Page 28 of Anchor (First to Fight)

But, for this man, I’d be willing to make an exception.

“Why her?” I ask instead of answering. “Why not just come to me? If you have a problem, you come to me. You don’t go after my kid. You don’t kill a bunch of people like a toddler on a power trip. Be a man. Confront me.”

Jones cocks his head to the side and studies me. It’s disconcerting, even to someone like me, having faced war for years on end, to stare into the face of an evil man.

“I’ll be asking the questions,” he says, after a time. “Yours will be answered. Eventually.”

Chloe is as still as a statue, except for her hands. They’re clasped behind her back and completely bleached of any color because she’s holding them so tightly. Her fingers twitch in their restrained position and it undoes me.

“What do you want to know?” I ask Jones.

The gun eases off of her ribs and he rests his hands on the table. “Her name is Emily, right?” And I know when his face twitches he already knows her name. He’d have to. I offer a fervent prayer of thanks that my baby girl is far, far away from here thanks to Chloe.

“Yes,” I say, and my voice sounds like it’s being filtered through gravel. I wince and clear my throat. “Yes, her name’s Emily.” This time, her name is a whisper.

“Do you love your daughter, Gabriel?” Jones asks.

“Of course I do.”

“How much do you love her?”

“What kind of question is that?” I ask between gritted teeth. “I love her very much.”

Jones just smiles his creepy-ass psychopath smile and labors across the room to the dashboard where he checks the digital GPS. “We’re here,” he says as he turns back to us. “Don’t you move now.”

He disappears down the stairs again, his boots thudding heavily in retreat.

“What’s he doing now?” Chloe whispers.

I shake my head. “I have no fuckin’ idea.”

“Any bright ideas?” she asks.

“I’ll figure something out,” I tell her.

And I hope I’m right.

“That sounds totally promising,” she says and startles a laugh out of me.

“Well, I aim to please,” I say.

Whatever her response will be is cut off by the horrendous clank of a chain smashing against its metal counterpart, followed by a splash of water.

“Well, wherever we are,” she says instead, “we won’t be going anywhere.”

The boat jerks as the anchor takes hold of the ocean floor.

“We’re stranded,” I say absently.

“In another time,” I hear her respond, “being stranded with you wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”

“If we get out of this, I have this cottage on the beach. I think you’d like it.”

“Are you hitting on me?” she asks softly.

I don’t get the chance to answer because Jones appears in the stairwell. I’m going to enjoy kicking his motherfucking ass when I get the opportunity.

Jones sits opposite me. “Now, where were we?”