23
LIAM
“WE’VE GOT THEM!” is shouted out into the large room. My heartrate skyrockets, and hope erupts in my chest for the first time in days.
I’m in the middle of negotiations with the director about getting Anton his freedom, something neither of us wants him to have, but we’ll do it to save two of our own. As we discuss the situation, the words are called out by someone staring at the screen in front of her.
I rush over and ask what she means, and she explains, “Ford initiated a tracker. I don’t know how he got to it, but it just was picked up. He must have just now been able to access it.”
I squeeze the woman’s shoulders as a thank you. I don’t know who she is, but she’s my damn hero right now. Without waiting for more than an address, I haul ass out of the building then realize I don’t have a car.
Just as I’m contemplating stealing another one, James is yelling for me to jump in as she runs out of the building behind me. We both get into a black SUV, standard issue, and follow the GPS to a house in the middle of nowhere hours outside of Vegas. It must be one of Anton’s hiding places.
“The fact that Ford initiated a tracker is a good sign,” James says, her voice tight. I assume she is close with him. They were partners before she was laid up and he disappeared, and that’s a bond you can’t explain when you experience some of the things you do when you join the agency. She tells me to grab the vests that are in the back seat, and I help her strap hers on before getting my own on.
“It also means they could have been moved. Someone could have found that tracker and trashed it,” I say, my tone clipped as my mind flashes to Margaret in that picture Anton showed me.
Motherfucker is definitely going to die.
“Ford hides his tracker pretty well. I don’t think they’d find it.”
I don’t reply and look toward the side mirror. There’s another SUV behind us, more agents following as backup since we don’t have a clue how many people are guarding this location. Anton seems to think using Margaret is the best way to get me, and so far, he hasn’t been wrong.
She came into my world and flipped it upside down. I’ve felt things with her that I never have before. She’s gotten under my skin in a way only someone who wasn’t even trying to could do. She didn’t mean for any of this to happen, just like I didn’t. There was no way to know when we went on that date that we would end up here.
I lean forward in my seat as we get closer and closer. I see a shadow of a house in the distance and keep my eyes open for anyone around. The area is deserted, and it doesn’t seem like there’s anyone out here at all. We pull off to the side and grab our favored weapons. We’re far enough away that no one will have seen us coming unless they’re keeping watch, and based on how still the house is, I’m guessing no one is.
We creep close to the shadows, guns at the ready and anticipating a surprise. There’s no way this place doesn’t have at least someone watching over it.
Unless Ford and Margaret are gone.
Dismissing the thought, I refocus. I doubt Ford would have let anyone stay alive after kidnapping him. As carefree as he seems, he’s still an FBI agent, ready to take out any fucker who messes with him.
We check windows, James and I taking the front while the other agents who came take the back. I kick the front door in and search the immediate area—there’s no one here. “Clear!” I yell. I hear the other agents yell it back, and we make our way around the house.
Two agents make their way up the stairs, and I head for a door at the back of the house. Wrenching it open and pointing my gun down, I don’t see anything. It’s pitch black down there, putting my senses on high alert.
James is on my six and we head down, creeping slowly and aiming at the shadows. I feel along the wall for any kind of switch and flip one on when I find it. Directly in front of me is a concrete wall, and Margaret is straight ahead, head lolling and body limp. I swallow a lump that forms in my throat and search the entire basement before making my way to her.
“Thank fuck,” I hear Ford mumble. He looks just as bad, and James works on getting him released.
I put my gun away and grab Margaret around the waist. I feel for her pulse under her jawline, a pool of dread circling my stomach. My eyes fill unexpectedly, and I let out a shuddering sigh when I feel a pulse beating beneath my hand.
“Thank you, Jesus,” I whisper then work on getting her cuffs off. I sneak a glance at Ford and see he’s already loose. He falls to the ground, his legs not working properly after being restrained for so long.
When I get her cuffs off, I cradle her bridal style and turn toward the other two. “Are you okay?” I ask Ford. He looks rough, and these last few days clearly have not been easy on them.
“I’m fine.” He grits his teeth and grudgingly lets James help him stand. “I’m so sorry, man. I failed you badly.”
I shake my head, not wanting to bother with that right now. My only concern is getting out of here before Anton realizes I didn’t show up for our scheduled meeting and figures out I have his only playing card.
“Let’s just get out of here.” No one argues with me, and we make our way out of the house. The other agents, having cleared the dwelling, bring the cars closer. James takes Ford to one, and I get in the other, laying Margaret on my lap.
I move her hair off of her face and breathe another sigh, allowing myself to be relieved for a brief moment before I squeeze her to me and thank whatever higher power there is that she’s safe.
It’s a few hours later and the FBI has put us up in a hotel room near their Vegas HQ. It’s nice, something Margaret would enjoy if she’d wake up. They sent a private physician to see to her and Ford’s wounds. He wasn’t as bad, but the doctor hooked Margaret up to an IV. She is suffering from a bad concussion and dehydration, and if it gets worse, we’ll have to take her to the hospital. That’s what I said from the start, but they want to keep her here for now.
Ford comes over and sits on the bed opposite the one Margaret lies on. I’m not leaving her side until she wakes up.