Joint Forces (26 page)

Strawberry.

Her breath hitched. He heard it. A tiny gasp thing that said maybe this was okay and she wasn't saying no or pulling back. Her mouth softened a little and he leaned forward, angled his mouth over hers more fully.

She jerked away. "Ohmigod."

Crap.

Her eyes widened. She touched her lips with a hand that shook.

Double crap. He was so screwed. "I'm sorry. I'm not sure what I was thinking by—"

"I had no idea."

No idea he liked her or no idea she would like him? His heart shifted from double time to triple, pounding like the bass drum rallying the football crowd.

"Chris, you are absolutely one of my best friends in the world."

Thud. Stop. The friend word.

His heartbeat started again, slow, pushing against the ache in his chest. "Your friend, huh. Gee, thanks."

"I'm so sorry if I did anything to lead you on."

Get it together, Price. Salvage some pride. "Hey, chill. It's no big thing. I totally understand. Just thought I would see, if, well, before you move—"

"Stop, please." She clamped her hand over his mouth and blinked back tears. "God, Chris, I'm really sorry."

That she felt this bad over trampling his heart to bits notched his pride up a little. He clasped her wrist to pull it away from his face and tried not to get too hyped by the way her pulse throbbed so fast against his fingers.

He placed her hand on her knee and gave it one more hinting try. "Since you and Murdoch are hardly together anymore, I wondered—"

"Uh, Chris?" Her gaze shot down to the sticky gum before coming back up to him. She winced apologetically. "John's not here today because his dad took him for a late registration at the college I'm attending. He changed schools for me."

That was it then. Shelby was moving and John Murdoch was going with her and the guy deserved her because he'd made the tough choice to be with her. "I'm glad for you two that everything worked out."

"Are you okay?"

"Of course I'm okay. It's not as if I was in love with you or anything. I like you, all right? And I thought if Murdoch was out of the picture I'd better make my move fast before some guy moved in ahead of me. I mean, Geez, Shelby, you're hot."

She gave him a watery smile. "Okay. Enough. Stop it. And thanks."

"Sure." He tracked his eyes back to the Bazooka bubble-gum blob, not a big fan of seeing her pity-stare right this minute.

Yeah, the tree, bus stop, road hurt less to look at, especially now that he saw a Jeep rounding the corner, a guy in a flight suit driving who—the black vehicle revved closer, clearer—was Bo Rokowsky. "Hey, there's my ride. I gotta go."

Chris hooked his arm through his backpack on the ground by the bench and stood.

Rising, Shelby stopped him with a soft hand on his arm. Her eyes went from sad to kinda confused. "And Chris? About what happened just now, you know, with the kiss." Confused changed to—surprised?

"For what it's worth, you're really good at it. I mean
really
good."

Pink popped along her cheeks before she started looking over at the tree, bus stop and road before her gaze fell somewhere short of his face, more like his shoulder. "Well, uh, I need to go, okay?"

"Sure, catch up with you later." Chris shuffled backward toward the Jeep, watching until she got in her car and drove away. His dad's words niggled to the surface, bringing understanding, if not peace.

Right person. Wrong time.

He pivoted toward his ride. "Thanks for coming over, man," Chris called out. "My folks aren't answering at home or on their cell phones."

Bo downshifted to a stop. "No problem. I'm still flying the desk. Just tapped someone to cover me for a few." Snagging the green flight bag from the front seat, he pitched it into the back. "Hop on in and let's get you home."

"
R
eady whenever you are." Rena clenched her fingers in J.T.'s flight suit.

His heart pulsed steadily against her fist as she sat with winter coats and sweaters tickling her head. At least they weren't helpless anymore. They had a plan, a chance, hope. The nail file had even helped saw and pry at the persistent knots binding her wrists. They'd kept the ropes loosely in place, would soon slip her gag back up too so their captor wouldn't be alerted.

Part of her wanted to stay inside the closet until the very last second possible to stretch her time with J.T.

But they couldn't afford to wait much longer and risk Chris coming home. Already, he must be questioning why his father hadn't arrived. Please, please, please, Lord, let Chris be irresponsible and just go hang out at a friend's house.

Not something they could count on.

J.T. tunneled his fingers into her hair, locating the knot in her gag. His hands hesitated, stroked along the sensitive nape of her neck. "I'm proud of you, babe, and how you handled that bastard out there. We have this chance because of your quick thinking."

"I hope it's enough." She allowed herself one precious last minute to look at J.T.'s face in the dim light, checked that he wasn't hiding some injury from her. His pupils appeared evenly dilated … but his eyes seemed different somehow, distant. Not cold, but focused, steely.

Ready for battle.

And finally she understood about that mental switch of his. How could she have lived with this man, slept with him for twenty-two years, carried his children, and never have seen such an integral part of him?

How utterly ridiculous to think that even though her mind had always understood he served in the military, until now she'd never known the warrior. She'd prided herself on her love for this man, only to find she'd missed out on half of who he was.

Footsteps sounded.

Rena startled.

J.T. lifted the bandanna. "Time's up, babe."

Panic, adrenaline, resolve washed through her like sheeting rain. She wanted to shout for fate to wait.

She needed another moment to process these new emotions, just one minute.

Thudding steps grew closer, louder.

Eyes closing, J.T. slumped back against the wall, but with adjustments, angled to spring faster.

The door jerked open. Their captor's body blocked the bulk of the light, only a few beams streaking around him. Even so, spots danced in front of her eyes, finally clearing.

"You." He pointed the gun dead center toward her chest. "Get up."

Why was he coming for them? Although this certainly worked better than concocting some reason to kick the door and draw him over.

Rena shifted awkwardly, as if straining for balance but in reality shielding her body from the gun's line of fire, shielding her baby. Giving J.T. a clear path to launch.

She could see J.T.'s muscles bunch. Anticipation pulsed from him.

"Damn it, come on," Mr. Narcissist barked, all mannerly pretenses gone. "Apparently you weren't lying, after all, about the schedule. Some guy from base just pulled up in your driveway."

What?

He waggled the gun, gesturing for her to rise. "The doorbell will be ringing any—"

The back door opened. "Mom? Dad? Everything okay? I tried to call."

Dread pierced her more effectively than any bullet. In seeking to protect one child, now she had another just as precious in danger.

Mr. Narcissist jerked to look—the perfect chance to jump him. Except now he had his gun pointed at Chris, her son standing pale-eyed and swaying in the archway from the kitchen to the hall, with Bo stunned to a stop a few steps behind him.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

"Chris, get back," she shouted.

"Don't move, pal." Gun level, the man reached down and jerked Rena to her feet. Her hands still tied slackly, she stumbled up, her knees protesting after so long folded. "I'll put a bullet right through your mother."

"Mr. Haugen?" Chris gasped.

Chris's boss? Hadn't that guy already been questioned in regards to the Miranda Casale issue?

And likely released. Hell
and
damn. Their hope of getting out alive evaporated now that they had a name for their attacker. He couldn't let them live. And obviously everyone would know that.

An exasperated sigh slid through the mask right before he peeled it off, sandy-colored hair standing on end. "You never could learn when to keep your mouth shut, could you, pal?"

Kurt Haugen pitched aside the mask, grabbing her arm again before she could inch more than a whisper away. The barrel of the gun cut into her side. She didn't dare risk more movement even with his attention focused on Chris and Bo.

She stole a quick check on J.T. in the closet. His eyes opened, not much but enough for her to know he was awake and plotting. He stared straight at her, two fingers flicking. She frowned. He repeated the flicking gesture until she understood.

He wanted her to lead the man away, keep him occupied. Give J.T. a chance to slip out and catch him unaware.

At least that's what she hoped he meant.

They had a single edge. Haugen didn't know J.T. was awake and untied—an edge that wouldn't last long once Haugen regrouped.

She prayed Chris wouldn't ask about his father and remind the man. "Hon, I'm okay. Everything will be fine as long as we stay calm. And now that Bo's here, maybe he can help Mr. Haugen with the information he needs. Is your flight bag in the kitchen or the Jeep?"

"Whoa. Hold on a minute" Haugen interrupted with an easygoing smile, as if doing nothing more than asking friends to wait up for him on the golf course. "Nobody goes anywhere unless I say so. And I say we go to the kitchen and figure out what the hell's going on."

He jerked her forward—without sparing so much as a backward glance at J.T.—and ushered them all into the kitchen.

"I had a good thing going, pal," Haugen tsked at Chris, "until you opened your mouth." Frowning, he glanced back over his shoulder.

J.T.

She had to keep this guy talking. Narcissists loved to talk about themselves, right? "What do you mean, a good thing?"

"The drug running, of course. Well, until your kid got weirded out by moving a little money for us. Geez, we would have paid him well. The two military dudes were more than happy to figure out a way to pay their maxed credit cards."

"Why not leave the country? Why take a chance breaking into our house, holding us this way? It sounds like you're smarter than that." Keep talking. Cover noises.

"Because I can't just run off, even if there was somewhere to hide from my boss. I'm accountable to people, people who expect something from me on this end—which I will have once I have the flight schedule. The feds are getting a little too snoopy after those surveillance flights. Once I have the schedule in hand, we can reroute our guys' paths and times accordingly for a final big payoff. Then the family will relocate me."

Like a kaleidoscope, his words and images jumped in her mind—drugs, family, threats, emblems…

Her gaze dropped back to his belt buckle. Finally she remembered why it had seemed so familiar painted on the brick. "Ohmigod."

The red circle, black triangle inside.

Revulsion shuddered through her. She knew exactly where she'd spotted those markings before, symbols that were well-kept secrets known only to those on the inside. This insignia represented one of the most powerful Mob families.

A perverted coat of arms she'd seen as a child while peeking through the banister rails at her father's

"business" guests.

* * *

Haugen stood in the kitchen archway with Rena at his side. He jammed his gun deeper in her side.

J.T.'s hands fisted. He channeled the rage, training never more important than now.

Instincts. Breathe. Assess.

Rena asked Haugen some question that left the man furrowing his forehead in concentration. Good job, babe.

Sliding into the hall, J.T. kept his observation peripheral now. No looking at the bastard and setting off the internal radar that might cause him to check his six o'clock.

Haugen chuckled. "So you recognize my belt buckle, Mrs. Price. Not many would. Maybe it was a little egotistical of me to place it on my calling card through your window, but I figured your son would make the connection with Miranda's necklace."

J.T. processed the periphery view. Rena and Haugen in the doorway. Chris by the table. Bo, to Rena's right, by the refrigerator. Moving infinitesimally. Trying to work a rescue solo? Or had he seen J.T.? And what about Chris?

Come on, somebody. Get back to distracting Haugen. J.T. wound his way through the hall, grateful for the clutter and oversize plants that provided a helluva lot more cover than desert. This was his turf, damn it.

Chris backed until his butt bumped the counter. "You've been running drugs? And now you're going off with Miranda Casale?"

"Miranda?" Haugen's face whipped up, his body moving forward, deeper into the kitchen—way to go, Chris. "God, no. Aside from the fact that she's the don's niece, I love my wife. Why would I screw around with Miranda Casale? Besides, she's too young and too obvious. She was sent down to keep an eye on her uncle's interests."

Rena leaned on her right foot, the gun barrel inching out of her side. "If you love your wife, how could you leave her like this?"

Damn straight, Rena. Good men don't leave their women behind. He heard the message loud and clear, and wouldn't be repeating his mistake.

"I'm taking my wife and daughter with me."

Bo stepped closer. "Your wife's a part of this, too?"

J.T. flattened his back to the wall. Angled around a picture frame. Only five more steps and he would be hidden on the side of the archway. Out of Haugen's sight line.

"Of course not." Haugen looked past Rena to Bo, the man's gestures growing more erratic as Rena, Chris and Bo had him ping-ponging responses around the room. "They think it's a family vacation. No need to worry them. I'll explain things when we get … where we're going. They'll realize I did this for them, to give them the things they deserve. I'd do anything for them."