“Spread out. I want Agent Baker returned alive.”
Alive? Oh God. The gravity of the situation hit Joe hard. What if the men killed Liam? There was so much Joe wanted to say to him. They were so close to the truth. Did Liam remember who he was? Joe stood by, feeling useless, but what could he do? These were professionals. This was what they did. Agent Geoffrey spotted him and hurried over.
“Stay here, Mr. Applin.”
Joe nodded as dozens of agents disappeared into the darkened forest. All Joe could think about was Liam, in there somewhere, against who knew what, in danger.
Please, be okay. You have to be okay.
LIAM remembered everything.
He remembered hitting his head on the radiator when he was a kid after not listening to his mom about jumping on the bed. He had to get stitches and to this day had a faint scar on his left eyebrow. Then there was the time he’d chased his sister into the basement of their neighbor’s house while their mom got a perm and he scraped his head on the unpolished banister. He bled but thankfully no stitches were needed. He really needed to stop hitting his head. Everything was there, everything before today, including the first time he saw Joe’s deep blue-green eyes.
There was no way in hell he wasn’t making it out of this. Joe was alive. For a moment he’d been terrified, thinking that son of a bitch imposter had shot Joe, but when he heard the sirens, heard the bastards arguing about leaving the “pie guy” behind, he knew Joe was safe. Geoffrey had found him. Liam could always count on his partner to come through for him.
They’d been walking for miles. During that time, Liam had been studying his captors and his surroundings. The men stopped in a clearing. Someone jerked him to a halt before kicking at the back of Liam’s knees and forcing him down onto the dirt, his hands zip-tied in front of him. All he needed was the right opportunity, but first he needed to buy himself some time. His team wouldn’t be far. He’d be surprised if they weren’t already tracking him.
“Where is it?” one guy growled.
“Where’s what?” Liam asked, adding a slight tremor to his voice.
A punch snapped Liam’s head to one side, splitting his lip and leaving a slight copper taste in his mouth. He remembered the taste well, along with the blood, broken bones, bruises, and everything else that came with being a field agent. He remembered being shot at, punched, grazed by a runaway truck, and a host of other injuries he’d acquired while taking down drug-peddling assholes like these.
“Where’s the package?”
Liam spit out saliva tinged with blood. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
One of the dark-haired goons holding a rifle sneered. “Don’t play dumb with us. We know you’re a Fed. Matteo wants your head for your betrayal.”
Matteo would want someone’s head for sneezing. The guy was a hotheaded nasty piece of work, ruthless in his quest to expand his empire. He started out small, taking over his father’s drug running business before the shipments went from drugs, to firearms, and finally people. It had taken a hell of a lot of restraint on Liam’s part to act indifferent to the freighter hauling young men and women, some of them underage and others barely legal. All to be sold or forced into prostitution. That’s when Liam swore to himself that he’d do whatever it took to take down Matteo and the filth who worked for him. “I don’t know what or who you’re talking about. Look, I don’t remember anything. All I know is someone assaulted me. Hit me in the back of the head hard. When I woke up, I couldn’t remember my own name. Whoever you think I am, whatever you believe I have, I don’t remember.”
The half-dozen armed men exchanged glances before bursting into laughter.
“You expect us to believe that?” one of them chimed in.
“Check this guy out. I didn’t know Feds had a sense of humor.”
Liam shook his head. “Do you really think if I was who you say I am that I wouldn’t have run off to the cops? That I wouldn’t have done whatever I was supposed to do with this package you’re after? You’ve been after me for how long? I’ve been washing dishes and baking pies, man. Does that sound like something a Fed would do while he’s being chased by God knows who?”
The men seemed to think on that.
One of the guys frowned. “He’s got a point, Castro. Dude’s been hanging out in a pie shop.”