“Nice job, Caitlin.”
“Go to hell!”
He wasin the trunk of a fucking car. Judging from the sporadic stop and go, they were probably off the interstate. Who in the fucking world would nab him and why? He was set up. Despite the pressing heat in the trunk, a sense of foreboding chilled his skin.
Caitlin.
They were going after her. That was why they wanted him out of the picture. Fucking Porter. That two-faced son-of-bitch had fucked with his head for the last time. He played on his weakness—Caitlin—and his one insecurity—Caitlin’s relationship with John Cooper. Travis was not like a son to him. He was a pawn and he was done being manipulated by the admiral.
The car was slowing down and seemed to be turning into a driveway. Two car doors slammed. The stupid fucks didn’t tie his legs. They probably didn’t want to carry him. That laziness was going to cost them. They also used a single zip tie on his wrists. He and his Navy SEAL buddies used to play games breaking out of this type of restraint.
He pretended to be unconscious when the goons opened the trunk.
“He’s still out. Fuck, wake him up, man. He’s a bigmotherfucker; don’t want to be hauling him up those steps. Damned near broke my back earlier.”
Yep. Lazy fucks.
They tapped him none too gently on the cheeks. Travis feigned a groan.
“He’s coming around.”
“Let’s hustle, don’t want the neighbors to see him.”
Travis was hauled out, his toes striking the concrete steps as he was dragged up the stairs. He heard a jingle of keys as a door was opened, and he was led into a house and dumped into a chair.
“Let’s call Belov and see what he wants to do with this guy.”
Interesting. Who is Belov?
They were about to wrap a rope around him when he head butted the first goon in front of him. He jumped up and kicked the chair into the second goon behind him. He quickly leapt over his bound hands to bring them to the front. The first goon had recovered and came at him. Travis spun and whipped his leg in a wide arc. His foot struck the side of the man’s head, the power of the momentum knocking his adversary unconscious. Travis used his teeth to tighten the restraint as far as it could go, then he raised his hands over his head, and with force, brought his arms down and wide, snapping the plastic ties. By this time, the second goon had recovered and raised his gun. Travis went flying low into him just as he fired and both of them crashed into a table. The gun flew out of the man’s hand.
Travis gripped him by his shirt and yelled, “Who sent you?”
“Don’t know!”
Travis smashed his fist against the assailant’s jaw.
“Fuck,” the man screamed. “Some guy named Belov.”
Wait. It was Crowe who he saw.
“Was it the guy who shot me?”
“Yes! He turned you over to us. That’s all we know. We’re supposed to keep you here until we hear from him.”
Travis grabbed the gun and dragged the second goon up.
“Tie him up.” Travis nodded to his cohort who was still out on the floor. “Including his legs.”
When he was done, Travis instructed him to sit on the chair originally intended for him. After the man tied his own legs against the chair, Travis looped the second goon’s hands behind his back.
He grabbed their phones. Thankfully, he remembered Sam’s number.
“Who’s this?” A voice that was not Sam answered.
“Ed? It’s Travis? Where’s Sam?” Anxiety rippled through him.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on a flight to Virginia Beach?”
