Page 4 of Fatal Mistake
The doorknob turned, a click of the metal sounding like an explosion in her head. “Please stay with me, Agent Riggins. Please.”
“Don’t worry, Tara. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for you.”
Right, he’d said that, but he wasn’t here, now, was he? Her life was in her own hands. Hers alone.
Chapter 2
Spotsylvania County, Virginia
8:10 p.m.
The Black Hawk’s rotors thundered over Cal’s head as he pressed his phone against his ear and listened hard for any word from Tara. He’d transferred her call to his cell and despite her phone remaining in her pocket, he’d picked up enough of her movements to stay current on her situation.
He’d heard the board crack against Keeler’s body and Tara’s footsteps as they’d pounded away from the pump house. And then…then…man, it had been gut-wrenching when a gunshot rang through her phone, and she’d issued a desperate plea for help. Every protective instinct in Cal’s body sat up and took notice. But even worse, the sound was followed by silence.
Deadly silence.
“ETA, four minutes.” Chopper pilot Zach Lawson’s voice came over Cal’s earbud.
“Copy that,” Cal said, trying not to snap at Zach.
Cal was worried about Tara—that was a given—but he also didn’t like this op. Didn’t like it one bit. His six-person team should be suited up and onboard with him. An FBI Critical Incident Response team, they always had aircraft and pilots on standby and could have wheels up in, say, an hour or so, but Tara couldn’t wait for an hour. He’d had to move on the fly.
So no backup. No team. No trained operators carrying out their assignment alongside him. Tonight he had only the phone connection to Tara, the red blip of her cell on his GPS, and an aerial map of the farm for intel.
Could be worse, he supposed. At least she’d thought to call the hotline manned by agents 24/7 so they could instantly respond to credible threats. If she’d called 911, the deputy who Cal instructed to stand down at the pump house could be racing after Tara and Keeler, getting both of them killed or even causing a SWAT situation that the deputy wasn’t prepared to handle.
“Three minutes,” Zach announced.
Cal couldn’t sit any longer. He needed to pace but with the small space he settled for standing, his shoulders and head bent to keep from hitting the overhead. He stared down at the boots he’d worn as a SEAL on too many hostage rescue missions to count. Missions that ended in more failures than Cal could accept. He slammed a fist into the chopper’s metal hull, the pain stinging up his arm and taking away some of the anger.
Some.
The rage had been simmering in his gut since a rescue gone bad where a seven-year-old boy died in his arms. Cal carried a boatload of regret from that op, and now, women dying at the Lone Wolf’s hands? That had added even more guilt to the equation. Too many lives lost on his watch. He wouldn’t let the same thing happen to Tara.
He jerked out his phone and checked her GPS dot. She continued to move deeper into the woods, and it would take him longer to get to her.
“Two minutes,” Zach said.
Cal shrugged into his pack and double-checked his assault rifle and ammo before stepping to the door. Outside the city, black clouds obscured the moon and stars. Obscured his landing.
Once they were on target, he’d fast-rope down to the road and be on Keeler’s tail without the guy even sensing his arrival. Perhaps Keeler would hear a chopper whirling overhead, hovering for a moment, then moving on, but nothing to put the guy on alert. Give it another hour or so and the full squad of operators would arrive.
Now that thought was smile worthy.
“One minute,” Zach said.
Cal lowered his night-vision goggles. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the greenish color tinting his vision and pulled on his assault gloves. Made with a Nomex and Kevlar blend for protection, they had a gun-cut finger for increased dexterity.
The helo went into a hover, and Cal glanced at Zach, who gave a thumbs-up.
Go time.
A burst of adrenaline raced through Cal’s blood, but he regulated his breathing. He nodded at Zach and jerked open the door. Air roared past, sucking and swirling. He kicked out the rope and grabbed it. Sliding down, the friction burned into his gloves. Thankfully, the Nomex shielded his hand. He hit the road hard, jarring his whole body. He wasted no time but signaled a successful landing, and the helo departed like a hummingbird whirling into the black of night.
He took a moment to get his bearings. To his right sat an open grain field. On his left, a thick grove of trees mixed with the darkness. He pulled out the GPS device and followed the red dot about five hundred yards ahead in the stand of trees. Still moving, Tara had slowed her pace. Probably tiring. Made her more vulnerable.
He had to move. Now!
