Rogue

by Laura Marie Altom

  “What about the baby’s gear?”

  “Grab his diaper bag, but that’s it. I’ll have one of the guys bring the rest.”

  “Where are we even going?”

  “I would tell you, but I’m afraid you’d blab.”

  “Shove it up your—”

  Jasper cleared his throat. “Hate to break up this love fest, but I’m afraid I’ve got bad news about Delia Leti. She’s dead.”

  25

  UPON HEARING DELIA was dead, the only thing keeping Maisey upright was the fact that if she collapsed, her son could be hurt. There was a loud ringing in her ears and her pulse had gone haywire.

  “Let’s hustle,” Nash slipped his arm around her shoulder, supporting her while helping her get to the SUV he’d parked in the four-car garage. “Jasper, in case we have more uninvited company, you follow. Once you radio back an all-clear, Harding can follow with our moms. The rest of the team can head out after that. We’ll rendezvous at the appointed location at—” he glanced at a black digital watch “—thirteen hundred hours. Clear?”

  “As a Texas sky.” Jasper relayed all of the information via radio to the rest of the team while Nash gingerly took the baby from Maisey’s arms, got him fastened in his carseat, then helped her into the back to sit alongside him.

  Nash steered the hulking vehicle from the neighborhood without incident, then veered onto the freeway.

  Only once they’d left the city and Jasper was still within view, did Maisey dare ask the question she feared she already knew how Nash would answer. “Do you think Vicente killed Delia?”

  He met her gaze in the rearview. “I think it’s a given.”

  She crossed her arms, staring past the window through silent tears. When would this nightmare end? The day was bright and sunny—made for Florida tourists. Not running from a psycho killer. Why didn’t the rest of the world see Vicente as she did? How could he have them all fooled?

  She placed her hand on her son’s chest. He blessedly had no idea what they were going through. Instead, he peered in wonder at the shining white dot on the ceiling that was caused by the sun’s reflection in a side mirror.

  “Relax. Judging by his profile, Vicente’s not a patient man. We’ll find him—I won’t rest until he’s locked away for good.”

  Maisey nodded, but didn’t fully believe Nash’s reassurance.

  Up ahead, traffic had slowed to a stop.

  “Do you think there was a wreck?” she asked.

  “No telling.” He radioed to Jasper to stay alert.

  One by one, cars inched forward. On the raised, divided highway, there was nowhere else to go.

  A muscle ticked in Nash’s whisker-stubbled jaw. He tapped his index finger against the wheel.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “I don’t like this. One of the most critical roles in security is establishing two or three escape routes. Unless Harding sends a copter, we’ve pretty much got none.”

  A quick glance out her window showed what he meant. The shoulder was barely two feet wide. A twenty-foot drop to black water and thick vegetation waited on the other side. Ahead, stretched a double row of cars as far as the eye could see. Behind—same story.

  “I can just make out police lights. I haven’t seen construction signs, so there must be a wreck.” He shifted in his seat, then lowered the A/C.

  “Your body language says you don’t think it’s that simple.”

  He sighed before they shared a look in the rearview.

  “A few weeks ago,” she said, “I wouldn’t have believed Vicente capable of pulling a stunt like shutting down a freeway. Now, judging by the way he bribed an entire police department, then managed to make the whole state believe he’s the victim, anything’s possible.”

  “Exactly, which is why if there’s even a hint of this turning bad, I’m going to need you to be incredibly brave.”

  “Oh no—I’m not leaping into that swamp with my baby.”

  “I’m not asking you to.” They’d moved up a dozen car lengths, and now had a clear sight line to a police road block. Was this an ordinary drunk driver check, or something more? “There’s only a Jeep Wrangler between us and Jasper’s Hummer.”

  “I thought it was Harding’s?”

  “Semantics. He’s behind the wheel.”

  “What’s with you guys and your giant cars?”

  “Bulletproof and big are always good when under attack.”

  Made sense. At the word attack, her stomach cramped. How often did he face gunfire?

  “Focus. Right now, take Joe from his carrier and hold him. Unbuckle the seat, and stash it in back—any other baby paraphernalia, too.”

  “I’m afraid to ask why.” But she followed his instructions.

  “In a few minutes, you’re going to open the back door and slip out in as small a space as possible, then duck to the ground and crawl beneath the car behind us until you get to Jasper’s. There’s an escape hatch beneath it, but in this case, I want you to open the door and climb up into his vehicle. He’ll help. You’ll be in an airtight box that has its own ventilation system good for twenty-four hours if necessary.”

  “Wait—what?” All of this was sounding very James Bond.

  “You can do it. Go, Mais. Now.”

  “But—”

  “Now.”

  Forced into action, heart hammering in her ears, she hid all the baby gear in the back, then slipped from his SUV’s safe, cool interior to suffocating heat.

  Praying no one had seen her, she followed Nash’s instructions to the letter in ducking beneath their vehicle, then scrambling onto her back, inching between the tires to the Jeep with her precious son hitching a ride on her chest.

  Her eyes stung from the heat and exhaust. Concrete bit the tender skin of her palms as she used them to help scoot on her back. Terror didn’t begin to describe the nerves making her every muscle scream, but for little Joe, she clamped her lips tight and pushed through. Time fractured and seconds ticked by like hours. She’d made it midway down the length of the vehicle behind Nash’s SUV when it moved.

  She froze.

  26

  NASH STRUGGLED FOR his next thought, let alone breath.

  He was two cars from the cops who’d blocked both lanes, funneling all vehicles into a single lane of passage. It was now clear that all vehicles were being checked for a specific element—what that was, he didn’t know.

  He slipped on mirrored Ray-Bans and a Florida Gators ball cap.

  If these cops were legit, they could be on the hunt for an escaped convict or this could be as routine as an insurance check—both of which seemed unlikely given their current location. Which made the likelihood of this event being attached to Vicente all the greater.

  Given Delia’s death, he surmised that Maisey’s bestie ratted her out for a fee by agreeing to have her phone tapped. Vicente, in turn, had his men case the safe house’s neighborhood, and possibly even trailed them onto the highway, but then lost them. With thirty-five miles before the next exit, if Vicente had radioed ahead to still more of his men to be on the look-out, this would be a brilliant trap.

  As much as Nash hated to admit it, the bastard was one hell of an opponent.

  “Any sign of her?” he asked into the radio shared with Jasper.

  “Not yet, but I’ve got this.”

  “You’d better, man. Maisey and her son mean . . .” Everything. If something happened to her, he wasn’t sure what he’d do, so his plan was to make damned sure her and Joe came out of this healthy and happy. As for his own state of mind? He’d worry about it later. “Well, they’re important.”

  “I get it.”

  “Shit, we’re moving. See her?”

  “Yeah. She’s frozen. Hold up, and I’ll get in position over her.”

  The next twenty seconds felt like a lifetime. Nash would have said his whole life flashed before his eyes, but in that instant, he didn’t see merely his life, but combined moments with the girl next do
or who’d shared most every occasion with him. Christmases and Thanksgivings. Graduations and birthdays. Highs and lows. He’d loved Hope, but hadn’t realized the true depth of what he’d shared with his Maisey. And she was his—would always be.

  Maybe if only in a secret corner of his heart.

  His pulse raged in his ears. Waiting was torture.

  The stunt he’d asked Maisey to perform would have been no big deal for him or any of the guys on his team, but for a woman who’d just had a baby—while carrying that baby—all he could do was pray it hadn’t been too much.

  The guy in the Jeep honked, jolting him from his thoughts.

  “Got her,” Jasper said over the radio. “Mother and son are secure.”

  “Thanks, man.” Nash took a minute before pulling forward to compose himself and even his erratic breaths. “It’s showtime.”

  He pulled alongside the uniformed officers who had parked their squad cars at a diagonal across the bridge. None of this was normal. No way could he see a legit unit pulling an operation like this unless under the most dire circumstances.

  Nash rolled down his window. “Afternoon, officers. What’s the hold up?”

  “Pardon the delay, but we’ve had word that a kidnapper may be heading this way. As a courtesy, we’re checking all vehicles for the infant. Are you driving alone?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Where you headed?” While the short, pockmarked man asked questions, a tallish guy with a shaved head scoped out Nash’s vehicle.

  “Pensacola. My wife and kids are over there, staying with her mother.”

  “She doesn’t have a car to drive back on her own?”

  Bald Guy walked around to the back.

  “Is there a problem?” Nash asked.

  “Not at all. Just making conversation.” Easy smile. “Mind removing your hat and sunglasses?”

  In the side mirror, Nash noticed Bald Guy talking to the driver of the Jeep behind him. The driver gestured to the passenger side of Nash’s SUV, then shrugged.

  “Sir? Sunglasses?”

  “I recently had my eyes dilated, so if you don’t mind, I’ll keep them on.” He did remove his hat, then mussed his hair so that it looked nothing like the straight-laced military pic showing on the nightly news.

  Shit. The driver behind him was still animatedly chatting with Bald Guy. Had he seen Maisey’s escape?

  “Am I good to go?” Despite being unable to hear his voice over his pulse, Nash strove for a casual tone. Maisey and baby Joe were safely hidden. Logically, there was no way this could go wrong. Too bad Vicente had an uncanny knack for defying logic. “My wife and kids are expecting me.”

  The driver of a Pizza Hut truck further back in the line honked, then leaned out his window. “Hey! What’s the hold-up?”

  “Yeah, you’re good.” The officer waved Nash through.

  Nash checked his rearview to find Bald Guy chatting up Jasper.

  In the whole time they’d been waiting, the police duo had never talked to more than one driver at a time. Why now?

  “I said you’re good to go.” The officer double-tapped Nash’s door.

  While keeping an eye on Jasper in the rearview, Nash eased down on his gas pedal. If Jasper was in trouble, he didn’t want to get too far. On the other hand, now that he had a clear escape, he wanted to be able to use it the second Jasper broke free.

  Out of sight from the roadblock, since no additional cars had been allowed to pass, Nash pulled to the side.

  What could be taking so long? The Jeep should have at least moved into view.

  “Nash, copy?”

  “I’m here. What’s wrong?”

  “We’ve got—”

  Nash heard a gunshot’s pop, then a squelch of feedback before the line went dead.

  27

  FROM INSIDE HER black-carpeted, coffin-shaped box, Maisey barely made out what sounded like a firecracker’s pop, then muffled screams.

  Had that been a gunshot?

  Panic set in, or maybe it had never left from her harrowing trek between vehicles. In eerie green light, she tried slowing her breathing, but it was no good. Short and choppy was the best she could do. She tried rolling onto her side, but the turn was awkward while holding Joe.

  Her throat ached from the effort of holding back tears and though a fan’s reassuring drone assured her she had adequate air, her caged lungs failed to believe there could ever be enough.

  Where is she? A man she didn’t recognize shouted.

  Who? Jasper asked. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

  Get out.

  No.

  Maybe this will encourage you to listen?

  What was the man doing? Holding a gun to Jasper’s head? Her mind’s eye conjured far more frightening images than could have possibly played out in the Hummer’s front seat—at least she prayed the worst wasn’t truly happening.

  What the hell, man? What’s your badge number? I’m turning you in for police brutality and harassment.

  My badge number is Smith and Wesson. Where’s the girl?

  I already told you, I don’t know.

  Another pop. This one close enough to make Maisey’s ears ring.

  To keep from crying, she clamped her hand over her mouth.

  But then the baby released a few fitful cries, and she was flipping him onto his belly, pressing his sweet face between her breasts. She whispered, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

  What was that?

  What? Geez, you’re psycho.

  Get out of the vehicle. I’m not fooling around.

  Good, because neither am I.

  Another pop sounded, then the engine revved.

  Stop him!

  Pop, pop, pop.

  Maisey bit her lip to keep from crying out. But then she was flung back by the sudden forward momentum. Feet braced against the box’s lowest edge, she held Joe tight while gripping a metal bar mounted on the box’s side.

  Joe bawled.

  “It’s all right,” she assured, even though he had every reason to cry.

  Eyes squeezed shut, her mind’s eye saw Nash. He’d promised not to let anyone hurt her, and she believed him.

  Somehow, someway, he’d make good on his promise to see her safely through to the end of Vicente’s twisted power game.

  When this was over, she’d apologize to him for her previous selfish attitude. Of course, he missed his wife. He wouldn’t be the man Maisey had always loved if he hadn’t.

  When the vehicle’s motion evened out, she calmed herself and her son. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Once we’re safe, we’re going to have an epic cuddle session. Maybe we’ll even convince Nash to join in?”

  However long he needed to feel right about being with her, Maisey would wait. She’d been responsible for them ever having broken up in the first place. The least she could do was give him the space he now needed.

  Her breathing had almost returned to normal when she heard more pops—only this time, in a machine gun’s rapid fire.

  28

  WHEN JASPER HAD for all practical purposes shoved the Jeep out of his way, since he’d backtracked, Nash had a front row view.

  Had Maisey and her baby not been in the car, he might have applauded Jasper’s bold escape, but with so much at stake, he’d damned near bit through his tongue. He made a U-turn, then waited for the Hummer to pass before assuming the backup position to fend off the inevitable repercussions.

  Jasper pitched a destroyed radio from his window before flashing Nash a cocky grin and thumbs-up. Had Vicente’s goons shot it?

  Nash wished he felt more positive about the afternoon’s events, especially when Vicente’s guys—no way were they actual cops—flipped on their lights and sirens to give chase.

  Jasper set the pace at one-twenty on the lonely stretch of road.

  The scammy cops easily followed in a single car with the bald guy popping off shots out his window.

  Considering the odds of the goon actually hitting any target at
that speed, Nash wasn’t too concerned until his adversaries pulled out a freaking submachine gun. One or more shots connected with the rear window and the glass shattered.

  Swell . . .

  At their high speed, they’d caught up with traffic, and were forced to slow in order to safely zig and zag between mini-vans crammed with kids. Traveling salesmen and massive tractor trailer rigs. In that instant, never had Nash hated a man more than Vicente. What was the point of any of this?

  Assuming Vicente’s ultimate goal was to get his hands on his son, he sure had a funny way of accomplishing the task. Did the idiot realize how much danger he was landing his little guy in? Did he care? Or was this all about control? Proving he was the bigger man?

  Endless miles later, Jasper took the first exit they came to.

  Nash followed.

  Oddly enough, Vicente’s bogus cops did not.

  What was that about?

  Jasper drove ten miles back from the freeway until reaching a combo gas station and convenience store.

  By the time Nash parked his ride and killed the engine, he trembled to such a degree he was afraid he might not be able to walk.

  Maisey and the baby stood alongside the Hummer. Safe.

  When he’d thought those guys would get past him to unleash their fury on Maisey and her son and his best friend, Jasper, pure panic had set in.

  “Nash! You’re alright.” Clutching her baby, Maisey ran to him, and he hugged her close, burying his face in her hair, breathing in her lilac scent. “I was so scared.”

  He tightened his hold until Joe squirmed between them.

  “Sorry, fella.” Nash backed away.

  “He’s okay,” Maisey said. “Thanks to Jasper, we’re both fine.” She hugged Nash’s friend, then stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

  Jasper reddened, then held up his hands, teasing, “Back off the merchandise. Wanna get me shot by your glaring man?”

  “My man, huh?” Maisey beamed. “I like the sound of that.”