When Terry stared into the barrel of a pistol, nodded then calmly entered the limo, he knew the score; knew that Henry was in there, probably wounded and sure to be released. He also knew that there was no controlling anything after that. It went down exactly as expected but not quiet exactly.

Inside, he was slammed back against the leather seat, two men gripping him tight as a needle pressed into his neck. Ah, a surprise, he didn’t expect to be drugged so quickly, he thought they’d have their fun with him first. Whatever they used wasn’t extremely powerful or caustic, it was a smooth working but strong sedative. He felt his muscles melt but his eyes were sharp on Henry, sitting in the seat across from him … and bleeding.

“Henry,” he gasped.

“Dad! Oh fuck! Dad! I’m sorry!”

Terry took in every detail of his grown son, but beneath his vision was the boy he loved, the one he’d neglected as a father, the one he’d struggled to know. Memories of Henry’s disappointments overlapped the terror on the young man’s face … the hundred times Terry had to apologize, leave, climb onto a plane and miss the things important to a son. All in an effort to save someone else, save a stranger … it had come full circle and he was pleased to save his son. It had balance. He owed Henry much … owed him everything.

“Henry,” he slurred and everything went black.

“Dad!” Henry had lost blood, the gunshot wound was just above the knee and he didn’t even remember them shooting him. He was sure they’d done it when he was unconscious but what sense did that make? The only thing that mattered was that he’d brought his father to this. “Dad!” tears streaked down his filthy face and the men shoved him out of the vehicle before speeding away. On the pavement he wanted to crumble, sob like a child, but anger seeped into every single poor. A man came to his aid.

“This bloody sucks,” he groaned.

“Ya think?” the man spat. “Let’s get you outta here. Your father wants you in New York; I’m thinkin’ we stop at the local hospital first.” Then Wildcat felt his breath catch. No, hell no, not a good idea. Maybe New York was a long trek for a wounded man. Maybe something closer, maybe Greece, maybe Sicily. It was time to talk to the General.

Wilder dialed his encrypted cell and General Hartford answered instantly. “Yeah?”

“Just like we thought … got the kid. Wounded. I’m thinking not a good idea to seek medical care here in Cairo.”

“You’re thinking sharp, Wildcat. Athens. A plane is standing by and a few of the boys are on their way. They’ll escort him. You get your ass back to the hotel.”

“Yes sir.” Already a car had pulled up and a man who identified himself as Danny Simpson rushed out to assist.  Young Thorne recognized Simpson and with little fanfare, they were quickly inside and racing to the airfield.

“Report?” Simpson grunted, applying pressure to the wound and hushing Henry.

“They’ve taken Thorne,” Wilder began.

“They drugged him,” gasped the kid and the men’s brows rose. In Wildcat’s eyes, it was falling right into place, unexpected, just like everything else in this mess.

“Terry wants Henry taken to New York.”

“I don’t wanna go to bloody New York! I’m sticking around, I can help!”

The men ignored him, continued their quiet conversation as the driver sped along the dark highway.

“New York it is. Has Henry been debriefed? He got anything that might help before I shoot him full of this pain killer?” Simpson lifted the syringe.

Wilder looked at Henry, placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

The kid struggled against him. “What the fuck?”

“Shh,” Wildcat commanded and Henry stilled, staring at the stranger and wondering what the hell he was doing.

“Who the bloody hell are you? I know everyone working with my dad and I’ve never seen you.”

Wilder shot a glare, sighed. Might as well deal with this first or the kid might never be quiet. He was having a tough enough time reading the situation without nervous questions and agitation floating on all the misery poor Henry was suffering. “Don’t work for you father’s company.”

“You work for her?” scowled the younger man, painfully pulling himself further away.

“Fuck no. I was helping your dad out.”

“Fine job you did of it!” That was followed by a howl of agony. Wallace prepared the injection but Wildcat waved a hand, asking for one more moment.

“Relax, Henry. I need you to relax.” Again he set a hand on the kid’s shoulder but Henry wasn’t in a cooperative mood, not after everything he’d already been through.

“Turn this fuckin’ car around. I’m sticking around. Just cut the damn bullet out. My dad can handle it, so can I.”

“You ain’t your father,” Simpson groaned, getting more and more irritated by the minute.

“Henry,” Wilder said quietly, pressing now with both hands to hold Henry still. “Just give me one minute, okay. Be quiet and calm for one minute.”

Weakness was washing through the kid and finally he had no choice but to cooperate. Wildcat closed his eyes and the images poured in. He had a general idea of the kind of facility Henry was held captive within, a clear idea of his captors, at least the number Henry had seen, and … he was getting a sickening sensation about the kidnappers’ plans. He nodded to Simpson who injected the meds that sufficiently put Henry out of commission.

“Listen, Simpson,” Wilder groaned, rubbing his eyes. “In Athens, make sure the doctors do a thorough search of the wound. I got a bad feeling about this.”

“A feeling,” snorted the former Marine. “We work on facts, buddy. Not feelings.”

“Maybe that’s why we have this fucking mess,” Andy Wilder spat and turned away. He’d spent his whole life dealing with this shit. Now wasn’t the time to be defending himself. Soon as Henry was on the plane, he had his own work to do back at the hotel. He mentally shut out the sleeping recovered cargo and Special K&R Crisis Management Operative Danny Simpson, looked out the window and let his mind do what it did best … wander.

w

General Charles Harford called an emergency meeting. Thorne’s staff had come to clearly understand the retired General’s skills and the particulars of managing this specific case. They stood around the conference table, knowing full well the meeting would be brief. It was.

“Terry’s been taken in exchange. Henry’s been recovered. Young Mr. Thorne will receive immediate medical care in Greece then brought here to New York at Terry’s request.”

“Why?” several voices asked at once.

The old man shrugged. “Not sure of his reasoning, but I have a vague clue. I need to make a stop before I leave. Sweetheart,” he said, apology in his eyes, he never could quiet remember Terry’s secretary’s name. She smiled, accepting. “Get me a flight to Cairo ASAP, and then notify the rest of the team there to get over to the hotel and start setting things up with Andy Wilder. Everyone else, hold down the fort. Wouldn’t want Thorne to get back and find the place has fallen, would we?”

“Do you think we’ll ever see him again?” Miss Sweetheart asked quietly as she tucked airline itinerary into Hartford’s briefcase and handed him his coat.

“Yes, we will. We’re going to get him … and you’re going to pray. It’s how it works, honey. Um … what’s your name again?”

She grinned, hiding the deep concern behind her eyes. “Melanie. Melanie Sharp, General Hartford.”

He sighed. Miss Melanie Sweetheart was a real looker; granted, thirty years his junior but still, serious stimuli for an old man. He patted her shoulder and spoke, half in jest and half in hope. “Well, Miss Sharp. Maybe after this is over … after we have Terry Thorne behind his own desk again … and have a few moments to breathe, maybe … maybe you can call me Charlie and I can call you Melanie.”

A faint blush rose on her pretty cheek. “I was beginning to like you calling me Sweetheart.”

“That can be arranged too,” and he leaned down and pecked her cheek. “I’ll get your boss back safe. You just remember to …”

“Pray.”

w

Allen Patrick was sound asleep on the sofa; as sound as a bodyguard can sleep, anyway. It was late morning and they’d just spend the entire night awake, awaiting word on O’Leary’s surgery. But even in sleep, every sense was on point as his muscles slacked into the cushions. The knock at the door was sharp and he was on his feet in the blink of an eye.

“General Harford?” He grunted as he checked the peephole. Opening the door his gut sank. This was gonna be bad news.

The General took in the disheveled appearance of the usually dapper goon; wrinkled sweats, mussed hair. But the man’s eyes were sharp, making him hide a grin of approval. “How’s O’Leary.”

“Not good. The case?”

“Not good.” Hartford walked toward the hallway. “Tamara,” he called.

“Hey man, she hasn’t gotten much sleep. Can this wait?”

“No. Tamara!”

She bustled from the bedroom, snapping a knot into her robe and pushing back wild, tangled hair. “Daddy? What happened?”

“Sit, listen and I’ll answer questions later.”

Of course, his daughter wasn’t about to do something she’d never done in her life thus far. “Did they get Henry? Is he okay?”

“Yes and no.”

She was trembling so hard Allen gripped her arm and steered her to the sofa. He stood, watching and waiting. “We’re listening, General.”

“Terry did the trade. Henry’s wounded, getting some immediate care then –”

“Trade? They traded money, right?” Poor Tamara was slogging through exhaustion and still not fully awake. Allen set a hand on her shoulder to quiet her and Harford continued.

“After Henry’s wound is cared for, he’ll be coming here to New York. I’m heading to Cairo to lead the team.”

“Lead the team? Is Terry coming with Henry?” Her voice had raised three octaves, the sound of a scared little girl. The men knew she was catching on to the dire nature of the situation, but her mind wasn’t grasping the fine points. The General was pure military under the circumstances, mincing no words.

“Tamara, the trade was Terry … not money.”

Amazing to everyone, she held on, not even a whimper. Her head nodded like a controlled robot. “And?”

“I need to be in Cairo to manage this thing. I need someone who can handle Wilder’s … unique … skills.”

“Huh?” Allen said, his head tilting.

“Andy Wilder is kind of special. It won’t be easy for regular men to understand or handle what he brings to the table.”

“Thorne and O’Leary don’t got regular men,” sneered Allen and Hartford’s head bobbed agreement.

“That’s correct, Mr. Patrick. The men are extraordinary, elite in the industry … but they’re still normal human men.”

“And this fucking Wilder isn’t?” Allen was ready to fight.

“No, he’s not. Wildcat is extremely psychic. I’ve worked at least twenty covert cases with him and there’s a way to identify the information he gathers and use it to our advantage. I simply don’t think the team I’ve put together over there will be able to grasp it.”

“Psychic, like what … he can see shit?”

“I never knew that about Andy,” Tamara whispered.

“Well, he likes to keep it kinda quiet.”

“How accurate is he?” Even Allen was getting curious.

“Usually, very accurate. He’s also a bit empathic; he’s getting messed up a little in the emotions of the situation. But he’s still worth utilizing and there’s no better weapon in tight corners.”

“Psychic … empathic? Daddy, how do you know about all this?” She was beginning to wonder what else she didn’t know about the men she loved.

“Trust me, honey. You work with a man like that for seven, eight years, you find yourself doing a little research. Actually, a lot of research. You tell me, Mr. Patrick,” he shot a glare. “You think for one minute those men I sent to back things up in Cairo are going to handle Wilder’s qualities well?”

Allen’s head shook. Thorne and O’Leary taught the basics; the statistics and the practical stratagem of K&R scenarios. And even though Thorne was known for having a sixth sense where his instincts were concerned … nothing was ever broached that remotely resembled working with a psychic on a case. “Looks like you’re goin’ to Egypt, General. I can cover things here.”

Tamara was starting to crumble. Images of Terry, captured, hurt, in pain … it all pummeled her like a dumped bucket of icy cold water. She gasped, let tears roll and gripped her knees tight.

“Buck up, girly. This is no time to fall apart,” Harford said, wishing he could do this a little kinder. This was his baby girl, not a soldier. “When Henry gets to New York, I’m putting him right in your hands.”

“Mine?” She wanted to protest. Wanted to spend all her energy worrying and crying for Terry … but in a quick flash, she realized the blessing of Dino and Henry’s situations for her. A focus that helps Terry know everything is fine. Know that all he had to do was survive until he could be rescued. She could do that for Terry. She’d do anything for him. A sad grin pulled her lips and she blinked tear filed eyes. “And all I was supposed to be was his Downtime Woman,” she whispered.

“Not anymore. You’re now his lifeline. Don’t screw it up, honey. Mr. Patrick, can you handle them both or do you need help?”

“I’m cool.”

“I’m gone. Kiss your daddy goodbye and do what this big mug tells you, you hear.”