Run to Me (3 page)

Ethan flipped the phone open. “Yeah?”

“Nice to know your phone etiquette hasn’t changed.”

As Ethan settled back into his seat, his mouth kicked up into a grin. “Heard you got married, old man.”

Noah McCall snorted. “Old man, hell. You’re a year older.”

“Yeah, but at least I’m not tied to a ball and chain.”

Extreme satisfaction tinged McCall’s voice. “You’ve met my wife. No ball and chain could ever be so beautiful.”

Remembering the petite, dark-haired beauty Noah had once ordered him to protect, Ethan had to agree. “You’re right about that. I understand you’re going to be a dad, too. Having over a hundred adopted kids not enough for you?”

“You guys all grew up and left me. At least with a baby, I can have a few extra years.”

“Congratulations. I’m happy for you.” Ethan meant that sincerely. No one deserved happiness more than the man who’d saved so many.

“Thanks. Now, tell me how you’re doing.”

“Fine … till Gabe showed up.”

“I knew you’d want the opportunity.”

“Hell, you knew I couldn’t turn it down.” Ethan picked up a photo again. The expressionless face still bothered him. “You got any more intel?”

“Another abduction last night. Wealthy American’s wife. Taken outside a shopping mall in San Diego. No ransom demand yet, but the abduction’s similar to all the others. Meaning it’ll take another day before we find out how much they want.”

“Shea involved in this one, too?”

“Looks like it … from what we can see from the security cameras in the parking lot.”

A thought came to him, something he hadn’t asked before. “And they’ve all been returned, after the ransom’s delivered?”

“Of the ones we believe Rosemount’s responsible for, all but one was returned.”

“What happened?”

“Not sure. Her body washed up on a beach in Florida. Throat sliced open.”

Ethan rubbed the persistent throb between his eyes. “Was Shea involved in that one?”

“Don’t know. The victim was nabbed outside a friend’s home. No cameras available. There was a request for money … it wasn’t paid in time.”

“Hell,” Ethan said quietly, “he was making a point.”

“Yeah, not one we want to see repeated.”

“The ones returned … they couldn’t help?”

“No. Drugged and blindfolded the entire time.”

“How many have been taken so far?”

“With this particular pattern, seven that we know of.”

“All American?”

“Only two from the U.S. … including the one last night. One from Italy … the rest from Mexico.”

“And you’re sure it’s Rosemount’s group?”

“Oh yeah, we’ve seen several of his henchmen. Took us some time, but we were finally able to track one of them. Lost him for a while, then our people picked up his trail in Ixtapa.”

“And Shea’s been involved in two … make that three … after last night?”

“We’ve got positive intel on those three, not sure about any others.” McCall blew out a long sigh. “You know her better than anyone. You think it’s possible she’s turned?”

“Not just no. Hell no. She’s gone deep cover … that’s the only explanation. Cole’s death messed her up.” Ethan was grateful that Noah didn’t say the obvious. Cole’s death had affected someone other than Shea. “Shea always acted first and thought later. And you know deep cover was never her strong point. She’s probably in so deep, she can’t get out. But no way in hell would she turn.”

“I trust your judgment. You got everything you need?”

“Got an exact location yet?”

“Not yet. Last time our people checked in, Ixtapa was still as close as they’d gotten. They’ll be waiting on the ground for you and should have more by now.”

“Good.”

“Sure you don’t want Gabe with you?”

“No, it’s best I go in alone.”

“I don’t want you sacrificing yourself. You can’t get her out, make damn sure you get out alive.”

Ethan didn’t bother to respond. If Shea was no longer on this earth, he didn’t see much point in being on it either. He’d just make sure he took Rosemount with him.

“I’ll be in touch when I can.”

McCall ended the call with a gruff “See that you are.”

Picking up another photograph, Ethan tried to read something in her expression. There had to be something … anything that would give him an idea of what was going on in that beautiful head. The photograph was black and white, so her vibrant colors didn’t show. Shea had startling green eyes and deep, rich auburn hair. But still, there should be something … some kind of emotion or expression. There was nothing. She looked like a beautiful doll.

What had happened to the vivacious, emotional woman who could laugh or cry with such ease? He remembered being completely stunned the first time he saw her cry. Ignoring his grumblings, she’d dragged him to a chick flick with a happy ending. The theater had been dark, so it wasn’t until they were walking to the car that he saw her frantically wipe at her eyes, as if she didn’t want him to notice.

Seeing Shea cry had done something to his heart that day. Melted it? Who the hell knows. He remembered grabbing her shoulders and pulling her to his chest. She’d broken down then, soaking his shirt. He’d held her, kissed the top of her head from time to time, and relished every tear she shed. A part of him envied the ability she had of so freely expressing her emotions. Wondered how that would feel.

He always thought that might have been the day he’d tumbled off the precipice and fallen completely in love with her. Only to crash and burn a few years later.

“Mr. Bishop, we’re landing.”

He nodded at the flight attendant, gathered the reports and photographs, and slid them back into the large envelope. Tonight, when he was alone, he’d take them out and try to make sense out of the unexplainable.

The plane made a soft bounce against the tarmac, and within minutes, Ethan was saying good-bye to the small crew and heading down the stairway toward the man and woman waiting for him.

The man, medium height with a handlebar mustache and a wide smile, greeted him, “Ethan, good to see you. I’m Gibson.” He gestured to a tall, slender woman. “This is Maria.”

Ethan shook their hands, accustomed by now to hearing only first names. LCR often used fake names, so he doubted either had used their real ones.

“Good flight?” Gibson asked.

Ethan jerked his head in a nod. “I understand there was another incident last night?”

Gibson waved his arm toward a dark green SUV gleaming in the late-afternoon sun. “Let’s get out of this heat. We just got some new information I think you’ll be pleased to see.”

Ethan hadn’t even noticed the warmth of the day, but poor Gibson’s mustache drooped with sweat. He headed for the vehicle and jumped into the front passenger seat, not for the first time appreciating the powerful influence of LCR. Bypassing customs was one of the many perks operatives were allowed.

While Maria drove, Gibson handed him a packet and updated him on what they’d learned. “We believe she’s in a compound about thirty miles outside Ixtapa. Of course, the land belongs to a corporation buried within other corporations, but we’re almost certain Rosemount owns the property.”

“And Shea’s been seen at the compound? We got anybody on the inside?”

Maria shot Ethan a regretful look. “Our people have seen someone who strongly resembles Shea walking around the perimeter, but we’ve been unable to infiltrate the compound. We’ve seen Rosemount’s men go back and forth, so we’re fairly sure he’s been there. Since the man is almost a complete recluse and none of us knows what he really looks like, we, of course, can’t verify that.”

Ethan nodded, aware that this was how Donald Rosemount had avoided capture for so long. Only those people who worked for him knew what he looked like. The ones who no longer worked for him no longer lived. An added danger for Shea. Getting her out was one thing, but if she’d seen Rosemount, and Ethan assumed she had, the bastard wouldn’t rest until Shea was dead.

“The woman abducted last night … the one from San Diego. We have anything on her yet?”

Maria shook her head. “No ransom demand yet. We’re still a few hours from that.”

Ethan glanced up from the photographs of Rosemount’s compound. “He doesn’t bring them to his compound?”

“No. We believe he keeps them close to where he had them taken. That way, he can return them without too much difficulty. It works very well for him,” Gibson said.

“And Shea was definitely involved in the one last night?”

He was handed a single photo, showing Shea following a slightly heavy, middle-aged woman in a parking lot. “That’s Cynthia Miller. Shea followed her inside the mall. When Mrs. Miller came out, Shea was behind her. Then two men and Shea grabbed her and forced her into a van.”

Ethan’s stomach clenched. Just what did Shea think she was doing? Going after Cole’s murderer was one thing, but terrorizing and abducting women? How had she gotten so deep that she was actually doing the exact thing she’d fought so hard to shut down? What the hell had happened?

“Ethan, you with me?” Gibson asked.

“Yeah, sorry. What?”

The sympathetic smile the older man flashed told Ethan that Gibson knew something of his and Shea’s history. “I was just saying that this vehicle is for your use. We don’t anticipate Shea returning to the compound at least until tomorrow afternoon, so you have time to go over the maps and reports, scope out the location, and cement the details of your rescue plan.”

Nodding, Ethan turned his gaze back to the approaching darkness. He’d come here to save Shea or die trying. This was a possible one-way trip for him, and Ethan accepted that as his due. He’d taken so much from her. The least he could do was give her his life if necessary.

Sleep always came fast and deep, like dropping off the edge of a cliff and free-falling into black velvet nothingness. No dreams or memories encroached on her unconscious mind. When something covered her face, seconds passed before she comprehended the meaning. Then adrenaline surged, racing through her. Forearms braced against the bed, she tried to shoot straight up, ready to dispatch whoever had been sent to test her, possibly kill her. The hand over her mouth was strong. The big body lying on her powerful. Did he plan to use her before he killed her? That was different from the others, but not surprising. Another test … one she would win … ensuring another victory for her master.

She bucked up against the hard body. The hand on her mouth didn’t allow speech, but she had nothing to say to this man. He had come here to teach her a lesson; she would do her best to make sure he learned his own.

Warm breath caressed her ear. “Shea … it’s me. I’m taking you out of here. Understand?”

Since he lay still, she assumed he was waiting for an answer. She nodded.

As if her acquiescence was all he wanted, he lifted his body and sat beside her. She rolled away and grabbed her gun from under the pillow in one motion. Standing on the other side of the bed, she pointed it at the dark figure.

“What are you doing?” The voice a harsh whisper. “It’s me, Shea. Ethan.”

That deep, gravelly voice … did it sound familiar? Did she know an Ethan? As her hand held the gun steady and pointed toward the shadowed image, her bare feet padded cautiously around the bed. She wanted to get closer, to see if she somehow recognized him.

“Put the gun down. Now.” The tone held a cold fury.

She ignored the order, took another step closer.

“I’m not going to tell you again. Put. The. Gun. Down.”

Whether she recognized that voice or not, it was filled with anger and meant her harm. She pulled the trigger.

With lightning speed, he knocked the weapon away. The gun landed with a soft thud against the plush carpet. She dove for it. The man slammed into her, covering her with his body.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” he growled.

The rage in his voice told her she would not get away from him as easily as she had from the others. She lay beneath him, quietly panting, waiting until he gave her some leeway. Then she would strike again.

He muttered, “Fuck this.”

Blinding pain struck her temple, and blackness surrounded her once more.

Rat-a-tat-tat. Rat-a-tat-tat.
Donald Rosemount jerked from a sound sleep, horror filling his gut.
Gunfire!
He sprang from the bed. Every molecule in his body filled with terror. Someone had found him. He had to get out … had to leave. He could do it. No one would see him. He could sneak out of the house, jump into his Hummer, and be gone before anyone could find his room.

Halfway across the midnight-dark room, he pulled to a stop. What was he thinking? There was no need to panic. His people would protect him … that’s why he surrounded himself with the strongest and most skilled. Their number one priority was his protection. No one could get to him, much less harm him.

Heart still pounding, he dropped to his hands and knees and scurried back to the bed.
Just in case.
Wiggling under the bed, he pulled out his Colt .357 Python. His entire body attacked by violent tremors, he struggled to get his hands wrapped securely around the weapon. Still on his knees, he peeked over the surface of rumpled covers. The gunfire sounded more distant now, as if the fight had been taken outside. Arms braced on the bed, he pointed the gun at the door. Anyone who came in would get their head blown off.

Minutes seemed like hours. Finally the gunshots ceased. Only silence remained. Were they gone? Who had it been? Had his people killed the bastards who’d dared invade his home? The big gun in his hand a reassuring reminder of his power, Donald stood and slunk across the floor, his bare feet soundless on the thick carpet. At the door, he stopped. Ear plastered against the wood, he listened. Nothing.

Cold sweat trickled down his spine. Gnawing his bottom lip nervously, he eased the door open, winced at the slight creak. He peeked out. The hallway was empty, a distant pain-filled groan the only sound to penetrate the deathlike silence. Sweaty hands wrapped around the gun, Donald ventured out. He looked left and right— still no sign of life. On tiptoes, he crept across the width of the hallway and looked down from the third-floor railing to the giant entryway. Two bodies lay on the marble floor. His men. Were they dead? Though they were replaceable, it would be inconvenient to find new ones.