by Karen Rose
He flicked on his lights. His speedometer had already climbed to eighty.
“That was Frank. He said he’s found Bailey.”
Alex sucked in a breath. “Alive?”
Daniel’s jaw was taut. “He says so.” He pressed a button on his phone. “Luke, I need you to turn around and meet me at . . .” He held the phone to Alex. “Tell him the address. Tell him it’s out past the old O’Brien mill. Susannah will know where that is.”
Which had been what “at least made sense.”
Alex did and Daniel took the phone back. “Frank Loomis says he’s found where they’re holding Bailey Crighton. Call Chase, have him send backup. I’m going to call Corchran in Arcadia. I trust him and he’s close by.” He listened and glanced at Alex. “That’s why I’m calling Corchran. He won’t get there too much after us. He can take Alex and Susannah.”
Alex didn’t argue. He looked too intense. Dangerous. She felt no threat to herself, but grim satisfaction that whoever crossed them would be forever sorry.
He hung up and handed her the phone. “Find Corchran’s number in my notebook and dial it, please.” She did and he quickly brought the Arcadia sheriff up to speed and requested his presence. He hung up again and put his phone back in his pocket.
“I thought you and Chase checked out O’Brien’s mill,” she said.
“The new mill, yes. I forgot about the old mill. I haven’t been out there since I was a little kid. It was just a pile of rubble even then.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “When we get there, please stay in the car with your head down.” He looked at her, his gaze sharp and hard. “Promise me.”
“I promise.”
Friday, February 2, 3:15 p.m.
“It’s done.” Under the cover of the trees, Loomis pocketed his phone. “He’s coming.”
As if there had been any doubt. “Very good.”
“Now let me go. I’ll go pick Bailey and the girl up and take them to the hospital.”
“No. I need you to stay here. In fact, I need you to move.” He gestured with his pistol. “Out in the open.”
Loomis’s face showed his shock. “Why?”
“Because even Judas showed up to the Last Supper.”
Stunned realization dawned in Loomis’s eyes. “You’re going to kill Daniel.”
“Probably not me.” He shrugged. “You made the call to Vartanian. If you’re not here to meet him when he gets here, he’ll leave, and then my fun is spoiled. So move.”
“But Mansfield will see me,” Loomis said, disbelief making his voice high-pitched.
“Exactly.”
“And then he’ll kill me,” Loomis said, tonelessly now.
He smiled. “Exactly.”
“And he’ll kill Daniel. You planned to kill him all along.”
“And everyone took you for just a slack-jawed, hick sheriff. Move.” He waited until Loomis started to creep to the edge of the woods, then gave his silencer a good twist. “And just to make sure you don’t do something stupid like try to run . . .” He fired once into Loomis’s thigh. With an agonized cry, Loomis sank to the ground. “Get up,” he said coldly. “When you see Vartanian’s car drive up, you walk on out to meet him.”
Friday, February 2, 3:30 p.m.
“We have to go.” The captain of the small boat scanned the landscape nervously. “I’m not waiting for your boss any longer, not while I’m sitting on this kind of cargo.”
Mansfield tried his cell again, with no answer. “He was taking care of the ones who couldn’t travel. Let me go back and find him.” He leaped to the dock.
“Tell your boss I’m waitin’ five more minutes, then I’m gone.”
Mansfield turned, eying the man coldly. “You’ll wait till we get back.”
The captain shook his head. “I don’t take my orders from you. You’re wasting time.”
It was true. Nobody took orders from Mansfield. Not anymore. No thanks to Daniel-fucking-Vartanian. And whoever stirred up all this shit to start with—who, if Daniel had really been as smart as everyone always said he was, should have been caught already. But he wasn’t caught because Daniel was as big a fuck-up as everyone else.
Clenching his teeth, he pushed the heavy door aside and walked down the hall, frowning at the dead girls. What a waste. With a little time, they would have been fit for resale. Now they were useless.
His steps slowed as he approached the cell that had held the chaplain. The door was open, a body slumped over the threshold, but something wasn’t right. He drew his gun and soundlessly moved forward. Fuck. It was one of Harvard’s security guys, not the chaplain, as it should have been. Mansfield rolled him over and grimaced. The man had been ripped open, stem to stern.
Wiping his bloody hands on the guard’s pants, Mansfield checked the next cell. The door was ajar. And the cell was empty. Bailey was gone. He took off at a run, coming to a dead stop as he rounded the corner and nearly tripped over the body crumpled in a heap on the floor. Mansfield dropped to his knees, checking his pulse. Harvard was alive.
“The boat’s leaving in a few minutes. Get up.” Mansfield started to lift him only to have his hand pushed away.
“Bailey got away.” Harvard lifted his head, his eyes bleary. “Where’s Beardsley?”
“Gone.”
“Fuck. They can’t get far. Beardsley has a hole in his gut and Bailey’s shaking so hard she can barely walk. Find them before they bring the cops on our heads.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll live,” he said acidly. “Which is more than I can say for the two of us if we’re found here, with all these bodies.” He struggled to sit up and reached for his gun, but his holster was empty. “Dammit. Beardsley has my gun. Give me your backup.”
Mansfield pulled his pistol from his ankle holster.
“Now move your ass. Find Bailey and Beardsley and kill them.”
Friday, February 2, 3:30 p.m.
Frank was waiting for them outside what looked like a concrete bunker. The perimeter was overgrown with weeds and the road was pitted from disuse. Daniel checked his watch. Luke and Sheriff Corchran should be here any minute.
“What is this place?” Alex asked.
“It was the O’Brien paper mill back in the twenties. They upgraded to the new mill in my grandfather’s day, when the town got a railroad spur.” He pointed beyond the trees to where the Chattahoochee River flowed. “Before that, they used the river to bring logs in and move the paper out.”
“I thought you said it was a pile of rubble.”
“It was. That bunker’s new, and camouflaged well enough that we didn’t see it from the air.” He said no more, watching Frank, who was leaning against his squad car, watching them.
“What are you waiting for?” Alex hissed, her voice vibrating like a plucked string.
“Backup,” he said succinctly, not taking his eyes from Frank. “And Sheriff Corchran to take you to where it’s safe.” He heard her indrawn breath and knew she wanted to argue, but he knew she would not and he respected her for it. “I don’t want to get Bailey killed by going in there half-cocked, Alex. If she is in there and she’s alive, I want to bring her out that way for you.”
“I know.” The words were barely audible. “Thank you, Daniel.”
“Don’t thank me. Not for this. Shit.” Frank was coming toward them, lumbering almost, and it wasn’t until he was a foot away that Daniel saw the dark wet stain on his pants leg. “He’s been hit.” The hackles raised on the back of his neck and he put the car into reverse.
Alex unsnapped her seat belt, but he grabbed her arm. “Wait.”
Alex stared at him. “We can’t just let him bleed to death. He knows where Bailey is.”
“Wait, I said.” Daniel’s mind was racing, but indecision kept his brain spinning out of gear. Trap, his mind was screaming. But he’d been friends with this man a very long time. He rolled down his window a few inches. “What happened?”
“Caught a bullet,” Frank gritted, h
ooking his fingers in the open space of the window, smearing blood on the glass. He leaned in close. “Turn around and go. I’m sor—”
A shot cracked the air and after a split second of stunned pain and disbelief, Frank slid down Daniel’s car door. Daniel was already slamming his foot on the gas, sending them careening backward. “Get down!” he barked, not looking to see if Alex obeyed.
He wrenched the wheel, prepared to do a one-eighty. Then flew forward, smacking his head against the wheel when he hit something large and solid. From the corner of his eye he saw Alex slide down the dash to the floor in a heap.
Dazed, he looked up into his rearview and saw another Dutton patrol car, then looked right and saw Randy Mansfield standing in front of Alex’s open car door holding a Smith & Wesson .40 caliber semiautomatic. Pointed at Alex’s head.
“Drop the gun, Danny,” Randy said calmly. “Or I’ll kill her while you watch.”
Daniel blinked, reality congealing in a rush. Alex. She was huddled on the floorboard, motionless, and his heart stopped. “Alex. Alex?”
“I said give me the gun. Now.” He held out his left hand. His right still held his Smith at Alex’s head.
Where are you, Luke? Keeping his eyes on Mansfield’s gun, he slowly extended his Sig, grip first. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to shoot me,” Mansfield said dryly. He slipped Daniel’s Sig into the back of his waistband. “Give me your backup, just as slow.”
“She might be dead already,” Daniel made himself say. “Why should I do anything you say?”
“She’s not dead. She’s just playin’ possum.” He shoved the barrel of his gun into Alex’s head, but she didn’t move, and Mansfield looked impressed. “Either she’s really knocked out cold or she’s really good at playin’ possum. Either way, she’s still alive but won’t be in about ten seconds unless you do what I say.”
Gritting his teeth, Daniel pulled his backup from his ankle holster. Dammit, Luke, where the fuck are you? “You sonofabitch,” he hissed to Mansfield.
Mansfield took his revolver, then motioned with his head. “Get out of the car and put your hands on the hood. Nice and slow, you know the drill.”
Daniel got out of the car and looked to where Frank lay, not moving. “Is he dead?”
“If he’s not, he will be soon. Hands on the hood, Vartanian. You, get up.” He shoved the gun at Alex’s head again, but from his new position, Daniel couldn’t see if she moved or not. With a frustrated huff, Mansfield slid Daniel’s backup into his waistband next to his Sig, then grabbed Alex’s hair and yanked. Still nothing.
Daniel pushed back his panic. She was probably unconscious. It might be a blessing in disguise. Mansfield would leave her here, and Luke would find her.
“Pick her up,” Mansfield said, stepping back.
“What?”
“You heard me. Pick her up and carry her inside. I may need her later.” Mansfield motioned impatiently with his gun. “Do it.”
“She could have a back injury.”
Mansfield rolled his eyes. “Vartanian, I’m not stupid.”
Gingerly, Daniel lifted her from the car. Her breathing was shallow but steady. “Alex,” he whispered.
“Vartanian,” Mansfield snapped. “Move.”
Daniel scooped her into his arms, one arm under her knees, the other clutching her shoulders. Her head lolled like a rag doll and he remembered Sheila, dead in the corner. His arms tightened around her and he flicked a last desperate glance over his shoulder. Luke, goddammit. Where are you?
Chapter Twenty-five
Friday, February 2, 3:30 p.m.
From the cover of the trees, Bailey watched the unmarked car race by doing nearly a hundred, its lights flashing. Police. Relief had her nearly passing out. The cops were headed toward the compound. Maybe more would come. She had to get to the road.
She shook the girl’s shoulder. “Come on,” she rasped. “Walk.”
“I can’t.” It came out a moan and Bailey knew the girl could go no further.
“Then stay here. If I don’t come back, try to get help for yourself.”
The girl grabbed her arm, eyes wide with terror. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”
Bailey firmly removed the girl’s hand. “If I don’t get you help, you’ll die.”
The girl’s eyes closed. “Then just let me die.”
Beardsley’s voice came to her mind. “Not on my watch.” She turned to the road and forced her feet to move, but her knees kept giving out. So she crawled. The road was raised and she had to climb an embankment. Her hands kept slipping on the grass, her palms wet with blood. Move your ass, Bailey. Move.
She was a few feet from the road when she heard the second car. Picturing Hope’s sweet face, then Beardsley’s bloodied one, she threw herself forward. The car came around the bend, swerving in a cloud of dust and screeching brakes. She heard shouts. A man’s voice. Then a woman’s.
“Did you hit her?” the woman asked. She crouched and Bailey could see dark hair and big gray eyes, filled with fear. “My God. Did we do this?”
“We didn’t hit her.” The man hunkered down, his touch gentle. “Oh, shit. She’s been beaten and she’s burning up.” He ran his hands down her arms, then her legs. His hand stilled abruptly on her ankle, then he gently gripped her chin. “Are you Bailey?”
She nodded once. “Yes. My baby, Hope. Is she alive?”
“Yes, she’s alive and she’s safe. Susannah, call Chase. Tell him we found Bailey and tell him to get us an ambulance ASAP. Then call Daniel and tell him to come back.”
Bailey grabbed his arm. “Alex?”
He looked up the road and Bailey’s heart sank. “She was in that car? Oh my God.”
His black eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“He’ll kill her. He has no reason not to. He killed them all.” The pictures flooded her mind. “He killed them all.”
“Who? Bailey, listen to me. Who did this to you?” But she couldn’t speak. She rocked, thinking of the girls, chained to the walls, their eyes wide and lifeless. “Bailey.” The pressure on her chin increased. “Who did this to you?”
“Luke.” The woman came back, cell phones in both hands, her face paler than before. “I called Chase and he’s sending help, but Daniel doesn’t answer.”
Friday, February 2, 3:40 p.m.
The stage was set. All the players were here. All Mack had to do was sit back and watch the fun, but he’d have to make it happen quickly. They knew who he was now, so any dallying with pretty Alex Fallon would have to be cut short. By morning he’d have left his final blanket-wrapped victim and the circle would be complete.
By noon tomorrow he’d be behind the wheel of Gemma Martin’s repainted ’Vette and halfway to Mexico, and he’d never look back.
But for now . . . the rest of the pillars were about to fall.
Friday, February 2, 3:45 p.m.
Alex’s head hurt and her scalp burned, but otherwise she was unhurt. She’d been dazed by the crash, but heard every word between Daniel and Mansfield. She’d focused on remaining limp, and it was harder than it looked. But for now, she seemed to have fooled both Mansfield and Daniel. Her heart clenched at Daniel’s worry, but for now that’s the way it needed to be.
Where was Luke? she thought. He should have been here, long before now.
Daniel had carried her inside the bunker. She’d kept her eyes closed, but she could hear the echo of his and Mansfield’s footsteps in the silence. There were no stairs, just a long straight hallway. Then Daniel turned, easing her to the right, through a doorway.
“Put her on the floor,” Mansfield commanded, and gently Daniel laid her down. “Now sit.” She felt cold as Daniel moved away, taking his warmth with him. “Put your hands behind you.” She heard the clink of metal and realized Mansfield had just handcuffed Daniel. She’d hoped Daniel would detect the gun she’d slipped in her waistband while he was carrying her, but he hadn’t. So it’s up to me.
“Why did
you shoot Frank Loomis?” Daniel asked. “He called me, just like you wanted him to.”
There was a moment of silence. “Shut up, Daniel.”
“You didn’t know he’d called me,” Daniel said, new speculation in his voice. “He wasn’t working with you.”
“Shut up.”
Daniel didn’t shut up. “What are you doing here? Using the river to transport drugs?”
Alex fought not to wince as she heard the blow, then Daniel’s muted grunt of pain.
“Well, whatever you’re doing,” Daniel continued a minute later, “your ship sailed. I saw a boat heading downriver just as you shot Frank.”
There was an abrupt movement and Alex lifted her lashes enough to see Mansfield moving toward the window. She heard a hissed curse.
“You’re stranded here,” Daniel said evenly. “My backup’s on the road coming in. You won’t get out of here alive if you try to run.”
“Of course I will,” Mansfield said, but his voice was not calm. “I have insurance.”
That would be me. Straining to see beneath her lashes, Alex looked at Daniel and stiffened. He was looking right at her, eyes narrowed. He knew she was awake, aware.
Suddenly Daniel lunged, chair and all, charging into Mansfield, headfirst. Alex sprang to her feet as Daniel shoved Mansfield into a desk. Alex ran for the door, recognizing Daniel had bought her escape.
But a shot rang out and her heart and feet simply stopped. Mansfield stood with his back to her and Daniel lay on his side, still handcuffed to the chair. Blood was rapidly spreading across Daniel’s white shirt from a bullet wound in his chest. His face was rapidly growing pale, but he aimed his gaze right at her. Move.
She tore her eyes from Daniel to Mansfield, whose shoulders heaved from the deep breaths he dragged in. He stared down at Daniel, holding his gun tight in his right hand. In his waistband was Daniel’s gun. Just one gun.
Mansfield had taken two from Daniel. Daniel’s small backup revolver was gone.
Then she forgot all about Daniel’s backup when Mansfield kicked Daniel’s ribs so hard she heard them crack even over Daniel’s moan.