Carol Ericson - Trap, Secure

Tomlinson gestured to the gaping French doors leading to a dark balcony. “The only doors in the house left open.”

“Maybe Zendaris spirited the kids away through the window.”

“Maybe he had to grab something from that balcony.”

On his way to the French doors, Gage trod on a book. He bent over to pick it up. He ran his index finger along the well-worn, gold-leaf cover. “Fairy tales. Yeah, those kids aren’t going to be living any fairy-tale life with that maniac.”

He tossed the book onto a deep-cushioned chair and spotted a gauzy pink scarf hanging over the back of it. He plucked up the scarf with two fingers. The gold threads woven into the material caught the light, and the scarf shimmered in his hands. Some instinct drove him to raise the scarf to his face. An exotic, musky scent tickled his nostrils and he inhaled deeply.

Definitely not a perfume for a young girl. Maybe Zendaris had a twentysomething-year-old daughter. Gage didn’t even know if Zendaris was old enough to have a daughter in her twenties. He crumpled the scarf in his fist and shoved it into the pocket of his fatigues.

A radio crackled and Tomlinson jumped to attention. Captain Denny’s voice boomed into the room. “Out of the house, Tomlinson. Now. We’re meeting at the front of the house.”

“Yes, sir!” He backed up to the door leading to the hallway. “I’ll leave it to you, Booker.”

“Thanks, Tomlinson. Good job tonight.”

Gage clumped onto the dark balcony. The border around the balcony was low enough to sit on—not the safest setup for kids. But then having an arms-dealing father wasn’t the safest setup for kids, either.

In an attempt to add a measure of safety to the low wall, someone had tacked up a wooden border.

Gage’s nostrils flared. A portion of the border had broken away. He crept toward the edge of the balcony and fingered one of the pieces of wood. This was a recent break.

He leaned over the balcony and his heart slammed against his rib cage. A figure, crumpled on the ground, was inching toward the grass from the flagstones.

“You there—halt!”

The blackness of the night obscured his vision, and he strained to make out whether the person had a weapon. “Stop!”

The figure continued to crawl forward, and Gage patted his pockets for a flashlight. He’d left it out on the patio and had parked his radio in the kitchen. He scanned the yard, but the Green Berets had congregated in the front of the house.

He swung his weapon in front of his body. “Stop or I’ll shoot!”

Still the form eased forward like a snake on its belly.

Gage blew out a breath. At the rate the guy was moving, he’d never make it to the wall before Gage got down there. And once at the wall, he wouldn’t be able to do anything, anyway.

Unless he had a weapon.

Hoisting his own gun, Gage scrambled back through the room and jogged down the staircase. Captain Denny’s voice bellowed from the front of the house. The mysterious, crawling figure would never be able to circle to the front of the house, but the crawling could be an act.

Gage made a quick detour to the kitchen where he swept his radio from the counter. He strode across the hallway, crunching through the broken glass.

He burst through the doors leading to the back patio and ran onto the lawn, veering toward the left where he’d seen the figure from the balcony. He squinted into the gloom. The clouds had moved over the small slice of moon again, throwing this side of the compound into total darkness. The other side of the house boasted all the light and activity.

The humidity sucked the air from his lungs. He pulled in another breath and wiped his sleeve across his sweating brow, his gaze crisscrossing the lawn in front of the balcony with the broken railing.

A moan filtered through the air, and the hair on the back of Gage’s neck stood at attention. His feet followed the sound, closer to the flagstones than he’d expected. The guy must’ve stopped crawling.

Gage slogged through the damp grass and froze. Seems the man had found the strength to stand, after all. A white oval lifted and dark pools peered at him.

He aimed his gun at the person’s head. “Hold it. Do you have any weapons?”

The small-statured man extended his arm toward Gage, and Gage’s finger tightened on the trigger of his carbine. “Don’t make any sudden moves. I’ve got a weapon pointed at you.”

The figure took a few jerky steps, dropping his arm to his side.

Gage pushed the button on the radio. “Captain Denny, I need light at the back of the house. There’s someone out here.”

Denny answered. “Ten-four.”

Motioning toward the man with his weapon, Gage said, “I have reinforcements. Put your hands behind your head and drop to your knees.”

The man wavered and his arms dangled at his sides. Seconds later, several soldiers charged around the corner from the front of the house, coming up behind Gage. They drew up beside him and aimed their powerful spotlights at the figure swaying on the lawn.

Gage’s jaw dropped as the beams of light illuminated a...woman.

The woman blinked. She raised an arm to her face, resting the back of her wrist on her forehead, covering her eyes.

The soldier on one side of Gage cursed, and the soldier on the other side muttered unnecessarily, “It’s a chick.”

Gage stole forward, leading with his M4. “Don’t reach for any weapons, or I’ll shoot.”

Hell, for all he knew, the woman could be a trained assassin. If she lived in this compound, her loyalty lay with Zendaris. He could even be face-to-face with Zendaris’s mistress. Their intelligence had indicated Zendaris kept multiple lovers.

His nerve endings buzzed. If they could capture one of Zendaris’s girlfriends and grill her, there’s no telling how much information she could give them.

His step lightened as he drew closer and verified the woman didn’t have anything in her hands and no indication of a weapon—at least none that he could see. Her slim, black slacks hugged her hips and legs and her dark-colored blouse stirred in the gentle breeze. How could he have ever thought she was a man?

“Put your hands in the air where I can see them.” He moved within steps of her, so close he could smell the perfume he’d noticed on the scarf—exotic, hypnotic.

She tilted her head and a dark ponytail slid over her shoulder. Still, she didn’t speak. She lifted the hand from her forehead and raised it, palm out.

Gage drew in a quick breath as he noticed the blood streaked across her face. “You’re injured.”

She nodded once and pitched forward.

Gage dropped his weapon where it hung over his shoulder and swooped in before she hit the ground, catching her beneath the arms. Her head bobbed against his belly, and her knees buckled, swaying inches above the wet grass.

He hitched her into his arms, cradling her head. His fingers met a sticky patch of blood matting her hair on one side. He shouted to the soldiers standing in a semicircle, gaping. “Medical. Who has the medical supplies?”

“We’ll set up something on the back patio, sir.”

The men sprang into action and by the time Gage arrived at the patio with the woman clutched to his chest, the soldiers had already set up a stretcher, water and the contents of a first-aid kit, all illuminated by two spotlights.

He laid the woman on the stretcher, and she pinned him with her wide, dark eyes. “W-who are you?”

Did she mean in general or him specifically? She had to know they were U.S. Military come calling for her...lover.

“I’m Gage Booker and these men are from the U.S. Army Special Forces, but then you probably already know that. Why did they leave you behind?”

Her eyes clouded over and her lashes fluttered. “I don’t know.”