Deadly Game Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  About the Author

  DEADLY GAME

  Rebecca Deel

  Cover Design: Melody Simmons

  Copyright © 2017 Rebecca Deel

  All rights reserved.

  #

  To my amazing husband, the love of my life.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Brent Maddox sat back in his chair, scanning the screens which filled one wall of his office. Of particular interest was the all-news station coverage of unrest in the Chihuahua province of Mexico. The political situation in Mexico was never stable, but this part of the country appeared more destabilized than normal.

  A glance at the clock and his mind turned automatically to thoughts of coffee. Maybe he’d arrive before his favorite coffee shop closed. A short laugh slipped out. Provided the traffic cooperated. Rush hour in Nashville, Tennessee looked like prime drive time in Atlanta or Los Angeles. Gridlock. If he didn’t need access to the airports, he’d move his headquarters to the countryside to avoid the traffic.

  His cell phone signaled an incoming call. Brent glanced at the screen, sat up. Blocked number. His stomach knotted. Only one person with a blocked number called his personal cell. “Hello, Mr. President.”

  William Martin, President of the United States, chuckled. “How are you, Brent?”

  “Doing well, sir. How is your daughter?”

  “Fantastic.” Martin’s obvious pride in his family came through the phone’s speaker. “Sam is growing up too fast and Charlotte is a great mother.”

  Brent grinned. “And Griff?”

  “He’ll do for a son-in-law.”

  That brought laughter from Brent. Knowing Martin’s time was limited, he asked, “What do you need, sir?”

  “A favor. I need a team.”

  “Where and when?”

  “Not sure on the timing. The place is Mexico.”

  Brent froze. “Chihuahua province?”

  “I take it you’re watching the news feeds.”

  His gaze skated back to the screen covering the fires and clashes between the federales and the cartel. “Mission?”

  “Evacuating the Mexican ambassador’s family. Roberto’s wife, Marta, was visiting her mother in Lucero when the fighting started. She’s safe for now, holed up in her mother’s home. No one knows Marta and the girls are there.”

  That situation wouldn’t hold. People liked to gossip. Sometime soon, either Marta’s mother or someone else would let the information slip. “Why not use official means to retrieve the Alvarez family? Protecting state department personnel is expected.”

  “Diplomatic relations are already strained between the U.S. and Mexico.”

  “Sending an unsanctioned team won’t cause problems?”

  Silence from the president.

  “You need deniability.”

  “I’ll apologize to the Mexican president after my people are safe.”

  “I see.” Martin didn’t trust the federales to rescue the ambassador’s family. Word would leak of the impending rescue attempt, making Marta and the kids a target. Secrecy was a dream in the Mexican government, poverty a great motivator for accepting a bribe for information. “How many children?”

  “Two, ages five and seven.”

  “Where do you want the family taken? Back to their home in Mexico City or the U.S.?”

  “U.S. The ambassador had several death threats in the last month. The cartel isn’t happy with his rhetoric.”

  No surprise. His stance on drugs and guns wasn’t popular with the groups that made their living by both. Brent had also heard rumors of them expanding their business enterprise. He had feelers out to learn the direction of the expansion. “We’ll be ready.”

  When the call ended, Brent mentally reviewed the positions of his teams. Durango had just completed a mission. Adam Walker was still recovering and had yet to be assigned a new team. Brent’s other teams were in the middle of operations with the exception of Trent St. Claire’s. Guess they would get the nod.

  Wouldn’t make St. Claire happy. He’d been hinting about taking time off to hunt. Brent’s lips curved. The only hunting that interested St. Claire involved a pretty nurse. Made him wonder if another operative was about to leave his bachelor days behind.

  Brent shut down his computer. He paused in the doorway, surprised to note dim lighting in the outer office and hallway. Guess he was the last one to leave this floor. There were others in the building. Someone always manned the communications center and medical treatment room.

  He glanced into the comm center on his way to the elevator. “Zane, why are you still here?”

  His chief tech spun his wheelchair around. “I’m waiting for Claire. She’s meeting me here after her photo shoot.” He shrugged. “Figured I’d be useful until then.”

  He nodded. “Get word to St. Claire and his team. They may be activated soon.”

  Zane grabbed his laptop. “Location?”

  “Lucero, Mexico.”

  His tech’s typing paused. “Chihuahua province.”

  “Tell them to be prepared for anything. Marta Alvarez and her daughters are visiting Marta’s mother. Right now, they’re holed up in the house with no one the wiser.”

  A snort from Zane. “Won’t last. I’ll pass the warning to St. Claire.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Where else? Otter Creek, romancing that pretty nurse.”

  Figured as much. “And his team?”

  “Still in town.” Zane grinned. “They don’t have pretty nurses to pursue.”

  “Keep the jets fueled and ready. We may have to move fast.”

  With a wave, Brent resumed his journey to the elevator. Once in his SUV, he inched his way down Harding Place toward Interstate 24. He growled at more than one car or truck weaving in and out of the creeping traffic. Brent wanted that coffee so badly he could almost taste it. He would not be happy if he missed a chance to sip the best brew in town.

  Because he never lied to himself, he acknowledged that while the coffee was great, he was more interested in seeing the owner of the small shop. And, yeah, he felt stupid, like a hormone-ridden teenager at the thought of seeing Rowan Scott. Black hair, brown eyes, lush lips, tall enough he didn’t have to fold himself in half to look her in the eyes. Being six-foot-four had drawbacks. Not a problem since Rowan was about five-ten, the perfect height for him.

  Not that it mattered. He�
�d yet to get up enough nerve to ask her for a date. How was it a man who ran a multi-million dollar company and had been a Navy SEAL commanding his own team for fifteen years became tongue-tied when in the presence of this one woman?

  Rowan seemed glad to see him whenever he walked in. Of course, she was friendly to all her patrons. However, he’d never noticed her sitting with any of the other customers as she did with him if she wasn’t busy.

  He needed to know if she was interested in a date. If not, Brent would find another coffee shop to frequent so he wouldn’t make her uncomfortable. He hoped she didn’t reject him, though. He really liked her and the shop was convenient to his commute.

  Minutes later, Brent turned into Washington Village and noticed Coffee House’s lights blazing in the darkness. Excellent. The shop was still open. Now if he could just string two sentences together and convince the lady he was worth taking a chance on.

  He opened the shop door and breathed deep. Coffee, cinnamon, chocolate, all scents he associated with Rowan. He scanned the interior of the shop. A few customers lingered over mugs of hot drinks and pastries while the lady herself cleaned behind the coffee bar.

  She turned. A smile curved that perfect mouth and jumpstarted his heart. Man, he was such a sap when it came to this woman. If only his friends could see him now, they’d be rolling on the floor, laughing.

  Brent crossed the shiny oak floor and sat on a cushioned stool at the wooden bar. “Please tell me you still have coffee.”

  “I always hold a cup back for you.” She glanced at the clock. “Working late, Brent?”

  He nodded. “You don’t have anyone working with you this evening?” Washington Village was a safe neighborhood from what he’d seen, but he didn’t like her being here alone at night. She usually had an assistant with her in the shop.

  Rowan wrinkled her nose. “Cassidy has the flu and everyone else had plans.” She shrugged. “When you’re the owner, you work whatever shifts aren’t covered.”

  Yeah, he was familiar with that. Brent had been on more than a few missions over the years because he didn’t have the personnel to cover another location. Since he was unattached, he didn’t complain much. That situation, however, had led to him recruit more talent. The truth was, he wanted to be married or dating. Rowan had changed his stance on remaining dateless and single. “I understand.”

  She slid a mug of coffee across the bar. “Interested in a snack? I bet you haven’t eaten dinner yet.”

  Was this his opportunity? “I wouldn’t say no to whatever you have on hand. Unless….”

  Rowan glanced up. Her gaze locked on his. “Unless?”

  Just do it, Maddox. Where’s that SEAL courage? “Are you interested in going to dinner with me?”

  Rowan’s brown eyes widened. “Would this be a date?”

  “I’d like to count it as one.”

  “In that case, yes. Do you mind waiting a bit? I have to clean to prepare for tomorrow.”

  Giving himself a mental fist pump, he sipped his coffee, and said, “I’ll give you a hand.”

  “I can handle it.”

  Brent stood. “You’ll finish faster with an extra pair of hands.”

  Relief spread on her face. “If you’re sure.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “Finish your coffee while I send the last of my customers on their way.” She hurried around the coffee-colored bar.

  Five minutes later, his coffee cup and the shop were empty.

  “Would you mind taking out the trash for me, Brent?”

  Amusement swept over him at her hesitancy. “Of course not. I’m very skilled at taking out the garbage.” He’d done more than his share of taking out the kind in the garbage cans and the human kind as well over his years in Special Forces and black ops.

  Laughing, she went behind the counter and grabbed a basket of cleaning supplies. Within thirty minutes, Coffee House was ready for business the next morning and Rowan locked the front door. “Thank you for your help, Brent,” Rowan said as she faced him.

  “No problem. Where are you parked?”

  She smiled. “Around back. I live above the shop.”

  “Nice. Must make midnight coffee raids a snap.”

  “In the middle of the night, I prefer hot chocolate.”

  “Good choice.” He made a mental note of her preference. The information might come in handy. “Let’s take my SUV.”

  “Are you one of those men who hates to let anyone else drive?”

  He winked at her. “Busted.” Another laugh from Rowan. Oh, yeah, he could become addicted to hearing her laugh. “What type of food are you in the mood for?”

  “Mexican.”

  “I know the perfect place.” Behind the wheel of his SUV once again, he drove from the village and headed toward Rivergate.

  “You’ve been coming into my coffee shop for months, and I still don’t know what you do for a living.”

  He’d been frequenting Coffee House for ten months, three weeks, and two days. But who was counting? “I own Fortress Security. We specialize in hostage rescue and retrieval.” Among other things he couldn’t name. “We also train bodyguards and search and rescue teams.”

  When she was silent a moment, Brent glanced her way. Speculation lit her eyes. “Ask,” he said gruffly.

  “What did you do before you started Fortress?”

  “Military. Navy.”

  “Something tells me you simplified your background.” Before she could say more, her cell phone signaled an incoming call. “Sorry,” she murmured, glancing at the screen. “I need to take this. It’s my sister.”

  “Go ahead.” Brent knew about phone calls at inconvenient times. He hoped his cell remained silent until he drove Rowan home after dinner. Maybe he’d talk her into a short stroll around the village. Brent wanted to know how safe her neighborhood was at night. His brow furrowed. Did she have an alarm system for her apartment? Something he’d have to investigate.

  “Hi, Heather. Everything okay?”

  Brent’s head whipped her direction. Something in her voice tipped him off that all was not well with her sister.

  Rowan listened a few seconds, sat up. “Wait. Slow down. What’s going on, Sis?”

  “Put it on speaker,” Brent said.

  Without arguing, Rowan did as he ordered. “Say that again, Heather.”

  “Someone’s been calling and hanging up for over two hours. In the past thirty minutes, a black van has been slowly driving down my street without stopping.”

  “You’re sure it’s the same van?” Brent asked.

  A gasp. “Who are you?”

  “Brent Maddox. I’m a friend of Rowan’s. Answer my question, Heather. Is it the same van?”

  “Yes. It has the same red racing stripe down the side.”

  “Where’s Jay?” Rowan asked. “Isn’t he home?”

  “I don’t know where my husband is, like usual. I’m scared, Ro. It’s just me and Alexa here.”

  “Alexa is my six-year-old niece,” Rowan murmured.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Heather continued.

  “Call the police,” Brent said.

  “I can’t,” Heather said. “Jay wouldn’t like it.”

  “He’d rather have his wife and daughter in danger than put up with the cops?” What kind of stuff was Jay into? Nothing good.

  “You don’t understand,” the woman muttered. She stopped, gasped again. “Oh, no,” she whispered.

  “Heather, tell us what’s happening,” Rowan demanded.

  “The van is back.” Her voice shook. “It’s in the driveway.”

  Brent’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. “Heather, listen to me. Get Alexa and leave the house through the back door right now.”

  “But I don’t have a bag packed for her.”

  “We’ll pick up whatever you need. Grab Alexa and get out of that house. Take your cell phone so we can communicate with you. Don’t hang up. Just slide the phone in your pock
et. Move, sugar.” He made the last an order.

  While the sounds of Heather racing through the house and whispering to Alexa came through the phone, he asked Rowan, “Where does she live?”

  “At the edge of Davidson County. She and Jay live in the Westhaven subdivision.”

  His eyebrows soared. Nice neighborhood. Really nice. “Address?” Brent took the next exit off the interstate and began working his way back to the area. Thankfully, the after-work traffic had cleared.

  Over the phone, he heard a loud crash and running footsteps. Brent pressed down on the accelerator.

  “Heather, what’s happening?” Rowan asked.

  “No,” Heather screamed.

  The interior of his SUV filled with a loud bang.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Heather?” Rowan’s hand tightened around the phone, but her screen showed the call had ended. She thought about the sounds she’d heard. Had her sister knocked something over? Rowan ignored the ball of ice forming in the pit of her stomach. Something was horribly wrong at her sister’s house.

  “Call her back,” Brent said as the SUV leaped forward.

  The call went straight to voice mail.

  Expression grim, the Fortress CEO activated his Bluetooth and called someone named Cal Taylor.

  “Who is Cal Taylor?”

  “A friend. We’re ten minutes away from your sister. She needs help now.”

  Rowan’s gaze shifted from the screen of her phone to the man weaving in and out of traffic with a skill she envied. “What were those noises?”

  “You sure you want to know?”

  Bile surged into her throat. “Tell me.”

  “The first sound was the door being kicked in.”

  Blood drained from her face. Rowan had hoped Brent thought the noise was from Heather knocking something over in her haste to flee from her house with Alexa in her arms. “Are you sure?”

  “I recognize the sound, Rowan. I’ve kicked in plenty of doors on missions over the years.”

  Over the sound system, a male voice said, “Kind of busy here, Brent. What do you need?”

  “A cop.”

  “Hold on.” Taylor’s voice became muffled for a minute, then became clear again. “Okay, go.”