His Best Friend's Baby. Mallory Kane

Her heart cracked wide open and all her careful efforts at control spilled out. She shook her head slowly, back and forth, back and forth. “No, please, Matt. Tell me my baby’s okay.”

      He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Aimee, I swear to God, if I have to die to make it happen, William will be back in your arms today, safe and sound.”

      THE MAN WAS LIGHTER on his feet than Matt had expected, given his size and the bulky daypack strapped to his back. His clothes and pack were a winter camouflage pattern that blended perfectly into the patchy snow and barren trees as he moved.

      And he moved well, silently as a woodland animal, alert to everything around him. An assault rifle—military grade—was hooked over one shoulder.

      Matt could tell he was ex-military. Maybe even ex-Special Forces. That explained this location, the timing and the man’s obvious comfort in his surroundings. Not many people knew how to glide silently through rough terrain, leaving almost no trail.

      Matt would bet money that he was also a survivalist. He had to have trekked every inch of this mountain, or he wouldn’t have chosen it.

      But was he here alone?

      Matt had no doubt that he’d seen sunlight glinting off metal in the Hummer’s rearview mirror as the vehicle had snaked back and forth up the maintenance road. That was why he’d stopped, to try and catch a glimpse of whoever was tailing them. But he hadn’t spotted anything.

      Whoever was back there was good. Probably as good as the man in front of him. Impressively close to having Matt’s own skills.

      The question in Matt’s mind was—were there two guys following him? This man could have followed them up the road and then cut through just as Matt had and beaten him to the ransom drop point.

      But it was also possible that he had an accomplice, and the accomplice had followed them while this guy waited up here.

      Matt couldn’t afford to let down his guard, so until he knew otherwise, he assumed the kidnapper had an accomplice.

      Matt had to watch his back.

      He’d planned out as much of his strategy as he could. He, too, was dressed in winter camo and carried a small daypack. Besides binoculars, he was equipped with a compact MAC-10 machine pistol he didn’t plan on using, a mini-tranquilizer gun and a few flexicuffs.

      His intent was to surprise the kidnapper and immobilize him with the tranq gun. Once he had him restrained, he could definitely make it worth his while to reveal the baby’s location.

      He crouched, hidden by scrubby bushes, and observed the kidnapper through his high-powered binoculars. The man was positioning himself for greatest cover and widest angle of sight.

      For a couple of seconds, Matt held his breath, listening for the Hummer’s engine, but he didn’t hear anything. It was nerve-racking, waiting up here, knowing Aimee was about to drive straight into the lion’s den. All this would be so much easier if he didn’t have to worry about her being hurt.

      Matt shifted, examining the area around the kidnapper. He searched for signs of another person—someone whose job it was to take care of the baby. He used a careful mental grid layout he’d developed in the Air Force.

      The controlled search made it impossible to miss a person, much less a vehicle, but all Matt saw was a set of tracks made by a one-man snowmobile. He saw no trace of the vehicle itself. The kidnapper had done a damn good job of hiding his vehicle and covering his tracks.

      Matt’s respect for him went up a notch, and his fear for Aimee’s baby went up three. The suspicion that had planted itself in his brain from the first moment he’d seen the TV news, rooted itself more deeply, undermining his confidence.

      If this man were simply a kidnapper, out to make a quick million, and if he’d come to make a good-faith exchange, then why didn’t he have the baby?

      Matt continued his grid search until he’d covered every square inch of visible land surface. He saw nothing that indicated anyone but the kidnapper had been—or was—in the area. He pocketed the binoculars.

      Damn. He would hate to be right about this one.

      Although the kidnapper seemed to be all about money, and Aimee’s revelations about Margo’s need to control the Vick Corporation made Margo a prime suspect, Matt didn’t believe it.

      A silent vibration started near his left knee. His cell phone. Grimacing, he shifted enough to pull it out of the cargo pocket of his camo pants. Keeping one eye on the kidnapper, he glanced at the screen.

      It was a text message from Deke. He focused on the letters.

       GOT PSNGR LIST OF YR FLIGHT. HAFIZ AL HAMAR, AFGH NATL, ON IT. SEE PHOTO. DC.

      It only took a couple of seconds for the photo to come through. Matt cursed silently when he saw it. He’d seen that man before. He’d run into him several times in Mahjidastan.

      Still watching the kidnapper, Matt keyed in a quick message back to Deke and, making sure the sound was off on his phone, hit SEND.

       RECOG AL HAMAR FR MAHJID. TRACE HIM? MP

      A sick certainty burned in the pit of his gut. Novus Ordo had engineered William’s kidnapping to get his hands on Matt, to interrogate him about whether Rook was alive. And that meant he wanted Matt alive. But Matt was sure Novus wouldn’t blink at killing anyone who got in his way.

      Matt had made a huge mistake by bringing Aimee up here. He should have come alone, or brought Deke or another BHSAR specialist.

      If he was right about Novus, and he was becoming more and more sure about that by the hour, she and her baby were disposable pawns in an international terrorist’s effort to protect his identity.

      The kidnapper was on the move again. Matt pocketed his phone and cleared his mind. He needed focus and hair-trigger response. If he failed to return William Matthew to his mother’s arms, he’d have plenty of time for regrets and unbearable sorrow later. His mission was to get the drop on the kidnapper and rescue Aimee’s baby. He didn’t allow the thought that William wasn’t here to enter his head. He had to operate as if he were.

      He crouched in a position from which he could spring in a fraction of a second, and let his senses feed him information. They were as clear as the mountain air. The smell of evergreen and the coming snow teased his nostrils. The tingling in his hands and face signaled the dropping temperature.

      And the quickly darkening sky telegraphed the approach of the winter storm—early, just as he’d predicted.

      The only sound Matt heard was the rustling of bare tree branches and evergreen needles in the rising wind.

      The kidnapper raised his head, as if sniffing a scent on the breeze. He appeared calm and relaxed, and yet poised to react with swift reflexes.

       Damn, the man was good.

      A discordant hum rose in the distance. The Hummer. Aimee was almost here. The kidnapper swung the rifle from his shoulder and settled into a comfortable, balanced stance—observant and attentive—ready for anything.

      Matt shifted, feeling the weight of the MAC-10 in its holster. He could get to it if necessary, but he didn’t plan on using it. He held the tranq gun and the flexicuffs were looped through his belt.

      The Hummer’s engine grew louder, its steady roar filling the air around them. The engine’s noise blocked Matt’s keen hearing, but it also covered any noise he might make when he sneaked up on the kidnapper.

      After an automatic glance around, Matt crept forward, until he was less than twenty feet behind the man. With his tactical-grade, compression-fit long underwear, he had far greater agility than the bulkily dressed kidnapper. He could rush him, sink a tranq dart in his neck and cuff him within seconds.

      The Hummer crested the rise, and Matt’s pulse kicked into high gear. He could barely make out