by KaLyn Cooper
Refocusing, she continued, “Aria Moore, Elianna Martin, and the last one is Zoey Garcia. We saw her mother tied to Ms. Rogers.”
Just as Rayne was about to point out that Angelique Sedgwick was missing, the camera jerked as though someone was walking away from the others. The woman in question appeared by herself, in a corner. She tried to talk around several bandannas stuffed into her mouth and another holding them in place tied behind her head. She seemed to be screaming Let me go. When she realized she was on video, the words sounded as though she was saying No, no, no one can see me like this, as she hunched her shoulders and tried to bury her face in the corner.
Rayne grimaced. That was so much like Angelique Sedgwick, more concerned about her personal appearance and what other people thought than the health and safety of her stepdaughter.
As the cameraman turned, the video was almost dizzying until it stopped back on Jaja and Lynda Thompson.
“Mr. President, all-powerful and secure in your White House, you have now seen who I have. I want you to think about it for a while. I’ll be back in touch with you, soon.” The screen went black.
Rayne returned her gaze to the head of the table. It looked as though the new man was staring at her but his face was hidden in shadow. Maybe he didn’t get all the names of the girls in order, or perhaps he needed more details. They could catch up after the meeting.
“Every frame of this video is being analyzed,” Branson announced. “We just wanted you to see what you’re dealing with. We’ll be updating the rescue team on the flight. There is no airport on St. John so you’ll be flying into St. Thomas where you will be picked up by U.S. Navy helicopters. We are fortunate that the USS Abraham Lincoln, and its escort of cruisers and destroyers, are in international waters off Venezuela. We’ll have more details before you land.”
“Director Brandon, do we have a firm location of the hostages?” a man across the table asked.
Shaking his head, the task force chairman explained, “We are currently moving satellites to cover the area. We’ll use thermal imaging when possible, but until the officers on the ground check out every house, we don’t have anything to go by. The Rangers have told us there are three other large groups; two from churches containing mostly high school juniors and seniors, and a troop of Boy Scouts. They have been ordered to remain in camp until further notice. Hopefully we’ll have an update while you’re in the air.”
“Can someone, please, get the lights?” The man at the computer stood, turning his back to those at the table and spoke quietly with Mr. Branson. Rayne mentally corrected herself, Director Branson. She stared at the man who set off alarms in her head. Her senses weren’t screaming danger—more like a storm that had been upgraded from a warning to an advisory, meaning bad shit was headed your way.
When the lights came on, she was looking at her briefing book to see if she knew anyone on the task force. None of the names sounded familiar. Glancing around the group, she was happy to see three other women.
Director Branson nodded once then scanned everyone’s faces. “We have an addition to the task force and the rescue team. She is the Senior Special Agent in charge of Congressman Robert Sedgwick’s Secret Service detail and is well-acquainted with Aahil Mohammed Jaja after working in that agency’s North African office for several years. Please welcome Rayne Yoshida.”
She felt kind of odd having everyone’s attention focused on her.
Greetings of “Welcome” and “Thanks for joining us” echoed around the table as some of the men gave her a nod.
The man next to Director Branson whipped around and glared at Rayne.
Her stomach flipped over, and her breakfast started to crawl up her throat. She swallowed hard, fighting the urge to throw up.
“For those of you who didn’t meet him at the earlier briefing, this is Dex Carson. He’ll be leading the rescue team.” Branson slid his gaze to Dex. “He, too, had a run-in with Jaja back when he commanded a SEAL team.”
Rayne couldn’t take her eyes off Dex. He had aged well. She liked the gray at his temples and sprinkling through his dark brown hair. The cut hadn’t changed, though. He still wore it tight to his head, perhaps a little longer on top these days. The full beard was gone, though, replaced by a neatly trimmed, very graying patch of hair that started as a mustache and ended under his chin, encircling those full lips that had kissed every inch of her naked body. He’d rolled up his camouflage shirt sleeves, exposing cut biceps and forearms. If they were any indication, he had remained quite fit.
Damn. He was still so fucking handsome, but that was one place she would never go with him, again.
He had nearly ruined her career. She would never forgive him for that.
“Dex, good luck.” Director Branson slapped him on the shoulder. “Happy hunting.”
“My team will meet in ten minutes at the vehicles,” Dex announced, then strode directly toward Rayne, who had finished gathering her briefing book and stood.
He scowled as he raked his gaze slowly over her black jacket, down her starched white blouse, to the matching pants. He gaped at her two-inch pumps and shook his head.
Without lifting his gaze, he suggested, “Why don’t you do us both a favor and coordinate things from here? You’re not even dressed for this operation and we are ready to leave.”
Not just no, but fuck no. He was not going to bulldoze over her. She didn’t get the position as the head of the Secret Service detail for the Speaker of the House by allowing men to change her orders at the last-minute. Besides, she could slip out of these clothes and into camouflage in less than three minutes. Five, if it included lacing up her boots which she could easily fasten while in route.
“I am here as an active member of this team.” Rayne was frustrated when he didn’t meet her gaze. Accustomed to reluctant men, she used her command voice, “Look at me when I speak to you.”
Dex slowly raised his head as though in defiance. The muscle in the side of his jaw was jumping when his eyes met hers. “You are not in charge of this operation, thank Christ. I am.”
Oh. He was not going to go there. Not now. Not ever. Although they hadn’t captured Jaja, that mission had been extremely successful.
She knew she had to play nice. “Rescuing Callie Sedgwick is my primary assignment. Making sure her stepmother gets home safely is my secondary duty.” Rayne let out a long sigh. “I know all these children, personally. There is no one here who wants to save these girls more than me.”
“Are you going to be able to take orders from me?” His question seemed to pound into her chest while his deep brown eyes never left hers. “Or are you going to fight me on everything?”
“You’re the team commander,” she admitted.
Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes.
“But I will offer my opinion whenever I think it’s necessary.” That was part of her training and experience.
His jaw muscle flexed.
“If there’s nothing else, Commander Carson, I need to change into jungle cammies.” Without waiting for his permission, Rayne walked over and grabbed her bag. She’d seen the ladies’ room down the hall. She could do this. “I’ll meet you at the vehicles.”
“If you’re not there in six minutes, we’re not waiting for you,” Dex warned.
Five minutes later, Rayne placed her bag next to the others in the back of an SUV. “With minutes to spare,” she bragged as she walked by Dex and crawled into the backseat.
Hidden from his view, she let out a long slow breath. None of this was going to be easy.
Chapter Three
Callie was hungry.
And thirsty.
And hot.
Her arms also ached. She had been holding Charlotte for hours, or so it seemed. When Acne Face and Grunt—the names Callie had mentally given the guards—had untied Mrs. Thompson and threw her at Jaja, her best friend yelled and screamed at the bad men to leave her mother alone.
Callie knew that was the wrong thing to do, so she grabb
ed Charlotte. While she hugged her friend, she whispered in her ear, telling her everything would be all right, and she didn’t want the bad men to take notice of her.
They had done everything that Mr. Jaja told them to do since his men had ripped open their tents and wrapped them in their sheets. Callie knew his name thanks to him constantly repeating it for the camera. She only wished that she had her cell phone with her, but there hadn’t been time to grab it. Otherwise, she would have already Googled this jerk.
Or texted a message to her dad. She wondered if he had seen the video. Her heart squeezed. She wondered if he even cared. Since he married the Barbie wannabe, Callie sometimes wondered if her dad had forgotten all about her. When school was out, she tried to spend as much time with her friends as possible. She couldn’t bear to be in that house with the step witch. She had changed everything.
The warm kitchen with cherry cabinets that nearly reached the tall ceiling, and golden granite countertops where she and her mom had baked cookies and often made supper together, was now twice the size. The new, stainless steel appliances, gray walls and white cabinets were as cold as Her Highness the Wicked Witch, who couldn’t make anything for dinner except reservations at the most expensive restaurants in DC. Cooking would be too close to food and she might be tempted to sample a bite and gain an ounce.
It was a darn good thing that her father had listened when she complained that there was literally no food in the house, then showed him an empty refrigerator. In front of her dad, Step-Momzilla had put on a big show of giving a crap about her new daughter. She then ordered all Callie’s favorite foods over the Internet and had them delivered. Later, when she and Step-Momster were alone, the woman set up an account online so Callie could order anything her little heart, and belly, ever wanted. That was probably the nicest thing the woman had ever done for her.
Thinking of food just made her even more hungry. Glancing around the room, she took in her friends seated against the inside wall of the empty house. The only noise was an occasional sniff or whimper from one of her friends and the clunk of heavy boots as the guards walked back and forth in front of them. As though any of them were stupid enough to try to get up and run away.
As soon as she had that thought, cranky Angelique’s ignorant display popped into her mind. The minute they had untied Queen Bitch from her seat, Non-Mom had bolted for the door, concerned about no one but herself. She deserved to be put in the corner like a recalcitrant child.
Even though the blinds were drawn, and the drapes pulled over them, Callie had seen daylight for hours. She wondered if they were going to starve them to death. She also speculated whether you died first of starvation or dehydration.
Brynn peeked around Charlotte and barely whispered, “I have to pee really bad. I mean, really bad. Do you think they’d let me go?” Brynn grimaced and darted her eyes toward the guards. “I think I started my period.”
“Crap.” The mouthed word escaped before Callie could hold it in.
“No. I didn’t poop my pants.” Brynn scrunched her nose and covertly pointed toward the guard. “I think he did though. Maybe it’s just bad gas, but he stinks.”
Charlotte and Brynn carefully nodded their heads in agreement.
Callie stared at Ms. Rogers, hoping to mentally connect to her teacher, or at least catch her eye. When their gazes finally met, she mouthed potty. At the confused faces of all three women, Callie tried, bathroom. When that didn’t work, she put her hand over her bladder and splayed her fingers out several times.
Did she start her period? Mrs. Thompson mouthed.
Callie nodded and let out a long sigh. She had learned to kind-of read lips during the last few months as her mother was losing her battle against cancer and could barely talk. Even though it had been over two years, Callie still had to fight back tears. She missed her mother so much.
Blinking hard to clear her blurry eyes, Callie watched the three adult women sitting together quietly discuss the situation.
“Mr. Jaja, would you please consider untying me so I could tend to the girls?” Ms. Rogers was really brave. She was pretty awesome, especially for a teacher. Even more awesome as their Girl Scout leader. She knew how to camp and everything. “Maybe I can get them some water? Or something to eat? They probably have to go to the bathroom, too.”
Callie just stared at Mr. Jaja, watching his every move, hoping Ms. Rogers didn’t make him mad, like her Step-Monster had. Moving as little as possible, Callie bent her head ever so slightly to look over at the Dragon Lady stuffed in the far corner. In a way, she felt bad for the woman who had married her dad. God just hadn’t seen fit to give that woman many brains. She was an idiot, bless her heart.
Angelique had yelled at their captors, called them ugly names, so they had stuffed all those rags in her mouth. After the video, they didn’t gag Mrs. Thompson or tie her up again, but made her sit with Ms. Rogers and Mrs. Garcia, Zoe’s mom. Eventually, Mrs. Thompson convinced Mr. Jaja that the other women would be quiet if they took the gags off. That worked for everyone except callused Angelique. The minute they even loosened her gag she started screaming at them, again. The woman never learned.
All their kidnappers started talking at once and Callie snapped her gaze to see if Ms. Rogers was okay. She was. Relief washed through her.
One of their two guards left the big living room in the empty house. Jaja strolled in front of the girls and they all cowered against the wall, trying to make themselves as small as possible. Sophia burst into quiet tears. When they had arrived, it had taken nearly an hour for her to stop crying. Gia, Violet, and Luna all took turns to comfort her. Sophia was a big crybaby anyway. Callie was pretty sure the girl did it for the attention. Her mom and dad were going through a divorce and things were rough for her at home.
Jaja seemed to size up each girl. Callie didn’t like the way that man watched them. Well, in truth, she didn’t like the way any of the men looked at her friends and their chaperones. There was something about their faces that just didn’t feel right. They just completely creeped her out.
Huffing out a breath after he passed her, she scrutinized the leader as he approached Ms. Rogers. “You may escort each girl to the bathroom.” Jaja pointed down the hall. “The door must stay open and you must stay with the girl. Stand in the hall where I can see you.” He pointed to Mrs. Thompson. “You, come with me.”
Callie whispered in Charlotte’s ear, “Don’t say a word. Your mother is fine. She’s helping them. Do you understand?”
Her best friend nodded.
Ms. Rogers stood in front of the ten girls. “Is there anyone who has to take care of their female problems?”
Brynn’s hand shot into the air. “Me,” she squealed quietly.
After looking up and down the row, Ms. Rogers signaled to Brynn, who rolled to her knees and gave her a hug. “Thanks, Callie. I was too scared to tell anyone.”
Their teacher threw her arm around Brynn’s shoulders and whispered something into her ear. Ms. Rogers knew who had already started their monthly cycles and who hadn’t. At an all-girls school, getting your period was a rite of passage.
Callie, who had only turned twelve three months ago, was a late bloomer. She barely had boobs. In truth, she really didn’t need to wear a bra yet, but she did because everyone else in her class had been wearing them for nearly a year. Some even longer.
It was finally Callie’s turn to use the restroom.
“Everything is going to be okay,” Ms. Rogers reassured her as they walked with their arms around each other to the bathroom. After she had washed her hands, she cupped them together into a bowl and gathered water so she could drink. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was until she had emptied her makeshift cup for the third time. She then used the water to wash her face and arms. She really wanted to step into the shower and change out of her pajamas. Although she was fully covered, she felt half naked.
Glancing down the hall, she saw two more rooms, probably bedrooms. She wondered
if there was a master bedroom where the mom and dad stayed, and if they had two children who had lived in those bedrooms and shared that bathroom. Not for the first time, she wondered what it would be like to have a sibling.
Ms. Rogers threw her arm around Callie once again. “Thank you for taking care of Charlotte. I know she’s scared. I know you all are. I’m going to see if Mr. Jaja will let me talk to all of you together for just a few minutes after everyone is done using the restroom.” She dropped her arm and signaled for Charlotte to come next.
Everyone had been allowed a visit to the bathroom, including the moms—although Callie didn’t consider Angelique as a mom, they had even allowed her to go under the guidance of Ms. Rogers. Callie wondered what her teacher had whispered in Barbie’s ear. Hopefully, she read her the riot act, and maybe, just maybe, the woman would pull her crap together and act like an adult. Callie did find it amusing, though, that their kidnappers would not un-gag her stepmother.
After a quiet conversation between Ms. Rogers and Mr. Jaja, her teacher called all the girls into a circle. Mrs. Thompson grabbed Charlotte and hugged her tight as did Mrs. Garcia with Zoey.
“Mr. Jaja wants to thank you all for cooperating. If we continue to do as he instructs, we can continue to have some freedom in this room. We all need to thank Mrs. Thompson for being so brave to make the video for Mr. Jaja.” She clapped and everyone followed her lead. She glanced over her shoulder and the leader nodded his head in approval and agreement.
“You all remember our active shooter drills at school?” At the teacher’s question, everyone nodded their heads. It was a drill they were forced to practice every year. Since they had gone to the same school for at least five years together, they all knew what to do.
“Excellent.” Ms. Rogers clapped her hands and gave them a genuine smile. “I’d say this qualifies.” She tilted her head toward the armed guards. “So, let’s review what we do in an active shooter situation.”
Eager hands went into the air.
