“I want to talk to her,” Trav demanded, breaking out in a cold sweat.
He heard a muffled cry—of pain, of surprise—and it damn near ripped his heart out. And then he heard her voice. And the tremor in it undid him.
“Trav.”
“Carrie. Oh, God, bear. What’s he done to you?”
“N-nothing. Yet. I’m…I’m okay. I’m…I’m tough. Come from good…stock.”
His heart clenched at her bravado. “Where are you, sweetie?”
“I…Nathan…I mean, Roman…he blindfolded me. Trav…I love you. Always…remember Fort Worth—”
Birkenfeld yanked the phone from her from her hand. “This is all very touching,” he broke in, cutting her off, “but now we’ve got business, Whelan. And so you know…she’s dead or as good as if you don’t follow my instructions to the letter.”
“You put so much as a bruise on her—”
“You are not in a position to be issuing ultimatums!” Birkenfeld yelled, sounding on the edge and on the brink of toppling over. “One more word and you will never see her alive again.”
Trav bit his tongue and swore that he’d rip the bastard limb from limb when he found him. If he found him. Until he did, he had little choice but to play Birkenfeld’s game.
“Better,” Birkenfeld said. “Now, this is what’s going to happen.”
Nine
Ry had felt helpless before. When you were flat on your back on a rodeo arena floor, waiting out your fate as a thousand pounds of pissed-off bronc bucked and rolled above you and one hoof strike could end your career—or worse, your life—you were on intimate terms with helpless. On one or two dicey TCC missions, when he’d been caught in a wait-and-see situation while his brain screamed for decisive action, he’d understood the power of that seemingly benign word.
But he’d never breathed helplessness, tasted it, lived it like he had in the moments since Travis had called together him and the two other TCC members involved in Natalie’s case and broken the worst possible news.
Roman Birkenfeld, the man they’d all thought was Nathan Beldon, the man who had tried to kill Natalie and steal her baby, was holding Carrie hostage.
Carrie. The little girl he’d watched grow into a beautiful woman. The woman he’d wanted and tried to keep away from. The woman he’d finally made incredible love with. The woman he just might damn well be in love with.
“Go over it again,” he demanded of Trav as he, Alex Kent and Darin ibn Shakir gathered, grim-faced around a conference table in a private meeting room in the back of the club. “There’s got to be something…something we’re missing, damn it, that will lead us to her.”
Darin exchanged a look with Alex that relayed what all four men were thinking. Birkenfeld had lost it. He’d kidnapped Carrie and then contacted Travis, demanding Travis deliver the half million in cash the men had recovered the night Natalie and baby Autumn had literally fallen into their arms at the Royal Diner. He wanted the money in exchange for Carrie’s life. Trav was waiting for a call back from Birkenfeld that would tell him when and where to leave the money.
“The bastard has a real penchant for trading in human lives,” Darin said aloud.
Alex worked a hand over his jaw, his brows drawn tight. “Someone who steals and sells babies is about as warped as it gets.”
“He has no intention of letting Carrie go,” Darin pointed out grimly as he looked from Travis to Ryan. “You understand that, don’t you?”
All too well, Ry thought as he rose from the table to pace the room, out of his mind with rage and concern and drowning in that damnable sense of helplessness. “Tell me again exactly what she said,” he demanded of Trav.
Trav drew a deep breath, closed his eyes and concentrated. “She said he’d blindfolded her. That she didn’t know where she was. She said…she said, Trav…I love you.” He had to stop, as emotion lodged in his throat, choking him. “And then she said something…something about…remember Fort Worth.”
“Fort Worth?” Ry planted his hands on the table in front of Trav, leaned in close. “She was trying to tell you something. Does it mean anything to you?”
Trav shook his head, baffled. “Vacations. We sometimes took family vacations in Fort Worth. But that’s too obvious. Besides, he couldn’t have taken her that far…not this soon. When I talked to Stephanie, she said they left the library together a little over an hour ago.”
Ry pushed away from the table, paced the room.
“So what did you do on your vacations?” Alex asked, prodding further for some clue that would help locate Carrie before it was too late.
“Mostly, we went to the stock shows. Wait,” Trav said, stopping abruptly. “I remember something else now…when I asked her if she was okay, she said she was tough…something about coming from good stock.”
“Fort Worth—stock show. Good stock. Stock.” Ry mulled the information around in his head. Then he swore and headed for the door. “She handed it to us on a platter. He’s got her at the abandoned stockyards on the edge of town.”
Alex caught up with Ry, grabbed his arm, then released it immediately when he saw the deadly intent in his friend’s eyes. “Look, man. You can’t head out there half-cocked. You don’t even know for certain if that’s where he’s holding her.”
“I don’t know she’s not there, either.” He looked over his shoulder at Trav. “When Birkenfeld calls again to set up the exchange, stall him so he’ll stay put. And if you come up with a different location, call my cell. Leave Vincente out of it for now. I don’t want the Royal PD barreling in there with sirens screaming and spooking Birkenfeld into doing something really stupid.”
“Ry—” Darin tried one last time but Ryan was already out the door.
The three men exchanged concerned looks, but none of them tried to stop him. If he was right, he might be Carrie’s best shot at getting out of this in one piece. If he was wrong—then they were back at square one and Carrie’s life might not be worth the phony birth certificates Birkenfeld issued for the babies he’d stolen.
“I’ll get ahold of David and Clint and have them standing by,” Alex said, pulling out his cell.
Darin rested a hand on Trav’s shoulder. “Now we wait.”
“Yeah,” Trav echoed, staring bleakly at his cell phone, willing it to ring. “Now we wait.”
Carrie sat huddled on the floor. She was cold. Her butt hurt. So did her knees from when Nathan…rather, Roman Birkenfeld had pushed her down on the rough concrete. Minutes, hours…or it could have been days that had passed since he’d placed the first call to her brother demanding money and then the second call to set up an exchange location.
The part of her that had remained focused knew it had been less than an hour since he’d brought her here. Less than fifteen minutes since he’d hung up from talking to Trav a second time and arranging to make the exchange. The part of her that had always been pragmatic also knew it might be her last hour. Birkenfeld was crazy.
Between calls he’d ranted and raved even more about how Natalie was going to pay for ruining his nice, orderly little business. And how Travis would never see his child again when he was through. He’d even brought Ry into his lunatic ramblings, vowing to kill him for humiliating him.
She had no illusion that she was also on his short list of murder candidates.
And she had to do something…soon. She was still