Craving Heat

by Adrienne Giordano

  Judging body size by eye, Reid and Gage outfitted everyone with protective clothing and headgear and then lightened the mood considerably by handing them all badass-looking paintball guns.

  At least Jay assumed they were paintball guns. Faded splotches of color on the handles told the tale.

  Paintball.

  This would be fun.

  Reid stood before them, legs wide, hands clasped behind his back, waiting for the group to settle down. With this crowd he’d be waiting awhile.

  “Gentlemen,” he finally said, his voice booming above the hooting and general savagery a dozen professional football players could create. “Our first exercise of the day is a rescue operation. A United States aid worker—otherwise known as my sister, Evie—has been taken hostage and is being held in the mountains of—” He turned to Gage. “Where should she be?”

  Gage shrugged. “Istanbul.”

  Reid went back to the group. “Istanbul. Evie is heavily guarded and located in a structure no bigger than a backyard shed. Gage will review the terrain with you and answer questions, but our information is limited. You will have ninety minutes to complete your mission. After which, we’ll review, make adjustments, and try again. Any questions?”

  “Uh,” Roth said, “how the hell do we find her?”

  Reid grinned. “It’s a team building exercise. Figure it out.” He turned to walk away, then snapped his fingers. “Oh, and stay sharp. There are Kurdish separatists out there and they don’t like visitors. In addition, our hostage can be combative. She will most likely mistrust and fight you. Believe me, I know.”

  “How many separatists?” one of the guys asked.

  “Enough to get one of you shot. Ninety minutes, gentlemen. Good luck.”

  Gage stepped forward, handed the men maps, compasses, and a photo of Evie. “Your suits have GPS transponders sewn into them. If your group doesn’t return in ninety minutes, we’ll locate you and ensure everyone is safe.”

  Steiger held up his map. “Why can’t we use our phones?”

  Gage eyed him. “What fun would that be? The point of the exercise is to work together. We’re doing this old-school, gentlemen, but we’ve helped by marking the maps with probable areas where Evie might be held.”

  Jesus. No social media or cameras? This crew would slide into withdrawals that might require hospitalization.

  After a brief review of the map, Gage had the men count off and all even numbers step forward. Jay was number eleven. Since Roth and Dirks stood on either side of him, they were both even numbers and, therefore, on the other team. There went the whole bonding thing.

  Whatever. It’d still be fun.

  No doubt, Reid and Gage would be the so-called separatists, which would give Jay an opportunity to exact his revenge for the week and a half of abuse he’d been dealt by Reid. A definite perk.

  “You six,” Gage said to those in the front row, “are Team Blue. The rest of you, Team Red.” He pointed to a red canopy tent at the southwest side of the training center and then to the blue one on the southeast side. “Those are your home bases to plan strategy. The clock starts now. The team that returns with Evie first is the winner. Good luck.”

  Talk about motivating a bunch of athletes. Make it about winning and losing and see how fast they get their shit together.

  The two groups moved to their respective tents, voices already reaching elevated decibels over who the team leaders should be.

  Jay hung back. He was no longer their quarterback. If they wanted him to run this show, they’d have to ask or vote or do whatever it was teams did to establish their leader.

  Three minutes later, with Jay elected team leader, the men set out on their search.

  “Okay, boys,” Jay said, walking toward a clump of trees, “let’s do this. I haven’t been up on that part of the property, but I can tell you there are sheds and small cabins scattered throughout. We may find some that are empty. And Reid is a filthy weasel. Plan on at least five tricks that might get us eliminated.”

  His teammates nodded, a few of them swearing under their breaths. They didn’t know the half of it.

  “We’ll make the initial hike together and then split up to surround any structures we find. Then we search them and move on. If we get split up, remember, Reid has GPS on us. He’ll identify anyone separated from the group and come at us. Hard.”

  * * *

  Maggie sat at her desk, scrolling through e-mails when the ding of a new message sounded. Minutes earlier they’d had a call about disorderly conduct on the edge of town, but the deputies hadn’t notified her of needing backup so she’d stayed put, hoping to catch up on administrative tasks. She glanced at the preview of the message from one of the genealogy websites she’d contacted. DNA Results.

  The report was in.

  Oh. Goodie.

  Yesterday, after speaking with her favorite judge and explaining how she came to possess a cigarette butt with their possible shooter’s DNA on it, she’d been granted a warrant. Said warrant gave her permission to seize genetic information from the genealogy website’s database. Already, they had an answer. The private sector. Sometimes so much easier to navigate.

  She clicked the e-mail and scanned the message. Each person, two genetic markers, blah, blah. One for the mother, one for the father. Blah, blah. She knew that. She scrolled down, skipped over the explanation of locus and chromosomes and DNA indexes. She’d heard all of it before and still didn’t understand, but she didn’t need to. All she needed to know was if they’d found a match.

  Below the second paragraph was a chart with numbers and the Combined Paternity Index. In the DNA testing world, if the CPI wasn’t zero, a person couldn’t be excluded as a match. That’s what she wanted here. Someone, anyone, who could possibly be a familial match to the sample they’d submitted.

  With that, they at least had a starting point and could follow the thread to finding their shooter.

  CPI Indexes. All above 1.

  Not zero.

  A blood rush set her cheeks on fire. Not zero. Which meant… “Oh, my God.”

  Heart slamming, she continued reading, skipping over more genetic-speak she didn’t understand.

  “Come on. Give me the damned name.”

  Summary paragraph. Finally. Not an exact paternal match. Paternal match. Ninety percent certainty. Excellent. They’d better be giving her a name. She’d heard about another case where someone used the genealogy website’s database and the company, in an effort to protect their customers, refused to release the person’s name. At least until a second warrant was issued and specifically demanded the name.

  Not willing to risk the time suck and legal wranglings, Maggie had included the request for any potential names in the warrant and she got one that was a 90 percent match.

  Ninety percent.

  Hot diggity!

  There it was. The name. She read it once and her excitement plummeted. Hoping she’d read it wrong, she blinked and blinked again. Coincidence. Had to be. Right?

  “Oh, no. Oh, Jay.”

  She shot out of her chair, sending it tipping backward as she snatched her phone and keys and ran for the door. She hit Jay’s name on her phone screen. Please, let him pick up.

  Voice mail. She punched off. She’d try again when she got to the car.

  She bolted down the hallway, reaching the bullpen in seconds. “Shari, find me Grif. Tell him to call me. Immediately. When the deputies are done with that disorderly, tell them to meet me at Tupelo Hill. We’ve got a huge problem.”

  * * *

  Thirty minutes into the exercise, Jay’s team came upon multiple structures. All would have to be searched and with only an hour remaining to complete their mission, time was not their friend.

  So far, they’d found and searched two small cabins that didn’t take long to clear, but every second counted. Jay checked his map, found other buildings to the west. How the hell would they get this done?

  After a slug from his water bottle,
Troy Bennet paused beside Jay. “What’re you thinking, boss?”

  “We need to split up or we’ll never get done.”

  “Is that smart? Considering Team Blue is probably up here somewhere?”

  “It’s not smart. At all. But it’s at least a twenty-minute hike back to base, once we have her. That leaves us just under forty to find Evie.” He held up the map and pointed. “Four of you take these three cabins and Bennet and I will search these others.”

  He scanned the group, received nods from all. “Good. Let’s hit it.”

  Jay and Bennet left their teammates behind and marched through a thick clump of trees, their feet crunching over twigs and leaves and rocks. Late morning sun broke through a cloud, instantly knocking the final edge off the cool air. In another hour, a perfect seventy-degree day would be had.

  Jay pointed to a tree root sticking up. “Watch that.”

  He swept his gaze over the thick brush in front of him. If his map was correct—and not an attempt on Reid’s part to screw with them—the other two buildings should be just beyond the trees.

  They trekked another three hundred yards before the first cabin came into view. Huge oaks fanned behind it and sloped downward. Jay moved quickly, scanning the area, checking for Reid’s separatists. As hard as it was to admit, Jay didn’t have a chance in hell at beating Reid, the former Green Beret, at this game, but he wouldn’t lie down, either. If nothing else, Reid—or his separatists—would find themselves covered in paint. A lot of it.

  Refocusing on his task, Jay scooted under the window on the far side of the house and duckwalked to the back edge where a steep incline—had to be forty feet—led to an oversized shed. Jay’s pulse kicked. If he wanted to take a hostage, that shed would be perfect. Perfect.

  Or, more likely, if he were Reid, that’s what he’d want the amateurs to think.

  Ambush.

  Had to be. He inhaled and the moist air coupled with the earthy scent brought his mind to a dangerous calm that might lose this game for him.

  A twig crackled behind him and, still in a squat, Jay spun, weapon at the ready.

  Bennet threw his hands up. “Yo, it’s me.”

  “Sorry. Something isn’t right.” He gestured to the shed. “That’s too convenient. I think Reid is screwing with us.”

  Bennet dropped to his knees and craned his neck to peer over the drop-off. “Sharp incline. How the hell do we get down there?”

  Good question. If they tried to walk straight down, one of them would wind up ass over elbow. And probably snap something. Not good for a professional athlete. Jay peered through the thick clump of trees and foliage. Fifty yards to his right the terrain flattened enough for them to carefully make their way down.

  They’d wind up scratched to all hell from walking through bushes. God knew what might be poisonous in there. Fucking Reid.

  “Swear to God,” Jay said, “if I get a rash, I’ll kill that son of a bitch.”

  Bennet laughed. “Tick-tock, dude. What’s the plan?”

  Jay checked his binoculars, searching the area for Team Blue or any separatists ready to pounce.

  Nothing, but rustling branches, birds yapping, and the gentle hum of a light wind.

  No voices, no crunch of footsteps, no swish of clothing. Everything that wasn’t there nagged at him. But they now had barely forty minutes left to rescue Evie and he couldn’t get hung up.

  “Okay.” Jay jerked his thumb. “We’re short on time. You check this place while I make my way down to the shed. And, don’t go in the door. See if you can hear anything. Or maybe look in the window first. I think this might be an ambush, but we don’t have time to go back and get the guys. I’d rather be covered in paint than lose by a deadline miss.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I’ll check the shed. If it’s clear, I’ll meet you back here.”

  “Got it. Call me on the radio if you need me.”

  “Ditto.”

  Jay kept low while he crept along the tree line, his hiking boots catching and rolling on loose rock and downed branches. He wouldn’t consider his walkway a path, but it offered enough space for him to work his way through with minimal damage. At least he’d worn a long-sleeved shirt for this excursion. A tall, thick shrub dead ahead blocked his path so he veered around it, pushing twigs away only to get smacked on the helmet by a rogue branch.

  “Pop, pop,” a familiar voice said. “Pop.”

  Caught. He hadn’t been sprayed with paint yet, though, so he might have a chance here. Jay turned and faced Eli Paskins, who stood in the brush, a half smile on his face. He wore jeans and a black sweatshirt, something Jay had never seen on the man before.

  Great. Eli was a goddamned separatist.

  How appropriate.

  Except he wore jeans and a sweatshirt. No paintball suit. Maybe he’d ditched it? Who knew what kind of mind games Reid had conjured. The guy was a master at the mindfuck.

  Jay made a move for his weapon, but Eli raised his own. This one a handgun.

  Hang on, here. Reid had only given out rifles. Then again, if Eli was the enemy, Reid probably gave him different weapons.

  Yep. Master mindfucker.

  “Jayson,” Eli said, “let’s head inside and talk.”

  18

  Maggie stormed through the front door of the training center screaming Reid’s name. Her cousin rushed out of his office, meeting her in the hallway with a where’s the fire look?

  “What’s wrong? You okay?”

  “Where’s Jay?”

  Reid’s shoulders dropped. “You come in here screaming like there’s a murder and you’re only looking for the superstar? Jesus, don’t do that.” He slapped his hand over his chest and blew out a breath. “He’s out on a training exercise. Why?”

  Oh, no. Please, no. “Is Eli Paskins out there?”

  “Yeah. He wanted to play. He’s a Kurdish separatist.”

  Maggie stared at him for a few seconds. “A Kurdish—what?” She shook it off and pushed around Reid. “Never mind. We need to get to them. Fast.”

  “Whoa.” He latched on to her arm, holding her back. “They’re in the middle of an exercise. What do you need?”

  She broke away from him and started for the back door before he could stop her again. “I’ll tell you on the way. You have to trust me on this one. Can you locate them?”

  “Sure.” He fell in step with her, holding his phone up. “They all have GPS units sewn into their suits. We can track them on the app.”

  “Good. And, cuz, you’d better grab your sidearm.”

  In the thirty seconds it took Reid to grab his weapon, Maggie had already jumped on one of the ATVs parked behind the building to the right of the exit. Reid hustled out the back doors and swung his leg over the seat on the adjacent ATV.

  “Mags, what the hell’s going on?”

  “I ran the DNA from our shooter’s cigarette butt. The one I found on the road.”

  “You got a hit?”

  “I did. The shooter’s name is Theo Paskins. I believe he’s the brother of Eli Paskins. I have Shari running it down now.”

  “Shit.” He tapped his phone. “Jay is on the move. Near Digger’s Ridge. He’s not even close to Evie.”

  Evie? What did she have to do with anything? “Is Paskins with him? And why is Evie up there?”

  Reid looked over at her. “She’s playing hostage. And, according to the GPS, Paskins is nowhere close to Jay.”

  But she knew her cousin too well, and his dipped mouth—Reid’s worry face—gave him away. “What’s wrong?”

  He fired up his ATV and spoke over the growl of the engine. “GPS has Paskins stationary. And alone.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I told him where Jay and his team were. He’s supposed to be ambushing them.”

  A fresh wave of panic blasted her. They had to get up there. Fast. “He ditched the suit.”

  When Reid didn’t respond, Maggie had her answer.

  * * *

 
Captured by Paskins playing a Kurdish separatist. Jay nearly laughed. After the Knights and Celebrate Hope and his sponsors had dumped him, this might be the ultimate flip-off. Consider it a lesson learned about Reid’s ability to take the mind games to another level.

  “I’ll give you credit, Eli. You got the jump on me.”

  He made a tsking noise. “I couldn’t announce myself, could I?” He whipped the handgun to the shed. “Inside. Before the rest of your team comes looking.”

  For a few short seconds, Jay considered cracking wise about these boys not being his team any longer, but Eli’s jerky movements suggested this might not be the optimum time for sarcasm.

  Jay slid his finger to the trigger of his rifle and Eli’s gaze shot to it. He leveled the handgun on Jay. “Drop that. Right now. The radio too.”

  “Eli, I have less than forty minutes to rescue Evie. You can bet your ass I’m not going to drop my weapon.”

  Eli stepped closer. “I think you will, Jay.”

  “Why is that?”

  “My gun.” He held the weapon straight up for a split second, then pointed it at Jay. “Real bullets. Now drop your rifle and the radio and move your ass.”

  Jay took a second, his gaze moving from the gun to Eli. Could it…?

  Eli jerked the gun again and Jay’s body tensed. If Eli didn’t stop jabbing that thing around, it would go off. If it was real? Game over. Literally.

  Had to hand it to Reid on this one. He knew how to screw with a man.

  No. Nuh-uh. There was no way Reid gave an untrained man a loaded handgun. No way. Which meant…

  White noise filled Jay’s mind. He focused on the gun, forced himself to think. To break the situation down into usable parts.

  Eli had twenty-five years on him. And Jay was bigger, faster, and stronger. He could easily relieve him of that weapon. If he could get to him before he got a shot off.

  If he couldn’t and that gun was real?

  Shit. He’d have to try another way. Maybe try and talk Eli down enough to get closer and overpower him. Or use his helmet as a projectile and possibly knock the gun from Eli’s hand. Jay set his rifle and the radio on the ground and then removed his helmet, tucking it under his arm. “Eli, what are you doing?”