Killer Bunny Hill

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Killer Bunny Hill Page 21

by Denise Robbins


  Leaning against the garage wall, he caught his breath, calmed his nerves. If he went in half-cocked, whoever might be waiting would get the jump on him and potentially kill Sam. He had to enter prepared. With expediency, he checked his Glock and mentally routed out the vulnerable spots in his entrance to the house and to the diamonds. Turning the knob slowly, noiselessly, and with weapon drawn, Max entered the basement.

  Ready to shoot first and ask questions later, he checked behind the walls. No one. At the bottom of the stairs, he peered around the corner, weapon first. The door at the top of the steps was open, but no one waited to blast his brains out.

  “Hey! Anyone here? Honey, I’m home.” His voice echoed off the walls in the empty basement, but no one responded, not even any field mice that may have come in from the winter cold.

  Still cautious and on alert, he ascended the stairs to the main house. At the top, he checked out the dining room, kitchen, and living room. No surprises. Before he went for the diamonds, he checked out the entire house.

  As he returned to the main floor, he felt deflated. Part of him had hoped Sam and her kidnapper would be there. That way he could kill the motherfucker once and for all. Because, yes, as much as he had wanted revenge on his former boss, Lucy’s ex-lover, Max wanted to personally beat to death the man who touched Samantha.

  House secure, Max tucked his Glock in his holster, opened the closet under the stairs, and went after the diamonds they had stored for safekeeping.

  As soon as he had them, he turned tail and ran for the stairs, for his SUV, toward the rest of his life.

  * * * *

  Handcuffed and angry, Samantha yelled at her captor from the backseat. “Where are you taking me?” She kicked the seat. “Damn you! Do you honestly think you can get away with this?”

  “I’m the law. And it’s worked so far.” The response came from the asshole driving her to who knew where. She tried another tact.

  “Why? Why, Paul?” This time her question and tone coaxed. At least that was her intended goal. Paul Butler, a long time family friend, and the current police chief was a kidnapper and worse yet, a murderer. How? He had always been so sweet. The day she found her mother dead, Paul had been the first person on the scene. He had comforted her, held her hand, and given her a hanky when she blubbered for hours. When she turned twenty-one, the legal drinking age in New Hampshire, he happily chauffeured her home from her birthday celebration. Paul had looked out for her, was her guardian angel. She could not believe it.

  The laugh that answered her question sounded maniacal to her ears. “You’ve got to be kidding. Money, of course.”

  “Money for what? What is your part in this scheme? Are you just the hired help?”

  Paul shot her a steely-eyed glare through the rearview window. Okay, maybe that was a little taunting, but damn it, stuck in a mess she might as well get some answers. That way when Max found her she would be able to tell him as much as possible and end this disaster and bring her father and Kevin home, if Kevin was still alive.

  “Why did you kill Brad? No honor among thieves.”

  “I didn’t kill him.”

  Sam sneered at his reflection. “Yeah, he accidentally ran his heart into a ski pole in the middle of my dining room.”

  “I did not kill Brad. I was sent to cover up the mess.”

  She snorted. “So you are the hired help. Who’s your partner?”

  “You’ll meet him soon enough.

  “How could you, Paul? You’re family, like a second father.”

  “I didn’t have a choice. I was desperate. I invested all my money in some stock for my retirement and borrowed against it. I bought a small yacht so I could travel and fish my way around the various waters. Now I’m in debt and if I don’t get the money I’ll lose everything, including my home.” Sam could picture Paul buying a huge boat. The man used to spend every Saturday at the lake or drive further north to spend the weekend fishing. He had taught her how to fish alongside her father. He helped her when she reeled in her first big Bass. Her father loved him. He was the one who recommended and worked hard to get Paul put in as his replacement for police chief.

  Oh, my gosh. “Did you beat dad?”

  He shook his head. “Uh-uh. I only did clean up. I love your dad. He was my best man at my wedding. He was there the day my wife died of cancer. I would never hurt Sam.”

  “But you’ll hurt his daughter?”

  “No.” He shook his head again. “I’m only using you as bait. I would never hurt you.”

  “Ha! You’re not that naïve. What do you think will happen to me? Whoever your partners are already tried to kill me. Once they no longer need me, because they have whatever they want, they’ll kill me, and this time I won’t even have a fighting chance with my hands cuffed behind me.”

  “Nope. I was assured you were just bait. That’s it, and then they’d let you go.”

  Sam scoffed. “You believed that bullshit? Is that what they told you before they killed Brad?”

  Paul glanced in the mirror at her. Did she see fear in his eyes?

  “He was a pain in the ass. Besides, what do you care? You didn’t love him. Boy did that piss him off. Sometimes, when he was shit-faced he blabbered on about how you screwed up his life, how you were the perfect couple but you were too blind to see how good you could be together. It was disgusting. Then you showed up with a fiancé and our diamonds. He went off the deep end. Brad was convinced you had the other diamonds. He shot that dog so he could search your father’s house. But he never found them.”

  Max had been right.

  “Still, he was a friend and you let them kill him. How could you?”

  “I didn’t know,” Paul blurted out.

  “Yeah, right! You think burying your head in the sand makes you innocent? All it does is make you stupid. Are you willing to let them kill me? Because that is what they will do. You know it.” Sam lowered her voice to a rough whisper. “My father will hunt you down and kill you.”

  In the reflection of the rearview mirror, she watched Paul swallow a knot of fear. She pressed him further. “Are you willing to take that risk with your own life?”

  She watched as his grip on the steering wheel became white-knuckled.

  “Shut up. Just shut up Sam!”

  She shrugged, not that Paul could see.

  “I’m warning you. If you don’t shut up I’ll have to gag you.”

  If only she could get out of the handcuffs. She would at least have a fighting chance. Once they reached their destination all bets were off. “Come on, Paul, un-cuff me. Please.” Sam implored him with her green-eyed gaze. “You’re my godfather, for heaven’s sake. Do you really want to be responsible for your goddaughter’s death?”

  Sam felt Paul’s vehicle slow. He pulled over onto the snow-covered shoulder, and got out. She said an inward prayer of thanks. Paul wrenched open the backseat passenger door.

  “Sit up.”

  Before she could maneuver herself straight up in the seat, he wrapped a cloth around her head and into her mouth. She struggled but to no avail. He gagged her. She could not believe it. When Paul finished tying it, he whispered in her ear. “I’m sorry.”

  Tears stung the back of Sam’s eyes. She was sorry too.

  THIRTY-THREE

  His mind on Samantha, Max drove like a bat out of hell on fresh, snow-covered roads. He managed to return to Sam’s cottage without killing himself or anyone else.

  Opening the door, his gaze landed on Brad’s body. He realized it was time to call in the local authorities. He had done all he could do. He and Sam had located the Underground Railroad and he could slip into it before the cops showed up and asked him a bunch of questions to which he did not have the answers.

  As he stepped into the house, his cell phone rang. Ruby. Shutting the door behind him, he answered her call.

  “Tell me something.” He said it like a prayer.

  “I’ve tracked down Casey for you.” Max felt elated, relieve
d, yet frustrated. He thought he was onto something when he couldn’t locate Casey. Now he had to start over and figure out who else would have snatched Samantha.

  “Great. Tell him not to move. I will call him in five minutes. I have something I have to take care of first.”

  After jotting the number down on his hand, he ended the call and placed another.

  “9-1-1, what is your emergency?”

  “A man is dead, murdered.” He recited the address so the police and ambulance could find Brad. Not that the ambulance would do him much good. Without giving his name, he hung up.

  Immediately, he called Casey.

  “What the hell is going on?” Casey’s deep voice quivered and in that tremble, it told Max he had been dead wrong about Samantha’s partner. Casey was as frightened as he was. “Where’s Sam? If you dragged her into something and got her killed I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

  Max’s lips turned up. He liked this guy. “I don’t have time for useless threats. I need to find Sam and right now you’re the best lead I’ve got.”

  He heard Casey’s teeth grind on the other end of the phone.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Tell me who Sam trusted.”

  Casey laughed, not a humorous laugh. “If you know Samantha at all, you already know the answer to that question. No one. Except her father. Oh, she’ll believe what someone tells her until they disappoint her, but she will never truly trust another person. She’s been hurt too many times.”

  That’s what Max would have thought. Hell, he had been the recipient of her inability to believe in someone and his feelings. “Normally, I would agree. However, Sam has disappeared and I think someone she knew took her. Who were her friends? Any other family besides her father in the area?”

  He waited. “There’s got to be someone.”

  “Yeah, yeah, there is. Paul Butler, the new police chief. He’s a longtime family friend and if Sam were to trust anyone it would be him.”

  His mind searched the possibilities, lurched to a stop, and panicked. That’s how they had narrowed in on Kevin. He had explained to Samantha how, in the interest of fair play and politics, it was common practice for the FBI to contact the local authorities. Now, one of them had Kevin and Sam.

  He heard sirens wailing in the distance. It was time to move. “I’ve gotta go.”

  “Wait!”

  “I can’t.”

  “I’m on my way there.”

  “Do what you gotta do, but stay the hell out of my way.” Max cut the connection. Grabbing up the map he and Sam had copied at the Historical Society, he headed for the kitchen.

  Just before he reached the door to the basement, his cell rang. “Shit!”

  He fished in his pocket, found the phone and answered.

  “If you wish to see your girlfriend again, you’ll bring me the diamonds. You have two hours to deliver them via snowmobile to Emerald Junction, the pass just outside of Café on the Border, located between the Canadian and New Hampshire borders.”

  How would he manage that? He had to think, to stall. “Where’s Sam? If you’ve hurt one hair on her head, she’ll be the last woman you ever touch.”

  The man on the other end snickered. “Your threats will only succeed in pissing me off. You do not want to do that. Not to mention you are wasting precious time. You want Samantha and your brother back. Get here in two hours.”

  “I want proof of life…” Max stared at the phone. The line was dead. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

  He did not have time for this. He had to get moving. The sirens grew louder, closer. He hit speed dial.

  “You got me.”

  “Jake, I have to talk fast so just listen.” Max took a breath. “I need you to be me. I need you to drive a snowmobile to Emerald Junction, some pass near the New Hampshire–Canadian Border just outside a restaurant called Café on the Border.” He checked his watch. “You’ve got to be there in one hour and fifty-seven minutes.”

  “What will you be doing?”

  “I’m going to backdoor their setup, or in this case, undermine it. Just get there. Sam is depending on us,” he said to no one and closed his phone. Two seconds later, he flew down the stairs, through the basement, and stood at the opening to the Underground Railroad. Just as the tunnel door slid shut behind him, Max heard the police knocking on the door. He turned and ran.

  * * * *

  Where was Paul taking her? She tried to pay attention as the dimming skyline flew past her window, too fast for her to get her bearings. He hadn’t said a word to her since he stopped and gagged her. The rotten bastard! Now, she had to concentrate on not choking to death and getting away.

  If she believed the Underground Railroad was the key, and that her place played a core part of their scheme, then the map she had found indicated Paul would drive her North toward the Canadian border. She closed her eyes, and willed herself to picture the map. The car stopped before she could bring the image to mind.

  “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”

  Sam growled at Paul’s irritating quip.

  He reached in, wrapped strong hands that belonged on a football player around her upper arms, and tugged her toward him. When he pulled her close enough, she flung her head back and heard a satisfying crunch when she made contact with his nose.

  “Shit! You broke my nose.”

  Paul released his grip. Sam lost her purchase on the seat and fell out of the vehicle. Not what she intended.

  “Damn it, Sam! I’m not going to hurt you!”

  Holding his bleeding nose, Paul tried to grab a hold of her, and pick her up from the snow. When he bent over, Sam took the opportunity, and kicked him where no man wanted to be kicked. He screamed in pain and grabbed his crotch. She attacked again with a swift boot to his shin then swept his bent leg out from under him. Paul fell to his knees, and she contemplated kicking him again when a voice spoke from behind her.

  “Enough!”

  Breathing hard, Samantha stiffened, and spun on her ass to see who yelled. Stunned, she stared up at a well-dressed man with beautiful lavender eyes and silver-tipped hair at the temples, standing not a foot from her. Blinking rapidly, she tried to focus beyond the pain in her head. He squatted down, his face crystal clear in her eyes, and removed the gag from her mouth.

  Shock had her stammering. “Mr. Rosenthal.” Brad’s dad?

  “Samantha.” He smiled a brilliant, almost friendly smile. Obviously, that was a ruse. Anyone who kidnapped, beat, and murdered people, especially his own son was anything but friendly. Crouching next to her, he ignored his lackey’s cries of pain, and reached a hand toward her face.

  She flinched. He only grinned at her then pushed hair back from her face with a light touch, and a gentleness that surprised her. Then in one swift motion that belied his age, he hefted Sam to her feet. He didn’t aim his weapon at her. Instead, he wore it tucked neatly at his side like the gentleman’s pocket-watch his great-grandfather had brought back from Jerusalem and given to him as a birthday gift. Just the sight of it made everyone respect him.

  “I hope he did not hurt you, my dear. If he did, he will be punished.”

  The steel in his voice had her glancing back at Paul. As much as she wanted to do damage to him, she didn’t want someone else to harm him, or worse. Biting her lip, she swallowed and shook her head.

  “Good. Then we shall retreat to some place more warm and cozy. There is someone I believe you will want to see.” He urged her forward. “This way.”

  Despite his warm, coaxing tone, Sam felt the underlying blade to it, and she meekly did as instructed.

  They entered the small building through a one-person guarded door on the bottom floor. The aroma of fresh bread assailed her. Her stomach grumbled in response.

  Brad’s father, a man she once admired for his sheer guts and determination in starting his own business and making a success of it, gripped her upper arm, and gave a low chuckle. “Please, it would be my pleasure to offer you some of my sw
eet breads.” There was a short pause. “After I get you comfortable.”

  Comfortable? Who was he kidding with the overly polite manners? He was the devil dressed in a well-tailored black leather jacket, and spoke in a sophisticated tone. Beneath it all, he had a forked tongue and a tail. She shivered at the image.

  “Are you cold, my dear?”

  Like he cared. No, she wasn’t cold. Her skin crawled at his touch.

  With hard fingers grasped around her bicep, he forced her down a long, dark paneled hallway, and stopped in front of a door.

  “You killed your own son. What kind of monster are you?” She looked up at him and met his gaze. “Why?”

  “He was a disappointment.”

  His answer, so blunt, she took a step back before he pulled her up closer. Wide-eyed, Sam gaped at him. “Have you lost your mind?” Anger boiled inside, her fists balled, wanting to strike out at him, beat him into the ground where he belonged. Instead, she lashed out. “Disappointment? For that you scold a child, you don’t murder a son. Your son. If your wife…”

  In a flash, he had her pinned against the wall, his hand around her throat. She couldn’t breathe, she saw stars. “Do not speak of my wife.”

  Sam choked and gasped for air when Rosenthal released his grip. With a shrug, he reached into his jacket pocket, and extracted a key. Unlocking the door, he opened it, and propelled her inside. The room was tiny and dark, and in the middle, a set of winding stairs down. To the right, another door.

  He opened that door with more flourish, gesturing with a sweep of an arm to go inside. She did. When she heard a moan, her gaze flew to the far side of the room. There, on a short sofa lay a beaten and bruised man. Sam cringed at the sight and moved toward him.

  “I don’t believe you have met.” He moved up behind her. “Samantha Spenser, meet Kevin Stone. Agent, Kevin Stone.”

 

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