Ransomed Dreams by Amy Wallace Page A

muffled a curse.
    No time to check the bag.
    No matter.
    He still had leverage.
    And a grand escape ahead.
    Steven maneuvered back road curves with every defensive driving technique at his disposal.
    Pulling into Memorial Hill Park’s unchained entrance provided no comfort. Silence greeted him. The park’s nine hundred wooded acres yielded no clue to the rescue team’s whereabouts. Nor Olivia and Jordan’s.
    No amount of experience could give him the right search coordinates. His gut said west central, as no west entrance existed beyond the natural boundaries of water, part of a road, and thinning woods. One team had started there, the other from the east.
    Clint had known that Steven would approach through the southeast entrance, following the main stream that ran through the park’s dense center. He’d phoned to confirm his course seconds after his first call.
    Steven killed the motor and quickly slipped into cover, adjusting his night-vision goggles. With as large a range as the present hostage teams had to cover, he hoped none of them felt trigger-happy tonight. Or the ones arriving from the alleged exchange site either. Because vests didn’t protect skulls.
    Slipping down the hill near the entrance road, he soon waded across the first stream and navigated around fallen trees with silent speed. Within ten minutes, he felt more than saw bodies surrounding him. Then his goggles clued him in on the three men approaching.
    Once hand signals were exchanged, Steven continued west while the team worked north. They’d found nothing from the south up.
    His breath came in fast gulps as scenarios ricocheted through this mind. Best-case: Two girls wandered this park, searching for a way out. Money could be traced. A specialty of the Secret Service.
    Worst-case: Two dead bodies would be found and no money.
    Steven crossed the main stream and moved deeper into the forest’s interior.
    No. Far more formidable was finding no bodies—alive or otherwise—and the money left at the drop-off, mocking them.
    No clues. No rescue.
    Steven stopped to listen. A slight wind rustled leaves all around him. From the wet ground, moss scents clung to the air currents. “God, a little direction right about now would be good.”
    The thought of being too late plagued him still. Given the vastness of the dense forest surrounding him, their perp could have slipped through the two smaller teams’ search grid.
    To a timed pickup.
    If their guy escaped, Steven would expand the search for accomplices. Starting with consuls and embassy personnel, even though the staff had already been interviewed ad nauseam.
    A twig snap froze his movements.
    Then he moved right, circling a wide arc toward the sound.
    Infrared sensors showed one body, slight build. No others in radius. Steven watched. A trap set on short notice was unlikely but rushing in could prove a fatal decision.
    The body stumbled toward him and doubled back again.
    “Olivia? Jordan?” He called into the greenish darkness.
    Muffled wails answered him. She started in his direction and fell.
    Steven ran to her side. As he removed the hood and duct tape, the seventeen-year-old screamed like a newborn. “He took Livvie! You have to find her!”
    “What direction?”
    Jordan looked all around. Tears spilled over her cheeks. “I don’t know. I’ve been walking forever. I …” Sobs replaced words.
    “It’s okay, Jordan. You’re safe.” He held the shaking girl in his arms.
    The teen’s sobs subsided to a slow sniffle. “I want to see my mom.”
    His cell phone buzzed. Steven pulled it out and prayed Clint’s call would mean they had Olivia and her captor in hand.
    “Where are you, Steven?” Behind Clint’s voice he heard cars.
    “About two and a half miles northwest of the entrance. I have Jordan. She’s scraped and bruised and asking for her mom. Let them know.”
    “Ambulance is on the way Can you manage the trek out?”
    “Yes.” Steven would have to break Jordan’s