Razing Kayne

FOURTY-ONE



“How the f*ck can there be no sign of them?” Kayne paced Trace's office. Three steps, turn. Three steps, turn back.

They'd had a showdown with the Alphabet-Soup agents. The Special-Agent-in-Charge had still been reluctant to share until Rafe stood, slammed his palms down on the table, and leaned forward to glower at them one by one. “Don't f*cking make me call my daddy.” At which he got a round of blank stares.

“My last name is Chatham. Rafe, short for Rafael.”

Holy shit, Rafael Chatham was a member of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Everyone started talking at once. Unfortunately, all they had was a laundry list of Volkov's crimes. Human Trafficking, Drug Trafficking, Arms Trafficking, Financing known terrorist groups…the list went on and on. But the image Kayne couldn't get out of his mind was the video they'd played that showed the brutal rape and murder of a fourteen-year-old child, the daughter of one of Volkov's enemies. There were twenty-seven similar incidents that the task force knew of having taken place in the last five years. And yet, when all was said and done, they admitted they didn't have a clue where he was. Kayne had been surprised to learn, that aside from the rapes, Krysin’s file hadn’t been much better.

“We're looking everywhere, Kayne,” Trace assured as Joe Sutton slipped in the door. “If we could get a little cooperation from the telephone company, it would be nice.”

“Still no sign of them?” Joe leaned against the wall.

“Nothing, the phone isn’t sending out a signal. The bastards at the phone company can't give us a last location without a warrant. Even then, they say it can take up to twenty-four hours for the system to spit out an answer. Christ, they don't have that much time.”

Kayne pounded his fist against the wall in frustration.

“Judge Johnson signed it, right?” Joe nodded to the warrant on Trace’s desk.

“Yeah, it was faxed over twenty minutes ago.” Rafe smiled. “Should have seen the secret agents. Looked like fish out of water with their mouths going and nothing coming out, because it took all of five minutes to get a warrant signed on a Sunday afternoon.”

“Damn it, I'm on hold, again.” Trace gave a heavy sigh.

“So how long do you think it will take for the boys in there to realize who your daddy really is?” Trace asked.

Kayne turned around in time to catch Rafe's shrug. The room was getting too crowded to pace. “Your father isn't Rafael Chatham?” Kayne stared at him in disbelief.

“Oh, no, I told the truth. My father was Rafael Chatham, the rancher. Born, raised and buried in Payson, Arizona.”

“Adding poker to the list of things not to do with you,” Kayne grumbled. Rafe was a lot like him, Kayne realized. Or like he had been before Jess. A little reckless, a little on the edge, easy to be when there was no one to live for and nothing to lose.

Rafe shrugged. “It's all in how you write the report. They just assumed I was talking about that Rafael Chatham. It's not my fault they made asses of themselves.”

Kayne glanced at the clock. It had been four hours since Jess and Gracie were kidnapped. “I need to check on my kids.” Kayne stopped, leaned against the wall, and slid to the floor, having long since pulled his duty belt and vest off. “What the f*ck do I tell them?” he asked of the four men standing in front of him.

Rafe crouched in front of him. “The truth. We're going to find their mom and sister and bring them home. You have to believe that. Those kids need to go to bed tonight believing that. Even if it's the last night they get to believe. They deserve it.”

Kayne nodded once and closed his eyes for a moment. Memories assailed him. All those nights of being with Jess as they made their rounds—bedtime stories, listening to their children pray, because they still believed in a merciful God who performed miracles.

He thought of all the nights they'd made their way downstairs, sometimes making it to bed, other times barely making it behind the closest lockable door before he had his way with her. He loved her so much it hurt. He'd been convinced he'd lost his soul, but she'd given him half of hers. He'd thought his heart was so broken he could never love again, but she'd sewn it back together stitch by precious stitch, and taken it for herself, giving him hers in return. She was his North Star and without her, he'd never be able to find his way home again.

And sweet, sweet Gracie…She'd cheated death twice. Would her luck hold a third time? He'd barely started getting to know her. He wasn't ready to give her up. He'd never be ready, but especially not now.

Kayne heard the door open and looked up to see Dr. Mark Oberly walk in. “What can I do to help?” he asked.

Kayne smiled weakly. “No offense, Doc, but I hope to God we don't need you.”

“None taken, and I'm not here in a medical capacity, at least not entirely. Look, I know you have a shitload of uniforms crawling all over the place, but I'd like to help. This goes nowhere outside this room, but I wasn't just some doctor patching up guys in an army hospital over there. I was embedded with one of the SpecWar teams.”

It was only then that Kayne realized Mark was wearing a long-sleeved, black shirt, BDU pants, and boots.

“I didn't know gynecologists were in such high demand on an all-male team,” Rafe said dryly.

Mark saluted him with his middle finger.

Kayne shook his head and pulled his cell phone out. They were all f*cking crazy. And they were all here for him.

Ash answered on the first ring. “Do you have them, Papa? Are they okay?” His voice was full of youthful excitement.

Kayne closed his eyes, fighting to swallow the lump in his throat. God, his chest hurt. Maybe it was a good thing Mark was here—he might be having a heart attack. He cleared his throat several times before he could speak. “We're still looking for them.”

“They weren't with the phone?” His disappointment was clear.

Kayne pulled his knees up, resting his forearm across them. “We don't know where the phone is yet, sport. It's turned off.”

There was a long pause. “I don't understand. It hasn't moved in hours.”

Kayne’s head snapped up. “What do you mean it hasn't moved in hours? How would you know?”

“Maddy and I have been watching it on the computer.”

“What! What computer? How?” Kayne jumped to his feet.

“You go to this special website and put in Mama's user name and password.”

Kayne was practically vibrating with pent-up energy, even though a moment ago, he’d been dead tired. “You can see the phone now?”

“Well, no. It keeps disappearing and then will show back up for a moment then disappear again, but it never moves.”

“I'm putting you on speaker phone.” Please, God, let this work. It was the first break they'd gotten.

Kayne watched over Trace’s shoulder as he accessed the website. “Nothing.” Kayne couldn’t hide the frustration from his voice.

“Hold on a sec,” Ash said absently, and Kayne heard the rapid clicking of keys on the keyboard. “Okay, give me an email address or a fax. I'm sending you a screen print we made earlier when it started doing the on again off again thing.”

Trace rattled off both.

“Maddy, fax that.” Ash mumbled.

Thirty seconds later, Trace received an email notice just as the fax rang with an incoming call. “Holy shit, we've got it!” Trace turned the computer screen toward Kayne.

“Ash, this is Uncle Rafe. When we're done, I got a whole boatload of feds who are gonna need some remedial training. I'm sending them to you and Maddy. Between Maddy keeping a cool head and planting the phone, and you having the foresight to record the phone’s location when it showed up on that screen, you've helped more than an entire task force of agents. You guys rock.”

“Papa, promise you'll wake me when you get home. No matter what.”

God, he was trying to sound so brave, so grown up, but Kayne heard the quiver in his seven-year-old son's voice. Seven incredible years old.

“I promise.” And he could make that promise, because he knew he wouldn't come home unless it was with Jess. He would die trying to get her back.

“I love you, Papa.”

Kayne choked up. “I love you too, son. All of you.” He had to bring Jess home. None of them would survive without her.