Family, whether by bond or blood, requires sacrifice. Thirty-five years of living had taught Major Dawson Wright that truth with brutal clarity. Everyday he thanked the heavens that Emma and Jacob Rice had given him a place to belong. The foundation cracks in his life began to reknit themselves the day a ten-year old Dawson stepped onto their sprawling West Virginia ranch. It was his commitment to family that had him staked out along Florida’s Interstate Highway-95 prepared to risk his life to retrieve a nine year-old girl from a known trafficker.
Cassidy had been found in a local bar, the street drug Galaxy in her veins, a brand on her ankle. The Second Chance House had agreed to care for the shy little girl until relatives could be located. His best friend’s wife served as Cassidy’s big sister at the facility, where she had been in-residence until two-hours ago.
Camouflaged by o’dark thirty darkness, Dawson crouched low and moved closer to his target. Rain pelted his face obscuring his vision. His black t-shirts and cargo pants, doused with warm wetness,formed a soggy trail that ended in his rain-drenched boots. With the back of his bruised hand, he wiped his face, ignored the slick slosh in every crevice, and kept pressing forward. The ground vibrated beneath his boots as big rigs maxed out the speed limit behind him, at the six o’clock position. Straight ahead, a group of corrugated metal warehouses huddled together off a service road resembled an ancient graveyard overwrought by the passage of time and neglect. With a quick scan of each building, Dawson noted the lack of signage or lighting. There were no visible signs of recent activity. He peered down at the watch affixed to his left wrist. Global positioning technology and Marine instinct honed over fourteen-years told him to look beyond the neglected facade. Inside the warehouse, the tracker signal remained fixed. Other than the rapid transit away from the residential facility…Cassidy’s location hadn’t changed.
Dawson had been the first of his band of brothers to answer the distress call. The initial report lacked definitive proof of Bluton “Sky” Faraday’s involvement in orchestrating the abduction, but Cassidy bore the brand, a “BM” tattooed on her skin. The Barren Mother worked with or for Sky in his illicit dealings. A price tag could be applied to anything, even innocence. He’d seen a picture of Cassidy. The glossy dark hair wrapped in sunlight, green eyes, and light bronze complexion lent the petite child a uniquely beautiful quality. Her exotic features and virgin status could net Sky, or someone like him, millions of dollars on the black market. Dawson knew from experience the one-stop shop trafficker played a high-stakes game when it came to retrieving his property.
He had to figure out a way for him to retrieve the kid without getting her hurt or himself killed. Hopefully, the person or persons who’d taken her would surrender without a double blind gun battle. If the unexpected occurred, confidence in his tactical abilities helped Dawson to relax the tight coil of anticipation in his limbs. His Glock lay cradled at the small of his back, a warm weight against his skin. Dawson knew when hope failed–preparation and plenty of bullets earned a ticket back home.
A splashing sound, followed by a grunt and rustling drew Dawson out of his head space. Reaching for his gun, he paused when the low melodic kip-kip of a Crossbill finch carried above the battering storm. A slow smile formed on his lips. Back-up had arrived. Recognizing Gideon’s signal, Dawson pierced his lips mimicking the rapid chirp of the Kestrel falcon in response to his brother’s unique bird call.
Just then the undeniable grind of a car engine turned onto the service road. Isolating the crunch of pebbles beneath weighty wheels, Dawson tracked the car. When headlights flashed on his location, he surrendered his line of sight to drop into the dirt. No way would he compromise his element of surprise with an amateur mistake.
Gideon appeared on his right. “SUV approaching the warehouse at three o’clock. Left my car behind the tree line with Logan in the driver’s seat.”
Dawson snorted. “Bet that went over well?” Oddly enough, the Shell Cove Medical pediatrician relished the thrill of hand-to-hand as much as Dawson.
“He’d be the leading contender in the Shell Cove Cursing competition.”
“Good idea to bring him,” Dawson said, thinking Logan was the type of level-headed doc needed on the scene if Cassidy required medical attention. “How many occupants?” Dawson asked on a whisper.
With his focus on maintaining his cover, Dawson hadn’t got a view of the driver. He had no idea the threat count.
“The driver’s small,” Gideon whispered, now shoulder to shoulder to Dawson’s own location.
Small could be relative in Gideon’s case. At six feet, five inches, the Green Giant would be a bean sprout standing next to his adopted brother.
“Like female small?” Dawson’s question was curt as he readied his mind for the attack.
“Hey, cut me some slack. My night vision goggles were confiscated when I left the corps.”
With the lights gone, Dawson turned his attention back to the warehouse. A woman. Dawson’s gut started to churn. Could this be the elusive Barren Mother? The woman’s identity remained a mystery.
“My bad, bro. Once a Marine, always a Marine.” When Gideon traded in the corps for med school, Dawson had been shocked. Now, he appreciated his head-shrink of a brother who used his combat experience and psyche degree to help service members.
Gideon flexed fingers, before cracking each knuckle on both hands. “I got the threat neutralization covered.”
“Cassidy knows you, so grab her and clear the area.”
Gideon reached over and gripped his shoulder, his gray eyes assessing. “What about you?”
Dawson winced. “The driver is mine,” he said, rolling his shoulder. The skin there still tight from the burn he’d sustained a week ago.
Both men came to their feet. Dawson regarded his brother by bond and battle. To a Marine, loyalty and family meant everything. He had absolute trust in the man beside him.
He met Gideon’s eyes. “By any means necessary.”
A flicker of emotion crossed his brother’s face, and then it was gone. “You know it.”
A truck horn blared in the background, loud and grating, triggering them to move. The audible top cover served as a silencer for their heavy boots pounding the earth. In the last vestiges of night, a single line became a two-pronged attack, left and right, each step spreading them further apart.
Dawson stopped at the back corner of the vehicle when the door to the warehouse opened. Three figures cloaked in shadow appeared, the smallest one sandwiched in the middle. That had to be Cassidy. The vehicle sat in front of the warehouse door, having driven along a strip of grass worn bare by traffic.
Interesting. Someone had taken deliberate action to make the warehouse appear abandon. The dilapidated warehouses in plain sight welcomed plenty of visitors when the lights went out. Gideon’s towering shadow materialized through the windshield. Dawson sprang from his position behind the vehicle.
“Estrella, get Cassidy out of here,” a woman’s voice called.
Something he couldn’t put his finger on short-circuited his brain, slowing his reaction time. A small object fluttered in front of his face. Too late, he realized the flutter was a ballerina-slippered foot. Pain, sharp and deep, penetrated his skull. He stumbled. Before he could right himself, the petite figure went spider monkey on his ass. Lightning fast blows rained down on his throat, temporarily cutting off his air supply. Talk about rock-a-bye baby. If he didn’t subdue her, it would be lights out for him in less than thirty seconds. Recognizing she held her punches, choosing to subdue rather than seriously injure him, Dawson thought to reason with her. With his size advantage he only needed to get her in a bear hug to stop the assault. But dang, she moved fast.
“Enough,” he barked out, dodging another blow. Unaffected by his command, he was left with no choice. Using his mass as a giant swing weight he tipped them forward. Momentum took them hurdling toward to the ground. Dawson with her in his arms, he spun taking the brunt of the impact. With a moist ‘thack’sound his back hit dirt. The smell of warm earth and sweet wild flowers encased them. Even though she was a petite enemy, Dawson turned them, pinning her with his full two hundred pounds of muscled mass. The way she’d attacked, he knew not to underestimate this woman. Suddenly she went limp. Had he hurt her? Concerned, Dawson shifted his weight up off of her. In a flash, her toned legs locked high on chest, constricting his lungs.
“Dang it, woman. I’m trying not…”
A uppercut to the soft tissue beneath his chin, snapped his mouth closed and had his eyes doing the lottery ball float. He grunted, shaking off the blow. Damn, if she wasn’t beating the holy ghost out of him, he’d be cheering her on with popcorn.
“Target acquired,” Gideon called.
Good. Cassidy was safe. Now, he needed to remedy his predicament.
Then everything changed. A scream ripped through the last layer of night.
“No. I want my sister,” came another high-pitched screech. Estrella, don’t let him take me.” The voice that of a child.
Cassidy’s sister had grabbed her from the Second Chance House? Not Sky.
The split second decision to look away from his attacker lost Dawson the mass times velocity advantage. His gun holster shifted. She’d discovered his weapon and was definitively on the defensive.
Pissed off, he dropped his weight, grabbing both her wrists in a crushing grip. Still she didn’t surrender. Instead, her legs disengaged. With her heels, she slammed both sides of his back. Each blow, a jackhammer on his kidneys.
“Woman, enough already,” he grunted between strikes. He might actually be sore in the morning.
“Don’t think so, punk.”
Dawson froze. He opened his senses to the woman panting with exertion beneath him. He inhaled deep. The scent of soft musk and sweat filled his nostrils. Recognition. Of their own accord his muscles relaxed. Instantly, he went from Marine fighter to aroused male. She must have felt his erection because she stiffened.
“You…demented pervert,” she hissed. “Get off of me.”
She struggled in earnest to dislodge his bulk, her moves more frantic than choreographed.
“Janna,” he growled. She stopped fighting.
“Marine?” she questioned on a ragged breath.
The last person Dawson expected to tangle with was his part-time lover that garnered his full-time attention.
In response he felt the squeeze of toned thighs flex against him. He probably imagined it, but the moist heat from the rain shower commingled with Janna’s feminine fragrance, igniting his ever-present desire for her. Still panting, he pinned her body with his. With their bodies touching from chest to hip, he felt her ribcage expand, her pert breasts brushed against his chest, before she exhaled with force.
“Yeah.”
Her chest heaved with exertion. “Didn’t know it was you,” she swallowed.
Dawson glared down at the fearless woman that lit his fire and shredded his sanity. Water and dirt streaked her cotton shirt and leggings. The rain had unleashed the natural curl in her usually straight raven shoulder-length tresses. Every feature on her face boasted an elegant refinement, a contrast to her edgy personality. But those eyes. Twenty-four carat gold, gift wrapped in emerald green and sparkling with fire. For her, Dawson would start battle or end a war. “That makes two of us,” he said clearing his throat. “Care to explain the G.I. Jane with the Kung Fu grip you did on my throat?”
“No,” she clipped, giving his chest a little shove. “And where’s Cassidy and Estrella?”
Dawson came to his feet, reaching down he plucked her up. “With Gideon.” She’d met four of his five brothers, so the admission didn’t ruffle her feathers…much.
The warm glow of first light had reached the overgrown field, marking their location the final hold out of the night’s shadow. Dawson watched as Janna took a few more steadying breaths while scanning the area. His brother had disappeared with their precious cargo.
“Take me to them. Sunrise is coming and we need to get out of here.” When she would have moved away he snagged her around the waist, keeping her close until she softened in his arms.
It felt good to touch her. In fact, Lieutenant Janna Williamson had no problem with him touching her tight little body anytime he wanted. Encroaching on her life, or anything as guarded as her feelings, would get him tossed faster than a new rider on a frightened colt. Dawson had made it clear her importance to him, heck, he wanted a family with the little nurse. Problem was, the life he wanted, never seemed to want him. Cracking his sore jaw, he shuffled the deck of losing hands he’d been dealt in life into a neat stack for a later date.
“Not yet. Tell me why you’re meeting with Sky Faraday’s niece…and Nightingale, try not to piss me off when you answer.”
That's al for now.
