by Alison Stone
The girl’s face twisted in annoyance. “You do it.”
Bridget frantically scanned the room. Jimmy blocked the door. And she’d never be able to lift the window without his violent reaction—or her hands. The back of her head was still throbbing from when he yanked her ponytail.
Don’t give up so easily. Maybe there’s an exit. Her gaze drifted to the arched doorway leading to a small front foyer. Blooms of brown water stains covered the ceiling.
Jimmy must have read her mind, because he grabbed Bridget by the arm and tossed her from the couch to the ground. She bit back a yelp when her hip slammed into the hardwood floor and her shoulder into the radiator. Every inch of her body ached, but that paled in comparison to the rioting fear scrambling her thoughts and sending a million pinpricks tightening her tingling skin.
Jimmy snatched the rope from the couch where the young woman had flung it. Bridget struggled to roll over, sit up, but before she had a chance, he kicked her back down. Her breath whooshed out of her. He lunged toward her, grabbed her ankle and dragged her against the radiator under the window. He worked quickly and tied her to the radiator.
Jimmy yanked on the rope to make sure it was secure. The plastic of the zip tie cut into her wrists. She clenched her jaw. He leaned in close and gave her a smile that made her blood run cold. “You’re going to be a good girl, right?”
Heat washed over Bridget’s face and she nodded, not trusting her voice.
“Ralphie wants to see you himself.” He patted her cheek with his open palm. “Wants to make sure I have the right girl this time.” He tilted his head, as if reasoning with himself.
“You didn’t mean to kill Ashley?” Bridget finally found her voice.
“Ralphie told me I made a big mess. Your death might have been written off as wrong place, wrong time, but two suspicious deaths, especially when you worked together, wouldn’t look so hot.” He peeled his lips back from his teeth making a sucking noise. “I figured I did him a favor. I found the DEA business card in her apartment when I followed her home.” Still crouched down next to her, he scratched his jaw. “I tried to make it look like she packed up and took off, but she was a fighter. Killed her, took her car and dumped her where I watched her jog.” He dragged a rough finger down her cheek and she squirmed with nowhere to go. “Even found a way to call in a vacation day so no one would come looking for her right away.” He was obviously pleased with himself.
Bridget took shallow breaths, trying to focus as the walls grew close. He had been stalking them. Over his shoulder, the girl seemed out of it.
“So...” He pushed to his feet. “I’m gonna see that you keep your mouth shut forever.”
Jimmy grabbed a gun from the side table. Bridget bit back a yelp and he gave her an ugly smile. “Don’t worry. Ralphie wants to chat a bit first. Then I get to hurt you.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Bridget pleaded. “Please.”
Jimmy shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Your boss should have considered the people he was getting involved with.”
Bridget’s pulse roared in her ears. “How did you meet Dr. Ryan? I don’t understand how he got messed up in all this.”
“Far as I know, the doctor had a son with a gambling problem. A very big problem with some very bad people. Started off simply enough. Sell drugs. Make cash. Pay off the loans. Easy to get sucked in, though. Like gambling, I suppose. Not so easy to get out. Turns out, the world is filled with lots of bad people.”
Bridget drew in a deep breath and blinked slowly. “Did you kill the doctor in jail?”
Jimmy narrowed his gaze and something sparked in his eyes. He enjoyed all of this. “You ask too many questions.” He set the gun on the table next to the girl and said, “Shoot her if she moves, but don’t kill her.” He locked eyes with Bridget. “I’ll be right back.” His even tone belied the evil swirling in the dark pools of his eyes. A shiver raced up her spine. This man was broken.
Bridget tracked Jimmy until he slammed the front door and the dead bolt clicked. Her shoulders ached at the awkward angle her body was contorted in, bound to the radiator. She turned her attention to the girl on the couch, who was focusing on the gun. She petted it as if it were a kitty seeking attention. The drugged-out girl’s detached manner made Bridget’s entire body tremble. Something was seriously wrong with this girl. Bridget’s insides twisted at the thought that this intoxicated person was her only hope.
Bridget forced a smile. “Please untie me. He’s going to kill me.” She didn’t mince words. “Please.”
The girl playfully fingered the gun, the smooth metal twirling easily on the wooden surface. “What did you do to tick off Ralphie?” she asked without lifting her eyes from the gun.
“I’m a nurse at a health-care clinic. I reported some prescription discrepancies.” Bridget decided to try the truth.
The girl’s gaze finally landed on Bridget. “Why?”
“Because it was the right thing to do.” Bridget tried to shift her shoulders, but nothing would relieve the pain.
“That was dumb.” The girl laughed. She stopped playing with the gun and reached into the side table.
Bridget’s stomach threatened to revolt. She closed her eyes and said a prayer.
She didn’t know how much longer she could hold on to hope.
Zach, come find me.
* * *
Zach worked the phone while he raced toward Buffalo. His gut told him this guy was taking Bridget to his home territory. His phone buzzed. It was his ASAC.
“Ma’am,” he said into the phone.
“Where are you?”
“Headed back to Buffalo.”
“Okay, good. We tied the license plate from the photo Bridget sent you to James Demmer.” The guy Zach recognized in the surveillance photos.
“Address?”
“Sent an agent there. His mother hasn’t seen him in weeks. Zach...” She seemed to be weighing her words carefully. “He’s affiliated with one of the most violent gangs in Buffalo.”
A knot fisted in his gut. Not the kind of information he wanted confirmed. “We need a list of their stash houses.” Stay focused.
“Zach, I think you should get back to the office. I have agents on this. We’ll find Bridget.”
“But—”
“You’re too involved with this case. Come in. You can work it from behind the desk. I can hear the emotion in your voice.”
Zach drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Colleen...”
“Listen, you’ve been fully cleared to come back to work next week. You don’t want to do anything to mess that up.”
“I’ve got to find her.”
“I know, I know. We’ll find her. You need to come in.”
Zach was about to protest when his ASAC added, “I was going to wait to share the report with you next week. They finished the investigation into Kevin Pearson’s death.”
“Oh...” His heart thrummed like molasses through his veins.
“Turns out your confidential informant was working both sides. He was relaying information back to his bosses.”
“He knew how dangerous that was,” Zach said in disbelief. “I warned him.”
“Pearson went against everything you had told him. His death, although unfortunate, is not your fault.”
Zach scrubbed a hand across his face. “I should have had a better read on the kid. If I hadn’t recruited him as an informant—”
“His brother told one of our agents that he mocked your advice.” Zach could imagine his supervisor shaking her head. “Kevin was reckless. In light of this, you’re cleared to go back into the field.”
“Undercover? Great, great.” The traffic in front of him slowed.
“You’ll come in to the office. I’ve got Frank on this. As soon as we pull up any potential locations on James Demmer and this
Ralphie character, we’ll send in a team. I promise.”
Silence stretched across the line. “You’re too invested in this. Report to headquarters. You hear me?” Colleen asked.
“I hear you.” He went to change lanes, and a car honked at him. “Traffic is getting heavy. I need to go.”
Zach ended the call and counted to five, then called Special Agent Frank Levy.
“I figured I’d be hearing from you,” Frank said by way of greeting.
“What do you have?” Zach didn’t bother with the formalities.
“Lots of our agents are out in the field getting eyes on any of the known stash houses of the BFLO gang.”
“Jimmy’s part of the BFLO gang? You’re sure?” Zach’s scalp tightened. Not good. He had hoped his supervisor’s intel had been wrong. They were an especially violent gang. He kept tapping the brake, riding the bumper of the car in front of him. Get over, get over, get over...
“Yeah. And we found a Ralphie, a Ralph Booth. He’s got ties to two addresses in Buffalo. We’ve got eyes on both.” Frank’s phone cut out. “Hold up. One of the agents is calling in.”
The car in front of Zach finally got over. He put the pedal all the way down and raced toward Buffalo. His job might be in jeopardy if he didn’t follow the ASAC’s orders.
His career wouldn’t mean much if he couldn’t save Bridget.
Frank came back on the line. “One of our agents spotted Jimmy coming out of a house on Lisbon Avenue.” He rattled off the house number.
“Was he alone? Do they have eyes on him?”
“Yes and yes. Our guy’s following him. No sign of Bridget Miller.”
“Is she in the house?” Zach entered the address into his GPS.
“We don’t know. A police officer is watching the house in an undercover car. He’ll report any action on the house. We’ll get a warrant.”
“I’m headed there.”
“Gotcha.” If Frank knew Zach had orders to come straight to the office, he didn’t say. Working in a tight-knit group had some perks. They each covered the other’s backs.
Zach ended the call and floored it. The GPS said he’d arrive in twenty minutes.
As long as no one got in his way, he’d be there in fifteen.
Or less.
EIGHTEEN
Bridget’s shoulders ached from the awkward position with her arms tethered to the radiator. The girl on the couch was more interested in searching for split ends than listening to Bridget’s reasons as to why she didn’t deserve to be held captive.
Bridget prayed that Zach could track her down. Somehow.
“What’s your name?” Bridget asked.
“Heather,” she said almost automatically before glancing up, annoyed, as if Bridget had tricked her into something.
“Do you live here? Or is this Jimmy’s house?” She needed a thread of hope that Zach could track her to this address.
The girl harrumphed. “Stop asking questions.”
Bridget changed tactics. “My family is going to be worried about me.”
The girl’s head snapped up, and her slack features contorted in anger. Instinctively, Bridget yanked on the rope. It wouldn’t budge. “My family are a bunch of jerks. They don’t care about me.”
A sharp cramp stabbed her between the shoulder blades. She sucked in a quick breath, then tried to relax her muscles. “Sometimes I think my family doesn’t care about me, either.” The words came out of her mouth before she had a chance to consider their effect.
The girl’s brow furrowed. “You brought it on yourself when you decided to be a tattletale.”
“I thought I was doing the right thing.” Bridget would have shrugged if she thought it wouldn’t hurt. “I’m a nursing student. I want to put this all behind me.”
“Boo-hoo,” Heather mocked her. Then she picked up a couch pillow and hugged it. “Jimmy said he had to make a trip to Hickory Lane.” She got a faraway look in her eyes. “I went there once with my grandma. Bunch of Amish there.”
“I’m Amish,” Bridget offered, hoping to somehow make a connection with the girl. “I mean, I grew up Amish.”
“Really?” The single word came out on a laugh of disbelief. “What are you, on that Rumspringa?”
“Well...” Bridget grimaced. “Any chance you could untie me? My arms are killing me.”
“Yeah...nope.” The girl reached over and grabbed a small kit from the table and popped it open. Bridget couldn’t see what it was.
“So, you and your grandma visited Hickory Lane?” Bridget tried to draw the girl back into conversation.
“Yeah...” Heather blinked slowly a few times. “I can’t believe you guys don’t have TVs. What do you do at night?” Her words were slurred.
“Read. Quilt.” Bridget scooted back in a useless attempt to relieve the tension on her shoulders and arms.
The girl shook her head and twisted her lips. She reached into the kit propped open on the pillow and produced a syringe. Bridget’s stomach twisted. For the briefest of moments, she thought Heather was going to inject her with something. Instead, the young woman grabbed a band and wrapped it around her own arm.
“Please don’t do that,” Bridget pleaded. “There’s places you can get help.” She studied the girl’s face. She seemed to pause a moment before putting one end of the band into her mouth and pulling it tight with the other. The girl prepared the drug, filled the needle, then plunged it into her arm. Bridget’s heart ached.
All of Heather’s features slackened, her eyes closed and her head fell back on the couch. A single tear tracked down Bridget’s face. Despair filled her heart despite her prayers.
Bridget wasn’t sure how much time had passed. She had begun to doze when a gurgling noise jostled her awake. The girl was slumped to one side and choking on her own vomit. Bridget yanked on her tethered arms. Pain and panic sliced through her. This girl was going to die.
“Help! Help!” Bridget screamed.
A moment later a key sounded in the front door. Jimmy stormed in, his face twisted in anger. He stomped over to Bridget and pressed his damp palm over her mouth. Nicotine was deep in his pores. “Shut up, you idiot.” He jammed her head against the radiator, and a new pain sliced through the back of her head. “Shut up!”
Bridget opened her eyes wide and gestured toward the couch behind him. She made an unintelligible sound against his grubby hand. Seeming to sense something else was going on, Jimmy dropped his hand and spun around. “Heather!”
Her eyes were closed. She convulsed and foamed at the mouth.
He tapped her face. “Wake up, wake up, wake up.” His frantic tone was in sharp contrast to his evil persona. “Oh, you stupid girl.” Jimmy spun around. “She’s choking!” He straightened and clasped his hands behind his neck and paced. “This is bad. This is bad. Ralphie’s gonna be mad.”
Bridget stuffed down her anger. He was more concerned about himself than the poor girl on the couch. “Jimmy! Jimmy!” she said sharply. “Stop. Look at me.”
The man stopped midstride and glared at her. “Shut up. I can’t think.”
“I can help her. You need to untie me.”
Jimmy scrubbed a hand across his face. “Shut up.”
“She’s going to aspirate if you don’t help her. If you don’t want to untie me, you help her. I’ll tell you what to do.” The intermittent coughs and sputters from the young woman assured Bridget that she was still breathing. “Put her on the hard floor. Turn her on her side...”
When Jimmy made no effort to move, Bridget said more forcefully, “You have to act now!”
Jimmy took a step toward the girl, then pivoted back toward her. “You know what to do?”
“Yes.”
Indecision played on his features, then gave way. Dropping to his knees, he yanked at the knots that had grown tighter with her stru
ggle. He reached behind him and pulled a knife out of a sheath on his belt. He sawed the rope, then the zip tie. Bridget’s numb arms fell heavily.
She pushed to her feet and nearly collapsed because her right foot was asleep. “Move her to the floor.” She rubbed her wrists vigorously to get blood flowing again.
Jimmy did as he was told, suddenly more concerned about someone other than Bridget. And himself. He set the girl down on the hardwood floor. Bridget crawled over to her and turned her on her side. She hesitated for a fraction. In an ideal situation she’d wash her hands, but a little dirt was the least of this poor girl’s concern. She swept out Heather’s mouth to clear her airway.
“Is she breathing?” Jimmy asked, hovering over Bridget’s shoulder.
A flash of his humanity shone in his eyes. How did people go so wrong?
Bridget checked on her patient. “Yes, she’s breathing...you need to keep a close eye on her. Or take her to the hospital.”
Jimmy’s eyes darted toward the door, then back at her. “That’s exactly what you’d want, isn’t it?”
Bridget sat back on her heels. “I don’t want any of this.”
His mouth twitched. Before he could lash out at her, a pounding sounded on the front door. Jimmy cursed. He stomped toward the front door and pulled back the heavy curtain on one of the sidelights to peek out. He unbolted the door, and another man came in. The subtle bow of Jimmy’s head made it clear who was in charge. The man took in the scene. “What’s going on here?”
Jimmy seemed to take in the situation, too. Bits of vomit were tangled in the girl’s long hair that was splayed across the hardwood floor. Her leg was bent at an awkward angle.
Jimmy didn’t need to answer for the man to come to his own conclusions. “You need to get her out of here.”
Bridget straightened her back. “This girl needs to go to the hospital.”
A slow slant curved the man’s lips, making a cold chill skitter up her spine. “Ah, Bridget... You should be more concerned about yourself.”
Bridget scooted away until her back was pressed against the couch. The man approached her menacingly.