Holding his Hostage (Shattered SEALs Book 3) Read online

  The little girl stood in the middle of the space, surrounded by toys and clothes and discarded drawers, wailing. “Somebody hurt my dolly!” She held out her favorite doll, and Joanne felt the blood drain out of her head. The doll’s face had been cut open in one long line from her eye to her chin.

  An image of Evelyn’s house stood out in her mind like a lighthouse in a stormy sea. The epitome of safety. Someone who could help. Did Sloan still live in town? She didn’t know how she would handle it if he did, but her discomfiture over seeing her old boyfriend was truly trivial right now.

  April and Lucas appeared in the door. “Get your things,” said Jo, her voice a choked rasp. “Pack a bag. Underwear. Socks. Shirts. Pants.” No one moved. Fiona kept crying, and Jo picked her up, despite how heavy the girl had gotten.

  “Where are we going?” asked Lucas.

  It was the only possible place, just that single destination, no matter how long it had been since she’d been there or all the reasons she left. “My hometown.”

  “You have a hometown?”

  “He’ll follow us,” said April.

  Lucas looked from one to the other, clearly not following but not asking, either.

  “Not if they don’t know we’ve left.” Joanne’s plan clicked firmly into place. “We’ll take the Porsche. We’ll drive out by the stables and avoid the main road.”

  Fiona jerked her head back to look at her mother. “Daddy wouldn’t like that.”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” Jo wiped a tear from Fiona’s cheek. David moved out a year ago, but his apartment didn’t have a garage in which to store his most prized possession.

  Lucas rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes, he would!”

  She took a trembling breath in, terrified of what lay ahead. “We’ll go as soon as it’s dark.” She put Fiona down and kissed her head. “Come on. We all need to pack our things. It’s a long drive from Chicago to New York.”

  3

  Sloan Dvorak had two pair, aces over fives. From the grumpy-ass look on Mac’s lined brown face, Sloan would bet his boss had a whole lot of nothing. Picking up the largest Funyun from the bowl, Sloan put it in his mouth and crushed it loudly with his teeth.

  “Close your damn mouth,” barked Mac, clucking his tongue. “Got no fucking manners at all, like you were raised by goddamn wolves.”

  Actually, he’d been raised right in this very house, though his father had long since passed away and his mother was retired and off seeing the world. That made the old family home more or less Sloan’s, and poker games with the guys were one of his favorite ways to fill it.

  Sloan smiled through a mouthful of Funyuns. Mac definitely didn’t have anything. “I love your soft, sensitive side. You in?”

  “I’ll raise you ten.”

  Sloan turned to Moto, HERO Force’s resident computer genius. “What about you? You want to give me more of your money, or are you saving up for more hair gel?” Moto’s sleek black hair streaked backward from a widow’s peak, an endless source of entertainment for the team.

  “You wish you had hair like this.” Moto laid down his cards. “But I fold.”

  Sloan picked up another Funyun and gestured to his own head. “The women dig the sloppy curly look. They think it’s sexy.”

  Mac grunted. “You look like a cocker spaniel.”

  Sloan nodded. “But a very sexy cocker spaniel who can cook.” He tossed a Funyun to his old dog, Gus. As if to prove his last point, he stood and went to the oven, pulling out a tray of filet mignon and Brie hors d’oeuvres that smelled like heaven, dusting them with finishing salt.

  “I wouldn’t date either one of you motherfuckers.” Trace Langston’s voice was deep and raspy, his heavy drawl testament to his southern roots. “Grab me a beer while you’re up.”

  Sloan grabbed a bottle and the snacks, setting both on the barnwood table. “You in?”

  Trace threw a handful of poker chips into the pot and reached for the beer. “I hate this game. Where are Gavin and Asher tonight? At least I can take their money.”

  “Honduras,” said Mac. “Give me three.” He discarded and Sloan dealt him more cards. “They ran into some trouble with the government. Lying low for a couple days until the embassy can get them out.”

  Sloan looked to Trace with raised eyebrows.

  “None for me,” said Trace.

  “None? Shit. Dealer takes one.” Sloan put down the six of hearts and picked up another ace. “What about Champion?”

  “He had a date.” Mac sighed heavily and put his cards face down.“I fold. Pass that over here.” He gestured to the food.

  Sloan turned to Trace. “Guess it’s just you and me, Langston.”

  Mac moaned. “Damn, that’s good.”

  “Try it with the Funyuns.” Sloan passed the bowl down.

  “I’ll raise you forty.” Trace rubbed his beard.

  Sloan smiled. “I call.”

  “Sweet mother of God,” said Mac, pointing to the plate. “When I’m on my deathbed, I want you to make me that. You can just shove it in my mouth until it blocks my airway.”

  Trace turned over his cards. “Flush.”

  “You dick.” Sloan turned over his full house.

  Trace smiled and winked before raking the chips toward himself. “Always a pleasure doing business with ya, Dvorak.”

  Moto lifted his chin toward Trace. “We should get going.”

  “I’m just getting warmed up,” Trace whined.

  Moto stood. “Your designated driver has to be on a plane for Wyoming at five in the morning.”

  “So do I. We can sleep on the way. It’s a four-hour flight.”

  Sloan leaned back in his chair. Moto was the epitome of discipline, managing to squeeze more into a day than most people did in a week. There was no way in hell Trace would convince him to go off schedule. “Thanks for coming by,” said Sloan.

  Trace reluctantly stood and burped. “When you go wheels up, Dvorak?”

  “Got a few days off.” He walked Trace and Moto to the door and said his goodbyes. He made himself a gin and tonic before joining Mac back at the table. It was time for them to have a conversation, one he’d been dreading for months. But first, he needed to check on his friend. “You look tired, old man.”

  “I feel it.”

  “Any news on Ellie?” Mac’s wife had left him years earlier, and every moment he wasn’t doing official HERO Force business, Mac was looking for her.

  Sloan was aware of Mac’s stare fixing on the gin and tonic. Mac didn’t drink, but Sloan had long suspected it was because he might never stop if he did. The man had a hunger about him that never seemed to be satisfied. Men like that often chose to be numb rather than constantly chase fulfillment.

  “Waiting on the DNA results from the bodies we found down south. Making me goddamn stir-crazy.”

  “I’m praying for good news for you, man.”

  Mac grunted. “Sometimes I wonder what the hell that would be. I hope she’s alive, of course. But if she is, she doesn’t want me in her life. I don’t see a happy ending in sight.”

  Sloan didn’t believe that was completely true. If Mac wasn’t holding out hope, there would be no point in searching for his wife. On the contrary, searching for Ellie seemed to be the only constant Mac really had. “People can surprise you. Even somebody you’ve completely given up on can turn around and make good. Be part of your life again. You just fight the good fight until you find her.”

  “Oh, I ain’t giving up. Just think I’m out of my damn mind, is all.” He reached for another filet mignon snack. You ever been married, Dvorak?”

  “Came close once, but I dodged that bullet.”

  “Somebody told me once, even people you’ve given up on can come back and make good.”

  Sloan laughed. “Not this time.”

  “So, what’s going on with you? You been looking like Atlas, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders and shit.”

  “Noticed that, huh?” He took a
sip of his drink and shrugged. This talk was long overdue, but that didn’t make it any easier. “How do I put this? I’m thinking maybe this business isn’t for me, after all.”

  “HERO Force?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “People are counting on me. There’s a reason you can’t be a Navy SEAL with one arm, Mac.”

  “Once a SEAL, always a SEAL.”

  “You know what I mean.” He swirled his glass, a bright green lime wedge moving in circles. “A man needs two arms and two legs to be a good soldier.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir on that one, boy.”

  “You barely even limp. I’m missing my whole arm.”

  “I can’t run worth a damn, and we both gotta strap on a limb to make ourselves whole. What’s this about, Sloan? You feeling sorry for yourself all of a sudden?”

  “Mexico.” He leaned back in his chair. He’d been on a HERO Force mission when the shit hit the fan. “My prosthetic can’t keep up with the real thing. I lost my grip on my weapon, missed a shot that nearly got Razorback killed.”

  “He didn’t mention it.”

  “He didn’t know.” He looked at his hands on either side of his glass, one flesh and bone, one resin and metal.

  Mac sighed and leaned forward in his chair. “You’re a highly trained soldier. One of the elite.”

  He blew out air. “I’m a fucking liability.”

  “Bullshit. You go looking for reasons, you can find one every man on my team doesn’t belong there. But you stop looking, and all you see are good, strong, capable men.”

  “Is that good enough? We’re protecting lives every day out there, shooting firearms that could blast a hole through a man in a fraction of a second, then do it again.”

  “What are you saying? You want out?”

  Sloan cocked his head. “Yeah, man. I am.”

  “No.”

  “Come on. You know I’ve got a point. You know I’m telling you the truth when I say we came this close to losing that battle down in Mexico, and it would have been my goddamn fault. Me, Razorback, Jackie, her kid… all of us would have been dead.”

  “Listen to me, kid. You take what you’re given in life and you make the best of it that you can. Are you the same soldier you were when you worked for Uncle Sam? Hell no. You’re wiser. You’re smarter. You’re seasoned, for God’s sake.”

  Sloan laughed without humor. “Seasoned. I’m a fucking gimp.”

  “So what? You gonna lock yourself up in your mama’s house and bake for the rest of your life? You have a gift. You have a responsibility to use it for the greater good, Dvorak.”

  “Yeah, well, I think the greater good would be better served if I retired.”

  There was a knock at the door, and Gus launched himself toward it, barking. One of the guys must have forgotten something. The old husky never appeared younger than when he was defending his turf, his bark sounding far more fierce than he’d actually been in years.

  “All right, boy, calm down.” He rounded the corner toward the front door just as Gus stopped barking, his ferocity replaced by excited dancing and an eager whine. Sloan cocked his head. The dog would never react that way for the HERO Force guys. Was his mother back early from her trip? Why hadn’t she called him for a ride home from the airport?

  He approached the door, the melodic sounds of a woman’s voice audible through the thick wood panels, and froze. That wasn’t his mother’s voice, though it was one he knew well. He stared at the dog for a long beat, watching him jump and dance as he listened to the woman.

  It couldn’t be.

  The doorbell rang a second time and he stood rooted to the spot as the dog went crazy. “Okay, okay,” he whispered to the animal. “Calm down.” Taking a deep breath, he opened the door, and just as Gus had indicated, there stood the woman who’d broken his heart.

  4

  “All right, boy, calm down.”

  Joanne’s eyes went wide. She stood on the porch of the old Victorian house, suddenly wishing the boards would open beneath her feet and swallow her deep into the earth. Anyplace would be better than here, any moment far better than this one. That wasn’t Evelyn, that sounded like Sloan!

  She looked longingly back at the Porsche idling in the driveway, a big plume of exhaust glowing behind it in the light of a streetlamp. She wished she could run back to it and drive far away from this house, this town, and the memories that lived here.

  Heavy footsteps approached the door, but it was that voice that lit her anxiety like a fuse. She was positive it was him, and the dog sounded like Gus. She’d been seventeen when she left Hyde Park, the furry white Husky mix just a puppy who liked to sleep between her feet. That was what, thirteen years ago? “Gus, is that you, baby?”

  The dog whined and she smiled wide, needing to focus on the dog instead of the human being on the other side of that door. “Oh, sweetie, I missed you so much!”

  The footsteps had stopped, but no one answered the door. She closed her eyes tightly and pressed the doorbell a second time. This time it opened, a rectangle of light from the kitchen door putting the figure in silhouette. Still, she recognized him as she would from any angle, and a visceral ache stabbed her abdomen. “Hi, Sloan,” she squeaked.

  For long moments, he didn’t move or respond. Then the storm door opened and the dog pushed out, jumping up onto her thighs and licking her face. Joanne laughed, petting the animal she’d once considered her own and wiping away his kisses. The light came on over her head and she squinted against it.

  “Okay, that’s enough, get down,” he said.

  She straightened and looked back at him. His eyes struck her first, as they always had—an arresting hazel of golden green that was his alone. Thick dark hair settled in waves and curls, and she remembered the feel of it slipping through her fingers as he moved on top of her. He was bulkier now than he had been, more muscular, the change turning what had been boyish good looks into something dangerous and fine. His brow, always heavy and starkly masculine, emphasized the glare he was giving her. She swallowed.

  “Jo, what are you doing here?”

  “Well, I’m not selling Girl Scout cookies.” She snapped her fingers and pointed at him with a smile, the joke garnering no response. She cleared her throat. “I was looking for your mom.”

  “She’s in Machu Pichu.”

  “Oh…” Fuck.

  “Come on in.” He moved over for her to enter, holding open the door with one arm. She squeezed between him and the doorframe just as Gus pushed past her legs, knocking her off-balance and directly into his chest. His warm body carried his familiar scent straight to her brain. His arm came around to steady her, and she jerked away from the contact, righting herself and nearly jumping out of his embrace. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  She moved ahead of him to the kitchen, so aware of his presence behind her that her back tingled, and she needed to remind herself how to walk. The smell of something savory hung heavy on the air, and her mouth watered, reminding her she hadn’t eaten in hours. He’d always been an excellent cook, and her empty stomach longed for the food that smelled so good.

  It struck her at once—here she was, starving and desperate, while his home was warm and full of food and anything she could possibly need. That had always been the dynamic between them, and it pained her to realize not even that had changed.

  She entered the kitchen. A dark-skinned man sat at the table, fit and wiry, traces of silver shining in the scruff on his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize you had company.”

  “Joanne Buckley, Mac O’Brady. Mac, this is Jo.” He sat down, gesturing to a chair at a wide barn-wood table.

  “I was just about to hit the road.” Mac stood.

  She put her hand on her chest. “Don’t let me chase you out.”

  “Nah, this fool was talking nonsense anyway. Good time to take my leave.” He took a black leather coat off the back of his chair
and slipped his arm into the sleeve. “Though I wouldn’t mind you putting some of those snacks into a ziplock bag for me, Dvorak.”

  Joanne took a seat, her stomach growling as she watched Sloan get food for his friend and say goodbye. When he was through, Sloan brought the tray back to the table. “Help yourself.”

  Her nervous stomach warred briefly with her hunger, and she took one. “Thanks.”

  “What brings you to town? Is it your father?”

  She shook her head. “God, no. I don’t even know if he’s alive or dead.”

  “Alive, last I knew.”

  “Fabulous.” She looked at her hands. This was harder than she could have imagined. “I was really hoping to see your mom.”

  “She’ll be back a week from Friday.”

  Shit.

  Her hand trembled, her stomach rioting against the food she’d just swallowed. “That doesn’t really help me.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  “Uhm…” She would rather ask the devil himself for a favor, but it’s not like that was an option. She bit her lip.

  He leaned back. “I haven’t seen you in thirteen years, then you show up on my doorstep at one in the morning. Gotta be something.”

  “I thought your mom would be here. She sent me a card.” He furrowed his brow, and she wondered if he knew David was dead. She’d been hoping they could stay here, but now that plan was all shot to hell. She had a little more than two hundred dollars in cash and hadn’t thought to use her bank card before she left town. Now she was afraid of leaving a trail. “I need help.”

  “Name it.”

  “Money.” That was the least of it, but it was certainly a start. Running away with a family of four didn’t come cheaply.

  “How much?”

  “A few thousand.” She looked away, eyes stinging as she desperately tried not to cry. What must he think of her?

  His chair scraped the wood floor as he stood. “Cash or check?”