Delta Force Die Hard Read online

  Hailey wandered away from the ferry terminal, her head bent over her phone, pulling up a car app. As her finger hovered over the display to accept a ride, a text came through.

  She caught her breath when she saw Marten’s name. She tapped the message and read aloud, “‘Changed my mind.’”

  “What?” She clenched her teeth from screaming. After all that trouble and...worry, and he changed his mind about the meeting?

  She responded, I thought you were here. Where are you now and why playing games? Call me.

  Her gaze burned a hole in her phone as she waited for Marten’s response. Someone bumped her elbow and she glanced up.

  “Sorry.” A woman held up her hand. “Were you on that ferry to Alcatraz?”

  “I was.”

  “What happened? I heard someone went overboard.”

  “That’s what they told us, but nobody seems to be missing anyone. I guess they’re checking tickets now and the coast guard is still searching the bay.”

  The woman hunched her shoulders. “Is that going to be a thing now? Instead of jumping from the bridge, they’re going to jump from the ferry?”

  “Jump?” Hailey massaged the back of her neck.

  “Nobody just falls off the Alcatraz ferry.” The woman waved at a man approaching and glanced over her shoulder. “Have a nice night.”

  Suicide? Who would commit suicide by jumping off the ferry to Alcatraz? Especially Marten.

  Hailey shook her head and peered at her phone. She input a row of question marks for the silent Marten.

  “Now what?” She crossed her arms and scanned the crowd of tourists streaming along the Embarcadero on their way to and from Fisherman’s Wharf and Pier 39 with all its shops and restaurants.

  Food. Marten had insisted on the night tour to Alcatraz, and now her stomach was growling. She’d head down to Fisherman’s Wharf with the rest of the tourists and pick up some seafood from the sidewalk stands.

  Cranking her head over her shoulder, she took a last look at the ferry terminal. Had the man who’d gone overboard been wearing a black hat...like Marten’s? Where had the hat gone?

  But Marten had never boarded the ferry. He’d never even bought a ticket.

  She looked at her phone again. Why wouldn’t he answer her? He’d better be prepared for questions when they got together, because she had a ton.

  She shoved the phone in her pocket and joined the hordes on the sidewalk. She wove her way through the tourists as they stopped to watch the performers along the street.

  When she reached the seafood stands on the sidewalk, she jostled for position, elbowing with the best of them. She leaned forward and ordered some clam chowder in a sourdough bread bowl.

  Clutching her plate with the bowl of steaming chowder perched on top of it, she wormed her way back to the sidewalk and walked toward a set of wooden steps that led down to the part of the wharf with the maritime museum and the submarine, both closed at this time of night and affording a little calm from the chaos on the sidewalk above. She’d try giving Marten a call.

  When she was about halfway down the steps, someone came up behind her and grabbed her arm. Her heart slammed against her chest, and her dinner began tipping to the side.

  The man steadied her plate and whispered in her ear, “Act naturally. Someone’s following you—the same person who murdered Marten de Becker.”

  Chapter Two

  Hailey Duvall’s slim hand formed a fist, and he clenched his jaw, bracing for a punch to his face.

  A shadow passed over them from the top of the stairs, and Joe threw his head back and laughed. Pretending he and Hailey were old friends, he said to her, “I told you to get me some food. I’ll take one of these.”

  A crease formed between Hailey’s delicate eyebrows, and her nostrils flared. Her gaze dropped to the bread bowl, steam rising from the chowder. The corner of her eye twitched.

  Was she going to toss it at him?

  Joe’s muscles ached from the smile plastered onto his face. “Can we go back upstairs where it’s populated and talk this through?”

  “Who are you?” She released the plate they both held with a jerk, and the soup spilled over the edge of the hollowed-out sourdough and ran down the side of the bread bowl.

  “My name is Joe McVie. I’m a captain with the US Army, Delta Force.”

  She blinked her long, dark lashes rapidly, and her chest rose and fell.

  That meant something to her. Good.

  “I want to talk to you about Marten de Becker and what just happened on the ferry to Alcatraz.”

  “H-he never made it onto the ferry.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and held it up, her hand trembling. “I got a text from him after the accident. Were you on the ferry?”

  “I followed Marten onto the ferry. He was wearing a black hat with a black-and-white-checkered band around it. He never came off that ferry—at least he didn’t walk off.”

  She stepped back from him and twisted her head to the side to take in the mostly empty walkway along where the submarine was docked. Her tongue darted from her mouth and swept across her bottom lip.

  Joe took a step up. “Let’s go where it’s crowded. Where you’ll feel safer. I’m not here to scare you.”

  She tipped her firm chin toward the stairs, not looking afraid in the least. “You first.”

  Holding the plate with two hands, Joe climbed the stairs and stood to the side to wait for Hailey to pass at the top. “I wasn’t kidding about the food. I’m hungry, and this smells great.”

  She pointed to one of the fish stands on the street. “I got it there. You take mine and find a table. I’ll get another and join you...unless I decide to make my escape. And if I do and you try to follow me, I’ll call the cops so fast your...red head will spin.”

  Joe let out a breath on a smile. “You’re not my captive, but I think you’re gonna want to hear what I have to say. I’ll grab a seat on the patio behind us.”

  Hailey spun away from him and dived into the mob of people clustered around the stand.

  If she took off and melted into the crowd, he wouldn’t blame her. But something in her sparkling eyes told him the news about de Becker didn’t surprise her. Whether or not she believed his claim about someone tailing her just now remained to be seen.

  He kept his gaze pinned on her while she ordered another bowl of chowder. Hailey Duvall would stand out in any crowd—tall, dark and beautiful. She wore her wealth with an easy grace. Even a philistine like him could spot the expensive clothes, the designer leather bag slung casually over one shoulder, the perfect hair and makeup that came only from the best products and pampering.

  What the hell had she been doing in Syria?

  She got her food and ducked between the tourists. Halfway back to the tables on the patio, her step faltered. Then she met his eyes, squared her shoulders and continued her approach.

  Maybe she figured if he were going to harm her, he’d have done it downstairs without such a big audience. Maybe she wanted to find out what had happened to de Becker and why.

  He could deliver on that for sure.

  As she drew within a few feet of the table, Joe jumped up from his metal chair and pulled one out for her, wiping the seat with a napkin. “You never know about these seagulls out here.”

  “Thanks.” She sat down, placing the plate with the bread bowl in front of her. “Where’s the man who was following me? Or was that just a ruse to play the good guy and then hit me with your crazy theory about Marten?”

  “It’s not a theory, and you know it, Hailey.”

  Her eyes widened. “How do you know my name? Were you part of the military that came to the refugee center...after?”

  “No, but I know all about the refugee camp and what happened there.”

  She covered her eyes with one hand, the big diamond on o
ne finger flashing in the night. “It was horrible, and we were responsible.”

  “No, you weren’t—and neither was Major Denver.”

  She split her fingers and peeked at him through the space. “That’s not what Marten said.”

  “Was de Becker the only one of your group who identified Denver at that meeting?”

  “Meeting?” She picked up her spoon and began stirring her soup as her mouth tightened. “That was no meeting. The other aid workers, our guide and I were all kidnapped. Then they planted a bomb in our car and sent us back to the refugee center—to kill people.”

  “Sorry, I used the wrong word.” He touched the back of her smooth hand with his finger—at least that diamond graced her right hand and not her left, not that her marital status meant anything to him one way or the other. “That must’ve been terrible for all of you.”

  “Worse for the people who died in the bomb blast.” Hunching her shoulders, she blew on a spoonful of chowder. “So, you know all about me and that...incident. Are you representing the US Army, reaching out to me in some official capacity?”

  “Official?” He broke off a piece of bread from the side of the bowl. “Nah.”

  “What do you know about Marten de Becker?” She puckered her lips and blew on a spoonful of soup before sipping it.

  Dragging his gaze away from her pouting lips, he said, “I know he had a change of heart about who exactly kidnapped your group.”

  “Were you following him?”

  “Yes.” He dragged the piece of sourdough through the creamy chowder and popped it in his mouth. “I knew he was here to see you. I’ve been keeping tabs on you, too. All of you.”

  “You’ve been following me?” Her eyebrows snapped over her nose.

  He didn’t have to follow Hailey Duvall to know who she was—heir, along with her brother, to a fortune made in real estate; philanthropist; do-gooder and blessed with a natural beauty that took his breath away. That last part he’d just discovered tonight.

  All the magazine pictures and video couldn’t do justice to the vitality that radiated from her slender body and shone in her eyes. Hailey wouldn’t be one to play tennis and lunch with other socialites. She had an energy about her that made you think she was ready to jump out of her seat and do something important.

  “Following you? Not like I was following de Becker. He’s the one who fingered Denver.”

  “You’re sure he got on that ferry?” She tucked a lock of dark, glossy hair behind her ear.

  “I tracked him from his hotel. I was following the man in the black hat. That man never got off the boat.”

  She toyed with her spoon. “I gave his name to a crew member and he phoned it in. Marten de Becker never bought a ticket tonight.”

  “He must’ve bought it under a different name.” Joe shrugged. He had his own suspicions about de Becker.

  “I told you before, he texted me after the accident on the ferry. Wrote that he changed his mind.”

  “Someone has his phone. Probably took it before he pushed Marten overboard.”

  Hailey dropped her plastic spoon, and it fell on the ground. “Why would someone kill Marten? Why are you keeping track of us?”

  “It all has to do with that kidnapping and what you saw and heard. It has to do with Major Rex Denver.” He pointed to her spoon on the ground. “Do you want another?”

  “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “Tell me, Hailey. Why did de Becker want to meet you tonight? And why on a ferry to Alcatraz?”

  “I have no idea. I haven’t seen him since the bombing at the refugee camp. He called me out of the blue yesterday. I invited him to dinner, but he insisted on meeting on the ferry.”

  “Did he give you any hints about what he wanted?”

  “Told me to keep quiet about him and our meeting.” She pushed away her plate and folded her hands on the metal table. “He sounded...strange, secretive. All my instincts told me not to meet him—at least not the way he wanted.”

  “Do you always ignore your instincts?”

  She crumpled her napkin in her fist and slammed it on the table. “If you’re implying I had any inkling those...terrorists planted a bomb underneath the car for our trip back to the refugee center, you couldn’t be more wrong. None of us believed those men waylaid us for that purpose.”

  “I’m not suggesting that.” He held up his hands. “Why would you think they wanted to send a bomb into the refugee camp? But what did you think they wanted when they kidnapped you?”

  Her dark eyes flashed, and their fire sent a thrill down his spine. The cool, calm and collected princess had a dangerous side.

  He spoke in a soothing tone, wary of setting her off. “I just want to know what you thought, what you all thought. I want to know who first suggested the American with your captors was Major Rex Denver.”

  She kept hold of the napkin and began shredding pieces from it. “We were coming back to the refugee camp from a supply center in Pakistan. There were five of us—me, Marten, Andrew Reese, the British journalist, Ayala Khan, who’s one of the nurses at the center, and our guide and translator, Naraj Siddiqi.”

  Joe had his doubts about Siddiqi, but he’d keep those to himself right now. “How’d they capture you?”

  “Familiar story.” She shrugged. “A couple of guys ran our car off the road. They had bigger weapons than our guide and forced us into the back of their truck. They blindfolded us and took us to some bombed-out buildings.”

  “You couldn’t see. How’d you know about the buildings?”

  “I could just tell—the dust, the silence, the rubble. While they led us along, they had to keep telling us to step up, step to the side. Even with the warnings, I tripped and stumbled a hundred times. I could tell we were in some bombed-out ghost of a neighborhood.”

  “Did they mistreat you?” His jaw hardened at the thought of Hailey in the hands of the insurgents in that area.

  “No. Offered us tea, but kept us blindfolded.”

  “And that’s when you heard the American? Did he speak to you?”

  “We just heard his voice a few times. He spoke French to one of the kidnappers. I could tell he was American from his accent.” A flush stained her cheeks. “I—I speak French fluently.”

  Of course she did. Probably learned it at one of those fancy boarding schools.

  Joe ripped off a side of the bread bowl. “The American didn’t speak Syrian?”

  “No.”

  Joe crumbled the bread in the remains of his soup.

  Hailey hunched forward. “Why? What does that mean?”

  “Denver speaks several languages, including Syrian. If he were there, why wouldn’t he converse in that language instead of some awful French?”

  “I didn’t say his French was awful.” She tossed her mangled napkin on the table beside her plate. “Maybe that’s exactly why he didn’t speak Syrian. How many Americans know that language? Maybe he didn’t want to give himself away.”

  Joe snorted. “Major Denver wasn’t there. No way. He wouldn’t send a bomb into a refugee center targeting helpless people—women and children. No way.”

  “So that’s what this is all about. You, here, following de Becker around. Did the army send you? Delta Force?”

  “I’m here on my own, on leave. The US Army has no idea I’m following up on this and it wouldn’t be appreciated or condoned...but I don’t give a damn about that.”

  “What makes you so sure Denver didn’t go rogue? Didn’t he go AWOL?”

  “I know him. I’m a good judge of character. He went AWOL because he realized he was being set up. Whoever set him up had already killed an Army Ranger and tried to kill one of our Delta Force team members. The army tried to pin it all on Denver, but that team member, Asher Knight, got his memories back and insisted that he, the Army Ranger and Denver were al
l set up at that meeting.”

  “You think our kidnapping is another plot to implicate Major Denver?”

  “That’s exactly what I think. Who first told you about Denver? Wasn’t de Becker the one who initially ID’d Denver as being present at that...gathering before the bomb went off in the refugee camp?”

  “It was Marten. I can’t even remember how that all came about. I was devastated, in shock after the explosion. They made us all leave the camp—the country—after that.” Her voice wavered.

  “Did anyone question you?” Joe resisted the urge to take her hand.

  “Of course.” As if reading his mind, she put her hand in her pocket. “We were questioned there, and people from the Department of Defense came out here to San Francisco to question me and then the FBI sent a couple of agents for good measure. We went through the wringer.”

  “Did they ask you about Denver and whether or not you could ID him? I know de Becker said that his blindfold had slipped and he saw the American. When they showed him Denver’s picture, he picked him out.”

  “I know that.” She straightened out her scarf and smoothed it against the front of her jacket. “My blindfold was secure and I never saw a thing, never saw any of my captors.”

  Joe slumped in his chair. “So, you never claimed that Denver was there.”

  “I said I didn’t see my captors.” She held up one finger, her perfectly polished fingernail catching the light from the streetlamp next to their table, making it look like a magic wand. “I did hear them.”

  “And?” He ran a tongue around his dry mouth.

  “And in addition to hearing an American speaking French, I heard someone call someone else Denver.”

  Joe sank his head in his hands, his fingers digging into his scalp. “No.”

  “I’m sorry. I did hear that, and I reported it to the military investigators.”

  “If the major wanted to keep his presence there a secret, why would the others be throwing around his name? That makes no sense.”