Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Tac-Ops Headquarters

Downtown Charlotte

“Breathe.”

Beckett turned to see that Digger had joined him at the back of the team’s private conference room.

“I don’t need to fuckin’ breathe.” Beckett ran a frustrated hand over the short beard covering his tightened jaw. “I just need to find her.”

“We will,” the other man promised. “And we’re doing everything we can to make sure we do.”

The entire team was there, ready to act the minute they received even a hint of trustworthy intel. But they were still waiting on their boss to arrive, and until he did?—

“It’s not enough!” He slammed a palm viciously against the wall behind him. “We’re all just standing around with our thumbs up our asses while Evie’s out there somewhere, at the mercy of who the fuck knows? Ah, Jesus…”

Beckett raked his fingers through his short, dark hair, and he had to physically fight the urge to rip every strand from its roots. What the hell was he going to do? If they didn’t find her in time…

“I can’t lose her, Dig.” The bite in his tone all but vanished with a sense of impending defeat. “She’s?—”

“Your everything.” The other man put a supportive hand to one of Beckett’s shoulders. “Yeah, brother. I know.”

“We all do.” Falcon and the others made their way over to where he and Dig stood. “Back when Avery was taken from me…” He gave a slow shake of his head. “Trust me, Beck. I felt just as pissed…just as helpless as you do right now.”

“I thought I’d go out of my mind with fear and worry when I faced the possibility of losing Nicki forever.” Apollo’s dark gaze met Beckett’s as he backed up Falcon’s point. “But we did whatever it took to get our women back, and we’ll damn sure do the same for you and yours.”

“He’s right.”

Rafe Owens entered the room with purpose. At six-four, the beefy forty-eight-year-old was one of the most brilliant, level-headed, and calculating men Beckett had ever worked with. Add in the fact that he was former British Intelligence—accent included—and the handsome, silver-haired operative was like James Bond come to life.

“Tell me you got ahold of Shadow.” Beckett hurried toward the imposing man while the others took to their usual seats.

“Unfortunately, no.” An uncharacteristic look of concern flashed behind Owens’ steel gray eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “I’ve asked Ashley to continue her efforts to contact Shadow, and in the meanti?—”

“Continue her efforts?” Beckett cut his boss short. “All due respect, but Evie doesn’t have time to wait for Shadow to decide to pick up the fucking phone.”

In typical Owens fashion, the man kept his expression steady and his temperament calm and in control.

“Everyone here understands what’s at stake, Bones.” The man’s intelligent stare met Beckett’s. “And I assure you, we’re doing everything in our power to find Evelynn Mitchell.”

“We have nowhere to start, Boss.” Beckett’s harsh tone softened with a desperate fear. “I called a contact I have within the CPD on the drive over here. Whoever drugged Lo and took Evie likely left no prints, and their techs are so backed up, he couldn’t even tell me for sure when they’d even be able to start going through the area’s CCTV footage. And every minute that goes by without someone out there, actively trying to find her, the less Evie’s chances are of making it out of this thing alive.”

“Then it’s a good thing we aren’t waiting on the Charlotte Police Department to actively try to find her,” Owens stated matter-of-factly.

“You got someone else?” Digger asked the man in charge.

Their boss picked up the small remote from the conference room table and activated the giant screen mounted on the wall behind him. Seconds later, a man Beckett didn’t recognize appeared.

Guessing him to be in his early fifties, the guy’s black hair was generously streaked with gray. The thick strands on top longer than those on the sides, and the matching beard covering the man’s strong jaw was kept well-trimmed.

Beneath a burgundy t-shirt, a set of broad shoulders gave way to a pair of tatted, equally muscular biceps. But it was the look in the man’s eyes that grabbed Beckett’s attention.

One that left him feeling glad this guy was on their side.

“Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet Baker Rawlins,” Owens’ accent was thick as he introduced their surprise guest. “Former SEAL turned jack-of-all-trades.” Pointing to each member of the team, their boss told the other man, “This is Digger, our team lead, Falcon, Apollo, and Bones.”

“Bones.” Baker looked him dead in the eyes. “You’re Evelynn Mitchell’s?—”

“Can you help us find her or not?” Beckett didn’t waste time beating around the bush.

“Yes.” The guy’s deep voice resonated through the system’s speakers. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I know who took your girl.”

A sliver of hope began to seep in for the first time since learning of Evie’s abduction. “Who?”

“Her father.”

And just like that, all remnants of hope Beckett had been feeling vanished. “You’re referring to Phillip Mitchell.”

“I am.”

“Then I’m sorry we wasted your time because Mitchell isn’t Evie’s father.” When all eyes in the room turned his way, Beckett shared the part of Evie’s story he hadn’t let them in on before now.

“So as you can see, the man clearly wants nothing to do with Evie. And I don’t see how Mitchell would benefit from her abduction, either.”

“Abduction, no. But he’s still listed as the sole beneficiary on her ten million-dollar life insurance policy.”

Ten million dollars?

Beckett looked at Digger before bringing his focus back to his boss. “That’s the same amount the terrorists demanded when they made the ransom call to Mitchell.”

“Wait!” Falcon interjected. “Are you saying Evie’s dad, or whoever the hell he is, is the one behind all of this?”

“I’m saying, the evidence I’ve gathered up to this point sure makes it seem that way,” Baker answered from the screen.

“What evidence?” Beckett frowned.

“I accessed the CCTV footage from the cameras in the area of the condo where your girl was taken. A blacked-out Chevy Tahoe is seen entering the alley behind the condo approximately ten minutes before a nine-one-one call was made from a woman identifying herself as Evelynn Mitchell.”

Beckett’s gut clenched as Baker began typing on his keyboard. A beat later, the conference room was filled with the panicked sound of Evie’s sweet voice…

“Nine-one-one, what’s the address of your emergency?”

“Hello? Is this ? —”

“This is nine-one-one, ma’am. Are you experiencing an emergency situation?”

“Yes! Um, I-I mean, not me, but my friend. We were just sitting and talking and laughing and I left the room for like two minutes, and when I came back she was lying unconscious on the floor.”

“Okay, ma’am, I understand, and I’ll send first responders your way as soon as I have the address where you and your friend are located.”

Beckett’s heart broke into a million pieces as he listened to Evie recite Lo’s address for the man on the other end of the line. The fear in her voice tore at his insides, but then his own fear grew to an almost unbearable level when he heard the last part of the call…

“Please. You have to hurry! I have no idea what happened. She just got home from an early flight, so maybe she’s just exhausted? I don’t know. She seemed fine just a second ag ? —”

His hands curled into painfully tight fists as they rested atop the conference table’s smooth wooden surface. The nausea he’d felt earlier returned with a destructive force, but thankfully Baker began talking again, and Beckett’s focus was pulled away from his body’s desire to puke.

“The SUV pulls back out of the alley less than two minutes after the call ended. I was able to track it to a marina there in Charlotte, down on Lockwood Drive.”

“Someone came into her friend’s condo in the middle of the day, drugged her friend, kidnapped Evie, and then drove her to a fucking boat?” Beckett stared back at the man as if he’d lost his damn mind. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It will in a minute,” Baker stated with confidence. “When I saw where the SUV was headed, I hacked into the marina’s security system. From there, I could see the asshole carry the missing woman?—”

“Evie,” Beckett corrected sharply. “Her name is Evie. And she’s not just some missing woman, she’s…”

“I get it.” Baker’s hardened gaze softened just a touch as the man gave a slight dip of his bearded chin. “As I was saying, the cameras show the asshole carrying Evie like a sack of fucking potatoes to one of the yachts docked at the marina.”

“You get the name of the boat?” Owens asked before Beckett got the chance.

“Even better.” Baker grinned. “I’m sending you a digital copy of the yacht’s title, along with a bank statement from an offshore account, and information on the shell company attached to both the account and the yacht.”

The laptop Owens always kept inside the conference room dinged with an incoming email. A few clicks of the keys later, and Baker’s image shrank to make room for the three windows that popped up on the screen.

Beckett stood up and walked to the front of the room to get a closer look. He scanned the electronic documents, his pulse spiking when he saw what Baker was referring to.

“Jesus Christ.” He stared at the name scribbled on the dotted lines. “It really was him, wasn’t it?”

Phillip Mitchell was listed as the CEO of a shell company with an address far away from his East Hampton estate. That same company was listed as the yacht’s purchaser and current owner, and the individual who signed the bill of sale on behalf of that company…

Phillip. Fucking. Mitchell.

“I’m going to kill him,” Beckett stated calmly and with conviction.

The threat was far from empty, and he was as serious as he’d ever been.

Rather than try to talk him out of cold-blooded murder, Digger responded to the deadly vow with a rumbled, “Might want to hold off on that until after you make him tell you where he has Evie.”

“Problem’s going to be finding the son of a bitch,” Beckett groused. “If he’s with her on that boat?—”

“He’s not,” Baker cut through again.

Falcon stared up at the former SEAL’s enlarged image and frowned. “How can you be so sure?”

But Baker simply looked back at Falcon and straight-faced said, “Because I’m damn good at what I do.” And then he shared the rest of what he knew. “Phillip Mitchell isn’t on that boat, because he’s hosting a fundraising gala later tonight at his East Hampton Estate.”

“The man orchestrates a kidnapping the same day he’s hosting some hoity toity event?” Apollo’s brows dipped low. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does if he’s using the event as his alibi.” Beckett started for the door.

“Where the hell are you going?” Digger asked from behind.

“I’m going to see Phillip Mitchell. I’m going to make him tell me where Evie is, and then I’m going to get her the fuck back.”

“You’ll need to be on the list to get in,” Baker spoke from wherever the hell the man was. When Beckett stopped and looked back at him, he added, “The event is invitation only, and evidence from the past shows he overindulges when it comes to security.”

But Beckett was already shaking his head. “I’ll break down the fucking gate if I have to.”

“You say that now, but you go in there causing a scene, how close do you think you’re going to get to talking with Phillip Mitchell?”

“Baker’s right.” Owens supported the other man’s point. “The only way you’re getting into that mansion is looking as if you belong. Which means?—”

“Which means, it’s a good thing I just hacked into Mitchell’s electronic invite list and added your name in the mix.”

“Put mine down, too,” Digger stood and joined Beckett by the door.

Before Beckett could ask Dig why he’d offered to go with, Owens said, “Good idea. Might look suspicious if you show up by yourself.”

“Okaaaay…” Baker’s fingers danced over his keys. “There.” He hit ‘return’. “Anyone checking the list at the gate will see Beckett Stone and Slade Garrison as confirmed attendees. While you two are up north, I’ll keep working on trying to figure out where the hell that boat went after it left the marina. With any luck, Mitchell will fold like a house of cards, and this whole thing will be over by morning.”

No one bothered asking how the guy knew their given names. The guy had already proven himself to be as useful and technically talented as Shadow. As for morning…

I’d love nothing more than to wake up to find Evie wrapped up safe in my arms.

“Oh, and there is one more thing.” The intelligent man’s steely eyes fell over Beckett and Digger. “Do either of you own a tux?”

Four hours later, Beckett and Digger stood in a sea of black and white as they did their best to blend into the upscale crowd.

“You see Mitchell yet?”

“Not yet,” Digger spoke as he pretended to take a sip of his complimentary champagne.

Both men continued scanning the guests, the air of wealth and entitlement swirling about doing little to settle Beckett’s already churning stomach.

Come on, you evil son of a bitch. Where the fuck are you?

The question had no more rolled through his mind when Dig nudged his shoulder and jutted his chin. Beckett followed the other man’s line of sight, and there he was.

Phillip Fucking Mitchell.

The arrogant asshole stood front and center with a small group of formally dressed men. Some were in their sixties, like Mitchell, while others—if the absence of silver strands and wrinkles were any indication—were several years younger.

No matter what their age, the men were all smiling and laughing like a bunch of dumbass puppets with more money than sense. Each one of the idiots more than happy to let a rich asshole like Mitchell pull on their strings.

“You got this?” Digger asked while keeping an eye on their target.

Beckett placed his glass of untouched champagne on the tray of a passing by server. “Oh yeah.” He started walking toward the man he’d flown two hours to see. “I’ve got this.”

Both men walked with purpose across the shiny tile floor. It reminded him of the flooring in Isak Rahal’s island mansion…the place where he’d almost died.

His steps threatened to falter as his brush with death shot to the forefront of his mind. If that bullet had hit him…if his ass had bled out on Rahal’s floor…he and Dig wouldn’t be here now, fighting for Evie’s life.

Rather than slowing down, Beckett picked up the pace. He’d survived that close call for a reason. And to the depths of his soul, he’d forever believe it was so he could find the woman he loved and bring her back home.

To him…where she belonged.

“So I told the chef exactly what I thought of his overcooked lobster.”

Phillip Mitchell’s pretentious voice came within earshot as Beckett and Digger closed the distance between themselves and the small group of men.

“Good for you,” another man commented his support. “I swear, good service is so hard to find these days.”

“Do you think you’ll give him a second chance to prove his worth?” someone else asked.

“Oh, no.” Mitchell huffed. “I assured him under no uncertain terms that I would never step foot in his restaurant again.”

“Damn, that’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” Beckett boisterously inserted himself into the conversation. “Of course, it’s not nearly as heartless as, say kidnapping your only daughter. Oh, wait.” He snapped dramatically. “I forgot, she’s not really?—”

“Excuse me?” Mitchell looked even more appalled than his rich bitch friends. “How dare you?—”

Beckett leaned in close, keeping his voice low so only Mitchell could hear as he said, “Oh, you really don’t want to start the whole how-dare-you bullshit with me. Not after what you’ve done to Evie.”

The small hitch of the man’s breath revealed the asshole’s guilt.

“I don’t know who you are or how you got in here,” Mitchell started his own low-spoken warning. “But?—”

“I’m the man who’s about two seconds away from telling everyone in this room all about how you left Evie to rot in a fucking Afghanistan cave after lying to her, them, and everyone you fucking know about the fact that Evie is another man’s child. Or, you can put a smile on your face, we can laugh as if what I just said was an inside joke between you, me, and my friend, and you can excuse yourself so we can go somewhere more private to finish this conversation. Your choice.”

Mitchell pulled back to meet Beckett’s cold hard stare. His swallow was audible but then?—

“You sly dog!” The man threw his head back with a chest-heaving laugh. “I thought you said you and your friend couldn’t make tonight’s festivities.”

“Trust me, Phil.” Beckett’s lips curled as he slapped the man hard on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

Another hard swallow preceded Mitchell turning to his so-called friends with a smile still plastered on his piece-of-shit face. “If you gentlemen would excuse me, I promised my friend if he attended tonight…and was generous with his wallet…I’d give him a glimpse at the first-edition collection I keep in my den.”

The other men nodded, a few offering words of understanding. Mitchell turned and faced Beckett and Digger, the man’s smile vanishing in an instant.

“Follow me.” He led Beckett and Digger out of the ball room, and into the impressive foyer they saw when they first arrived.

The three men made their way beneath the home’s massive main staircase and down the hall to Mitchell’s private home office. He shut the door behind them with far more force than necessary before spinning on the balls of his black paten shoes.

With a glare that would have killed if the ability existed, Phillip Mitchell attempted to take control of the conversation.

“I don’t know what you think you’re going to accomplish by coming here and accosting me in front of my guests, but?—”

Beckett filled his fists with the lapels of the man’s designer labeled tux. With his next breath, he shoved Mitchell’s back up against the nearest wall, leaving little space between them for anything other than air and rage.

“You son of a bitch!” he growled, his teeth clenching painfully together as he spoke. “I know you’re the one who had Evie kidnapped, and I swear to all that’s holy, if you don’t tell me where she is right this fucking?—”

“Kidnapped?” Mitchell’s silver brows dipped low above the man’s nose. “Th-That wasn’t me. It was those…those terrorists. The Taliban. At least, that’s who they said they were when they?—”

“I’m talking about what happened today, in Charlotte, asshole,” Beckett seethed. “Not Afghanistan.”

Confusion mixed with the alarm that had filled the guy’s eyes. “Today?” He shook his silver head. “What are you?—”

“The yacht, asshole!” Spittle flew from his mouth as he yelled in the guy’s face. “Where’s the fucking yacht?”

“What…f-fucking…y-yacht?” Mitchell struggled to speak past the added pressure Beckett was currently putting on the man’s chest.

From his peripheral, Beckett saw Digger’s hand holding up the printed proof of the yacht’s title with Mitchell’s name scribbled on the dotted line. He also had the paperwork Baker had shared providing the shell company’s information, including the fact that Mitchell was its currently listed CEO.

“That’s…n-not…mine.”

“I swear to God, if you lie one more time?—”

“I’m…t-telling you…the truth! ” Mitchell cut off Beckett’s deadly warning with a stuttered shout. “Not my…company. Or…yacht. I own…different…yacht …two sailboats…a p-pontoon…and four j-jet…skis. T-Titles are locked up in my…safe. I can assure…y-you, th-that…isn’t one of th-them. Just like… that ”—the privileged asshole pointed to the papers still clutched in Digger’s hand—“isn’t my…s-signature.”

“You just expect me to take you at your word?” Beckett shook his head slowly, despite letting up on the guy a smidge. “Because from what Evie’s said, your word doesn’t mean jack shit. Now we know she was last seen being forced onto this yacht, and I will move heaven and earth if that’s what it takes, but I am going to find her.”

“You don’t have to take me at my word.” Mitchell spoke with a little more ease. “There’s a contract sitting on my desk waiting to be put in the mail first thing Monday morning. My signature is at the bottom of the very last page. Go ahead…” he challenged. “Compare the two. Then tell me you still think I’m the one behind Evie’s disappearance.”

Beckett let the man go with a rough shove before marching across the room to the polished mahogany desk. Just as Mitchell claimed, there was a crisp new contract sitting to the side.

He picked it up, immediately flipping to the last page in the stapled stack as he carried it over to where Digger stood waiting. They compared the signatures in silence, Beckett’s gut tightening when he saw the striking differences between the two.

The scripted name on the yacht’s title was Mitchell’s. But the formation of the letters, the style of cursive used…even the direction of the slant was noticeably different from the one Beckett had just picked up from the desk.

In fact, minus the first and last names being spelled the same, nothing about the two signatures looked similar in the least. Which could only mean…

He’s telling the truth. But still…

“If the person who signed the yacht’s title wasn’t you, and therefore, the purchase of the vessel is technically null and void, then you wouldn’t technically be lying when you say it isn’t yours.”

“All true,” Mitchell agreed. “But I’m not lying.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Why the hell would I kidnap Evie?”

“A ten-million-dollar life insurance policy sure seems like motive to me,” Beckett rumbled. “Same amount the Taliban demanded for the release of her and those four girls. Remember that?”

A look of resolve fell over the older man, and Beckett wasn’t expecting the volunteered confession that followed.

“In case you didn’t notice, I’m doing just fine without Evie’s ten million in life insurance. Yes, I was willing to let Evie die at the hands of those terrorists when they called here demanding I pay her ransom. But it wasn’t because I wanted her money.”

“It was because you wanted to wipe your hands clean of her.”

Mitchell’s aged gaze met Beckett’s without hesitation. Though there was the slightest hint of shame there, he held his stare steady as he gave a muted, “Yes. I’m not proud of it, but you wanted the truth. There it is. So, now that you know what kind of man I am, do you really think I would go through the trouble of paying someone else to set up a dummy corporation, purchase a luxury yacht in that company’s name, and then make arrangements for Evie to be kidnapped again? What would I possibly have to gain from that? You think I’m going to pay a ransom to myself? For what purpose?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Beckett drawled. “A hefty tax deduction, perhaps?”

“You’re out of your fucking mind.”

“You’re right!” Beckett yelled, slamming the guy back up against the wall. “I am out of my fucking mind because the woman I love has been taken from me, and I’m trying to get her the fuck back! ”

“I don’t know where Evie is.”

“But you know who took her.”

Beckett’s eyes flew to Digger, who was too busy staring Mitchell down to notice.

“I know nothing of the?—”

“Bullshit.” Digger inched closer to the man they were questioning. “You may fool those rich bastards you play poker with, but not me.”

“I have no idea what you’re going on abou?—”

“Your tell.” Digger held the man’s nervous gaze. “You see, while you were busy looking at the papers in my teammate’s hand, I stayed busy watching you. It’s small, really. An almost indiscernible twitch of your left eye. It’s well-hidden; I’ll give you that. But not well enough. Which is how I know you recognized the handwriting on the deed to the yacht. All we need is a name.”

“You’re wrong. I-I don’t?—”

“Stop. Fucking. Lying! ” Beckett’s angry words echoed off the room’s wooden walls. “Don’t you get it? Evelynn is going to die if we don’t find her. Now, she may not share your blood, but for thirty-one fucking years, you led her to believe she did.” He got right in the man’s weaselly face. “You say you had nothing to do with her kidnapping, prove it. For once, in your pathetic, miserable excuse for a life, be the father you should have been, and tell us who signed that goddamn deed! ”

Mitchell’s shrinking form trembled as the bastard cowered beneath Beckett’s wrath. His voice shook as he finally gave up the name of the man likely behind Evie’s kidnapping.

“L-Landy Granger.” His shoulders fell with defeat. “That’s Landy’s handwriting, but…he’s been my partner for nearly thirty years. He loves Evie like a?—”

“Like a what?” Digger asked. “A daughter?”

Beckett’s stomach churned with dread as he processed what his teammate was actually saying. If Landy Granger loved Evie the same way Mitchell did, her life was very much in danger.

“He’d never hurt her, and he certainly has no reason to kidnap her!”

“There’s always a reason.” Digger stared back at the sorry excuse for a man. “Nine times out of ten, it’s money.”

“Then this is the one out of ten because he doesn’t need the money. That guy has plenty of his own. And even if I’m wrong on that front, the Landy I know would never resort to kidnapping for personal gain. Financial or otherwise. And he especially wouldn’t hurt a woman he considers to be his family.”

“Family, huh?” Beckett shook his head in disgust. “See, that word actually means something to me.” His gaze slid to his teammate’s. “To us. But hearing it being spouted off by a lying piece of shit like you lends zero credibility to pretty much anything you have to say.”

“I’m telling you the truth. Landy would never hurt Evie.”

“You’d better pray to God you’re right,” he warned the man quivering before them. “Because if anything happens to her…if I find out you knew what your snake of a partner was planning…” Beckett brought his face almost nose-to-nose with Mitchell’s. “The last thing you’ll have to worry about is being embarrassed in front of your snobby-ass friends.”

He didn’t wait for a response before turning his back on the pathetic excuse for a man and walking away. Nothing else Mitchell could say was worth the time it would take to listen. And every second wasted here was time Evie didn’t have to spare.

They’d just stepped outside and were about to make their way down the massive exterior staircase when a woman’s voice called for them to stop.

“Wait!”

Beckett and Digger halted their steps, turning their attention to the silver-haired woman rushing toward them. Short, mid-sixties, a bit round in the middle. Add in the high-collared blouse, flowered skirt, and frilly white apron, and the woman looked like the quintessential grandma ready to bake cookies with the grandkids.

Only he and Dig weren’t her grandsons, and the look on her face said she had something more on her mind than baking.

“I apologize for chasing you down, but I had to speak to you before you left.”

She spoke quickly, making her Irish accent come out even stronger than he guessed was the norm.

“Can we help you with something?” Beckett forced a polite tone.

They needed to get the hell out of here and find that fucknut, Landy Granger.

“I’ve worked for the Mitchell family for decades,” she shared willingly. “I was walking by his office a moment ago, and I couldn’t help but overhear some of what was said. Was it true, what you told my boss about Evelynn?” Her worried eyes pleaded for him to say otherwise. “Has my sweet girl really been kidnapped?”

Her sweet girl.

“You’re Helen,” Beckett guessed. When she blinked up at him with surprise, he explained to her, “Evie told me about you.”

“Then you know I care very deeply for her.”

“I do.” He nodded. “And to answer your question, yes. Evie’s really been taken.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus!” Tears instantly welled in the poor woman’s eyes. “But you’re going to find her, right?” Helen’s gaze slid from his, to Digger’s, and back again. “I heard you tell Mr. Mitchell you would.”

“I won’t stop until I do.”

They shared a look of two people who cared greatly for a woman they were both terrified to lose.

“Thank you,” Helen offered softly. “Please. Evie is such a sweet, precious soul. Please, do whatever you have to in order to save her.”

Beckett looked down at the kind woman who’d been one of the only bright spots in Evie’s childhood, and with every fiber of his being he vowed, “I’ll fucking die for her, if that’s what it takes.”