Chapter Eleven
“What in the hell do you mean ‘she was kidnapped’?” Night growled into his phone. The thought that someone had broken into his house, threatened his mother, and driven off with Summer in tow sent his blood boiling. Nearly home when his mother had called, he sped the remaining distance as if the hounds of hell nipped at his heels.
Shoving his truck into park and cutting the engine, he ran for the front door, finding his mother sitting in her recliner, tears flowing unchecked down her cheeks. He drew her into his arms, holding her tight, whispering soothing words in Navajo.
“She offered herself in my place. He was going to take me until Summer pointed out how I would slow him down.” She cried in earnest. A couple of minutes later, she regained her composure, sitting up straight. “I have to call her neighbor to care for her animals. She gave me a couple of numbers.”
Night spied the paper on the table, grabbing it for a closer look. “Why two numbers?”
His mother blinked. “I don’t know. That’s just what she wrote down before he took her out of here.”
The numbers both appeared to be cell numbers and from different base locations indicated by the dissimilar area codes. After pulling out his cell phone, he punched a button, impatiently waiting for his call to be answered. “Spoon. Condition Alpha. I need you to trace these phone numbers now.” He rattled off both, tapping his toe as he waited. The answer gave him a semblance of hope. “GPS on the latter line?”
He looked over at his mother. “Tell me again what he said.”
“He said he would call. You had twenty-four hours to get the jewelry, the gold nugget necklace, or he would kill her…” Her last words tapered off as if it proved almost too much to bear repeating them.
“You got that, Spoon? I’m at home. Hell, yes, I’m going to track that bastard. Rendezvous in one hour.”
Snapping the phone closed, he knelt in front of his mother. “We’ll get her back. I promise.” Seeing her watery eyes full of worry and fear broke his heart. He wrapped her up in his arms and held her tight. She needed a distraction. “Can you call her neighbor? It’s the first number.”
His mother nodded. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Good. I need to get going.”
“Bring her home, Hayaazh.”
She rarely called him son in her native language these days. That she did so now, touched him and at the same time, gave him the ammunition needed to pursue the rabid son of a bitch who had stolen a woman under his protection. A woman adored by his mother and one he thought highly of himself.
He kissed his mother’s cheek then moved to his office, packing clothes and weapons, preparing for the arrival of his men.
* * * *
Promptly one hour later a black SUV entered Night’s driveway. He jogged out to meet it, duffle bag in tow. Once he’d climbed into the passenger seat, he glanced at his team, all had concern written on their faces. As luck would have it, all the men lived fairly close, making the sixty minute window doable.
“What do we know?” Dillon asked from the back seat, perched between his brother, Cale and Spoon. Loco handled the driving. The farthest back seats had been put down in order to make room for their gear.
Night passed on what few details his mother had given him. He seethed with fury vowing to himself that if Summer was murdered that the bastard who killed her would never draw another breath. He’d deal with his father later. With his mother safe under watchful eyes of some of his men, he was able to focus on saving Summer.
Summer. The fact she’d traded her life for his mother’s humbled him as nothing else had, even as it sent cold fingers lancing through his gut. He dared not think about the possibilities and what she suffered—even as they planned. No, he shoved all emotional distractions to the back burner, narrowing his focus on the task at hand, just like he’d learned in the military. No one bent on survival could go into battle hyped up on panic and fear. Cool heads won the day. Rescue Summer. She was all that mattered at the moment.
When did she become so important to him? Somehow in the few days since she’d entered his life, she’d snuck into a corner of his heart, made herself at home, as if planning on living there for a lifetime. Why was it only now, when some bastard had stolen her away that he realized how deeply he cared? Sure, they’d begun the first tentative steps in the dating process, but one afternoon and a cup of coffee didn’t make a relationship. Normally. Summer had proved the exception and his gut clenched as though a boiling cauldron of emotions.
“I want her back now. No way is that son of a bitch getting twenty-four hours with her,” he growled the words out between clenched teeth.
The other men exchanged a look.
“No worries. I’ve got a strong beacon on her GPS. If we push the speed, we’ll be right on their tails soon,” Spoon said, flying his fingers over a laptop keyboard.
“What’s the plan? Wait for him to go to ground? Try to take him while on the road?” Cale asked, his blue eyes meeting Night’s.
Scenarios raced through Night’s head. He automatically sorted them, discarding the worst, logging the most likely to have a positive outcome in a priority position. “We need to have plans in place for both options.”
“Do you think he’ll be suicidal if cornered, especially in a car?”
He replayed his mother’s words, not finding any indication either way. “I don’t know. He’s desperate for money, I know that. Anyone who would listen to a drunk man in a bar then go on a wild goose chase in the hopes of stealing jewelry, is fucking desperate. Who knows what he might do when cornered. Let’s hope we don’t find out.”
“We have authorization on this?” Dillon asked, shifting his wide shoulders uncomfortably in the limited space afforded him between the two other equally large men. “Technically FBI territory.”
Night’s jaw ticked. Summer’s life was in jeopardy. No way would he wait for the bureaucrats to mobilize on this case. “I contacted him. He isn’t happy that we didn’t call in the local authorities and the feds, but he won’t stand in the way.”
“He knows better, huh?” Loco grinned at him.
“We’re the best chance she has.” Night’s soft tone dared anyone to disagree with the absolute surety in his words. He understood the fact to be true, just as the other men would. Too many times federal government officials and local police sat on a kidnapping case, hoping to talk the criminal out, exchanging promises for the release of victims, only for one or more of the innocents to end up injured or dead.
His team, the Wind Warriors, specialized in many areas picked up from their years of high-level military careers. He personally had been through several months of intense training in reconnaissance, but also rescue tactics. The others all had similar instruction and real life exercises, making them well versed in not only what they were truly dealing with, but more than capable of stealthily moving in, separating the victim from the target, and ending the standoff quickly and successfully. If only other groups could plow through proper protocol and justice concerns like they did—a luxury, one that benefited them greatly in this situation.
“How’s your mother taking it?” Spoon asked, before directing Loco to take the next turn.
Night shrugged. “As well as she can, I think. She called a friend to come sit with her so she wouldn’t be alone. I jacked up security, just in case. Not even a mouse should be able to get into that house without everyone, including the Marines, getting a red alarm.”
“Your mother scares me.” Cale commented, his gaze constantly watching the road and other cars around them.
Dillon, his brother, cocked an eyebrow at him. “Huh?”
Cale grinned. “You haven’t met her. That is one warrior woman if I ever met one. Give her a bow and arrow, put her on a galloping horse, stick a few feathers in her hair, and I guarantee she’ll do more than count coup.”
Night snorted, his tension lessening for the moment with the byplay. “Wrong tribe, Cale. You’re thinking Plains Indians. She’s Navajo. Not so much nomadic buffalo hunters as much as stay at home farmers.”
“Maybe she was born to the wrong tribe, then. She has more balls than most men.” Cale shrugged.
“What would you expect from the daughter of a Navajo Code Talker?” Spoon tossed out.
The brothers blinked, while Night grumbled. “I swear. None of you can keep a secret.”
“Not one as good as that.”
“Well that explains everything.” Loco agreed.
“It does?”
“Yep. With that genetic makeup, Night had no choice but to inherit stalking skills, a straight aim, and a temper to rival an Irish man.”
“What about his love of frog legs?” Spoon asked.
“There’s no accounting for taste.” Loco answered.
“He’s stopped.” Spoon announced, his eyes fixated on the computer screen.
“Destination?”
With great speed and precision, Spoon pounded on the keys, bringing up the information in quick fashion. “Motel. Just on this side of Clairmont.”
“ETA?” Night spit out the words, the bantering forgotten.
“Twenty-five minutes.”
“Shit.” He ran his fingers through his unbound hair. As long as the perpetrator drove, Night felt he couldn’t do much harm to Summer. Once he’d found a place to hole up and dragged her inside, all bets were off.
“Is Summer the kind of woman to run any chance she gets? Fight? Or simply follow orders?” Loco asked.
“She took my mother’s place, snapped back at the man, and talked him into changing his plans. I think she will have the brains and courage to flee at the first opportunity or fight to defend herself.” From everything he’d seen and heard about Summer, the analysis rang true. “Smart, too. Made sure she kept her phone on her and wrote down her phone number to make it easier for us to track.”
“It’s broad daylight. Set up surveillance, move in at dark?” Spoon looked up from his computer.
“No. We’re moving in immediately. I’m not giving that bastard a chance to rape Summer, or worse, while we’re biding our time.” The very thought of that scenario sent cold chills surging down his spine. “One of us can flash a government ID at the desk clerk, find out which room he’s in. We’ll scope it out, fine tune the plan, then let the gates of hell admit another soul.”