Lana exchanged a look with Deacon. He gave a small nod.
She climbed out of the van and immediately examined her surroundings. They were in an abandoned industrial area, judging from the crumbling brick buildings and random pieces of machinery scattered on the gravel. A long line of storage units stretched out to her right, but many of the doors gaped open, revealing dark empty spaces. There was some metal scaffolding to the left, broken and rusty, and then a whole lot of nothing. Just a paved lot that ended after a hundred yards or so, and a field with yellowing grass and a sagging chain-link fence.
Lana turned as Deacon hopped out of the van, his bound hands clasped to his stomach. Like her, he did a thorough sweep of the area. His lips thinned, as if he weren’t happy with what he saw.
Le Clair stalked up, cell phone in hand. “Any minute now,” he said with a smile. He glanced at his men. “Make sure we’re secure.”
The men headed off, weapons drawn, in the direction of the deserted buildings. One by one, voices crackled from Le Clair’s radio to declare, “Clear.” Lana recognized each voice, noticing that Echo had yet to report in. She’d seen him creep around to one of the farther storage units.
Le Clair frowned, clicked on the radio. “Echo, check in,” he barked.
A moment of static, then, “Clear.”
Le Clair’s features relaxed. He ordered Echo and Tango to station themselves by the buildings, then barked for Kilo and Oscar to return to the vehicles.
Tension gathered in Lana’s body. Le Clair’s hawklike gaze scanned the area, focusing more than once on the pebble-littered road they’d driven in on. He was on guard. Impatient.
Her father would be coming from that direction. And if Deacon’s warning to the FBI had gone unheeded, there was a great chance her dad wouldn’t be leaving here alive.
Seconds ticked by painfully slowly. Le Clair glanced at his watch. Kilo and Oscar were ready with the rifles.
A minute passed. Two. Three. Lana’s ears perked as the distant hum of a car engine broke through the cold afternoon air. She craned her neck, peered at the gravel road, gasping when the front bumper of a beige Mercedes came into view. She didn’t recognize the car, but it was a model her father enjoyed.
Her pulse kicked up a notch.
“About time,” Le Clair muttered.
The Mercedes crept closer, driving unbearably slowly. The nearer it got, the faster Lana’s heart thumped in her chest. She could just make out the driver—male, salt-and-pepper head, a tailored black suit jacket.
Her father.
She swallowed down a lump of panic. He’d come alone. Damn it! Deacon’s warning had fallen on deaf ears.
The Mercedes stopped twenty yards from the van. Lana’s heart was in her throat as she watched her father get out of the car. The very sight of him shocked her to the core. He looked nothing like the man she remembered, the man she’d seen only six months ago. His face was thinner, haggard and weary defeat swam in his eyes. He was in his late fifties, but suddenly seemed far older. Gaunt and broken and completely beaten.
Lana took a step, then thought better of it. Deacon’s order to stay put resonated in her mind, but she wanted so badly to alert her father of her presence. Le Clair and Tango were shielding her from his view.
Le Clair nodded at Kilo. “Search him.”
Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Kilo strode to the car. As Lana watched, Kilo patted her father down with enormous hands, then proceeded to inspect the interior of the Mercedes. She heard some muffled words. Her father bent through the open driver’s window and released the trunk lever. Kilo rounded the car, lifted open the trunk and slammed it down a second later.
With a satisfied nod, Kilo rejoined the group. “He’s clean. So’s the car.”
Le Clair glanced at Lana’s father. “Walk toward us, Senator. Do it slowly.”
“I’m not doing a damn thing until I see my daughter,” Hank said loudly.
“As you like.” With a gracious sweep of the arm, Le Clair stepped aside and gave Hank what he wanted.
Tears filled Lana’s eyes the moment she met her father’s gaze.
Hank stumbled, leaning against the car for support. “Lana! Baby, are you all right?” he shouted at her.
Her throat was so tight she couldn’t get a word out. Instead, she nodded, while tears ran down her cheeks.
“Safe and sound, as you can see,” Le Clair said impatiently. “Now walk toward us. Hands on your head.”