CRIMINAL CHRISTMAS: A Set of 8 Holiday Suspense Stories, page 37
She had texted Hunter when she left Rasa’s house, but he hadn’t responded. Why wouldn’t he respond? Above everything else, Hunter was reliable.
She had also stopped to buy steaks at Halal Meats, the butcher shop right next door to Abu’s restaurant. She decided to do a bit of reconnaissance in her role as a wife shopping for dinner. She had asked innocently if the butcher had eaten at the restaurant. The man was very polite. He told her he supplied the meat for the restaurant, smiled…and that was the end of the conversation. She had failed at investigating today, but she was confidant she’d excel in her role as Hunter’s wife tonight.
She hurried up the front porch steps, ready to throw herself into his arms. She didn’t think of Hunter as a demonstrative man, but after last night, she realized the careful man was ready to express a lot of stored-up, passionate feelings, and she was delighted to be the recipient. She turned the knob, but the door was locked. Where had Hunter gone, and why hadn’t he texted? Did he have a surprise planned?
Maddy dug into her shoulder bag for the key. She opened the door and yelled. “Hunter, I’m home.” Her voice came out breathless, as if she had run home.
No answer. She walked to the sparkling kitchen. Hunter had cleaned. She strode back to their bedroom. Hunter had tidied the entire room, her clothes, thrown on the floor last night in wanton abandon, were now folded on the neatly made-up bed.
Nothing looked out of place. She went back to the dining room to see if Hunter had left her a note like a real husband might do.
Nothing. A light shiver bristled down her neck and spine. Having worked with Hunter on their last assignment, she knew he was a stickler for staying in communication. Something didn’t feel right. But after last night, her whole perception of Hunter had been turned upside down and sideways. He had been right that their relationship changed her perspective about the assignment.
She texted him again. If he had been out running errands, he’d have given her a heads-up.
She carried the steaks to the refrigerator, and a rush of warm emotions came over her, remembering Hunter lifting her onto the counter. The way she had pressed against him, her legs wrapped around him, his stubble had abraded her neck in the most scintillating way. She needed to get her act together. But intimacy with a caring man was new to her.
She’d give Hunter a half hour, and then she’d call Forret from the burner phone. If Hunter was delayed, he’d be pissed she made the connection with their handler, but if the roles were reversed, he would definitely follow protocol.
She walked to their bedroom to change out of her hot clothes. The man had almost an obsession about orderliness. Growing up with a Marine father, Hunter probably never knew any different. She’d try to pick up to please him, but she was not a tidy person about anything, so they both would have to adjust. She liked the idea of bringing a little bit of chaos into Hunter’s controlled world.
She peeled out of her long skirt and wondered how the Afghan women could stand being covered up all the time. Like Hunter’s strict orderliness, the women had never experienced the freedom of having the cool air caress their bare skin and couldn’t possibly know what they were missing.
After changing into shorts and a tank top, Maddy decided she would look at the surveillance tapes Hunter had been watching this morning before she alerted Forret. Maybe Hunter had seen something. It still didn’t explain his lack of communication, though.
She sat at the desk and turned on the multiple screens monitoring Abu’s apartment. There were cameras monitoring the parking lot, the entrance, and the hall outside their apartment.
Maddy checked each screen. A short Asian man parked his beat-up Honda Civic and walked toward the six-story, remodeled apartment building. Maddy reached to scroll back for earlier tapes when motion on the screen monitoring the entrance caught her eye.
Rasa, with baby Cirus, was walking into the building. Rasa had told her she planned to put Cirus down for his nap as soon as Maddy left her apartment. Maddy’s entire being went on hyper-alert focus. Her muscles constricted, and her brain narrowed into single-minded concentration.
She watched the screen as Rasa walked through the front door of the apartment complex, waiting to see if she would enter the Hammans’ hall. Since their apartment was on the ground floor, she didn’t have to wait long before she saw Rasa walk down the narrow corridor. Maddy’s suspicion grew exponentially when the woman kept peering over her shoulder as if she knew Maddy was watching her.
Sadia opened the door for Rasa, who hurried into the apartment. Maddy’s heart punched hard against her chest. What the hell was going on? During his surveillance, had Hunter seen something at the apartment?
Maddy kept her eye on the monitor, tracking the Hammans’ front door as she simultaneously scrolled through the earlier tapes from the other cameras. Like a hammer kick delivered to the chest, her body bolted backward at seeing Hunter walking next to Sadia into the apartment complex. Maddy assumed it was Sadia from the way she moved, but she couldn’t be a hundred percent sure because of her burka.
Confounded by the sight, she replayed the moment over and over. Her brain sped as her muscles knotted into a tight fist of fear and anxiety. Hunter marched next to the woman like a Marine, his shoulders back, chin thrust forward, spine and neck rigid. He went willingly to the apartment, but he was in fighting mode. Sadia was no threat to him, so what did he expect to encounter that had him wound up into battle mode?
Maddy quickly went through the tape monitoring the apartment door. Her hands were shaking as she scrolled through the recording. Maddy watched Guli open the door and say something to Hunter, who rushed into the apartment.
Maddy felt something black and frightening skitter up her spine. She tried to logically recount the possible reasons Hunter might have gone to the apartment. Nothing made any sense.
She shouldn’t be worried for his safety since she knew he could easily disarm two women, one of them old. But uneasiness still tugged at her chest, and fear was inching its way into her mind when she considered the possibility that it had been a setup to draw him into the apartment for Abu and his men. Hunter was an experienced military agent—he would have assessed the threat.
Was there a more innocent reason? She’d like to believe it was innocent, but she read Hunter’s body language. He had gone into the apartment expecting trouble. She would have known if he had called for backup, wouldn’t she?
Maddy went to the locked safe and got out her Glock and one of the many burner cell phones stored there. She noted that Hunter’s Glock was gone. She dialed Forret while she continued to watch the monitors for any further movement from the apartment.
Her breathing quickened into aggressive surges. Her body was pulsing with adrenaline, like a caffeine rush from too many espressos. She recognized the rush—the sweaty palms, the rapid breaths, the racing heart. She was ready to take down whatever shit Hunter had gotten himself into. Taking slow, measured breaths and willing her body to relax, she cracked her neck, trying to relax the taut neck muscles as she waited for Forret to pick up.
“Forret,” came the imperious voice of Homeland Security.
“Forret, this is Jeffers. We might have a situation.”
“Might have. What the hell does that mean?”
She was going to kill Hunter for this phone call once she saved his sorry ass. Why had he broken protocol and gone into the apartment alone? “I have Hunter on the surveillance tape going into the Hammans’ apartment with Abu’s sister, Sadia. According to the time on the tape, he’s been in there a half hour.”
“Go on.” Forret’s voice was calm now, but she knew he was preparing himself for the worst.
“He isn’t answering his phone and he’s taken his Glock.”
“Where were you while he decided to act like the Lone Ranger?”
“I was at class and then delayed by one of my students.”
“Do you have any idea why Hines would do this?”
“No, but by the way he’s moving on the tape, I’d say he was suspicious of the situation.”
“You’re supposed to be the one making contact with the women. It makes no sense. These are observant women who don’t speak to men. Why is he there?”
“Look, if I knew, I wouldn’t have called you. I thought you might know.” Maddy was now getting pissed. It was time to act.
“He’s your partner, and you’re calling me? I should never have okayed you two for this assignment.”
A slow burn of rage was working its way up her body and about to blow out the top of her head.
“Forret, I’m going into the apartment. And you need to put the team on alert. And despite your asshole attitude, Hunter is a top-notch agent. Just do your job. Give me backup.” She ended the call and stormed out of the house.
Chapter Twelve
His first sensation was a razor-sharp pain drilling into the back of his skull. The second was an overwhelming urge to barf up his guts. Disoriented and in agony, Hunter got one eye open. The silent darkness and an overpowering resiny, spicy smell hit him smack in the face. Acid bile rose into his throat, and he gulped against the involuntary spasms.
He closed his eyes and panted through his mouth, willing his body to cooperate. The pungent smells were familiar. Cinnamon and cardamom. Was he back in Afghanistan?
Wanting to fade back into oblivion, he closed his eyes for a brief second. Maddy. His brain jolted wide awake. Where was she? Panic pumped through him. Had they gotten to her? He tried to push to an upright position, but not only were his hands and feet tied, he was also wrapped in something, immobile. From the rough feel against his face and the overwhelming smell of Afghan spices, he surmised that he was wrapped in a dining carpet from Afghanistan.
A rush of faded memories flashed through him in seconds. He had been suspicious when Abu’s sister had appeared at their house, maintaining that a feverish Maddy was vomiting in their apartment. It was a simple ploy, but it had worked—not because he completely accepted the story, but because if they had captured Maddy, he had to rescue her. And he hadn’t been willing to delay because, in either scenario, Maddy needed him. He’d rushed over to the apartment.
He couldn’t move his hand to touch the back of his skull, but he recognized the excruciating throbbing pain of a blunt force injury. Hadn’t he learned anything from his time in Afghanistan? The women could be as fierce as the men. What choice had there been? Maddy was either ill or held hostage. Despite his painful injuries, he still would risk his own safety to rescue Maddy.
He had to get out of here, wherever here was, and find her. She didn’t suspect that the mother and the sister were working with Abu. Did they already have her? He couldn’t allow any thoughts to distract his purpose. One step at a time.
His skull pain and the need to blow his guts were a distraction, but his years of discipline and training kicked him into focus. He brushed his back against the floor, feeling for his gun. They had taken his Glock.
He didn’t know if he had enough space, but he was going to get out of this damn rug and then deal with the next problem of his shackled hands and feet.
Hunter stiffened his spine and neck and shoved his shoulder forward as hard as he could to roll over. Because his feet were tied together, he had to exert a huge effort to accomplish the smallest awkward progress. He threw himself against the floor. He sucked into the hurt as he rolled flat on his face, pressing into the musty smell with the wool fibers brushing against his nose and lips. He couldn’t be sure this effort wasn’t futile. His next move, going from his stomach to his back, was more difficult and required more focused coordination than brute strength. He scrunched his feet and knees up to lever the weight of his legs and hips and flipped.
Visions of Maddy needing him kept his concentration sharp and him oblivious to the background noise of a piercing headache and nausea. Nothing equaled the tangle of his emotions and fears for Maddy right now. Nothing. The mission where he had been stabbed and left for dead in the Registan desert didn’t come close to the terror gripping him now.
His gyrations told him he was in a larger space than the apartment where he had been whacked. Had they driven him away from the complex? Was he rolled in a carpet to cover their exit from the apartment building?
The final push exacerbated his headache until the pain reverberated in his ears. This last roll left him facedown again, but he was free of the confines of the rug. He quickly rolled to his back, sat up, and checked out the space. He was in a small storage room, about twenty-five square feet, in a damp basement. There were two small windows, neither big enough to allow him to escape. The floor and walls were cement, and on one wall there were computer screens and an array of tech gear—a hell of a lot more than he and Maddy had from the FBI. The enemies were tech rich and violent.
He definitely didn’t have much time to make his escape if they’d left him in the center of their operation. The deduction was simple: They planned to kill him. He had to get the hell out of here and find Maddy.
He’d have been screwed if they had tied his hands to his feet. Now all he had to do was get his Mule knife out of his shoe. Not an easy trick, but one he had mastered a long time ago. Snapping the locking mechanism on zip ties was Survival 101 for a field agent.
He raised his arms above his head, anticipating that it was going to hurt like a son of a bitch. He jerked his hands down—fast, with all his might, with his elbow angled back to the point of pain. His size gave him incredible advantage for leverage. He struck his tied wrists against his tightened upper abdomen and the tie broke apart on his first try, although his wrists hurt like a mother, and his head and gut were spinning from the fast movement.
He bent over to reach into his tennis shoe for his folding knife. Grateful they hadn’t discovered it, he made quick work of the ankle ties by sawing through them. He jumped to his feet.
The two windows were still a no-go. The door was thick but had only one lock. He listened at the door and heard nothing. Whatever they were planning to do with him, they were sure to be back soon.
He dug into his pants pocket where he kept his Bogota mini-picks. As his father always said, “No Marine ever goes unprepared.” He used his picks quickly. The sound of the lock opening resounded in the silence and in his pounding head. He quietly placed his Bogota back in his pocket and opened his knife, ready to disarm anyone who got in his way.
Slowly, he opened the door and scanned the long cement-and-cinderblock hall. No one was in the immediate area. He slid along the wall, every sense heightened, muscles clenched, ready to strike.
He encountered no one, reaching the cement steps leading out without incident. No sound came from above. He took the twelve steps to the main floor. By the cheapness and period of the construction, he surmised he was in the basement of the Graham Place apartments where Abu and his family lived. He pushed the heavy fire door open to the lobby of the apartment complex that promised a “secure, gated community.” “Gated” turned out to be a two-foot-high wrought iron fence surrounding the hundred-unit building, and security was nonexistent.
He scanned the lobby. No one in sight.
They had taken his phone, so no way to call for backup. He needed to get into the apartment to find out if Maddy was in danger.
Turning right, he headed back to the Hamman apartment. He stood outside the door and listened. Thanks to shitty workmanship, he could hear through the pressboard door.
He strained to hear the voices. His heart skipped a beat when he heard Maddy’s voice. She was alive, and she sounded like she was fighting mad. Relief and joy shot through him. He hadn’t allowed himself any thought other than to make sure she was safe and secure. Now he was ready to go in and save his woman.
He carefully turned the doorknob with one hand, gripping his knife in the other. Maddy stood with her back to him, but, even with his best stealth, she whirled around and pointed her Glock at him.
“Oh my God, Hunter. Thank God.” Her voice was wobbly, and he would’ve sworn her face contorted as if she might cry. She quickly turned back toward the sobbing Rasa, who was clinging to her toddler. Not the time for a happy reunion. Unlike him, Maddy had learned vigilance from her time in Afghanistan.
And at this moment, he hated his work—that a loving mother wanted to create chaos and violence. Weren’t mothers supposed to want a safer, more peaceful world for their children? What the hell did he know? His mother had deserted him.
He walked over to stand beside Maddy. “Where’s Abu?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” She looked into his eyes with the most honest look of love and need, and he had to stifle the urge to haul her into his arms and kiss her silly.
“Okay, but maybe we should get out of here, since we don’t know who is coming back.”
Rasa stuttered. “They’re gone. I was supposed to distract you until they got away.”
Never moving the pointed gun, Maddy dug into the pocket of her skirt and threw him a burner phone. “Why don’t you call Forret? The team is on standby.”
Maddy turned back to the woman. God, he loved a take-charge woman. She was his perfect counterpart.
He would never admit that once he knew she was safe, he was happy to let the cavalry take over. His head was pounding, he had a bit of double vision, and from the way his legs shook, the effort he’d expended in his escape was catching up with him.
Maddy stepped closer to the woman, who trembled visibly. The toddler grinned and reached out his arms for Maddy.
Maddy’s voice was clipped. “You were supposed to keep me away to lure Hunter to the apartment, right? That was the whole bullshit about Cirus’s rash? So they could take Hunter prisoner?”
Maddy turned back and scanned his body. “Are you hurt from your escape?” He liked that she already gave him credit for escaping. Never hurts a man’s ego when his woman recognizes his skill.
