Rescuing His Secret Child Read online

  A train heist unearths family secrets

  The next exciting True North Heroes story

  Trapped with armed hijackers aboard a speeding train, Nick Henry is determined to free the hostages—especially his ex-girlfriend and the son he never knew existed. The army corporal must use his training to save them, but this mission’s personal. Nick broke a promise to Erica Knight once, but he won’t let her down now, because something precious is on the line: his family.

  A bullet shattered the window.

  Erica turned, trapped between train cars, with Nick battling a gunman on one side and the locked door on the other.

  She couldn’t believe it. The boy she’d loved and lost was back. And he was trying to save her son. The son Nick clearly knew nothing about.

  “Erica!” he shouted. “Get ready to catch!”

  She leaned around the corner just in time to catch the gun that skittered toward her.

  “Get to the rear engine,” Nick shouted. “I’ll catch up with you.”

  She shot out the window to unlock the door. Then she froze. The engine car was empty. The phone was down, as was the radio. The security cameras were still on, though, and she saw a small, unmistakable form curled on a chair in the sights of two gunmen. Her breath caught in her throat.

  Nick crashed through the door. “I took care of him. He—” He stopped when he met her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  Her gaze turned to the monitor.

  “They have my son.”

  Our son.

  Maggie K. Black is an award-winning journalist and romantic suspense author with an insatiable love of traveling the world. She has lived in the American South, Europe and the Middle East. She now makes her home in Canada with her history-teacher husband, their two beautiful girls and a small but mighty dog. Maggie enjoys connecting with her readers at maggiekblack.com.

  Books by Maggie K. Black

  Love Inspired Suspense

  True North Heroes

  Undercover Holiday Fiancée

  The Littlest Target

  Rescuing His Secret Child

  Amish Witness Protection

  Amish Hideout

  True North Bodyguards

  Kidnapped at Christmas

  Rescue at Cedar Lake

  Protective Measures

  Military K-9 Unit

  Standing Fast

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  Rescuing His Secret Child

  Maggie K. Black

  When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

  —1 Corinthians 13:11–12

  With thanks to my wonderful agent, Melissa Jeglinski, and talented editor, Emily Rodmell.

  You both make me a stronger writer and enable me

  to do things I never thought possible.

  This book is because of “Zander.”

  Thank you for the stories.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  DEAR READER

  EXCERPT FROM IDENTITY: CLASSIFIED BY LIZ SHOAF

  ONE

  Corporal Nick Henry dozed upright in an uncomfortable metal seat as the darkened train rumbled north through the rugged and inhospitable Ontario wilderness. A furtive hand brushed the sleeve of his green Canadian Army fatigues. A pickpocket was reaching for his service weapon! His eyes snapped open as he grabbed the offending hand by the wrist.

  A small voice gasped. Nick turned. The hand belonged to a boy, probably no older than four or five, with wide green eyes and a messy mop of the kind of dark red hair that a woman Nick had once loved had told him to call “auburn.” The boy wriggled. Nick let go. A dozen questions shot rapid-fire through the soldier’s brain before he finally chose one. “Were you trying to take my gun?”

  The boy scrunched up his nose as if Nick had asked him something difficult. Nick shifted his weapon away and gave the child a second to come up with an answer as he glanced at his phone. It was quarter after eleven and they’d already entered the cell tower dead zone. Spring winds shrieked outside. Rain buffeted fierce and wild against the windowpanes. Around them, scattered passengers stretched out and slept the best they could in the half-empty economy car.

  Where had this kid come from? Nick hadn’t seen any children when he’d boarded. He imagined most families with kids that young wouldn’t take an overnight train north but would pick a more reasonable time when they could look out at the towering and jagged rocks, thick trees and dazzling lakes that still filled the parts of northern Ontario untouched by roads and buildings. Not to mention when the dining car was still open. “Where are your parents?”

  The boy dodged the question with an ease that reminded Nick of his younger self by returning his question with one of his own. “Are you really a soldier? A real one?”

  A real one? Nick felt a smile curl at his lips. It was an interesting question. One that Nick had asked himself more times then he’d liked to admit as an impetuous teenager in his early days of boot camp when he’d been trying to stop sabotaging himself, get over his own worse impulses and step up to be the kind of man he’d wanted to be. But it was definitely not an answer to the boy’s question. Then again, at least the kid was talking.

  “Yup, I am one hundred percent a real soldier,” Nick continued, seeing as the boy seemed to be waiting for more of an answer. He stood as his eyes scanned for anyone missing a child. “I’m Corporal Nick Henry, of the Canadian Armed Forces, stationed out of Petawawa in northern Ontario. I’m currently heading even farther north to teach firearms safety, self-defense and wilderness survival to a new group of Canadian Ranger reservist recruits.”

  He glanced at the kid and realized he’d just given him the pat answer he’d give anyone who asked. Nick twisted his lips and tried to think of how to say it again in words a child would understand. “I’ve been a soldier for six years, almost. My title is corporal. That means I’m in command of other soldiers, but also that I’m kind of new at it. I train people in Canada to survive disasters and protect each other. You can call me Nick.” He stretched out his hand. “What should I call you?”

  “Zander.” Earnest eyes looked up at him. “With a Z. My mommy calls me her little soldier. ’Cause my grandpa and great-grandpa used to be in the army, and I remind her of them.”

  Pride tinged the boy’s voice and it tugged at something inside Nick.

  “Nice to meet you, Zander.” They shook hands. “Now, how about we go find your family?”

  Zander shook his tousled curls and Nick was almost jealous for when he’d been able to let his hair grow that long and shaggy. “I need to borrow your gun.”

  Nick chuckled, “Why do you need my gun?”

  “I need to protect my mommy.” Zander’s voice dropped to a whisper.

  The smile
faded instantly from Nick’s face and he could tell it had taken the color with it. “Why?”

  The boy’s chin rose defiantly. “I saw bad men. They have guns.”

  Bad men with guns. The words echoed in Nick’s head, merging with prayers for wisdom. A year before he’d been born, Nick’s sister had been killed by a “bad man” when she was a child. But his three older brothers still remembered, each in their own way, the day she’d died fighting off her would-be abductor. He’d grown up in a deeply loving family that had swirled with a grief he hadn’t understood and then had acted out in foolish and immature ways he was still ashamed of. He swallowed hard and forced the memory into the recesses of his mind, where things he didn’t want to think about went to fade.

  He searched the child’s face for even a flicker of insincerity and found none. It was possible, if not probable, that either the boy’s imagination was playing tricks on him or that he’d been asleep and had a nightmare. “Where are the bad men? Are they on the train?”

  Zander craned his neck to look up at him. The slight quiver to his chin told Nick that as far as the boy was concerned the danger was real. A wave of empathy pushed Nick’s legs to bend until he was crouching at the boy’s eye level. The youngest of four brothers, all now over six feet, he remembered all too well what it was like to feel small. Now, here, someone little was looking up to him for help. He prayed he wouldn’t let him down.

  “They’re in the dining car,” Zander said. “It’s in between the part of the train with the big fancy cabins with bed seats and here. That’s where Mommy was supposed to be.”

  That meant the boy had walked through two mostly empty economy cars looking for help. Also, Nick had been sure the dining car was closed.

  “How many men?” Nick asked. The boy shrugged. Either he didn’t know or couldn’t remember. “Did they see you?”

  “No, I was hiding under the tables playing and waiting for Mommy.” He mimed clutching an invisible weapon to his side. “They were hiding the guns under the table like this.”

  Nick glanced up at the red emergency button, knowing that all it would take was a swift slap to get a siren to sound and the train’s conductor to rush in. The engineers might even initiate an emergency stop. If the boy was wrong, it would cause a whole lot of chaos. But if the boy was right... He closed his eyes. Lord, what do I do?

  Then a small hand clutched his and squeezed. “Please, Soldier Nick, we’ve got to help my mommy.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll find her.” Nick squeezed back. Then he straightened and pulled his rucksack over his shoulder. They started through the train. “What about your father?”

  “He’s a good-for-nothing hothead who’s probably in prison,” Zander said almost cheerfully and Nick suspected he’d overheard the words more than once but wasn’t sure what they meant. “I was supposed to stay in the fancy seats with my uncle and his friend. But my uncle fell asleep and his friend went for a walk and I was bored, so I went to find Mommy.”

  “And you didn’t see any conductors or train attendants?”

  Another head shake. Not that train conductors were armed, even though one of the roles they served was as security.

  They reached the end of the economy-class car and Nick slid the door open. Stepping into the shaking, rattling space between the two train cars, they crossed over the joint that held one car to the next. Then they walked through the next two economy cars. Nick scanned his fellow passengers as they went, hoping to spot a fellow service member or a cop like his brothers Trent and Jacob, or a paramedic like his brother Max—anyone he could count on in a crisis. He came up short, with the exception of an elderly gentleman he suspected had once served, and a sleeping brute with the build that suggested he might’ve worked as a bodyguard.

  He didn’t spot any guards or train staff, either. That worried him.

  They reached the end of the economy cars and entered the no-man’s-land between it and the dining car.

  “The bad men are in there.” Zander pointed at the door. “Mommy s’posed to be there, too, but she wasn’t. Can I have your gun now? Mommy won’t let me shoot a gun yet. But I’ve seen her shoot flying disks right out of the sky. She punches, too.” His tiny fists mimed punching a bag. “She’s really good at it.”

  Go, Zander’s mom! Nick could guess where the kid got his gumption. If it turned out the boy was right, and there was danger on the train, maybe Zander’s mother wouldn’t be the worst person to be in it with.

  “No, but you can borrow my bulletproof vest and helmet, if you like. But you have to promise to stay exactly where I tell you to stay and not move.”

  The boy nodded. Nick took his bulletproof vest and helmet out of his rucksack and carefully helped Zander into them.

  “Thank you,” Zander whispered. “Now I really do look like a little soldier.”

  “You’re welcome.” He’d done it mostly to soothe the boy’s fears. And yet, as he looked into Zander’s serious face. Nick felt some unfamiliar emotion tighten in his own throat, like a longing for something he’d never had.

  Nick glanced through the small, thick glass window into the dining car. So much for it being closed. A tall, thin man in a suit, who looked to be in his late forties, sat reading a newspaper by the far door. In the opposite corner, a young couple in hoodies sat staring at the table. In the middle of the car, three tattooed and bearded men in heavy plaid jackets drummed their fingers on the table with the telltale twitches of people missing a nicotine fix.

  Yeah, those last three practically had “bad men” written across their faces. If his Vice detective brother Trent had been there, he’d have probably pegged their gang affiliation at a hundred paces. Not that it meant they were armed or up to no good at this very moment.

  The door opened at the far end of the dining car. A woman walked through, her head bowed, pushing a narrow refreshment cart. Her hair was auburn and tied back in a braid, a few loose waves falling around her downturned face. Her crisp blue train attendant’s uniform, with its sharp blazer and knee-length skirt, only seemed to accentuate her lithe, strong form.

  “That’s my mommy!” Zander said.

  Well, then, Zander’s mom was a knockout as well as, apparently, a force to be reckoned with. Although the kid could’ve explained earlier that his mother worked for the train company. He’d get Zander to stay behind, with his helmet and vest to play with, signal her and get her into the next car. Then he’d explain the situation and, if there really was a problem, they could alert the conductor.

  She looked up.

  He stepped back involuntarily, as huge dark eyes fringed with long, beautiful lashes scanned the window where he stood. And suddenly a hundred conflicting memories struck him at once, overwhelming his senses like a flurry of fists hitting his core.

  He remembered meeting those same dark eyes across grade school, junior high and high school classrooms.

  He remembered running through the trees between his farm and the farm next door, way too late at night, in the hope that the same face would appear at the window.

  He remembered what it had been like to finally let his guard down at nineteen, to tell her how his sister Faith’s murder had left him with a self-destructive pain that sometimes made him want to blow up everything good in his life and push away the people he cared the most about.

  He’d told her she was beautiful and the best person he’d ever met. He’d pulled her into his arms. Then he’d failed to stand up like a man and face her disappointment when Tommy, her hotheaded older brother, had found them, yanked them apart and told Erica she deserved far better than an irresponsible loser who got into stupid fights, barely scraped through high school and had no future ahead of him.

  He cringed as the memory of what had happened next filled his mind. He’d stormed off, got drunk, raced to see her and apologize—even propose, as if a sloppy, rushed proposal was what a woman like h
er deserved—then lost control of his brother’s car and wrapped it around a tree. How he’d paced the jail cell he’d been tossed into on a drunk driving charge while waiting for his folks to come bail him out. How he’d promised God he was done being that guy. That he’d make something of his life, join the army and become the man she’d needed him to be.

  All of it, every glorious and sorry moment, seemed to hit him in a glance.

  Zander’s mother was Erica Knight.

  She was the only girl he’d ever cared about. The one he’d lost. The one he’d known he’d never deserved.

  As he watched, the tall, thin man in the suit rose from his seat and held a gun to Erica’s side.

  * * *

  Erica’s breath caught in her throat as she felt the barrel of the gun press deep into her ribs. Just a few seconds earlier her biggest concerns had been the fact that Bob Bass, the front engineer, had a tendency to show up hungover and that the rainstorm was so heavy the train would have to take a slower route to Moosonee in case the bridge over the Moose River flooded. That and the fact the normally empty first-class car now had seven passengers spread over three of the four sleeper cabins. Nine passengers if you counted the fact her brother, Tommy, had snagged seats for him and Zander in one of the sleeper cabins thanks to a rather sleazy friend of his from high school—Clark Lemain, who had somehow rehabilitated his image enough to convince their community to elect him as a provincial politician. Clark relentlessly asked her out for coffee whenever he rode first-class, seeming to think the fact she had to serve him drinks and snacks meant she wanted to spend time with him, and also tended to make presumptuous comments about Zander needing a father. She didn’t exactly like the idea of Clark getting closer to her son.

  But now the pressure of metal against her ribs had blocked out all thoughts but whether anyone else in the train was also in danger and how to get herself and everyone out of whatever this was alive.

  Including her son.

 
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