Free Final Touch by Brandilyn Collins Page B

“What happened?” He ran toward Brittany.
    “She called nine-one-one!”
    Band members and Ed Schering spilled from their rooms, their footsteps pounding down the two big staircases. Brittany led them all into the dining room. Soon they were grouped around Agent Scarrow and Rayne, questions tumbling from them. He went over the story once again. Rayne held on to Gary, whispering, “God heard our prayers.”
    Yes, he did, Brittany thought. But what would that evil man who’d kidnapped Shaley do when he found himself surrounded by a SWAT team?
    Rayne let go of Gary and grabbed Al’s wrist. “How long until they get there?”
    “As you mentioned, the team needs to assemble and be briefed on the situation before heading out. It’s a two-hour drive, but they’ll transport to the site in a chopper. So altogether they should be at the cabin within two hours.”
    Two hours. That would be six o’clock Pacific time. Tears filled Brittany’s eyes. It was good news. But two hours was an eternity.
    “They’ll get her, Rayne.” Gary’s voice shook. “They’ll bring Shaley home.”

20
    A ringing phone jangled thirty-two-year-old Randy Sullivan from a sound sleep. His arm shot out to snatch up the receiver almost before the first ring stopped. It was an automatic reflex, honed from many nights of being jangled awake.
    He pressed the phone to his ear, propped up on one elbow. “Sullivan.”
    “We need you here pronto. Mission near Oak City, southwest of Provo.” Bear’s voice—the SWAT unit leader.
    The line went dead.
    Sullivan heaved out of bed, fully awake.
    The bed covers rustled. “You have to go?” His wife’s voice, thick from sleep, filtered through the darkness.
    “Yeah.”
    A small intake of breath from Rhonda. No matter how many missions he went on, she always worried. With good reason. “Be careful,” she said.
    “Always.”
    Randy strode to the bathroom by the light of the corner streetlamp filtering through the bedroom window. He dressed in one minute flat. His uniform and gear were already in the car, ready at a minute’s notice—the military-issued bulletproof vest, the helmet and goggles, the weapons and accessories. Exactly what he took would depend on the mission. At the Stable—his team’s slang for their headquarters—Bear would brief them on the situation.
    Before leaving the bedroom, he bent down to kiss his wife’s cheek. She felt warm and smooth. “Love you.”
    She reached up, placed a palm against his cheek. “Come back to me.”
    “Always.”
    Two years ago, one of his team members hadn’t come back.
    Randy hurried down the hall past the room where their two-year-old, Stevie, slept. As he passed the open door, he brushed fingertips against the doorjamb. “Hug you, Stevie,” he whispered.
    A moment later, the garage door opened, and Randy started his Bronco and backed out. The neighborhood streets were quiet and empty. Randy drank in the peace. He wouldn’t have it for long.
    Within ten minutes he’d reached the Stable. Soon all of the men on his team had showed up.
    “Hey, Crooner.” Randy’s nickname was an inside joke, as were all the other men’s. Bear, their team leader, had heard him singing off-key as he worked out one day, and Crooner he became.
    “Okay, we’re all here. Heads up, we gotta move.” Bear stood in front of them and next to a flip chart, notes in hand for the mission briefing. The top sheet on the chart showed a hand-drawn view of roads and a small house.
    Bear stood six foot four, with the shoulders and chest of a bear—hence his nickname. His thick brown hair finished the image. “You all hear on the news yesterday about Shaley O’Connor’s kidnap just before her parents’ wedding?”
    Heard it? Randy’s eyebrows went up. Every channel was full of the story.
    “We get to go rescue her.”
    “You’re kiddin’ me.” Eagle’s beady eyes lit. Murmurs went around the room.
    “Man, I love Rayne’s music,” Volt said. Volt—short for