Forged in Fire Page 17

  For a while Beth had thought she’d found her family with Brad. A partner. Someone to raise children with. To create new, happy memories in young minds.

  Instead, she’d discovered what her mother had learned before her, that passion was the great deceiver. The ultimate betrayer. Pure animal attraction, along with its accompanying tingles, butterflies and chills, masked people’s character. It tricked you into believing you saw something that wasn’t really there. Convinced you there was a foundation beneath the sparks.

  That there was love.

  “You okay?” Zane asked as the small family in front of them stepped up to the counter. “You look sad.”

  “I’m fine.” She tugged her hand loose in the pretense of brushing a strand of hair from her eyes.

  Beth shook the memories aside and glanced down at the pictures she held. Kyle. Ginny. Chastain’s family. The reasons they were here.

  She needed to remember that.

  When the family in front took their corndogs and cokes and wandered off, Zane and Beth stepped up to the window. Beth spread the pictures across the Formica counter. “Have you seen these children?”

  The girl gave the snapshots a cursory glance and shook her wildly teased mane of bleached hair. “What did they do?”

  Zane pushed the pictures closer. “Take another look. Do you recognize any of them? It’s important.”

  This time the teenager bent her head, and took a good look. Finally she straightened, shrugged and pushed the pictures back. “Sorry.”

  As Beth scooped the pictures up, Zane slung an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “We’ve still got plenty of booths to check.”

  But booth after booth brought the same answer. Nobody recognized the photos.

  They caught glimpses of Cosky and Rawls as they threaded their way through the crowd. From the frustration stamped across their faces, they weren’t having any better luck.

  “We’re headed to the shooting gallery,” Cosky said when they met up in the middle of the fairgrounds. “You two want to hit the rides?”

  Canvassing the rides took next to no time. Still, when they arrived at the shooting gallery, a crowd had gathered.

  “Man, he hasn’t missed once,” a weedy teenager said.

  “Neither did the other one,” someone to the teenager’s right responded.

  They slipped between a balding man who reeked of cheap cologne and a brassy-haired woman who reeked of cigarettes. Beth gagged and held her breath.

  “You wanna bet they’re cops?” a stooped man with graying hair said to his stooped and graying wife.

  “I doubt it, dear. Those muscles didn’t come from donuts.”

  They weaved their way through a flock of teenage girls wearing shorts that skirted the edge of decency, and discovered that the front of the crowd consisted of children.

  They broke into the open as Rawls leaned down and handed a plastic doll to a tiny Asian child in a frilly sundress.

  “Here yah go, darlin’,” he said, his blond head gleaming like platinum in the sunlight. “I’d have got pink to match that purty dress—but pink’s Cosky’s favorite color.”

  “I’m not the one asking for dolls,” Cosky said with a pointed glance at the half dozen Barbie knockoffs clutched in tiny hands.

  Beth glanced over the front row of children; they all held an array of cheap toys. Her gaze lingered on a red-headed little boy and the purple dinosaur he cradled to his fragile chest. Her heart started aching. Something about him reminded her of Kyle. Maybe it was the shyness in the dip of his chin, or the way he avoided everyone’s eyes, or that bright red hair.

  “What?” Zane’s gaze was locked on Rawls’ grinning face. “You decide to break the vendor by winning all his toys?”

  Rawls looked up and shrugged. “The guy we came for is off-site on lunch break. Since he’s not answering his phone, we figured we’d try our luck while we waited. Might as well give the rugrats some mementoes.”

  “We’d have upgraded these cheesy toys by now if Rawls would spend more time shooting and less flirting with the ladies.” Cosky winked at the cluster of grade schoolers.

  “Cosky’s just jealous.” Rawls shot his buddy a smirk. “Poor bastard couldn’t hit the hull of a sub from the dock.”

  “Pay attention, prettyboy—” Cosky slapped a five dollar bill down on the waist-high counter and waited for the scowling attendant to scoop it up and move out of the way. “—while I show you what real shooting looks like.”

  He raised the BB gun to his shoulder. A steady phuffitt, phuffitt, ping, ping filled the air, and the metal ducks toppled over in a massacre of sunny yellow.

  Beth stared at the rifle. According to Chastain, his son had used one of those guns. Touched one of those guns….

  She’d read various books through the years that had featured psychic heroes or heroines, and then there were all the televisions shows. In the movies and books, just touching an object could spark a vision. It was hard to believe she was actually considering the idea—Lord knows she’d never put much stock in psychic phenomenon. But it was little hard to dismiss the possibility considering everything that had happened since that damn dream.

  She turned to Zane, and lowered her voice. “Can you pick something up off the rifle? Agent Chastain’s son must have touched one of them.”

  He glanced at her, surprise flaring in his eyes. “It doesn’t work like that, at least not for me. I’ve never gotten anything from an object.”

  “Oh,” Beth murmured, surprised by the quick rise of disappointment.

  Zane studied her face for a moment, and then turned back to the counter.

  It wasn’t until the last target fell and the puffing pinging sounds dissipated that Beth heard the excited whispers rising from behind. She turned to find half a dozen teenage girls admiring Cosky, Rawls and Zane’s long, lean frames. Several of the girls adjusted their blouses to display maximum cleavage.

  “Hell,” Mac said from the sidelines where he stood with his arms crossed and his feet spread. “You call that shooting? Took fifteen seconds to take them down. If they’d been snipers we’d be dead by now.”

  Snipers?

  Beth stared at the smiling yellow ducks and rolled her eyes.

  Dropping his arms, Mac stepped forward and snatched the BB gun from Cosky’s shoulder. Beth snorted beneath her breath. Good Lord, they’d regressed to kindergarten. Her gaze shifted to Zane. Well, at least three of the four had. Zane appeared to be the only one—

  She dumped that comparison when Zane stepped forward and made a grab for Rawls’ gun. As Mac started shooting, and that oddly rhythmic phuffitt of escaping air and ping, ping of metal hitting metal once again filled the booth, Zane dug into his pocket and pulled out a money clip.

  Beth glanced at the prices affixed to the post in the middle of the booth and did some quick mental gymnastics. A snicker escaped. If her calculations were correct, it cost two bucks to win a prize that cost about fifty cents at the dollar store.

  “If you want to impress Beth with some fancy shooting,” Rawls drawled, “you better let me keep the gun.”

  “Not another one!” The waif-thin teenager manning the booth groaned as Zane dropped a wad of bills on the counter. The attendant stalked over to the rope that stretched the length of the booth and plucked down the peach-colored pony Mac pointed to. He fired the stuffed animal to the commander and threw up his hands. “Why don’t you just give me your wallets and I’ll hand over the prizes. It’ll save time.”

  Mac caught the pony and handed it off to a dark-haired sprite in a yellow dress. “We want to upgrade these shitty toys.”

  As Zane brought the BB gun up to his shoulder, another man pushed his way through the crowd.

  “What the fuck?” Freckled, skeletal hands plunked down on bony hips. He glared at the multitude of toys in the first row and then transferred his ire to the booth attendant. “You giving them away?”

  Mac glanced over and froze, then lowered his BB gun to
the counter. Beth turned toward the new arrival. From the commander’s reaction, he had to be the man they’d come to see. Zane set his gun down as well and just like that all four men morphed from competitive schoolboys, to steely-eyed men on a mission.

  “A word.” Ignoring the disappointed groans sweeping the bystanders, Mac reached into his pocket, pulled out a photograph of Brendan Chastain and held it in front of the vendor’s face. “This kid was here sometime this morning. Recognize him?”

  He shook the photo slightly, as though the movement might jog the vendor’s memory.

  The booth attendant barely glanced at the picture before he swore again. “Let me guess. You’re related to the little bastard. He was almost as obnoxious as you.”

  Surprise froze Mac in place. “You remember him?”

  “Sure. He didn’t miss.” With a swipe of his hand the vendor pushed the picture aside. “What the hell’s this about?”

  “How many people were with him?” Zane took a step forward.

  For a moment, it looked like the booth attendant was going to refuse to answer. Beth watched the four SEALs tense in coiled threat.

  The vendor must have sensed the danger as well. He shrugged and took a careful step back. “There was another kid with him.”

  “Which child?” Beth showed him colored photos of all three kidnapped kids. Her heart sank when he silently pointed to Chastain’s younger son.

  “How many adults?” The question shot from Mac with the ferocity of a bullet. Their witness’s eyes widened. “Three adult men. Why?”

  “We need to locate this boy. Anything you can tell us would be helpful.” Cosky’s voice was hard, commanding rather than requesting.

  The vendor’s forehead furrowed. “They weren’t bodyguards?”

  Zane leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Why would you assume that?”

  “Because they hovered. Wouldn’t let anyone near either kid. Wouldn’t let the kids talk to anyone. The only reason the oldest was allowed to shoot was because he raised such a stink about it. I figured they were a pair of Richie Riches. But man, that kid could shoot. Said his dad taught him.” He studied Mac’s face. “You the dad?”

  Mac shook his head. “Did he say anything else?”

  “Didn’t get a chance. Every time he opened his mouth one of those guards stepped in. Figured the parents had told them to keep their spoiled little brats away from everyone. You know—” his voice dropped to a sneer, “—so’s our lower-class stink didn’t rub off.”

  Cosky swore. So did Zane. “He didn’t say anything?”

  The vendor shook his head. “Not that I recall.”

  This time Mac was the one to swear. “What about the younger one?”

  “Nah, that little bugger didn’t say a word. Just squealed every time the older one hit something.” The vendor scowled. “Which was too fucking often.”

  Although their controlled faces didn’t reflect any emotion, Beth had spent enough time around the four men to pick up their frustration. It seethed in the air surrounding them. The same disappointment clotted in her chest, tightening her throat. So close, they were so close, only to walk away with nothing.

  Scowling, Mac glared at the endless march of yellow ducks. Suddenly, he frowned, cocked his head to the side.

  “What?” Zane asked quietly.

  Mac continued staring at the ducks. “You have to hit ten targets to claim the prize.”

  Zane glanced at the metal targets. “Yeah?”

  With a shake of his head, Mac frowned. “On the video, he said I got all eight of them. Emphasis on the word ‘eight’.”

  Falling silent, Zane thought about that, only to shake his head. “He’s a kid. Could have miscounted.”

  Mac nodded slowly, but he didn’t look convinced. “We know there were three men shadowing the boys here at the fair.” Grimness flickered over his face and his jaw clenched. “Three more on the video with the wife. That makes six. There could have been two more with Clancy’s family.”

  Cosky frowned, tilted his head to the side. “You think he was giving his dad a head count? Hell, could mean nothing.”

  “Maybe.” Mac suddenly swung around and stared at the BB guns resting on the counter. “The kid held the gun up and said he wanted one just like it for Christmas, but Chastain said he has a pellet gun.”

  “A pellet gun’s superior to a BB gun,” Zane said thoughtfully.

  In unison, all four men swung around and headed for the counter and the BB guns they’d discarded.

  “Which gun did he use?” Zane asked.

  The vendor followed them to the counter. “First time he used the one on the right. Second time he used the one in the middle.”

  “Has anyone used the gun in the middle?” Zane asked.

  “No.” Cosky shifted closer to the counter. “We’ve been shooting from the ends.”

  Zane picked up the BB gun under discussion and studied it. “Did he have trouble making the target with the first gun?”

  “Hell no. Little bastard made contact every time.”

  “So he wanted that one.” Cosky nodded at the gun in Zane’s hand. “Question is why? They’re identical.”

  An arrested expression settled over Zane’s face. “Not quite.” He turned the gun upside down, exposing a thick crack running the length of the plastic stock. “You wouldn’t see the defect from above.”

  Everyone watched as Zane opened the barrel, shook out the extra BBs and tilted the gun toward the sky, until a shaft of sunlight pierced the crack in the plastic. His hissed exhale filled the sudden silence.

  “What is it?” Beth asked, stepping closer, trying to peer into the crack herself.

  “Some kind of paper. It’s wedged in. We need something to dig it out with.”

  With shaking hands, Beth unzipped her purse and dug around for her travel-size first aid kit. Once she found it, she popped the lid and rummaged through Band-Aids, Neosporin, and baby wipes until she found a pair of tweezers. Silently, she handed them to Zane.

  “Give him room,” Mac snapped when everyone pressed closer.

  It took Zane a few seconds of wiggling the tweezers back and forth before he worked the ragged slip of paper free. He handed the tweezers back to Beth and carefully unfolded his prize.

  For one long moment he just stared at it. “Son of a bitch,” he finally said, pure disbelief in his voice. “The kid left us an address.”

  * * *

  “Assuming the kid was passing along a body count, we’re outmanned two to one.” Cosky flipped on his blinkers and took the Federal Way exit. “Plus, while there’s some damn fine weapons in my dad’s collection, those assholes stashed MP5s on that plane.”

  “If they’ve got MP5, we’re outgunned no matter what your dad collected. We need a distraction,” Zane said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Bottle bombs come to mind.”

  “Bottle bombs?” Beth felt a sinking sensation in her chest. Anything with the word ‘bomb’ attached to its name sounded like something to be avoided.

  “Molotov cocktails. Beer bottles, tampons, and gasoline, and you’re set. It wouldn’t take long to whip up a six-pack.”

  He had to be kidding! She caught the round of nods traveling through the car. Or not. “What about Kyle and Ginny and Chastain’s family? They could get caught in the blaze or pass out from smoke inhalation.”

  “Depending on furnishings, flooring and interior composition, we’ve got four to seven minutes before spread and smoke became a problem.” Zane shot her a reassuring glance. “Plenty of time to get in, and get back out again.”

  Four to seven minutes? Plenty of time? Good God.

  “I’ve got a better idea.” She sat up straighter. “Why don’t we call the police?”

  What made perfect sense to her, apparently, made no sense to her co-passengers, because they shook their heads in unison.

  “It could tip off the kidnappers,” Zane told her quietly.

  Oh, come on. The hijackers couldn’t have their
hooks into everyone. Chances were the police hadn’t been compromised. And the more people who swarmed the house, the safer everyone would be.

  Beth tried again. “It’s unlikely that anyone in the police department is corrupt. It makes sense that they’d go after Agent Chastain or Todd since both men served a purpose, but the cops wouldn’t be able to help them take that plane.”

  Zane glanced at her. “A corrupt cop would be a gold mine. They could direct patrols away from the neighborhood the hostages are stashed, bury reports if something leaked. Besides, the more cops you add to the mix, the more likely something will go wrong. There’s a reason we work in smaller teams.”

  “Besides,” Cosky glanced in the rearview mirror, “the police aren’t going to take our word on this. They’d contact the FBI. Any hostages would be killed within minutes.”

  “If your friends are alive, we’re the best shot they have,” Zane told her. “We’re trained for extractions. We’ll get in and get them out.”

  But at what cost? If Brendan Chastain’s cryptic comment had been a head count, they were going up against eight kidnappers. Eight ruthless, heavily armed kidnappers.

  Ginny’s face flashed through her mind, followed by Kyle’s. God, she wanted them safe. She wanted them free from this nightmare, but not at the expense of Zane’s life or the lives of the other three men in the car.

  “We’ll need to stop and grab supplies,” Mac said.

  They were going to do this with or without her blessing.

  Beth took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ve got tampons in my purse.”

  Cosky sent her an approving look via the rearview mirror. “There are empty beer bottles in mom’s recycle bin and a gallon of gas in the garage.” He paused, turned the car onto a residential street. “We’ll need to strip the weapons. They haven’t been touched since dad died.”

  Cosky’s mother lived in a subdivision in Federal Way. Her home was an older ranch style that looked recently painted—a rich blue-gray with charcoal trim. The front yard was small, more flower beds than lawn, and studded with ceramic birdbaths and colorful bird houses. Honeysuckle and lavender swamped the car the moment they opened the doors.