Saving Zola (Sleeper SEALs Book 4)

by Becca Jameson

  Mike relayed the information to his contact, who promised to get some people on the Johanssons immediately.

  “Don’t let them know you’re watching them, and don’t approach them. I don’t want to give away our knowledge of their involvement and risk them going dark. I’m not convinced they’re the ones following Zola or perhaps her father. I’m going to bet they’re part of a larger organization that has the manpower to take down even a senator. We need to tread carefully.”

  “Of course. I’ll keep things low. Watch the Johanssons and see if they make any more moves. If I find out anything, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks.” Mike ended the call, and she watched him lift and lower his shoulders several times, his hands at ten and two on the steering wheel.

  “You’re going after them, aren’t you?”

  He shot her glance. “What are you, psychic?”

  She smiled. “I know you, Mike. You aren’t the sort of man to sit back and wait to see what happens. You’re a man of action. You’ve had us aimed for New Haven this entire time.”

  “Yeah, well, I have another person to consider now. It would be stupid of me to put your life in danger while I pursue the enemy at close range.”

  “Who are you trying to convince?” She tried not to laugh.

  He ignored her question and glanced out the rearview mirror instead.

  Surely they weren’t being followed. “What’s the matter, Mike? Talk to me.”

  “Nothing. Just thinking. Staying diligent.”

  Uh-huh. That was so like him. Not.

  The next time they stopped for gas Zola asked Mike if he wanted her to drive awhile. Every time she offered he turned her down.

  “I got it. Your job is to keep me entertained.” He led her back to the car with a hand on the small of her back, as usual. Before he unlocked the car, he also leaned down, brushed her hair away, and kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear.

  She set her forehead against his chest and fisted his T-shirt at the sides. “Shouldn’t you let your boss handle this?”

  “Yep.”

  “Then what are we doing?” She lifted her face. “What’s your plan?”

  “I don’t know, babe. I just know I need to be closer. If those idiots plan to do something, I don’t want to be halfway across the country when they act.”

  “Do what? I mean, if it’s me they’re targeting, how can they possibly act if they don’t know where I am?” The moment the words left her mouth she knew. “Oh. Right. My dad. You think they will go after him.”

  He nodded. “I’m sure of it. We still don’t know if they’re targeting you to get to him, targeting him to get to you, or if they simply don’t give a fuck who they target as long as they get revenge.”

  She shuddered, pressing her body against his. “What’s wrong with people?”

  “I don’t know, Zola. It’s a mystery.”

  When they were back in the car, Mike adjusted the rearview mirror for the millionth time and then took off.

  Moments later, she saw him tense and glanced out the back window.

  Surely he was being paranoid. No way in hell would the enemy be that obvious. But as he turned first one corner then another, she had her doubts. The black, nondescript four-door behind them followed. Not close. Not far.

  She said nothing, glancing at Mike every few seconds.

  After taking another left turn, he stiffened. “Zola,” he began in the calmest voice she’d ever heard. “We’re being followed.”

  “I see that.”

  “I need you to brace yourself. I’m going to make some sharp turns to shake them.”

  She turned her head to look out the back again and then righted herself and flattened one hand on the dash.

  He hit the gas, speeding down the road until he came to the first corner. As he rounded it, the tires of the car behind them squealed.

  Two more turns and she noticed a sign for the highway entrance up ahead.

  The car was gaining on them.

  Mike lifted his hips, reached to the small of his back, and tugged his gun free of his jeans. He tucked it between his thighs. “Can you shoot, Zola?”

  She gasped. “What? No, I can’t shoot a gun.” She tried to sound calm, but failed.

  “It’s okay. Don’t worry. I’m a good shot.” He gave a fake chuckle. “If you want, there’s a Ruger in my backpack behind the seat. It’s easy to handle.”

  “Shit. No.” She was shaking. “I don’t know the first thing about guns, Mike. I can’t do it.”

  “Okay. It’s okay.” He swerved hard as he entered the highway. The black car followed.

  When he floored the pedal, they were both thrown against the seat. “Hold on.” He jerked the steering wheel to the left and moved across the lines of traffic. There wasn’t much, thank God. It was the middle of the day. Most people were at work.

  Their tail remained but didn’t attempt to shoot at them nor try to ram them or drive them off the road. Small blessings.

  They were going dangerously fast now. “Come on. Come on,” he muttered, scanning the side of the highway. “What we need is a cop,” he stated under his breath.

  She had no idea how that was going to be helpful, but she continued to grip the dash and the console.

  Suddenly, flashing lights filled her vision on the side of the highway.

  “Hold on,” Mike shouted.

  She braced herself for whatever he had in mind a moment before he swerved into the center lane and hit the brakes. The car tailing them kept going right on by.

  The police vehicle was far behind them, still picking up momentum. It had been parked on the side of the highway with no chance to get up to the speed needed to catch either vehicle speeding by quick enough.

  Mike was now traveling at a regular speed between the fuckers who had been tailing them and the police. He surprised her when he quickly veered into the far right lane, exited the highway, and made a quick left to go under the overpass, stopping at the red light.

  Zola was holding her breath.

  “We lost them.” He reached across the center of the car and set his hand on her thigh. “We’re okay.” She flinched.

  “You didn’t stop for the cops.” Her voice was high-pitched. She glanced around to look out the back window.

  “Yeah, that would’ve caused a lot of red tape. Don’t worry. I’ll have someone call it in and let them know what they were pursuing.

  She was shaking uncontrollably. “How did they find us?”

  “No idea. But I want to keep moving, and I need to call my contact.” He hit a few buttons on his phone before pulling back onto the highway going the other direction.

  “Dorsen. What’s the latest?”

  “Someone found us.”

  “Shit. Where?”

  “We were followed after we stopped for gas. How the fuck did anyone know where we were?” He slammed a hand on the steering wheel. “They have to be tracking us somehow.”

  “Where are you?” Mike’s contact sounded concerned even to Zola’s ears.

  “Heading north on Highway 8 now. Have someone call the locals and let them know what they failed to catch southbound at exit forty-four.”

  “Did you get plates?”

  “Nope. Black Nissan Sentra. No front plates. Lost it when the cops turned their lights on.”

  “I’m calling now. You need to ditch the car again.”

  “Obviously, but you need to fucking figure out how we were found. I don’t like this.”

  Zola gripped the console with her fingers, her heart pounding. If they found us once, they could find us again…

  “I’ll call you back in five. Stay diligent.”

  As Mike picked up speed on the highway again, Zola kept her gaze all around them. She didn’t want to distract him, but she had about a million questions.

  Ten minutes went by. She had finally begun to relax marginally when Mike sat up straighter. “Shit,” he muttered. His gaze was on the rearview mirror again.r />
  Zola twisted around to glance out the rear window. “What now?”

  “We have another tail.”

  “Are you sure?” She could only see two cars behind them, both at a reasonable distance.

  “Yes. The silver car on our ass has been there for a while. I wasn’t too worried about it by itself. Until I started slowing down and speeding up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The driver is pacing me. He slows and speeds to remain behind me.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I am now that his friend has arrived.” Mike flexed his fingers on the steering wheel.

  Zola glanced out the back again. “His friend? The other car? The blue one?”

  “Yeah. It showed up next to the silver one a few minutes ago. They’re both pacing me, and they surely know that I’m aware.” Mike drove faster.

  The two cars kept up.

  Zola grabbed the dashboard. “What do we do?”

  “Outrun them.” He went faster.

  “How far to the next exit? Can we get off? Should we call the police?” She started shaking. This wasn’t good.

  “Call 911, baby.”

  She grabbed his phone from his lap. Before she had time to hit the buttons, the two cars were right on their tail. The blue sedan suddenly burst forward, aligning itself on Mike’s side of the car.

  She stared out the window in horror, her fingers shaking, forcing her to glance down and dial.

  “Hold on, Zola,” Mike shouted as the blue car slammed into his door.

  Just as she placed the call, the phone went flying out of her hand to land somewhere in the back seat.

  “Fuck.” Mike swerved onto the shoulder and then glanced her direction. “You okay?”

  “Yes.” She wasn’t. Not by a long shot. She was scared out of her mind. And she couldn’t reach the phone. She hoped to God the operator could track it somehow and find them.

  Mike righted them back onto the highway, jerking the steering wheel so hard that he hit the blue sedan near the front passenger tire.

  The jolt shoved Zola forward. She hit her head on the dashboard. Not hard enough to give her a concussion, but it smarted, and she grabbed onto the handle above the doorframe with one hand, bracing herself against the dash with her other.

  They were going so fast. She twisted around to find the silver car right on their bumper. With the blue car boxing them in at the side, there was nowhere to go. “Mike?”

  “Fuck,” he screamed again. “Fuck. They’re going to shove us off the road.”

  “Can you outrun them?”

  “Not in this car. I’m going as fast as I can.” He held the steering wheel so tightly his fingers were white.

  The blue car slammed into his side again.

  Zola screamed.

  Mike lost control, careening off the side of the road.

  She looked out the front windshield only to discover they were on a steep embankment. The car leaned hard to her side, tipping on two wheels. She was thrown violently into the door, screaming.

  Before she could get her bearings, the car rolled her direction. “Mike,” she shouted, but she had no idea if he heard her. She felt like a rag doll being tossed every direction, the seat belt locking and keeping her from hitting the roof or slamming into Mike.

  As the car once again landed upright, it continued to plow forward. She tried to grab onto anything, but her arms were flailing around. Her screams grew louder as she saw them heading directly toward a tree. “Mike.”

  He still didn’t respond, and they were moving so erratically that she couldn’t get her head to turn his direction. At the last second before they hit the tree, she threw her arms across her face on instinct.

  The crash was loud, the sound of glass shattering and metal buckling deafening. And then it was over. Silence.

  She lowered her arms and turned toward Mike. He was slumped her direction, his head leaning too far. Blood ran down his face.

  “Mike!” She reached for him, unable to do much with her seat belt still choking her. “Dammit, Mike. Talk to me.” She tugged on the seat belt, pushing the release button with shaky fingers. Finally, it let her go.

  Gasping for oxygen, she tried to right his head. It was too heavy. Dead weight. In a panic, she screamed again. “Oh God. Mike. Wake up.” Was he even alive?

  Suddenly her car door jerked open.

  For a split second she was relieved, thinking someone was there to help, but then an arm reached in and grabbed her by the wrist. “Stop. We need to help him. Call 911.” She twisted to look at the person leaning into the car and stopped breathing.

  This man wasn’t there to help her. He was the man who ran them off the road. Tall. Thick. Dark. Under normal circumstances, he could be considered attractive. She could tell by the scowl on his face that he didn’t give a fuck about Mike. And he confirmed that when he yanked her out of the car so hard her arm nearly came out of the socket.

  Before she could catch her breath, he wrapped his forearm around her waist and lifted her off the ground. Her back was pressed against his side as he rushed up the embankment.

  She flailed her arms and legs, kicking and screaming. Her hair was in total disarray around her face, making it difficult to see.

  He seemed undaunted by her attempt to break free. He raced up the hill to the highway, and before she could protest further, she was shoved into the backseat of the silver car. She reached out with both hands and feet to stop the motion, but he easily tucked her into the car.

  Someone else was inside. Hands reached out to grab her, dragging her the rest of the way in and shoving her to the floor. The door slammed behind her, sealing her fate. A foot landed on her back, pushing her face toward the floorboard.

  She couldn’t breathe. She fought with every ounce of energy she had, jerking around to get out from under the pressure on her spine. When she reared back, lifting her face far enough to see over the edge of the window, a fist slammed into her temple.

  She felt the impact, knew her head ricocheted off the back of the seat. And then nothing…

  * * *

  So much pain…

  Zola cringed when she tried to open her eyes. So dark. Where was she? What happened?

  She blinked as she attempted to lift her arms. She tugged on her wrists only to discover they were trapped at the small of her back. Tied together.

  Her eyes shot open wide. She tried to scream next, but no sound came out. Her mouth was taped shut. Panic set in. She was jolted back and forth several times before she realized she was in the trunk.

  Fuck.

  The car was moving and she was in the trunk. She could hear faint voices coming from the front of the car. It sounded like two people were arguing in another language.

  Her memory flooded back.

  The accident.

  No, it wasn’t an accident. Someone had intentionally run Mike off the road.

  Mike. Oh, God. Was he okay?

  She tugged on her arms again, reaching with her fingers to figure out what was trapping her wrists. Duct tape. Probably also covering her mouth.

  An attempt to move her legs proved they too were taped together at the ankles and the knees.

  She started to hyperventilate, unable to draw enough oxygen into her nose. If she didn’t calm down, she would die in the trunk. This was not how she wanted to die. She needed to fight.

  For Mike. She had to believe he was okay. These men didn’t want him. They wanted her. Hopefully he had simply been knocked out, and they’d left him there. But how long would it take someone to find him? Could anyone even detect the accident from the highway? They’d gone down an embankment and rolled to a stop, hitting a tree. She prayed someone saw the accident. Or maybe the 911 call connected.

  She took deep breaths in through her nose, her chest heaving. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to calm. Should she wiggle around and kick out the taillights? She’d seen people do it in movies.

  It didn’t matter. She didn�
��t have enough space to move and no way to get the right angle to kick anything. She had no leverage, and her arms were screaming with the pain of being wrenched behind her too far. How long had she been knocked out?

  Her head pounded. If she didn’t have a concussion from the accident, she surely suffered one when the man in the backseat slammed his fist into the side of her head.

  Her right eye was swollen and stiff. Dried blood? She had no idea how badly she’d been hurt in the crash with no time to assess her injuries before she was yanked out of the car and forced up the hill.

  The vehicle slowed, making her hold her breath. It took a turn and kept going. She realized she would rather they didn’t reach their destination. The longer they were in the car, the longer she was alive.

  Another turn. And then another. They weren’t going as fast anymore. They had to be in a city or suburbs somewhere.

  It was difficult to concentrate on anything. She tried to memorize the turns, but what good would it do her with no point of reference?

  Suddenly she rocked forward as the car went over a bump of some sort. A curb? And then it angled uphill for a few seconds. Another jolt and then it seemed as though they were no longer on the road. She was tossed around ruthlessly as the car continued to move over an uneven surface. Not gravel. She couldn’t hear the crunch. Grass? Dirt?

  When it stopped, she felt a new wave of panic. Where were they? Would they kill her here? Maybe they had gone off the road a ways to dump her body.

  Shouting came from outside, both sides of the car and someone else from farther away.

  Maybe she should pretend to be passed out.

  Before she could make a decision, the trunk flew open and huge hands reached in to grab her by the shoulders.

  Her eyes were wide, and she tried to scream, but the tape muffled any sound. This was the same man who had grabbed her from the car earlier. He hefted her up by the waist and tossed her over his shoulder.

  With no care for her comfort, he trudged away from the car while speaking in what she assumed was Arabic to someone else.

  She had no way to brace herself, so her head slammed into his back repeatedly, her hair hanging in a riot of clumps, blocking her vision.