When his daughter’s taken,getting her back is all that matters.
FBI Agent Tristan McAvoy just learned he’s a father—but his little girl’s been abducted by his enemies, and he’s caught in a deadly shoot-out the moment he tries to rescue her. He barely flees unscathed with his ex, Avery Taylor, and his K-9 partner in tow. The criminals have a deadly agenda—if Tristan testifies at an upcoming trial for a major crime boss, he’ll never see his child again. Stranded in the mountain wilderness, Tristan and Avery are trailed by ruthless mercenaries, who are closing in. Can they survive long enough to save their daughter—or will they be silenced forever?
But what could she say? Had she stumbled upon a home invasion? She couldn’t imagine having anything either of them could possibly want. She lived off the beaten path. The small but cozy two-story bungalow she’d inherited from her grandfather sat alone on a cul-de-sac at the end of a long, winding mountain road. And she worked from home as a medical transcriptionist, supplementing her income with her inheritance to make ends meet. Well, whatever they wanted, they could have it, as long as they left her and her four-year-old, Liliana, alone. She opened her mouth to say as much.
The taller of the two lifted his weapon, his hand rock steady.
She could only assume he’d done this before.
“Where’s Tristan McAvoy?” he demanded.
Her mouth snapped right back closed again. Once she recovered enough to try to answer, her voice shook before she could utter more than a grunt, and she worked to steady it. Although she didn’t know why she bothered. It was clear she was terrified, and even more so now that she knew what they wanted…because she couldn’t give it to them. “I don’t know where Tristan is. I haven’t seen him in almost five years.”
Since he’d walked out on her and never looked back, despite her numerous attempts to get in touch with him and tell him he was going to be a father. He’d been her best friend, her love, her future, and then he’d been gone.
Her arms began to tremble beneath Liliana’s weight, and Avery hefted her up higher so the little girl’s head rested more comfortably on her shoulder. The last thing she needed was Lily waking to this mess. They’d attended a church festival that evening, and her daughter had passed out on the way home. It was a good thing Lily was a heavy sleeper.
The shorter man, who outweighed her by a good hundred pounds of pure muscle, gestured toward the front door with his weapon. “Get inside.”
She hesitated.
“Look, Avery…”
The fact that he knew her name and had associated her with Tristan sent a chill racing up her spine, despite the heat of the summer night. If they knew all that, she had to figure they knew Lily was Tristan’s daughter as well, even if Tristan didn’t know. But how had they found out? True, she’d listed him as Lily’s father on her birth certificate, but why would this stranger have access to that?
“All you have to do is tell us where to find McAvoy.” The man’s easy shrug belied the tension in his posture. “Once we have him, we’ll let you and his kid go. Easy enough?”
It would be if she believed him, and if she had any clue where to find Tristan, but she wasn’t buying it. Then again, they did have on ski masks, which gave her some hope that they planned to let her go. If not, they’d have no reason to conceal their identities. Of course, she couldn’t give them what they wanted. If she knew how to get ahold of Tristan, he’d know about his daughter.
An image of him flashed in her mind—his shaggy brown hair that just brushed his collar and always seemed in need of a trim, a smile that could melt her heart in an instant, his brilliant blue eyes that used to cage hers and fill her with hope for their future together. A hope that died when he walked away with promises to return once he’d gotten his head on straight. An empty promise, as it turned out.
She’d wanted to talk to him after he’d left, to tell him he was going to be a dad instead of imparting the news via voicemail, email or text. She’d wanted to gauge his reaction, so she’d simply asked him to call her back. Time and time again. And he hadn’t. Not once. So, he’d never learned about his daughter. But that wasn’t really fair. He’d left after his parents had been murdered, bitter and grief-stricken and so filled with anger she hadn’t known what to do for him. Still, he could have answered at least one of her messages.
Focus, Avery.
She weighed her options.
Avery Taylor clutched her sleeping daughter tighter, her fight-or-flight instincts begging her to do anything other than stand there, frozen, staring down the two masked gunmen blocking her from entering her home. “Please, I…”
But what could she say? Had she stumbled upon a home invasion? She couldn’t imagine having anything either of them could possibly want. She lived off the beaten path. The small but cozy two-story bungalow she’d inherited from her grandfather sat alone on a cul-de-sac at the end of a long, winding mountain road. And she worked from home as a medical transcriptionist, supplementing her income with her inheritance to make ends meet. Well, whatever they wanted, they could have it, as long as they left her and her four-year-old, Liliana, alone. She opened her mouth to say as much.
The taller of the two lifted his weapon, his hand rock steady.
She could only assume he’d done this before.
“Where’s Tristan McAvoy?” he demanded.
Her mouth snapped right back closed again. Once she recovered enough to try to answer, her voice shook before she could utter more than a grunt, and she worked to steady it. Although she didn’t know why she bothered. It was clear she was terrified, and even more so now that she knew what they wanted…because she couldn’t give it to them. “I don’t know where Tristan is. I haven’t seen him in almost five years.”
Since he’d walked out on her and never looked back, despite her numerous attempts to get in touch with him and tell him he was going to be a father. He’d been her best friend, her love, her future, and then he’d been gone.
Her arms began to tremble beneath Liliana’s weight, and Avery hefted her up higher so the little girl’s head rested more comfortably on her shoulder. The last thing she needed was Lily waking to this mess. They’d attended a church festival that evening, and her daughter had passed out on the way home. It was a good thing Lily was a heavy sleeper.
The shorter man, who outweighed her by a good hundred pounds of pure muscle, gestured toward the front door with his weapon. “Get inside.”
She hesitated.
“Look, Avery…”
The fact that he knew her name and had associated her with Tristan sent a chill racing up her spine, despite the heat of the summer night. If they knew all that, she had to figure they knew Lily was Tristan’s daughter as well, even if Tristan didn’t know. But how had they found out? True, she’d listed him as Lily’s father on her birth certificate, but why would this stranger have access to that?
“All you have to do is tell us where to find McAvoy.” The man’s easy shrug belied the tension in his posture. “Once we have him, we’ll let you and his kid go. Easy enough?”
It would be if she believed him, and if she had any clue where to find Tristan, but she wasn’t buying it. Then again, they did have on ski masks, which gave her some hope that they planned to let her go. If not, they’d have no reason to conceal their identities. Of course, she couldn’t give them what they wanted. If she knew how to get ahold of Tristan, he’d know about his daughter.
An image of him flashed in her mind—his shaggy brown hair that just brushed his collar and always seemed in need of a trim, a smile that could melt her heart in an instant, his brilliant blue eyes that used to cage hers and fill her with hope for their future together. A hope that died when he walked away with promises to return once he’d gotten his head on straight. An empty promise, as it turned out.
She’d wanted to talk to him after he’d left, to tell him he was going to be a dad instead of imparting the news via voicemail, email or text. She’d wanted to gauge his reaction, so she’d simply asked him to call her back. Time and time again. And he hadn’t. Not once. So, he’d never learned about his daughter. But that wasn’t really fair. He’d left after his parents had been murdered, bitter and grief-stricken and so filled with anger she hadn’t known what to do for him. Still, he could have answered at least one of her messages.
Focus, Avery.
She weighed her options. She could make a run for the car, where she’d left the doors standing open and her bags inside in hopes of retrieving them after she’d gotten Lily into bed, but she’d never outrun a bullet if these men intended to shoot her. Then again, they couldn’t get information from her if she was dead. But they could incapacitate her. How could she risk leaving Liliana alone with these monsters? She couldn’t. Which left her no choice but to do as they’d instructed.
Lily’s weight was becoming a strain on her back and shoulders, and she didn’t want to set her down on the stone walkway and risk waking her. But she did have to put her down. If it came down to it, she couldn’t fight with Liliana in her arms. What did it matter if she went inside with them anyway? It wasn’t like there was any chance of someone driving past to notice what was happening or being close enough to hear her screams. The secluded home she’d grown up in, that she’d always viewed as so peaceful and serene, a safe haven tucked against the side of the mountain, surrounded by fields and wildflowers, now seemed nothing but isolated. She’d never felt so frightened and alone, even after Tristan had left and her grandfather had passed away.
But if she could get inside, if she could get to her grandfather’s hunting rifle hanging above the mantel, maybe she’d stand a chance of defending herself and her daughter.
Hoping to appear meek and docile, she kept her gaze averted as she said, “Let me get my daughter inside.”
She sidestepped the shorter man and shoved the key into the lock, then pushed the front door open and stepped inside. The air-conditioning in the small entryway chilled the sweat that snaked down her hairline and along her back. Keeping track of the men flanking her in her peripheral vision, Avery prayed Liliana would remain asleep as she crossed the room, eyed the rifle hanging over the massive stone fireplace, and climbed the stairs to Lily’s bedroom. She set her daughter gently into bed then smoothed long, wispy strands of blond hair off her baby’s face.
“God, please keep her safe,” she whispered as she tucked Lily’s security blanket into her arms. And help me get her out of this mess.
Her back ached from standing still with Liliana’s weight in her arms, and she pressed a hand against it.
“Hands where I can see them!”
She shot her hands in the air. As if she had a weapon stashed beneath her sundress. “I was just rubbing my back.”
“Get downstairs!” He waived the weapon toward the stairway.
Anxious to get the gunman away from Lily, she followed him back to the living room.
“Sit down! Now!” He gestured toward a green-and-cream-patterned armchair that had been part of the bungalow’s decor for as long as she could remember. “And don’t try anything.”
She perched on the edge of the seat cushion, prepared to attack given even the slightest opportunity.
The two men huddled together between the seating arrangement and the fireplace, their frantic murmurs too muffled for her to make out.
Ignoring them, she scanned the area. There was no way she’d make it across the room to the gun before they could reach her. Even if they didn’t want to shoot her, they could easily overtake her.
The fireplace tools were also out of reach. As were the knives in the kitchen and anything else a rambunctious four-year-old could get into or hurt herself with.
Finally, the taller man pulled a phone from his pocket and scrolled as he walked out the front door, leaving the short, stocky guy staring at her.
He dropped onto the ottoman almost knee to knee with Avery, elbows resting on his knees, handgun clutched loosely. “Look, Avery, let’s be realistic about this. I’m sure you’ve figured out by now there’s no way out of this.”
There’s always a way out, she reminded herself, if only she could find it.
“All you have to do is tell us where to find McAvoy and we’ll go.” He spread his hands wide, as if his argument was perfectly rational, which it might have been if he wasn’t holding her at gunpoint while he laid it out. “There’s no reason for any harm to come to you or that pretty little girl of yours.”
Her stomach heaved, turned over and threatened to rebel.
“Just tell me where to find McAvoy and I’ll be on my way.”
She started to ask him what this was about, hoping to at least stall him, but decided against the idea. She had a feeling the less she knew, the better off she’d be. She didn’t bother trying to hide her tears, simply let them roll down her cheeks without swiping them away. The pain of her past combined with her current terror gripped her heart and squeezed. “I’ve been trying to tell you. I don’t know where Tristan is. He walked out on me almost five years ago, after someone murdered his parents. I never spoke to him again after that.”
Could this have anything to do with his parents’ deaths? He’d insisted before he left that he didn’t invite her to go with him because he wouldn’t put her in the position of having to make a choice between him and her grandfather. He knew her grandfather’s health was deteriorating and she wouldn’t want to leave him, which was true, but she’d always suspected there was more to it. She’d often wondered, in the middle of the night, when the world was quiet and still, if he’d left to try to avenge his parents’ deaths. As far as she knew, their attackers had never been found, and in their small mountain town, muggings and homicides were far from routine.
Had he finally hunted down their killers? Had he done something to them? He’d been so angry when he’d left, so determined to find justice. Maybe these men were seeking revenge for something Tristan had done.
Either way, it didn’t matter right now. At the moment, all that mattered was getting these men out of her house and calling the police. “I’ve tried to get in touch with him to tell him about his daughter, but he never responded to any of my attempts. I honestly have no idea how to find him.”
Her voice shook, but there was nothing she could do about that.
“Well, then…” The guy straightened, stared her down.
If she managed to survive this, she’d remember those ice-cold eyes for the rest of her life. Given the opportunity, she’d be able to identify him.
He shoved to his feet, aimed the weapon at her head. “I guess we’ll do this the hard way.”
Avery held her hands up in front of her. As if they could ward off bullets. “Please. I don’t know what I can tell you. I don’t have the information you’re looking for.”
“If you don’t know where McAvoy is, I suggest you find him.” Spittle sprayed. He started to pace, pressing the heel of his gun hand against his forehead and muttering something incoherent.
Whatever he wanted with Tristan, it couldn’t be good. Would she give him the information if she had it? She’d probably say or do anything to get this man out of her house and away from her daughter. She could always try again to contact Tristan and warn him he might be in danger once the man was gone. If the guy didn’t kill her first.
“I’ve tried to find him, numerous times. I don’t know how.” She sobbed softly, giving up any hope of controlling her emotions.
He stopped in front of her, contemplated her, then kicked her chair. “Get a pen and paper.”
Reeling, she frowned at him. “For what?”
He grabbed her long, blond ponytail and yanked her to her feet, then shoved her toward a desk in the corner. “So you can remember what you’re supposed to do when you come to.”
“Come to?” What was he talking about?
“I am fast running out of patience.” He pressed the muzzle hard against her temple. “Get the pen and paper. Now.”
She nodded, the cold metal moving with her, then crossed the room and grabbed a pad and pen from her desk drawer. She turned to face him. “Okay.”
He pulled the desk chair out and shoved her into it. “Start writing.”
Her hands shook wildly as she uncapped the pen and held it poised over the pad.
“You track down Tristan McAvoy.”
She started to turn toward him, to plead with him. “But I—”
He backhanded her hard across the face, the sting of the slap a stark reminder of what was at stake. “I don’t care how you do it. You find him. And you tell him he is not to testify at the upcoming trial.”
Her heart pounded hard enough to rock her back and forth, bringing a wave of motion sickness. She wrote exactly what he said, word for word, though the letters were barely legible, her hands were shaking so badly. “What trial?”
“He’ll know.”
She nodded, sniffed. “Okay. Anything else?”
“Yeah, do not contact the police.”
“Okay.” Though that was exactly what she planned to do the instant they walked out of her house. Maybe the police could track down Tristan and pass along the message.
“As long as you follow our instructions to the letter, and Tristan comes out of hiding, your daughter will be returned to—”
“No!” Terror seized her. She lurched to her feet, tumbling the chair to the side.
He ignored the outburst. “Liliana will be returned unharmed.”
“Please. Leave Liliana alone. I’ll do anything you ask. There’s no reason to take her.” Oh, God, please don’t let them take my little girl. “Please.”
“You have one week to find McAvoy and stop him from testifying.” He aimed the handgun at her, then a slow smile spread through the hole in his mask. He shifted the weapon slowly toward the stairway. “If you make any attempt to notify law enforcement or contact anyone other than McAvoy, we will know, and we will dispose of his daughter.”
Rage surged through her. She bent and grabbed the chair back, barely hefted the would-be weapon, and swung as hard as she could.
The chair slammed into the man’s shoulder and broke apart. The gun flew from his hand. Before Avery could scramble after the weapon, he staggered for an instant, then regained his footing and lunged for her.
A well-aimed kick to the groin slowed him down. She raked his cheek with her nails, wishing they were longer, but at least she’d have his DNA beneath them if he killed her. Which was what he’d have to do if he wanted to take her baby out of this house.
He shoved her back.
She landed hard on the floor, slammed her elbow and saw stars, then rolled and jumped back to her feet, knees bent, braced to fight.
Something cold and hard hit her temple.
She lurched to the side, staggered, bent at the waist, sucking in air, desperate to hold on to consciousness.
The guy’s partner stood over her, gun raised high. Then he brought the weapon down again.
Her knees buckled. Blackness encroached, tunneling her vision as the other guy ran up the stairs then returned with Liliana flung carelessly over his shoulder.
Avery tried to cry out, to gain her footing, to reach her child.
Lily, awake and screaming, pummeled the man’s back with her tiny fists. “Mama!”
The last thing Avery saw as the shorter man walked out was her little girl’s frightened expression, before his partner hit her again and she went down and lost her battle with unconsciousness.
Deena Alexander grew up in a small town on the south shore of eastern Long Island, where she met and married her high school sweetheart. She recently relocated to Florida with her husband, three kids, son-in-law, and four dogs. Now she enjoys long walks in nature all year long, despite the occasional alligator or snake she sometimes encounters. Deena’s love for writing developed when her youngest son was born and didn’t sleep through the night.
.png)
Thank you so much for having me and for sharing the release of Seeking the Kidnapped Child!
ReplyDelete