General Lane’s heart began to beat faster when his gaze alighted upon the fifth figure.
Heather. So small compared to the others. She, too, wore black cargo pants and a black shirt. No coat. Sheathed knives and holstered guns were strapped to her hips and thighs.
He frowned. What the hell?
She held the hand of the shortest man, who nevertheless towered over her.
General Lane scoured every inch of her pale, exposed skin, looking for injuries or signs that she had been beaten or harmed.
He found none.
“Target one locked,” a voice murmured in his ear. Similar words were repeated by several others.
“Wait for my order,” the general whispered and slipped from the vehicle.
The group stopped just inside the light cast by the Humvee’s beams.
As he approached them, General Lane noted that Heather’s eyes and nose were red, as though she had been crying.
Fury rose within him.
“I believe I told you to come alone,” one of the men said, his voice that of the man General Lane had spoken to on the phone.
From a few yards away, the general gauged the man at standing six foot eight and could see now that he had long, black hair that fell to his waist. The way he carried himself and the fact that he had spoken first led the general to believe that this was the leader of the group.
The man to the right of him was only an inch shorter, with skin as black as midnight and dreadlocks down to his hips. The man to the left of the leader was maybe six foot four and built like a professional football player. Broader shoulders. Lots of muscle. Short, dark hair. And he kept a tight hold on Heather’s hand, urging her closer as his eyes searched the night.
The man to the left of him, the one without a shirt, looked like a natural-born killer. Just a hair short of seven feet tall, he possessed a distinct air of ruthlessness, as if he could snap Heather’s neck without a second thought and toss her body to the wolves.
Meeting the general’s gaze, he arched a brow.
“I did come alone,” the general lied.
The ruthless one snorted.
“Dad,” Heather pleaded, “they’ll know if you’re lying. Just tell them the truth and cooperate. Please. You don’t know what’s at stake here.”
Yes, he did. Her life was at stake. Which was why he hadn’t come alone. He had wanted as much backup as he could afford to bring. “Are you okay?” he asked, surprised when none of the men told him to shut the hell up so they could make their demands. “Did they hurt you?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
The leader drew in a deep breath, searched the night, then looked to his black comrade. A moment passed. The black man nodded.
The leader turned back to the general. “Have your snipers lower their weapons.”
“What snipers?” he asked, poker-faced.
“The ones in the trees and atop the hills.”
Heather’s look turned panicky. “Dad, you brought snipers with you? You were supposed to come alone!”
“And leave you unprotected if they kill me?”
“They’re the ones protecting me, Dad! Tell your men to stand down.”
He frowned. “What?” They were protecting her? What the hell did that mean?
“Just do it,” she said, “and listen to what these men have to say.”
In his ear, a voice murmured, “I have a clean shot. On your mark, I’ll take out the man holding your daughter.”
The man who held Heather’s hand frowned and looked to the west. Shifting Heather to his other side, he nudged her toward the ruthless one, who sort of reminded General Lane of a buffer, more rugged Jim Morrison. “Zach, get her out of here.”
Heather dug in her heels. “No way. I’m staying.”
“The hell you are,” the man said, still trying to push her toward the other. “I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire. There are six rifles aimed at us right now and one is drawing a bead on my head.”
Unease and confusion struck the general.
How had he known there were six shooters? How had they known there were shooters at all? Had they been here all this time, waiting and watching?
Even if they had, he hadn’t heard or seen the soldiers arrive and get in place, so how had they?
“All the more reason for me to stay,” she insisted. Squirming out of her captor’s hold, she planted herself in front of him like a shield. A short, slender shield half his weight.
“Heather,” the man said with exasperation as he settled his hands on her hips, “you’re a foot shorter than me. If you stay and he shoots, you won’t block the shot, you’ll just get showered with my brains.”
The dismay that swept her features filled the general with dread.
“Then pick me up,” she ordered, spinning to face the man.
He looked at her as if she’d just sprouted horns. “Are you insane?”
“No. Use me as a shield.”
“I am not going to let you sacrifice yourself for me again. You already did that once, damn it, and I nearly lost you. So get that crap out of your head right now!”
The general’s thoughts spiraled with confusion. What the hell was happening?
He looked at the leader.
The leader shrugged. “They’re sort of smitten with each other. Young love and all that.”
He spoke with an accent General Lane couldn’t quite place.
“Fine,” Heather said, the word full of defiance. Swiveling around once more, she drew a 9mm and aimed it at . . .
Shit! General Lane stared down the barrel of his daughter’s gun.
“Fire a single shot,” she shouted into the night, “and I’ll shoot General Lane!”
The ruthless one smiled. “I like this woman, Ethan.”
The leader nodded, his face relaxing. “General, how well do you trust the men you’ve brought with you?”
“Heather, honey,” General Lane blurted, “what the hell are you doing?” Was this Stockholm syndrome? Had she fallen for her captors? They’d only had her for a day, hadn’t they? What the hell had they done to her to force her to switch her loyalty so swiftly?
“General?” the leader prompted.
“I trust them with my life,” he muttered absently, still trying to come to grips with the fact that his daughter had just threatened to shoot him.
“Do you trust them enough to tell them where you saw us earlier today and what transpired there two weeks ago?” the leader pressed.
“They don’t have clearance.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Yes,” the general snapped. “I would trust them with the information, if necessary.”
The leader studied him a moment. “Have your men lower their weapons and remove their earpieces.”
“Hand over Heather first.”
“Dad,” Heather said, “I’m armed. You see this weapon. I would’ve already shot these guys if I thought they intended to hurt me.”
The man with his hands on her hips grinned. “Damn, you’re appealing. I love strong women.”
Heather rolled her eyes. “Now is not the time, Ethan.”
General Lane stared. “Heather—”
“I’m bored,” the ruthless one interrupted.
“Zach,” the leader spoke, a warning in his voice.
“This is taking too long. Why don’t I just . . . move things along a little faster for you?”
The leader grumbled something under his breath. “All right. But do not hurt anyone.”
The ruthless one—Zach—loosed a disgruntled sigh. “Fine.” Then he vanished.
General Lane gasped and felt his eyes pop wide.
He just . . . vanished. Into thin air. There one second. Gone the next.
Odd sounds came over the general’s earpiece.
Zach reappeared, his arms full of rifles. Tossing them on the ground, he brushed his hands together. “Done. Now call your men in.”
“What the fuck just happened?” one of the soldiers blurted in General Lane’s ear.
Another swore. “The target is now in possession of my primary weapon.”
The others confirmed the same.
General Lane’s mouth fell open. “How did you do that?”
The leader answered for him. “Bring your men in and we’ll talk.”
Heather lowered her weapon. “Trust me, Dad. You’re going to want to hear what they have to say. You need to hear what they have to say.”
Bewildered, afraid for her, the general called in his men.
The swishing of leaves and crunching of grass and weeds filled the night as six men—men so loyal to General Lane that they would do anything he requested, no questions asked—marched out of the forest and down the hills. As he watched them enter the ambient light of the Humvee’s beams and come to stand on either side of him, the general wondered anew how Heather’s captors had known they were there. All of the soldiers had blackened their faces, worn black fatigues, and covered their upper bodies with ghillie suits that mimicked the foliage around them so they would blend in with the night.
And they had blended in. These men were professionals. General Lane hadn’t been able to spot them even with a nightscope.
The soldiers doffed their ghillie suits, then studied Heather’s captors.
“Heather,” General Lane ordered, “come stand by me.”
The man behind her shook his head. “She’ll stay with us for now.”