SEALs of Honor: Dane (8 page)

Mason walked closer and held out his hand. “Shit.”

“I guess it’s a good thing she stayed with us.” Dane motioned to the room around them. “Although I’m not sure this guy had the locket as much as the killer left it behind as a message.”

Dane had his communicator out and called the pilot. If anything had happened to Mari…

Mason waited then asked, “What did you find?”

Only Dane was redialing. “I found nothing,” he snapped and swore as he misdialed. “I’m calling again.”

“Call from the vehicle. There’s nothing here. If the guy lived here longer than two days, I’d be surprised.”

Dane shut down the call and raced out the back door and through the neighbor’s yards. He met the others at the vehicle, everyone getting in fast, Dane taking off before the doors were shut.

Mason updated the others.

“Are we thinking someone saw us and went to the airstrip to look for Marielle? How would they know we’re here?”

“Easy. They saw us.” Shadow shrugged at the looks he got. “Small airstrip, military plane overhead. Already taken out a loose thread. Maybe it was just luck on their side.”

“Maybe someone tipped them off when we drove through town. These guys have eyes and ears in many places.”

“And maybe they are tracking our cellphones or our transmissions. Who the hell knows?”

“We might need to consider that Marielle is being tracked too.”

“Not likely.” But Dane knew stranger things had happened. Although he knew it was wrong, he had to keep an open mind in regards to Marielle’s involvement. “Then again, her cab was targeted. Maybe she is being tracked.”

The trip to the plane was completed in record time. He pulled up to the side of the strip and got out. The plane was in darkness and silence. It should have been anyway.

But, the shattered window gave it a completely new look.

Chapter 11

T
HE PILOT WALKED
toward her. She’d been patient up until now but worried the longer the men stayed away. It was reassuring to not be alone though.

She smiled up at him. “I guess there’s no way to know when they’ll come back.”

“They’ll let us know when they are a few minutes out.” He patted her shoulder. “Sleep if you can. They could be minutes or they might be hours.”

“Right.” She leaned her head back but was all slept out. To pass the time, she walked her way mentally through the chemicals she so loved. She’d had a huge chart of them she’d used as a coloring book when growing up. Obviously she’d known early what she wanted to do.

Too bad she wasn’t at home doing it. She stared down at her phone. Could she call her mother? See how she was doing? Would that put them in danger or did no one give a damn? She leaned toward the latter as really, she was no one. She studied the direction the pilot went, wondering if she should ask him. But she didn’t want to disturb him. Besides, she might not get reception anyway.

She opened her phone and found three texts. One from her mother’s caregiver asking a question about meals. She quickly answered that one, relieved when the message was sent. She had some reception at least.

The second text was a friend at work asking about her holiday. There wasn’t much to answer, so she figured she’d leave that one for later.

The third text was from the Michaels.

She froze. Considering he was dead, he couldn’t be sending her messages. She’d love to believe in ghosts but until she actually had proof of such things, it wasn’t going to happen. Someone who had access to his email account had to be sending this. And that couldn’t be good. She clicked on it.

And found an image of a dead man. A second image was of her locket.

She reached up for the necklace she always wore, particularly since her mother’s diagnosis. It had been a gift when Marielle was twelve. Now she treasured it.

And apparently had lost it without even knowing. How did that work? Someone had to have taken it off her when she was unconscious, either at the accident or afterwards. No, she wouldn’t believe a SEAL would do such things. Not possible.

So when had she seen it last?

And why send her an image like that? She wanted her necklace back but was she going to end up dead like the man in the picture? She scrolled the text and the simple message underneath.

“We’re coming for you.”

She swallowed hard.

An odd ping rang out, followed by the sound of shattered glass.

From the cockpit.

Oh shit. She closed her eyes. Please let that not have been a gunshot. And not the plane’s windshield blown out.
Please.
She slowly got up and snuck over to the window and looked out.

Nothing but blackness for as far as she could see.

Damn. She returned to her chair, was almost sitting down, when the door burst open and two men raced inside. They grabbed her before she could take a couple steps. She screamed and fought back. Her cell phone dropped to the ground. One of the men laughed and snagged it up and pocketed it. “Good, we need that too.”

A hood was thrown over her head, and she was lifted and carried toward the exit.

She kicked and screamed. But they were stronger, bigger and there were two of them.

Hanging over the shoulder of one man, she felt the descent as they went down the stairs from the plane. Reacting blindly, she threw herself to the side, causing him to stumble. He lost his grip and she hit the ground hard, knocking the breath out of her.

“God damn it,” a male voice roared.

“Can you handle her?” came the mocking second voice. “Or do you need help with such a small woman?”

“I don’t need any help,” her captor snarled. “She’s just a fucking pain in the ass. I’m going to knock her out in a second.” He picked her up and tried to shift her weight into a different position. That’s when she threw herself back, slamming into his head.

She couldn’t hold back her groan of pain as she fell to the ground, and for the second time knocked the breath out of herself. The second man laughed his fool head off.

“This isn’t fucking funny.”

“Sure it is. She’s nothing but a slip of a thing, and she’s got the best of you. Twice.”

Marielle was still trying to get her breath back when she heard a single gunshot fire. Followed by a loud thud.
Oh shit
.

“Did you hear that?” snarled the man who had been carrying her. “The next bullet is yours. No one fucking laughs at me.”

This time he didn’t bother trying to pick her up. He grabbed her by the foot across the runway.

She bounced along still half tied, trying to figure out how to get away. Her best chance would be when he loaded her in the vehicle, but after that she was in deep trouble.

And if she pulled away and ran now, she’d get a bullet in the back. She didn’t know who her captor worked for, but she doubted he gave a shit whether he delivered her alive or dead. He’d rather shoot her for escaping than face his bosses as a failure. Shit.
Think, Mari, think
. What would someone like Dane do? She had no weapons. No martial arts skills. Only her brains. They’d gotten her this far, but there was no way they’d help her in a gun fight.

In the distance she could hear another vehicle. God, please let it be Dane. Would he know she was in trouble? Would he know the pilot was dead? If he’d tried to call, he’d know something was wrong.

Her body was dragged over a rock, her head bouncing on the ground. She cried out, the sharp pain making it past her sealed lips.

“Good. Like that, did you? Lots more where it came from unless you behave yourself.”

*

D
ANE SPED DOWN
the empty road to the airstrip. His heart pounded and his jaw had locked a long time ago. Instinct said he’d made a mistake. A big one. Marielle was in trouble.

His foot jammed on the accelerator pedal, but the big rig wasn’t going to go any faster.

He let the truck drift around the corner coming into line on the other side. They were one minute out. If he could cut that in half, he would.

The airstrip was ahead. And so was another vehicle.

“Shit.”

His heart dropped at Mason’s exclamation, his gaze going to the dead man on the ground close to the plane. The pilot? A fight was playing out at the other vehicle. Someone was being stuffed inside the back.

And he knew who that was.

His hand pounded on the horn even as he skidded to a stop in front of the other rig. The men were out and running before the wheels had stopped rolling. He followed, rounding the vehicle, ready for a fight.

And came to a stop.

Marielle was now standing, a black covering over her head and the asshole holding a gun to her temple.

Dane studied him. He was a stranger. Thick as a tree trunk with heavy facial features and hair. He was also a dead man, he just didn’t know it.

“Back off or I kill her,” the stranger snapped.

A muffled sound came from Marielle. Then she reached out and kicked her attacker.

The killer called out to her, “In case you’re too stupid to understand, I’m holding a gun to your head.”

But she wouldn’t let up.

Dane had to admire her stubbornness even as he wished she’d cooperate – just once. It would be easier on her.

The killer slammed the gun down hard on Marielle’s head.

“No,” Dane whispered, frozen on the spot as Marielle wavered slightly, then sagged to her knees. The gunman let go, and she fell to the ground and didn’t move again. Not the damn head again.

He didn’t know how many blows she could survive before something major happened inside.

“Now, you…” he pointed the gun at Dane. “You get over here and lift her into the vehicle.”

As Dane walked forward, he could feel the tension in the air. His team would jump the killer at the slightest opportunity and if Dane took a bullet, then he took a bullet – although they’d do their best to make sure it wasn’t a lethal bullet. The bottom line was this guy couldn’t shoot them all and he wasn’t leaving.

Dane crouched down and gently picked up Marielle.

“Easy, honey,” he whispered. He adjusted the weight in his arms and after a sideways look at Mason, made a jagged movement to the right behind the SUV for protection and took off at a run. The guy might have a gun, but Dane had his team.

The gun fired but it didn’t hit him or Marielle. He got her to his truck and sat her in the passenger seat. He looked back to see if the fight was over. It was not only over, he could see Hawk heading into the plane. Good. Carefully Dane took the hood off Marielle and checked her head.

And heard Hawk’s call. Dane paused. Not good news then.

The pilot was dead. And he’d seen a second guy dead on the ground closer to the plane.

He turned his attention back to Marielle, realizing how close they’d come to losing her.

How valuable she really was – and not just to him.

Chapter 12

M
ARIELLE OPENED HER
eyes and shrieked.

“Easy, girl,” said an old woman in a thick and thick gutural accent. “I’m the local doctor. I need to check your head.”

But Marielle didn’t believe her until Dane’s head popped up over the woman.

“Oh, thank God,” she muttered, trying to hold back her joy at seeing him again. “I thought I was done for last time.”

“And you likely would have been if you’d gone quietly with them,” he admitted. “By fighting you managed to cause him to lose time, and that was the time we needed to get to you.”

“I barely remember all that happened,” she said. Her gaze went to the woman. “Thank you for coming. My head is really sore.”

“It’s a hard head,” the women said with a smile. “Now if you’d stop treating it like a ball, it might heal.”

Marielle straightened slightly and looked around. She was in a hotel room of some kind. Hawk and Swede stood guard at the doorway. Dane hovered beside her and there was no sign of the others. Probably outside on watch. She hoped none of them ever left again. Shit happened when they did.

“I don’t feel so good,” she whispered. In fact, she was going to be sick.

She rolled over, hanging her head over the edge of the bed, and Dane shoved a garbage can under her face. She puked several times, her body shaking uncontrollably.

“See,” the woman said. “You are not meant to use your head as a ball.”

Right. She’d be happy to have had someone else’s head banged up for a change. Hers was too damn sore as it was.

A cool cloth was pressed to her forehead. And a glass of water was placed in her hand. She drank a little bit and waited to see if it would stay down. When it appeared to rest comfortably, she drank a little more then collapsed back into bed. She was so sore.

“He dragged me across the airstrip, grabbed my phone and said they needed it too,” she said in low tones. “Everything hurts.”

The doctor’s gaze sharpened. “They said your head was the only injury.” Her hands immediately checked the rest of her.

When she was asked to roll over, Marielle went willing but cried out at the pain. Her shirt was lifted. And she heard Dane’s gasp.

“What’s wrong?” she cried, trying to twist and see.

“Lie still. This needs to be cleaned.”

“No,” Marielle said hurriedly. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“It’s a road rash and filled with dirt,” Dane snapped. “It has to be cleaned.”

And clean it, they did. The whole time she lay with her face down in the pillow, and her body rigid.

She wanted to bawl, to fight, but knew it had to be done, and the crying just made her head hurt more. She wept into the pillow silently. By the time they were done, she was weak as a kitten and her guts churned again. There shouldn’t be anything left to throw up, but her stomach was going to make sure. She shuddered, and leaning over the bed, lost the bit of water she’d drunk. Now the acid bit her throat and mouth. And the rest of her was on fire.

Dane offered her a drink of water. This time she took the drink, swished it around inside her mouth and spit it out.

Then collapsed on the pillow and closed her eyes. “You know, Dane, every time you leave me alone I end up injured and lying in bed.” She frowned thinking about it, then added, “Thanks for that.”