by Jeremy Pack
After what seemed like a lifetime, they turned into the Valley of Fire State Park, and Brunner negotiated the gravel road until he'd found a quiet location well off the main thoroughfare. He parked the car and instructed Chris to get out.
Chris obeyed and walked ahead of Brunner into the desert wilderness, sweating profusely in the relentless sun. Clouds were gathering on the far horizon, and he wished the brewing storm would hurry up. After they had walked some distance, Brunner instructed him to sit on a rock.
"I find the emptiness of the desert to be a balm. Wouldn't you agree?" Brunner asked.
Chris shook his head and mopped perspiration from his forehead.
"I can't say it's doing much for me," he replied honestly.
Brunner laughed. "Well, you are at a bit of a disadvantage." He paced back and forth. The shifty roaming of his eyes and the expression on his face indicated he was working over details, plotting his next course of action.
Probably figuring out how best to dispose of my body. Chris's gut lurched sickeningly. Facing death on one's own terms was a vastly different experience than facing it at the hands of a madman. Would a gunshot to the head be painful? How long would the pain last? Were these his final moments?
Why now, when he had everything to live for again, was his life about to be taken away? Was this some kind of cruel punishment for the times he'd nearly thrown it away? Was this the cost of a squandered gift of existence?
"Don't look so morose. I'm not going to kill you," Brunner announced suddenly. Chris's eyes widened in surprise. "In fact, I'm going to give you exactly what you want. We're going to recover your daughter."
"What?" Chris asked, unable to believe what he was hearing.
"Don't think this is an act of beneficence on my part. She's nothing more than collateral. I won't hesitate to kill both of you if you don't cooperate fully."
Chris nodded, his eyes filling with tears. "Yes, of course."
"You play along and I might let you go free once it's all over."
It all seemed too good to believe. There was some kind of catch.
There had to be. The insincerity in Brunner's tone warned him to be wary. It wasn't likely he'd keep up his end of the bargain once he got what he wanted---whatever that was. Still, for the chance to see Brianna again, to hold her... that was worth a thousand painful deaths.
"Have I made myself at all unclear?" Brunner asked. The ominous sound of rolling thunder in the distance spiced the unspoken threat with menace.
"No. I understand."
"Good. Then let's go get your daughter."
Chapter 13
JASON slumped on the bed with his head hung. He knew he should go after Chris, but he couldn't bring himself to get to his feet. They were going to have to look each other in the eye, to converse like adults, at some point. At least, he thought, until this thing was over.
After a while, when Chris did not return, he started to get anxious.
Where had he gone? It probably wasn't safe for him to be out walking around unguarded. What if Brunner saw him?
Glancing at the clock, he realized that more than an hour had passed since Chris had stormed out. He headed to the lobby to search.
The casino was unusually crowded. Outside, the thermometer had climbed well into the red, so it seemed the tourists had sought refuge indoors. Although he scanned every face, of Chris, there was no sign.
"Looking for your boyfriend? You two have a lover's quarrel?"
"Curt," Jason said, spinning around. "Have you seen him?" There was an edge of dread in Jason's voice that Curt seemed to recognize at once.
"I knew it. I could tell from his face you had some kind of falling out."
"So you've seen him?"
"A little over an hour ago. Said he wanted to pay a friend a surprise visit. I got a room number for him."
The seed of disquiet burst into full bloom. "Did he say who the friend was?"
"Michael Blake. He's at the Bellagio in room 3615. Ex-boyfriend?"
"Worse," Jason moaned, mentally berating himself for having waited so long to give chase. He knew Chris had been out of his mind when he'd rushed out of the room. If only he'd tried to stop him. "Curt, if by some miracle he shows up back here, call me right away." He was already headed toward the door, Curt only a step behind.
"This is sounding serious. It really is a case, isn't it?"
"Serious isn't the word for it," Jason said, sprinting for the exit.
THE mad flight to the Bellagio was a blur. A building thunderstorm thickened the normally dry desert air and made the heat seem oppressive and heavy. The claustrophobic panic it inspired added to his rising anxiety. By the time he reached his destination, he was drenched with sweat.
The elevator ride seemed interminable. On the thirty-sixth floor, he burst out of the car even before the doors had completely opened. He raced down the hallway and pounded frantically on the door to room 3615. When there was no answer, he braced himself and landed a solid kick, preparing to break it down if he had to. The door rattled in its frame but held. He tried again, and just as he was about to land a third blow, a red-eyed and bloody Michael Blake answered. He was sporting a split lip and the beginnings of a nasty black eye.
Jason shoved the door open violently, unbalancing Michael. Jason advanced and grabbed hold of Michael's neck, squeezing like a vise and cutting off his air. Bodily, he shoved him backward and pressed him into the wall. Choking, his eyes wide and bulging, Michael clawed at Jason's hand. His swollen face reddened.
"Where is he?" Jason demanded.
Michael sputtered and gasped as Jason relaxed his grip enough to allow him to speak. "C-Chris?"
"No, the fucking Easter Bunny. Where is he?"
"Johan. Johan took him. They're gone."
"Gone?" Jason's grip tightened again as his eyes drilled holes in Michael's face. "Where did they go?"
Again, the vise was released. "I... I don't know," Michael managed, his voice hoarse.
"Does Brunner carry a cell phone?"
"Yes, but I don't know the number. Please, please...."
Jason directed a malevolent glare at Michael, his rising anxiety for Chris adding to his murderous ardor. The look carried the promise of death. It was not the first time that day Michael had seen it. Tears squeezed out of his swollen, bloodshot eyes, and he worked frantically to pry Jason's powerful fingers off of his throat.
"You're going to pay for what you've done. I will see to it personally."
Michael's struggles ceased. His body went limp, and he seemed to deflate. Jason expected bravado, denial, outrage. Instead, he read hopeless resignation in Michael's expression. He relaxed his grip.
"Yeah," Michael breathed, utterly defeated. "I suppose I am."
Jason was surprised by the sudden transformation. "Why did you do it, Michael?"
Michael thought for a moment and finally shrugged. "Money, drugs. Christ, I don't even remember anymore."
As Jason stood there looking at the wasted, disheveled husk of the man who had once been Michael Blake, he tried, but he could find no remorse, no pity for him, no mercy. He was beyond despicable.
Sickened, outraged, he swung his fist and connected solidly with a powerful uppercut. Michael hit the ground, unconscious. "That's for Chris."
Jason looked around the room, stunned by what he saw. Drug paraphernalia lay discarded on the end table, and empty vials that had once contained any variety of illegal substances littered every surface.
He hurried to the telephone, lifted it off the hook, and dialed the FBI field office.
"Frank Marcus, please," he asked when the line was answered.
It took several minutes, but finally Frank answered. "Marcus," he snapped curtly.
"Frank, it's Jason."
"Jason. How the hell are you, buddy?"
"Not so good right now. I need your help," he said.
"Name it."
"I'm working a case for a client, and things have gone really, really wrong. Hi
s life and his daughter's life are in danger, and I'm wanted by Seattle PD."
"Wanted for what?"
"Murder."
"You're shitting me, right?"
"God, Frank, how I wish. There's a warrant out for my arrest."
There was a pause. "You're putting me in a tough spot here. I don't have to tell you that."
"I didn't kill anyone. In fact, I believe the murder is a part of something much bigger. I have proof of that right here."
Frank sighed heavily on the other end of the line. "Kid, you're as bad as your father. You sure know how to get yourself into trouble."
Jason was surprised. As far as he knew, his father was the straightest lace there ever was. There was a story there, but now wasn't the time.
"I think you better tell me where you are so we can get this all sorted out."
"Bellagio, thirty-sixth floor."
"Sit tight. I'm on my way."
"Bring support. This one's bad, and we need to move now."
"Understood," Frank said. "You can finish briefing me when I arrive."
FRANK MARCUS was a stocky, powerfully built man. His face was grizzled, but there was undeniable kindness in his eyes. The moment he strode into the room with two armed uniformed agents in tow, Jason was relieved. The days of overconfidence were long behind him.
Frank clasped his hand, and Jason pulled him into a hug instead.
After a moment, Frank pushed him away and, with a discomfited glance back at the agents accompanying him, said, "Shit, son, knock that crap off. What the hell's got into you?"
"You have no idea how happy I am to see you," Jason replied.
"You better tell me what this is all about," Frank warned.
"As I told you, I'm working a case. A little less than a year ago, my client came home to a bloodbath---his two-year-old daughter and domestic partner were apparently murdered. The cops investigated but never found the bodies. Forensics tested the blood and identified it as belonging to Michael Blake, my client's partner. Based on the amount of blood at the scene, they presumed homicide." He gestured toward the trussed and unconscious form on the hotel bed. "This is Michael Blake."
"But this man isn't dead."
"No, he's alive and... mostly in one piece. I don't know all the details yet, but there's some kind of crazy conspiracy underway, and it's like nothing I've ever seen."
"You're making this up."
"Frank, I assure you, it's all true. It gets worse."
"How worse?"
"The little girl is still alive. She's been placed in the custody of someone named Mariano---" There was a sharp intake of breath as the name registered with Frank. "Know him?"
"Mafia. Big shot. Deep connections in this town. Christ on the cross."
"Mafia?" Jason was stricken. He shook his head in dismay. "If you call Seattle PD and order up the records, you'll find out that the girl is presumed murdered too. What's actually happened is that the whole thing was staged. Maybe they used banked blood to make it look like a murder. Who the hell knows? All I can say for sure is that Brianna James is alive and right here in Las Vegas. She was kidnapped and transported across state lines, which makes it your jurisdiction."
"What else have you got? I can't move on Mariano without some kind of proof."
"Woman by the name of Sylvia Hopkins---owns a nightclub on Paradise---brokered the deal."
"Hopkins? Interesting. We've had a bead on that demented bitch for a while now."
"Yeah, I figured you might. Well, I paid her a visit last night. I recorded our conversation." He brandished his cellular telephone. "I love this thing. Everything you need to nail her ass to the wall is here."
Frank reached for the phone, and Jason handed it over reluctantly.
"Here's where it gets really bad."
"As compared to the pretty shit you've already told me? Goddamn, kid."
"My client has been abducted. He's in the custody of Johan Brunner. He's the mastermind of this whole twisted plot. Frank, because Brunner has him, we're out of time. The girl's life is in terrible danger. We have to move quickly, before he gets to Mariano and tells him everything is falling apart. According to Hopkins, taking the girl was a favor for someone. We don't know how strong his loyalty is. If he thinks he's threatened and he's as bad as you say he is---"
"John," Frank shouted to one of the agents, "get on the line with HQ. Tell them to expect a recording in their inbox. I need it transcribed and sent over for an emergency warrant, stat." The agent immediately began punching numbers into his mobile phone.
Frank rounded on Jason and poked a hard finger into his chest.
"Right now, this is all your word. Any holes in this fairy tale you've just told me and it's your ass in the sling."
"Pull the files from SPD, get the guys over here to pick up Michael Blake, make him talk. Do whatever you have to do. If we don't move now, they're both dead."
"If it were anyone but you asking me to do this, Jason...."
"I know, Frank."
Frank set up a temporary base of operations in the hotel room. He made several telephone calls in rapid succession, immediately diving headfirst into the myriad details of procedure.
Shortly afterward, the paramedics arrived and made certain Michael was stable. Frank compared his face to a file photo he'd received on his mobile phone from SPD and whistled. "I'll be goddamned," he remarked as they began to wheel him out under armed escort.
"It's him, all right," Jason said dourly.
Frank placed a hand on the lead EMT's arm. "What's his condition?"
"Stable. Without lab tests, it's hard to say. He could be out from a knock to the head, but odds are good he's amped on something. I'd bet my badge on it."
"Keep him under guard until we question him."
The EMT nodded and continued out the door.
Frank took a call, and when he disconnected, he turned to Jason.
"We've got our warrant. A team is assembling to move on the Mariano residence."
Jason shuddered and dropped onto the bed. Frank got back on the telephone with the Seattle police, and after a brief, urgent conversation, he disconnected and flashed Jason a smile.
"SPD just agreed to suspend action on the APB on you and Christian James provided you remain in my custody and agree to cooperate fully with their ongoing investigation."
"I'm far out of my depth as a PI. From here out, this one is yours. I always planned to hand it off once I got something you could work with, anyway."
Frank tossed Jason's phone back to him. "Does your client carry a mobile phone?"
Jason's fingers were in action before the sentence was completely out of Frank's mouth. The call went directly to voicemail. He cursed.
"You look like you're about ready to jump out of your skin, kid. Take ten deep breaths."
"If anything happens to him... it'll be all my fault."
Frank patted his shoulder. "I saw you go through this when the Don Gerry thing went down. You have got to stop getting yourself in so deep. Shit, you're just like your father."
"I appreciate the sentiment, Frank, but this is different."
"How is it different?"
"I... I dragged him into this. If I hadn't been so careless, he might not be in this mess right now. I've done nothing but put him in danger right from the start."
"Seems to me, based on what you've told me, like you made the only decisions you could under the circumstances."
"Frank, I should have known we were walking into trouble."
"Our team will be arriving at the Mariano residence any second now. Don't worry. This is all going to turn out---"
Just then, Frank's phone rang, and he answered. He spoke briefly with the caller. With a grim look in Jason's direction, he hung up.
"Fuck," Frank said. "We're too late."
Jason's heart dropped, and he swallowed against a sudden wave of nausea. "What's happened?" He almost didn't want to hear the answer.
From the look on Frank's face,
it was very bad.
"Looks like this guy Brunner is a step ahead of us. Two members of the Mariano household staff are dead."
"The girl?"
"No sign. Let's get over there and see how bad it is." Frank led the way.
DESPITE the dire circumstances, Chris was floating in a cloud of euphoria. In his arms, he cradled Brianna tenderly as tears of joy streamed down his cheeks---tears that hadn't stopped since Brunner carried her out of the mansion and deposited her into the car.
She had been shy and hesitant at first. Although he could see recognition in her eyes, it was tenuous and vague, as if she was struggling to recall how she knew him. "Baby, it's me," he'd said. "It's Daddy." Something about the sound of his voice seemed to jog her memory. Her little face lit up with remembrance, and she leapt into his arms. She clung fiercely to him, as if letting go would somehow make his reappearance in her life less real. The only words she had uttered since that moment had been "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy."
A small part of him had been terrified that she would have forgotten him completely, but now that she was in his arms, it was clear that his absence had been keenly felt.
Unwilling to extricate himself from her grip, he examined her carefully. For all that she had been through over the past ten months, she seemed healthy and whole. Other than the desperation with which she clung to him, even her little spirit seemed to be intact. He smoothed her curly mop of red hair and kissed her on the forehead, shushing her and making soothing noises, his heart soaring at the feel of her tiny body in his arms.
He glanced up and happened to notice Brunner's eyes staring at him in the rearview mirror. He briefly met the man's gaze and then looked quickly away. He swiped at the tears on his cheeks and took a deep breath. Pull it together.
They had been headed north since picking up Brianna and were more than an hour outside of Vegas by now. Scant few vehicles shared the long, straight desert road with them, so Brunner could apparently afford to divert his attention from driving.
"She was well cared for," he remarked.
Chris's only reply was a hateful, malicious glare.