to Denver. As if that made a difference? Disappearing in the vastness of the mountains was easy, and she knew it’d take a miracle for Blake to find her. He was smart and clever and had access to sophisticated technology, but he wouldn’t know where to look. She might never see him again. A sob climbed up her throat. With an effort, she suppressed the sound.

  She couldn’t rely on Blake to rescue her. She had to do it by herself.

  Her shoulders ached from the uncomfortable stretch as she fought with the ropes, but it was worth it. The knots loosened. Pyro hadn’t done a real good job of tying her legs. She’d been surprised to see him, especially after what Prentice had told her. Vargas was the real villain.

  With a final kick, the ropes around her ankles came off. She struggled to her feet. Standing intensified her headache. What had she inhaled that made her pass out? Chloroform? When she turned her head, the world went spinning.

  She had to escape. The airstrip meant a plane was coming. She could be flown to any location, locked up until she delivered the baby. Then what? After she gave birth to the Vargas heir, she was expendable.

  Staggering a few steps, she stumbled and fell hard onto the packed earth floor. Her legs were so stiff that it felt as if her bones had cracked.

  “Eve!” Pyro bellowed. “I see you, Eve.”

  She forced herself to her feet. She wanted to run but only managed a few clumsy strides before he caught hold of her arm. Weakly, she said, “Let me go.”

  “Can’t do that. You could be hurt bad. Exploded into a million pieces.”

  A surge of anger gave her strength. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Come along,” he said. “I’ll show you.”

  As he dragged her onto the airstrip, the chill night air hit her face, and she revived a bit more. Concentrating hard, she focused on Pyro. His spiked black hair contrasted with his pale, moonlit face. With all his piercings and silver jewelry, he looked like a combination rocker and vampire. If she could get a clear shot at him, she’d smash that nose ring all the way into the frontal lobe of his sick brain.

  She stumbled along beside him. “Why are you doing this?”

  “You said your friend was a fan. You know my music. I thought you’d understand ‘The Twenty-Four.’ We have a destiny. We’re the future. Why don’t you get it? Aren’t you supposed to be smart?”

  Way too smart to follow his delusional thinking, but she wanted him to keep talking until she figured out a way to break free. “When did you find out about your genetic background?”

  “If you paid attention to my songs, you’d know. I gave the date, almost a year ago, when Vargas approached me.” He yanked her along with him. They were almost in the middle of the airstrip. “It’s a revelation. A revolution.”

  “What does Vargas want you to do?”

  “I’m a rock star. That makes me the front man. I’ll draw people to our cause, build an army.”

  “And Vargas foots the bill.”

  “Oh, yeah, he’s the money man. He’s setting up record deals, hired a publicist.”

  “And the two guys who came after me at my house? Did Vargas hire them, too?”

  “Yeah, I guess. The Big V works in mysterious ways.”

  She knew that Pyro had been duped, blinded by the promise of fame. He saw himself as a noble warrior, a leader. And he didn’t recognize the downside. “Did Vargas tell you the identity of your biological father?”

  Pyro threw back his head and laughed. Though he wasn’t a big man, his gestures were larger than life. “I know he’s a genius. Outsmarted the FBI for years.”

  “He’s a serial killer.”

  “I’ve been working on a song about him. One of those ‘sins of the father’ things. When I start doing interviews, my DNA is going to make me special.”

  The idea of using a serial killer father as a publicity ruse disgusted her. Did he really believe he’d get away with this? Though they were the same age, he seemed a lot younger. Like a kid caught up in a dark fantasy game, he couldn’t see reality. “Are you like your father? Have you committed murder?”

  “You’re talking about Dr. Ray’s murder.” He scowled as dramatically as a mask of tragedy. “I wouldn’t hurt him. I liked him. He used to let me play his piano.”

  Though he’d lied to her before, she wanted to believe that he wasn’t all bad. There might still be a spark of humanity in him. “What about the shoot-out at Latimer’s office?”

  “I was there.”

  But did he shoot Randall? Was he too disconnected to understand what she was asking?

  He shook his head. “Too bad about Latimer. He’s sick, real sick.” In his right hand, Pyro held a small plastic device. “Watch this.”

  He pointed and pressed a button.

  At the edge of the airstrip, an explosion erupted. Dirt, rocks and weeds spewed into the air in a burst of orange flame.

  Stunned, she stared as the flame quickly died, leaving a smoke trail. Her ears rang with the noise.

  Pointing with both fingers, Pyro turned in a circle. “I’ve got bombs all around. I can detonate using a remote. And they’re motion-sensitive. Step on one and you’re dead.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Go ahead and run, Eve. If you’re feeling lucky.”

  “Why the hell would you do this?”

  “It’s Pyro’s wall of flame. For real.” His hands rose above his head as though he’d reached the climax in one of his concerts. Then, his arms dropped.

  He shrugged and gave her a boyish grin. He almost looked innocent. “I like things that go boom. Always have. Good old Dr. Ray used to worry about me setting fires.”

  Dr. Ray had been right to worry.

  BLAKE WATCHED THE LAST wisp of smoke from the explosion curl above the treetops and disappear into the night sky. During his tours of duty, he’d had enough experience with improvised explosive devices to know they were, above all, unpredictable. He might choose a safe approach to the airstrip or, just as likely, he’d step on a trigger that would detonate another bomb.

  He had to believe that Pyro brought Eve here to wait for Vargas, who would probably arrive in a small plane. Blake wouldn’t let her be taken away from him. Eve was the woman he loved. And the mother of his child.

  Prentice had been smug when he had told Blake that Vargas selected him as the sperm donor to be matched with her egg. His rationale was that Eve had the brains, and Blake had the brawn. They’d make a perfect match for the next generation.

  Though he didn’t agree with their logic or their procedure, he was overwhelmed by an amazing sense of fulfillment. This was his destiny. To be a father. Even better, Eve was the mother of his child.

  He’d never believed in fate, but his love for her seemed preordained. They were meant to be together, to raise a f
amily together. He couldn’t wait to see her face when he told her, which meant he’d better get his butt in gear.

  Using the GPS in his Mercedes, he’d found this location. For the past ten minutes, he’d been scouting the perimeter, keeping an eye on Pyro. For a while, he considered using a sniper rifle from his arsenal in the trunk to take Pyro out. If this had been a hostage situation in a war zone, that was how he’d handle the situation. But Blake didn’t know if Pyro was guilty, and he didn’t have the right to play executioner.

  If he wounded Pyro from a distance, he wouldn’t be close enough to prevent the rocker from taking revenge on Eve. Blake needed to get onto that airstrip.

  Moving silently through the forest, he returned to the one-lane dirt road where he’d parked the Mercedes. Wistfully, he patted the sleek midnight-blue fender of the armored car. “I’m sorry, baby. You have to make the ultimate sacrifice.”

  Behind his back, Pyro had turned on the lights to illuminate the field. It was a short runway. Vargas must be flying a single-engine prop plane. As if to confirm that conclusion, he heard the hum of an approaching aircraft.

  Blake armed himself. He kept the Sig Sauer as a handgun, clipped another holster to his belt, slung an M16 across his shoulders and moved his knife sheath to the back of his belt for easy access. Then he started the car.

  It seriously pained him to damage this fine vehicle, but heading straight down the dirt road was the fastest approach.

  He saw the single-engine Cessna touch down.

  Pyro, holding Eve’s arm, walked toward the plane.

  There wasn’t a minute to spare.

  Still hidden in the trees, Blake gunned the engine. The road sloped down to the airstrip, and he hoped there would be enough momentum to carry the car forward. He pointed the car straight down and took off. As soon as he was out of the trees, he jumped from the driver’s seat.

  The Mercedes rolled down the hill, unscathed for several yards. At the edge of the airfield, the Mercedes hit the IED. The explosion was strong enough to stop the vehicle and tear off the front fender. If Blake had stepped on that bomb, he would have been toast. But the armored car weighed thousands of pounds, enough to keep her from flipping onto her side.

  Though Blake had intended to run down the path cleared by the car, he saw a better way. Keeping his footprints in the tire tracks to avoid any other bombs, he got behind the wheel. He turned the key. The Mercedes started. Damn, this was one hell of a fine car.

  He drove onto the airstrip.

  AS SOON AS EVE SAW THE Mercedes, she took heart. Blake was coming for her.

  Taking advantage of Pyro’s momentary astonishment as he stared at the approaching vehicle, she drew back with both hands—still tied together at the wrist—and swung as hard as she could.

  When she hit him directly on the nose, he let out a scream and fell to his knees. Remembering Blake’s quick lesson on self-defense, she kicked him in the crotch.

  Pyro keeled over backward, curled into a ball.

  She aimed another hard kick at his lower back, then another to his head. He was unconscious. She took the gun from his hand, but she couldn’t hold on. Her fingers wouldn’t grip.

  Looking up, she saw Blake leap from the Mercedes.

  Vargas was faster. She hadn’t seen him emerge from the plane, but he was beside her. He pulled her in front of himself, using her as a shield. His gun pressed against the side of her head.

  He yelled to Blake, “Not another step. This is a hair trigger.”

  She saw Blake halt. He was fifteen feet away, close enough that she could see the strength and determination on his face but too far for him to attack. He held the Sig in both hands, ready to shoot.

  In a low, dangerous voice, he said, “You won’t kill her. You want her baby.”

  “I’ll make that sacrifice. Throw down your weapons.”

  Vargas held her so tightly that she couldn’t struggle, could barely breathe.

  Blake took a step closer.

  The muzzle of the gun pressed harder against her skull. She didn’t want to die.

  “Here’s my deal,” Vargas said. “Throw down your weapons, and Eve will live. I’ll take care of her and the baby.”

  All she could hear was the unspoken conclusion. If Blake disarmed himself, he’d be killed before her eyes. “Don’t do it,” she shouted. “Shoot him.”

  “He won’t risk your life,” Vargas said. “Blake’s a hero. An honorable man. He wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt if he was responsible for your death. Isn’t that right, Blake?”

  Without a word, Blake unfastened the holster on his belt. He reached over his shoulder and divested himself of the M16 rifle. Holding out his hand, he dropped the Sig Sauer.

  Vargas shoved her to the ground. He raised his gun and pointed it at Blake. “I win.”

  “You won’t get away with this,” Blake said.

  “I knew you were weak. Like your father. He died holding a photo of you and your mother.”

  Blake moved so fast that she couldn’t describe his motions. She only saw the aftermath. His knife was buried to the hilt in Vargas’s chest. He gasped. A look of horror and shock distorted his features. Still, he tried to aim his gun.

  She saw Blake running toward them, but she was closer. She lunged, hit Vargas on the shoulder. He went down.

  Blake grabbed his weapon. He leaned over Vargas, felt for a pulse, then shook his head. “He’s dead.”

  She’d never seen a man die before, but all she felt was relief. They were safe. Finally, safe.

  Blake knelt beside her and unfastened the ropes on her hands. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  Gently, he surrounded her with a warm embrace. Her arms were too weak to do more than drape around him, but she returned his kiss.

  “I have something to tell you.” He looked around the airstrip with the battered Mercedes at one side and the Cessna on the other. Vargas lay dead. Pyro hadn’t recovered consciousness. “This doesn’t seem like the right place.”

  “Seems to me that you’d be comfortable on a battlefield.”

  “I talked to Prentice, and he told me the name of your baby’s father.”

  She braced herself for bad news. “Tell me.”

  A wide grin spread across his face.

  “You?” She couldn’t have been more shocked.

  “My sperm. Your egg. We’re going to have a kid.”

  Never again would she be a singular person, and the change in her life was more wonderful than she ever could have imagined. She and Blake would be parents. “For the next kid, let’s do it the old-fashioned way.”

  He hugged her hard, making her a part of him. Then he lifted her to her feet. His gaze rested lightly upon her as he brushed the dirt from her shoulder. “You pretty much destroyed that nice sweater.”

  “Some women aren’t meant to wear cashmere.” She pressed against him. “Some women are meant to float down the Nile on a chartered boat.”

  “Does that mean you’re coming with me?”

  “Because I love you,” she said.

  “And I love you, Eve. With all my heart.”

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-6481-0

  LOCK, STOCK AND SECRET BABY

  Copyright © 2010 by Kay Bergstrom

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