Rogue (SEAL Team: Disavowed Book 1) by Laura Marie Altom Page A

guessing fifteen minutes.”
    “Perfect.” Grasping her by her upper arms, he propelled her toward a slim door he hoped led to a utility closet. “Open it.”
    “Oh, God! You’re going to kill me by making me drink bleach!”
    Lord . . .
    When she opened the door, he gave her a light shove inside. “Lay off the CSI.”
    “Help! Help!” she shrieked once he’d closed the door behind her, and wedged a chair beneath the knob. If she shoved hard enough, she could easily break through, but hopefully this would at least buy him time to find the keys to the red Chevy pickup parked outside.
    Harvey started to wake from his nap and looked none too happy to see Nash pluck his keys from the rack mounted above the counter.
    “Don’t you worry,” Nash said with an acid smile. “You can use your fifty thousand to buy a nice, new model.”
    Harvey fought against his restraints, but experience had taught Nash they’d hold. Mildred would free herself long before Harvey.
    In the bedroom, Nash found Maisey even more miserable than before.
    “I-I heard a scream . . .”
    “If that’s your way of asking me if I killed her—no. She and Harvey will both live to con another day.” He jangled the truck keys. “Ready for a ride?”
    Not waiting for her answer, he scooped her from the bed, dragging along the comforter.
    Nash bumbled his way outside, got her settled in the truck that was thankfully unlocked, then made one more trip into the house to grab towels, a T-shirt and jeans, a case of bottled water, and all the food and miscellaneous supplies he could cram into a canvas shopping bag. If all went well, they wouldn’t need any of this crap, but if he’d learned anything during his time with Maisey, it’s that luck typically was not on their side.
    Spying a cell phone next to a loaf of bread on the counter, he grabbed it and the bread.
    Behind the truck’s wheel, Nash gunned the engine and drove the truck hard down the sandy lane. He had no idea where Vicente and his men might be, or how soon they’d encounter them.
    Maisey looked scary pale.
    With every shred of his being, Nash wanted to hold her hand and reassure her everything would be okay, but he didn’t have that luxury. To maintain their current speed, he needed both hands on the wheel.
    She moaned, and he hated himself a little more.
    This stretch of road could be a quarter-mile or twenty. If Vicente or his men drove up on them here, they’d be screwed. Assuming they’d have them outgunned was a no-brainer. Their only hope was to make it to the main highway or a viable turn-off before they met.
    When their current path T-boned into a paved highway, assuming Vicente would approach from the west, Nash headed east.
    Maisey’s breathing had turned shallow and her complexion was gray.
    His stomach twisted.
    Gun play, wild animals—that kind of stuff he could handle. Well, mostly, if he didn’t count massive snakes.
    “I-I have to push,” Maisey said. Her weak voice barely carried over the engine as he pushed their speed to eighty.
    “Hold tight, babe. We should meet up with the ambulance soon.” Although considering Mildred’s comment about how beloved Vicente was in these parts, Nash wouldn’t be surprised if the local paramedics and cops were also on his payroll.
    “No . . .” She slumped in the seat, parting her legs. “I-I have to push. The baby’s coming!”
    He checked the rearview, and with the coast clear, slowed to veer onto a gated park road. Of course, the gate was padlocked, so he rammed it, promising to send an anonymous chunk of cash to the park system earmarked for repairs.
    A few yards on the gate’s other side, he parked the truck, hopped out, then dummy-locked the gate to throw off casual onlookers.
    Back behind the wheel, with Maisey huffing and panting beside him, Nash drove a sandy, then muddy five miles until stumbling across an abandoned-looking ranger’s cabin that he parked behind.
    “Give me a sec, and with luck I might have