Extraction Point (Ricochet #3) (3 page)

Rick bolted out of his chair at Xav’s voice, Clint hot on his heels. “Where?” He focused in on the screen directly in front of Tucker, a grainy still shot from a camera.

“As of eleven hundred hours, he was still on 400 going north. He didn’t take the bypass, so that’s greatly narrowed down the possibilities.” Tucker continued typing as he spoke. “Here,” he used his chin to point at another screen, this one to Rick’s left. “He continued past Sandy Springs, so wherever he’s going, it’s out of the city.”

Rick stared at the photo on the monitor. The image of the man from the driver’s license picture matched the one in front of him. Even with the poor quality Rick could tell it was the same person. The primal instinct to defend what was his roared through his body. One way or another, Rick was going to take Travis Hardy out.

“So, the question is, what’s up there?” Xavier asked. He turned to his own computer and began typing. A map of Atlanta and it’s surrounding area came up on the large flat screen.

The four men stood silent, each one considering the various possibilities.

“Well,” Clint said, “there are two large-ish cities, Roswell and Alpharetta, then— not much. Just suburbs then the lake.”

“Lake?” Tucker asked. “Maybe he has a boat?”

“How the fuck would he get a boat here from Texas, Tucker?” Rick snapped. He was itching for a fight, egging the man on so he could get one.

“Hey, fuck you Rick!” Tucker twisted in his seat, pointing angrily at his teammate. “Maybe he fucking rented one! Do you want me to immediately discredit the possibility or do you want me to be thorough?”

“You’re pissing me off, Tucker! Don’t lecture me on being thorough!” Rick took a step towards the other man, who responded by getting out of his chair, tossing his glasses on the desk, and raising his fists in front of him.

“Whoa!” Clint jumped between the two men, Xavier ready to help separate them if needed. “Let’s chill the fuck out, okay?” His gaze flicked back and forth from Rick to Tucker. “It’s tense in here, this whole fucked up situation is tense. But you’re not going to help Quinn if you’re at each other’s throats!”

Rick grumbled under his breath, knowing Clint was right.

“Got it, Rick?” Clint stared at his friend, almost nose to nose in the small room.

Rick exhaled, his shoulders dropping. He hated this feeling of uselessness. “Fine. Check for boats. I’m going to search Quinn’s apartment while you do that. I can’t sit here and do nothing.” The twitchiness and agitation had Rick wanting to scratch his own skin off. He was always slightly restless, but with the stress of the situation, the very real potential for Quinn to die today, plus the fact that he drank way too much caffeine… Rick felt as if he might explode at any second. He was a foreigner trapped in his own body.

Without another word, Rick spun on his heel and stormed out of the room.

It was easy to break into Quinn’s tiny apartment above the gym for the second time that day. Rick frowned, it was too easy. Making a mental note to get a better lock, he closed the door quietly behind him. Rick stood still for a moment. The reality that Quinn was gone finally hit him. It was already well past dinnertime and they still weren’t anywhere close to finding her. It was sinking in that there was a very good chance that she wouldn’t return.

Hang on doll. Just hang on a little longer.

I don’t give up. Almost a decade in the Marines, dozens of covert operations, and I’ve never left a man behind or left a mission incomplete. I will get her back.

Fuck! Easier said than done. He’d never had a mission like this, one in which his own future,
his own personal happiness
, was dependent on the outcome. His body shook and his knees nearly collapsed beneath him. Rick struggled to hold in the sobs that were causing his chest and eyes to burn like fire.

Man the fuck up, Rick. Quinn is depending on you to keep her alive.

Teetering on the edge of either falling apart or finding his girl, Rick fell into Marine mode, shoving away his grief and getting to work.

Chapter 3

Quinn opened her eyes to a dark room, the only light coming from the thin sliver of moon outside the window. Her head felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds. A constant throbbing was squeezing it like a vice. She couldn’t see out of one eye and knew with almost absolute certainty that her left cheekbone was fractured. Quinn ran her tongue over her dry, swollen lips, flinching when she touched the areas that were split open.

With great effort, she pushed herself to a semi-sitting position, shocked to find that she was back upstairs on her childhood bed and her hands were untied. Quinn glanced around the room, ignoring the sharp pain that the action caused in her one good eye. She was surprised to see a glass of water and a damp washcloth on the side table.

Quinn scanned the rest of the room, knowing that Travis must be hiding out nearby, waiting to do something cruel. Why would he leave these things for her? Kindness was not one of her ex-husband’s best traits. In fact, it wasn’t a trait even remotely in his universe.

Desperate to feel clean, Quinn took the cloth, gently rubbing the blood off of her face and hands the best she could. It hurt so much she could hardly stand the pressure of the soft fabric on her skin.

The loud rumbling of a car starting in the driveway caused Quinn to pull all the way upright much too quickly. A hazy darkness clouded her vision for a moment, the urge to be sick rushing into her head. She stilled, waiting for the nausea to pass. Quinn could hear the car pull out of the driveway, the sound getting farther from the house with each passing second.

Did he actually leave?

Quinn’s heart fluttered in her chest. Could she escape? Maybe he thought she’d be unconscious longer than she was and he got careless. Maybe he ran out of food and had no choice but to go get some. Why would he leave her unbound?

She didn’t know and she didn’t care. She didn’t even know if it was midnight or almost morning. Even though the thought of moving made her sore muscles clench painfully in anticipation of the agony that was sure to follow, she took a deep breath to steel herself. Crying out at the fire that ripped through her damaged body, Quinn pushed through the torture and sat up on the bed.

It was too much. Quinn knew she had to hurry, but the effort just from sitting already had her panting heavily, which made her ribs feel like a hot poker was gouging into her side. Gritting her teeth, she went to swing her legs off the side of the bed.

Hope…

That damn traitorous bitch. She got me again.

Quinn should know better by now than to let hope in, but she did, every single time. And once again, hope failed her.

The rattle and clank of metal should have been enough to tell Quinn what Travis had done, but she needed to see it. Needed proof that her husband was as sadistic of a bastard as she remembered. Twisting around so her one good eye could focus in on her right ankle, Quinn got her proof. There, around her swollen, purple-tinged skin was one end of Travis’ handcuffs. The other end locked tight around the heavy metal frame of her antique bed.

There was no point in screaming. The nearest neighbors were nowhere near close enough to hear. Quinn wasn’t one to give up, but she couldn’t come up with the strength to scream even if anyone actually could hear.

Over two years with Travis and she plotted her escape every single day, no matter what he did to her or how many dark days bled together. But right now, in this moment, Quinn didn’t have any fight left in her. He won. Game over.

When Travis came back he would kill her, of that she had no doubt. Maybe not today or even tomorrow, Travis always did like to draw out his punishments. But she knew… there was no way she would ever make it another two years. Quinn would find a way to push him so he would finish this long before then. Soon it would all be over. She’d rather die than spend her life with her husband.

Sinking into the soft pillows, her tender, bruised flesh throbbing, Quinn cried.

A few hours after midnight on Monday morning, sixteen hours since Quinn went missing, Mack called a meeting in the conference room. The tired soldiers took their seats, a somber look on each man’s face.

“Alright, as you know, we’ve determined that Travis Hardy kidnapped Quinn from the parking garage of an Atlanta lawyer’s office. Tucker tracked the car to north of the city.” Mack stopped and frowned, “Where’s Rick?”

“I’m here.” The door opened, revealing a shockingly scruffy-looking Rick Brennan. He took a seat, placing a thick stack of papers in front of him.

“What’s that?” Mack pointed at the pile.

Rick rubbed at his eyes. After staring at computer screens and small print documents for hours on end, his eyes were on fire, burning from being open too long.

“Some stuff I got from Quinn’s apartment. It may not be relevant, but I grabbed what looked important so we could go through it.”

Mack paused, staring at Rick for a brief moment before continuing. He shrugged off the feeling that Mack was seeing right through him. Mack knew that Quinn was more than a friend and coworker to Rick. Hell, he was pretty sure that everyone here knew that just by the way he was acting. It wasn’t as if he told anyone directly, except Clint and Mara, and they only knew because of Mara’s close friendship with Quinn. Everyone else figured it out on their own. They were highly trained in intelligence gathering after all. Reading people was a very big part of that skill.

“Rick, we’ll go through the paperwork after the meeting.” Mack turned his attention to their computer whiz. “Tucker, give me the latest location for Travis Hardy’s rental car.”

The man sat up a little straighter in his seat, ruffling his hand through his shaggy brown hair. “I found visual conformation of them on GA400 North at mile marker 30.8, continuing on the freeway.” Tucker looked around the room, noting that the other mercenaries perked up at this information. “That means he’s past Highway 20, up by Lake Lanier. I can’t confirm how far north he went as there aren’t anymore DOT cameras that far out. I’m currently searching private business cameras off of each subsequent exit. The computers are running an algorithm I created as we speak.”

Mack stared at Tucker, scratching his thick fingers over the grey stubble that covered his chin. Rick had known Mack a long time. The man was obviously working something out in his head. When he finally came to his conclusion, he floored them.

“Don’t bother. I think I know where they are.”

Every head in the room spun around to face Mack.

Rick bolted up out of his chair, knocking it over in his haste. “What? Where is she?”

Mack’s face softened for a beat, then he scowled at Rick, knowing exactly what Rick was thinking of doing. “We will come up with a plan,
together
, Ricochet. You will not rush out of here by yourself all half-cocked and sleep deprived. Do you hear me?”

The younger man ground his teeth together. “But—”

“No. I am ordering you to stand down until we have a plan in place. No one here is to go in alone. That is an
order
. Does everyone understand?” Mack’s stare was hard, his eyes shards of flint. C.O. McEvoy was in charge, and after years in the various branches of the military, every man in the room was trained to follow his every order.

“Yes sir.” A practiced chorus of shouts went out.

“Rick?” Mack raised an eyebrow at the scowling man who was still standing rigid, his fists clenched at his sides.

Rick couldn’t believe Mack was tying his hands like this. His need to get to Quinn had him halfway out the door already. But his brain knew that it would be dangerous to go in blind, so reluctantly, he acquiesced. “Yes sir.”

“Good. Tucker, get me a map of Dawsonville, specifically the northeast side of the lake and get it up on the big screen. Rick, is there any paperwork in there regarding the sale of Quinn’s house?”

Rick flipped through the stack, handing Mack a document from Quinn’s lawyer about a real estate agent.

Tucker leapt from his seat to pull up the map. Less than two minutes later, the image was on the giant television screen mounted on the wall of the conference room.

Rick was just about ready to jump out of his skin. The urge to scream in frustration was pushing at his chest, itching to burst out like that creature in that movie,
Alien
.

Mack pushed a button on the phone to speak to Tucker in Mission Control. “Zoom in on the upper third of the map.” The roads and buildings grew larger. “Now on the lower right quadrant.” The screen complied with each directive until Mack pointed at the only house left in the frame. “There, that’s Quinn’s father’s house. Where she grew up. It matches the address on this document.” Mack made eye contact with each one of his agents. “I’ve been to that house before. It’s been a few years, but I remember it well. Now, let’s figure out how we’re going to get this shitbag.”

Rick exhaled in relief.
This
was the break he was waiting for.

Crying was a big mistake, Quinn thought as she stared into the blackness that surrounded her. Now, she wasn’t just sore all over, but her one good eye was swollen as well and her possibly broken nose was leaking copious amounts of mucus and blood. She used the washcloth to wipe it and gasped. Quinn literally saw stars when she lightly touched the end of her nose.

Yep, probably broken.

It wouldn’t be the first time Travis broke her nose. That wasn’t what hurt so badly. It was the mental anguish that pained her. Quinn had truly believed she would never have to go through this again. That she was so wrong, about everything, was devastating. Her lip started to quiver at the thought of Travis, about how she was never going to be rid of him. Not until one of them was dead. Unfortunately, it was looking more and more as if she would be the one to go first.