Wounded at Work

by Mitzi Pool Bridges

  Swinging the bike into the right hand lane, she slowed. Saturday night traffic was getting heavy. Once she got on I-45, she’d have clear sailing, but right now she wasn’t making much progress. A red light caught her and she stopped. Next to her was a dark van. No cars in back of her, but on the cross street, cars were flying by.

  Her nerves drew taut—the same as they had been in Iraq right before an unexpected explosion changed her life.

  Her gaze went to the red light. Change, she urged, as she gunned the motor and looked for a gap in the traffic. Before that happened, the door to the van slid open. Three men dressed in black, masks over their faces, got out. Ignoring the traffic crossing in front of her, she let off on the gas. Before she could take off, two pairs of hands grabbed her. The third person jumped on her bike, and when the light turned green, took off.

  Carrie tried to scream—tried to get out of the grip of the men holding her, and couldn’t. Her cell phone! But she couldn’t get to it. In seconds, she was in the back of the van. Before the door slid shut, she saw a car pull up beside them. She struggled, tried to scream, and failed. The car drove on.

  Her heart hammered like a jackhammer in her chest. Who were these guys? Were they going to kill her?

  It was her last thought before she felt a needle enter her arm.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Matt, Coop, and Dirk were busy separating old Montgomery records in the attic. They had been at it since nine that morning with only a short break for lunch.

  “So far, we’ve found zero. Let’s double our efforts,” Matt told his brothers. “We have one more trunk to go through, maybe it’s the one. We know that twenty-five thousand dollars was put into my great-great-grandfather’s business account not too long after he started his business. Discounting Reed’s claim, we don’t know where it came from. If it was a loan, we don’t know if it was paid back.”

  “We’ll find out.”

  “Right now, we’re batting zero.”

  “Don’t give up, Matt. We have this trunk still to go through.”

  “SEALs never give up,” Matt reminded him.

  Coop grinned, lifted the lid of the last trunk, and swiped a hand across his face. “Smells.”

  “The entire attic smells like an antique store. Old and worn.”

  “I know, Matt. It doesn’t matter as long as we find what we need.”

  Matt edged over to where Coop stood next to the trunk. “What’s in there?”

  Coop held up an old ledger. “I think we hit the mother-lode. The trunk is full of these.”

  Matt and Dirk scrambled closer. “Let’s put them in chronological order before we dig into them.”

  “Good idea.” Coop looked at this watch. “Do you know how late it is? We’ll barely have time to give the dogs a short lesson, shower and change, before the gang gets here for the get-together.”

  “We should have canceled.”

  “No, Dirk. We shouldn’t. But we’ll get on this again first thing tomorrow morning.” Matt wasn’t happy with the lack of success, but they were doing their best and they could be close.

  “Sounds good.” Coop stood and stretched. “My kinks have kinks.”

  “You’re getting old,” Dirk teased.

  “And you’re not? Who was it that complained last week he wasn’t getting enough sleep?”

  “Not me.” Dirk laughed, as he dodged the poke in the shoulder Coop aimed his way.

  “I appreciate what you guys are doing. You could have spent the day with your families. Instead you were here in a dusty, smelly, attic.”

  “Family takes care of family,” Coop reminded him. “Right now, we have lessons to give.”

  Matt watched and listened as his brothers thundered down the stairs—heard the door slam, then silence. What would I do without them?

  The women had offered to help. Even Shorty. He had turned them down. They were busy women already, and he didn’t want to impose.

  His thoughts went to Carrie. Where was she? Was she in her blonde-blue-eyed persona again? If so, who was the guy? And what was she after?

  In spite of the rules, he would find out tonight. He couldn’t wait to see and talk to her again.

  After a shower, dressed in his usual slacks and white shirt, he headed to the homestead. He was early, but no one would care.

  Two hours later, Carrie still hadn’t showed. He called her cell phone, but got no answer. He took a chance and called Magee’s. Benjie answered. Matt didn’t broadcast he was FBI, just asked if the beautiful redhead who rode a Harley was there, as she was late for a date. Finally, he got an answer. “She was here earlier, but left.”

  “What time did she leave?”

  After yelling the question twice, Benjie answered, “Around four or thereabouts. I was busy serving drinks. She waved when she left.” And Benjie hung up.

  She should have arrived already. Did she have an accident? Matt cornered his brothers. “Have you heard from Carrie? It’s not like her to miss a Saturday night. And if she was going to, she would call.”

  “You’re right.” They checked with Shorty, Lanie, and Sky, but no one had heard from her. Matt circled the room until he found Marshall and Buster. They hadn’t heard from her either.

  He was more than worried. Should he call the hospitals? There was an easier way. He called HPD and talked to the captain on duty. When Matt gave his FBI credentials, the captain was more than happy to answer his question. “There hasn’t been a motorcycle accident reported all day.”

  “Any incident involving a Harley?”

  “Nothing.”

  Matt apologized for bothering the guy and hung up.

  His worry meter accelerated into the stratosphere. She wouldn’t be in her apartment pouting because of that blazing kiss. Carrie wasn’t the pouting type.

  “I’m going to look for her,” Matt told his brothers.

  Coop headed to tell Shorty they were leaving. “We’ll go with you.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “Check her apartment.” Dirk called to his back.

  He waved an arm. That was exactly what he was going to do. But first, he drove by Magee’s to satisfy himself she wasn’t there before he went to her apartment. His heartbeat escalated when he saw her car in its usual spot. She was home. Was she hurt and couldn’t call?

  After getting into the building, he rang the doorbell for a full five minutes. After no response, anxiety reared up another notch. If she was in there, she was in trouble. One kick and the door fell in. If Carrie was soaking in the tub, she would read him the riot act. If she was, and hadn’t called to tell them she wasn’t coming tonight, he was going to be more than pissed.

  She had to know how much she meant to the family. But did she have any idea what she meant to him—that all of a sudden, out of nowhere, he’d realized he loved her?

  There were no lights on. And silence greeted him.

  He drew his gun and moved from one room to another, but Carrie wasn’t there.

  Going back to the living area, he sank onto the sofa. Where are you, Carrie?

  The overwhelming feeling that she was in trouble had fear clogging his throat. He picked up his cell and called his brothers.

  ****

  Carrie woke slowly, gasping for breath. It was dark. Was she in another closet? Another small space? Not a sliver of light showed in the darkness. She tried to sit up and found her hands and feet tied. Fear enveloped her. She couldn’t breathe. The space around her was getting smaller and smaller. She blinked her eyes over and over, looking for light—for space. There was none.

  Be strong.

  She managed to maneuver until she was sitting on the edge of what had to be a bed. I’m a grown woman, not a kid. I can get out of this. But she was sweating profusely, her hands clammy—her stomach clenched into knots.

  Dizzy. What had they given her? Where was she? Mostly, she wanted to know who had taken her, and how she was going to get out of this. She twisted her hands and realized that although
she was handcuffed there was something soft on the cuffs.

  Whoever took me doesn’t want me injured.

  Bending over she found her boots gone and soft slippers on feet tied with a rope, which meant that whoever took her had both her guns. She fumbled with the ropes until she found a knot and began to slowly work the rope free.

  How long did it take? She had to stop often to wipe sweat off her hands.

  It felt like hours when she finally felt the first knot give. Then it was off and she could stand. Total darkness kept her rooted to the spot. She had no idea which way to find the door, or if there was a window. Maybe she was in a closet. She shivered.

  Carrie didn’t do helplessness well. And didn’t like the short breaths she couldn’t seem to control—breaths that told her how frightened she was.

  Though strong and well trained, she had to be able to see, or she would stumble around, possibly hurt herself, and gain nothing. She would pretend she was home; it was night, and time to sleep. Waiting until morning made sense. Maybe then she could see where she was and what she was up against.

  But her mind wouldn’t stop circling around her biggest fear. Could the same person or persons who had taken Matt’s victims have taken her? She fit the killer’s criteria. Her blood turned cold.

  The wrapped handcuffs bore that out. Matt’s investigation involved the possibility of sex slavery. Had she been kidnapped as Christi Young had been two years ago? Christie was a child and had managed to get away from her captors. Carrie was a grown woman with skills the kidnappers were unaware of. Given half a chance, she would escape.

  Sinking back to the bed, she put her head in her hands. There was a way out of this situation; she just had to think.

  Draw up a plan. Whoever took her had her guns, so she couldn’t play the helpless female, but she could be a woman scared out of her wits. Enough so they wouldn’t have a guess about her knowledge of martial arts. And it was darned close to the truth.

  Quickly, she reached down, fumbled until she found the ropes and re-tied her feet; leaving the ropes so she could get out of them quickly. Then she sank onto the bed and shut her eyes.

  She could do this. She had to. No one knew where she was. The family would be worried, even frantic, but they wouldn’t have a place to start a search.

  Why would they even wonder at her disappearance? At least the first day. The thought she could be in danger would, most likely, never enter their mind. It would be more accurate for them to think she was simply working her case. Coop and Dirk had cautioned her often not to be reckless in her impersonations and in her investigations. She wasn’t, but they didn’t know that. To them, her off-the-chart fashions, the boldness she could do so well, and the stories she made up to lure the truth into the open, was foreign to them. And they trusted her. They would never believe she would let herself get into a situation she couldn’t get out of.

  She’d proven that often. On a routine stakeout six months ago, she put a drunk and angry, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound husband with a knife in his hands on the ground while he was accosting his wife. The only weapons she used were her wits and her skills.

  She could do it again.

  There are three of them.

  Okay. So there were three guys. She’d take them one at a time when they least expected it.

  Her mind churned with various scenarios. One wrong move and she could die. No. Most likely they were going to sell her to the highest bidder, which meant they couldn’t afford to kill her. Not unless she angered the boss man, whoever he was. No way could she risk that.

  Turning over, she tried to take herself out of this dark room, wishing with everything in her she was at the homestead with her friends.

  But she wasn’t. She was tied up, locked in a room, and at the mercy of men who meant her harm.

  For a moment, she was eight years old again. Helpless. Alone.

  Taking a deep breath, she brought herself back.

  Her bold persona and her skills at survival had worked well before.

  It would again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Before Dirk and Coop could get to Carrie’s apartment, Matt was on the phone with Sam. “This had better be good. I was having a fantastic dream.”

  “Wake up, Sam. This is an emergency. Carrie Sullivan has disappeared. Since she fits the description of the serial killer’s victims, I’m afraid they have her. I need an address for an auction that will take place soon. And I need it now.”

  “Who is Carrie Sullivan?”

  “The woman I’m going to marry.”

  There was a scurrying noise, a computer beeping, a throat clearing. “I’ve located several black sites here in Houston. But I haven’t pinpointed one for an auction anytime soon.”

  “You will.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “They have a woman who will bring them a big pay-off. They won’t hold her. Once you find it, let me know. Be prepared to send them a message.”

  “I’ll call when something pops up.”

  Matt struggled with his emotions, the first of which was to fly blindly out to find Carrie. He couldn’t do that. He had to rely on his training. Plan. Strategize.

  While in Afghanistan, Matt and the SEAL team, including Coop and Dirk, plotted missions from secret bases, engaged in combat so up-close and personal, they often emerged soaked in blood not their own. On clandestine raids, their weapons of choice ranged from customized carbines, AK-47s, to knives, and bare hands. Until the day all hell broke loose and they almost lost their lives, every mission had been a success.

  He leaned over, took deep breaths. This one had to fit the rule, not the exception. To fail was unacceptable.

  Was he going to marry Carrie as he told Sam?

  Before he could answer the question, Coop and Dirk burst into the room.

  “She’s been kidnapped.”

  “How do you know? She could be following up on a clue.”

  “It’s a feeling, Coop. And it won’t go away. Carrie is in dire trouble. We have to find her.”

  “Where do we start?” Dirk asked, his face a roadmap of worry.

  “I called Sam. He’s going to find the address for the slavers’ next auction. That’s where she’ll be.”

  “How can you be so sure? There are dozens of other scenarios I could come up with for her absence.”

  “I know I’m right,” Matt said.

  “I hope to hell you’re wrong.”

  “So do I, Dirk. But the feeling is so strong it’s choking me.”

  “Have you notified your superiors? Do they have a team on this?”

  “They will.” He picked up his cell again and called it in. “I’ll be in within fifteen minutes. Call Sweeney and get him in there as well.” He turned to his brothers. “Let’s go.”

  “We can’t leave Carrie’s door busted.”

  “Then find nails and a hammer. I’m not waiting.”

  It didn’t take long until they were walking into the conference room right behind Agent Sweeney. “Thanks for coming in.”

  “Not a problem. What’s going on?”

  SAC David Nelson walked in, wearing a tux. “This better be good. My wife is very unhappy right now.”

  Matt introduced his brothers before explaining the situation. “The slavers have taken another woman. Her name is Carrie Sullivan, red hair, green eyes, and gorgeous. They’ll have an auction soon, and I’m going to be there.”

  Everyone in the room turned to look at Matt.

  “First, who is this woman? And how the hell do you know slavers have taken her? And if you’re right, how do you plan on being there when we have no idea where she is?”

  “Simple. Sam will find the black site and get me in. Carrie is a close friend of the family and an employee in my brothers’ PI firm. Once Sam gets me the info I need, I’m going to the auction and bid on her.”

  Coop and Dirk looked at him in shock. Coop was the first to raise an objection. “Unless you bid long-distance, Matt, you’l
l have to go undercover.” He gave his brother an up-and-down appraisal. “You’re the last person in the world to pull off something like this. How do you think you can fool these guys? They’re professionals and will spot a cop in an instant.”

  “They won’t make me.”

  The SAC spoke up, “I should pull the plug on your big idea right now. We can approach this another way.”

  “We’ll do it my way. If the FBI won’t back me up with fake money and a fake transfer, I’ll use my own funds. I’m getting Carrie back.” There would be no stopping him, not by his boss, or his brothers.

  “Once we get an address, we can put an experienced undercover op in. You don’t have to do this.”

  Didn’t they understand?

  No one else was going after Carrie.

  Matt turned to the SAC. “If the slavers check out their buyers, which they would be stupid not to, I’ll need a persona with multi-millions at his disposal. Can you set that up now? We can’t waste a minute. If we wait for you to find the perfect choice to go in, hours will be lost. We can’t take that risk. Besides,” he gave a twisted grin. “I think I can pull off the rich-guy look with no problem.”

  “There is no way to talk you out of this, is there?”

  “No.”

  “What if you go to the auction and Carrie isn’t one of their women? What then?”

  Matt’s mouth twisted into a determined scowl. “If I’m wrong, Coop, I’ll beat the information out of whoever is there, but I know that’s who has her.”

  “I’ve never seen you like this,” Sweeney exclaimed.

  Matt ignored the worry lining his friend’s face.

  “Nothing has ever been so important.” Matt’s gaze settled on the SAC. “Are you with me on this?”

  “If you screw up, it could cost you your life.”

  “I won’t screw up.”

  “Fine.” The SAC turned his back and for the next thirty minutes worked the phone. When he turned back to them, he said, “By tomorrow morning, you’ll have an identity that matches a wealthy man from West Texas, who made his money from oil. I suggest you get at least a partial disguise. You could go as yourself, but it won’t take us long to put another identity together, and it saves a lot of questions.”