Long Gone (4 page)

Silencing his footfalls as much as possible, he flew down the steps in hot pursuit. But they were already on the ground floor, now, exiting the building.

As a loud
click
signaled their departure, Drake leapt recklessly down the remaining stairs. He couldn’t let them get away. Christ, how would he ever forgive himself?

Barreling through the exit on the ground floor, he found himself in a parking lot gilded by a gray dawn. Less than thirty feet away, the man who’d been carrying
Skyler
had just unloaded her into the back of the van and was about to climb in himself.

“Hey!” Drake yelled.

The man swiveled to look at him, and Drake raised his weapon, stalking the van with determination.
“FBI!
Put your hands in the air and step away from the vehicle.”

The man assessed the immediate area, saw no one else and, with a shout at the driver, dove into the cargo area and slammed the door shut. The engine roared and the van peeled away.

Oh, hell no
. Aiming his weapon at the left rear tire, Drake fired. But in the gloom and with the van in motion, he missed. “Fuck!” His rental vehicle was parked near the front of the hotel. His odds of catching up with the van were slim, at best. 

But then a second pistol barked, and the van wobbled, but it didn’t stop. At a hampered pace, it continued to make its getaway.

Drake sprinted toward his rental, wondering who had helped him. He jumped into it, revved the engine and zipped out of his parking space, having parked tail-end-in.

As he scanned the horizon for the van’s taillights, he spied a lone figure, back-dropped by a brightening sky and standing near the lot’s exit. 

His father.
What the hell? Connor must have followed him and fired on the van after Drake missed his shot.

Too grateful to be angry, he slowed just enough to let his father in then took off before the passenger door was even shut. 

“You want to tell me who we’re after?” Connor demanded irritably.

Not really
. But now that his father was involved, Drake couldn’t bring himself to reject his help. He just hoped he didn’t end up costing both of them their careers.

“Centurion scum,” he said, keeping his gaze fixed on the dark shape of the van bumping up the four-lane highway several hundred yards ahead of them. A couple of cars and three stoplights kept them much farther back than Drake would have liked. “We can’t lose them. They’ve got
Skyler
.” His voice shook on the last sentence.   

Out the corner of his eye, Drake assessed his father’s rigid figure.

“
Skyler
Dulay
?” Connor asked in an inscrutable voice. “Last I heard she was in WITSEC.”

“She was. She called me earlier this morning, scared out of her mind that she was being followed. She said it’d happened before and that WITSEC couldn’t protect her anymore. That’s obviously the case.” It was his training that allowed Drake to speak as though his heart wasn’t sitting frozen in his chest, ready to shatter if the worst were to happen to her.

Connor scraped a hand over his bristly jaw. “I wonder what happened,” he muttered.

“That makes two of us, but I’m not going to let
Skyler
disappear in the meantime. Look,” he added well aware that he was overstepping his jurisdiction by meddling in WITSEC’s affairs, “I appreciate you helping me out back there, but it would probably be best for you if I let you out right here.”

“And let you deal with these bastards by yourself?” Connor set his jaw. “I don’t think so. They’re heading toward the highway, by the way.”  

“I can see that.” Gunning through a red light, Drake managed to avoid losing sight of the van completely as he swung down a ramp off Harrelson Blvd. onto Route 17. Gratitude toward his father sat like a fat pill in his throat—necessary for his health, but uncomfortable as hell.

“Hang back,” his father advised. “Let’s keep the element of surprise here.”

Drake slowed his speed. It was no easy feat to avoid being seen on the scantily populated, six-lane highway. Hiding
behind a semi-truck first then changing lanes
to get behind a car, he held back as far as he dared to avoid being glimpsed through the van’s side mirrors.

“I know how to do this, Dad,” he mocked. “How long has it been since you’ve been on the streets?” He immediately reined in his tongue. Now wasn’t the time to vent his bitterness, especially when his father was lending a helping hand.

Connor ignored his jibe. “I can’t believe they’re driving on a flat tire,” he commented, as they passed a strip of tire lying on the road. “So, I assume you’ve got a plan?” he asked a minute later.

Drake tightened his grip on the steering wheel. As usual, he was making this up as he went along. “I just want to get her somewhere safe,” he said. 

“And you don’t want to involve the LE, right?”

Damn right he didn’t. Local law enforcement would be out of their league and in the way. “The less people involved the better,” Drake said.

“Okay, so I counted three of them. We should take them down now, while we know what we’re dealing with.”

“You want me to push them off the road?” Drake balked at the thought. “
Skyler
could get hurt. They could use her as a hostage.”

“True.” Connor crossed his arms and frowned. “Plus, I’d like to know where the hell they’re headed.”

“Next exit,” Drake supplied, as the van gave every indication of exiting the highway.

He edged into the left lane, making it look like he planned to go straight. At the last second, he horsed across three lanes of traffic and up the ramp just in time to see the van lumber down a long, tree-lined road. The last of the tire was peeling away, and the rim sparked on asphalt.

Braking at the stop sign, Drake waited for the van to slip around a curve before accelerating after it.

By the time he got close enough to see it
again,
it was listing heavily and turning into a marina. Boats, big and small, had been pulled out of the water for maintenance, crowding a large graveled enclosure. The road dead-ended at a building next to a pier accommodating several more boats. This early in the morning the small mechanics operation hadn’t opened its doors yet. Not a soul was in sight.

“Pull in over there.” Connor pointed as Drake braked to avoid being seen.  

Complying, he nosed the sedan in the shadow of a landed sailboat. “Why is there a marina this far inland?”

“We’re next to the
Intercoastal
Waterway.” Drake glanced at Connor for a split second. Clearly, his father as a pilot who’d studied hundreds of maps over the years had a better grasp of the terrain.

However, the realization that Centurions intended to take
Skyler
away by boat had Drake shaking off his seatbelt and throwing open his door. He shot out of the car, desperate to stop the thugs from taking her anywhere. Instinct warned him that there wasn’t a moment to lose. He could hear his father following closely behind, whispering for him to slow down, as he crouched his way through the
trailered
boats.  

The van had backed right up to the pier, adjacent to a huge yacht. Weak sunlight buttered the yacht’s sleek curves as it swayed gently at its moorings.

From their hiding spot, Drake and Connor watched as the tallest of the three goons carried
Skyler
from the van while his cronies went to work changing the flat tire. 

Even unconscious, with her hair tinted auburn, she looked like an angel—an angel in pink, plaid pajamas. Drake’s lungs expanded at the sight of her.

As they approached the yacht, a thick-set gentleman with receding hair stepped out from under the awning on the main deck. His casually chic clothing screamed money, as did his aristocratic accent when he spoke.

“There you are. Step aboard,” he called out.

“Holy hell, is that who I think it is?” Connor’s whispered words reflected astonishment. 

Drake took a closer look, recognition exploding in his mind. “Ashton Jameson,” he breathed, recalling that the man had once been
Skyler’s
fiancé. Connor had worked like hell to implicate him in racketeering, but there’d been a frustrating scarcity of evidence.

Clearly Jameson wanted to punish
Skyler
for betraying him. The tall man carried his victim on board, and Jameson gloated down at her. “Bring her in,” he said, turning toward the expansive-looking cabin. Drake’s gut knotted as they disappeared behind sliding glass doors.

“What do you want to do?” Connor asked.

Drake eyed him in surprise. Was his father really asking him to call the shots? “We wait for the three stooges to leave,” he decided. “Then we go after her.”

Connor nodded. “Okay.” 

Drake narrowed his eyes. “That’s it? You’re not going to pull rank or call in the U.S. Marshals?”

Connor avoided eye contact. “I don’t think they’d get here in time, do you?”

Drake didn’t want to think about Jameson’s immediate plans. “No.” He looked back at the yacht. Every muscle in his body spurred him to rescue
Skyler
now
.   

At last, the tall man reemerged, stuffing money into his rear pocket. Stepping off the yacht, he hurried back to his accomplices who were tightening the lug nuts on their spare. Drake counted the seconds until the van finally drove off.

As it disappeared, Jameson emerged from the cabin long enough to shout up at the pilot house. “Take us home, boys.”

“Shit,” Drake muttered as two lanky men in uniform sprang into view on the uppermost deck.

With an “Aye, aye, sir,” they descended the myriad steps to prepare the yacht for launch. Jameson ducked back into the cabin, shutting the glass door behind him.

“Three against two,” Connor muttered. “You know, if you maim or kill anyone, you can kiss your career good-bye.”

Drake rolled his eyes in disgust. “We’re not going to kill anyone. Just trust me and follow my lead.”

With an overblown gesture, Connor signaled for Drake to lead the way.

Together they crossed the gravel yard toward the pier. The deckhands took note of their approach, glanced at each other, and stopped untying the yacht from its moorings.

“Morning,” Drake called, stepping up to the
Julius Caesar
with outward confidence.
Of course,
Jameson would give his boat such a pompous-ass name
. “I hope I’m not late.”

The men frowned at him. “Late for what?” one of them demanded.

Drake shot him a look of feigned exasperation. “Mr. Jameson didn’t tell you?
Must have slipped his mind.
I’m Tom Keane,” he introduced himself, “with U.S.A. Yacht Sales.” He fished a business card from his wallet. “He asked me to stop by this morning and appraise the value of
his yacht.” Traversing the gang plank he handed one of the deckhands his card. “He thinks he might trade this baby in for one of my newer models.”

The older man looked at the younger. “Did the boss say anything to you about this?”  

The youth shrugged. “No, Skipper, but he gets a new boat every year,
don’t
he?”

“Yes, he does, and he buys them from me,” Drake smoothly inserted. “I’m sure it just slipped his mind. He did say he was busy lately. How about I take a quick look around, then you can fetch Mr. Jameson when I’m ready to assess the cabin. I brought my mechanic with me.” He jerked his thumb toward his father, who sent the men a nod.

“Why don’t you show my mechanic the engine room,” Drake suggested to the junior deckhand. “That way, I can get started up here and it’ll go faster.”

“I’ll go get the boss,” the older man decided, backing toward the cabin.

“Sure, if you don’t mind disturbing him,” Drake said easily. “He must be pretty distracted to have forgotten our appointment.”

The skipper backtracked toward Drake and jerked his head at his underling. “Go ahead and show him. What do you
wanna
look at first?” he asked Drake. 

“How about the pilot room?
I’ll start up there and work my way down,” Drake suggested. “A boat’s only as good as her engine and pilot rooms, wouldn’t you say?”

The skipper didn’t say anything. Gesturing for Drake to precede him to the upper decks, he remained a safe distance behind him until they reached the pilot room. There he went straight to the phone by the wheel and picked it up, turning his back to Drake for the first time. “What did you say your name was again?” Clearly, he’d changed his mind about alerting Jameson.

That was Drake’s cue to bring the man to his knees. He did so with a well-executed chop to the neck. 

Even then, the skipper put up a good fight, forcing Drake to render him unconscious with a sleeper hold. Once the man went limp, he bound his hands behind his back using the phone cord and gagged him with a rag. 

That done, he hurried down the steps in search of his father, trying all the while not to dwell on what might be happening to
Skyler
, who’d been alone with Jameson all this time.