by Mia Dymond
“What makes you think he’s anywhere near the port?”
“Experience,” Thunder answered.
“Isn’t that too obvious?”
“No, he wants us to follow.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Liv,” Kat said softly. “They’ll bring her back safely.”
Rebel snapped the lid closed on his laptop, stood, and then handed the machine to Sophie. “You know we will. We need to you to keep things under control here.”
***
With her hands bound by a plastic zip-tie, Carley sat crammed between Christopher and another large, silent goon in the back seat of a black sedan with completely dark tinted windows. Granted it was at least nine o’clock p.m., but she still couldn’t see past the interior of the vehicle.
She knew fear should be first and foremost on her brain – she was being kidnapped, after all - yet, the volume of anger that consumed her at the current moment caused her to ignore the fear. And it was all directed at the man who sat next to her.
“What have you done, Christopher?” she hissed.
“Nothing,” he insisted. “I’m just as much a victim as you.”
“Oh, really. You know these men, don’t you?”
“Only one of them,” he mumbled.
“And you brought him to the Ball, right?”
“Yes, but you have to believe me when I say I had no idea this was his motive.”
“He’s quite right, my dear.” Their captor chuckled from behind the steering wheel as he drove them to only God-knew-where. “Mr. Remington is simply a means to an end.”
She released a hard breath while anger continued to claw her nerves. “An end to what? My reputation?”
“Don’t be so arrogant, pet. You are just as much incidental, as well.”
“I’m going to need a little more explanation.”
“In due time.” He made a hard left turn and threw her against Christopher while her elbow accidently connected with his ribs.
“Ow!”
“Oh shut up,” she mumbled.
“Yes, please do as she says,” the man from the front seat agreed. “Your explanation will not make any difference in the outcome of the evening.”
Carley struggled to see out of the car window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the scenery as they passed, but had no such luck. Both the night and windows were much too dark.
“Where are you taking us?”
“There’s no need to worry about that. You won’t be there long anyway.”
What she assumed to be gravel crunched beneath the tires as the car finally came to a stop. Her gaze met the driver’s in the rearview mirror.
“Unload them separately and search them both.”
“Yes, sir.” The goon beside her opened the back passenger’s side door, stepped out, and then gestured with one hand for her to do the same.
Reluctantly, she exited the vehicle and attempted not to vomit when his hands skimmed her body. Not only did the thought of his touch sicken her, but the thought that he would most likely discover her hidden phone caused her stomach to churn even faster. Without that lifeline, Ace would have no way to find her.
The man finally grasped her shoulder and moved her against the front passenger’s door. “She’s clean.”
Shocked, she stood quietly in the darkness. Now the trick would be getting to the phone without discovery.
Christopher left the car next and she almost felt sorry for him when the interior light exposed the positively green hue of his face. Obviously, he wasn’t a willing participant in this catastrophe. She swallowed hard, doubly thankful for her good luck when their second captor tossed Christopher’s phone to the gravel and squashed it to pieces like a bug.
The driver walked around the front of the car. “Come.”
He grasped her elbow and urged her toward a familiar building. The port. A wave of hope rolled over her as they approached the door; common sense told her that since Ace already suspected Christopher, this would be the first place he searched.
Her escort stopped in front of the door and spoke to his cohort in a language other than English. “Hagalo abir la puerta luego guardarlos arriba. El transporte es por el camino.”
That explained his tan; he was obviously Latino. I speak Spanish, idiot. Although, the translation didn’t do too much to reassure her. She understood that he wanted Christopher to open the door and of course they would keep them upstairs away from discovery, but he planned to transport them to another location.
The other man moved Christopher forward. “Open the door.”
“With my hands bound?”
“Yes.” He handed Christopher a key taken from his pocket when he was searched, she assumed.
“I don’t think that’s possible,” Christopher argued.
Carley groaned at Christopher’s sudden obstinateness. Even she knew that his stall tactic wouldn’t work with these men.
The cool, deep voice of the man who stood beside him held a note of amusement as he stuck his hand inside his suit coat and then pressed the barrel of a gun against Christopher’s temple.
“It is possible.”
CHAPTER NINE
Anger fueled by pure adrenaline pushed him past the point of murder as Ace climbed into the passenger seat of his truck and Chaos slid in behind the steering wheel. Ortega may have escaped them once but there was no way in hell he would let it happen again. Nothing could stop him from planting a bullet right between Ortega’s eyes this time.
“Sure you don’t want to drive?” Chaos pushed the brake pedal and then the ignition button.
“Nope.” He reached behind the seat, grabbed his rifle, chambered a round, and then lowered his window. “I’m more accurate from over here.”
“Then I say we blow this Popsicle stand.”
“Hell yeah.”
Chaos shifted the truck into reverse and then into drive. The sound of squealing tires filled the cab just as smoke drifted through his window.
“Easy on the tires,” he mumbled.
The other man shrugged and then smirked. “Yours sound better than mine.”
While Chaos sped through the city streets, Ace placed his weapon, barrel up, on his right side against the floorboard and then rested it against the seat. If he had his way, Ortega would meet his maker in less than thirty minutes. He tapped three fingers against his thigh and concentrated on the route while he refused to allow panic to intervene. As long as Chaos delivered him to the rendezvous point, they were home free – and Chaos would get him there, this he knew without a doubt. Yet, he wouldn’t totally relax until he had Ortega centered in his crosshairs.
His gaze immediately shot to the audio system screen when the sound of the Lone Ranger’s theme song broke the silence and blared from the radio’s speakers. Thunder’s phone number flashed in bold, white numbers.
Chaos raised an eyebrow. “Better not let him hear that.”
“Hit the Bluetooth button.” He waited for the telltale tone to signal that the call had been connected. “Go, Captain.”
“Looks like Remington was holding out on us.” Thunder’s revelation didn’t surprise him. “New intel reveals Ortega financed ninety-five percent of the project.”
“Damn,” Chaos mumbled.
“Under the radar,” Rebel added. “He created a bogus company to disguise the intent of his business.”
“We know he plans to ship drugs in and out of the port,” Chaos said as he drove through a not-so-yellow traffic light. “But why Everglade Springs?”
Ace wondered the same thing. As a member of the Montez crew, Ortega hailed from Mexico and Montez claimed both the western and southern borders of the United States as his territorial stomping ground. Brave move, venturing into Cuban-run business. Although, Montez was a cocky sucker and Ace wouldn’t put it past him to claim the whole continent.
“So Remington knew all along that community support wasn’t mandatory.” Ace voiced his
conclusion as calmly as possible while his nerves jumped beneath his skin.
“Not necessarily. Ortega didn’t file any financials from his company to support his assets. It is possible Remington wasn’t aware of Ortega’s motive. Besides, there still has to be a vote for the tax to pass.”
Ace still wasn’t convinced. “And if it doesn’t?”
“The port operates as a privately-funded entity.”
“Exactly what we don’t want,” Chaos admitted.
Rebel continued. “I know you’re skeptical, Ace, but something tells me Remington’s in as much danger as Carley.”
Damn straight he was skeptical. Victim or not, Remington exposed Carley to the sick son-of-a-bitch and did so willingly – all in the name of business. At this point, Remington would have to be near death to earn sympathy from him.
“As expected, Ortega isn’t working alone.” Again, Thunder’s information didn’t surprise him.
“How many?”
“One at the port. Seven enroute by boat.”
Frankly, he didn’t give a rat’s ass how many others were involved. He’d take every single one of them out – whether they touched one hair on her head or not.
“Anyone we know?”
“Affirmative. His sidekick is another Montez associate. The others are second-string players in the game out of Cuba.”
“Cleared for entry into the U.S.?”
“They all hold a passport. Legal as far as the government is concerned.”
Chaos grinned and Ace clenched his jaw as they rounded a corner on two wheels. “Not much of an ambush when we know the particulars.”
Ace agreed, immensely grateful for their connections. Although it took time, it was amazing how one name could open the floodgates of information. And in this case, Miguel Ortega had made sure Alpha Four would find him once they dug deep enough.
Thunder continued to relay facts. “Everglade SWAT is scrambled. They’ll wait for my signal.”
“We’re on your tail,” Rebel told them. “There’s an orange grove approximately fifteen hundred yards from the port. If we go in dark, we can park there and buy some time. Once we get ready to storm the place there’s no reliable cover other than the darkness.”
“Affirmative.” Ace frowned. “If Ortega funded the whole thing personally, why the hell would he even bother with Carley?”
As soon as the question left his lips, the air went deathly still. Hell, oxygen ceased to exist and he cursed the nausea in his gut. Suddenly, the whole sickening plot assembled in his brain. Ortega lured Remington to get close to Carley, then preyed on Carley to lure Alpha Four. Only, there was only one member of Alpha Four who had a relationship with Carley – and a history with Ortega.
“Carley has nothing to do with this.” He fought past the incredible darkness that threatened to consume him. “He’s after me.”
***
Carley released a deep sigh, thoroughly confused by the accommodations in which her captors had placed her and Christopher. Although their hands were still securely bound, they had been shuffled upstairs and into a room furnished with a comfortable brown, leather sofa and two large matching leather chairs. A wooden dining table and four chairs occupied one corner of the room and a refrigerator/freezer combination rested in the other. There were no windows tucked into the walls but fluorescent light shone from two units in the ceiling.
The door had been locked but they were free to pace the room and for half a panicked second she entertained the thought of screaming. She had quickly ruled out that plan of action partly because she’d never been a decent screamer but mostly because the port was isolated. The only things screaming would get her were a gag in her mouth and a sore throat.
Instead, she listened intently to see if she could gather any more information about this bizarre circumstance. Muffled voices seeped beneath the door but they were just that – she couldn’t understand the conversation, Spanish or not. On a positive note that meant they weren’t close.
Satisfied they were alone, she glanced at Christopher, slumped in one of the chairs with his elbows braced on his knees and his lead lowered.
“Christopher,” she whispered.
He raised his head.
“Come here, but do it quietly,” she continued.
Once he sat beside her on the sofa, she wasted no time in explaining her plan.
“Reach down the front of my dress. On the left side – your right – there’s a strap. My cell phone is tucked there.”
His eyes widened and his eyebrows nearly touched his hairline. “They said you were clean.”
“Just do it,” she spat. “Believe me, I wouldn’t allow you to do it if it weren’t necessary.”
She leaned forward, thrust her breasts outward, and used her fingers to pull on the material of her dress.
Christopher cautiously slid his hands inside.
“Use your fingers,” she told him as she nearly jumped from the cold temperature of his hands, “and work it loose from the bottom.”
“I feel like I’m violating my sister,” he mumbled.
Despite the severity of the situation, she released a tiny giggle. “We have to get it back in there so be careful.”
With fumbling fingers, Christopher managed to free the phone from its restraint and lifted it with two fingers, finally dropping it into her lap. She pressed a button at the bottom and then frowned when the home screen failed to appear.
“What’s wrong?” Christopher whispered.
“My phone is turned off.”
“Since when? That thing is practically body jewelry for you.”
“I didn’t turn it off. It must’ve gotten squeezed too tightly in my dress.”
“It was pretty snug,” he murmured.
She pressed the power button, relieved when the screen lit up and the device began the booting-up ritual. And when the service bars in the right corner turned green, she almost jumped up and down.
“If I stand next to the refrigerator,” she said as she stood, “the hum should muffle the sound of my voice.”
Encouraged, she walked toward the corner of the room and opened her contact list. Quickly, she pressed the icon that would summon help.
Except, the call refused to connect.
“Really?” she grumbled, now severely ticked off. The service bars registered empty.
She walked back to the sofa, checking the status in between. Nothing.
“I had service for a second, but not now.” She sat down hard next to Christopher on the sofa.
“It’s sketchy out here.”
“What about Wi-Fi?”
“It hasn’t been installed yet.”
She glanced back at the screen, almost hopeful when two bars turned green. Then, just as quickly they turned back to grey. She glanced at the door. The voices began to clear and she knew it was too risky to try again.
“We have to put it back,” she told him as she handed him the phone. “I left it on just in case the signal strengthens.”
And hopefully the battery would stay charged.
This time, the process went much more smoothly and she relaxed back against the sofa when the device was tucked away.
“Who are these men?”
“I only know the one. His name is Miguel Ortega.”
“Does that name mean anything to you?”
“Only in port business. He contacted me when we solicited investors for the venture.”
“He provided financial support?”
“Lots. In fact, he’s practically funded the whole operation alone.”
She tilted her head to one side. “So you really don’t need my family’s support.”
“Not financially,” he admitted, “but it means more to me to have the verbal support. I value your family’s opinion, Carley.”
She swallowed hard to rid herself of the guilt she felt by accusing him of the whole sordid mess. Obviously, Christopher was a pawn in a very tangled web of deceit.
“Why did Mr. Or
tega offer so much support?”
“He claims his company will benefit from the increased access to shipping opportunities.”
“What company?”
Christopher sighed hard. “We didn’t get that far. He simply handed over the cash and said we would get to the paperwork later.”
The voices behind the door suddenly grew louder.
“I should’ve known –“
“Ssshh!” She placed a hand over his and squeezed as she listened.
“Where is the transport?”
“Patience. It will be here soon. Besides, the delay gives me the opportunity I’ve awaited for quite some time.”
“Do you suppose he will be surprised to see you?”
Maniacal, cold laughter followed.
“Oh, yes. He will believe he has seen a ghost. Only, this ghost will not give him a second opportunity to defeat me.”
Carley frowned in confusion as she glanced at Christopher. “Do you know who they’re talking about?”
“No, but it sounds like they’re out for revenge.”
She agreed with his analysis. Apparently, she and Christopher had been brought here to lure someone else. Suddenly, her blood ran cold. There was only one person she knew that these men would use her to bait.
“Christopher,” she said as her heart hammered in her chest. “They’re expecting Ace.”
***
As Chaos turned off the truck’s headlights and drove down a dirt path into the heart of the orange grove, Ace cursed the conclusion he’d drawn about Ortega’s motive. Revenge was a powerful and nasty motivator; this he knew for a fact. He ran one hand across the back of his neck while he squeezed the barrel of his weapon with the other and hoped like hell they could get to Carley before Ortega lost his patience. Experience told him the bastard would wait for them but the same experience also told him that there was always the risk of spontaneity.
His trigger finger itched while he mentally rehearsed the confrontation with the madman. Normally, a mission required a variety of methodical objections; this time there were only three: point, click, and kill.
