Rescued By The Marine

Hands that belonged to unseen men plucked a black hood off a woman’s head. She put her bound wrists up to her face and squinted against the sudden brightness of the lights shining on her, lights that also obscured her captors and their surroundings. Long ash-blond waves tumbled down one side of her neck while straighter strands still caught beneath hairpins floated upward with static electricity. When the gloved hands pulled her arms away from her face, she winced, but didn’t cry out.

An off-camera voice muttered something unintelligible and she blinked open big green eyes. She ran her tongue across her full bottom lip and cleared her throat, as if she was thirsty and struggling to speak. “I can’t even see the camera without my glasses, much less read that scrawl of yours.”

“Give ’em to her,” the muffled voice ordered.

She glanced blindly about until the gloved hands reappeared and thrust a pair of tortoiseshell-framed glasses onto her face. As Samantha Eddington blinked the world into focus, she whispered a soft “Thank you.”

Jason fought the urge to bolt. This was Kilkut all over again. The hair and eye color might be different, but with those glasses, she looked too much like... The memory of a bullet hole through the shattered lens of a woman’s glasses superimposed itself over Samantha Eddington’s face. He curled his fingers into a fist, fighting off the past and focusing squarely on the present reality of those big green eyes.

“Say it.” The harsh voice wasn’t muffled now.

Samantha nudged her glasses into place and looked into the camera. “Dad? Um, I got myself into some trouble here. Never should have left that stupid party. I’m so sorry. Is Brandon okay? He tried to help. I know you’re thinking about Mom right now. I felt like I needed to get away before I exploded, but I never thought any of this—”

“Cut the sentimental crap and read it.”

“Will you take me to use the outhouse if I do? My bladder’s about to bust.”

Her answer was the distinctive sound of a bullet sliding into the firing chamber of an automatic handgun. “Read it.”

Her green eyes widened and locked on to someone off camera beside her, no doubt holding a gun on her. Samantha Eddington was pale, scared, dressed in some nonsense fancy dress that curved over her generous breasts and left her visibly shivering. Or maybe that was fear. But other than the edge of a bandage peeking out beneath the flowery strap over her left shoulder, at least she didn’t appear to be injured.

She turned her focus to something at the right of the camera and started reading. “We—these men, of course, not me—want five million dollars. Wow. That’s a million dollars apiece. You must think—”

“Stop ad-libbing.” The barrel of the Sig Sauer pointed at Samantha entered the camera shot, inching closer to her caramel-blond hair. “Word for word.”

Although this was hard to watch, Jason was learning more about the situation in the few seconds he watched the nearsighted socialite on camera than he’d learned in the previous few minutes with the rest of her family and employees. At least five men, armed with pricey hardware, were holding her someplace that had an outhouse. So not in town, and not anyplace where a military-grade weapon like that would be noticed. There were snowflakes dotting the black camouflage material on the arm holding that weapon. Snow meant they were at a higher elevation. Samantha Eddington was smart—maybe a little too clever for her own good if her kidnappers caught on to all the clues she was dropping and punished her for it.

With a jerky nod, she lowered her gaze to the script. “If you don’t pay us the money, you’ll lose your daughter...” She hesitated, twisting her lips into a frown, blinking back tears before reading on. “...just like you lost your wife. I’m sorry, Dad. I know how hard this is for you. If anything happens to me, promise me you won’t blame—”

“Read it!” The gun ground against her temple and she froze.

Tilting her head away from the gun, she continued. “We’ll call tomorrow morning at eight with an account number where you will deposit the money. Once the deposit has cleared and we’re out of the country, we’ll call again and give you Samantha’s location. If the money isn’t there by noon, all you will find is her body.” A delicate muscle rippled down her throat as she swallowed again. “Unless...the scavengers find her first.” She shook off the terror that threat must engender and read on. “No cops. No FBI. Don’t send your fancy security force after us. It’s time to pay up. Five million for your daughter’s life.” Her green eyes darted toward the camera. “I tried to fight them, Dad. But my toes are freezing up here. Remember when you tried to teach me how to hunt? I wish I had that gun now—”

“Shut her up.”

The gloved hands whisked the glasses off her face. “Please, don’t. I read what you wrote. You don’t understand what my father’s been through. He won’t pay—”

“He damn well better.”

She was struggling with her captors now. And losing. The men pushed her down to the floor and the camera followed.

“Stop! Please... No!”

“We’ll kill her if you don’t cooperate, Eddington,” an off-screen voice promised.

Another pair of hands pushed her loose hair off her face, exposing her long, creamy neck to the syringe they held. She grimaced when the needle pricked her skin. Her words were already slurring as she looked toward the camera. “I love you, Dad.”

The screen went black before a cue icon beckoned Jason to replay the disturbing images. But he’d already memorized any useful intel he could get off the video. His blood simmered as experiences from the past were already painting a dark outcome for Samantha Eddington’s future. He’d put his fist through the table if he watched it again. If he couldn’t block these emotions, he’d be no use to anybody. And clearly, Samantha desperately needed somebody’s help. His kind of help.

But Jason wasn’t sure he was mentally fit to handle this kind of dark ops rescue mission anymore. He handed the phone back to Samantha’s father. “You got five million dollars?”

“I do.”

“Pay the ransom.” He rose from his chair, giving the best advice he could, even as he tried to save his sanity and make an exit.

“I won’t give in to their threats.” Eddington was sentencing his daughter to death on some kind of principle? The older man stood to block Jason’s path to the door. “You may not know who I am, Captain Hunt, but this isn’t the first time I’ve gone through this. I paid a million dollars to Richard Cordes and his militia for my wife Michelle twenty-two years ago. The kidnappers killed her, anyway.”

Twenty-two years ago, Jason had been a middle-schooler, discovering girls weren’t icky, counting the days until his father returned from his latest deployment and not paying attention to the news. But even now, he had a glimmer of a memory about the dead woman who’d been found in a gully outside Cordes’s militia compound. He glanced over to the table where Richard Jr. had been playing cards. “You came here to accuse Junior of taking your daughter?”

“Yes. He and I were both there the day his father was executed for Michelle’s murder. He said things... I know he blames me for his father’s death. He thinks I cheated his family when I bought the militia’s land to build a ski resort. Of course, they didn’t own it. They were squatters who’d taken over government land. I had a legal deed and I paid a fair price for every acre. But I’m sure that’s what his father preached to him his entire life. I didn’t want to argue with him. I just wanted—”

“Samantha back.” Joyce rose beside her husband as his shoulders sagged. She took over the conversation when Walter couldn’t immediately continue. She dragged the duffel bag across the table. “I told Walter we should come prepared to make a deal. He scraped together over a hundred grand in cash. But Mr. Cordes was insulted by the offer. Of course, he was also drunk and hitting on my daughter.”

“Mother.” Taylor Eddington seemed embarrassed to be any part of this conversation.

Kyle Grazer, however, didn’t seem to have any problem making himself heard. He pounded the table with his fist. “Pay the damn ransom, Walter! All of it. Your stubbornness is going to get her killed.”

The accusation galvanized the older man. His cheeks flushed with anger as he pushed his wife aside and met the younger man nose to nose. “You have no say in this. If you had stayed by Samantha’s side tonight—”

“I’m the one who tried to stop her from leaving.”

Taylor burst into tears and dashed off to the bathroom while Joyce Eddington urged the two men to behave like gentlemen and Pellegrino inserted his shoulder between them and forced Grazer back a step. The younger man tipped his chin up to the mustachioed bodyguard and swore. But, as Jason suspected he would, Grazer backed off.

Pellegrino’s dark eyes never left Grazer’s as he put the microphone on his wrist up to his lips and called his man back inside. “Metz? If the coast is clear, I need you in here to walk Mr. Grazer out to the limo.”

“Save your damn escort,” Grazer whined. “You can afford to lose five million, Walter. Can you afford to lose anyone else you love? If anything happens to Samantha, it’s on your head.” He pulled out his cell phone and stalked toward the bar’s swinging door, exchanging a sour glance with Brandon Metz on the way out as the younger bodyguard came in.

Metz shrugged in confusion, but joined them at the table when Pellegrino waved him over. “Grazer can walk it off.” He reached for the duffel bag of cash. “I need you to secure this.”

“Yes, sir.”

But Eddington was taking charge again. He pulled the duffel bag from Pellegrino’s hands and shoved it into Jason’s chest. “Mr. Flynn says you’re the best. Consider this a down payment. I’ll give you the five million if you bring Samantha home alive.”

Pellegrino immediately intervened, taking the bag back into his custody. “Whoa, Walter. I said my men and I would go after Samantha. This guy will be our guide. You can’t pay some stranger to rescue her.”

“The message said specifically not to send you. No cops, no FBI.”

Mrs. Eddington wasn’t about to be left out of the argument. “I think Kyle is right. We should pay the ransom. Make sure Samantha is safe. Then worry about bringing these men to justice.”

Walter raised his voice. “I want her home before the next phone call. Before it’s too late.”

Jason shot a look across the table, catching the wry apology on Marty Flynn’s face. Damn Marty for getting him involved with this. But he couldn’t walk away. He couldn’t live with another Elaine Burkhart on his conscience.

“I’ll do it.”

His nostrils flared with a deep breath as he summoned the years of training in both the military and search and rescue that lived inside him. Those skills triggered the muscle memory and do-or-die mind-set that turned him into a man he didn’t want to be anymore. But he had to become that man to do this job, to salvage his conscience, to save an heiress with pretty green eyes so he’d be able to sleep at night. “I need to know everything about your daughter’s abduction, and an explanation for those clues she was feeding us on that video.” Jason felt a clock ticking now. Whatever needed to be done would have to happen within the next few hours, before the 8:00 a.m. deadline. “Did you take Samantha hunting? Stay at a cabin with an outhouse?”

“She didn’t have the right shoes on that trip.” With Jason’s urging, Eddington processed the information from the video. “When she was twelve, I took her up past Marion Lake and showed her how to use a gun. She didn’t want to aim at any of the birds we were after, but she’d shoot at a paper target. She liked the mechanics of the weapon. My girl always did like to tinker with gadgets and fix things. Sammie spent more time taking her rifle apart and cleaning it than she did with any actual hunting. I’d rented a cabin for the weekend. She was tucked in and asleep by the fire before I realized she’d worn her tennis shoes instead of the boots I’d got her. Her feet were soaked and her toes like ice before I got her warmed up.”