Chapter Seventeen

Rule for success number seventeen:

Decide to succeed.

HEATH weaved in and out of rush hour traffic as he headed toward Betti’s office as quickly as he dared. Sweat ran from his brow, dripped down his temple. His heart raced. Why hadn’t Jolie answered her phone? Why hadn’t Cutter responded, either? Wisteria wasn’t at her desk. He’d tried to call Karis, who hadn’t answered. Instead, she’d texted back that she was busy with Arthur, taking advantage of the file room, followed by a winky icon. She hadn’t responded to his emergency text in return.

Heath stopped at a light with a curse and pulled out his phone again. The blinding sunlight overhead made the screen hard to see as he tried to track Jolie’s phone. It showed her at a static location just off Central Expressway, now about five miles north of Betti’s offices. Why would she go there? Early lunch? Doctor appointment? Shopping? Why hadn’t she told him any of that?

Only one reason made sense: Somehow, Myles had Jolie in his grip.

Bloody hell, he had to get to her. He hated to panic, but now that Myles knew Heath had pieced together at least some of the puzzle of their past, he wouldn’t hesitate to move in for the kill. Because he clearly hadn’t hesitated seven years ago. Heath quickly rang Hunter Edgington in Lafayette.

“Hey, man,” the former SEAL greeted. “Everything okay with Cutter?”

“He’s not answering his phone. No one at Betti is. I’m stranded on the fucking freeway at rush hour and I’m fairly certain the man who killed my first wife is trying to kill my second.”

“Wait. You got married again? Okay, not important. Who is your second wife?”

“Jolie,” he gritted his teeth. “My former partner at MI5, Myles Beaker, has her, I suspect. I’ve just realized he was responsible for killing Anna and now . . .”

Heath swallowed, not sure he could finish that sentence. Thankfully, he didn’t have to.

“I got the picture,” Hunter said. “Any idea where to find them?”

“Not really. Do you know anyone who can be here quickly? Beaker is a crafty bastard. He knows I have information about him so he’ll likely want to trade my silence for Jolie’s life. But he hasn’t contacted me yet. I think we have time . . . but not much.”

“You need backup.” Hunter assessed the situation immediately. “Let me . . . Logan!” he called out to his younger brother, also a former SEAL. “Text Xander and ask him if we can borrow his plane again. Emergency.”

“On it.”

“Plane?” Who was Xander that he had a plane at his disposal?

Heath knew it would take time for the Edgington brothers to arrive but they got results.

“Yeah, Xander Santiago and his brother, Javier, own a defense contracting company, so they have a jet. I think we use it for missions as much as they use it for business,” Hunter quipped. “It’s really fucking handy. I’m coming to Dallas. Logan is in, too. We’ll get together as many as we can to help.”

“Xander says the plane is ours,” Logan called out in the background.

“Awesome,” Hunter replied. “We’re on our way.”

Heath felt his first glimmer of hope. “How soon can you be here?”

“Louisiana is just next door. Two hours max.”

“Text me the name of the airport and I’ll have a car ready.” Heath wasn’t sure how he’d manage that but he would make it work.

“No need. Xander keeps a fleet ready there. He comes to Dallas often.”

“Thank you.” From the bottom of his heart. A weight had been lifted from his soul. No, Jolie wasn’t safe yet, but with these men, she had a much better chance of survival.

“You’re welcome. I’ve got my go bag in hand. So does Logan. We’ve texted the wives that we’re leaving. I’ll pick up Tyler Murphy on the way. He’s in, too. Let us know when you hear from Beaker.”

Heath both anticipated and dreaded that moment. “Will do.”

“Xander’s plane has Wi-Fi, so we can receive texts. You can tell us where to rendezvous.”

As soon as the call ended, Heath tried to decide how to proceed. Follow Jolie’s phone, which hadn’t moved since the last time he’d pinged the device, or go to Betti. Figuring the police would soon be at her office, he followed her mobile.

When he reached the location, he found an abandoned building beside the freeway. The car park was empty. He didn’t see her vehicle or any hint of the woman herself. But he found her phone discarded on the asphalt, as if someone had thrown the device, maybe from a moving car because it could be tracked.

Fresh fear gripped Heath.

He retrieved the mobile with the edge of his shirt to prevent marking it with his fingerprints. As he stared at the shattered screen, Heath’s blood to turned to ice again. Jolie would never cut herself off from the outside world intentionally. She always wanted to be in contact—for her business, for her sister, for emergencies. But Myles would certainly know that a man who’d lost one wife once would be paranoid about the safety of a new one and do everything possible to keep an eye on her when he couldn’t be there to do it himself.

Heath pictured Myles wresting the cell from her hands and throwing her lifeline to safety out his window. He could imagine the abject terror she would feel. It almost debilitated him. Guilt followed closely. How could he have failed Jolie? How could he have overlooked the possibility—for so long—that Myles was a killer?

Then again, what grieving widower imagines that his best mate would go so far as to kill his own wife and unborn baby? And for what? Heath had no clue.

Shoving down his horror, Heath called 911. “There’s a kidnapping in progress.”

No, he didn’t know what car Myles was driving or what he was wearing or where he might take her. Maybe someone at Betti had seen them or overheard something? The dispatcher said that police were en route to the location in question and that if he had new information, he should advise those units when he arrived.

Heath raced to get there. He couldn’t endure this again—the loss, the despair, the feeling of failure. The engulfing guilt. But worse, he couldn’t lose Jolie. She wasn’t merely a wife he guided and doted on and cared for. She was a partner, his equal, his intellectual challenge. She motivated him to live again and be better than ever.

What the fuck would he do if he lost her?

After a ten-minute detour, he screeched up to Betti. Barely bothering to park his bike, he vaulted off and ran into the suite. Just inside the door, he found Wisteria blinking in shock, Karis crying, Arthur trying to comfort her, Gerard and Rohan arguing about who could have done what to stop this, and Cutter being taken away on a stretcher with a rapidly reddening bandage wrapped around his head.

A uniformed officer approached. “Who are you?”

“I’m the person who called. My wife is missing. Jolie Quinn. Now Powell. Five foot six inches, brown hair, green eyes, thirty years old—”

“Her sister just filled us in. Where have you been?” the cop asked suspiciously.

Heath nearly groaned. The police almost always suspected the spouse in any kidnapping or murder, thinking it was some sort of domestic dispute. “I was late coming into work. I tried to call the office and everyone here on my way but got no response. That’s very unlike my wife and her staff. We’ve had trouble here of late. A break-in, a shooting. I worried. And now she’s gone. She may have been abducted by a man named Myles Beaker. He’s MI5.”

“Huh? He’s what?”

Heath tried not to lose his patience. “It’s the British equivalent of the FBI. He’s very dangerous and he’s got a vendetta against me. Five foot ten inches, sandy hair, blue eyes. I’m not sure what he’s driving or where he’ll be taking her. I fear he means to kill her. We need to find them.”

“I understand, sir. You need to calm down. If we don’t know anything about his vehicle or his destination, that makes things a bit trickier—”

“If this was your wife, your mother or daughter, your loved one in the hands of someone you knew had killed before, how would you respond?”

The fortysomething cop drew in a long breath, then nodded. “We’ll do everything we can.”

Heath hoped it would be enough, hoped his backup from Louisiana made it soon. If not, he would be attending Jolie’s funeral . . . and burying himself with her.

***

JOLIE stumbled, barely managing to keep her balance as Beaker gave her a merciless shove forward. “Keep moving.”

She couldn’t see anything since he’d blindfolded her and cuffed her wrists half an hour ago, shortly after he’d tossed her phone out the window of his Jeep. She had no idea where he’d taken her or what was next.

He grabbed her, stopped her short. A door opened, then he pushed her through and released her. Jolie’s instinct told her to kick him, run—do something. But she stood, wrists tied behind her back, unable to see anything around her. He jabbed the gun into her spine.

God, she couldn’t just stand here and die. “Where are we?”

He ripped off her blindfold to reveal what looked like an abandoned industrial building. Some antique conveyer belt system wound through the cavernous structure. It was dark. The place looked filthy. A few cracks in the roof let in limited sunlight. The quiet, except for the scurry of what was probably rodents she didn’t want to identify, sounded eerie.

Beaker led her to an old office, complete with a rusty desk and a pair of grimy chairs. He shot her an impatient look as he urged her into one of the seats. “Nowhere anyone will find you. Please don’t try to be a heroine. I’ve been chasing and capturing some of the most prolific and shrewd criminals in the world for fifteen years. They haven’t outsmarted me, and you won’t either.”

“So you chose to become one of them?”

“Don’t be daft.” He scowled as he sat. “I’m not some ridiculous serial killer who slaughters for the thrill. I never wanted to kill Anna.”

Jolie stared at him in complete horror. So Heath’s former partner had killed his first wife? Did her husband even know that? “Oh my god . . .”

“I see I’ve shocked you. I did him a favor, you know. Anna wasn’t his equal. She was a simpering little thing. Beautiful, yes. But void of a brain or any hint of intrepid spirit. I was most surprised when I began digging into you, Ms. Quinn. Or rather, Powell. You’re quite different.”

And because he hadn’t liked Anna, Beaker had decided she deserved to die? “So you have the same end planned for me?”

“As it happens, I would prefer not to hurt you. I think you could do great things in life. That should make you feel better, eh?”

It didn’t because she didn’t believe him. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing, actually. I want to hear from your husband. We have unfinished business. A few days ago I told him to stop poking around in the past. I’ll bet he wishes now that he had listened to me.” Beaker sighed. “He really was one of my best friends. Shame . . .”

Because the madman meant to kill him? She had to break free, warn Heath. Jolie had no illusions. Beaker would use her as leverage, and Heath would let him because losing another wife would destroy him.

Jolie cursed herself for not trusting her first instinct about this asshole—and for not believing in Heath’s love enough to conquer her inner cynic. “There was no bomb in Betti’s offices, was there?”

“No, but I had to make it sound good.” He smiled, obviously pleased with himself. “You, my dear, have only two weaknesses. Well, three now. Initially, I knew your Achilles’ heel was your business and your sister. By threatening both, I figured I would easily sway you. But I think you love your new husband a great deal and would do most anything for him.”

She refused to give Beaker anything else to use against her. “We married impulsively a few days ago. He’s great in bed. I’d like to have a baby someday. He was game.” She shrugged through the lies. “Marriage seemed like a good idea. I’m thirty. It was time.”

He shot her a chastising glare. “If you’re going to lie, you’ll have to do a far better job. I’ve looked into your background, profiled you a bit. After your mother’s rocky up-and-down love life, I think only real love would tempt you to the altar. You’re a driven career woman in the throes of expansion. I rather thought that revealing Heath’s secret plot to invest in Betti as a way to earn your trust was a stroke of genius.” He patted himself on the back. “You might want a child but you still have time. So any childbearing you want now would only be because you’ve found someone you want to spend your life with. Do you have a better lie to run past me?”

“Do you want money?”

“No. If that were my sole motivation, I would have found some way to bilk Heath out of his. Or better yet, organize criminals and steal millions. I know quite well how to do it. I’ve learned from some of the best masterminds over the years. But as it happens, I’m not a thief. I believe in earning my money and devoting my skills when the time is right.”

Jolie didn’t understand this man at all. Not a killer? Not a thief? “Why the hell did you murder Anna?” She gasped as something truly awful occurred to her. “You also killed your own pregnant wife?”

“It was a difficult but unfortunate necessity. I never wanted to hurt her, but . . . she left me no other option. Your husband should be calling soon.” He glanced at his phone. “I do hope he uses his common sense, rather than his bravado. He doesn’t need to save the world, just you. Hungry?” He opened a cooler she hadn’t noticed on the floor beside the desk. “Ham sandwich?”

Eating was the last thing on her mind now. “No.”

“Then we’ll wait. Heath is really very smart. I’m sure it will occur to him to call and—” His mobile rang then, and Beaker glanced down at the screen. “Excellent.”

Jolie wished she could reach through the phone and tell Heath not to talk to Beaker, not to get involved or put himself in danger. But that was her husband. He would protect her a hundred times over before he would lift a finger to shield himself. He would never let her stay at this man’s mercy if he could save her.

“I wondered when you would call,” Myles said, putting the line on speaker.

“Let her go, you motherfucker! Don’t hurt her. She’s done nothing to you.”

Hearing her husband’s voice, Jolie’s heart caught in her throat. “Heath!”

“Shut up,” Beaker snapped at her, then turned his attention back to her husband. “As it happens, I quite agree with you, Powell.”

“Let me talk to her.”

“Soon. Now I don’t have much time because I’m certain you have the authorities recording and tracing this. Don’t insult my intelligence by insisting otherwise. So here’s what you’re going to do: Head toward the West End. In thirty minutes, I’ll text you an address. You will have another ten minutes to find it. At that point, you will receive a package. I’ll call you with further instructions. Come alone. Record nothing. Fail any of these demands and I fear for your lovely bride. Do you understand?”

Heath said nothing for a long moment, then he growled as if barely restraining his temper. “If you want money or information, I’ll need to start gathering it now.”

“Nothing like that. Really, I thought you knew me better.”

“Clearly I don’t know you at all. How could you kill Anna, Lucy, and your own baby?”

Beaker didn’t answer. “Watch for my text in thirty minutes.”

“I need an hour. I don’t have a car.”

Jolie frowned. Anyone on her staff would lend him a car. Why was he stalling?

Her captor gave a long-suffering sigh. “Don’t take me for an idiot. I’ve done my legwork. I know you have a motorcycle. I know your wife has plenty of people who will drive you to and fro. I’m sure you’ve also established some connections in Dallas. Isn’t your wife friends with that heiress from Chicago who just had a baby? Callindra Howe? Isn’t her husband former FBI?” Beaker tsked at Heath. “Don’t treat me like a fool. Thirty minutes. I’m hanging up.”

“Wait! I want to talk to Jol—”

Beaker ended the call and set the phone on his desk. “I’ve disabled location services on this phone, and by the time the authorities triangulate the towers the phone pinged during our call, this ordeal will be long over. So . . . not hungry, eh?”

Not in the least. “Why are you tormenting someone who used to be your friend?”

“Patience. It shouldn’t be much longer now . . .”