Page 17 of Hawk on the Hunt

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For the umpteenth time, Zara looked at the display of her cell phone, but there were no text messages and no missed calls from Dylan. Was he ghosting her?

She’d worked late, the news about the vice president’s son having resulted in dealing with extra correspondence, calls, and meetings. But now she was done for the night, and she wanted to see Dylan. She was disappointed—and hurt, she could admit that to herself—that he hadn’t called her yet. Had he left D.C. again without a word like back then?

Well, this time he wouldn’t shake her off that easily. She’d prepared for this situation. Determined not to spend the entire evening waiting for him to call her, she swiped to one of her apps and opened it. She tapped on Dylan’s name within the app, and within seconds, a map appeared with a dot indicating Dylan’s location—or rather, the location of his cell phone. She zoomed out a little. The dot indicated that he was in the outskirts of Washington D.C. When she checked the map, she realized that the closest metro station was too far away from his location, and she had no intention of walking around an unfamiliar neighborhood in the dark. It was best to take the car.

Zara went back to her apartment, and got her car out of the underground garage, then entered Dylan’s location into her GPS and drove off. It took awhile, until she managed to get out of the downtown area, but the farther north she drove, the less traffic she encountered. On and off, she consulted her cell phone to make sure that Dylan was still at the same location, when she finally reached her destination.

Zara stopped the car and turned off the engine. But she didn’t get out yet. Instead, she looked around to assess the neighborhood. There were many large single-family homes along the tree-lined street. Many houses were surrounded by tall fences, making it hard to see what lay behind. A few cars were parked on the street, but she saw no pedestrians. Most likely the residents in this area took their cars to get everywhere, rather than walk.

Zara opened the car door and exited, then locked the car, before she walked up to the house that her app identified as Dylan’s whereabouts. The large villa was surrounded by a tall brick wall, though she was able to see the house, because the gate was made of wrought iron, allowing her to peek inside. There was light behind several windows on the first and second floors, though she couldn’t see anybody inside, because she was too far away to make out any details, and mature trees and bushes partially obstructed her view.

Zara looked closer at the gate, trying to find where the doorbell was, when she noticed the brass plaque affixed to the wall next to the gate. Sober Living Rehabilitation Center, it read, No soliciting. She had to do a double take, and then glanced down at her cell phone again, wondering if she was at the correct address. There was no doubt: this was where the Find My feature tracked Dylan to.

What was Dylan doing in what looked like a fancy rehab? Was he an alcoholic? Had he gotten into drugs during the past four years? When they’d been dating, she’d never noticed that he’d had any problems with addiction. He’d consumed alcohol sensibly, and she’d never seen him drunk or acting in a way that indicated he was high.

Something was fishy here. She knew it instinctively. What if everything he’d told her last night wasn’t paranoia but true, and somebody was really after him? Dylan had said that he had an appointment. What if somebody had set a trap for him, and they’d dragged him here, to this rehab facility? Images depicting Dylan in a padded cell wearing a straitjacket popped into her mind. What if he needed her help? Could she really in all good conscience walk away as if nothing had happened?

Damn it! She shouldn’t have scruples. After all, Dylan had hurt her four years ago, when he’d walked away without a word. She owed him nothing. Still, she’d never been somebody who could turn her back when a person she cared about needed her help.

She cursed under her breath. How would she go about rescuing Dylan? She couldn’t simply ring the doorbell and demand to see him. No, if his enemies had really captured him, they wouldn’t give in to her demands. And if she didn’t leave quietly, they would most likely lock her up too, or worse, get rid of her. Despite the warm evening temperature, she shivered at the thought.

She needed a weapon. She let her eyes roam. Her car was parked only steps away. Had she left anything in the trunk that she could use as a weapon?

Quickly, she walked to her car and unlocked the trunk. Inside it was a bag with gym clothes and sneakers. In one of the side pockets was a first aid kit. She let her hands glide over the interior of the trunk, when she suddenly felt something cold and hard. She gripped it and yanked it from its holding place. It was a tire iron. Perfect. She was about to close the trunk when she realized that it would be better if she took off her high heels, just in case she had to run away in a hurry. She exchanged them for her gym sneakers, before she took the tire iron again, and closed the trunk.

Zara walked back to the gate, examining it, before she checked out the wall to the left and the right, looking for a spot where she could climb over it. She looked more closely at the brick wall, but there was no way she could scale it safely. That left the gate. It was made of ornamental wrought iron, and had plenty of spots where she could find a toehold and climb over it.

She slid the tire iron through the gate onto the property, then gripped the gate with both hands. For a moment, she hesitated. Was she doing something reckless? Probably. But something was driving her to do this. Dylan had come back in her life, and this time she was prepared to do anything she could to keep him. Did that make her a crazy girlfriend? So what if it did? All her life, she’d done the sensible thing. She’d gotten a sensible degree, a sensible job, a sensible apartment, a sensible car, and in Tim, even a sensible ex-fiancé. But none of that had worked out in her favor. She was alone. And now she had the chance to get back what she’d lost when Dylan had left four years earlier, and by God, she wouldn’t squander that opportunity just because what she had to do was reckless. For once in her life, she needed to do something that wasn’t sensible. And she could only hope that it wouldn’t bite her in the ass.

With a deep breath, she slid one foot onto an ornamental element of the gate and pulled herself up, then stepped higher with the other foot, until half her body was above the gate’s top. Readjusting her hands, she swung one leg over the top, then followed with the other, and climbed down to the ground. Proud of her achievement, she felt almost giddy. That hadn’t been so bad after all. She bent down to pick up the tire iron, but was all of a sudden jerked back.

She lost her balance, and a high-pitched shriek burst from her throat. Strong hands gripped her tightly, while she fought against her attacker. She managed to kick one foot back, but the soft soles of her sneakers did no damage to the shin of her aggressor. Suddenly, a tall black man stepped in front of her, and she realized that her attacker hadn’t come alone. Zara turned her head so she could see the other man. He was just as tall as the black man, but he was Caucasian and blond.

The blond man kept her in such a tight grip that she might as well have been locked in a vise.

The black man with the lean body that looked like he could break her into two pieces like a twig, narrowed his eyes. “Who sent you?” His voice was a deep growl.

“Nobody,” she pressed out and tried to shake off her captor’s grip. “Let go of me!”

“Fat chance,” the man imprisoning her said with his head dipping closer to her ear.

If he was trying to intimidate her, he was doing a good job. She had no chance of bending down to pick up the tire iron, and even if she did, she would never be able to fend off two guys at once. All she could do now was to pretend she was lost.

“You can’t just attack me! I’m a law-abiding citizen!” She put as much authority and outrage into her voice as she could, but even in her own ears she sounded weak and scared.

“Didn’t know that breaking and entering is considered law-abiding,” the blond man drawled, sounding like he was from the deep South.

“Last time I checked,” the black man added, “that was still a crime. So don’t play games with us. We know what you’re doing here. You thought you could slip past our defenses?”

“I got lost. I didn’t—”

The black man snatched her by the neck, squeezing her windpipe. “Don’t lie to us. Smith and Jones sent you, didn’t they?”

Zara tried to shake her head, fighting for air. She had no idea who they were talking about.

“Fine,” the blond guy said. “Let’s take her inside. We’ll make her talk there.”