Special Forces Father (15 page)

“Ryker,” Lucas said. “Hang on a second, if you don’t mind.”

Travis looked at his older brother. He hadn’t expected to see him. The last he’d known, Lucas was still in Dallas, where he’d gone as soon as he’d graduated from high school, declaring he would never again live in the same city as their dad. At some point, somebody was going to have to bring him up to speed on everything that
had happened in the Delancey family in the past five years since he’d been gone. But now, his son and the woman he’d driven a thousand miles to see were in danger.

Ryker turned to Lucas. “What is it?” he asked.

But Lucas ignored him. He watched Travis. Travis stood there, holding his gaze, until finally, Lucas cocked his head. “What’s different about you, little brother?” he asked.

Travis shrugged. “Five years of training, missions and—difficult situations,” he answered.

Lucas shook his head. “You’ve changed, a lot.” He laughed self-consciously. “Don’t mean to wax poetic, but you’re not carrying around that sullen fury anymore. I can see it in your eyes.”

Travis nodded. “All it does is drain your energy and dull your focus.”

Lucas nodded again. “That’s
right. Congratulations. You’re smarter than I was at your age.” Then he turned to Ryker. “I say let him try. Reilly and his SWAT team can be standing by in case Travis needs them.”

It took a while and a long telephone discussion between the twins, Ryker and Reilly, but finally Ryker agreed. “This is unorthodox,” he said with more than a touch of irritation in his voice.

“Of course it
is, Ryke,” Dawson agreed. “Which part of what we’ve planned
is
orthodox? We’re not doing this on the books, so it’s already a covert op.”

Ryker didn’t answer Dawson. He turned to Travis. “Reilly and his team are set up at the U.S. 51 exit off Airline Highway, as I told you earlier. Reilly will communicate with you via a communications device that uses an earpiece and a throat mic, so that
no one can overhear either of you. If you get into trouble, say
Mayday
and they’ll storm the house.”

Dawson stepped up. “Dusty’s got the equipment set up. It’s time to put everybody in place and get ready to make the call. Remember, we’ve only got one chance to latch onto that signal—one chance to pinpoint where the kidnapper is keeping Travis’s son.”

Chapter Ten

By midnight, Travis was in place in a wooded area behind a small mobile-home park located about seven miles from the intersection of U.S. 51 and Airline Highway. When Dawson had called the kidnapper’s phone, Dusty had managed to get a GPS location and a tower triangulation that put the kidnapper about two hundred yards from where Travis was standing. Dawson’s agent
would be flying over in his helicopter in—Travis checked his watch—less than five minutes. If MacEllis Griffin saw the dark green sedan, that would be the final verification that the kidnapper was there.

Travis had the kidnapper’s GPS coordinates programmed into his phone and he was ready to go in. All he was waiting for now was for Reilly to get the report from Griffin, then he’d give Travis
the okay. The waiting was torture, especially now that he was so close. Kate and their son were less than a football field’s length away from him. He wanted more than anything to break in the mobile home’s door, take the kidnapper down with a carefully placed blow designed to render him unconscious, then grab Kate and Max and get the hell out of there, leaving the kidnappers for Reilly to handle.

But his training kept him in check. As a Special Forces operative, he understood the need for coordination of effort. The kidnapper was a former cop. He would almost certainly have a weapon. Therefore Travis’s team had to consider him armed and dangerous. Since Kate had heard a woman’s voice over the phone, the man had a partner who was probably also his girlfriend. But Travis knew that mistakes
could cost lives, and he was not about to risk Kate’s or his son’s lives because he was impatient.

He scanned the area while he waited, making sure he was aware of everything around him. The black blobs that appeared almost shapeless in the dark were mobile homes or RVs. His gaze automatically traced the best path around each of the sad little metal houses on wheels. He didn’t know yet which
direction he’d take through the cluster of trailers to get to the one holding his family, but he would be ready.

In the distance, he heard the
flap-flap
of helicopter rotors. His heart leaped into his throat. He swallowed against the lump, then took a huge breath. He dug deep inside himself and found the calm focus that had qualified him to be a member of the elite few men who had earned
their position in the army’s Special Forces.

The helicopter flew over the trailer park slowly and casually, as if it were piloted by a bored traffic cop. Travis touched his ear, which held the tiny bud through which he’d receive the signal to go from Reilly. Within seconds, Reilly’s voice, steady and sure, sounded in Travis’s ear.

“Vehicle sighted. It’s a go. I repeat. It’s a go. Golf.
Oscar. Leave the channel open. Over.”

“Confirmed. On the move. Out,” Travis responded.

“Careful, Trav. Out.”

Travis moved between the trailers, watching the screen on his phone as the GPS coordinates moved closer and closer to Dusty’s mark. He spotted the dark green sedan. It was parked at the end of a dirt path, beside a small trailer that had been pulled so far toward the edge
of the parking area that its far end was obscured by woods. When Travis saw that, his pulse gave a small leap. The woods would serve as excellent cover while he ran reconnaissance to map the interior of the trailer and determine where each of the occupants was located.

Behind him, he heard a door open. Instantaneously and without conscious thought, he rolled onto the ground under a shrub.
He lay there, still as a rock, as the man who’d opened the door walked outside in his undershirt, boxers and flip-flops. He stretched and yawned, then lit a cigarette and leaned against the side of the trailer, absently scratching himself as he smoked. He finished the cigarette, tossed it on the ground and crushed it with the sole of one flip-flop. Then he yawned again and went back inside.

Travis turned over onto his stomach and crawled silently through the underbrush until he was far enough back in the woods to stand without being spotted. Then he made his careful, quiet way to the trailer. He’d spent some time with Dusty studying the layout of mobile homes of a similar size to this one. From the dimensions and the locations of the small windows, it appeared that the unit had
two bedrooms and one bathroom. He circled the unit, noting the position of the front door and comparing it with the layout he’d seen. He made a strategical guess that the second bedroom was the one surrounded by overgrown shrubs and trees. He pulled out a small, powerful pair of binoculars and peered in the largest window. There he saw a man and a woman sitting at a minuscule built-in table. The
kidnapper and his partner. He scanned the length of the trailer, but saw no sign of Max or Kate.

Silently, he circled around behind the vehicle and made his way through the vegetation, searching for the window of the room that held his son and the woman he loved.

* * *

K
ATE
LAY
ON
the makeshift bed and held her sleeping child in her arms. During the first part of the night, she’d
slept hard—too hard, because of the drug Bent had given her. But a while ago, she didn’t know how long, she’d woken up and felt the soft pressure of her little boy’s head on her shoulder and heard his sweet, quiet breaths. There was almost no light in the dank little room the kidnapper had put Max and her in. He’d pulled a blanket off the bedraggled couch and tossed it into the room on top of piles
of clothes, linens and what looked like trash, then pushed Max and her inside, said, “Keep that kid quiet” and locked the door.

The first thing Kate had done was try to turn on the light, but nothing happened. She’d squinted up and saw that the fixture was empty. The room had one small window that was more than five-and-a-half feet off the floor. The bottom sill of the window was about at
Kate’s eye level.

She’d tried to see out the window, but all she’d been able to distinguish were tree limbs and leaves. When Bent had dragged her out of his car and into the trailer, she’d been almost too drowsy to notice anything, but she did recall that the trailer’s far end seemed to be nosed into a thick overgrowth of trees and brush.

So she’d lain down with Max, squirmed around
to make a comfortable sort of nest, then told him fairy tales until he’d fallen to sleep. She’d kept drifting off during the tales, and Max would touch her face and say, “Mommy? Wake up, Mommy. Finish the story.”

Finally, he’d fallen asleep and she’d collapsed into a drug-induced oblivion.

But now she was awake. She bent her head and buried her face in Max’s downy hair. He smelled warm
and sweet and new, just like a little boy should. Her heart filled so full of love that she wasn’t sure her chest could contain it. Her eyes stung with tears and she carefully tightened her hold around his little shoulders. She’d been so afraid she’d never see him again. She had no idea how she was going to rescue him, but she knew one thing. If it meant her life, she would make sure he was safe.
Maybe she’d been stupid to deal with the kidnapper on her own. Maybe she’d made the single biggest mistake of her life when she’d sent Travis away, though she could easily analyze why she’d acted the way she had. She’d pushed at him, hoping he’d push back, hoping this time he’d fight to stay with her.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, drawing in Max’s scent. She’d like to sleep
some more. But something intruded into her quest for sleep. A noise, outside the tiny window. Kate held her breath. It was probably a nocturnal animal—a possum or an owl, rustling the underbrush as it hunted for food.

But then she heard it again, a subtle, muffled sound. Kate lifted her head and held her breath. It could be a footstep—a human footstep. Someone from a nearby trailer, taking
a midnight walk?

She didn’t move for a full minute, expecting to hear the sound again. But when everything remained quiet, she laid her head down on the makeshift pillow she’d fashioned by doubling the corner of the blanket. She’d barely closed her eyes when she heard the noise again.

She shifted, searching for a more comfortable position. A quiet brushing sound, like leaves rubbing
across glass, came from the window. Then a knock.

Her head shot up. A knock? Not a brush of a limb. Not a rustle of underbrush. A knock—like knuckles against the pane.

But no. She shook her head. It must have been a small falling branch that hit the window at just the right angle. It couldn’t have been a knock. That wasn’t possible.

She relaxed and closed her eyes. The knock sounded
again, doubled this time.
Knock-knock.

Her heart leaped into her throat, lodging there and making it hard for her to breathe. She eased into a sitting position, moving slowly and quietly so as not to wake Max. Whatever was brushing or rapping or pecking against the windowpane, she had to check it out, if only for her own peace of mind. She tiptoed over to the window and, shading her eyes
with her hands, peered out through the glass. She saw a large tree limb waving up and down, as if there were something heavy on it. A big possum maybe?

Then she saw a pair of wide, glittering eyes.

Gasping aloud, she threw herself backward so hard she almost lost her balance. She knotted her shirt in her fisted hand and gulped in air, trying to fill her shock-frozen lungs.

What
was that? She got her feet under her and stood there for a couple seconds, crouched down below the level of the window. She heard a soft knocking again. The sound made her scalp tighten and tingle with panic.

Something tapped on the window. Kate stayed in her crouch, edging toward the blanket where Max still lay sound asleep, instinctively putting her body between the window and him.

Then a soft thud, followed by a faint screeching sound, like fingernails on the glass, and somehow, the noise of the night was inside the room. She squinted at the window. Could whatever was out there have opened it?

“Kate?”

She started and gasped, half strangling herself and setting off a spate of coughing. She covered her mouth with trembling hands as the spasms overtook her. She coughed
as quietly as possible.

“Kate, it’s me, Travis.”

Her entire body seized in shock.
Travis?
Was she dreaming? With a quick glance down at her sleeping child, she eased toward the window, unsure if she could believe her ears. Had she imagined his voice? Was she inside a dream right now, making up a story of rescue, to compensate for the helpless, hopeless feelings that had engulfed her
earlier?

Then she heard a noise that sent paralyzing fear through her. Footsteps on the hollow floor of the trailer. “He’s coming,” she whispered urgently, still not quite sure whether she was talking to a real person or a dream she’d conjured. The footsteps stopped in front of the door. The knob turned and the door slammed open. When Kate whirled, she was blinded by a bright light. “What
the hell?” Bent growled, his voice thick with sleep.

Kate’s hands shot up to cover her eyes. Behind her, Max whimpered in his sleep. Thank goodness he slept soundly. She lowered her hands and squinted. She could barely make out Bent’s shape in the darkness, but she could see he was holding his gun, with the flashlight propped beneath it. Did she know enough about this man to fabricate an
answer that would satisfy him?

“I asked you a question,” Bent snapped.

“I wanted some air,” she said, trying to sound apologetic and defiant at the same time. “Do you mind if I open the window?” She held her breath. If he decided, on a whim, to accommodate her, he’d see Travis.

He sneered at her. “You think you’re fooling me? That’s a long way to drop a kid. I wouldn’t try it,”
he growled, brandishing the gun.

She shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off with a curse. “You wake me up again, I’ll separate you and the kid. Got that?”

“Mommy?” Max whimpered. His little singsong voice told her he was 90 percent asleep. She sidled over to the pallet and bent down to pat his back. “It’s okay,” she whispered.

“I mean it, Doc. Any more
noise, and you’ll be spending the night in the trunk of the car, and the kid’ll have to fend for himself. Got it?”

“Yes,” she said.

He shone the flashlight around the room, lighting every corner, every mound of clothing, every shadow. Then he shone the light in her face again, backed out of the room and slammed the door. She heard the lock click.

As his footsteps echoed on the trailer
floor, Kate allowed herself a sigh of relief. She patted Max on the back again and bent down close to listen to his breathing. It was steady and even.

Then she crept toward the window. To her shock, she saw a hand—Travis’s hand—reach in
through the glass
and unlock the latch on the windowsill. Her pulse was still hammering, and her brain was still cautiously declaring that what she saw could
not be true. She kept half her attention focused beyond the small room, to the other end of the trailer.

“Travis?” she asked, so softly that it was barely a whisper.

The hand disappeared and the window raised with a tiny high-pitched whine as the plastic sill strained against the casing. The noise stopped immediately. Then the window started up again, so slowly Kate wasn’t sure she actually
saw it move. She waited, listening for any noise from inside the trailer.

Finally, moments later, the window was open. “Move away from the window,” the voice whispered.

She stepped backward, unable to take her eyes off the black rectangle. Then, as she watched, a pair of long legs in army-green fatigues and boots eased through the opening with almost no sound, followed by a lean upper
body in a green fatigue shirt, then dropped to the floor without so much as a quiet thud.

He straightened and looked down at her. “Are you okay?” he whispered. “Is Max?”

It was Travis—solid, strong, real.

“Oh,” Kate gasped, so overwhelmed by his presence that she could barely breathe. Then, when she got her first good look at his face, she shook her head in disbelief. He had a black
cloth tied tightly around his head and black stripes, smeared like war paint, across each cheek and down his nose. She felt a feeling that was at once nauseating and exhilarating. Her chest was heaving and her head was spinning. Travis couldn’t be here, but he was. She put her hands to her temples and pressed.