vittanos willow (24 page)

Chantoya wrestled with her exhaustion as she searched valiant-

ly for the keys. They were shoved between the visor and roof. A prayer

of thanks went from her lips to heaven as she put the key in and turned.

Click.

Click.

Her heart plummeted. “Come on,” she coaxed and tried again.

Click.

Click.

Light flooded the entire area and CJ forced back her scream of

terror and frustration as a large figure appeared on the porch.

Click.

Click.

Tears began to fall as each repeated attempt to start the Jeep

failed.

Stay or run.

Fight or flight.

Die on his terms or perhaps make it out alive.

Her decision made, CJ crawled across to the passenger seat and

shoved it open before bolting back out into the snow.

“Chantoya!” The deep voice seemed to travel on the wind to her

ear. “Don’t run from me!”

A quick glance over her shoulder was all she afforded him. Then

she continued her quest to the tree line.
If I can make it there, I stand a

chance.

They loomed before her. The flood lights cast weird shadows

around their gnarled figures.

Keep going, CJ!

It was whisper quiet and if not for the sting, CJ wouldn’t have

even known she had been hit. Reaching up, she felt her fingers close

around a dart imbedded in her neck.

With fading consciousness, she looked in the direction it came

from and saw the big figure loading another dart as he approached.

Her body crumpled to the snowy ground; and as the darkness

took over, she heard. “I told you not to run from me, Chantoya.”

Then there was peaceful nothingness.

Ross Connelly threw open the door to the free weight room at

the gym, his gray eyes searching for someone. “Osten!” he yelled as he

moved toward the man he sought. “Baby Boy!”

The Italian lay on his back, working the bench press. “What’s

up, Jeb?” he asked without breaking off his effortless motion.

“Trouble?”

“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you.”

“My phone and beeper are in my locker.” Osten put the bar on

the holder and sat up, grabbing the white towel beside him to wipe

away the sweat from his face. He looked at his friend and teammate

and frowned at the expression that met his inquiring gaze. “What’s

going on?”

“It’s Chantoya.”

A feeling of dread settled about him. “What about her?”

“She’s missing.”

Those two words nearly floored him. She’s missing. Missing?

His beautiful CJ? “Chantoya?” His fingers tensed around the terrycloth

towel he held.

“Dez just called me. She said she stopped by to drop something

off and,” Ross paused, “there were cops there. She found signs of a

struggle and another teacher was dead—shot twice.”

Osten felt his face compose into a mask as his mind sorted

through the information he was receiving. “I have to go,” he stated as

Ross walked with him to his locker.
Shot twice…another teacher…who?

“Call us with news,” Ross said as Osten slammed his locker

shut.

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Aliyah Burke

Slipping on his jacket, Osten nodded. “I will.” Then he was

gone, off sprinting to his car. The second he got off base, he put the

accelerator to the floorboard and tore off toward her apartment.

Osten was near to a dead run by the time he got of his car to CJ’s

door. Dezarae was standing near with Thurston and Ajani, but broke

away to come to him. The two brothers looked beyond worried as they

waited for some form of news.

“Osten,” Dezarae said as his arms enfolded her.

“What the hell is going on, Dez?” Osten watched as CJ’s broth-

ers approached as well.

“Osten,” Ajani said. Thurston merely sent him a brief nod.

“Tell me what I can do,” Osten commanded.

Thurston kept one eye on policemen who seemed to be growing

in number around them. “Marvin Whittle is dead. Apparently, he was

working a sting that involved another teacher. Unfortunately that is all

they are willing to tell us; they seem to be asking more than they are

willing to tell.”

Osten’s heart plummeted.
What was going on?
“Which teacher?”

Even as he asked, he had a sinking feeling he already knew.

“That’s not your business,” a new voice interrupted. “Identify

yourself.”

Osten met the gaze of a woman in a power suit. He smelled FBI.

“What are the Feds doing here?”

If the woman was shocked he had figure it out, she didn’t show

it. “Who are you? I’m not asking again,” she snapped.

“I’m her boyfriend.”

“Really?” The tone was skeptical. “And where were you last

night?” Her hands flipped through a notebook, getting to the page she

wanted. The click of a pen echoed in his ears.

Osten stared at her. She arched a brow, glanced at the paper and

said, “Petty Officer Second Class Osten Scoleri of the United States

Navy. Navy SEAL.” Her blank stare looked back at him. “You could

have done this.”

To be fair, this woman didn’t elicit a reaction from Osten, either.

“I was on base doing a training operation. I didn’t do this.”

Dezarae backed him immediately. “Of course you didn’t! Osten

would
never
hurt her!”

Dispassionate blue eyes moved between the four people there.

“We’ll need to ask you some more questions. Make sure you don’t leave

town.”

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159

Osten didn’t bother watching the Fed walk away, instead turn-

ing to Dezarae and CJ’s brothers. “Talk.”

Ajani left to intercept another agent and obtain more informa-

tion, so it was Thurston filled him in. “Marvin Whittle was after a

teacher who…” he trailed off, not wanting to think about it and his

sister in the same thought.

“Gordon?” Osten questioned. It was an answer that made sense

to him, for Gordon had popped into CJ’s room a few times while Osten

had been there. Being trained to observe helped, for Osten knew most

people wouldn’t think anything of those meetings. In fact, on the bare

surface, the meetings had been benign, but apparently something in his

subconscious thought to retain those instances.

CJ had told me he was married, so I backed off…maybe I shouldn’t

have—his looks had been a little too long for someone who claimed to be madly

in love with someone else.

Thurston’s gaze zeroed in on him. “Do you think so?”

“Yes,” another voice butted in. “Do you think so and why

would you say that?”

Osten took his eyes off the tall Nordic brother of his love and

placed them on the new intruder. A skinny man with graying hair and a

pock-marked faced stood there. The eyes that stared back at him were

sharp and assessing.

“Well?” the man reiterated.

“Just a thought.” Osten let go of Dez who ran over to the newly

arrived Ross.

“How long have you know the missing woman?” the question

came.

Osten swung dark eyes to the man and stepped toward him

with slow, barely concealed rage. “Missing woman?” he asked in a

deceptively modulated tone. “That
missing woman
has a name. Chan-

toya Jackson. She’s not just another statistic. She is a well-loved wom-

an.”

Thurston reached out and touched Osten’s shoulder. It got the

message through. Osten didn’t adjust his stance in anyway but he was

calmer. Relaxing his jaw a bit, he took a deep breath.

“I say that because—” Osten felt his pager vibrate and without

hesitation he pulled it off and read the number displayed on the screen.

“I have to go.”

Osten patted Thurston’s arm. “I’ll be by later.” He glanced

around the apartment; he had been denied the opportunity to look over

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Aliyah Burke

himself. At that moment, he made a promise to himself CJ would be

brought home. Moving toward Ross and Dez, he placed a quick kiss on

Dezarae’s cheek before disappearing from view with Ross.

Five hours later, a worried Osten knocked on the heavy door be-

fore him. The hope on Ajani’s face died as he saw Osten standing there.

“Come on in, Osten.” Ajani stepped back into the foyer and waved the

Italian inside his home.

The tension in the house was stifling. Ajani led the way past a

room with FBI personnel hanging out in it, milling around devices set

up in case the kidnapper called and demanded ransom.

Osten noticed the same man and woman who had spoken
at
him

in CJ’s apartment.
Not her place now, a crime scene. A kidnapping scene. A

murder scene.
He knew they were watching him carefully.

“Anything?” Osten asked as Thurston sent him a tense smile

while he placed a glass of water before him.

“Not yet,” Ajani answered. His fingers trailed absently around

the rim of the glass in front of him.

“Binh caught the first flight out, so he should be here in a while.

There hasn’t been any ransom demand and…” Thurston trailed off,

looking extremely vulnerable.

“What have the Feds said?” Osten questioned and then took a

drink.

“Not a god-damn thing,” Ajani swore as his fist pounded the

wood table. “It’s my sister and
they
won’t tell me anything!”

“We don’t know anymore than you do,” the older federal agent

interrupted. “We have to wait. I’m sorry. I know this is difficult but—”

“Bullshit!” Osten snapped. “That is such crap!” He finished his

water and stood, hands resting on the table. “You’re lying.”

Ajani and Thurston watched the interaction.

“Why would I lie?” The man had his hands clasped behind him.

Osten scoffed. “Aside from the fact you’re a Fed? Well, how

about if Marvin Whittle
was
under at the school, then you know his

intended target or at least a profile of said person. The mere fact this

person killed one of your own means revenge is first and foremost on

your agenda.”

Pushing away from the table, Osten moved around until he was

before the agent and spoke so lowly only he and the other man could

hear. “And I know that means CJ’s life isn’t top priority for you. You

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161

are willing to write her off as expendable.” Osten’s tone dropped and

grew even harder. “I’m not.”

The agent looked down at the unwavering stare. “Do you know

something that may be pertinent to this case?”

“Other than she felt someone was following her? That there

were cameras in her house so she could be observed at any time she

was home? The incident with the Rohypnol? No, I wouldn’t presume to

know anything that you don’t already know.”

“Cameras?” The man flipped through his notes. “I didn’t know

about any cameras.”

“It was a while ago and we got rid of them,” Osten explained to

her brothers. “I thought she told you.”

Fury raged in both black and blue eyes as her brothers shook

their heads. “No. She didn’t,” Thurston clipped out.

Leaning against a counter, Osten put his eyes back on the agent.

“Who are you?”

“Special Agent Marks.”

“Okay, Special Agent Marks, tell me what you know—

everything—about Gordon Blake.”

CJ felt lethargic. Light-headed. Nauseous. And a whole slew of

things she figured it would take too much energy to identify.

The blankets she was tucked in smelled familiar to her. It was

the gentle scent that she used as fabric softener. Comfort settled around

her as she figured she had just experienced one hell of a nightmare.

Moving slowly, she sat up in the bed and saw she was dressed

in black boxers and a white tee shirt. No shoes or socks were on her feet.

“Damn!” she muttered, realizing it wasn’t an unfortunate

dream. Sunlight shone in through the tall window, filling the room with

its wintry glow.

A cabin. A nice one but still a log cabin. Thick rugs were placed

on the floor and they banished the chill from her feet.

CJ walked to the large window and peered out—nothing but

forest as far as she could see. Well, forest and snow. She had no idea

where she was.

After a quick search of the room told her there were no more

clothes to be found, she went to the door and opened it. Was this the

same place she had tried to run from before? Her instincts told her yes.

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Aliyah Burke

And they nagged her about something else…something she

didn’t want to acknowledge. Shoving the uncomfortable thought to the

back of her mind, CJ moved down the silent hall.

She passed a bathroom and another room whose door was

locked. CJ made no noise as she waited at the edge of the living room.

No one was in sight, but…she had no idea of where to go once she was

outside. What she wore was all she had against the wintry elements,

and she didn’t see any boots by the door to protect her feet.

Still, she had to try.

CJ opened the door slowly. The frigid air blasted her. She

gripped the wool blanket she had taken from the back of the couch and