They were alone in the car. Cami could hear the chauffeur trudging up the metal stairs with the bitch named Susan. She stared at the floor, trying to ignore the man’s stare. She would not look at him again. His eyes. Looking into them would take her to the edge of blind panic, perhaps madness.
“You’re a smart one, miss. A fighter. I can tell. You won’t look at me, hmm?”
Cami was watching him out of the corner of her eye, in the reflection of the window.
“I think that if it hadn’t been for your kids, Susan wouldn’t have gotten you … alive anyway.” His hand cupped her chin and turned her face towards him, but Cami kept her eyes downcast. “You’re mine now, miss, and your baby.”
Cami chilled at this, but refused to look at him or show fear.
“Mine to do with as I see fit.”
Now she kept her eyes down to hide her fury. She felt her face and neck redden with anger. She would have leapt on him and gouged his eyes out even now if she thought she had a chance against him. He was a giant in height, lean, and from his physique, she guessed he must work out. He could break her neck like a stick. Not to mention Landon—she was her son’s only hope.
She concentrated for a second and silently prayed for strength. She met his eyes as evenly as she could, willing herself to be strong for Landon. “I will do anything to save my baby.”
The big man put his hand to his brow for a second as if his head hurt. Then the empty eyes held her again and he brought his face close to hers. “Yes. You will.” He pushed her face away from him. “Out!”
She opened the door, handcuff dangling from her wrist, and struggled out with Landon. She reached for the diaper bag, but he had it and motioned for her to climb the stairs. She hobbled up the stairs as well as she could with her injuries. The little voice in her mind cursed her for not trying to escape sooner, and urged her to try now before there was no escape. But she resisted. There had to be a better chance than this. It would be her against two men and she was injured and holding a baby.
She reached the platform that sat over the two aquarium tanks, one empty, one full. It was dark, lit only by standby lighting, but she thought she could see someone in the empty tank, by the ladder. In the water below her, she saw something alive. She felt so cold she began to tremble. The tall man topped the last step and shoved her forward and she nearly fell, catching herself on the railing and looking into the water six feet below. Something shiny and long surfaced, and in the dim light she saw a tail fin splash back into the water. This couldn’t be happening. It was beyond her imagining of all the ways to die.
He had taken his attention off her and was standing over his moaning niece. He kicked her hard in the stomach. She was silent for a few seconds, the wind knocked out of her. Then she sucked air, coughed, and vomited something dark black, which Cami knew must be blood. The sickness trickled through the metal weave that was the floor of the platform and into the water. Instantly, the water boiled and the sharks, yes, Cami said to herself, sharks, went mad snapping and fighting over nothing but liquid chum. Cami prayed an awful prayer that Susan would go into the water first, but after that one kick, he stood motionless over her.
He turned back to Cami. “Take your clothes off.”
Cami stood trembling, her back against the cold railing, trying to figure out what to do. He gave her a few seconds, and when she didn’t move he jumped forward, seizing Landon and gripping her throat in one large hand.
Cami shot pure hatred at him through her eyes but refused to obey.
He let go of her and put both hands around Landon’s waist and held him over the water. “You heard me.”
“No! Don’t!” Cami screamed, tears flowing down her face. She undressed in a flurry, throwing the clothes down at her feet, ignoring the sharp pain of her ribs as she removed her shirt and the throbbing in her thigh as she kicked her jeans off.
“Amazing what a little motivation can do, hmm?” He laughed as he pulled a frightened and squalling Landon back to his chest. He handed Landon to Billy and turned back to look at Cami. He stepped so close that she could feel his body heat. He looked down at her and she refused to tremble or show fear. He locked the open end of the handcuff to the railing. “Now, my pretty bitch, you have a ringside seat and perhaps you will be our halftime entertainment.”
Cami didn’t want to think about what he meant, but she gathered that she wasn’t going to be fish food—at least not right away.
He turned to leave.
“Landon! What are you going to do? Please don’t hurt him.”
He stopped and kicked her clothes aside. “A beautiful boy like that? I won’t hurt him—I need him. What with Ash dead and Susan—” He paused and looked down at his niece. “She is on the way out, I’m going to need a new apprentice.”
“No. No.” Cami pulled at her restraint. She was afraid she was about to go mad.
“Go hand the boy to the priest. I can’t watch a baby and I need you to take care of some errands.”
Cami sobbed and sank to her knees. She watched the driver hand the boy down to the figure in the empty pool. The tall man turned to Cami. “Your mothering days are over.”
“Let’s go!” he yelled at Billy, and he hurried down the steps to the limo.
Taylor felt out of control. Susan had screwed up so many things, but she had come back half dead, saving him some trouble. And there was still something that he couldn’t put his finger on—an anticipation, a buzzing in the background, an uneasiness that was haunting him. Something else was looming. Damn, the day had flown and none of it on schedule. It was time to start greeting members of the group, waiting for all of them to arrive and then begin taking them down to the basement for Ash’s second memorial. He sent Billy off to the airport to pick up several group members while he took the elevator to the offices. He sent the rest of the staff home; they all seemed to understand and wished him condolences. He sat alone in his near blackened office and thought. An impulse sent him to the hidden room, and he stood there looking at the disheveled mess. He stared blankly at the photos pell-mell across the floor.
Innocent children—victims—tell me, he thought to their bleached skulls. Tell me, he thought to the empty eye sockets, forever staring. Taylor’s eyes became goat’s eyes, the smell of sulfur filled the room and a vision came to him of his own Billy standing in the room and bending down, scooping up some of the photos.
Anger snapped him back to himself and he turned on his heel, satisfied that he had found the source of the incessant nagging that had been after him all day.
Billy had plenty of time to fill Williams in on the location of the hidden room, the basement and what time the ceremony was due to begin. He had great relief that the FBI would be there to save everyone—the priest, the lady and the baby. Williams even told him there would be lots of reward money from all of the missing children cases, not to mention cash for putting various criminals behind bars. As Billy hung up, he sighed. Maybe he would get out of this deal alive after all.
Chapter 54
“What’s the problem?” The ambulance had slowed to a crawl. Tom slipped his hand under his shirt towards his .22. The ambulance driver glanced at Tom in the mirror.
“Easy, man. This is our exit. See? It’s just these Mother Nature First protestors.”
Tom looked at him, unsure.
“Don’t you watch the news, man?” The driver shook his head, exasperated by Tom’s ignorance. “There’s a world trade conference going on here in Vegas and they’ve had nothing but trouble with all the protestors.”
Tom bent down and looked out the windshield. He could see the Azteca perhaps a half mile away, but the strip was a parking lot with protestors, cops and frustrated tourists clogging the area between cars. A couple of hundred yards off, a mounted cop was making its way towards the ambulance.
“What should I do, man?” asked the driver.
“Stay here,” Tom said. He had already taken their cell phones and cut the ambulance radio. He and Farley went out the
back of the ambulance.
He approached the cop and his horse. The cop eyed his bloody shirt and Farley suspiciously. Tom stopped a respectful distance away.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Officer, I was mugged out at the airport—those EMTs were taking me to the hospital, but I don’t need a hospital. I just want to get to my family—they’re at the Azteca.”
“I think you might need a hospital, mister—it looks like you’ve lost a lot of blood.”
An angry protester pushed Tom and his shoulder collided with the cop’s horse; Tom staggered and nearly fainted without acting.
“Watch it!” the cop shouted at the dreadlocked blond.
“Gimme your hand.” The cop put his hand out and removed his foot from the stirrup so Tom could ride behind him.
Tom gave him his good hand and leveraged himself up behind the cop. With all of the protestors the cop couldn’t hear the EMTs shouting at him.
“I can get you closer,” the cop shouted, “but I don’t think we can cross that.” He nodded at the thick band of protestors blocking the main entranceway to the Azteca. They got closer, maybe ten feet from the shouting mob. Tom marveled at the cop’s horse. The shouting people, some in costume, were evoking little response.
“Allow me!” Tom yelled in the cop’s ear. He looked down at Farley, attentive as ever. “Clear the way, Farley!” Tom gestured at the crowd and Farley growled, snarled, barked and snapped. Moving people was harder than cows, but just like the cows, once he got a couple to break and move, the others followed.
The cop urged his horse through the opening and stopped on the other side. Tom whistled and Farley returned instantly. Some of the protestors threw rocks after him, but it was a halfhearted attempt.
Tom hopped down and offered his handshake to the cop. He gave Tom his firm grip and looked him in the eyes. “Thanks, Officer.”
“It’s Crane, John Crane.”
Tom smiled. “I’m Tom White. Thank you for your help, Officer Crane. I do apologize for this—” In one movement he pulled the horse’s off rein and the cop’s hand, bringing the horse to its knees and the policeman to his back on the pavement. Tom’s .22 was at the end of his nose. “Stand up slow, unbuckle your gun and buckle it onto me. No fucking around.” Tom’s voice was low and calm. The cop could read dead serious in the blue eyes. The cop couldn’t leave his post and Tom didn’t have time to explain why he needed his horse; Tom had no choice.
“Oh fuck.” Officer Crane made it sound more like a statement than a curse, but he stood slowly and obeyed. “If you hurt my horse …”
“I haven’t hurt him and I won’t hurt him. I love horses.”
Officer Crane looked down at Tom. Farley gave a low growl. “Easy, Officer Crane, easy, just buckle it on me.” The cop did so, but every moment Tom could feel anger radiating from him. “Back up, on your knees, hands behind your head.” The protesters roared approval at this new event.
“Stay back,” Tom yelled at them, “if you so much as touch this cop I’ll shoot you.” He stepped onto the kneeling horse, released the rein and the horse stood up. “I’m going to save my family,” he shouted over his shoulder at Officer Crane, doubting very much that the big gruff cop believed him for a second.
Father Bob wondered at the situation. Landon had squalled for a few moments after he had been handed from stranger to stranger, but now that the men had left, he leaned back in the dim light and took in the man who held him.
“Hey cowboy,” Father Bob said softly. Landon smiled and collapsed against him. His arms curled around the neck of the familiar man he had seen so many times before. He gave one last little sob, a sob of relief, and his thumb went into his mouth. “That’s a good boy,” Father Bob crooned, “it will be okay.
“Cami,” he called, his voice echoing in the dim empty basement.
“Father Bob!” Her voice was so strained and upset that he was frightened for her.
“What happened? How did you get here?” He was about two hundred feet from her and though it was mostly quiet in this dungeon, there was some aquarium equipment that hummed constantly. This noise, combined with the odd echoes of their voices and splash of the sharks, made it difficult to hear each other.
Cami, trying to crouch down and cover herself somehow, told her story.
“Do you think Tom is dead?” he asked softly.
Cami lowered her face. “I can’t.”
Father Bob cuddled the child in his arms. “I can’t either.”
Cami shivered. It must be sixty-five degrees or less down here. Being naked and injured didn’t help, not to mention the cold metal railing and flooring against her body. The sharks had given up their flurry of activity as there was no more bloody chum, but they occasionally surfaced and rolled underneath her, their empty eyes surveying their next meal.
Her clothes had been kicked out of reach, but if she sat down and stretched out, perhaps with her toes she might snag the strap of the diaper bag and drag it to her. Sitting down on her ass, she inched her way out as far as the handcuffs would allow. Stretching, reaching with her toes, she could almost touch the strap. She would have to pull against the handcuffs to get a bit more length. Her ribs and bruised thigh screamed against this request, but she ignored them, reminding herself that the painful maneuver was nothing compared to razor sharp teeth ripping and shredding meat from bone. At last her toes hooked the strap and dragged it closer. Then she got her ankle in the strap and pulled it easily to her.
She wished for some clothes—not only for warmth and modesty, but for a place to hide weapons. She did have the element of surprise—if she could hide a weapon close by—naked and vulnerable, no one would suspect her. It was too bad she had put the handcuff keys in her jeans; now they were far off on the other side of the platform. She opened the diaper bag and found the scissors and the syringe. She thought about leaving these weapons in the bag where there was no chance of them slipping through the metal grating of the floor, but she also knew that when the monster came back, he would probably sweep it away from her with a kick of his foot.
The scissors had a stiff action on them and would stay open and this could work. The handles were also gray like the metal grating and would blend in. She opened them and carefully ran them through the grating behind her. As long as the handles stayed open she had a hidden weapon. She held her breath as she tentatively loosened her hold on them. She slowly exhaled, as she could see they would hold unless she bumped them closed. Now for the shot. There was no rim on the platform that was easy for her to reach—it was all slick, easy to clean metal. She closed her eyes and thought, shivering again, her shivers turning into soft shudders. At last, her trembling hand sought Landon’s spare binky. It would work. It had to. She found that the binky was wide enough that it would not slip through the grating. But would the shot hold in the rubber nipple as it dangled upside down above the shark tank? She tried putting the needle in, and it looked like it might stay, but she wouldn’t bet her life on it. She smiled at the grim choice of words, so crazily true right now. She would have to bend the needle a little. Just a tiny bit, so it would be hook-like. It would truly hurt whomever she got the chance to jam it with, and she really hoped it would be that horrible creep of a man who had chained her here. Bending the tip of the needle was easy and she secured it in the pacifier and slowly threaded the binky/shot combo through the grating behind her. The needle was holding so well that she thought she could bump or even step on the binky and the shot would hold securely. Her work done, she went through the bag again and pulled out a Landon-sized blanket. She folded it and sat on it, her skinny ass grateful for the meager cushion against the unrelenting cold, hard grating. Cami could only tolerate sitting like that for ten minutes or so before the handcuffed hand above her would get tingly and numb and she would have to stand again and get the blood circulating. She couldn’t stop shuddering now—the cool of the basement, the humidity coming off the water, her injuries and, worst of all, the nightmare sh
e found herself in were wearing on her. She tried to not look at the shapes swimming endlessly below her, but her eyes were drawn again and again to them.
Father Bob thought to tell Cami what he had found in the lair of Azteca, but as he glanced up at her naked, shaking form he changed his mind. God knows what they had planned for Landon—Cami already knew they were dealing with a fiend—she didn’t need to know what sort of grade he was.
“Did you find something in that bag?” he called.
Cami turned partway, trying to conceal her nakedness a bit. “I have a shot—magnesium sulfate—enough to knock out a horse I think … or maybe that nasty man. I also have some scissors—do you want them? I can try to throw them to you.” It would make her feel better if the priest had something to defend himself and Landon.
“No. Not yet,” called Father Bob. “Let me think. Let’s try to make some sort of plan—I think we have some time yet, not much, but some.”
They both lapsed into silence again—Cami shivering and cuffed above the giant fish tank, Father Bob watching Landon doze in his arms.
Chapter 55
As Billy pulled the limo up to the lobby entrance, he could see Uncle standing at the front desk. When he saw the limo he came outside and greeted his guests. He welcomed them and thanked them for coming. “We need to start an hour earlier on the memorial. I’m sorry, but I have had an odd bunch of circumstances come together and I need to clean up the details as soon as possible.”
As the guests stood around Uncle shaking his hand, offering condolences and talking to him, Billy helped the bellboys with the luggage. His heart began to pump faster, because Williams, whom he had managed to contact on the way to the airport, was planning his siege at the Azteca at the beginning of Ash’s private memorial. Now he would have to contact him again and let him know about the time change in—Uncle gently but firmly grabbed his arm at the elbow joint. Billy started and looked up at his boss.
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