“I have to go in there?” It wasn’t much of a stretch to make her voice quaver with anxiety. It was really dark. “Is it okay to turn on a light?”
“No light.”
“Well, could you at least untie my hands? I can’t be in there in the dark with my hands tied. There might be rats. Or cockroaches. Please?”
She could tell he was wavering. “I’ll turn on the light, but that’s it. You stay tied.”
He flipped the switch, and a naked bulb suspended from the ceiling flickered on. At most, it was sixty watts. Rane crossed the threshold, stepping around a jumbled pile of what looked like metal tools and chains. A couch, stuffing coming out of the cushions and sagging at one end, sat along a far wall, and a work bench littered with beer and soda cans ran across another. She turned to look over her shoulder. “Do you think—”
Juan stepped back, eyes downcast, and slammed the door.
***
John crouched beside the SWAT van, waiting for the signal to go. The DiNardo compound looked vacant. Through the tall pines, he studied the large two-story house situated on a slight hill and the outbuildings spread below it. Security seemed tighter than around the prison at Fort Leavenworth. The team had cut the electricity about five minutes before, and backup generators had kicked on.
A low rumble reached him, and he turned to see the police department’s armored vehicle making its way up the driveway. It neared the locked gate, the only section of the perimeter without electric barbed wire, and maintaining its speed, crashed through, flattening the gate and pulling down the surrounding fence.
At the signal from the SWAT leader, the team followed the vehicle over the downed gate, avoiding the charged wire. They’d been expecting the place to be defended, but there were no gunshots, no flurry of activity. John had the sinking feeling the place had been abandoned. If that was true, Rane wasn’t here, and there was no predicting where Simon had her.
Moving quickly, they searched the outbuildings. There were no cars or trucks, which confirmed for John that the DiNardos had deserted their compound. The SWAT team lobbed cameras attached to remote controlled vehicles, smashing through windows in the house in both the upstairs and the downstairs. He sat in the van watching the display screens as two officers used what looked like game controls to send the little robots scurrying around the inside. The images showed room after empty room. There was no sign that anyone had even lived there recently. There were no dirty clothes on the floor or dishes on the counter. The entire place was so neat it looked like a model home for a housing development.
John sighed. “We might as well go in and check it out ourselves, make sure no one’s hiding in a closet, and then we can move on to our next target.”
One of the guys with a remote control gave him a quick look. “Where’s the next target?”
“No idea. But once we know for sure she’s not here, we can start figuring that out.”
“Looks clear so far.”
“Wait.” This came from the guy with the other remote, the one that operated the downstairs robot. “Look at that.” He enlarged the screen to show a thin wire snaking from the bottom of the front door to a metal tool box. “Gentlemen, I’d say that place is rigged to blow. This will take some time.”
While they waited for a bomb disposal robot to do its job, John and Nathan met with the rest of the team behind the SWAT vehicle. John felt that if he didn’t find Rane, if he didn’t know real soon she was safe, he’d simply lose his mind. Worry gnawed at his gut, and he kept playing that last scene with her through his head. They’d argued about him placing the bug on her. She’d been mad he hadn’t told her about Savannah. Their last real conversation had been an argument, and what he’d really wanted to say to her, what had been skirting around the edges of his brain for the past week, was that he was in love with her. He, John Garretson, who’d managed to avoid that state his entire life, had fallen fast and hard. He shook his head to clear it. He had to focus, to keep the anxiety dialed back, under control. He’d be no use helping to find her if he couldn’t stay centered and think rationally. “She’s not here. We’ve got to make a new plan.”
Denton nodded his head and spoke in his deep voice. “We’ll go back to the station, do some digging. We need to find out what other properties these bastards might own or use that they could have taken her to.”
“What about Ty? Can we beat it out of him?”
Nathan’s question brought a frown to Denton’s face. “So far, he’s not talking. He insists we’ve got it wrong, that he’s not the dirty dog we think he is.”
“Let me try. I can get him to talk.” Nathan’s tone was grim.
Denton shook his head. “You two check out the DiNardo assets and see what you can find.”
John nodded his agreement because he didn’t have any other ideas. But it didn’t feel right. He didn’t think Simon was simply holding Rane. From her conversation with Kyle, he knew the asshole ultimately planned to kill her. But first he’d want to use her as bait to get at him and Nathan. If he could figure out where they’d holed up, maybe he could lure Simon out, offer himself up as a trade for Rane.
“The old man, you think he knows more than we do?”
John looked at his brother. “What do you mean?”
Nathan stood, fists deep in his jeans pockets. He’d ditched the ragged clothing he’d used to play the bum. “Doug Smith. I know his mind’s shot, but sometimes those folks can have lucid moments. I wonder if he’d have any idea where they’ve got her.”
John cocked a brow at Denton, who nodded. “You two go over to his facility, see if you can get anything out of him. Ben and I’ll go back to headquarters.”
Nathan pulled out the keys to the squad car, and John hit the siren as they raced to talk to an old man.
Chapter Thirteen
John stepped into Doug Smith’s room at the “memory care” wing of the assisted living facility. He really didn’t like euphemisms, but guessed “lost your frigging mind” wing didn’t set the right tone. Waiting in the car, Nathan was on the phone to the team. They’d figured only one guy going in would seem more friendly, less like an interrogation.
John showed his badge and was led to a room where a uniform still kept watch. Douglas Smith sat in a chair by the window, staring out at birds rioting around a loaded feeder. John bet Rane kept it full for her dad. “Mr. Smith, I’d like to speak with you for a minute.”
The gray-haired man turned his head to look at him. “Who are you?”
Age and disease had sapped his vitality, and he looked at John with a blank expression. He couldn’t imagine how Rane dealt with losing her father a piece every day. John cleared his throat. “I’m Detective John Garretson, Seattle PD. I’d like to talk with you about an old case.”
He thought he saw a spark, if not of recognition, at least of interest in the faded eyes. “What case?”
“The DiNardo case.”
This time the change in his expression was definite, and John knew he remembered. “My daughter doesn’t want me to talk about it.”
“Sir, this is important. Rane would be okay with us talking.” He didn’t think he should bring up Rane’s disappearance.
“Bastard got what he deserved. Should never have let him get within ten feet of my little girl.”
He couldn’t fault him for that sentiment. “I’m not so interested in Kyle DiNardo. I need to know anything you remember about Simon.”
“Bad business, that one. Something not right up here.” He tapped his temple, and John found himself nodding in agreement.
“You’re right. And I need to find him before he hurts someone.”
Smith turned back to stare at the birds.
“Sir?” He paused, but got no response. “Mr. Smith, do you remember any property the DiNardos own besides their compound? Anywhere they’d go if they wanted to lie low for a while?”
When the tired gaze returned to his, John wondered if he’d lost him, if whatever moment of clarity he�
�d had was gone. “Sir, do you know where Simon might be?”
“Heaven’s Bounty.”
“What? What’s Heaven’s Bounty?”
Smith’s gaze went again to the birds taking turns alighting on the feeder. “That one little bugger keeps chasing the others off. Thinks all that seed’s his.”
“Mr. Smith, what’s Heaven’s Bounty?”
The old man shook his head and stared mutely out the window.
***
Rane pushed herself up from the couch, movements awkward, to continue her fumbling search of the dimly lit room. She’d lost track of time, but figured she must have been in the room at least two hours, maybe longer. She’d been looking for something with a rough edge she could use to cut through the zip ties binding her wrists. The hard plastic biting into her skin hurt. She’d tried a rough piece of metal, had worked at it for quite a while, and had ended up with scraped wrists and not much else.
She used her foot to shift the haphazard pile of tools on the floor. Nothing promising there. She moved farther along the wall and then spied something that raised her hopes. A plastic grip attached to dull metal lay under a greasy cloth, the same shape as a tool her father had once owned. Turning around, she reached back with her bound hands to grasp the handle and pull it free. A hacksaw, blade splotchy with rust. Why hadn’t she seen this before? Heart pounding, she looked around for someplace she could wedge it where it would be held firm so she could get it between her wrists and work at the plastic bindings. If she could free her wrists, she had a chance.
Inspiration struck, and she carried it to the couch. She laid the saw flat on a dirty cushion and sat on it to hold it steady. Angling her arms awkwardly, she began rubbing the binding against the blade. Feeling the rough metal scraping her skin, she blocked out the discomfort and kept up the movement, giving a quick thanks her tetanus shot was up to date.
The zip tie finally gave and, muscles aching, she brought her hands to her front. She was surprised she was being held in a room with such an obvious tool to help her escape. Her captors either thought she was too stupid to try or didn’t think she’d get far if she did free herself. Using her shirt to wipe the blood smeared on her wrists, she paused, ears straining. The sound of raised voices carried through the wall, muffled and nearly indistinguishable. Someone was seriously unhappy, their voice harsh and threatening. She strained to make out the meaning. The word “overboard” followed by a string of profanity came through then, quite distinctly, “Do this, or the same will happen to you. Got it?”
Whoever responded must have gotten it because the speaker said, “Good,” and then the voices quieted. She moved to press her ear to the door, listening intently, barely breathing. Two sets of footsteps echoed down the corridor outside the room. She chewed her lip. Who did that leave in the office? Maybe the retreating footsteps belonged to Mick and Pete. If she was lucky, they might have left Juan alone in the office. Now might be her chance.
Quickly returning the saw to the workbench and hiding it under an oily rag, she grabbed the zip tie and shoved it under the couch. She pulled down the sleeves of her jacket before moving back to the door. She tried the doorknob on the remote chance it wasn’t locked. It didn’t budge, so she gave it a soft kick. When that got no response, she kicked again a little harder, this time calling out. “Hello, can I talk to someone?”
Waiting, ears pricked for any sound, she finally heard a shuffling noise and the jingle of keys. She stepped back, whipping her hands behind her back. The door opened, and relief washed through her when Juan stuck his head in. “What do you want?”
She kept her voice quiet, soft-spoken, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible. “Please, I need to use the bathroom.” When he just stared at her, she let a pleading tone enter her voice. “I really have to go.”
He glanced furtively up and down the hall then backed up a step. “There’s a bathroom in there.” He jerked his head toward the office.
She didn’t really know what she was going to do, but this was her only chance. Fervently hoping he wouldn’t notice her wrists weren’t really bound, she preceded him out of the room and down the hall. He motioned her into the office. She stepped in and saw something that made her heart beat faster. A cell phone. Someone had left his phone charging on the desk.
A call came from down the hall. “Juan! Get over here!”
Juan turned his head. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
He looked back, and Rane faced him, hands behind her back. “I’ll only be a minute.”
“Be quick, and don’t lock the door.”
She backed into the bathroom and shut the door. The room smelled like it hadn’t been cleaned in years, which was probably why the tiny window high on the wall above the toilet was open to the outside. Gripping her prize tightly and hoping against hope Juan wouldn’t notice the empty charger, she pressed the on button on the phone. It was password-protected, but she tapped the emergency call button at the bottom of the screen and keyed in a number.
The phone was ringing in her ear when a sharp knock sounded at the door. “Get done in there.”
“I’m working on it, really! It’s hard with my hands behind my back.”
She heard a grunt in return, and then the phone connected.
“Garretson.” Just the sound of his voice brought a rush of tears, and she squeezed her eyes shut to force them back.
“John.” She flushed the toilet to conceal her conversation.
“Rane! Where are you?”
Stepping onto the toilet seat to look out the window, she made her voice as low as possible and still have him hear her. “I’m at a warehouse down at the docks. Two guys got me. They work for Simon.”
“Baby, can you give me any more than that?”
“They are big warehouses that maybe used to be canneries. But I think they’re planning to move me to a boat.” Her voice wavered. “They’re planning to kill me. I think they’re going to take me out on the boat and throw me overboard. But they’ll try to get you and Nathan, too, somehow.”
“Sweetheart, don’t worry about us. We’ll find you.”
A sharp rap on the door had her calling out. “I’m almost done. I’ll be out in a sec.” She hopped down and turned on the faucet, sending a blast of water into the stained sink. “I’ve got to go.”
“Rane, wait. Don’t disconnect. Keep the connection as long as you can so we can use it to pinpoint your location.”
“Okay. I’ll do what I can.”
In the end, she stuck the phone up her jacket sleeve with the screen facing away from her arm so her body heat wouldn’t accidently disconnect them. The jacket was bulky enough, and with her arms behind her back, she thought Juan might not notice.
Talking with John, hearing the steady tone of his voice, however briefly, gave her hope that maybe she could survive this. With her fingers clasped behind her back, she opened the door just as Juan was raising his fist to pound once again. “C’mon, before they come back. They’ll work me over if they know I let you out.” He grabbed her elbow to propel her through the office.
Two men came toward them when they stepped into the hall.
“What the fuck? What’d you let her out for?” Mick snarled the words.
“She needed to pee. What was I supposed to do?”
Mick swore and stalked past them while the other man came to a stop in front of Rane. She felt a chill and looked into the ghostly pale eyes of Simon DiNardo.
“Rane, I see you’ve joined us.” He smiled his lipless smile, causing the scar along the side of his face to pucker. “As you can tell, we’ve moved on to the next stage of our plan.” She couldn’t suppress a shudder. There was something about him that made her wonder if he’d crossed the line into insanity.
“Son of a bitch! Where the fuck’s my phone?”
Simon’s gaze never left hers when Mick surged back into the hall. Juan jumped back as Mick grabbed Rane by the shoulder. Coarse hands felt her pockets then around her waistband. She kep
t her hands clasped tightly behind her, desperately hoping he wouldn’t notice the phone. Her heart dropped when he let out a hissing breath. Grasping her wrist, he yanked her hands apart, jerking one arm in front of her and turning to glare at Juan.
“You asshole. Her wrists aren’t even bound.”
Rane pushed back on the flash of sympathy she felt for Juan. Mick continued his search, making her stomach turn when he ran a thumb along the cup of her bra. She held her breath, fingers tightening around the cuff of her jacket sleeve to keep the phone from slipping out, but then he brushed his arm against it. He stuck his fingers under the cuff and pulled it free.
Without missing a beat, he pivoted and delivered a mean punch to Juan, snapping the man’s head back with a blow to the jaw that sent him sprawling across the floor. Rane bit her lip to keep from saying anything. She didn’t want to feel any compassion for the man. He’d let her use the bathroom, but he’d still kidnapped her.
Simon held out his hand, and Mick gave him the phone. He looked at the screen and raised a brow at Rane. He put the phone to his ear. “Looking for your girlfriend, Detective Garretson?” Rane couldn’t make out John’s response, but saw Simon’s lips thin in an oily smile that sent a chill skittering down her spine. “Has she been on the line long enough for you to triangulate this phone’s location? Why don’t you and your brother come for her? Get here soon enough, and you can play hero once again. In just a few moments, she’ll be tied to a propane tank with a very short fuse. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll get here in time, and she won’t be blown into—what do they call it when a person explodes? Oh, yes, pink mist. You wouldn’t want Rane to become pink mist.”
Rane leaned closer. “John, it’s a trap! Be careful!”
Almost absentmindedly, Simon shot out a fist and delivered a blow across her cheek. John must have heard it, because, phone still to his ear, Simon responded. “That’s the least that will happen to Miss Smith. This is all your fault, you know. You and your brother’s. You should have made a deal with me. I wanted Kyle and the rest of my family safe, and a deal would have given me that. But now you’re going to suffer. The funny thing is you’ll come thinking you’ll rescue her, and I’ve no intention of allowing that. But you’ll try, nevertheless.”
Shot Through the Heart Page 15