Rogue (SEAL Team: Disavowed Book 1) (20 page)

The stunt he’d asked Maisey to perform would have been no big deal for him or any of the guys on his team, but for a woman who’d just had a baby—while carrying that baby—all he could do was pray it hadn’t been too much.

The guy in the Jeep honked, jolting him from his thoughts.

“Got her,” Jasper said over the radio. “Mother and son are secure.”

“Thanks, man.” Nash took a minute before pulling forward to compose himself and even his erratic breaths. “It’s showtime.”

He pulled alongside the uniformed officers who had parked their squad cars at a diagonal across the bridge. None of this was normal. No way could he see a legit unit pulling an operation like this unless under the most dire circumstances.

Nash rolled down his window. “Afternoon, officers. What’s the hold up?”

“Pardon the delay, but we’ve had word that a kidnapper may be heading this way. As a courtesy, we’re checking all vehicles for the infant. Are you driving alone?”

“Yessir.”

“Where you headed?” While the short, pockmarked man asked questions, a tallish guy with a shaved head scoped out Nash’s vehicle.

“Pensacola. My wife and kids are over there, staying with her mother.”

“She doesn’t have a car to drive back on her own?”

Bald Guy walked around to the back.

“Is there a problem?” Nash asked.

“Not at all. Just making conversation.” Easy smile. “Mind removing your hat and sunglasses?”

In the side mirror, Nash noticed Bald Guy talking to the driver of the Jeep behind him. The driver gestured to the passenger side of Nash’s SUV, then shrugged.

“Sir? Sunglasses?”

“I recently had my eyes dilated, so if you don’t mind, I’ll keep them on.” He did remove his hat, then mussed his hair so that it looked nothing like the straight-laced military pic showing on the nightly news.

Shit
. The driver behind him was still animatedly chatting with Bald Guy. Had he seen Maisey’s escape?

“Am I good to go?” Despite being unable to hear his voice over his pulse, Nash strove for a casual tone. Maisey and baby Joe were safely hidden. Logically, there was no way this could go wrong. Too bad Vicente had an uncanny knack for defying logic. “My wife and kids are expecting me.”

The driver of a Pizza Hut truck further back in the line honked, then leaned out his window. “Hey! What’s the hold-up?”

“Yeah, you’re good.” The officer waved Nash through.

Nash checked his rearview to find Bald Guy chatting up Jasper.

In the whole time they’d been waiting, the police duo had never talked to more than one driver at a time. Why now?

“I said you’re good to go.” The officer double-tapped Nash’s door.

While keeping an eye on Jasper in the rearview, Nash eased down on his gas pedal. If Jasper was in trouble, he didn’t want to get too far. On the other hand, now that he had a clear escape, he wanted to be able to use it the second Jasper broke free.

Out of sight from the roadblock, since no additional cars had been allowed to pass, Nash pulled to the side.

What could be taking so long? The Jeep should have at least moved into view.

“Nash, copy?”

“I’m here. What’s wrong?”

“We’ve got—”

Nash heard a gunshot’s pop, then a squelch of feedback before the line went dead.

FROM INSIDE HER black-carpeted, coffin-shaped box, Maisey barely made out what sounded like a firecracker’s
pop
, then muffled screams.

Had that been a gunshot?

Panic set in, or maybe it had never left from her harrowing trek between vehicles. In eerie green light, she tried slowing her breathing, but it was no good. Short and choppy was the best she could do. She tried rolling onto her side, but the turn was awkward while holding Joe.

Her throat ached from the effort of holding back tears and though a fan’s reassuring drone assured her she had adequate air, her caged lungs failed to believe there could ever be enough.

Where is she?
A man she didn’t recognize shouted.

Who?
Jasper asked.
I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Get out.

No.

Maybe this will encourage you to listen?

What was the man doing? Holding a gun to Jasper’s head? Her mind’s eye conjured far more frightening images than could have possibly played out in the Hummer’s front seat—at least she prayed the worst wasn’t truly happening.

What the hell, man? What’s your badge number? I’m turning you in for police brutality and harassment.

My badge number is Smith and Wesson. Where’s the girl?

I already told you, I don’t know.

Another pop. This one close enough to make Maisey’s ears ring.

To keep from crying, she clamped her hand over her mouth.

But then the baby released a few fitful cries, and she was flipping him onto his belly, pressing his sweet face between her breasts. She whispered, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

What was that?

What? Geez, you’re psycho.

Get out of the vehicle. I’m not fooling around.

Good, because neither am I.

Another pop sounded, then the engine revved.

Stop him!

Pop, pop, pop.

Maisey bit her lip to keep from crying out. But then she was flung back by the sudden forward momentum. Feet braced against the box’s lowest edge, she held Joe tight while gripping a metal bar mounted on the box’s side.

Joe bawled.

“It’s all right,” she assured, even though he had every reason to cry.

Eyes squeezed shut, her mind’s eye saw Nash. He’d promised not to let anyone hurt her, and she believed him.

Somehow, someway, he’d make good on his promise to see her safely through to the end of Vicente’s twisted power game.

When this was over, she’d apologize to him for her previous selfish attitude. Of course, he missed his wife. He wouldn’t be the man Maisey had always loved if he hadn’t.

When the vehicle’s motion evened out, she calmed herself and her son. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Once we’re safe, we’re going to have an epic cuddle session. Maybe we’ll even convince Nash to join in?”

However long he needed to feel right about being with her, Maisey would wait. She’d been responsible for them ever having broken up in the first place. The least she could do was give him the space he now needed.

Her breathing had almost returned to normal when she heard more pops—only this time, in a machine gun’s rapid fire.

WHEN JASPER HAD for all practical purposes shoved the Jeep out of his way, since he’d backtracked, Nash had a front row view.

Had Maisey and her baby not been in the car, he might have applauded Jasper’s bold escape, but with so much at stake, he’d damned near bit through his tongue. He made a U-turn, then waited for the Hummer to pass before assuming the backup position to fend off the inevitable repercussions.

Jasper pitched a destroyed radio from his window before flashing Nash a cocky grin and thumbs-up. Had Vicente’s goons shot it?

Nash wished he felt more positive about the afternoon’s events, especially when Vicente’s guys—no way were they actual cops—flipped on their lights and sirens to give chase.

Jasper set the pace at one-twenty on the lonely stretch of road.

The scammy cops easily followed in a single car with the bald guy popping off shots out his window.

Considering the odds of the goon actually hitting any target at that speed, Nash wasn’t too concerned until his adversaries pulled out a freaking submachine gun. One or more shots connected with the rear window and the glass shattered.

Swell
. . .

At their high speed, they’d caught up with traffic, and were forced to slow in order to safely zig and zag between mini-vans crammed with kids. Traveling salesmen and massive tractor trailer rigs. In that instant, never had Nash hated a man more than Vicente. What was the point of any of this?

Assuming Vicente’s ultimate goal was to get his hands on his son, he sure had a funny way of accomplishing the task. Did the idiot realize how much danger he was landing his little guy in? Did he care? Or was this all about control? Proving he was the bigger man?

Endless miles later, Jasper took the first exit they came to.

Nash followed.

Oddly enough, Vicente’s bogus cops did not.

What was that about?

Jasper drove ten miles back from the freeway until reaching a combo gas station and convenience store.

By the time Nash parked his ride and killed the engine, he trembled to such a degree he was afraid he might not be able to walk.

Maisey and the baby stood alongside the Hummer.
Safe
.

When he’d thought those guys would get past him to unleash their fury on Maisey and her son and his best friend, Jasper, pure panic had set in.

“Nash! You’re alright.” Clutching her baby, Maisey ran to him, and he hugged her close, burying his face in her hair, breathing in her lilac scent. “I was so scared.”

He tightened his hold until Joe squirmed between them.

“Sorry, fella.” Nash backed away.

“He’s okay,” Maisey said. “Thanks to Jasper, we’re both fine.” She hugged Nash’s friend, then stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

Jasper reddened, then held up his hands, teasing, “Back off the merchandise. Wanna get me shot by your glaring man?”

“My man, huh?” Maisey beamed. “I like the sound of that.”

Nash didn’t. He was beyond relieved she and the baby were safe, but that didn’t mean this nightmare was over. “Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but does anyone else find it strange how easily Vicente’s men backed off? Almost as if they were—”

“Leading you into a trap?” Vicente, dressed in a white linen suit with a yellow tie and matching pocket square, stepped out from around the back of the shabby building. “Bravo. I do love a worthy adversary.”

Nash had been too intent on seeing Maisey to have noticed the tail-end of a black limo stretching out from behind the seedy, cement-block structure.

“And Maisey . . .” He held out his arms. A diamond-drenched watch sparked in the blazing sun. “It seems like a lifetime since I last saw you. And now, you’ve gifted me with my son. How can I ever thank you?”

“Let us go, Vicente. End the senseless killing. You didn’t need to kill Delia.”

“Was that her name? I’ll start a scholarship program in her honor.”

Nash clenched his teeth while Vicente fingered one of Maisey’s curls, then skimmed his fingertips over the crown of little Joe’s head. Nash would have lunged for the monster’s throat, but five men trailed their boss. All held their guns on Maisey.

“She was a beauty, but nowhere near as lovely as you.”

Maisey spit on him.

He calmly took a white handkerchief from the chest pocket of his coat and wiped his cheek clean. “Interesting story—my wife makes these hankies for me by the dozens. She comes from a highly traditional family. Her mother made her father’s handkerchiefs and it means the world to her to continue that tradition in our marriage.”