Navy SEAL Surrender

Dwayne had never called Shauna Weber his stepmother. She was the same age and had even gone on a couple of dates with him their junior year. She’d married a man two years younger only four months after Dwayne’s father had died.

Think about the extra time you have with Lauren today.

With only a couple of home clients on her Monday schedule, she should be rejoicing about the light load and playing with her daughter. But a light load meant light money. Next on her list was to speak with her landlord. He’d be upset splitting the rent again, but her paychecks just weren’t large enough for her to get a couple of weeks ahead.

A real shame they couldn’t head straight to the park, but it was 107 degrees outside. Almost as hot in the car, even with the AC on high. Store first, then dinner, then a cooler playtime on the swings before her bath.

It was hard to enjoy anything. She was still shaking. Money—or the lack of it—always got her this way. Then throw in what happened with Johnny and she was a nervous wreck.

How in the world had she ever thought she could welcome him home? She could still feel the sting of that slap on her hands. Feel the strength in his arms around her waist. Feel the tingle down her spine from kissing him.

She glanced in the rearview mirror to watch Lauren playing in her car seat.

It had been a major mistake kissing him. Really kissing him. Add a shot of guilt and disloyalty to her deceased husband, and her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. If Johnny didn’t know how she felt about his return before—he did now. Well, there was always the possibility he might be as thickheaded as when he’d left. Was he the only thing she could think about?

“Great. Just great. I was not supposed to kiss him. Ugh.”

“Like a princess kisses a frog, Mommy?”

“Just like that, sweetie. Mommy did kiss a frog today, but he didn’t turn into a prince. What do you want for dinner?” Think about the park. And ice cream. Real ice cream from the Creamery. That would be nice. Getting cool. Don’t think about the money or Johnny Sloane.

“Chicken nuggets.”

“You want those every night.” She laughed at the nightly conversation.

It was definitely hard not to think about how great her high school boyfriend had looked. And felt. He’d been a solid rock under her hands. Why it seemed he was taller than Brian, she didn’t understand, but it did. Not once, for as long as she’d known the Sloane brothers, had she been attracted to Brian. They’d never been able to fool her like they had so many of their teachers and friends.

Nope, she could always tell them apart.

She liked how John’s hair was short over his ears, but not cropped completely down to the skin like it had been the last time she’d seen him. He looked fantastic. Strong. Sturdy. Like a man. She’d been thinking about him all day and had to stop.

It was Lauren time.

“I like nuggets. McDonald’s nuggets.” Her daughter giggled again.

Probably the dinner menu on those rare visits alone with a babysitter—without her mother-in-law’s supervision. She turned into the store parking lot.

“How ’bout chicken nuggets from scratch? We have lots of time today, but first a stop at the store.”

It didn’t take long to get down the street to the grocery. She parked by the far basket return, always protecting her father’s Camaro from dings and scratches. “Looks like you’ll get to ride in your favorite play shopping cart. There aren’t too many people here.”

“Can we get real chocolate milk?”

“We have the stuff at home to mix it up.”

“But Grandpa Weber’s gots real chocolate milk straight from the cows,” her daughter whined, sounding just like Shauna. How was that possible at the age of four? And she wasn’t even blood related.

“Honey, it doesn’t come that way.” She was forever correcting the things Shauna’s husband, Patrick, assured Lauren were true.

Alicia went to the passenger side to get Lauren. Cool-looking cars were absolutely not family cars. She pulled down the front seat and removed the shoulder restraints from Lauren, who waved to someone passing by.

“Hi,” Lauren said.

Shoved just as she’d lifted Lauren, they both fell into the car. Her feet were kicked from under her. She couldn’t stand.

“Somebody help!”

Thick material was yanked over her head, smelling like a burlap feed sack. She couldn’t see. The pressure in her back grew sharp, like a knee. It moved to her neck. Someone forced her face into the hot leather. Lauren screamed behind her, kicking her side as she was dragged from the car.

They were taking her baby!

“Stop hurting my mommy,” Lauren screamed.

“What do you want?”

Pushing. Shaking. Choking her from behind. She couldn’t move. Dear Lord in heaven, please send someone to help me.

“Mommy!”

“Shh,” a deep voice said.

Lauren continued a muffled scream.

“Please don’t...don’t hurt her. It’ll be okay, baby.”

“Shut up,” a second gravelly voice whispered close to her ear. Her hands were quickly taped behind her.

“Don’t do this. Please,” she pleaded.

Shoved into the back floorboard, her boots removed, her ankles taped. She heard the lock being pushed down. The door slammed. The windows had been up. The keys were in her pocket. It was a scorching triple-digit day outside, but she was not going to die!

They’d kidnapped her little girl.

She felt the adrenaline rush through her body, but still couldn’t tear the tape from her hands. She closed her eyes from the grain dust and shifted closer to the window. Then kicked and kicked some more. But the bastards had pulled off her boots and left her with only socks. Her heels couldn’t touch the glass, just her toes. It was doubtful she could break the glass, but someone would hear the pounding.

Someone would see her. They’d call the police. They could break the window and get her out. Something. Something fast so they’d find Lauren.

Who could do this? She’d never give up until she found her daughter.

Sweat beaded over her face, making it itch. It was hard to breathe without inhaling the feed dust left in the sack. She choked, coughed, gagged. All the while twisting and using the carpet to slowly work the suffocating material from the bottom part of her face.

Kick. Keep kicking.

Don’t stop.

“Don’t. Give. Up. On me. Baby!”

Kick.