“Same as law enforcement. We use whatever force is necessary for us to safely bring him in, including deadly force.”
Deadly force. God…
The phone on the counter beeped, and Jake got up and hit the speaker key. “Vanderpol.”
“Rasmussen bit,” came Ronald’s voice on the other end. “We gave him the location of the cabin. Trace tells us he’s in Toronto.”
“No doubt he’s got a private jet at his disposal. So we have to figure he can be in the area in just over an hour. We need to move.” Jake released the call then turned to face them. “Time to rock and roll.”
The next minutes passed in a blur. The men gathered weapons, and put on their coats and cold-weather gear. As Jake prepared to leave, it was as if she no longer existed. He was so focused on what he was about to he didn’t even spare her a glance. It all boiled down to the job for him. Just like before; once he’d had Rasmussen in his sights, he hadn’t so much as spared her a single thought.
Leigh knew it was petty of her to feel that way. Jake and the other two men were facing a dangerous enemy. They needed to be wholly focused on the coming hours. Maybe the reason she felt so bereft was because they had used her six years ago….
Struggling against the thoughts, she followed the men as far as the porch and watched Jake and Rick Monteith don their helmets. Rick had already started his engine. Jake looked her way, then tossed the helmet into the snow and jogged toward the porch, his eyes dark and intent on her. She had a moment to brace. Then his arms wrapped around her. His mouth found hers. The kiss stirred her despite the circumstances.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered.
“I’m afraid for you.”
He cupped her face in his large, strong hands. “We’re going to be fine.”
Her legs went weak when he kissed her again. Then he ran to the snowmobile. Leigh watched them disappear down the lane, praying he was right.
RONALD WAITE LIVED in an upscale suburb between Ann Arbor and Detroit, Michigan. He had a story buzzing around in his head and had decided to take the afternoon off and write it on his laptop computer at home. He let himself in through the front door of his two-story home and hung his coat in the closet. He was midway through the living room when he noticed that something didn’t feel right about the house.
Uneasy, he listened, his mind scrolling through a quick security checklist. He glanced into the kitchen and saw the miniblinds at the back door stir. Then, feeling a chill in the air, he knew someone had broken into his house.
He backed toward the door, his hand going into his coat pocket for his cell phone. He turned and darted toward the door only to have his way blocked by two men who’d descended the stairs leading to the bedrooms. They were wearing black coats, ski masks, black leather gloves. Killers, he thought, and tried to lunge past them to get to the door. But the man nearest him slid a neat, chrome pistol from beneath his coat.
“Don’t even think about it,” the man said.
Ronald raised his hands, his eyes darting from man to man. “What do you want?”
“Information.” The second man slid a shotgun from beneath his coat.
“Wh-what information?” Ronald asked.
“We want to know where Leigh Michaels is,” the first man said.
He’d been in some tight situations in the years he’d worked at the Investigator. He’d certainly made some enemies. But he’d never felt as if his life were in danger. Looking at Rasmussen’s men, he had a terrible feeling he wasn’t going to survive this.
“I…I don’t know where she is,” he lied.
The men exchanged glances. The first man shook his head. “Look,” he began, “we can do this easy or we can do it hard. Either way, you will tell us where she is.”
Ronald’s heart was beating so fast he thought he was going to have a heart attack.
“Turn around and give me your wrists,” ordered one of the men, removing a pair of handcuffs from his coat pocket.
Ronald spun and threw himself into a run. He hit the dining room at full speed. His hand was in his pocket, seeking his cell phone. If he could just dial 911…
He heard a loud crack. Something stung him in the leg. Pain zinged through his body, and he fell facedown in the kitchen.
When he looked up, one of the men was standing over him, holding a stun gun in his hand. The man knelt, and Ronald felt himself being rolled onto his stomach. His hands were jerked roughly behind his back. The cuffs snapped into place.
Then the man rolled him onto his back. “You have ten seconds to tell us where she is.”
Ronald knew if he told them where she was, Leigh Michaels was as good as dead. He didn’t know what to do. Save himself and let Ian Rasmussen murder a young woman in cold blood? Or forfeit his own life so that she could live?
Perhaps he could lie to them, give them a false location, buy some time. Ideas spun through his mind. Surely he could think of something.
One of the men knelt next to Ronald. His eyes sought Ronald’s. “Where is she?” he asked.