His Best Friend’s Baby Read online

  When she’d married Bill, he’d promised to keep her safe, but he’d never been able to stand up to his mother. Then he’d promised her she could count on Matt, but he’d trusted Matt with his life, and Matt had let him die.

  No. There was only one person she could count on. Herself. She had to stay strong, stay in control. In the year since Bill’s death, maintaining control was the only thing that had kept her going.

  Now, at the very time when it was more important than ever to hold on to that control for her baby’s sake, she was tempted to relinquish it to someone else—to Matt—and the urge scared her to death.

  She lifted her chin. She was not going to depend on Matt. Her baby trusted her to save him.

  She would.

  After another fifteen minutes or so of navigating the winding mountain road, Matt pulled over again.

  “What is it?” Aimee looked in the passenger-side mirror. “Did you see something again?”

  He shook his head. “We’re five miles from the meeting point.” He pointed to the GPS locator on the dashboard. “And twenty minutes from the meeting time. So this is where I get out. I’ll circle around, while you drive the rest of the way alone. You’ve got the case of money. You’ve got the baby seat, formula, diapers and blankets. The GPS locator is programmed for the exact coordinates. It’s a straight shot. Just stay on this road.”

  He pulled a folded sheet of paper from a pocket. “Here’s a printout of the route in case something happens to the GPS. You just stay on this road. Now, let’s go over everything one more time.”

  Aimee nodded shakily. “Please. I feel like I’m in some weird dream—like all of this is a nightmare and I’m going to wake up tomorrow morning holding William.”

  “With any luck, that’s exactly what’ll happen.”

  His words were kind, his voice gentle. Aimee had to clench her jaw to keep from crying. Time stretched out before her like an endless road. It would be hours before she’d be back home with William, safe and sound. Many hours and many opportunities for something to go wrong.

  “Hey, Aimee,” Matt said. He lifted a hand toward her cheek, then checked the movement. “It’s going to be okay.”

  She lifted her chin. “Don’t do that. Don’t spout meaningless promises to me. I need to know what I’m up against. What if the kidnapper doesn’t bring William? What if my baby’s cold, or hungry—?” She bit her cheek. Control, she reminded herself.

  “Whoa. You can’t worry about any of that. And remember, being scared is normal. You’re very brave.”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m the bravest woman on the planet, driving up this remote mountain to rescue my baby from a kidnapper.” Tears stung her eyes and a lump lodged in her throat.

  She was so not brave.

  “Matt. I’m so scared.” She touched his sleeve, and then squeezed the material in her fist.

  A tender look softened his sculpted features. “Listen to me. You are the bravest woman on the planet. And—” He paused for a second. “Bill was the luckiest man in the universe. Aimee, I—”

  “Don’t—” She stiffened and held up her hands. “Please. Don’t start. I have to think about William. I can’t afford to get all emotional about what happened to Bill.”

  Matt’s expression closed down. He nodded. “Yeah. Best to hate me for one thing at a time,” he said flatly.

  She caught what appeared to be sadness in his dark eyes before he averted his gaze. His words and the look surprised her. It wasn’t like Matt to feel sorry for himself.

  He shrugged it off and climbed out of the Hummer, pulling a daypack out with him. Then he leaned his forearms on the driver’s-side door. “I put on the emergency brake. Don’t forget to release it before you head out.”

  “I’ve ridden ATVs in these hills all my life. I can handle this Hummer.”

  He nodded matter-of-factly. “I’ve got my route planned out. Going straight up, it’ll take me about fifteen to twenty minutes to reach the rendezvous point. If you drive no faster than fifteen miles per hour, we should arrive at about the same time, since this maintenance road snakes back and forth, and the terrain is getting rougher. Just stay on it. Don’t get lost.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Aimee, I can’t stress too strongly how dangerous this man could be. If anything—anything—goes wrong, you have to turn the Hummer around and head down the mountain as fast as you can. With or without William. Understand?”

  “No. I don’t understand. There’s no way I’m going anywhere without my baby.”

  “Listen to me. I have to know that you’ll do as I say. I promise you, you won’t have to deal with him. I’m going to ambush him. I don’t expect anything to go wrong, but if something does, I have to know you’ll follow my orders. Do what I say. I can’t do my job—I can’t rescue William—if I have to worry about you. Your baby will be safe. I swear.”

  Aimee frowned, studying his face. There was something else—something he wasn’t telling her. He wouldn’t meet her gaze. Instead, he stared down at his clasped hands.

  Suddenly she understood. “You don’t think he’s bringing William, do you?”

  His head ducked lower for an instant. Then he straightened.

  “Do you?” Aimee grabbed his hand before he could remove it from the car door. She held on until he bent down again. His dark eyes finally met hers—solemn, guarded.

  “Oh—” Her heart cracked wide open and all her careful efforts at control spilled out. She shook her head slowly, back and forth, back and forth. “No, please, Matt. Tell me my baby’s okay.”

  He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Aimee, I swear to God, if I have to die to make it happen, William will be back in your arms today, safe and sound.”

  THE MAN WAS LIGHTER on his feet than Matt had expected, given his size and the bulky daypack strapped to his back. His clothes and pack were a winter camouflage pattern that blended perfectly into the patchy snow and barren trees as he moved.

  And he moved well, silently as a woodland animal, alert to everything around him. An assault rifle—military grade—was hooked over one shoulder.

  Matt could tell he was ex-military. Maybe even ex-Forces. That explained this location, the timing and the man’s obvious comfort in his surroundings. Not many people knew how to glide silently through rough terrain, leaving almost no trail.

  Matt would bet money that he was also a survivalist. He had to have trekked every inch of this mountain, or he wouldn’t have chosen it.

  But was he here alone?

  Matt had no doubt that he’d seen sunlight glinting off metal in the Hummer’s rearview mirror as the vehicle had snaked back and forth up the maintenance road. That was why he’d stopped, to try and catch a glimpse of whoever was tailing them. But he hadn’t spotted anything.

  Whoever was back there was good. Probably as good as the man in front of him. Impressively close to having Matt’s own skills.

  The question in Matt’s mind was—were there two guys following him? This man could have followed them up the road and then cut through just as Matt had and beaten him to the ransom drop point.

  But it was also possible that he had an accomplice, and the accomplice had followed them while this guy waited up here.

  Matt couldn’t afford to let down his guard, so until he knew otherwise, he assumed the kidnapper had an accomplice.

  Matt had to watch his back.

  He’d planned out as much of his strategy as he could. He, too, was dressed in winter camo and carried a small daypack. Besides binoculars, he was equipped with a compact MAC-10 machine pistol he didn’t plan on using, a mini-tranquilizer gun and a few flexicuffs.

  His intent was to surprise the kidnapper and immobilize him with the tranq gun. Once he had him restrained, he could definitely make it worth his while to reveal the baby’s location.

  He crouched, hidden by scrubby bushes, and observed the kidnapper through his high-powered binoculars. The man was positioning himself for greatest c
over and widest angle of sight.

  For a couple of seconds, Matt held his breath, listening for the Hummer’s engine, but he didn’t hear anything. It was nerve-racking, waiting up here, knowing Aimee was about to drive straight into the lion’s den. All this would be so much easier if he didn’t have to worry about her being hurt.

  Matt shifted, examining the area around the kidnapper. He searched for signs of another person—someone whose job it was to take care of the baby. He used a careful mental grid layout he’d developed in the Air Force.

  The controlled search made it impossible to miss a person, much less a vehicle, but all Matt saw was a set of tracks made by a one-man snowmobile. He saw no trace of the vehicle itself. The kidnapper had done a damn good job of hiding his vehicle and covering his tracks.

  Matt’s respect for him went up a notch, and his fear for Aimee’s baby went up three. The suspicion that had planted itself in his brain from the first moment he’d seen the TV news, rooted itself more deeply, undermining his confidence.

  If this man were simply a kidnapper, out to make a quick million, and if he’d come to make a good-faith exchange, then why didn’t he have the baby?

  Matt continued his grid search until he’d covered every square inch of visible land surface. He saw nothing that indicated anyone but the kidnapper had been—or was—in the area. He pocketed the binoculars.

  Damn. He would hate to be right about this one.

  Although the kidnapper seemed to be all about money, and Aimee’s revelations about Margo’s need to control the Vick Corporation made Margo a prime suspect, Matt didn’t believe it.

  A silent vibration started near his left knee. His cell phone. Grimacing, he shifted enough to pull it out of the cargo pocket of his camo pants. Keeping one eye on the kidnapper, he glanced at the screen.

  It was a text message from Deke. He focused on the letters.

  GOT PSNGR LIST OF YR FLIGHT. HAFIZ AL HAMAR, AFGH NATL, ON IT. SEE PHOTO. DC.

  It only took a couple of seconds for the photo to come through. Matt cursed silently when he saw it. He’d seen that man before. He’d run into him several times in Mahjidastan.

  Still watching the kidnapper, Matt keyed in a quick message back to Deke and, making sure the sound was off on his phone, hit SEND.

  RECOGAL HAMAR FR MAHJID. TRACE HIM? MP

  A sick certainty burned in the pit of his gut. Novus Ordo had engineered William’s kidnapping to get his hands on Matt, to interrogate him about whether Rook was alive. And that meant he wanted Matt alive. But Matt was sure Novus wouldn’t blink at killing anyone who got in his way.

  Matt had made a huge mistake by bringing Aimee up here. He should have come alone, or brought Deke or another BHSAR specialist.

  If he was right about Novus, and he was becoming more and more sure about that by the hour, she and her baby were disposable pawns in an international terrorist’s effort to protect his identity.

  The kidnapper was on the move again. Matt pocketed his phone and cleared his mind. He needed focus and hair-trigger response. If he failed to return William Matthew to his mother’s arms, he’d have plenty of time for regrets and unbearable sorrow later. His mission was to get the drop on the kidnapper and rescue Aimee’s baby. He didn’t allow the thought that William wasn’t here to enter his head. He had to operate as if he were.

  He crouched in a position from which he could spring in a fraction of a second, and let his senses feed him information. They were as clear as the mountain air. The smell of evergreen and the coming snow teased his nostrils. The tingling in his hands and face signaled the dropping temperature.

  And the quickly darkening sky telegraphed the approach of the winter storm—early, just as he’d predicted.

  The only sound Matt heard was the rustling of bare tree branches and evergreen needles in the rising wind.

  The kidnapper raised his head, as if sniffing a scent on the breeze. He appeared calm and relaxed, and yet poised to react with swift reflexes.

  Damn, the man was good.

  A discordant hum rose in the distance. The Hummer. Aimee was almost here. The kidnapper swung the rifle from his shoulder and settled into a comfortable, balanced stance—observant and attentive—ready for anything.

  Matt shifted, feeling the weight of the MAC-10 in its holster. He could get to it if necessary, but he didn’t plan on using it. He held the tranq gun and the flexicuffs were looped through his belt.

  The Hummer’s engine grew louder, its steady roar filling the air around them. The engine’s noise blocked Matt’s keen hearing, but it also covered any noise he might make when he sneaked up on the kidnapper.

  After an automatic glance around, Matt crept forward, until he was less than twenty feet behind the man. With his tactical-grade, compression-fit long underwear, he had far greater agility than the bulkily dressed kidnapper. He could rush him, sink a tranq dart in his neck and cuff him within seconds.

  The Hummer crested the rise, and Matt’s pulse kicked into high gear. He could barely make out Aimee’s silhouette through the vehicle’s tinted windows. As he watched, she slowed down, then rolled to a stop.

  Stay in the vehicle. Make him come to you. He silently recited the instructions he’d given her.

  He’d retrofitted a loudspeaker for her to use for any necessary communications. He’d warned her not to exit the vehicle until the kidnapper produced the baby. And, as he’d reminded her not twenty minutes before, at the first sign of trouble, she was to turn the Hummer around and get out of there.

  Those were her instructions. But Matt had other plans. He had no intention of letting the kidnapper within twenty yards of her.

  She inched the Hummer closer. The kidnapper shifted to the balls of his feet, holding the rifle loosely yet competently, like a pro. Another point in his favor and more cause for concern on Matt’s part.

  Matt made his move. He rose from his crouch and crept around the edge of the clearing, keeping the scrub bushes between him and the other man. Once he got into position, it would take him less than thirty seconds to get behind him, slip out from the trees at the last second, then grab and tranquilize him. In a situation like this, thirty seconds was a hell of a long time.

  He’d choreographed every step ahead of time. He’d had plenty of experience with stealth from rescue missions he’d conducted in the Air Force and afterwards while working for Black Hills Search and Rescue. He knew how to approach an enemy and extract an innocent without detection. Given this guy’s obvious expertise, he was glad to have the noise of the Hummer’s engine as added cover.

  He positioned himself directly behind the kidnapper. Staying low, he inched silently forward.

  Then without warning, something hit him from behind.

  With no more than a fifth of a second wasted on startle response, Matt whirled. He rammed his fist and shoulder into the attacker’s body. As his knuckles encountered flesh and bone, he followed through, putting his whole weight behind the blow. But it wasn’t enough. His attacker was quicker.

  Matt went down—hard.

  The man grabbed a handful of his hair and slammed his face into the frozen ground.

  The blow dazed him. But the cold pressure of a gun barrel pressed to the side of his neck brought him back instantaneously. Adrenaline sheared his breath and cleared his brain. He jerked just as a quiet pop echoed in his ear. Something sharp scratched his neck.

  A pop. Not a bullet. A tranquilizer dart.

  Damn! Even as the thoughts rushed through his brain, he torpedoed his elbow backward. With a breathy grunt, the man fell away and his tranq gun went flying.

  Before he hit the ground, Matt whirled and grabbed his collar. With a renewed burst of energy, and using muscles he hadn’t used in months, Matt heaved the man’s bulk around, between himself and the kidnapper.

  Pocketing his own tranquilizer gun, Mat slid the MAC-10 from its holster and buried its barrel into the flesh of his attacker’s neck. He was tempted to rip off the man’s ski mask, but to d
o that, he’d have to let go of the man or the gun.

  “You nearly got me with your tranq dart, but believe me, this is not a tranq gun,” he growled, scanning the area in front of him in case the kidnapper had heard them. “It’s the real thing. And it will take your head clean off if you don’t tell me who you are.”

  His answer was a blood-chilling string of curses, some English, some Arabic. Dammit, the kidnapper had to have heard him.

  “Are you Al Hamar?”

  The man’s head jerked in surprise.

  “So—you are. Did Novus Ordo send you?” Matt whispered, digging the muzzle of the MAC-10 deeper into his flesh.

  His prisoner shook his head, but Matt saw the truth in the man’s black eyes. “Tell me what you know about the kidnapping—”

  The crack of exploding gunpowder hit his ears a fraction of a second before the bullet whistled past his head.

  Matt ducked.

  Al Hamar used Matt’s own elbow trick to knock the wind out of him, then leapfrogged across three or four feet of ground, diving for his own weapon. The kidnapper shot again.

  Matt aimed the machine pistol at Al Hamar. But something was wrong. He couldn’t clear his vision. He bent his head and squeezed his eyes shut for an instant. Just as he did, a second bullet grazed his ear.

  He swallowed a pained cry and his hand flew to his ear. It came away bloody. His bloodstained fingers trembled as he stared at the proof of how close the bullet had come. If he hadn’t paused to clear his vision, it would have split his skull.

  A high-pitched scream, barely distinguishable above the roar of the Hummer’s engine, sent his heart slamming into his chest. It was Aimee. She gunned the engine and the vehicle shot forward, toward the kidnapper.

  Aimee, no! What was she doing? Turn around. Get out of here.

  The kidnapper aimed at the Hummer’s windshield.

  At the same time, Matt saw Al Hamar whirl around, brandishing a semiautomatic pistol.

  Matt ducked down and rubbed his eyes. The scratch on his neck had absorbed some of the tranquilizer. Enough to blur his vision. He cursed silently and gave his head a quick shake.