Page 41 of Deadly Threat
Malachi hated leaving Mia, but he had no idea what he was walking into. Safer to retrieve her and go back once he was sure they could observe the takedown—if there was one. He prayed that Amber was here, that they could rescue her tonight, but his gut told him that was too easy.
His night vision goggles showed him a greenish panorama filled with palm trees, vines, and scrub brush left to Mother Nature’s whims. He trudged through sand and weeds, the pant legs he’d tucked into his boots catching on the razor-sharp points of various cacti and succulents.
Far off in the distance, a coyote bayed, the lonely sound adding a macabre eeriness on the arid night air. Afghanistan had been similar to this. Long nights spent in the desert, an oasis here and there with clumps of nomads, barely surviving the terrain. There he’d worried about IEDs, enemy gunfire, ambushes. Here, it was a landfill—potentially used for body disposal—a lab where ricin had toxified the ground for a time. The night was still, yet a variety of odors rode the air—rotting things all mixed together in the landfill’s soup.
He skirted the western edge of the dump, making his way toward the laboratory grounds. The fence around it had more than one breach point where animals or fallen branches had managed to create a hole. Near a stand of what appeared to be fruit trees, an entire section had been torn down. Things moved in the night around him, snakes and various rodents, but he kept his focus on finding a vantage point to watch the SWAT team.
He was on them in seconds, the sound of bodies nearby made him pause. They weren’t noisy, but his ears were highly sensitive, thanks to his training. He wasn’t able to see the main entrance to the lab, but he could make out the rear platform. He kept going, carefully, deliberately, until the SWAT vans were a dim outline in their hidden spots along the drive.
Continuing on, he saw the team staking out the area, moving with guns and purpose.
The rush of adrenaline hit him hard. This was a foolish risk, especially if Harris and Sam hadn’t deceived him. Amber Livingston might well be in that building, and if her captors were with her, things could go sideways fast.
Unlike Caleb, he rarely took this kind of chance unless it was well calculated. But tonight, he had to do it for Mia.
He needed a better vantage point and wondered how much time he had before they breached the place. Calculated risk— that’s what she was for him. He’d never fallen for anyone this hard, this fast, and she was bound to leave him in the dust when this was over. She’d sought refuge with him because he’d offered hope, a lifeline during this crisis. It was normal human behavior, and he didn’t begrudge her that. Hell, he’d let her take advantage of him anywhere, anytime.
Only…he found he wanted more. He didn’t want to be her temporary lifeline. He’d found himself in her eyes. Renewed his love of life by helping her find hers.
Damn, he had it bad. He’d never been one for mere infatuations or one-night stands. He liked stability, someone to come home to. The long-haul—that’s what he wanted.
And didn’t that scare the ever-loving hell out of him? First Joe, then Caleb.What are the odds I get Mia and a dog?
Moving on silent feet, he kept a wide berth between him and the others, a tiny smile refusing to stay off his face. He tried to refocus, stop thinking about Mia and the future, and get his head on straight. He’d thought about going into SWAT at one point after he left the Marines. He had the skills, willpower and determination. A close friend, a sniper in his unit, had joined the FBI ‘enhanced’ team not long ago. He hadn’t spoken to Norrie in months. He might be here tonight. On the north side, he spotted a two-story metal warehouse. Most of the windows were broken, and it appeared as though a fire had burned a section of it. The ground it sat on rose slightly and butted up to the landfill’s westernmost ditch. If he and Mia could find a lookout there, they could see the side of the lab, along with both front and back exits.
As he made his decision to double back and get her, he noted the loading dock had a large, rectangular delivery truck next to it. Dirty and rundown, the sides bore a business logo that had been weathered away. Was that what Marcher had used to transport her? He had more questions than answers, and it bugged the shit out of him.
Retracing his steps through the overgrown wall of vegetation, his mind flashed to his desert tours again. The nomadic farmers moved their tiny, scrawny herds from one watering hole to another, seeking food and survival for the animals who were worth more than gold. Sometimes, they had no fixed home, taking their families with them, staying away from the fighting, and attempting to disappear in order to stay alive.
Marcher had been paranoid, had known the depth of trouble he’d landed in, and had probably moved Mia to keep one step ahead of the cops.
Malachi barely avoided a snake coiled near a fallen stump. The thing jolted at his sudden appearance, then slithered away under a palmetto.Focus, he reminded himself.
But it didn’t make sense. In many ways, Damon Marcher understood calculated risk the same as Malachi did. Why would he have put his international empire, and his life, at risk by kidnapping Mia?
It’s personal.The surety beat at his brain.
There seemed to be a lot Amber hadn’t shared with Mia. Could she have been involved with Marcher somehow? No, the Feds would have discovered any relationship if they’d had one.
Then what? Seemed Marcher’s actions had been triggered by something more than manipulating the mayor to do what he wanted.
But then again, Mia had told him about the man’s ramblings. To her, he’d seemed unhinged, disturbed. He’d definitely become unstable.
Taking her hostage had been a foolish endeavor and he had to have known it. Malachi would bet his dusty boots it had something to do with Constance Cronenworth. But what? Had she been a girlfriend, a sister?
The truck came into view. Seeing him, Mia flew out of the passenger side and into his arms. He hugged her tight, setting her on her feet a few inches from him.
“Is she there?” She teetered on the knife-edge of joy and disappointment.
“I don’t know,” he told her. “There’s no activity inside I can see. No vehicles, other than SWAT and a broken-down panel van.”
She deflated. “So probably not.”
Probably not, but it was possible that some small detail of the place would spark her memory if she’d been held there. It was a long shot, but he’d been around enough men and women with PTSD, and he understood what trauma could do to a person. The brain and heart liked to close off specific memories to protect you. What might seem inconsequential could bring forth a thought that could evoke a revelation. He was no expert, no psychologist, but it didn’t take one to realize Mia had a lot of healing yet to do.
Taking a stun stick the size of a Maglite from his pant pocket, he showed her how it worked.
“Wow,” she said, flinching at the electrical buzz that resonated from the double prongs. “That makes my version look like a wimp.”
