by Amy Gamet
“He couldn’t have found the kids. He couldn’t have!” She was losing it, the panic attack appearing out of nowhere and instantly on overdrive.
He held her by her upper arms. “Listen to me. She’s a smart kid. She wouldn’t have run away in the middle of winter in a place she doesn’t know.”
She swallowed against the knot in her throat, knowing he was right but unable to comprehend the consequences of the truth. “Then she was taken. But how? This doesn’t make any sense! We checked every device, everything. We were careful.”
“It’s like they had inside information. Someone telling them where we were.”
“But who would do that? The kids know we’re in danger. They wouldn’t be so foolish as to tell someone where they are.” An image of April in tears at the campground appeared in her mind. “No…”
“What is it?”
“It’s not possible.” She ran to the other room and picked up her phone, searching for Instagram and downloading the app, Sloan entering the room behind her. “The guy on Instagram who had me so concerned. I just assumed he was a kid, but what if he’s not?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if he’s Bannon, or one of his guys? All you need to fake an identity on Instagram is a profile picture.” The possibilities were horrible and endless. “But your mom checked for me last night. April hadn’t reinstalled the app.”
“I saw her on Fiona’s iPad.” He headed for the other room. “I’m calling my mother back.”
The app finished downloading and Jo opened it. She knew April’s email address but not her password. She tried the one she used for everything, knowing the kids often did the same. “Please, God, let this work…” The screen changed to April’s feed. “I’m in!”
A knock sounded on the bedroom door. “I got it. That’s Mac,” called Sloan. “Mom, I need you to check Fiona’s iPad. See if she has Instagram.”
Jo found her way to April’s messages as Sloan greeted the men. The messages came one after another from Justin971—the most recent posting at eleven o’clock last night.
I’ll meet you by the main road.
“No, no, no…” she whispered, scrolling to read their earlier conversation.
Sloan swore loudly. “She had Instagram on the iPad.”
“I know. I’m in her account. She was talking to him.”
This stupid log cabin. I have to share a room with my sister…
That sucks. Where are you?
The thriving metropolis of Esopus, New York.
I’m visiting my aunt in New York City. That’s not too far away. With your mom gone, we could see each other. I’ll take an Uber like last time.
Isn’t that expensive?
It would be worth it to see you.
Okay, that would be great! I’m at 818 Creek Road.
“Jesus Christ, she gave him the address.” She stood and raised her voice to be heard over the men, who’d grown louder as Sloan filled them in. “She gave him her address!” The phone vibrated in her hand. She had a new text from a number she didn’t recognize, and she opened it.
TIME’S UP.
I’VE GOT THE GIRL, NOW I WANT MY MONEY.
LEAVE IT ON THE BENCH BY THE STATUE AT JEFFERSON PARK AT 10:00 P.M. COME ALONE.
I’LL CONTACT YOU AFTER.
24
Sloan knew this had been too easy.
His gut was never wrong, and this mission had just taken a serious turn for the worse, with April’s life hanging in the balance. Rage twisted with protectiveness, his blood pumping fast. She wasn’t his flesh-and-blood child, but she could have been, and that made every difference in his heart.
“We don’t even have the money!” Joanne was hyperventilating, clearly having a panic attack, and he worried about her ability to handle this latest development. “How can we give them what we don’t even have?”
He crossed to her and pulled her to a seated position on the bed. “Put your head between your knees. Take slow, even breaths.” She did as he said.
“Gavin and Asher are in a chopper on their way here,” said Mac, typing into his phone. “I’ll reroute them to Wiseman’s cabin to protect your family.”
As much as Sloan wanted them protected, he was keenly aware they had limited resources and the need for men here. “We’re going to need them. Get Evelyn and the kids to a safe location—without any of their damn devices—then I want Gavin and Asher back.”
If there was one thing he hated, it was not knowing what he was up against. That could easily lead to the team being overpowered and a terrible outcome for April. He could hardly stand to think about it. He looked pointedly at Mac. “Who else can you spare?”
“Chop and Razorback.”
Sloan cursed under his breath. It wasn’t enough. “We have to win this one, Mac.”
“I know.” The older man nodded sagely, as if he could see how important this mission was to him personally. “I’ll call Trace and Moto back from Wyoming. They should be able to make it in time.”
Joanne slowly sat up, her hand clutching his arm. She looked utterly shaken. “What if McKenzie won’t give us the money?”
“Then we fake it,” said Mac. “Use dummy bills, make the drop, and get your daughter back. We’ve done it before. Just don’t tell the US Marshals office.”
Sloan nodded. “It won’t fool them for long, but it could buy us crucial minutes to get April and get the hell out of there.” He touched her back lightly. “Are you able to walk? We need to get to the warehouse and find McKenzie.”
“Yes.” She stood, her legs visibly trembling. “Just let me grab my phone.”
Sloan crossed to Mac, lowering his voice. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this McKenzie character. She’s Joanne’s dead husband’s lover.”
Mac nodded. “Champ and I will stay on your six.”
They drove to the warehouse in the HERO Force SUV, arriving just after noon. In the light of day, the river gleamed a foreboding gray, whitecaps on the surface from the heavy wind. The building itself was made of brick, a faded sign painted across the windowless facade reading POUGHKEEPSIE PLUMBING SUPPLY.
Sloan convinced Joanne to wait in the car while he, Mac, and Champion headed for the office they’d investigated last night. This time he carried pepper spray, a weapon for an animal that might or might not appear, and wore the same pack on his back that he had last night.
He knew something was wrong as soon as he saw the office door standing slightly ajar. He drew his weapon, the other men doing the same. When he reached the entrance, he stood to the side before kicking it open with one leg and moving into the doorframe.
Everything was gone. Every paper, everything that had been on the desks and shelves except the plumbing parts on the tables. He carefully moved inside, clearing the room as he went, and opened the filing cabinet where they’d hit pay dirt last night. It, too, was empty. “Son of a bitch.” He ran a hand through his hair. McKenzie had gotten wind of their visit last night and was gone.
“This was all full of paperwork. Records, that sort of thing.” He sighed heavily. “Let’s check the warehouse. We never made it in there last night.”
He drew his weapon, again holding it at the ready. There were two weathered metal doors that seemed to lead to that area. It was dark inside and the glass dirty, making it impossible to see into the warehouse without going in.
The door squeaked loudly as he pulled it open, the combination of mold and rust assaulting his nose. It was dark, dank, and very cold, making him wonder if the heat was turned on at all. He pulled a flashlight from his pack as Mac and Champion did the same.
Row upon row of tall industrial racks filled the space, boxes on more than half of them. Near the ceiling, a catwalk encircled the entire warehouse, a long walkway bisecting the space to connect the two sides. The sound of running water came from deeper in the building, and Sloan followed it, looking for the source.
Halfway down an exterior wall, a series of old metal pipes ran from t
he ceiling to the floor, an ice sculpture forming where one of them had burst. He followed the flow of water to an open grate, a throwback to a time when virtually anything could be connected to the public sewer system directly.
“There’s nobody here,” he said, his voice echoing in the space. “McKenzie probably saw us come in last night and figured she’d clear out of Dodge. We’re going to have to get April back the hard way.”
“We can handle it, Dvorak. We’ve got the men.”
Sloan shook his head as he turned and walked past them. “I goddamn knew this wasn’t going to be easy.”
25
There was no snow tonight, the bright light of the moon throwing everything into relief. Jefferson Park sat in the middle of downtown Poughkeepsie, a wide space containing a playground, basketball court, picnic area, and a small amphitheater showcasing local graffiti. The entire park was surrounded by buildings, including the library and courthouse, though this part of downtown was deserted at night.
At its center stood a statue of Thomas Jefferson, flanked by a park bench and a large black garbage can. That was where the drop was to be made. Joanne had been told to come by herself. If any of the men could have passed for her size and physique, they would have gone instead, but in the end, it needed to be her, leaving Sloan terrified he could end up with both her and April being gone—or worse.
Sloan and Moto were positioned in the library with a prime view of the statue, Champion on the roof with a high-powered sniper rifle. Mac and Trace were in the courthouse, Chop and Razorback in a van parked close to the basketball court, and Gavin and Asher each stationed farther out at either end of the park.
Chop and Razorback had been surveilling the area for nearly nine hours but had yet to see anyone who could be Bannon or one of his associates, much less Joanne’s daughter.
Sloan checked his watch. Nine fifty-four. Any second now, a series of events would be set in motion, the final outcome still unknown, and the tension was eating him alive. It occurred to him he had more to lose tonight than he’d ever called his own, and he said a silent prayer for help. Champion’s voice came over the comm set in his ear. “Here comes Jo.”
He opened his eyes. She was walking up one of the sidewalks that went out from the statue like bicycle spokes, the shade of mature trees hiding her form before she emerged once more into the moonlight. He lifted his binoculars to his eyes. He could hear her breathing, the anxiety she so barely held under control. Her voice was a whisper in his ear. “I don’t see anyone.”
“Don’t talk,” snapped Sloan. “You can’t let them see your mouth moving. Just put the money on the bench and get out of there.”
Mac spoke next. “I’ve got eyes on a dark minivan heading your way. One block out, east side of the park.”
Sloan stared through the binoculars. “Get out of there, Jo.” She appeared from the shadows walking quickly out of the park, and the invisible noose around his neck loosened a degree. He trained the binoculars down the road, the minivan approaching in the distance. “It’s got tinted windows. Can you see inside, Champion?” The sharpshooter had a night vision scope on his rifle, which he hoped could see through the glass.
“Affirmative, but I don’t see the girl. Got two male tangos in the front seat.”
The van approached the center of the park, stopping just behind the van with Razorback and Chop inside. “Fuck,” said Razorback. “I think we’ve been made.”
“Hang tight,” said Mac. “Wait ’em out. They might just be checking to see.”
Minutes passed, the blood rushing in Sloan’s ears as sweat formed on his brow. Joanne spoke on the comm set. “I got a text. It says, ‘Come out here.’”
“Shit,” bit out Mac.
“I’m going,” said Jo.
“No!” barked Sloan. “Stay where you are. They’re on to us with the van. They could use you as a hostage to tie our hands.”
“I’m telling them I want to see April.”
She was thinking about doing it, putting herself directly in harm’s way to save her child, rendering HERO Force defenseless against an attack. “Jo, we’ll move the van. Stay put.”
The side of the minivan slid open. Joanne gasped. “She’s tied up on the floor.”
“Affirmative,” said Champion. “I have a visual on the girl.”
“They say for me to come to the van. I’m going out there.”
“Damn it, Jo, no!” But he was too late, Joanne already moving quickly onto the scene. Just as he feared, the passenger-side door opened, a figure in black holding a gun trained directly on Jo. She raised her hands, unmoving.
They only had a moment before she became his hostage. Sloan saw the slightest window of opportunity. “Champ, can you get a shot?”
“Negative. The girl’s too close to the tango from this angle.”
“Goddamn it!” Sloan watched in horror as the man in black crossed to Jo, wrapping one arm around her neck and using her body to shield his own.
“Hold your fire!” shouted Mac. “We have a hostage situation. Stand down. Gavin and Asher, move to the southern entrance to the park. Now!”
Sloan ran for the library door, drawing his Sig Sauer, Moto on his heels. He exited the building and hopped the railing, landing behind a hedgerow that hugged the foundation and hid him from view. He rounded the corner of the building and crouched low in the plants.
The man had pulled Joanne to the bench and taken the money and was making his way back to the minivan. “It’s all there, I promise you,” Jo said, and Sloan filled with fear the tangos would find her comm set.
“And you promised to come alone,” said the man. “Your word is no good.”
“Just let her go. My daughter didn’t do anything wrong.”
The duo went into shadow then popped out again, Joanne clearly having a hard time walking with his arm around her neck. He was still holding her against his torso as he ordered, “Get in the van. You’re my ticket out of this place.”
“Don’t do it,” Sloan hissed. “Try to get away.”
“I’ll come with you if you let her go,” Jo said.
Sloan wanted to scream at her not to do it, but knew his voice might be heard over the comm set in her ear if he did.
“What is this?” demanded the man.
Fear went through Sloan like an icy breeze. Had he found the comm set anyway?
“You stupid whore.” The man pushed her into the waiting minivan, following her in. “Give me that thing.” The sound of the comm set in the man’s hand was followed by the click of it hitting the pavement. The van door slid shut and the vehicle took off down the road, Sloan instantly on the run after it.
“Hit the tires,” barked Mac, gunfire erupting on the scene from Champion’s rifle.
Sloan was running as hard as he could, his horror causing time to stretch out like taffy. Those men had April, Joanne, and the counterfeit money. It was only a matter of time before they realized it wasn’t real and took retaliatory action.
Sparks flew from the back hubcap and the minivan went hard right, kissing a tree before continuing on awkwardly. Sloan stopped running and aimed his weapon on the opposite tire, which deflated instantly. The vehicle all but stopped. Asher appeared some fifty feet away, preparing to cut off the van from the passenger side. Sloan positioned himself perpendicular to the van and trained his gun on the driver as Asher approached from the other side.
The passenger fired. Sloan did, too, putting several shots into the front seat of the vehicle but careful to avoid the back. Moto and Gavin arrived on the scene, quickly followed by Mac, each of them with the now-unmoving tangos now in their sights.
Sloan moved carefully to the sliding door and opened it, his weapon ready to fire. There on the floor was April, tied up and sobbing as Joanne untied her bindings. He checked the men in the front seat, finding them both dead—Bannon and a younger man. “Tangos down,” said. He moved to the back and took April’s tied ankles into his lap, cutting the ties with his tactical knif
e and a shaking hand. “Any injuries?” he asked, aware of the strange emotion-filled quality of his voice and the tears that streamed down her face.
She shook her head.
He gestured to the younger man. “Is that the guy from Instagram?”
She nodded, her face crumpling as she sobbed. “He has a big cut on his arm.”
“You scared the hell out of me, April. Thank God you’re all right.”
“I’m sorry.”
Joanne opened her arms and held her. Mac ushered the three of them out of the car as local law enforcement arrived on the scene, blue and red lights bouncing off Thomas Jefferson and the park.
With April and her mother settled together on a bench, Sloan walked back toward the library, dropped into a squat, and wept for the terrible things that could have happened that day. He cried for the loss of Joanne and for finding her again, for her children and the chance to be part of their lives, if only for a moment. Bannon was dead. They’d gotten him. Joanne and her kids would be safe from now on, and no matter what happened between Sloan and Jo, he would forever be grateful.
He wiped his face and stood, turning back to the chaos, and was startled to find a man silhouetted against the emergency lights. Sloan was hyperaware of his lack of a gun, having left his Sig Sauer with the police officer in charge. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“It isn’t over.” He took off his hood, his features just barely visible in the low light. “I wish for Joanne’s sake it was.”
There was something familiar about this man, his height, his build, his voice…
“Bannon was only the beginning. It’s McKenzie you need to be worried about.”
Suddenly, Sloan knew exactly who stood in front of him, and dread settled in his stomach like a heavy weight. “David fucking Regan. I was wondering when you would rise from the dead.”
26
David is alive.
Joanne rode in the backseat of Mac’s SUV, her arms around April. Sloan had called her aside at the park and told her about David’s appearance. “I had Gavin take him to the house.”
