Navy SEAL Captive (9 page)

Sawyer didn't join in the humor. His father had a yacht he kept moored at the Capital Yacht Club in the DC area. His teammates didn't know that. Hell, only Duff knew Sawyer's father was US Senator Rand Houston, a self-made millionaire who'd clawed his way to a huge fortune in the oil and gas industry.

When Sawyer was growing up, his father never spent more than three days a month at home with his family. Vacations were interrupted or short-lived for the man. When he'd turned to politics, Sawyer had seen even less of his father. But by then, he didn't care. As soon as he'd graduated from college, he joined the navy and applied for the SEALs, as different and far away from his father's life as he could get.

Of course, his father had been disappointed—no, he'd been livid at his son's choices. He'd planned on Sawyer taking over the business and following in his footsteps.

“What's wrong?” Jenna pulled Sawyer to a halt before following the others into the lounge.

Sawyer frowned. “Besides being the target of a mad gunman? I can't think of a thing. Why do you ask?”

“You frowned when everyone else laughed.” She pulled her hand free. “I don't want to be a burden to you or your team. I should probably go. I can always see if Carly and I can catch an early flight home.”

Sawyer hated that his thoughts regarding his father had turned his expression sour. He didn't like Jenna feeling as though he didn't want her there. “In the meantime, where would you go? And if the gunman thinks you and I are in any way connected, he might still come after you to get to me.”

She ran her tongue across her bottom lip, making Sawyer all kinds of crazy. “I've put you in a bind, haven't I?”

He gripped her arms and stared down into her eyes. “You saved my life. The least I can do is make sure you're not in danger.”

She laughed and pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “It gets complicated, doesn't it?” The hair refused to stay and fell in her face.

He brushed the lock of hair back, tucking it behind her ear again, his knuckles skimming her jaw as he drew his hand away. He ached with the need to kiss her.

“Okay, I've got him on the screen,” Lance said from inside. “Sawyer, you want to see this?”

“Yeah.” Sawyer cupped Jenna's cheek. “Whatever you might think, you're not a burden. And I'm really glad you hijacked my WaveRunner.” He winked and pulled her into the lounge with him.

Lance had a laptop computer set out on a tabletop with a map of the city of Cancún displayed. In the center, a dot blinked bright green, moving along a boulevard to the east. Lance pointed at the dot. “That's Ramirez. He's still on the move.”

“That's good news.” Sawyer glanced at his fellow SEALs. “You ready to find Devita?”

“Hell, yeah!” Montana, Quentin and Duff all answered as one.

“You'll need these.” Lance dug in his satchel and pulled out a handheld two-way radio, several headsets and a handheld tracking device. “I can keep tabs on Ramirez from here and give you directions if the handheld device fails you. Find the weapons you need in the arsenal below and get out there before Ramirez stops.”

While the men hurried below, Jenna moved to Lance's side. “Why do they have to catch up with Ramirez before he stops?”

“When he stops, most likely he'll be meeting with Devita's contact. We don't have a tracker on the contact, and he's the guy we'll need to lead us to Devita.”

Jenna nodded.

Carly stepped beside Jenna. “Why didn't you tell me you were in trouble?”

Jenna snorted softly. “You were otherwise occupied. Besides, I'm not the one in trouble.” She tilted her head toward the stairs leading down into the bowels of the yacht. “Sawyer's the one who is in trouble.”

“Yeah, but Quentin tells me you found a sniper's rifle in that case you picked up by mistake in the lobby. The sniper could turn on you to collect that case.” Carly slipped an arm around Jenna's waist. “Sweetie, when you said you wanted a more adventurous life, I thought zip-lining was pushing the envelope.” She laughed. “This is above and beyond proving to your ex that you are nowhere near boring.”

Jenna watched the stairs, waiting for the men to reappear. “I think we could all use a little boredom right now.” Her heart flipped and fell to the pit of her belly when Quentin climbed the stairs carrying a small machine gun.

Montana followed with a similar weapon and a pistol. Duff was next with a rifle and a pistol.

Finally Sawyer appeared, dressed in jeans, a dark T-shirt and black tennis shoes. He held a rifle and a handgun. “Ready?” he asked the others.

“Let's do this,” the men said in unison.

They loaded the larger weapons into a duffel bag and tucked the pistols into the waistbands of their trousers.

Sawyer stopped in front of Jenna. “Please, stay here until we get back.”

She nodded, knowing now wasn't the time to argue. They might be about to confront the head of a dangerous drug cartel. Sawyer didn't need any distractions to keep him from his goal. If Devita was at the root of the kidnappings or this assassination attempt, Sawyer needed to know why.

Was Devita acting on his own, expecting to collect some ransom? Or was he being paid to take Sawyer out of commission by someone else?

Jenna wished with all her heart she could go with the men. Not knowing what was happening or if they would even return unharmed would kill her.

Before Sawyer turned to leave, she grabbed for his arm, leaned up on her toes and brushed his mouth in a brief but heartfelt kiss.

His arm came around her, and he crushed her body to his, deepening the kiss, his mouth firm and insistent. Then he let go and was gone.

Jenna ran outside onto the deck as the SEALs marched across the dock and out to the damaged Jeep in the parking lot. When she could see them no more, she still stood staring at the empty street.

“Sweetie.” Carly's arm circled her, and she pulled Jenna close. “You might as well come inside. The fewer people who see you, the less your chance of being discovered here.”

Jenna allowed Carly to lead her into the luxurious lounge, where Lance remained glued to the laptop monitor, his hand on the two-way radio, the device held close to his mouth. “Turn left at the next street. It appears to be a shortcut.”

Jenna paced, pausing several times to glance at the green blip on the screen.

Ten minutes after the men left, a tall, beautiful blond-haired woman came aboard the yacht.

Lance glanced her way and smiled. “Natalie. Glad you could make it.” He tipped his head toward Jenna. “Jenna and Carly are friends of Sawyer and Quentin.”

Natalie smiled and held out her hand to shake hands with Jenna and Carly. “Nice to meet you.” Then she turned to Lance, her expression all business. “You want to fill me in on what's going on?”

In a few short minutes, Lance told Natalie what was happening with the SEALs.

She frowned. “Do they know what they're up against? Devita is one of the most notorious kingpins of the primary drug cartel in the Cancún area. He probably has an army of bodyguards surrounding him at all times. How in hell do they expect to reach him without getting themselves killed?”

Jenna's chest clenched. She'd had similar thoughts, having read all about Mexico's troubles with cartels running the country. She stepped up to Natalie. “There has to be another way to find out who is after Sawyer.”

Natalie's lips firmed, and she glanced at Lance. “How involved is Royce in this investigation?”

“Very. He assigned me to help while he's checking his connections.”

“Why Sawyer?”

Lance clicked on the touch pad, bringing up a blank screen. His fingers flew over the keypad and finally brought up an image of Sawyer Houston in his navy uniform, along with all his personal data. He zoomed in on his next of kin and pointed. “That would be my guess.”

“What?” Jenna leaned over Lance's shoulder, squinting to see the small print on the monitor.

“His father is Rand Houston.”

Jenna straightened. “Rand Houston? As in Senator Rand Houston?”

Natalie let out a low whistle. “A senator's son makes a lot of sense for a kidnapping and ransom. But why kill him?”

Lance shook his head. “Perhaps the good senator has some enemies who are trying to make a point.”

“Does Royce know this?”

Lance shook his head. “He hasn't said anything to me about being the son of a senator.”

“Wow.” Jenna ran a hand through her hair. “I wonder if the senator knows his son is being targeted.”

“I don't think Sawyer has contact with his father. From what I can tell, his teammates don't know he's Senator Houston's son. He doesn't advertise the fact that he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.”

Jenna would never have guessed. Sawyer seemed to be an equal among the members of his team, not better than anyone and willing to put his life on the line for them.

Her heart swelled at that kind of commitment. To have friends willing to do anything for you... What a concept. Unlike her former friend who'd been having an affair with her fiancé behind her back while helping her plan a wedding that would never be.

“Wow,” Carly said. “Who'd have thought that when you jumped on the back of a WaveRunner, you'd be saving the life of a senator's son?”

Whether or not he was the son of a rich and highly influential politician didn't matter to Jenna. Who his father was didn't make Sawyer the man he was. Sawyer was who he was because he'd done it on his own. Nobody could buy his way onto one of the navy's elite SEAL teams.

Lance switched back to the tracking screen and lifted the two-way radio. “Where are you now?”

A blast of static was followed by the names of two streets at an intersection.

“You're two blocks from Ramirez and he has stopped. You better hurry if you're going to catch him. You have to be there to follow Devita's contact if he doesn't trust Ramirez.”

“On it.”

Jenna's heart thumped against her ribs and she held her breath, waiting to hear something. Anything that indicated the men had found the man they were looking for, and that they'd come out of it alive.

The thought of waiting for hours on the boat, not knowing if they lived or died, was unbearable. But where else would she go? At least here with Lance she might hear something sooner. So she stayed put and waited, her pulse pounding in her ears.

Chapter Nine

Sawyer muscled the steering wheel, taking the corners at breakneck speeds, sending the Jeep sliding sideways several times.

His teammates kept their comments to themselves, gripping the handles located above each door. Duff sat shotgun, the handheld tracking device in front of him. Quentin had responsibility for maintaining communications with the two-way radio in the backseat.

Static erupted from the radio, followed by Lance's tinny voice. “Turn left at the next corner.”

Jamming his foot to the brake pedal, Sawyer skidded around the next corner, then hit the accelerator and straightened the vehicle.

Duff glanced up and barked, “Kid chasing a dog.”

Once again, Sawyer slammed on his brakes, let the kid and dog pass, then hit the gas.

“Ramirez has stopped,” Duff said.

“How far?” Sawyer demanded.

Duff glanced at the tracking device. “Two blocks, parallel to our position. Drop me at the next alley. I'll go on foot to spot the vehicle.”

“I'll go. Montana, get ready to drive. Headsets on.” Sawyer touched the on switch for the headset he had already embedded in his ear. As he came to an alley, he shifted the Jeep into Park, grabbed the tracking device and leaped out of the Jeep.

Montana was out and into the driver's seat before Sawyer entered the alley between run-down buildings and stucco walls.

The display not only indicated where Ramirez was but also gave Sawyer the location of the tracking device Sawyer held in his hand. He was quickly closing the distance between himself and Ramirez.

At the end of the alley, he glanced both ways before crossing a dingy, deserted street and entering another alley between older, derelict buildings covered in faded advertisements and graffiti. As he neared the street where Ramirez had stopped, he slowed and halted at the corner.

Crouching low, he eased forward to peer around the side of the building in the direction Ramirez had stopped.

A dark four-door sedan sat at the side of the street. Alone.

Sawyer studied the vehicle. The darkened windows gave no clue to how many men were inside. The steady blip on the screen reassured him Ramirez was one of them.

“What do you see?” Duff asked, his tone tight.

“One vehicle sitting. Nothing moving.”

The squeal of tires on pavement alerted Sawyer. “Got company.”

A large black SUV careened around the corner, coming fast.

Sawyer backed into the shadow of the building until the vehicle screeched to a stop behind the sedan.

Four heavily armed thugs climbed out of the SUV, aiming their weapons at the sedan. One shouted in Spanish for the occupants of the vehicle to get out.

Ramirez stepped out of the passenger door, his hands held high, a pistol dangling from one finger. The driver slid out and straightened slowly, his eyes wide.

Ramirez spoke so fast, Sawyer couldn't make out all the words. He picked out mention of Devita, the word for
woman
and then the words for
son
,
senator
and
Houston
. In the heat of the day, a cold chill settled over his body.

After speaking sharply, the leader of the four men turned away, motioning to his men to follow.

Before they'd taken one step toward the SUV, a shot rang out. Ramirez's guayabera blossomed with a bright red splash of blood, and he fell to the ground.

What the hell?

Sawyer glanced down the street in the direction the bullet had to have come from.

The leader of the group dived for the SUV. His men followed suit. Once inside, he lowered a window, pointing his submachine gun everywhere he looked. When he turned toward the alley where Sawyer stood, his eyes narrowed, and he paused.

Sawyer froze, praying the bright sun in the street made the shadows where he stood dark enough to conceal him.

Ramirez's driver flung himself into his vehicle and burned a layer of rubber off his tires in an attempt to get away as quickly as possible.

“I heard a gunshot. What's happening?” Quentin asked.

Sawyer didn't respond, not willing to move his lips, whisper or even bat an eyelash until the men moved on.

The SUV jerked forward, raced to the end of the street and squealed around the corner.

“I'm all right,” Sawyer finally responded. “Devita's contacts came and left. Someone shot Ramirez, but it wasn't Devita's contact. The contact is on the move, heading east.”

“On our way,” Quentin said. “Meet you one block east of Ramirez's last position. And for Pete's sake, keep your head down!”

Sawyer remained in the shadows until the SUV sped away and turned left at the end of the street. As soon as the vehicle was out of sight, Sawyer sprang to his feet, backed down the street cut through an alley and arrived as the Jeep slid to a halt.

“Turn right.” Sawyer jumped into the backseat and yelled, “Go! Go! Go!”

Before the door closed, Montana yanked the steering wheel to the right and hit the accelerator, shooting the Jeep forward. Sawyer nearly fell out during the turn and then slammed back against the seat, the door shutting automatically with the blast of forward motion. “Left at the end of the street.” He leaned forward, peering between the seats at the road ahead.

“What happened back there?” Duff asked.

“Apparently, Ramirez was informing Devita's contact what had transpired. I didn't catch everything they said before the shooting started.
Devita
,
woman
and
Houston
were what I got out of it.” He didn't mention he'd heard the words
son of a senator
. Sawyer wanted to check out that angle on his own before he brought it up to his teammates. “Someone fired a shot at Ramirez.”

“Who?” Duff asked.

“Not Devita's contact or his men,” Sawyer said. “They were just as surprised as I was.”

Montana snorted. “Great. I'll bet it was your gunman.” He whipped the steering wheel to the left at the corner the SUV had taken a minute before.

Sawyer's heart skipped several beats when he didn't see the SUV. “What the hell?”

“Had to have turned.” Montana raced down the street, slowing at every crossroad.

“There!” Duff pointed to the right at one of the narrow streets they passed.

Montana slammed on the brakes, shoved the gear stick into Reverse, backed up, turned and hit the gas.

The SUV was three blocks ahead, turning left on another road, moving fast.

“Don't get too close. We can't spook them,” Sawyer warned. “We need to find Devita.”

“We won't get to Devita if we lose that SUV,” Montana said, flooring the accelerator.

At the corner where the SUV had turned, Montana barely slowed as he entered an area with several large, abandoned warehouse buildings. They couldn't see around the corner until they turned and it was too late.

The SUV stood sideways in the middle of the narrow road, blocking it completely, the four men inside climbing out with their weapons held at the ready.

Montana slammed on the brakes, throwing Sawyer forward. He hit the back of the driver's seat, momentarily stunned. Then he dived for one of the loaded submachine guns on the floor. “Duck!” Sawyer yelled.

All four SEALs ducked in their seats as the cartel thugs opened fire on the Jeep. Bullets peppered the hood and blew through the windshield.

Montana shifted into Reverse and backed out of the street, unable to look behind him.

Sawyer prayed they didn't hit a building before they got out of range of the bullets pelting the front end of the Jeep. One must have hit the radiator, because steam spewed from beneath the hood.

Sawyer hit the button to lower the window. When it was down, he leaned out, pointing the submachine gun at Devita's men, letting loose a stream of bullets. They ran behind the relative safety of the SUV, buying the SEALs enough time for Montana to swerve backward around the corner and out of sight of the cartel thugs.

Montana whipped the Jeep around and sped away.

“What are you doing?” Sawyer turned to look behind him. “We need to follow them.”

“This mission is over. They won't lead us to Devita now. If anything, they'd lead us to a bigger ambush than we just experienced,” Duff reasoned.

“Besides, the Jeep might not last until we get back to the marina.” Montana drove the Jeep full throttle to get them as far away from the SUV and Devita's men. “The water in the radiator is leaking fast. Either the engine will burn up or other damage will bring us to a halt before we get back.”

Sawyer and Quentin kept a close eye on their rear in case the men from the SUV came after them. When they were certain they weren't being followed, they settled back in their seats.

“Everyone all right?” Sawyer asked.

“I'm good,” Montana responded.

“Good here,” Quentin said beside Sawyer.

“Duff?” Sawyer prompted.

For a moment he didn't respond. Finally he said through gritted teeth, “I'll be fine when we can get back and put a plug in the hole I have in my right arm.”

Quentin handed Sawyer the radio equipment and leaned forward to check the wound. “The good news is that the bullet went clean through and lodged in the back of your seat.” His lips twisted. “Lucky for me. Otherwise it would have hit me in the head. The bad news is, you're bleeding like a stuck pig.”

Sawyer laid the radio in his lap and yanked his T-shirt over his head. “Here.” He handed the shirt to Quentin, who used it to apply pressure to the wound and stem the flow of blood.

“We should get him to a hospital,” Sawyer said.

“Hell, no,” Duff muttered. “We'd have the Mexican police all over us in two seconds flat. We can't go to the hospital or the police. Not with a Jeep full of bullets and guns. And if Devita has control of the local government, we'd be playing right into their hands.”

“Good point.” Quentin grinned. “Guess you'll have to let one of
us
sew you up.”

“It sure as hell won't be you,” Duff mumbled.

Sawyer lifted the handheld radio to let Lance know they were coming in. “We have one wounded. See what you can find on the yacht that we can use to patch someone up.”

* * *

W
HEN
J
ENNA
HEARD
the call come through on the radio, she recognized Sawyer's voice immediately and breathed in a deep lungful of air for the first time in the thirty minutes the men had been gone. When he mentioned someone had been injured, her chest pinched tight, and she was right back to being worried. Was it Sawyer? Had he called in and played it off like it was nothing? Or was it one of the teammates he cared so deeply about?

Natalie's lips pressed together as she responded. “Roger.” When she turned to face Carly and Jenna, she stared hard at them. “Either of you good at first aid?”

Carly raised her hand. “I'm a nurse.”

Natalie let go of a long breath. “Good. I'll get the first-aid kit.”

“I'll get towels and cloths to clean the wound.” Jenna scrambled down the stairs into the lower level of the yacht. She opened doors, locating what appeared to be a storeroom for scuba gear and fishing equipment. A panel in one of the walls jutted out from the others. When she neared it, she realized it was a hidden door to another room. When she stepped inside, she gasped.

From floor to ceiling, the room was filled with weapons of all kinds. This must have been where the men found their machine guns, rifles and pistols. And there were more than any normal yacht owner could possibly use by himself for protection.

Who owned the yacht? And how were the SEALs connected to that owner? From what Jenna had gathered, Lance wasn't a SEAL or in the military. Neither was Natalie, but they knew what the equipment was and how to use it.

Jenna ran her hand over one of the rifles, caressing the long, sleek barrel. It was cool against her fingertips. What was it like to be in a shoot-out? Hell, was it even called a shoot-out? Was this the kind of life Sawyer led on a daily basis? One filled with danger, the possibility of being shot—or worse, coming home in a body bag?

She flinched away from the rifle and pressed her hand against her belly where her stomach knotted. What kind of life was it for the women who loved men who put their lives on the line every day?

If something ever developed between her and Sawyer, could she see herself sitting at home, waiting to hear if he was dead or alive? Then again, people died every day in automobile wrecks. Who was to say she wouldn't be the one to die first?

She left the arsenal and found a linen closet filled with sheets, towels and cloths. With her pulse pounding, Jenna grabbed a couple towels and washcloths, and then shot up the stairs and through the lounge as the four SEALs boarded the yacht. Her gaze went immediately to Sawyer, skimming his body for any sign of injury.

Natalie rushed toward Duff and slipped her hand around his waist, allowing him to drape his arm over her shoulder. “Figures you'd be the one to take a bullet.” She shook her head, her lips held in a tight smile that didn't reach her eyes. “You're in luck today. We have a nurse on board.”

“Oh, yeah?” He glanced around. “Where?”

“That would be me.” Carly carried the first-aid kit to a table and pointed to a chair. “Sit.”

“I don't know which is worse, getting shot or taking orders from bossy women.” He winked and did as he was told.

Natalie held out her hand. “Knife.”

Quentin and Montana pulled their knives out of the scabbards on their hips.

Rolling her eyes, Natalie selected the one closest to her and turned to Duff.

His eyes widened. “It's only a flesh wound.”

Quentin backed him up. “The bullet went clean through.”

Natalie chuckled. “Relax, I'm only going to cut away the shirt.” She shook her head. “What did you think? That I was going to go all Clint Eastwood and dig the bullet out?”