“Dear Maddie’s father, she read me your story about how you met her mom, and I’m sorry your heart was broke by Lisa, but know this: You and Lisa made someone special. Maddie is everything. She’s perfect. Good job. And no, don’t be angry, because I know I’m to old, so I said no. It was hard, but I stood strong. Right now I wish I didn’t, because I think I’m gonna die so you can’t kill me twice. Ha ha, but no. I love her, so I protected her even from me. Please love her twice as much if I die.
“She acts like she doesn’t care but she does. Lisa not perfect, you know this. Life was hard but Maddie love her mom so much and still so sad, missing her. Give her time. Be gentle and kind.
“I know best case means I probably go to jail. That’s ok.
“I love her.
“Please come now to help me save her.”
“Text him back,” Pete said. “Hang on, on my way.”
“No! It didn’t go through,” Shay reported. “He blocked you.” She tried with her phone. “Me, too. Damnit!” She looked up. “Although it makes sense. He’s in there with them—three armed men—probably doesn’t want an On our way text message to pop up and give him away.”
Pete nodded. Dingo had risked a lot just to send those texts. “I’m going in from this end,” he said. He pulled off the street into a pitted gravel lot in front of a boarded-up gas station, so he could quickly change out of his bright white uniform while Shay drove.
She was not happy. “I thought the plan was to wait for Izzy and the nicknamed Johns. Who, by the way, are all cowboyed up, as per your command. That means they have weapons, right?”
“Yes. And I do, too,” he told her. “A Glock, nine millimeter. It’s in a lockbox under…well, here. Switch seats with me.” He got out and went around to the passenger side as she slid behind the wheel. “Drive,” he ordered as he closed the door. “Please. Head back to the main road—to that gas station with the convenience store. I want you to wait there. Please.”
She shook her head and didn’t put the truck into gear. “Are you going to drop me there?”
His lockbox was under his seat, and he quickly keyed in the combination and pulled out the Glock. “No, I want you to have the truck. I’ll run back here.”
She made a vaguely laughter-like noise as they still sat there. “That’s a mile away. At least. Also? You’re not exactly dressed for running.”
“I’m changing,” he said.
“Into what?”
“I keep BDUs and a pair of boots in a go-bag, so I’m always ready, you know, to go.”
“It still looks military. You’re going to catch attention. Maybe not as much as me running, but…”
He inserted the magazine, and set the spare in the cupholder. “You ever use one of these?” he asked.
“I’m a writer,” she said.
“Yeah, but you write about men—and women—who carry, usually concealed. Everything I’ve read—so far, at least—is correct, so I’d hoped—”
“Research,” Shay admitted. “And fact-checking via experts. I went to a gun range with a group of writers, so yes, I’ve fired one. Once. I know the basics. Point and squeeze; never point the barrel at anything you don’t want to accidentally kill.”
He smiled. “Those are the basics. I’m putting it into your handbag; it’ll be right here on the floor.”
“Wait,” she said as he began to unbutton his shirt. “What? You’re not taking it with you?”
“I’m just going for a quick sneak-and-peek.” Pete stripped off his shirt and reached for his go-bag. He pulled on an olive drab T-shirt and then unfastened and pulled off his white uniform pants as he told her, “That’s SEAL for surveillance—looking in the windows, seeing what’s up. I’m going to trust you to drive over to that convenience store after I get out. Wait there for me to call. Do you understand?”
Her beautiful brown eyes were wide in her expressive face as she nodded. He fastened his cargo pants and reached for his boots, stashing his white shoes in the back.
“I’m trusting you,” he said again as he tied his boot laces. “Please note, I am not putting you anywhere. But I am trusting you to keep to your skill set, okay? If something goes wrong, if you don’t hear from me in, say, twenty minutes, call the police. When they arrive, put the weapon back in the lockbox and make sure the latch clicks.”
She nodded, but then asked, “And we’re not calling the police right now, because…?”
“Because my daughter is in there with three armed men who have killed before,” he told her, covering his head with a boonie. The hat would both shade his eyes and keep his fair hair from reflecting the bright sun. “Because I know, absolutely, when Izzy and his guys show up, the five of us will get both Maddie and Dingo safely out of there—after which we’ll call the police.”
She drew in a deep, shaky breath. “I’m trusting you, too,” she told him as he put on his sunglasses and silenced his cellphone, securing it in the front right pocket of his pants.
He got out of the truck and patted his other pockets—he kept them loaded with bungie cords and duct tape, his Ka-Bar dive knife…He went into the back of the truck and got a length of blue rope from one of the side pockets of his truck bed—useful to have when climbing, especially for getting back to the ground. He kept it coiled to fit around his neck and one arm, slanting across his chest. He slipped it on and was good to go.
He leaned in to the cab and kissed Shay. “To quote my future son-in-law, Dingo,” he said. “Who is less of an idiot than I thought: You’re everything. And I’ve had a few more years of experience under my belt, so I know you’re not perfect, but you’re pretty damn perfect for me. Drive to the convenience store and stay there. Please.”
She caught his arm. “Be careful.”
He nodded. “I got this.”
This time she pulled him in for another kiss—sweet, hot, and over far too soon. But he had to move.
Pete quietly closed the door behind him—but stood there, waiting. Yes, that’s right, Shayla. He was going to watch her drive away. Stick to your skill set, thank you very much.
The taillights of his truck vanished around the corner, and Pete started across the dusty ground between the former gas station and the warehouse that neighbored it, staying close to the crumbling building as he moved toward the back of the garage where his daughter was being held.
“What the fuck?” Izzy said as they rounded a curve—and hit a wall of red taillights. He jammed on the brakes. “Isn’t your GPS app supposed to warn us about shit like this?”
“Major accident ahead,” Seagull reported as Izzy swiftly worked his way over to the far right through a chorus of bleating horns. He made it to the shoulder, where he braked to a stop. “Whoa, it’s a bad one. It must’ve just happened.”