Page 32 of Finding Her Heart

A crackle sounded in Spence’s ear. “Heads up,” said Pete’s disembodied voice on one of the comm units. “A black SUV with five men has entered the airfield. I repeat, five men in a black SUV are headed for the hangar.”

Once all five men were in the hangar, Spence and his people would spring their trap. There were three men inside the plane, one inside the hangar office and another six in the three SUVs. Nine versus five; Spence liked their odds. Those men posted on the perimeter of the airport were to hold their position and warn the main team of any reinforcements and to catch any stragglers.

The black SUV rolled into the hangar and five men who looked to be in their mid-thirties dressed in jeans, t-shirts and leather motorcycle jackets got out of their SUV. They almost looked like they could have been one of those suburban dad clubs who bought bikes, dressed alike, and cruised around pretending to be bad asses. Only these guys weren’t pretending. The night before, they had tried to run him and Harper off the road, and he had no doubt they would have killed them if they’d succeeded.

The men’s voices were low, but loud enough that Spence could hear they were speaking Arabic. He hoped none of this ever made the press, but if it did, he hoped that people would see that all of this—the fraudulent racehorse scheme, Dulcie’s murder, the attempted murder of him and Harper—was not some nefarious terrorist plot. It was greed, pure and simple. Nothing political or noble about it. Just a group of men figuring out how they could make more money than the millions they already had.

The men quit quibbling long enough for the group of four to head toward the plane and the lone man, probably the pilot, to head for the administrative office.

“Everyone ready?” intoned Spence into the comm unit. “On my mark. Three-two-one-go!”

The screeching tires of the SUVs racing into place split the quiet of the late afternoon silence. The men swung around, reaching for their guns. Good—if nothing else, they could hold them on a weapons charge.

Spence stepped out of the plane. “Gentlemen, I am Special Agent In Charge Colton Spencer. I am placing you under arrest.”

The presumed pilot dashed toward the office door and was met by Alice as she opened it, her SIG leveled at him. She dipped the gun ever so slightly at the floor of the hangar. The man never took his eyes off her but dropped to his knees.

“Any of you thinking about going for those guns should think again. There are six rifles pointed at you, plus four fully automated SIGs. Trust me, we can cut you down before your guns ever clear their holsters.” Spence allowed his words to sink in. “Now, gentlemen—on your knees. Use the fingers of your non-dominant hand to remove your guns, place them on the floor and then push them away. Anyone not following my instructions will be shot—not killed but shot.”

The four remaining men looked between each other and slowly, the first one knelt down, followed by the rest, removing their weapons as instructed. Four officers stowed their rifles and came forward to place the men in handcuffs. Alice stepped behind her prisoner and secured his wrists behind him.

“All clear,” said Spence into the comm. “Anyone see anything to report?” When everyone checked in that it was quiet, Spence ordered the prisoners be taken into custody in the SUVs and taken to the sheriff’s office.

As Alice led her prisoner past him, the man looked at him and sneered, “We have diplomatic immunity…”

“I doubt that’ll fly, but you can try. One, you weren’t on embassy property; two, I doubt you are classified high enough to warrant consideration this far from your embassy; and last but not least, I doubt your employers or the representatives of your country are going to want to protect you from your illegal activities.”

“You don’t know that,” the supposed pilot said in a less confident tone.

“You’re right. I don’tknowthat, but I’m willing to bet a lot of money on it.” He looked up at the rest. “One time only deal, the first of you scumbags who wants to rat out the other scumbags regarding the murder of Dulcie Simpson will earn himself a ticket off death row.”

“The United States no longer has a death penalty,” said one of the men.

“No longer true. A number of states have reinstated the death penalty, and unfortunately for you, Wyoming is one of them. Load them up, one in each of the vehicles, and get them out of here.”

Three more SUVs joined them with all of the team that had been stationed around the perimeter of the private airport pulled in. Alice and Spence joined Bill in the one SUV that would have no prisoners and the little convoy pulled out and headed back to town, with their SUV bringing up the rear.

“Where’s Pete?”

“He said he needed to get back to the ranger station but would see you later.”

Spence nodded, thinking it odd and pulled out his cell to call Pete. The sun shone down on the black-tinted rear glass of the SUVs holding those in custody. His call to Pete was ringing with no answer and Spence shook his head before ending the call and staring at the SUVs in front of them.

“What is it, boss?” asked Alice.

“The windows on that SUV are heavily tinted from the second row all the way to the back. How the fuck did Pete know there were five bad guys in the SUV? Bill, head for Harper’s place.” He dialed her cell and got no answer. Cursing again, he dialed the main house and got Dusty.

“Where is she?” he asked without preliminaries.

“She went into your room to take a nap,” answered Dusty.

“When has Harper ever taken a nap in the middle of the day. I need eyes on her now.”

Spence could hear Dusty running across the floor to their room.

“Shit, Spence, she isn’t here.”

“Where’s her rig?”

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