Carrie's Protector. Rebecca York
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room so that they could keep out of each other’s way.
Wyatt pulled back the spread on one of the beds, kicked off his shoes and lay down heavily.
“I’m going to call my father,” she said.
“Go ahead.”
She dug her phone out of her purse and clicked it on. It beeped immediately.
“There are messages for me.”
“Call your father first,” he said as he leaned back against the pillow and closed his eyes.
“Right.” She clicked the automatic-dial button for her father’s house. The call was answered on the first ring, not by Douglas Mitchell. It was Patrick Harrison, her father’s chief of staff. His mother had been a maid in their house, and she’d died in an automobile accident twenty-five years earlier. Since there had been no relatives willing to take the three-year-old boy, her father had unofficially adopted Patrick, and he’d been a member of the household ever since. He’d gone to college at Ohio State, then come back home to work for the senior Mitchell.
“Carrie, thank God,” he said. “I’ve been trying to call you, but there was no answer.” He sounded near hysterical.
She kept her own voice calm as she answered, “Wyatt told me to turn off my phone so they couldn’t use it to pinpoint our location.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. But the men at the safe house are dead.” She gulped. “All except Wyatt. We were going back there, but it was an ambush. Like at the Federal Building.”
“Thank God you’re all right,” he said again.
Something in the tone of his voice told her he wasn’t just worried about her.
“What happened?” she asked, praying that her father hadn’t had a heart attack or a stroke.
“There’s no easy way to say this.”
“Then spit it out!”
“Your father’s been kidnapped.”
“Lord, no!”
At the sound of her raised voice, Wyatt surged off the bed. Crossing to her, he took the phone out of her hand.
“What did you just tell Carrie?” he demanded, clicking on the speaker so that they could both hear.
“Her father’s been kidnapped.”
“How? Where?”
“Two men came to the house.”
“Are you all right?” Carrie interjected.
“One of them hit me with the butt of his gun, but I’m okay. They’re demanding that Carrie turn herself in, or they’ll kill Douglas. And they said they’ll kill him if I call the police.”
Carrie gasped, hardly able to believe what she’d just heard.
“Are you sure it’s the terrorists?” Wyatt demanded.
“I…guess. I don’t know for sure. Who else would they be?”
“What did they look like?”
“They were wearing ski masks.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“I was on the floor, hanging on to consciousness by my fingernails.”
Carrie made a low sound. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. I mean, I’m still here. Maybe so I could give you the message about your father.”
“Yeah,” Wyatt agreed.
Patrick switched subjects. “Where are you?”
“Somewhere safe,” Wyatt answered.
“We have to go home,” Carrie said.
“No.” Wyatt fixed his gaze on her. “Patrick just said that men broke in and took your father, but they want you. They’ll keep him alive as long as they don’t have you. If you turn yourself in, you’re dead, and so is he.”
Carrie stared at Wyatt. A few minutes ago he had seemed as if he needed a good night’s rest before he would be fully functional. Now he looked like the agent in charge again. “I want to know what happened, but I’m not going to take that information now, in case this call is being traced.”
“By whom?” Patrick asked.
“The terrorists. I’ll call you back soon.”
“But—”
Wyatt clicked off.
ON THE OTHER end of the line, Patrick Harrison cursed. Slamming down the phone, he stood for a moment, struggling to control his temper as he reminded himself to breathe in and out slowly. Hawk had said he would call back. When, exactly?
Patrick had just been through a terrible ordeal, and now he didn’t like the way Wyatt Hawk was handling the situation. No, for starters, he didn’t like it that Hawk was on the case at all.
Patrick had come up with the initial list of bodyguards. Then he’d found something questionable in the guy’s background. He’d told Douglas not to hire Hawk, but the man had always had a mind of his own. He might listen to advice, then do the exact opposite because he was sure he knew better. In this case, he’d decided to go ahead with the former CIA operative, even though the man had messed up on his last job.
Patrick had lived with Douglas Mitchell’s arbitrary decisions for years. Since he’d come back from college to work for the old man, he’d thought more than once that he should have struck out on his own. But he’d been comfortable here, and when Douglas had made him a good offer, he’d known that the man wanted him to stay—and valued his work ethic.
But he’d found out soon enough that working for Douglas could be an exercise in frustration. Never more than at this moment. He’d have liked to have Carrie home at the family compound so he’d know exactly where she was. But Hawk had her stashed Lord knew where. It could be somewhere close. Or they could be in the next state by now.
He banged his fist against the rosewood desk, then struggled for calm again. Hawk had said he’d call back. Then Patrick would get more information. Or not, depending on Hawk’s mood.
He cursed again, more softly this time. Wyatt Hawk was turning out to be the biggest mistake he could imagine making.
CARRIE’S STOMACH ROILED as she stood in the middle of the room, clutching her cell phone. “My father—”
“—is a hostage.”
“Which is my fault. And the men who snatched him hurt Patrick.”
“Carrie, none of this is your fault. You were just doing your duty as a citizen. What were you going to do, let them blow up the U.S. Capitol and pretend you hadn’t heard anything?”
When she started to protest, Wyatt reached for her and pulled her close, pressing her face to his shoulder. “We have two jobs here. The first one is to keep you safe. The second is to get your dad back.”
“What if I think that’s the wrong order?” she asked in a strained voice.
“It’s not. And we will get him back.”
“How?”
His tone was soothing as he rubbed her back. “We don’t do it by running off without a plan. We’ve got to consider all the angles and proceed carefully.”
He kept his arms around her, rubbing her neck and shoulders, and she leaned into his strength as she thought back over the awful conversation with Patrick. Thank goodness she hadn’t been alone. If Wyatt hadn’t stopped her, she would probably have told Patrick where she was, and the terrorists could be on their way to the motel already if they’d been listening.
“They