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“Timothy Anderson, Callen Houston, and Ronald Abbot.”
I write down the names and ask for a brief physical description of each. Logan asks if I need backup, but I think I can handle it alone. We say our goodbyes, and I promise to let him know if things get out of hand and I need help.
I turn back to the computer, quickly memorizing the location of their meet-up. Grabbing my jacket and keys, I tuck my gun into the waistband of my jeans and head out the door. I don’t want to have to use my weapon, but I will if it comes to protecting my woman.
As much as I want to storm onto the pier and tear open every crate while simultaneously throat-punching every person who doesn’t help me find my woman, I know that’s not a smart plan. I don’t know what to expect, so I should do recon first and subtly check the surroundings. Then I can decide what to do from there.
I approach the pier casually, meandering off to one side and sticking to the shadows. There’s a flurry of activity here, including unloading giant cargo ships and boat maintenance. It’s a noisy place with lots of shadows and areas to hide. Basically, my worst nightmare.
Still, I have to do something. I scan the area for a secluded place, somewhere no one would hear screams or cries for help. My gut twists and I take a calming breath, reminding myself that getting worked up isn’t going to help. I need to keep a cool head. Remember my training.
Off to the other side of the pier, I see what appears to be a junkyard for old, abandoned shipping crates. Bingo.
Weaving through the rusted-out and decrepit containers the size of semi-trucks, I keep my senses clear and open for any sign of life. It could be movement, an out-of-place noise or, God forbid, the metallic smell of blood.
A tapping sound catches my attention, and I turn my head in that direction. Following the consistent noise, I come upon a crate that appears to be shaking slightly. Everything goes on high alert... until I notice a family of rabbits trying to burrow underneath the damn thing, which is making it rock back and forth.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, my shoulder sagging in disappointment. Just then, a loud thump sounds from a nearby container, followed by a muffled voice. Roxy.
I draw my gun, holding it in front of me as I navigate my way to where I heard Roxy’s voice. The closer I get, the less I like what I hear.
“...think there wouldn’t be any consequences? You stuffed our boats with lobster shells. How about I cram lobster shells into your mouth, ears, and eyes until you’re so mangled your own family won’t recognize you?”
Fucking fuck this fucker. What the hell?
A strangled sob fills the air, my heart lurching in my chest at the sound. I can’t take it anymore.
I peer around the corner into the open back of the shipping container. My woman is tied to a chair with a gag secured tightly around her mouth. Tears stream down her face, and the look of terror in her eyes is something I’ll never forget.
Never again will you feel this way, I vow.
The man in question is Ronald Abbot. He’s the only one who fits the physical description Logan gave me. Tall, broad-shouldered, with scraggly blond hair that he usually wears in a rat tail at the base of his neck.
His back is to me, but Roxy sees my face when she looks up. I put my finger to my lips, indicating she can’t let on that I’m here. She immediately focuses her attention back on Ronald, though the fear in her eyes has faded somewhat.
Roxy fidgets in her seat and tries to talk through the tight cloth being used as a gag around her mouth. Ronald steps closer to her, and I almost lose my shit. Until I realize she’s creating a distraction. Smart girl.
I use the opportunity to silently move forward, stepping up behind Ronald before he knows I’m there. I hook my arm around his neck, choking him as I pull him backward. He raises a hand to fight me off with a dagger, but I block his move, chuckling darkly when his weapon falls to the ground with a clatter.
“What the–”
I kick out the backs of his knees, forcing the fucker to kneel on the hard floor. In a practiced move, I release Ronald from the hold I have on his neck, then press my knee into the center of his back, making him fall forward on his face while I pin him to the ground.
The man tries to scramble away, but I know he’s down for the count. Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out a pair of zip ties and get to work, handcuffing his wrists behind his back and tying his ankles together.
“Who the hell are you?” he spits out, turning his head to the side to get a good look at me.
“I’m the wrong fucking man to piss off,” I tell him, my tone deadly serious. “I’m the man who is going to ensure you’re behind bars for the rest of your miserable life.”
“No, I–”
Before he can finish, I stomp kick him in the face. Not hard enough to crack his skull, but enough to shut him the hell up while I call the police.
Rushing over to Roxy, I quickly untie her wrists, gently rubbing the angry red marks I see there. I remove the gag from her mouth and cup her face, streaked with dirt and tears.
“I-I-I’m s-s-sorry,” she chokes out.
“Roxy,” I say softly, hating that she’s crying and broken. “Let’s get you home, okay?”
