“That’s about the gist of it.” Le Clair gestured to the white van, then nodded to Kilo and Oscar. “Get our passengers settled, boys.”
Deacon stiffened as Kilo dragged him toward the van. This “exchange”…it was simply another word for bloodbath. They would all be slaughtered—Hank Kelley, his daughter, Deacon himself. His own death didn’t bother him. It was Lana’s. The thought of watching her die sent pulses of rage to his blood. It spread, heating his insides, squeezing his heart, until he could barely see straight.
No way. There was no damn way he would let Lana be killed.
As they neared the back of the van, Deacon took a breath, set his jaw and whirled around. He launched him self at Kilo, barreling into the bigger man with such force they both went crashing to the ground. Despite his bound wrists, he landed a hit to Kilo’s jaw, hard enough to split the man’s lip. Blood spurted from the corner of Kilo’s mouth. He spat it out, dark eyes blazing with ire. Before Deacon could blink, he was on his back with Kilo’s fist in his gut.
“Enough with the games.” Irritation tinged Le Clair’s words. “Give it up, Delta. You’re not going anywhere.”
After one last punch into Deacon’s side, Kilo wiped the blood from his mouth and angrily hauled Deacon to his feet. “Get in the van,” he snapped.
Holding his fastened wrists against his belly, Deacon managed a resigned nod, then climbed into the back of the van. A pair of panicked blue eyes greeted him.
“What the hell are you doing?” Lana barked as the doors slammed shut with a loud thud, bathing them in darkness. “What was that, Deacon? They could’ve killed you.”
“They’re going to kill me anyway,” he said grimly. Slowly, he lifted his hands. “It was the only way I could get this.”
Lana’s eyes widened as a bluish light illuminated the darkness. It was the screen of Kilo’s cell phone, which Deacon had swiped from the man’s pocket when he lunged at him.
“We have to call my dad to warn him,” she whispered.
Deacon shook his head. “His phone will be tapped,” he reminded her, already dialing a number.
“Who are you calling then?”
“An old contact at the Bureau.” When the switchboard operator of the Hoover building came on the line, Deacon lowered his voice and said, “I need the extension for Colin Reilly.”
He waited, stifling a groan when a few beats of elevator music met his ears. Reilly didn’t keep him waiting for long, though. Several moments later, a familiar Boston accent barked out a greeting.
“Reilly, it’s Deacon Holt. Listen carefully, because I don’t have a lot of time here.”
A wary pause. “Holt?”
“Yes.” Impatience rose inside of him. “I need you to get a message to someone. It’s a matter of life and death. I’ve got Lana Kelley here with me.”
Reilly let out a shocked breath. “Are you messing with me, Holt?”
“I’m assuming you’ve heard about her disappearance then.”
“It’s all over the news.”
“Does the Bureau have agents on the case?”
Reilly hesitated. “You know I can’t divulge that.”
Damn bureaucrats. That meant yes then.
“Listen to me, Reilly. She’s here with me. We’ve been captured by Paul Le Clair, I know you’ve heard of him.” The cell phone let out three mechanical dings. Low battery. Deacon cursed softly. “Look, you need to get in touch with the agents in charge of the Kelley abduction. Tell Hank Kelley the exchange is a trap. He can’t show up alone, you understand, Reilly?” Three more warning chimes sounded, prompting Deacon to talk faster. “Le Clair has no intention of letting Kelley or his daughter get out of this alive. You need to make sure that—”
The connection died. Cursing again, Deacon dropped the useless phone on the floor of the van and kicked it underneath Lana’s seat.
“Do you think he’ll believe you?” Lana asked, urgency thickening her voice. “Will he warn them?”
Deacon took a long breath, then released it slowly. “I sure as hell hope so.”
“You’re not going alone,” Jim Kelley insisted for the hundredth time, fixing yet another steely gaze on his father.
Hank’s jaw was set in a stubborn line. “I already told you, boy. I’m not about to play games with my daughter’s life. The man said to come alone.”
Jim fought a wave of sheer frustration. He glanced around the massive room at his twin brothers, seeing the same frustration on their faces. Dylan had flown in from L.A. the moment the kidnappers had called to arrange the exchange. He’d wholeheartedly agreed with Jim’s assessment that their father was taking an unfathomable chance here, as did Cole and Gage, who’d been trying to talk Hank out of it for hours now. Lowe and Hartman, the two federal agents sitting on the couch opposite Hank, had also tried discouraging the senator, but to no avail.
Hank was determined to do this on his own. Atonement, Jim knew. For the first time in his sorry life, Hank Kelley was trying to clean up his own mess.