Silence.
“Alexandra? Is Rick there?”
More silence. Francine dropped the questions, since it was possible that Alexandra was hiding from him, and couldn’t make any more noise.
“OK, never mind.” Francine exhaled slowly. “It doesn’t matter right now. Right now, you just keep breathing. We’re coming.”
As the storm worsened around them, Mark concentrated hard on the road in front of him. He may have been a damn good driver, but no sense getting cocky or overconfident. Especially since it sounded like the woman at the other end of Francine’s phone really needed them to get to her in one goddamn piece.
He used every short-cut he could think of, maybe even invented one or two himself. The whole time, he was very, very aware of Francine next to him. She was pale and rigid with fear, he saw, but every time she spoke to Alexandra, she was nothing but reassuring.
Hell, her sweet voice was even having a soothing effect on him, and God knows, after years in the E.R. and in war, and facing down nut-bar stalkers with potato guns and homemade shivs, Mark wasn’t the type to get all tied up in knots about much. But he found himself desperately, almost insanely, worried about a woman that he’d never met before – he wanted nothing more than to get Alexandra someplace safe.
He wondered how the hell Francine managed to do this every day, how she handled the stress of just not acting. Mark’s jobs had always been all about taking action, but what she did meant lots of talking, and then standing back and waiting. Not doing a damn thing until the other person asked for her to do so; not making a move until the other person said it was OK. He thought he’d go crazy from that, and his respect for Francine’s patience and calm went up yet another notch. It was in the stratosphere by now, he was sure.
After what felt like an hour, but was really almost precisely nine minutes, Mark pulled up to the house, gave it a hard look, trying to get a sense of the layout. He saw a side door out to the yard, wondered if there was a back way in and out, too. It was a nice place, in a nice neighborhood, with a nice garden, but he wasn’t fooled by that. Abusive fuckers drove nice cars, too.
“Alexandra,” Francine said now. “We’re right –”
A scream almost shattered her eardrum, and with a cry of her own, she jerked the phone away.
“What?” Mark said, startled.
She held the phone out to him, and Alexandra’s screams and pleas echoed around the SUV. “He’s found her.”
“Oh, fuck.” Mark opened his door, ripped off his heavy coat. “Stay here.”
“No goddamn way.” Francine unsnapped her seatbelt, opened her own door. “She’s my client, Mark, and she’s going to be terrified if you just burst on in. I have to be there, too. She’ll need a familiar face.”
“Fine.” He reached behind him, pulled his Colt .45 from his waist holster, headed up the driveway at a rapid pace. “But you stay behind me. We clear?”
“Yes.” She followed him closely, stared at the gun for a second. “You’re always armed?”
“Always.” Mark reached the door and checked his gun. He flicked off the safety, then pressed his ear to the door. More screams, and now he also heard shouting. He stepped back, gave Francine one last, fierce, look. “Now, we have no idea what we’re walking in on, so no bullshit. You stay the hell out of my way, let me control the situation. Got it?”
“Got it.”
He nodded, and then in one powerful motion, he raised his right leg, hauled back, and kicked in the door.
Mark strode in to the darkened house, gun out. The screams and shouts continued, so loud that he wasn’t at all surprised they hadn’t noticed him breaking their front door down. He headed towards the noise, Francine right behind him.
They reached a hallway, and without a word or any warning, Mark stopped dead, and pressed up hard against the wall. Francine bumped in to him, and automatically, he reached around and behind him. With his left arm, he pulled her closer, tucking her snug against him. Now he stood between her and whatever the fuck was going on down the hall. No way anything was getting to her; it’d have to get through him first. And nothing was getting through him – not as long as he was drawing breath.
Instinctively, Francine raised her own hands, placing them on Mark’s broad back. Despite her shock and fear, she couldn’t help noticing the curved, bulky muscles under his black t-shirt. They felt good under her palms and fingertips, no doubt about that: they felt strong and steady. His arm around her waist was huge and warm, offering nothing but calm comfort. She shut her eyes, just for a second, drawing strength from his body.
Mark turned slightly, looked back at her over his left shoulder. She raised her head, met his eyes. He didn’t say a word, but she knew he was asking if she was OK. She nodded at him, gave him a small smile. That was when he pulled away, and motioned with his hand for her to stay put. She nodded again, flattened herself against the wall even more.
Francine held her breath as she watched Mark approach the room at the very end of the hallway. The door was half-closed, a light was on, and the screaming had stopped. Francine tried very hard to not think what that might mean, hoped hard that Alexandra was just passed out cold. The alternative was too horrific to contemplate, so she utterly rejected it.
Hang on, Alexandra. Just hang on a bit longer. We’re right here.
Mark advanced slowly, straining to hear what was going on. No sound from the woman, but the man – was it Rick? – was muttering to himself. Mark heard footsteps, things hitting the floor, curses. He moved closer, watching the door for any movement at all. Closer. Closer still, and now he had a clear view of what was unfolding in the room. It was nothing less than a horror movie.
Alexandra was in a chair, tied up, slumped over, deathly pale. Mark hoped that she was unconscious, but with that much blood pouring out of her head, that wasn’t a guarantee. He stared at her chest, hoping to see the rising and falling of breath, but he saw nothing. Time was running out here, running out fast, and he had to get in to that room. He had to take that fucker down, and he had to do it the way he’d been trained to: swift and silent, without mercy or hesitation.
Mark paused outside the room now, trying to get eyes on Rick, taking stock of the lay of the land. He saw a door to what looked an outdoor pool, so he knew that asshole could make a quick exit if he wanted to. Mark also knew that he’d be going in, no matter what, but he’d prefer to do it with a bit more intel… such as, where exactly the abusive dickhead was, how big he was, and if he had a weapon of some kind.
Suddenly, Rick appeared. Mark froze. The other man had a gun, and he had it pointed right at Alexandra’s head.
“Fucking bitch,” he muttered now. “Fucking, fucking useless cunt… should kill you. Should just fucking kill you, and dump you in the mountains.”
Time to make the call. Mark’s instinct was, as always, to launch himself at the bad guy. That was how he was hardwired, and how he’d been trained: his first instinct was to act, to just burst on in and throw himself in to a crisis. But that wasn’t always the smart move, and he’d learned to pause, to think, to reflect. This was one of those times when action might be a mistake.
Rick was right next to Alexandra. The gun was pointed right at her head. If Mark appeared with his own gun, he’d suddenly be in a hostage situation, and he hated those with a fucking passion.
Negotiating with sick, abusive dickheads was not his strength, and whenever this kind of thing came up at work, Hunter Sullivan or John Griffin took point. They had the right temperaments for this kind of delicate interaction, and although Mark had successfully managed to get principals out of bad hostage situations before, he knew it had been dumb luck. But luck had a funny way of running out, and he had no desire for it to run out tonight.
Alexandra moaned now, her head lolling limply, and Mark exhaled a silent sigh of relief. Still alive. Thank Christ.
Rick’s
head snapped up, and he grabbed her chin between his fingers. He raised the gun to her head again, put it flush against her temple.
“Look at me, whore,” he snarled. “Fucking look at me.”
She moaned again. Rick backhanded her, the sound echoing around the room, sharp and harsh. Alexandra gave a small scream, forced her eyes open.
“We’re not done here, bitch,” Rick hissed. “Not by a long shot. Wake up, so I can be sure you know what’s going on.”
His mind made up, Mark backed off, slowly, quietly. He turned, padded on silent feet back to Francine. She stared at him, puzzled, and he knew she was wondering just what the hell he was doing, walking away from a woman who needed his help. Without a word, he took her hand, pulled her back to the front door.
“What’s going on?” she whispered. “Why didn’t you go in?”
“She’s tied up, and he’s got a gun pointed at her head.” Mark glanced over his shoulder as the screaming and shouting started again. “I’m worried about him killing them both if I show up out of thin air.”
Francine stared up at him, unblinking, and he practically saw the wheels spinning in her head.
“Did you see a back door anywhere?” she said.
“Yeah. There’s a door to the backyard in the room that he’s holding her.”
“Hmmm.”
“What?” he asked, sure that he wasn’t going to like the answer. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that I should talk to him,” she said slowly.
“What?” he said, furious. “No fucking way! You looking to get yourself shot?”
“Of course not,” she said, almost absently. “But if I get him to the side door, you can untie Alexandra and carry her out the back. Right?”
Mark paused. “Yeah. But –”
“I can keep him talking until she’s safe, then you come back in here and get me.” Her smile was tremulous but trusting. “You will come back and get me, right?”
He stared down at her, torn between wanting to kiss her until she melted under him, and wanting to throw her over his shoulder and drag her to safety. What she was proposing was fucking insane, and dangerous, and stupid as hell. It was also brilliant.
“You have any experience with this kind of thing?” he asked.
“Yes. Unfortunately.” She paused. “Or maybe fortunately, in this case.”
“OK,” he said at last, knowing that time had run out, and that the choices in front of them were severely limited. “I’ll hide, and you go outside. Get him away from her, get him talking and distract him, but keep him away from the front of the house, OK? He can’t see this kicked-in door, and he can’t see me carrying her to the car. I’ll get Alexandra, get her in to the SUV. Then I’ll come back and get you away from him.”
“Sounds good,” she said, trying to smile, but he saw her fear. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Francine –”
“Save it, Mark.” Her voice was gentle. “Alexandra needs us.”
He looked at her for a long moment, memorizing her face, just in case. His heart twisted at the idea of anything hurting her, and he kicked the dark thought right the hell out of his head.
Nothing’s going to happen to her – I won’t let it.
“Go,” he said. “Be careful.”
She nodded, slipped out the door. He closed it as best he could, seeing as it was busted almost right off its hinges, then he quietly walked over to the pantry in the kitchen, shut himself in. He kept the door open less than an inch. Held his breath. Waited to make his move.
Chapter Two
Francine snuck around the side of the house. She was strangely calm, now that she had something to focus on. Mentally, she ran through everything Alexandra had ever told her about her husband, discarding some things as useless, filing others away as weapons.
Rick Mayer was a controling sociopath, Francine knew. He’d ‘saved’ Alexandra from her bleak, desperate existence in a small, southern town. Back then, she’d been a broke trainee nurse, stripping to pay the bills. He’d taken her away from all of that, and groomed her to be the perfect wife – restricting her diet, putting her on an exercise program, dictating her wardrobe, correcting her accent and grammar – and God help her if she failed in some task that he’d set for her.
Chipped nails were rewarded with punches; a one-pound weight-gain was met with a broken wrist; any sass or talking back resulted in a hospital visit. Alexandra had no friends, and Rick had forbidden any contact with her family. She was completely at Rick’s mercy, and the fact that she’d found the courage to secretly see Francine twice a week was still so amazing, Francine couldn’t fully grasp it.
The way to gaining Rick’s trust – or at least his time and attention – was by playing in to his perception that his wife was a hopeless case. If Francine came to him supplicant, weak, needy, he’d respond. Sick, bullying abusers always responded to that in women… and they responded positively.
She reached the side door, took a deep breath. Raised a trembling hand, knocked. Knocked again. Then pounded with her fist, just let loose.
When the door was wrenched open, she gasped, and took a step back. The man in the doorway was huge, and as she stared up at Rick Mayer, a wave of sheer terror washed over her. What this man had done to his wife was nothing less than sub-human… and now she was the focus of this creature’s undivided attention.
“What?” he snapped. “What the fuck do you want?”
Francine gave him a wide, warm smile. “Are you Mr. Mayer?”
He paused. “Yeah. Who are you?”
“I’m Doctor Felicia Carter.”
That got his attention, and he stepped outside, shut the door behind him. “‘Doctor’?”
“Yes. I’m your wife’s therapist.”
His nostrils flared, and she both saw and felt his rage. “Her what?”
“Her therapist.” Francine adopted a puzzled, vacant look. “Didn’t she tell you that she was coming to see me?”
“No.” The word was spat out.
“Ah.” Francine knew this, of course, knew that Alexandra had told her husband that she was at the gym at the time that they had their sessions together. “Odd.”
“So what do you want?”
“I wanted to speak to Alexandra.” Francine gave him her sweetest smile, aiming for ditzy, harmless blonde. “Is she here?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Francine stared up at him, beseeching and a bit lost. “It’s just – I wanted to tell her that I don’t think that I can…” She let her voice trail off.
Rick Mayer regarded her with a glimmer of interest now. “You don’t think that you can what?”
“Uh, well.” Francine bit her full lip, saw how his dark eyes clocked the gesture. “I don’t think that I can carry on being her therapist. I think that she’s just not… not making progress.”
“Why not?”
“Ummmm…” She lowered her eyes, playing coy now. “I’m not sure that Alexandra is really dedicated to getting or doing better. To being better.”
Rick shifted on his feet, and crossed his arms. “What does that mean?”
“Oh, well.” Francine gave him a shy, small glance, looked down again. “I can – I can talk to you about this, right? About how hard it is to help your wife change and get better? How she never does what she has to, no matter how many times I give her advice, or how clearly I explain what it is that she has to do?”
He was fully engaged in the conversation now, she saw. He was going to stick around for a few minutes more, for sure, and with every iota of her being, she prayed that Mark was with Alexandra right now.
Mark was, of course. He’d cut her loose and wrapped her in a blanket that he’d found, and at that very second, he was gathering Alexandra in to his arms, lifting her carefully. When she started and made a small, pani
cked sound, he lowered his mouth to her ear.
“Alexandra?”
Her eyes shot open with a gasp of terror. Before she could scream, he tilted her chin to meet his warm gaze. His finger touched her split lips, incredibly gently.
“Shhh,” he whispered. “Alexandra, my name’s Mark. I’m a friend of Francine’s, and I’m here to help you. Will you let me help you?”
Stunned, she stared up at him, trying to decide if this man with eyes of green fire was a guardian angel – or an avenging one. “Francine?”
“Yes.” Mark started to walk towards the door now. “She’s here, too.”
“Oh.” Alexandra slumped heavily, then stiffened. “Where’s Rick?”
“Not here.” Mark toed the door open with his boot. “Don’t worry about anything. Just stay with me.”
She sighed, and he felt her sag against his chest.
“That’s good, hon,” he said softly. “Now, you need to stay quiet, alright?”
Alexandra shut her eyes, nodded.
“Good girl.”
Mark stood at the back door, listening to Francine and Rick talking. It was clear that she was still standing outside, and although that was a massive relief on the one hand, it made things harder, too. He glanced down at the snow on the ground, wondering how much noise he’d make crunching over it. Unless it was soft and powdery?
Cautiously, he stepped out. No crunch of ice under his feet, no crack of a hidden, hard layer of snow breaking. He took another step, then another. Barely breathing, clutching Alexandra tighter and closer against the cold, Mark walked to the opposite side of the house from where Francine and Rick were. Slowly, listening for raised voices or Francine’s screams, he worked his way across the backyard and down the driveway, heading for the SUV across the street.
When he finally reached it, he released a deep breath. Alexandra was shivering badly now, but whether it was from shock or cold, Mark didn’t know. The blood was still flowing from her head, and her skin was almost gray. They had to get her to a hospital – but first, Mark had to get Francine away from that sick, violent fuck.
Solid Heart (Unseen Enemy Book 7) Page 3