Forget Me Not (34 page)

"Points of entry?" Sebastian asked, taking note but keeping his focus.

"Two—the front door which is probably bolted. And the window on this side, broken pane. I've been thinking," he added. "Remember the hostage situation in Yemen back in oh one?"

Sebastian smiled grimly and nodded. "We'll play it exactly the same. You go in to negotiate. I'll take the window."

"I'll need to keep my weapon," Gabe added with a frown. "He knows I'm carrying."

The tango wouldn't likely give up Mallory unless Gabe handed over his weapon. "I'll have to take him by surprise," Sebastian concluded. "Keep it simple, stupid," he added, an adage that had served SEALs well over the years.

"Thanks," Gabe said, patting his shoulder before slithering past

"You're going to owe me when this is done," Sebastian muttered. He couldn't forget the ecstasy he was feeling mere minutes ago
.
He hoped to God this situation wouldn't cause Leila to change her mind about sleeping with him.

Gabe dropped out of sight. Sebastian knew he would come around the building shortly and knock on the front door. He waited with a familiar chill around his heart.

The knock came seconds later. Gabe's voice, raised unnaturally loud for the benefit of his master chief, sounded over the pounding surf. "Give up the girl!" he shouted. "I'm turning myself in."

Sebastian dared a peek over the dunes. A shadow moved! at the window, telling him the tango had turned toward the door. Breaking out from his hiding place, Sebastian sprinted toward the building, staying upwind of the window, so that! the patter of his footsteps would be carried away.

"Where's your wife?" he heard the man call out.

"I don't know. I told her to run. She's up the beach somewhere. Just take me," Gabe demanded. "I'm the one you want. Leave my wife and kid out of this."

Hugging the rough planks of the bungalow, Sebastian crept closer. He didn't look forward to cutting himself on broken glass, but without the tough fabric of a Kevlar vest or a blanket to throw over the ledge, that was pretty much inevitable.

"I'll unlock the door," the man inside was saying. "I want you to toss your weapon in first."

"1 don't have a weapon."

"You're lying. Toss in the goddamn weapon or I'll break your daughter's fucking neck."

"Fine. You don't have to touch her."

There came the sound of a bolt sliding open. That was Sebastian's signal to reach for the windowsill and start climbing in. A weapon skittered across the floor, the sound of which muffled the tinkling of broken glass beneath his grip. With a shard cutting into his palm, he pulled himself upward and hooked his right foot over the ledge. Bits of glass slid beneath his ankle, making his purchase tentative.

He clung like a cat in a tree, staring into the shadows, wishing he had vision as good as Jaguar's. To get into the window unheard, he would have to wait for a distraction. He could feel blood pooling warmly beneath his right hand.
Maricon,
that little piece of glass hurt like hell!

He stared into the room, ignoring his own pain. The tango was over by the door. He held the submachine gun in one arm and gripped Gabe's pistol with the other. Moving behind the chair, he pointed the Glock at the slumped figure sitting there. Sebastian's hold on the windowsill became instantly more secure. Mallory's life depended on him leaping through the window at the right time. What kind of sick son of a bitch would aim a gun at a child?

"All right," the man called out, his calm, clipped messages betraying a military background. The fact that he hadn't turned the lights on—that he preferred to operate in the dark was also telling. It worried die hell out of Sebastian. "Come in with your hands on your head. One funny move and I'll put a bullet in your daughter's skull. Step on it."

Mallory roused to the sound of that threat. The throbbing in her head made her stomach heave, but she remembered in an instant where she was. She sensed her assailant behind her, and she stilled. The worst thing she could do now was betray that she'd come to. She remained in a slouch, feigning unconsciousness, her heart threatening to jump out of her throat, blood roaring in her ears.

The room was dark. At the creaking of the door, she dared a peek between her lashes. Gabe's silhouette appeared in the doorway, ringed by a single light from the parking lot. His elbows were up in the air, his hands on his head. He was the most welcoming sight she'd ever seen in her life, until she felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed against the back of her head.

Oh, shit!

This couldn't be happening. But it was. She'd realized within ten minutes of the cop's arrival at her house that the police could care less about Reggie getting marijuana from some dealer. The cop had locked her into the back of his sedan and driven right past the police station. She'd banged on the glass partition between them, but he'd ignored her. That was when the cold truth hit her square in the face. This so-called arrest had nothing to do with her. It had something to do with what Gabe had tried to tell them on the way home from Annapolis: that someone was trying to kill him. With horror that made her shake, Mallory realized she was being used as bait, to lure Gabe to his death.

The cop drove her to Back Bay Wildlife Refuge, where another man in uniform waited for him. Their brief conversation only confirmed what Mallory had already concluded. They intended to kill Gabe, take his body out into the ocean and dump it.

It was all she could do not to throw up. She'd vowed to herself instead that she would do whatever it took to keep Gabe alive.

"That's close enough," said Manning. She recognized him by his voice.

Gabe froze.

Mallory glanced surreptitiously around the room. Where was Clemens? Oh, yeah, Dad had knocked him out already. How had he known? she wondered, grateful for his sixth sense. She'd tried to warn him that there was still another one. The jerk must have knocked her senseless—she had a headache from hell to prove it. Despite her warning, he now had the upper hand. Not only was Gabe surrendering, but there was a gun pressed to her head.

"Put these on," the bad cop commanded, tossing something in her father's direction.

Even in the dark, Gabe caught it midair. Mallory heard the now-familiar clink of handcuffs. Her own wrists were bound behind her back, cutting into her tender skin. Her feet were taped to the legs of the chair. She was helpless to interfere ... or was she?

While teaching her self-defense, Gabe had instructed her to use any weapon at her disposal, and right now, the legs of the chair she was sitting on were the closest weapons at hand. She had to act—now—if she was going to save him.

With fear clamping down on her shoulders, Mallory threw her weight forward, pushed to her feet, and rammed the back of the chair against her assailant's knees as hard as she could. His weapon discharged, causing her ears to ring and filling her nose with the acrid stench of cordite. She cringed, half expecting to feel a bullet tearing through her flesh.

She never saw Gabe move. One minute he was standing before her, the next he was pulling both her and the chair out of the bungalow. There came the sound of thrashing from inside. Gabe tugged at the tape that kept her tied to the chair.

"Run!" he said, the minute she was free.

But she hadn't taken a step before the thrashing subsided, and a tall, dark figure staggered into the door frame. A strangled scream died in Mallory's throat. She thought it was the other cop coming after them, but it wasn't. She recognized this man as her stepfather's master chief.

"I had to break his neck," Sebastian panted. "He fought like a demon."

Gabe was looking around like he'd lost something. "Son of a bitch," he cursed quietly. "Where'd the other one go?"

The other cop,
Malory realized. With her hands still locked behind her back, she huddled against the building, scanning the dark oceanfront for any sign of Clemens. Pinpricks of fright stabbed at her legs and arms.

"He must have run," Sebastian guessed. The area around the bungalow was quiet.

"Take Mallory inside," Gabe instructed, thrusting her at his colleague. "Dial 911. I'm going to find Helen. Where'd you leave her?"

Mom! Mallory was suddenly terrified for her mother.

"We're right here," called a voice on the wind. Helen leapt up the porch steps at a run, her friend, Leila, immediately behind. Throwing her arms around Mallory, she held her tight. "My baby," she cried, "are you all right?"

Mallory swayed against her mother, never more relieved to cling to her sweet scent and soothing embrace. "My head hurts," she admitted.

"It's okay now," Helen crooned. "Daddy and Sebastian saved you."

"Let's get back inside," Gabe said, clearly concerned about the bad guy on the loose.

"We saw a man run into the water," Leila volunteered, still out of breath. "Then we heard a gunshot. Is everyone all right?"

"Almost everyone," Sebastian answered dryly.

It was clear what he meant as Helen helped Mallory back into the building. Even in the dark information office, the body of the second man was hard to overlook, sprawled as he was in the middle of the floor, his head cocked at an unnatural angle.

"Close your eyes," Helen said, turning her daughter away from the body. "Leila, can you find the keys that go to these handcuffs?"

Leila stepped gingerly over the dead man and produced a ring of keys. Seconds later, Mallory rubbed the feeling back into her freed hands.

"Sebastian, make that call," she heard Gabe say.

Master Chief put down the receiver. "I can't, sir. The line's been cut."

"I've got my cell phone," Helen offered. Mallory felt her fumble inside her purse. "The signal is weak," she added, handing it to Gabe.

Gabe took the phone from her and pushed three buttons. A reedy voice filled the silence. "Nine-one-one. Do you have an emergency?"

In a matter-of-fact voice, Gabe summarized the bizarre events that had just unfurled. As they replayed in Mallory's mind, all her strength seemed to leak out of her legs. She was going to drag her mother to the floor if she didn't find a place to sit,
now.
The dark walls of the room were reeling, and she was going to throw up.

Thankfully, Gabe most have had one eye on her, because he ditched the cell phone and grabbed her right as she fell.

Her knees never even hit the floor.

You can go home,
Commander Shafer had told them an hour ago. But Gabe and Helen were still at the Portsmouth Naval Medical Center, hovering over Mallory who'd been allowed to sleep at last.

In the dim lighting, the bleached white bandage on her head gave her a rakish look, a look heightened by the four silver studs in her left ear, which everyone forbore to comment on. Other than a mild concussion, she was unharmed— at least in a physical sense.

Smoothing Mallory's sheets, Helen was excruciatingly aware of Gabe, who sat on the other side of the bed, his back to the window, where the curtains were drawn. She could only imagine what he was feeling, having been the apparent cause for Mallory's false "arrest."

How strange that only weeks ago, Gabe had been the one lying in a hospital bed, and she and Mallory had come reluctantly to claim him. Even the doctor on duty was the same. Commander Shafer had congratulated Gabe on his amazing recovery. He'd treated Mallory with fatherly concern.

Tonight Gabe looked exhausted, his face haggard and drawn. She knew he blamed himself for what had nearly happened. And yet, it wasn't his fault. It was hers, for not believing him. He'd tried to warn her of a conspiracy against him. She ought to have believed him, but the truth was, she hadn't wanted to. She hadn't wanted to face the most terrifying scenario imaginable.

Now her sweet, innocent daughter lay injured and traumatized all because Helen had refused to believe what Gabe was telling her. And the worst part was that it wasn't over yet. The bad guys were still out there, still on a mission to hunt Gabe down and bury his memories permanently.

With a chill in her spine that wouldn't go away, Helen rounded the bed and approached the chair Gabe was sitting in, both to seek and to offer comfort. His gaze rose to hers, and before she knew what he was doing, he'd tugged her into his lap. She stifled a sob as he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair.

With a shake of her head, Helen recalled a time when Gabe would die before admitting to any kind of uncertainty. It both shook and touched her that he would bare his doubts to her now. Yet, as they clung to each other, she was struck with the certainty that, together, she and Gabe could get through anything.
Just let those bastards try again,
she thought fiercely.

"Jesus, Helen. I almost got her killed," he whispered, so as not to waken Mallory.

She feathered her fingers through his newly trimmed hair. "Oh, honey, it wasn't your fault," she reassured him. "It was mine for not believing you. You're a hero. You managed to rescue Mallory and save yourself at the same time."

"Because Master Chief happened to be there."

"That's okay. Everyone can use a little help. No one is invincible."

He was quiet a moment, searching her face with eyes that glimmered in the dark. "I can't believe I underestimated the enemy. I should have realized they would use my family to get to me."

"Hush." She tugged on the locks of hair she'd just soothed. "You're not a psychic. Besides, who could have guessed they'd be so ruthless as to use a child, dressing as cops and telling her she'd done something wrong?"

They'd talked about this earlier, when the real police had escorted them to the hospital, hounding them with questions. Gabe hadn't mentioned a thing about someone wanting to kill him. Respecting his reasons—whatever they were— Helen, too, had kept silent. The fact that the dead man had passed himself off as a cop and was driving a sedan marked with the Sandbridge Police logo had thrown the police into a frenzy of speculation. They'd eventually left the hospital, scratching their heads as they departed.

"Why can't I remember?" Gabe lamented, shaking his head against her shoulder. "If I could just recall that night and why I was left behind..."