SEALs of Honor: Markus (3 page)

“Don’t even think about it, girlie.”

Startled, she spun to see Greg glaring at her. “And don’t think you’re making yourself so useful that we’re going to keep you around.”

She blinked. “What are you planning to do with us?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t rightly know.” He spat a wad of chew onto the floor before turning and walking back to the table where the other two men sat.

She walked over to the other two women huddled on floor in the corner and sat down to join them. Immediately, Mary grabbed her hand and hung on. “What do you think they are going to do?” she whispered. “I want to go home.”

“So do I,” Bree responded gently. “Let’s not give them a reason to get mad at us.”

“Too late,” Betsy said bitterly. “Men like these…they don’t care about anyone or anything. They live a law unto themselves. In fact, they’d probably be happy as shit if the cops do come. They’d get a chance to put all that firepower to good use.”

Unfortunately Bree figured Betsy was right. These men didn’t think the law applied to people like them. They believed it. And they were willing to fight to defend it. Whatever “it” was.

*

The old man’s
story was too farfetched not to be true. A group of men had beaten up the owner of a diner then ushered his daughter and several other women into a truck and taken off.

“Why me then?” Markus asked incredulously. “That’s what law enforcement is for.”

The white whiskered man snorted. “Yeah sure. We got a small police station up here and you can bet they are busy, and even if they weren’t, they’d take time to mobilize. You on the other hand are here, already geared up and ready to go. I need help, but I had to determine if you were with them or not first. Wasn’t going to make that mistake with my daughter’s life.”

Shit. “Let me call my team.”

“No time.”

“Why is there no time? I have a dozen good men here. Do you know where these assholes are?” He motioned at the wilderness around him. “They could be anywhere.”

“I recognized someone in town the other day.” The old man snapped to the woods ahead. “I’m not senile. I know his father. He was a good man.”

Markus stopped and studied him. “And what does that have to do with this? Was the man you recognized one of the men who kidnapped the women?”

The old man shook his head. “I know where his daddy used to live. No one has lived there for a long time, and now all of a sudden there’s someone living there again.”

“And you’re thinking it might be one of them?”

“Boomer’s son saw the truck. Said it was a big Ford F350 and beat to all hell. Now that’s the truck I seen at Charlie’s cabin. And it’s his boy that’s suddenly arrived in town.” He tapped his temple. “I can add two and two together.”

Right. The best way out of this was to go check it out. He clicked his headset again, but the damn thing wasn’t working. Why the hell did the communications always go down when he needed them the most? Weighing his options, and with a look at the old man, he decided. “I’ll come and take a look. If it’s nothing then I’m heading back to my team and you’re going to contact the cops. They should have been notified already.”

“They have been. They move slowly in these parts.”

“Not if three people have been kidnapped.” He’d make sure the cops were involved then. It wasn’t something he’d normally be asked to help with but neither could he turn his back and walk away.

“Then wutcha waiting for.” The old man snorted and stomped off ahead. “And the name is Jake.”

Markus quickly fell into place behind him. But he took out his phone and sent a quick explanation text to Mason. Not that there was any explaining this.

H
ad anyone seen
what had happened to the others, Bree wondered? Surely being a restaurant, someone would have. The diner was on the edge of town but beside a gas station. Someone had to have seen something. And Boomer? Was he okay or was he slowly dying in his own kitchen? Lord, what a sad way to end his life. He loved that place and would love to be found dead there eventually but not by someone else’s hand. Never at someone else’s hand.

There should have been other patrons coming in. Or had these guys had the smarts to lock the door and switch the sign to closed? If that was the case, Boomer would die.

That filled her heart with sorrow. She’d had nothing when she arrived, and he’d been kind enough to give her a job and a room on the top floor.

She hadn’t wanted or needed anything else. She’d had it all before. And what had it gotten her? Sick and alone. Now she was healthy, regaining her strength, and could plan for a future again, but it had taken selling everything she owned to clear her medical bills. She could have asked her family for help but that wasn’t her way. They knew she’d been sick but not that she’d been forced to change her job and lost most of her medical insurance in the process.

It was humbling to once again stand on a street in front of the world with no home, vehicle or belongings. She’d determined then to return to her roots and heal the rest of herself from the inside.

And her plan had been working. For six months she’d wandered the country like a hobo, slowly regaining her life. Now look where she was?

Still, she was nothing if not resourceful.

She lifted her nose and sniffed the sweet aroma. Nice. The cobbler wasn’t quite done but almost. She should rotate the dish in the oven so it would bake evenly. Hopping to her feet, ignoring the sudden silence at her actions, she walked over to the stove and using an oven mitt checked on her baking.

Carefully rotating the dish, she closed the door and studied the outside for a long moment before dropping the oven mitt and returning to the other women. There she sat back down and considered what she’d seen. Or rather what she’d thought she’d seen.

Mary’s father.

Out by the trees.

Was that possible? And not have anyone else notice? She wanted to warn him away, but he’d slipped behind the large tree on the left. She got the feeling he wasn’t alone, but she couldn’t be sure of that.

And now she didn’t know what to do with the information.

Was he here to help?

Did he know his daughter was here? His behavior had been odd. Furtive.

Or maybe he knew these men? She’d seen him a couple of times at the diner. In for a meal or just visiting, lonely in a way but singular like so many of the capable men out in this part of the country.

She’d never seen more people willing to live in such harsh unwelcoming conditions as the men here. Still, they were a stalwart and healthy lot, and they had little to complain about. Or rather they complained little. That was the kind of people they were.

Maybe it was her. But it seemed like the men – and women – she’d left behind complained constantly. Their shoes hurt. Their hairdresser did a crappy job. The traffic was terrible. And the litany never stopped – just changed direction.

She closed her eyes, her mind consumed with the sight of Mary’s father. How could she let him know they were in trouble? Hope flickered inside, but she’d been on that receiving end a few too many times to give it oxygen. Good things did happen to good people, but so too did shitty things.

As she well knew.

The one thing about being a survivor was that you viewed life differently. She smiled and leaned her head back. That there was someone out there was a good sign. That he was hiding meant he didn’t want to be seen and that meant he wasn’t involved with these guys. That worked for her.

She dozed off and on. When she surfaced again it was to see nothing had changed. The men were here and they were still undecided how to move forward.

She got to her feet and checked on the cobbler. It looked to be done. She turned off the oven and pulled out the large pan, setting it on top of the stove. She took a big inhale and smiled at the heady aroma. Then she tossed down the oven mitt and returned to her spot on the floor.

She didn’t know about food being the way to a man’s heart, but she was hoping this would ease a path to find their hearts. At the very least to find their common sense. They were already facing a kidnapping charge. To keep them longer than this was only going to make it worse. Depending on what they intended to do with them now – killing crossed a line most people wouldn’t.

Unless they’d crossed it before.

*

“I can see
the man in the pump house, but what the hell is going on inside the house?” Markus snapped. The harsh tone hid anger. He thought he recognized a young woman, but he’d only caught a fast glimpse of her. “We’ve only seen a young woman in the window so far, is that your daughter?”

“Nope. That one is old enough to be my granddaughter. She’s new to the diner. A nice girl.”

“What do you know about her?” Markus asked. “Could she be involved?”

“Hell no. She’s one of those on-a-journey-to-find-herself type of people.”

Markus hid his smile. This was a hell of a long way to go to find yourself.

“But if she’s in there then my daughter is too.” He took a sudden step forward, toward the pump house. “I’m going to go and have me a talk with Charlie’s boy, Barry. See what the hell is happening inside the house.”

Markus reached out to grab the older man, but he evaded his grasp and was already racing across the open space to slip behind the pump house.

Keeping to the shadows, and not fully trusting Jake at this point, Markus followed lightly behind him.

When Barry stepped out of the pump house, Jake jumped him. The younger man was out cold and dragged back behind the shack in seconds.

“You’ve done that a time or two,” Markus said in a low tone, his narrow gaze searching.

“You’re not the only one that’s military. Special ops for me. Not that they called it that back then when I was in.”

Right. That explained a lot.

“Been living up here ever since. Too many people down south,” Jake snapped. “And when they come north they bring trouble with them.”

Markus knew he was included in that comment as well. Still the military bases provided a steady income to a state that thrived on hardship.

Leaning over the unconscious man, Markus quickly checked his pockets. He pulled out the man’s wallet and checked his ID. “Barry Hampton. He’s from Oregon.”

“See. Troublemakers.” Jake spat on the ground as if to underline his comment. “Charlie’s boy. Charlie lived here for the last decade of his life. Sounds like the kid decided to bring trouble home.”

Interesting. “He’s a software engineer. This hardly sounded like a place he’d like to retire to, a holiday sure, but not to be forever.”

“Well, he’s here now.”

Markus quickly took a picture of the man’s ID, did a quick search of the rest of the wallet contents to find the man flush with cash with more in his pockets. “Well, he’s not broke.” He replaced the items and sent out a call again to his team. Nothing.

And his cell had no service.

“You got any way of contacting the authorities from out here?”

Jake shook his head. “Don’t want to either. Not until my girl is out of trouble.”

Markus sighed. “Of course.” He stared down at Barry. “We need him awake.”