Promise Broken (The Callahan Series) (15 page)

Mark bit the man’s hand.

“Ow! You little bastard.” He slapped Mark in the face.

“Mom!”

Phyl made for her son. “Mark!”

“Stand back, or he’ll really get hurt.”

She halted herself mid-step. “Are you all right?” she asked, her eyes pleading for him to be good and not give this man reason to hurt him again.

His hand over his cheek, he nodded. But the tears in his eyes said otherwise.

Phyl took a deep breath. Anger propelled her toward the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Do you want what that no-good-son-of-a-bitch had or not?” she asked with as much conviction as she could muster. This man couldn’t be here when Donovan got back, and maybe she could talk him into leaving Mark behind.

“Where is it?”

“California,” she said. “Let’s get moving.”

“Shit!” Belatedly, he pulled Mark to him again.

She stopped and turned in the doorway.

“Leave Mark here. I promise to get it for you.”

He laughed, but didn’t turn Mark loose.

Hurrying them through the rain to his car, he said, “Be good and I won’t shoot the kid.” He opened the door and shoved them into the back seat.

When the door slammed shut, she pulled Mark into her arms. He was shaking so hard his teeth chattered. She laid her head on top of his until he calmed down. Tears welled in her eyes. Anger slid through her in tumbling waves. She’d tried so hard to keep her son safe. How could she bluff her way out of this? She had no idea what this man wanted. But without it, they would die. She’d seen first hand what they were capable of.

Ignoring her wet clothes, she held Mark tight against her.

Wet clothes were the least of their worries.

She hugged Mark even tighter.

****

As Donovan drew closer to the barn, his attention slid to the corral. All of the horses had been in the barn when they left. Now he saw Casey, his mother’s horse, standing outside the corral, head down, soaked. When she saw him, she followed him to the barn.

Inside the barn, Skye stood drenched and shaking.

His heart almost burst out of his chest. Someone had ridden Mom’s horse. Maybe Phyl
had
seen a face in the window.

Whoever had ridden Casey could be in the house.

Donovan’s fear escalated.

Had Phyl had time to grab Mark? Warn his mother? Hide?

Cautiously, he slipped inside the dark house.

Silence.

Where were they?

His heart threatened to jump out of his chest.

Had they been hurt? Worse? He couldn’t wrap his head around losing them. Not his mom, not Phyl, and not Mark.

He started to call out. Something held him back. The house felt different. Smelled different.

Ignoring his wet clothing, and boots that squished with every step, Donovan walked through the kitchen. Were they upstairs? He started to go there, turned to check the living room. In the dying embers of the fireplace, he saw his mom scooting across the floor on her rear.

“What the hell…?”

He ran to her, pulled her up. The tape over her mouth made him go weak. “Sorry,” he said in warning before he jerked it off.

“Phyl…Mark…” she gasped. “A man took them at gunpoint. They’re in danger.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. Thanks to Phyl. Hurry, Donovan.”

But Donovan knew they were long gone.

After pulling off her restraints, he yanked out his cell phone. “Dugan. Get here now. Someone’s taken Phyl and Mark.”

He hung up.

Nellie came up behind him. “They’re in serious trouble, Don. If we don’t help them, I’m afraid that man will kill them.”

“Tell me everything that happened—every single word.”

When she finished, he opened his cell phone again, hit speed dial. He was pretty sure he knew where Phyl was taking the killer. In order to keep Mom safe, Phyl was leading the killer on a wild goose chase. One that could get both her and Mark killed. “Max. We have a problem. We need your help.”

Former FBI, Max still had friends in the Bureau. Donovan hoped to God they were good friends.

By the time he’d told Max Phyl’s story, Dugan was there. He had already put out an all-points bulletin on Phyl, Mark, and the man Nellie described as being around five-foot-nine, with brown hair and squinty black eyes.

Max called back minutes later. “The FBI will watch the airports in the area. If they try to get on a plane, we have them.”

“He won’t be stupid enough to get on a commercial flight,” Donovan snapped. “I’m almost positive Phyl is taking him to her house in San Diego to hand over whatever he’s after. Both she and Mark will be in big trouble if she comes up empty handed.”

“I’ll get someone on it.”

Donovan turned to his mother. “Would you book me on the next flight to San Diego? And have a rental car waiting. Make sure it has a GPS. I won’t have time to waste.”

Perhaps he’d find a clue in Phyl and Mark’s room.

As he walked into the kitchen, the lights came on. Thank God. Upstairs, he went through their things. There wasn’t much: a couple of changes of clothes and some toiletries in the bathroom. On Mark’s bed was the car he loved. He’d told Donovan that his dad gave it to him. Mom said the man wanted something Phyl’s ex gave her for safekeeping. Could he have hidden that something in the toy?

He snatched it up and thundered downstairs. Hands shaking, he sat at the kitchen table and carefully took the car apart. If anything
was
here, he’d find it.

A computer flash drive fell into his hands.

“You’re booked for a flight that leaves in two hours,” Nellie said, coming into the kitchen. “It’s the soonest I could get, but you’ll need at least an hour to get there in this weather.”

“Thanks.” He was on his way to the computer. “Pack me a change of clothes, and tell Dugan to come to the office.”

Once there, Donovan ignored his trembling fingers and inserted the flash drive into the computer. Whatever was on here had cost one man his life and was threatening two more. When the screen popped up with dozens of files and folders, his head whirled. He had no idea what he was looking at. But he knew someone who would.

Once more he dialed Max’s number. “I’m e-mailing you a packet of stuff I just found on a flash drive hidden in a toy car Phyl’s ex gave Mark. See what you make of it and call me back. I’m heading for San Diego in a few minutes. I want to know what I’m up against.”

Dugan sat down at the computer when Donovan got up, pulled up a couple of files. “Do you know what this is?”

“Not a clue.”

The phone rang. It was Max. “I forwarded your e-mail to a friend at the Bureau. They can’t believe their good luck.”

“What is it?” Donovan asked.

“More than the Bureau ever dreamed would drop in their laps.”

“Such as?”

“How about everything there is to know on the biggest drug cartel ever to hit California? With the names of everyone involved, points of entry, money-laundering information, and distribution points. It’s a bonanza.”

“A drug cartel? Holy shit. I’m out of here. There’s no one to protect Phyl. When she can’t deliver what they want, she and Mark are dead.”

“The FBI is on this. Let them handle it.”

Donovan ignored him. Quickly, he downloaded the contents of the flash drive onto his computer, ran upstairs where he changed into dry clothes, grabbed the bag his mom had packed, and headed back down again, the flash drive safely in his pocket.

Nellie met him at the foot of the stairs. “Be careful, son, and bring those two back home.”

“I intend to do just that.”

In the kitchen, Dugan blocked his way. “Leave this to the authorities. They know what they’re doing. Your interference could jeopardize everything.”

“Have you heard any more from Max?”

“So far no one matching their description has tried to board a plane.”

“They won’t drive. It would take too long.”

“The FBI is on this, Donovan. Stay here. They’ll keep us posted.”

“I can’t. Somehow, I have to get Phyl and Mark away from that man. I have what he wants.”

If he could get there in time.

Chapter Thirteen

The race to San Antonio was a study in frustration as rain, traffic, and an overwhelming fear for Phyl and Mark consumed him. With barely thirty minutes to spare, Donovan was subjected to a longer than usual security clearance. He wanted to scream, “It’s a matter of life and death,” but figured, rightly, that would only make things worse.

Once seated, he willed his nerves to calm down. It would still be hours before he got there. Only one thought comforted him. The killer wouldn’t hurt them as long as Phyl could convince him she had what he wanted.

The plane finally took off. He leaned back; shut his eyes.

What kind of man would put his family in jeopardy?

How could anyone risk everything for money? Apparently, Phyl’s ex had tried to blackmail a drug lord. How naïve was that? How naïve to blackmail anyone and think they could get by with it. But this situation could have only one guaranteed outcome—death, and the possible death of family.

Even in the face of a mother’s terror, Donovan admired the way Phyl had handled the situation at the ranch. She’d saved Mom from certain death, and did her best to talk the killer into leaving Mark behind.
She saved me
. Because sure as he was sitting there, he’d have barreled in and been shot in the process.

His heart constricted. The danger they were in right now was unimaginable.

“Are you all right, sir?”

He opened his eyes, looked into the concerned eyes of a flight attendant. “I’m fine.”

“You look a little pale. Would you like something to drink?”

“A bottle of water.”

When he took the bottle, Donovan tried to smile his thanks. Couldn’t. His face felt frozen. After a few swallows, he shut his eyes again. What was he going to do when he found them? He’d do everything in his power to trade the flash drive for their lives. He was pretty sure they were headed back to where her ex was shot, but there was always the chance he could be wrong.

His hands tightened on the bottle.

“You’re goin’ to bust that thing,” his seatmate drawled.

“Sorry.” He shut his eyes again.

He trusted Max. But he didn’t know Max’s friends in the FBI. Could he trust them to get to Phyl’s house in time? Would they have to go through hours of red tape first?

Would the plane ever get there? Had he guessed right? Or was he going to the wrong place—were the FBI going to the wrong house? Would Phyl be completely on her own when she got there?

The questions raced through his mind, driving him crazy with worry.

Unable to sit still, he made his way to the toilet.

His stomach lurched at everything that could go wrong.

Wiping his face with a wet paper towel, he stared in the mirror. No wonder everyone gave him a strange look. He looked like hell.

Hang in there, Phyl. I’m coming.

He made it back to his seat; shut his eyes again. But his thoughts stayed on the two people he’d come to care about more than life itself. Mark’s image filled his thoughts. Little everyday things, like Mark tagging along behind him. Now, he understood his dad so much better. Duncan Callahan had been and was his father. Finally, he understood. How surprising to love Mark the same as his dad had loved him. For the first time, he realized it wasn’t always a bloodline that made you love a child. Sometimes there was just a connection. He and his dad had had it, and Donovan had it with Mark.

Just that fast, Donovan knew Phyl and Mark belonged at the ranch just as much as he did. He had to get them back.

It was the longest flight in history.

****

Phyl had a hard time wrapping her mind around what was going on. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine being on a private jet taking her and Mark across country. They’d boarded the plane in San Antonio. She’d looked around, praying someone would see them. Anyone…but the man had taken them to a far tarmac where they were hustled on board without a single person paying the least bit of attention. More like people trying
not
to pay attention.

Mark was terrified. She didn’t blame him when he cried aloud to go home. “Shh,” she begged. “Not now, we’ll get home soon.” But would they? She wanted to scream and cry right along with Mark. She didn’t have what the man was after—didn’t know what it was. And didn’t know how long her bluff would work.

Mark calmed down some.

Once airborne, the man took them to the back of the plane where a large bed took up most of the space. Her thoughts skittered. He wasn’t going to rape her? Not in front of Mark.

She glared at him. “What do you want?”

“Open the closet.”

She gave him an angry look, opened the closet with cold, trembling fingers. Perhaps there would be something in there to use as a weapon. As the door opened, she realized how stupid the idea was. She was in a plane with a killer whose pilot was obviously on the same payroll. She didn’t stand a chance.

But she had to find a way to save Mark. She looked down at him, still barefoot and in his pajamas. His eyes, big and frightened, probably mirrored her own. With her clothes still damp and Mark still in his pj’s, they were a sorry looking sight, but that wasn’t her worry. She had to keep this man from killing them both when she came up empty handed.

Looking inside the closet, she gasped. A change of clothes for both her and Mark hung there.

“There’s a bathroom.” The man pointed to a door. “You might want to shower before you change.”

Now she knew the reason for so many hushed phone conversations between the killer and no doubt his boss. Whoever he was had more money than God, and didn’t mind spending it.

She didn’t want anything from them. But she had to be practical. She took a shower and changed into a pair of new jeans, a western shirt and a pair of Nikes that fit perfectly. Mark changed out of his pajamas into a pair of jeans that were a little too short and a T-shirt too tight across his shoulders. His shoes were small as well, but since he was barefoot, he put them on.