Mercedes was parked behind the cottage. He opened the driver’s door, got out, leaned over and looked back at Meredith.
“Stay put.”
She nodded.
He rounded the side of the car, popped open the trunk, and retrieved his MK23 OWSH, a .45 caliber pistol, a laser aiming module, and a sound and flash suppressor.
Meredith opened the passenger door. Damn it, what part of “stay put” hadn’t she understood? He reached the open door before she had a chance to move.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“I’m not getting out,” she told him. “I just want to tell you . . . to say . . . please be careful.”
Shit! Bringing her along had been a huge mistake, a real lapse of judgment on his part. But in his own defense, he had given in to her pleading to avoid having to knock her out and tie her up. He had known some stubborn women in his life, but none as obstinately bullheaded as Meredith Sinclair.
“Close the door and lock it. And whatever you do, don’t leave the car while I’m gone.”
“Where did you get the gun?” she asked.
“Good God, woman, what a question. I brought it with me. Now close the damn door.”
He couldn’t worry about Meredith and do his job. If she followed orders, she should be safe.
Creating a path through the wooded area to the left of the cottage, he made his way toward the backyard. Just as he had thought, the black Mercedes was parked at the back of the house and couldn’t be seen from the road. The cottage doors and windows would be locked, but with no security system, breaking and entering would be a piece of cake. However, if Linden was expecting him, he could easily be opening a door to his own death. There was a root cellar which could be booby trapped, just as the doors and windows might be.
With weapon drawn, Luke circled the cottage. He peered into the windows, one by one, and found every room as dark as pitch, except what appeared to be a bedroom at the back of the house. A dim light glowed softly on one wall, probably a nightlight plugged into a wall outlet.
Luke swallowed.
This would be the child’s bedroom.
If he could get her out of the house first . . .
Not an option. Too risky.
Keeping the child safe was his number one priority.
He woke with a start, his heart pounding and a rush of adrenaline pumping through his body at breakneck speed. Sitting up in bed, the lightweight cover falling to his hips, he listened for any sound that might have caused him to wake so suddenly.
Silence.
The only sound he heard was his own breathing.
He shoved back the covers, got up, slipped his bare feet into his Italian leather loafers, and reached for his SIG on the bedside table. Not taking time to put on his pajama top, he walked quietly out of his bedroom and moved carefully down the narrow hall to the child’s room. She lay curled in a fetal ball, the sheet and blanket kicked to the foot of the bed. He scanned the room, from wall to wall and from floor to ceiling. The old house had no closets and the wardrobe in that room was too small to provide a hiding place for an adult.
The room was clear.
Vigilant to any sound or movement, he walked into the room and over to the bed, and then reached down and gently shook the child.
“Wake up,” he whispered.
Her eyes flew open. She stared up at him. When she opened her mouth, he knew she was going to scream. He clamped his hand over her face, covering her mouth and chin.
“Be quiet and I won’t hurt you,” he told her. “I’m going to take you out of bed now and carry you with me. Be good. Don’t fight me. If you’re not a good girl, you will be very sorry.”
He snatched her up and out of the bed. While keeping a tight grip on his pistol, he maneuvered her to his left side and balanced her with one arm.
Pausing for a moment, he heard nothing, saw nothing. And yet he knew someone was in the house. Years of training had honed his senses.
He couldn’t understand how someone had managed to find them. An alias had been used at Heathrow. Zachary Fairweather. His employer had rented the Mercedes and the cottage under that name. How had someone connected Anthony Linden to Zachary Fairweather?
It wasn’t possible.
And yet someone had tracked him.
Someone had been sent to rescue the child.
Who was the only person who knew where the child was being held?
Malcolm York!
The son of a bitch had set him up. But why?
Regardless of his employer’s reasons for betrayal, he had no intention of dying tonight. Survival first He would use the child as a bargaining chip or if necessary a shield. He’d take care of York later.
When he walked toward the open bedroom door, intending to close it, he sensed danger all around him. But he could not pinpoint the presence of another person other than the trembling child he held against his body. He would wait there, in the bedroom, for his attacker to strike. Depending on the other man’s skills, he should have a fifty/fifty chance of survival. Just as he reached out to close the bedroom door, a bullet zipped through the darkness and entered the front of his head.
The bullet had severed his brainstem, killing him immediately. Luke came out of the shadowy hallway, grabbed the screaming child as Linden slumped down onto the floor. He hoisted the little girl up and onto his hip.
“It’s all right, honey. You’re safe. Nobody is going to hurt you. I’m taking you home to your mommy and daddy.”
She stopped screaming and stared at Luke with a pair of huge blue eyes.
He carried her out of the bedroom, down the hall and straight through the front door. “There’s a very nice lady waiting in my car. I’ll take you to her, okay? She will look after you while I make a couple of phone calls, and then you and I and the nice lady are going to leave here and we’ll take you home as soon as we can.”
As if instinctively believing she could trust Luke, she wrapped her little arm around his neck and held on tightly as he rushed across the front lawn and down the road to the Volvo. The minute Meredith saw him coming, she opened the car door and jumped out.
He and Meredith exchanged glances as she held out her arms to the little girl. “Come here, sweetie.”
The child went to Meredith somewhat reluctantly.
Luke turned and walked away several feet.
Before Meredith closed the car door, she spoke to the child again. “I’m Meredith Sinclair. Who are you?”
Too far away to hear the child’s whispered response, Luke immediately contacted Mitchum, who told him he already had a cleanup crew en route and they would take care of everything there at the cottage. Luke’s second phone call would be to Griff. He checked his watch, an MTM Black Patriot, noted it was ten till one and calculated the time difference.
Just as he started to make the call, Meredith opened the car door and called his name. “Luke?”
“What?”
“Please come here. There’s something you need to hear.”
Luke stomped over to the side of the Volvo. The child sitting in Meredith’s lap looked up at him.
“It’s okay, sweetie. Luke is one of the good guys. Tell him what you told me. Tell him your name.”
“My name is Jaelyn,” she said. “Jaelyn Allen.”
The name reverberated inside Luke’s head.
