Chapter Twenty-One

 

 

“You still got her?” Easton asked from behind the wheel of one of the SUVs the team was riding in.

“Yeah.” The beacon on Logan’s phone was holding steady at a location near a marina.

It was the only reason they even had a shot at finding Taylor—all because her boss, who was now dead, had activated a tracking device in her phone the day she’d told him about Dillon. Except it had stopped functioning suddenly about six minutes ago.

Logan prayed that she was still alive, and that the beacon had brought them to the right location. Every minute that ticked past increased the threat to her life, which was why FAST Bravo had acted so quickly. This wasn’t their normal jurisdiction, but given the circumstances and the vicinity to the target, they’d been deployed for this mission.

While they’d been suiting up at headquarters, Taggart had personally called SSA Matt DeLuca, commander of the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Teams. Both HRT squads were unavailable, and because of FAST Bravo’s knowledge of and proximity to the target, they’d gotten the nod to respond.

“We’re two minutes out.” The cops were right behind them, and would set up a secure perimeter around the area once the team deployed. All in an effort to maintain surprise and hopefully catch the kidnappers off guard.

“Weapons check,” Hamilton said over their comms from a different vehicle. “All teams report in from your location once you’ve swept the area. We’ll rendezvous at point alpha.”

There were four ways to access the marina by land. The kidnappers had been transporting her by vehicle, reportedly a dark van of some sort. With Taggart following the op from a mobile headquarters, the nine members of FAST Bravo’s assault team would split into four different teams of two, with the exception of Logan, who was taking one route alone.

He fought the rush of adrenaline, mixing with the fear for Taylor. Both things he had to lock down. When Easton stopped the vehicle, Logan had to be one hundred percent locked in mentally. Calm. Methodical.

Emotion could not get in the way. But God dammit, thinking about what could happen to her—what already might have happened to her—filled him with rage and a sick helplessness.

Finally Logan’s insertion point came into view. A narrow dirt road that wound through a grassy plain up to a wooded area bordering the marina. There was no one else around.

“See you soon,” Easton said.

Logan nodded and got out of the vehicle, careful to land on his good leg. His knee throbbed but there was no way he could use crutches right now, and he didn’t care if the damn thing imploded, he would take the pain and the consequences of it to get to Taylor.

He set the butt of his rifle to his shoulder, sweeping the area. Nothing moved except the tall grass waving in the breeze. Maintaining caution, he got up and started for the dirt road, staying parallel to it in the grass.

“Alpha squad in position,” Zaid said through Logan’s earpiece. “Searching area now.”

Still no sign of anyone in this area, but the tire tracks on the dirt road looked fairly fresh. The back of his neck itched at moving out here, exposed and alone, but there was no help for it.

The other teams reported in, and Logan felt better knowing the guys were all fanning out and searching the vicinity. Once they cleared the area, they’d converge at the marina and continue the search. Taylor had to be nearby.

She had to be. When he thought of how she’d kissed him goodbye this morning, naked and sleepy in the apartment bed, a soft, happy smile on her lips as she’d looked up at him…

He mentally shook the image away and increased his pace, limping with each painful step as he angled to the northeast toward the thick stand of trees sixty yards away. Halfway to it, a glint of something metallic caught his eye.

He headed for it, his heart beating faster when he finally made out the rear bumper of a dark green van parked in amongst the trees. “Found a van.” He recited the license plate.

“Copy,” Hamilton answered. “I’ll have the analysts check it. Be advised, HQ has reported that there’s a small cabin hidden in the woods at your location.”

“I copy.”

“In the meantime, I’m sending Rodriguez and Khan to you.”

“Roger.” He’d be glad to have backup.

His pulse kicked up as he approached the van. It was empty, the rear doors open. The trampled grass behind it led in a trail toward the trees and disappeared as the path turned to dirt. “Heading for the cabin now.”

“Do not engage targets until backup arrives,” Hamilton ordered.

Logan acknowledged the command but already knew he’d disobey it if Taylor’s life hung in the balance.

A soft breeze rustled the leaves and branches of the trees as he reached the entrance to the thicket. He paused there, ignoring the pain in his knee, motionless as he listened and scanned for any movements or threats.

The path turned right and disappeared into the trees. He followed it, staying off the worn area and using the screen of trees to help conceal him.

Then he heard it.

Muffled voices. A scuffle.

He dropped to his good knee, all his senses training on the spot where the sound had come from. Then he crept forward, the pain in his knee barely registering beneath the rush of adrenaline in his veins.

“Contact thirty yards east of my position,” he whispered, and gave his location. “No visual yet.”

“We’re five minutes away,” Easton answered.

“Do not engage on your own,” Hamilton warned.

Logan moved closer, picking up speed. The path narrowed again, and he saw the cabin. Just as he started toward it, someone burst out of the far side and started through the woods.

Taylor’s voice, shaken but distinct. “Dillon. What are you doing?”

His heart seemed to stop beating for a moment, then shot into triple time. “It’s her. Taylor. She’s with Dillon.” And that son of a bitch wasn’t harming one hair on her head.

Logan’s feet were already moving, his boots nearly soundless on the pathway. He didn’t care about being exposed now. All he cared about was rescuing Taylor.

“Yes, you can. You don’t have to do this.”

Do what? He forced down the fear, fought the urge to let out a roar and charge toward them.

“Yes, I do.” Wainright.

A sharp female scream rent the air.

Every hair on his body stood on end at the sound of his woman screaming in terror.

Logan exploded into motion.

His feet were a blur on the dirt path as he ran, each stride sending shards of agony through his kneecap. Then Taylor and Wainright burst into view, on the far side of the trees. The fucker had one arm locked around her neck and a gun jammed to her temple.

“Freeze!” Logan shouted, M4 up, finger itching to slide off the trigger guard.

Wainright froze and whipped around, sinking his head and upper body down to hide behind Taylor. Using her as a human fucking shield because he was a fucking pussy.

“Back off or I’ll kill her right here,” Wainright snarled. His eyes were wild, the whites showing all around the irises. Dude was on something, and it wasn’t caffeine.

Logan held his ground and didn’t move, ready to take a shot here and now. Except he didn’t have the angle with Wainright hiding behind Taylor. “Drop your weapon and surrender now. You’re surrounded.”

Wainright kept backing away and dragging Taylor with him. Logan made the mistake of looking at her and his lungs seized. She had blood on her face, both hands locked around Dillon’s restraining arm. Her face was slowly turning color from the pressure, the frozen look of fear on her face sent a wave of cold through him.

“I’ll do it,” Wainright yelled, everything about him agitated. Desperate and unhinged. “Back the fuck off.”

“Drop your weapon!” he shouted, his entire body coiled like a snake ready to strike. He held his aim just over Taylor’s left shoulder, waiting for Wainright to move a fraction of an inch too far.

But as of right now, Logan had no shot.

 

****

 

Logan.

Logan was right there. He would save her. But he either had orders to capture Dillon alive, or he didn’t have a shot.

Taylor’s feet scrambled to keep up with Dillon’s jerky steps as he dragged her away from the trees. Clawing at his arm had done no good.

She fought to shove one of hers between his and her throat, managed to wedge part of her hand in and sucked in a greedy gulp of air. “Let me go,” she choked out to Dillon, bucking once more in his hold.

His arm contracted around her throat like a steel cable, cutting off what little air she’d had. Her eyes bulged at the pressure, all the blood vessels in her neck and face expanding in a desperate attempt to bring oxygen to her brain.

A few more seconds and she’d be unconscious. A few more after that, she’d either be brain damaged or dead.

“Let her go,” Logan commanded again, his voice sending an avalanche of emotions crashing through her. Hope. Grief. Regret.

She kept her gaze pinned on him, her heart ready to explode. He looked so strong standing there with his rifle pointed at them. Regret sliced through her, more painful than anything she’d withstood today.

She hadn’t told him what he truly meant to her. This thing between them was so new, she hadn’t been sure she could trust it. But she knew she could trust him. And that told her everything she needed to know.

“Not fucking happening,” Dillon snapped.

Rage built, eclipsing the paralyzing fear. She was not dying here, right in front of Logan when her freedom was so close. Not without having the chance to experience the rest of what was between them.

As the black spots began to flicker before her eyes, something inside her broke. She twisted in Dillon’s grip and went limp, knowing there was no way he could hold her steady under the force of her dead weight. He cursed and dropped with her, the coward, still using her as a shield.

The moment her knees hit the ground she whirled and attacked. She was more animal than human as she rolled and launched herself at Dillon.

He grunted in surprise and pain as she knocked him to the ground, her fingers like claws as she raked them down his face, his right arm. He yelled and threw a punch at her. His fist glanced off her cheekbone as they rolled. The gun slipped from his grasp and tumbled to the grass.

Somewhere nearby she could hear Logan yelling at her but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

Dillon had been like a brother to her. He’d betrayed her in the worst way possible, and tried to kill her. Would have killed her today as soon as he reached the boat he’d told her about.

Her back slammed into a rock. She cried out but didn’t stop. She was possessed, even when Dillon’s hands wrapped around her throat. She glared up at him, letting the fury take over as he stared down at her with eyes so dark they were nearly black.

The thud of running footsteps registered dimly in her ears. A blur of motion swept past her field of vision, then Dillon grunted as Logan slammed into him in a flying tackle.

Taylor gasped as she was knocked backward, landing hard on her side. She scrambled to her feet just as the men began rolling in the grass in a lethal wrestling match. Their fists slammed into each other, too fast for Taylor to keep track of as they rolled and twisted over and over, Logan on top one moment, Dillon the next.

Pushing to her feet, she found her footing and frantically searched for Dillon’s fallen pistol, her vision slightly blurry without her glasses.

She spotted Logan’s rifle lying a few yards away. It must have been knocked loose when he’d tackled Dillon.

Taylor lunged for it, her legs stiff, almost wooden. Her body was on autopilot, her brain hazy as she grasped the weapon and whirled back toward the men.

Muscle memory took over. Stock snug against her shoulder, she sighted down the barrel, her finger resting on the trigger.

I don’t want to kill you, Dillon. She wanted him to stop, so she wouldn’t have to do this. Because she would do it if it meant saving Logan.

A glint of metal caught in the sunlight and her heart constricted when she saw Dillon had that wicked-looking blade in his hand. He swung it toward Logan in a deadly arc, and Logan barely wrenched to the side in time to stop it from plowing straight into his back. It tore across the back of his left arm instead, and blood streaked out of the wound.

Taylor fought to calm her breathing and widened her stance, watching for a tiny opening. Her target was blurry, her nearsightedness making it impossible to see clearly. She was shaking all over, terrified of hitting Logan if she fired, but more afraid of Dillon killing Logan before she could fire.

The two men twisted again in the grass, and this time Logan got the upper hand. His big body momentarily held Dillon beneath him, and Taylor saw all of Dillon’s face.

Holding her breath, she fired.

Both men jerked and a spray of blood went up. Dillon lurched to his feet and took a running step away from her.

“Logan,” she cried, horrified. She started to lower the weapon, but then jerked it back up to her shoulder. Taking aim at Dillon, she fired again just as Logan dove at him, taking him to the grass with a thud that shook the ground.

This time they both stilled.

Logan paused and came to his knees, straddling Dillon, one bloody fist raised to strike. Then he eased back enough for her to see the hole in the side of Dillon’s throat.

He was choking, mouth opening and closing. Blood spilled out in a thin stream from his nose and mouth, flowed out of the wound in his neck. His dark eyes fixed on her, and the look on his face was one of pure accusation and betrayal.

Tears she hadn’t even realized had formed spilled down her cheeks as she stared back at him, unable to look away. Suddenly the rifle felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Her arms dropped and it tumbled from her numb fingers.

Sickened, she dropped to her knees and turned away from the sight, covering her face with her hands. Her legs gave out.

She slid to the ground and curled up on her side, overcome with horror by what she’d just done. What she’d been forced to do. And because right up until the end, part of her still hadn’t wanted to pull the trigger.

“Taylor.”

A tight, painful sob ripped free as Logan pulled her upright, his powerful arms contracting around her in a desperate grip as he crushed her to his chest. “Jesus, Taylor. Baby, are you all right?” His hand grasped her chin and forced her head up, making her meet his gaze.

Taylor looked at him through swimming eyes, another sob tearing loose. He was so dear to her, she’d had so little time with him and yet she’d almost lost him.

Logan cupped her face between his hands, his worried eyes searching her face. “Sweetheart, are you hurt anywhere?” He let go of her to run his hands over her shoulders, her sides and over her back.

She shook her head, the motion jerky. Her teeth chattered. Everything was shaking. She couldn’t stop it. Had no control over what was happening to her body. “N-no.”

He expelled a relieved breath and grabbed the back of her head with one hand, tucking her face against his shoulder. She could smell blood.

“Y-you,” she stammered. “You’re h-hurt.”

“I’m okay. Shhh, I’m okay. Just sit here with me for a minute and don’t move, okay?” He drew a deep breath and released it slowly, burying his face in her hair.

She made herself nod again, then squeezed her eyes shut and shoved her nose against the base of his throat, breathing him in with every shaky inhalation. Her hands curled into the front of his uniform and clenched tight, holding on for dear life to the only thing anchoring her through the storm of shock and desolation inside her.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his hold never lessening.

Dimly she heard the other men moving around them. Some of them spoke to Logan and he answered without easing the pressure of his arms around her. Gradually the numb fog began to lift. It was almost worse.

The moment of pulling the trigger was clear and sharp in her mind. Cruel in its vividness. And so was the picture of Dillon’s face in her mind as he choked on his own blood, his eyes accusing. Devastated.

And afraid.

She swallowed hard as her stomach rolled. She swallowed again, gagged.

Shoving at Logan’s shoulders, she wrenched to the side just in time to retch onto the grass beside them. She kept throwing up until her stomach was empty, until there was nothing, not even bile. Her throat burned. Her face was slick with sweat and she was clammy all over.

When Logan tried to pull her back to him she pushed away weakly. He ignored her and scooped her up in his arms, handing her back her glasses he must have found on the grass. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. Just lean on me.”

Empty inside, she didn’t bother fighting and curled into his hold, resting her head on his wide chest. She kept her eyes closed, terrified of seeing Dillon’s body, those dark staring eyes.

Logan’s gait was unsteady as he walked, his limp more pronounced now that he was carrying her. Or maybe because he’d injured it during the fight with Dillon.

Her face scrunched. Wishing she could vanish into Logan so no one else could see her, she pressed her face tight to his neck and let the tears fall.