Steven said he’d call back with further instructions and at this point he had made no further contact. Like it or not, Steven still held all the cards.
Following Steven’s orders to the tee appeared to be the only way she’d ever have the chance to see her youngest son again. The FBI wanted her to wear a wire and planned to have agents within reach should things take a turn for the worse. What the FBI didn’t understand was Steven’s purpose for wanting her back. They thought it was to keep her from talking. The truth was–lethal.
Satisfied Makayla was safe in their home under the protection of the FBI, one really pissed off Eric McCoy and finally on the same page strategically, Ryan pulled out of their driveway and hurried back to the warehouse. He needed to be on site in case the FBI went against their word and decided to go in before Nicholas was safe. They wanted Steven, and Ryan knew from past experience that sometimes innocent people died in the process.
“Not this time.” He took a deep breath, gritting his teeth and switched his train of thought back to Makayla.
McCoy would never get over the fact he’d been outsmarted by a girl. But Ryan warned him. He didn’t know whether to be mad at his friend or apologetic. Predictable was not in Makayla’s makeup. After all she’d been through, nothing was going to stand in the way of protecting her sons. Not the FBI, not Eric McCoy, not even Ryan.
As he drove, alert and searching for signs of Michael, his memories tried to get the best of him. He remembered Michael holding his hand for the first time, a clear sign he’d gained this little boy’s trust after months of grueling efforts. He remembered Nicholas’ birth, of how that one tiny life changed his world forever. And he remembered the look on Makayla’s face when she’d said those three simple words that shook his world.
I love you, Ryan.
These were words he never thought could affect him the same way again after Jennifer’s death. But in truth, they’d ended up just as powerful coming from Makayla’s sweet soft lips.
He shook his head, gripping the steering wheel tighter as the light in front of him turned red and he had to slam on his brakes to avoid a collision in the intersection.
Focus
,
damn it
.
The small town stretched out over several miles with numerous farm roads and trails connecting to the busier paved roads. Michael knew the area frontward and backward. If the boy wanted to stay hidden, they’d never find him. Ryan only hoped Steven wouldn’t get lucky and stumble across Michael unintentionally.
Recognition would be immediate. The strong resemblance between father and son was scary. Under normal circumstances, Steven wouldn’t hesitate to take Michael down. But one fact remained in Michael’s favor, if you could call it that. Steven wanted to punish Makayla more. What better way to make her pay than to finish off both of her sons and have her witness the evil act first hand?
“Sick bastard.” Ryan’s gut churned at the thought as he pulled around the corner leading to the abandoned building, slowing to a crawl.
The old warehouse sat on the edge of town and had been used to store supplies during the last big hurricane that blew through over five years ago. The inside had long since seen the light of day. How Steven managed to set up camp so quickly had Ryan considering the possibility of inside help. Money was always a strong motivator.
Just how had Steven found Makayla anyway? They’d been extra careful. Everything was in his name alone. The house, the car, the motorcycle she never wanted. No link to Makayla’s past existed. He’d even had her mother moved to safety after learning Makayla had purchased the plane tickets with her credit card. To this day, only Ryan had any knowledge of her mom’s exact whereabouts. The phone calls and private meetings between them were always carefully planned and executed. He’d covered every aspect of the case with meticulous precision ever since Makayla decided to run that day over ten years ago.
But he’d missed something. And that fact bothered him beyond irritation.
What the hell was it?
***
Makayla sat in the kitchen under the disapproving eye of Agent Harrington. Eric McCoy had reassigned himself to curb duty after her little escape fiasco. Well, this agent could try, but there was no way to make her feel any worse than she already did about it all. He could call her every name in the book and it wouldn’t phase her one bit. She knew how stupid she’d been. Now she only prayed Ryan would be able to repair the damage and rescue both her boys.
‘Trust me,’
he’d said. Hadn’t she been doing that for years? Not once over ten years had she suspected him of being anything else but the stranger from the airport she’d falling in love with. It all made more sense now. Why he’d been so understanding, so careful about setting up the meetings with her mom. Now to find out he’d been watching her, following her, protecting her even before they’d met, rocked her world.
Ryan had been the stranger in the hooded jacket that day at the mall. He was the reason she and Michael had escaped. All this time, she’d worried about what happened to the stranger that day. Shots were fired. People screamed. But she never once looked back. She ran to the cab that waited for her, opened the door and dragged Michael in behind her before slamming the door.
So many emotions flooded her chest she could barely breathe.
Ryan had saved them. Gave them the extra time needed to get away.
She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. Was he the one Ricky shot at that day? So many unanswered questions and guilt swarmed her now she could barely keep her emotions in check.
If it hadn’t been Heritage Month at the high school requiring a project for a major history grade, Michael would not have gotten a copy of his original birth certificate. The one that listed Steven Prichard as his biological father.
Fingers against her temples, she worked to relieve the pressure building behind her temples. Who would have thought something so trivial could bring their world crashing down around them? New identities with authentic documentation, including Michael’s birth certificate listing Ryan as his father had been obtained by less than legal means. Michael started a new school without a paper trail. She’d started a new life with a new husband complete with a new last name.
At first she’d protested the marriage. Two husbands at once was not only illegal, but also something she’d wanted no part of. That’s when Ryan showed her documentation proving her marriage to Steven was all a huge charade. She pressed harder with her fingertips. Good grief. They were never legally married. Steve lied from the beginning and staged their wedding to prevent her from having any claim to the family’s assets. Fake preacher, fake church, and even fake guests.
What a living nightmare.
How could she be so naïve? Steven was a master manipulator and con artist. Gentleman, her ass. He’d brought her flowers, opened doors for her, always made a point to tell her how beautiful she was. Then wham! After the so-called nuptials were said and the fairy tale reception ended everything changed. Chills raced over her skin as memories bombarded her resolve.
Overnight, Steven turned into some kind of barbaric monster. He treated the help better than he treated her. And to this day she still couldn’t figure it out. Why the charade? Why her? What had she done to deserve such a horrible life? And her precious son? How could Michael have deserved anything he’d been put through?
Life really didn’t make sense. Never had. That is until she met Ryan.
Theirs had been a whirlwind romance. She’d denied the attraction until she couldn’t anymore. Ryan made it impossible to leave him behind. For some reason, Michael latched onto Ryan and he became a safety net she couldn’t afford to remove.
The minute the warehouse came into view, Ryan’s senses zipped into high gear. Something strange was going on. The limo had returned unexpectedly. He watched hopeful, but the driver emerged alone. No Nicholas. The large goon did a quick check of the surroundings and then hesitantly entered through the rusty metal door at the front of the building.
What the hell was going on?
Ryan kept his head straight ahead as he passed by the driveway, not wanting to draw any attention and alert anyone on the inside. The surveillance team was still in position across the street. There had been no movement inside or out since he’d left to find Makayla.
Steven always traveled with an entourage. This one goon arriving alone proved Ryan’s gut feeling correct. Their main target was lying low, playing some kind of sick game. The warehouse and limo could both be distractions—meant for no other purpose but to keep the FBI chasing ghosts until the real plan was set into place. But the driver’s actions revealed a great deal more than any clues so far.
A setback.
The large man kept wiping sweat from his brow as he paced back and forth in front of the limo, talking to himself. Nervous? Jittery even. Like he might have bad news to deliver.
Ryan pulled his truck into the parking lot a few blocks away where he still had a clear view of the entrance and then exited the truck, the tiny hairs at the back of his neck prickling. Gravel crunched beneath his boots, the sound loud to his oversensitive ears.
“What are you up to, Steven?” Pulling a pair of binoculars from his tool kit, he watched over the bed of his truck. Only a few seconds passed before the limo driver and Steven appeared from the back of the building. Now that was odd. Why not the front door?
“Where have you been all this time?” Ryan whispered into the breeze. “And where is my son, you son-of-bitch?”
As the two men made their way to the front of the building, the metal door of the warehouse flew open and five other men joined them. Ryan’s muscles tightened.
“Let the games begin.”
A strong gust of wind stirred the leaves at Ryan’s feet and whipped at the men’s sport jackets making their weapons fully visible. Ryan’s insides cringed at the thought of his young son being exposed to this violence. He had to be terrified.
But there were still no signs of Nicholas. No more calls from Steven voicing his demands for a trade or ransom. What the hell was he waiting for? The reason ripped at his gut, tearing through his soul with an almost unbearable force. Heart racing, he pushed the horrifying thoughts away.
“No. Nicholas is still alive. He has to be.”
He pulled his cell phone from the clip on his hip and dialed the surveillance team. “Has there been any sign of the boy?” He waited and silently prayed for an affirmative answer.
“Negative. No sign.” The response sounded so final it threatened to do him in. “What’s your take on this, Carter?”
“They’re on the move. Call Harrington and watch your back.” Shoving the phone back onto his hip, he returned to his position trying to read the lips of the men as they spoke among themselves.
Singling in on one, he hit pay dirt.
The
Boy
. That one was easy to read. They were talking about Nicholas. His fingers tightened on the binoculars.
The next few sentences were unclear. And then, a series of expletives that would have sent even the most streetwise mother running for the soap.
“
What the hell? Mother f… He’s still…f’n lost…”
Some of the words he’d never even heard put together like that.
Steven took a breath to continue his verbal assault and just before Ryan caught the last few words, the man he’d decided to be the easiest to read swung his arms in the air, defending himself from Steven’s flying fists. Back turned, hands over his head protecting his ears, the man headed back inside with the others in hot pursuit.
Damn. No, wait
. He needed more. What had Nicholas lost? What were they talking about? The uncertainty threatened to do him in. At least the fact they were talking about “the boy” gave him a ray of hope his son still breathed. Had they gone back inside for his son? The implications of what that might mean had everything inside him wanting to charge the building, gun poised and ready to shoot. Thankfully, common sense and years of training won out. He gritted his teeth, glancing over his shoulder at the agents not fifty yards away.
The one in charge shook his head, and mouthed
no
.
Damn.
Take it easy, Ryan
. Not time yet.
A few shallow breaths calmed the anxiety rushing his veins, but an endless array of possibilities lingered in his head. Nicholas could be a little pistol— a major handful and much smarter than any five-year-old should ever be. One thing was clear. Whatever changed the course of Steven’s original plans had to do with his son. And it was huge.
A small smirk eased onto the corner of his mouth as he thought about how Nicholas drove most people up the wall. But it quickly vanished when he remembered that Steven was not most people. He dealt with the devil on a daily basis.
No one remained as lucky as Steven over the years without some kind of demonic help. And that was the creepiest part about the whole idea. Ryan avoided believing ghost and demons could affect the paths of human lives. But the more he dealt with Steven, the more his beliefs were challenged.