Person of Interest

by Debra Webb

  “He’s babysitting your sweetie pie,” Ginger sneered.

  A rush of fear shook Joe but the rage that followed hot on its heels obliterated any hint of the more vulnerable emotion. He fixed his gaze on Maddox. “If anything happens to her you’re going to be in need of a second resurrection.”

  Allen scoffed. “Why would we let anything happen to her? She’s what all of this has been about.”

  Confusion momentarily gained a little ground over his fury. “What the hell are you talking about? This bastard—” he indicated Maddox “—has been killing off our people.”

  It was Maddox’s turn to laugh now, sending Joe’s rage right back to the boiling point. That scumbag was a dead man.

  “We have no interest,” Allen explained with enormous ego, “in killing off recycled agents. What we want is Dr. Cameron.”

  “We already have a number of excellent surgeons,” Maddox added, “but not one of her caliber. Our wealthier clients deserve only the best. She is the best.”

  In his line of work Joe had come across the slave trade in most every imaginable walk of life, but this was definitely a first.

  “You intend to make her work for you,” he restated. “Giving rich criminals new faces.”

  “And fingerprints,” Allen said smugly. “We’re even perfecting a way to corrupt DNA, make it unreliable. Amazing, isn’t it?”

  Joe had heard reports on start-up activities like this. Clinics in obscure places attempting to create the ultimate in escapism. New faces, new fingerprints, even new DNA.

  It was a damned shame the Agency’s own people were working against them.

  “It’s amazing all right,” Joe allowed. “Too bad neither of you lowlifes is going to see it become a reality.”

  Ginger took aim once more. “Do you want me to get this over with now?”

  Joe’s fingers itched to go for his own weapon but that would only get him killed. He needed a distraction.

  “You know she’ll refuse,” Joe tossed out there just to buy some time. But he was right. No way would Elizabeth willingly do this.

  Maddox shrugged. “She’ll come around, Hennessey. You know the techniques.”

  The thought of Elizabeth being tortured physically or mentally ripped him apart inside.

  “She really thought you loved her,” he said to Maddox in hopes of stirring some sentimental feelings.

  Ginger laughed. “He doesn’t love anybody.”

  Maddox turned his face toward her, smiled approvingly.

  “Then I guess it won’t matter to either of you that she’s carrying your child.”

  The lie did the trick.

  Ginger’s fire-ready stance wavered for a fraction of a second.

  Just long enough for Joe to react.

  He whipped out his 9 mm and fired twice. Ginger dropped. Maddox and Allen dove for the floor.

  Maddox was the first to return fire.

  Joe rolled to the left. Pulled off another round, capped Allen in the forehead before he’d gotten a grip on his own weapon.

  Maddox started firing. Didn’t let up.

  Joe rolled, curled and twisted to avoid being hit. With no cover it was the only choice he had.

  Maddox disappeared through the door on the far end of the room.

  Joe scrambled to his feet and lunged in that direction.

  He burst through the door just in time to see Maddox going out the window.

  Fire escape.

  Damn.

  At the window a spray of bullets kept Joe from following the route Maddox had taken.

  With the last shot still echoing in the air he risked a look out the window. Maddox was halfway down.

  Joe muttered a curse and propelled himself out onto the uppermost landing.

  He ducked three shots.

  That made sixteen.

  In the few seconds it would take Maddox to replace his clip, Joe rushed downward. One flight of rusty metal steps, then another.

  Bullets pinged against metal, forcing Joe to zigzag as he plunged down the next flight. He got off two rounds, gaining himself a few seconds’ reprieve.

  Maddox hit the pavement in the rear alley, landing on his feet and bolting into a dead run.

  Joe was three seconds behind him.

  His heart pumped madly, sending much needed adrenaline through his veins.

  But he had the advantage from this angle.

  Problem was if he killed Maddox he might not find Elizabeth until it was too late.

  He needed the bastard alive.

  Maddox was likely counting on that.

  Joe stopped. Spread his legs shoulder width apart and took aim.

  The first bullet whizzed right by Maddox’s left ear.

  The second closer still.

  Maddox skidded to a halt. “Okay!” he shouted. “You made your point.”

  Though he held up both hands in a gesture of surrender, Joe wasn’t taking any chances.

  “Place your weapon on the ground, Maddox. Now!” Joe eased toward him, keeping a bead on the back of his head.

  “All right. All right.” He started to lower his weapon, bending at the knees in order to crouch down close enough to lay the Beretta on the ground.

  Ten feet, eight. Sweat beaded on Joe’s forehead as he moved closer still.

  Just as Maddox’s weapon reached shoulder level he dropped and rolled.

  Joe almost fired, but hesitated.

  That split second of hesitation cost him every speck of leverage he’d gained.

  “Looks like we have an impasse,” Maddox said from his position on the ground. Though he lay on his back he’d leaned upward from the waist just enough to get a perfect bead on Joe’s head.

  Joe shrugged nonchalantly. “The way I see it, if we both end up dead, then there won’t be any report for me to file.”

  Maddox grinned. “You always were a cocky SOB. But this time you’ve met your match.”

  “I don’t think so.” Joe’s trigger finger tightened. “Now put down your weapon before I have to kill you.”

  “A good agent never gives up his weapon, Hennessey.”

  The explosion of the bullet bursting from the chamber was deafening in the long, deserted alley.

  The hit dead center.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Elizabeth crouched in the darkest corner of the room. She squeezed the keys in her hand, letting the bite of metal keep her senses sharp.

  David was alive.

  The son of a bitch.

  Fury boiled up inside her, leaving a bitter burn in her throat.

  For weeks after his death she had wished she could have spoken to him one last time before he died. If she’d only had the opportunity to apologize for her impatience and frustration with his work. As dedicated as she had always been to her own work, how could she grow disgruntled about his loyalty to the job? And that was exactly what she’d done. She had used a double standard. It was okay for her to work long hours seven days a week, month in, mouth out, but when he failed to show for weeks on end she’d behaved petulantly.

  She’d kidded herself and pretended they were two of a kind and his long absences didn’t bother her. But they had. To say otherwise was a lie.

  So when she heard about his death she’d tortured herself for endless nights. Thinking of all the things she should have said.

  All that energy…all that emotion wasted on a man who wasn’t worth the time it took to tell him to get lost.

  If only she’d known just what a monster he was she might have killed him herself.

  Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration.

  But she wanted desperately for him to pay for what he had done. He could rot in prison for the rest of his life and she wasn’t sure that would be punishment enough. Yet execution was far too quick and merciful.

  Elizabeth closed her eyes and cleared her mind. She couldn’t be distracted by her hatred and bitterness toward David. She had to focus. Finding a way to escape the man holding her was the only hope she had of s
aving Joe.

  She knew the meeting location.

  All she needed was her freedom.

  Her fingers tightened around the keys once more.

  If she called him in here by crying out in pain as if she were sick, she could…

  Well, she wasn’t sure what she would do but she could make it up as she went.

  God, she prayed, please don’t let him kill Joe.

  If Joe died…there were so many things she wanted to say to him. Too late…just like before.

  Determination roared through her. No. She wouldn’t let this happen to her again.

  She had to do something.

  When David had died there had been nothing she could do. Considering what she knew now she was glad. But this was different. Joe was a good guy and she loved him.

  Why was it she couldn’t do anything personal right? It always seemed as if she went about her relationships backward or sideways or something.

  Deep breath.

  She could do this.

  Pushing to her feet she gathered her courage and prepared to make her move.

  As a doctor she knew his most vulnerable spots. His eyes. The base of the throat. Then, of course, there was always the old reliable scrotum.

  Another deep breath.

  As she exhaled that lungful of air she cried out at the top of her lungs.

  She doubled over, moaned and cried, summoning her most painful memories in an effort to make it sound real.

  The door burst inward.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Elizabeth wailed again, held her stomach as if the pain were so intense she could do nothing else.

  He grabbed her by the arm and tried to pull her up. “I said, what’s wrong with you, bitch?”

  “God, I don’t know.” She moaned long and low.

  He slung the rifle over his shoulder. “Stand up where I can look at you.”

  “Ohhhhhh!” With that savage cry she came up with her hand, stabbed the key to her Lexus into his right eye.

  He screamed.

  His grip on her arm tightened.

  She tried to get free.

  Couldn’t.

  His fingers wrenched her arm painfully. The keys flew across the floor.

  “Don’t move!” He held his left hand over his eye. But he kept her close with the other. “I could kill you!” he snarled like a wounded animal.

  Her heart thudded so hard she couldn’t draw in a breath. She had to get loose.

  Then she remembered her one other weapon.

  Her free hand went into her pocket. Her fingers curled around the ink pen.

  There was only one way to get away from this man.

  She reared her arm back and brought it down hard, shoving the ink pen into the soft tissue at the base of his throat.

  He released her. Grabbed at his throat as he frantically gasped for air.

  She bolted for the door.

  He grabbed her by the waist.

  She screamed, tried to twist free.

  His weight slammed into her back and they went down together.

  She landed in a sprawl on the floor with him atop her.

  His fingers curled around her throat. She tried to buck him off. Tried to roll. But he was too heavy. Horrible gasping sounds came from his throat as he struggled to get air past the hole she’d made. Blood soaked into the neck of his T-shirt, dripped down his cheek.

  The pressure on her throat cut off her airway. She bucked and gasped. Pulled at his arms. No good.

  Blackness swam before her eyes.

  Desperate, she clawed at his face. At his injured eye and then at his throat.

  He howled and fell off her.

  She scrambled away from him. Clambered to her feet and raced toward the door.

  She didn’t slow or look back until she was out of the small house and on the street.

  Hysteria slammed into her full throttle. She stood in the middle of the street and turned all the way around. Where was she?

  She’d been blindfolded as she was brought here. The drive had been hours long. She’d dozed off once. She had no idea where she was.

  Her gaze landed on a vehicle up the street and she ran in that direction until she could make out the license plate.

  New Jersey.

  The Garden State.

  New Jersey?

  The air raging in and out of her lungs, she stood there and tried to think. Avenue A. She’d heard that location mentioned. Warehouse.

  A phone. She needed a phone—911. Help. She needed help.

  The low drone of an automobile engine sounded behind her. She spun around and her heart leaped. Help!

  She ran toward the car. Waved her arms frantically. “Help me! I need the police!”

  The car sped forward, hurried past her. The elderly female driver stared wide-eyed at her.

  “Help!” Elizabeth cried once more.

  It was no use. The woman drove away as fast as she could. Elizabeth looked down at herself then. Blood was smeared on the front of her pale blue blouse. Her hair was likely disheveled. No wonder the woman didn’t stop.

  Panic slid around her throat like a noose. A crashing sound had her pivoting toward the door of the house she’d escaped.

  The sound hadn’t come from there.

  Thank God.

  A phone. She pushed the hair back from her face. Concentrate, Elizabeth. She needed a phone.

  She rushed toward the next house. There wasn’t a vehicle in the driveway. Please, please let someone be home.

  Balling her bloody fist she banged on the door. “Is anyone home?” She banged harder. “Please, I need to use your phone. It’s an emergency. Please.”

  No one was home. If they were, fear kept them from answering the door.

  She rushed back out to the street, looked both ways for a driveway with a car in it.

  There had to be someone home, car or no car.

  Elizabeth rushed from house to house, pounded on door after door.

  Finally a door opened. An elderly man stood on the opposite side of the threshold.

  “Can’t you read?” he groused.

  Elizabeth blinked, uncertain what he meant. She tried to calm her respiration. Tried to make herself think rationally.

  “See!” He tapped a sigh hanging next to his door.

  No solicitation.

  “No!” She stepped into the path of the closing door. “I need help. I need the police.”

  He seemed to really look at her then. Blinked behind the thick lenses of his glasses.

  “What happened to you?”

  “Please,” she pleaded. “I need to call the police.”

  His gaze narrowed in suspicion and for a moment, she feared he wasn’t going to let her inside. Finally he backed up, gestured for her to come in.

  He quickly surveyed his porch and yard. “Is somebody after you?”

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.” She looked around the room. “I need to use your phone.”

  He shuffled toward the kitchen. “It’s in here.”

  Elizabeth rushed past him, almost knocking him over. She didn’t take the time to apologize. She had to warn Joe.

  Her first instinct was to call 911. But the police might not take her word for what was happening. And she didn’t have the exact location. The Agency would surely know Joe’s plan for connecting with his contact.

  She punched in the number she’d learned by heart long ago. A voice answered on the first ring.

  “I need to speak with Director Calder.” Elizabeth ID’d herself using the code name and number she’d been given when she first agreed to work with the Agency.

  When Director Calder’s voice came across the line Elizabeth felt the sting of tears. Thank God.

  She explained about David and warned that Joe was walking into a trap somewhere in the vicinity of Avenue A here in New Jersey.

  The phone cut out.

  “What did you say?” She’d missed whatever Director Calder
had said.

  He repeated, but again the phone started cutting out and she only got a word here and a word there.

  She turned to the owner of the house. “Is there something wrong with your phone?”

  In the moments it took him to answer, fear surged into her throat. What if she hadn’t completely disabled her captor? What if he was out there attempting to tamper with the phone line? Her heart pounded erratically.

  “Damn thing won’t hardly hold a charge anymore. Just put her back in the cradle for a minute and she’ll be fine.”

  “Director Calder?” she shouted into the mouthpiece of the receiver but the line was dead.

  She depressed the talk button again and again. “You’re sure that’s all it is?”

  The old man nodded. “It’s the only one I got. Being cordless lets me use it all around the house but lately it won’t hold a charge for long. I guess I left it out of the cradle too long today.”

  Elizabeth stuck the phone back into its cradle and took two deep, calming breaths. She’d made the call. Even though she didn’t know what Calder had said, he’d gotten all she needed to tell him. He would ensure help got to where Joe was supposed to meet his contact.

  “You need to wash up or something?” the old man asked. He looked at her face and then her hands. “Your throat’s all red and swollen. You sure you’re okay, lady?”

  She shuddered and considered all the diseases she could catch with that horrible man’s blood all over her.

  “I’d like to wash up,” she managed to get past the lump in her throat. Her body shook so hard she could barely stay vertical. She recognized the symptoms. The receding adrenaline. She’d have to be careful about shock. She’d been through an ordeal.

  “Down the hall.” He gestured to the hall at her left.

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  Her legs as weak as a toddler taking her first steps, she staggered to the bathroom.

  “Sweet Lord.” Her reflection was not a pretty sight. Her hair was a mess. Her face had a few smears of blood but her blouse was the worst. And her throat was red and swollen. Her bloody blouse was even torn.

  She shuddered again, wondered if the man who’d been holding her captive was laying in that other house dying. She should call 911.

  Being quick about it, she thoroughly washed her hands and face. She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed. That was the best she could do. Before leaving the bathroom she said one more urgent prayer for God to watch over Joe.