Holding his Hostage (Shattered SEALs Book 3)

by Amy Gamet

  He gestured to Joanne with his chin. “She should do it.”

  “Absolutely not.” Sloan stood up and headed for Mac, walking behind him for coffee. “It’s dangerous. We have no idea what this woman is capable of or who she’ll have gunning for her side. Her husband was connected to the Mafia, for God’s sake.”

  Mac blew on the hot coffee. “Ain’t nobody else here can do it.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Sloan.

  “You just gonna drive up to that warehouse in that Porsche and yell, ‘Passports! Passports for sale! Fifty cents a pass!” He chuckled at his own joke, a line from a children’s book his girls used to like.

  Sloan put a hand on his hip and gave Mac the stink eye. “She’s desperate. She needs that passport to get the money. Without it, she’s sunk. The grim reaper could dangle it off the end of a stick like a carrot, and she’d still try to reach it.”

  “Then I can do it,” David said again.

  “No,” Sloan barked.

  Mac shook his head. “Why not? The man has a connection to McKenzie. Whether she suspects something or not, you just said yourself she’d square dance with the devil if it meant getting that passport.”

  Sloan held up a hand. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Then you send in Joanne.” Mac shrugged.

  “That’s an unacceptable risk.” Sloan ran his hand through his hair.

  “We’ll be there in spades,” said Mac, truly not understanding and thinking this had something to do with the fucking mess at that table. “We’ll pull out all the stops. Nobody’s going to get past us and hurt her.”

  Sloan’s phone vibrated on the table. “It’s my mother. We need to let the kids come back here soon.” He eyed Regan, the look an indecipherable mix of anger and trust.

  Mac was seriously fucking confused. “The kids know you’re alive?” he asked Regan.

  “Nope. And I don’t want them to know until this is all over.”

  The phone continued to vibrate. “Then where do you suggest we put them?” Sloan asked. “You talking and breathing at my table might be a giveaway.”

  “So hold them off for a while,” said Regan. “Send them to Chuck E. Cheese, I don’t care. I’ll call McKenzie and have her meet me at the warehouse.” He pulled out his phone.

  Sloan yanked it from his hand. “No.”

  Joanne let out an exasperated sigh. “Why not? Why can’t he go? It’s him or me, and frankly he has a history with McKenzie. We might be better off.”

  Mac sipped his coffee, watching the scene play out in front of him. It was time for more details. “Dvorak, I need to talk to you privately.” Sloan led the way to a room with bookcases, a fireplace, and a desk. “What the fuck is going on in there, man? Let Regan be the bait.”

  “I can’t. This woman and her associates could pack a lot of firepower. He could be killed.”

  “Not likely with us on the ground, but what do you care? He made his bed. Why can’t he lie in it?”

  “Because Joanne’s still in love with him, that’s why. He’s the father of her children.”

  “Ahh.” He propped his hip on the desk while Sloan paced. “And you don’t want to kill off your best girl’s husband, is that it?”

  “Something like that.”

  Mac sipped from his mug. “This coffee tastes like shit.”

  “I’ll go. Hell, David can make the call and lure her there, but I can be the bait.”

  “I thought you wanted Jo for yourself.”

  “That’s not how this is going to go.”

  “Because…?”

  “I told you. She’s in love with him.”

  “My radar must be way off, ’cause it seemed to me like she’s been sleeping with you.”

  Sloan shot him a warning look. Mac grinned. “I should get prizes for figuring this stuff out. Giant stuffed animals and shit.”

  “It doesn’t matter. She and I aren’t meant to be. She thought she lost him once already. I don’t want to be the reason she loses him for real.”

  “What if she’d prefer a one-armed, arrogant little beefcake like you?”

  “She doesn’t.”

  “You never won a lot of stuffed animals at the fair, did you?”

  “What the fuck does that mean, Mac? You’re talking in goddamn riddles.”

  “She loves you, dumb ass.”

  “Maybe once. Not anymore.”

  “Jesus Christ. I can’t deal with this shit. You’ve got a skull thicker than a rock.” He headed for the door, turning back to point at his friend. “Regan’s going in. These are my men. This is my choice. And if you think that woman’s still in love with that skinny-dick little prick, you’ve got another think coming.”

  29

  David set up the meeting for six o’clock so they could approach under the cover of darkness. The men of HERO Force would go first.

  Sloan sat shotgun, covering his face with camo war paint. A wintery mix of ice and snow covered the roadways, making them slick, the SUV sliding through a turn before grabbing the pavement. “Glad I’m not driving the Porsche in this crap,” said Mac.

  HERO Force would park in a residential neighborhood on the waterfront a quarter mile from the warehouse, then make their approach on foot though a wooded area. David would drive his Porsche to the door.

  David would be unarmed, despite his objections and desire for a weapon. He wasn’t a trained soldier, and with six men from HERO Force running around in the dark, David would pose more of a risk than simply defending him.

  There were few choices for a sniper’s nest. Champion would set up on the roof of a hotel several doors down, but his view would be limited to the main entrance of the warehouse and a portion of the parking lot.

  Getting into the building would be hard. There were the dual entrances from the office, where McKenzie was likely to be, a fire door at either corner of the building behind a dumpster, and one at the top of a fire escape that Sloan suspected led to the catwalk he’d observed on their earlier visit.

  Biggest question was, who would be waiting for them when they got there? Sloan couldn’t imagine McKenzie had any intention of letting David live. Not after what he knew and what he’d done to her cousin. There were sure to be tangos. That much was clear.

  Mac parked the SUV and the men filed out. Razorback, Chop, Asher, Gavin, and Sloan. They took off at a jog through the woods, their course predetermined and understood. Sloan’s mind wandered to Joanne, who’d stayed back at the house to greet the children and Evelyn. If David made it out of here alive, he would reunite with his family there tonight.

  Mac’s earlier words swam in his head. Did Joanne really love him? Would she choose him over David, given the choice? She’d obviously forgiven him and wanted him in her life. That didn’t bode well for his chances, no matter what Mac thought.

  He forced his attention to the matter at hand as the warehouse came into view in the distance. The Walkway Over the Hudson gleamed in the night sky, its light blurred and hazy from the falling ice and snow. Each man had a different plan of attack. Sloan’s target was the fire escape entrance, and he was prepared to do what was necessary to breach it with explosives, a hack saw, bolt cutters, a blow torch, and lock-picking tools in his pack. He also made sure each of his teammates was prepared with pepper spray in case the dog returned.

  “You see anything, Champion?” Razorback asked in their ears.

  “Not a thing, gentlemen.”

  They reached the building, separating and heading to their individual targets. Sloan reached the fire escape, its ladder some twelve feet in the air and completely out of reach. He pulled a rope and grappling hook from his pack, swinging the metal end to catch on the ladder of the fire escape, and waited for the train to come by. According to the Metro North schedule, one should be along in the next three minutes or so.

  He put his back against the wall and took in his surroundings. A small car headed down the road toward the warehouse. David was right on time. A train whistle pierced t
he quiet evening, the lights of the engine illuminating the ice in the air as the locomotive approached the warehouse.

  As soon as the train reached him, Sloan pulled hard on the grappling hook, sending the fire escape ladder squealing to the ground. It landed with a thud, the roar of the train easily surpassing its volume, and he tucked the hook back into his pack as he quickly climbed the ladder.

  David was to stay in his car until the train passed, then immediately head for the entrance. Each man of HERO Force should then be in place, provided they didn’t need their explosives.

  Sloan reached the top, grabbed his night vision goggles and infrared flashlight, using the combination to check out the locking mechanism on the door without calling attention to himself from the ground.

  “I just need to cut a chain,” said Razorback over the comm set.

  “Same here,” said Chop.

  A heavy deadbolt could be seen through the crack in the fire escape door, and Sloan cursed under his breath. “I need the C4.”

  Champion announced, “Regan’s on the move. Approaching the front door from the parking lot.”

  Sloan rushed to set the charges, using only a small amount of the malleable explosive. He was highly aware of the age of the brick building and the possibility of additional destruction.

  “Regan’s reached the door.”

  Sloan set the detonators and quickly descended the fire escape, announcing, “Detonation in five, four, three, two, one.” He jumped for the ground as he set off the charges. There was no train that could disguise the noise of an explosion. He scrambled back up the ladder the instant he hit the ground.

  He could hear the other men talking as they breached the interior of the warehouse. “Tango, nine o’clock!” “Tango, six o’clock!” Gunshots rang out as Sloan reached his entrance, donned his NVGs, and drew his weapon.

  Inside was eerily quiet, the catwalk before him going in two different directions, smoke and debris filling the air from the explosion. He went left, the guardrails of the catwalk only a foot or two high, and trained his weapon on the ground. He panned the area for tangos and his own men. Where the hell was everyone?

  More shots rang out, movement below as someone ran between two of the tall storage racks. Sloan hurried along the catwalk to get a better view, finally catching sight of one of his own men lying prone on the floor, his weapon at the ready.

  Razorback’s voice came over the comm set. “Three tangos down, at least one more on the loose.”

  “Where’s David?” asked Sloan.

  “In the office.”

  “We got eyes?”

  “Negative.”

  Shit. He had to get down there. Suddenly, the catwalk shook beneath his feet, and he turned to see a figure in black coming toward him just as the man fired his weapon.

  Sloan returned fire, his automatic rifle firing off a dozen rounds in the time it took the tango to fire one. The figure listed sideways, then fell over the guardrail, his torso bouncing off one of the massive shelves before hitting the ground. The shelf wobbled precariously.

  Turning, he ran back in the opposite direction. He needed to get to the office without being seen, and he had an idea to accomplish that. After pulling his grappling hook from his pack, he attached it to the catwalk and rappelled down the brick wall, shots ringing out and striking the brick beside him.

  He reached the ground and took cover behind the same shelf as his teammate. It looked like Chop. “I’m heading for the office. Cover me,” Sloan said.

  “Roger.”

  Sloan ran to the office door, shots ringing out as Chop distracted the tangos. He reached the door and kicked it open.

  David lay on the floor in a pool of blood, lifeless. Sloan barely had time to register that fact as more shots were fired. He dropped a smoke grenade and hid behind the thick metal door, bullets lodging themselves in its surface before the shooting stopped.

  His night vision goggles could see through the smoke, revealing two tangos, and he shot them both long before the air cleared. “David’s down. Call an ambulance. Office is clear.” He crossed to the people on the floor, one female, one male, and checked them for a pulse.

  Negative.

  He turned to look at David, afraid to check for the same.

  “Warehouse is clear!” called Razorback. “We’re coming into the office.” The door opened, Razorback and Chop moving to either side of David’s body. “Let’s get him out of here.”

  Sloan followed them out the door, peeling off his goggles and filling his lungs with fresh air. He bent at the waist, putting his hands on his knees. “Don’t be dead, you little fucker.” He spit on the ground and closed his eyes. “Just don’t be dead.”

  30

  The bright lights of the emergency department belied the fatigue in Joanne’s bones. She hugged herself tightly as she finished recounting the events of the last several days to the plainclothes detective who’d investigated David’s death. “And then I got the call and came here.”

  “Is he going to make it?”

  She frowned. “We don’t know yet. He’s still in surgery.”

  He folded up his small notepad and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket. “Mrs. Regan, I owe you an apology. I don’t think I made a secret of the fact that I believed you were somehow responsible for your husband’s death.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  “You do realize that, if he survives, he’ll have to face charges for the death of McKenzie Bannon’s cousin, Finbar.”

  “I know he will, but I believe it was in self-defense.”

  “I’m going to take your word on that one for now. If it comes down to an investigation, we’ll have to see what comes to light, but I’d say your family has been through enough for one week.”

  That was the understatement of the century, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “I agree.”

  The detective left her his business card and promised to return in the morning to check on David. She tucked it in her purse and walked down the long hall, recounting what David had said about fatherhood and how difficult it had been to break the chain of bad parenting they’d both been caught up in.

  Please give him another chance.

  Let him be a father to his children.

  Help him learn and grow.

  While their marriage wasn’t something she cared to fix, he would always belong to Fiona, Lucas, and April. She could help him embrace that role. Be a friend to him when he needed it most.

  She would like that.

  To think, a week ago she was planning a funeral he would have hated, purely out of spite. She wasn’t proud of herself for that, and she swore, if David lived, she would find a way to get along better with him, if only for the kids’ sake.

  She curled up on a comfortable chair, letting her leg dangle over one side. Where was Sloan? Mac had been here earlier to check on her, and Evelyn had called. But Sloan was notably missing, and she was oddly hurt by his absence.

  Whereas she knew what she wanted from David, she had no such understanding about Sloan. She knew she loved him. She had always loved him. But did he want to be with her?

  She wasn’t the same person she’d been then. She was a grown woman with a family and responsibilities he might not want to share, especially with David tucked awkwardly in the picture.

  Baggage. She came with a lot of baggage, and she needed to learn to stand on her own two feet. She bit her nail, staring into space as time stretched indefinitely.

  “Jo.”

  She turned at her name, finding Sloan standing in front of her, showered and clean with his good arm in a sling. “What happened?” she asked.

  “No big deal. Just a little scrape.”

  “You needed a sling for a scrape?”

  “A little bullet scrape.”

  She huffed. “Then why would you say it was only a scrape?”

  “Because I didn’t want you to worry.” He sat down in the chair next to her. “How is he doing?” His voice
cracked.

  “Still in surgery.”

  “Is he going to make it?”

  The emotions she’d been holding inside suddenly rose up to the surface. Her eyes burned. “I don’t know. He’s been in there a long time.”

  He held out his prosthetic arm and she leaned into it, but the material was cold and the contact awkward. She pulled away. “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Sure.”

  “At his funeral, I was glad he was dead.” She wiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands. “How awful is that? I was bitter and so full of hate. Now I’m sitting here praying he lives.”

  “You can’t blame yourself.”

  “Can’t I?” She shook her head. “We were married more than a dozen years, and I couldn’t see his side enough to even care if he was alive. I’m ashamed of those feelings now. I don’t know what I’m going to do if he doesn’t pull through. The kids need him. I need him.”

  A tall woman in blue scrubs and a cap pushed through the double doors that led to the surgery department. “Mrs. Regan?”

  She stood and stepped forward, away from Sloan. “Yes.”

  “I’m Dr. Winslow. I operated on your husband. He had two bullet wounds. Each bullet passed completely through his upper torso.” She sighed heavily, then smiled. “He’s a very lucky man. He’ll be in recovery for an hour or two, but then you can see him.”

  She instantly began sobbing, happy tears filling her eyes and spilling onto her cheeks. “He’s going to be all right?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  She hugged the doctor with all her might. “Oh, thank you! Thank you so much for taking such good care of him.” She turned to Sloan. “Isn’t that gr—”

  She could just see him at the far end of the hall, the strap from his sling standing out from his dark shirt as he pushed through a swinging door. “Isn’t that great?” she whispered, but Sloan was gone.

  31