Liz Johnson - Christmas Captive

The questions pounded like a woodpecker against steel. He was getting exactly nowhere.

No matter how long he paced, the walls of the security office were as confining as the unanswered questions in his mind.

Amy, too, had stood when the captain excused himself for an urgent call. But Elaina slumped in her father’s lap. “Can we go back to our room now?” she mumbled against his chest.

“No!”

Torres jumped as Jordan, Amy and the bodyguard all yelled the same word at the same time. But the ambassador’s eyes were knowing, even as Amy slipped into the seat she’d just vacated to rub Elaina’s back. “We’ll get you a new room.” A safe one.

The last line was unspoken but louder than her other words.

Suddenly the door swung open and the captain and another man in a starched white jacket—the second in command—entered.

“My apologies,” the captain said. “This is Julio Xavier, my staff captain.”

Jordan shook Xavier’s hand but skipped the pleasantries. “The ambassador, his daughter and their bodyguard need to be moved to a new suite right away.”

Captain Robertson nodded and motioned to Torres, who stood, still holding Elaina. “I’ll take care of it personally. Follow me.” Just before he slipped out of the office with Torres and Elaina, and their bodyguard following closely, he turned back to Jordan. “Xavier oversees security and is in charge of our prisoner.”

Jordan nodded but addressed Amy instead of the staff captain. “It’s been a long night. You should get some rest.”

Her lips pinched at his words, and she pressed flat hands together in front of her so hard that her arms shook. He could almost see the steam coming from her ears.

She was clearly exhausted, and he’d assumed that she’d be grateful for the chance to get some downtime, knowing he’d handle things here. Apparently not.

He scratched at the back of his neck and frowned at Amy, who gave him one shake of her head before turning toward Xavier and pointing toward the glass window into the single cell.

“With your permission, sir, I’d like to interview this man.”

Jordan stepped forward to interrupt. After all, he wanted to do the interrogating.

But Xavier was focused on Amy, shaking his head at her. “It’s my jurisdiction. I’ll take care of it.”

“Sir, I’m a DEA agent and that little girl’s aunt. And that man shot at me today. I’d like to know why.”

The staff captain ran his hand along his jaw, pinching his features as though in deep thought before letting his gaze land on Jordan. “Suppose you’re DEA, too.”

“No, sir.”

Xavier visibly relaxed.

“SEAL teams.”

The older man’s pinched expression immediately returned. “SEALs, huh? So you’ve worked with terrorists before.”

Jordan wasn’t quite sure where this line of questioning was going, but he’d answer nearly any question to get a chance at asking a few of his own. “No, sir. I don’t work with terrorists.”

“Ha.” Xavier’s chuckle was as dry as dust.

“What do you say you let us stick around?” Jordan said. “We’ll stay out of your way.”

Amy cleared her throat as if she wasn’t willing to make that concession, but Jordan kept going.

“Maybe ask a follow-up question or two.”

Xavier rubbed at his chin for a long moment before glancing at Cortero, who had remained silent in the background. “I guess that’s fine.”

As jails went, this one looked more like a hospital, all sterile white walls and a bench that looked like it belonged in an accessible shower. It wasn’t exactly homey, but neither did it suggest that the man in the black suit would face serious consequences for his actions. Which left Jordan with a distinct feeling of unbalance.

Xavier began his interview in a calm voice. “I’m Julio Xavier. What’s your name?”

The thug shook his head. He attempted to cross his arms but winced when he bumped his forearm. “I need to see a doctor. That guy broke my arm.”

Amy shot Jordan a look, and he shrugged. He’d take the man—or any other—down again in a minute if he threatened Amy or Elaina.

Xavier sucked on his long tooth. “First, you have to tell me your name.”

The big man squinted hard, his eyes nearly disappearing in his round face. His bald head didn’t do anything except make his face look fatter.

After a long staring contest, where the staff captain didn’t back down, the man said, “Dean.”

“Is that a first name or a last?”

Again, he stared like he was trying to figure out what Xavier wanted to hear. Jordan couldn’t stop his hands from rubbing together or force his feet to stand still. Not when there was another man out there, probably still looking for Elaina, and this man in front of him was answering none of the questions burning a hole in Jordan’s gut.

Maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t doing the questioning because Jordan suddenly had patience for no one and nothing.

Come on, man. Get it going.

But the staff captain kept his pace slow and easy. “Is your first name Dean?”

The man shook his head.

“Your last?”

Finally a nod. Now they were getting somewhere. Mr. Dean had half a name, and Xavier nodded to Cortero. “Look it up.”

The security guard did as he was told, turning to the computer on the desk before him, his fingers making the keyboard clack. “First name?”

The man in black responded with silence, long enough to make Jordan’s blood begin to boil. He shot a scowl into the cell, but it was Amy who spoke up.

“Now.”

One word. One syllable. It was all she needed.

“Eric. Eric Dean.”

Jordan couldn’t contain the smile that bubbled into place, and he shot Amy an approving nod as Cortero typed in the first name.

“There’s no one by that name on the passenger manifest.”

Amy drew in a quick breath. He could feel it more than hear it. And he was pretty sure they were thinking the same thing.

This man had either lied about his name or found a back door onto the ship. With a gun.

And he wasn’t alone. There was at least one other dangerous person working with him, and they were both working for someone else. But if there was a back entrance, there could be a whole lot more than that.

“We’re going to need your fingerprints to confirm your identity,” Xavier said.

But Eric shook his head. Hard. He looked like a five-year-old refusing to go to bed. “I’ll wait to see the doctor first. And then I’ll wait for the local authorities in St. Thomas.”

His words were straightforward and clear, but something about his expression made Jordan’s skin crawl. He wasn’t scared or upset, or even resigned to his fate. He seemed to be suppressing a smile at the thought that he’d ever have to face the consequences of his actions. Either he was a sociopath or he knew something that Jordan didn’t.

Jordan guessed that when it came to this situation, there were a lot of things he didn’t know.

And that didn’t sit well with him.

Turning to Amy, he frowned, trying to figure out how to convince her that pressing Dean for answers was a dead end. But she beat him to it.

“We’re not going to get anything out of him tonight,” she said. Then she looked right at Xavier. “Will you call me if he gets talkative?”

He nodded, and she strode toward the exit. As she walked out into the hallway, Jordan waved at Xavier and chased her down. “Hey, where do you think you’re going?”

* * *

Amy didn’t have the energy left to fight with Jordan about where she was going or why. In fact, all she really wanted to do was crash in her bed and sleep until this night was nothing but a bad dream.

But that wasn’t an option.