It was time to call for reinforcements.
26
The cop was finally leaving.
And the other guy had disappeared too—whoever he was.
Mark let the slat in the blinds drop back into place, backed away from his bedroom window, and began to pace.
So there’d been a few glitches in his plan. Faith should have slept longer. And he hadn’t expected Laura to bleed all over his kitchen floor or attack him in the basement.
But none of that was the end of the world. For all he knew, the police hadn’t believed a word anyone next door had said. The college kids were known troublemakers, and Faith was still trying to shake off the effects of the sleeping drugs. The cop might have taken one look at her, figured she was tipsy, and dismissed the story. After all, he’d done nothing more than ring the doorbell.
And now he was gone.
Mark’s hands began to itch, and he detoured to the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and lathered up. The blood in the kitchen had been cleaned up, and he’d cut up the stained shirt for disposal in the trash—all except for the bloodstained section, which he’d drop into one of the soiled-diaper bins at the daycare center tomorrow. No one would ever see it again.
Drying his hands on the towel, he walked back to the front window and peeked through the blinds again. Everything appeared quiet. No cops. No strangers. No activity.
He let out a long, slow breath.
All he had to do was act normal for the next few days. Go about his usual routine. The PIs would stop looking for Darcy as soon as the payments from Laura dried up. Even when they found out she was missing, why would they care? They didn’t do investigations out of the goodness of their hearts. Sure, they might wonder about her, but they’d move on to the next paying job. And suppose they did mention to the police that she’d been their client? There was no hard evidence to link him to her—or her sister. Nor would there be. Everything else he had planned for them would take place inside the constitutionally protected privacy of his house.
There was no need to worry.
A sudden, heavy weariness settled over him, and he checked the time. Groaned. Five-thirty was going to come way too fast, and six hours of sleep wasn’t nearly enough. However, he’d get less than that if he tried to deal with the two spitfires in the basement tonight. Better to let them go hungry for a few days. The weaker they became, the easier they’d be to finish off.
He did have to take a shower, though. Otherwise he’d never get to sleep. But he’d only give himself five minutes instead of his usual ten to fifteen.
Flexing a slat in the blinds, he took one more look outside. The street remained deserted—its typical condition at eleven-thirty on a weeknight. Still, there was no harm in confirming that once more, after he was clean. But cops were busy. They weren’t going to waste time on some cockeyed story from documented troublemakers. He wouldn’t be surprised if the officer had already forgotten about the encounter.
Mark crossed toward the bathroom, flipping on another light in the bedroom as he passed to dispel the shadows lurking in the corners. The soft illumination from the lamp on the nightstand wasn’t cutting it tonight.
A relaxing hot shower, one more scan of the street, and then he’d call it a night.
The excitement for this day was over.
As Dev’s BlackBerry began to vibrate, he pulled it out of the holster . . . and expelled a frustrated breath. Connor—not Laura. He needed to talk to his partner, but why hadn’t Laura returned the message he’d left after the shorter-than-expected Costa Rica conference call? Why had her phone rolled to voice mail every time he’d tried to call her since? Had she forgotten to press end after their last call and fallen asleep? His mom did that a lot.
He hoped the explanation was that simple—but he was beginning to get uneasy.
Putting the phone to his ear, he kept his attention focused on Hamilton’s house. “Where were you when I called fifteen minutes ago?”
A moment of silence ticked by. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I was taking a shower.” As usual, Connor sounded wide- awake and chipper despite the late hour.
“At eleven-thirty at night? Do you ever sleep?”
“On occasion.”
“Well, tonight’s not going to be one of them.”
Another beat of silence. “Something going on down there?”
“Maybe.” The windows in the Explorer began to fog up, and he flipped on the small fan while he brought Connor up to speed on the events of the evening. “Also, based on the bright lights on the second floor, Hamilton’s still roaming around. That’s out of pattern. The man gets up at the crack of dawn, so he’s an early-to-bed type. My gut tells me things are close to breaking here, and I want another set of eyes positioned to see down the alley toward the back of the house while I watch the front.”
“I’ll be there in thirty.”
That was it. No questions. No complaints. No doubting his partner’s instincts. Just “I’ll be there.”
But that was how Phoenix worked. That was why it worked. They trusted each other. Period.
Partners didn’t come any finer than Connor and Cal.
He changed the angle of the fan on the front window as the glass started to fog up on the right. “Thanks.”
“You bringing Cal into this?”
Dev hesitated. That hadn’t been part of his plan . . . but the more he thought about Laura’s MIA status, the more worried he became.
“I know it’s late, but I might ask him to run by Laura’s place. I left her a message almost two hours ago and she never returned it. She’s not answering her home phone, and her cell’s rolling to voice mail immediately.”
“Maybe she’s on the line.”
“At eleven-thirty at night? For two hours?”
“Could be a family emergency.”
“She doesn’t have any family except Darcy.”
“In that case, it might not hurt to check out her house.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking. I’ll look for you in thirty.” He ended the call, then tapped in Cal’s speed dial number. Unlike Connor, his other colleague would be asleep. But he wouldn’t complain about the request, either. They all respected each other’s instincts too much.
At the same time, this might be a wild goose chase. Laura could very well be safe in her bed, sound asleep. He hoped she was. But any ribbing Cal might dole out tomorrow about hormones short-circuiting brain cells would be endurable as long as she was okay.
Yet as he stared at the bright light shining around the edges of the blinds in Hamilton’s upstairs window, as he pulled up the collar of his coat to keep the numbing chill in the SUV at bay, as he filled Cal in on the situation and made his request, he couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling that something was amiss at Laura’s.
Laura adjusted the blanket she’d draped over Darcy and smoothed the hair back from her sister’s forehead. Despite the small amount of bleeding from her abdominal wound, her skin felt cool and clammy, and her eyes were becoming glazed.
Shock was setting in.
And shock could be deadly.
Fighting down yet another wave of panic, Laura drew a shaky breath. At least she’d come up with a plan. The odds weren’t great it would work, but it was better than sitting around waiting for Hamilton to come back and finish them off.
She crawled to the side of the room and climbed to her feet, steadying herself with a hand against the wall as the floor shifted. She could tell the wound had started to bleed again beneath the bandage on her thigh. But there was nothing to be done about that. She had to keep moving or her plan would fizzle.
Once the dizziness passed, she crossed to the door. The punctures on her arms were beginning to crust over, but she picked away the dried blood from one until it began to ooze again. After dipping her finger in, she smeared the blood over the peephole in a thick layer.
If Hamilton wanted to see what they were up to now, he’d have to come in.
; But she hoped he didn’t—not for at least several hours. Best case, he’d gone to bed and relegated the disposition of the two females in his basement until tomorrow. That would give her time to get everything set up.
Once the peephole was covered, she mustered her strength and moved the microwave from the top of the small refrigerator to the floor, ignoring the ache in her sprained wrist. Then she unplugged the fridge, tugged it into the center of the room and climbed on top, praying her balance wouldn’t fail her. When she felt steady enough to stand, she began pushing up the tiles in the drop ceiling.
Under the third one, she found what she was looking for. Concentrating on remaining upright, she shifted the tile aside to expose the full length of ductwork.
After climbing down, she maneuvered the refrigerator in front of the door.
“Laura?” Darcy turned her head. “What are you doing?”
“Working on a plan to get us out of here. Do you think you’re up to helping?”
“I’ll try.”
“I’ve got a few things to do first. You rest for a while. Once I have everything ready, I’ll tell you all about it and explain what I need you to do. You don’t even have to move from the floor, okay?”
“’Kay.” Her eyelids drifted shut again.
Please, God, let her stay conscious long enough for me to pull this off! I can’t do it without her.
Fighting back panic, Laura fisted her hands. She was not going to cave. Not. Going. To. Cave. If she did, Hamilton would win without a fight. She had to keep working on her plan, had to keep believing there was a chance it could succeed.
Despite the insidious doubts undermining her composure, she crossed to the bed and began stripping off the blanket. Every movement brought a fresh wave of pain, and it was slow going. But at last she managed to tug it free.
After putting the blanket beside the refrigerator, she limped back to the bed and pulled off the top sheet. Then she sat on the edge of the mattress, and with the plastic saw-toothed knife she’d scavenged from a drawer in the desk, she worked it against the fabric to create a slit. Once she made several parallel cuts, the fabric should rip into strips without too much difficulty. Tied together, they’d work well for her purposes.
She hoped.
As she labored over the slits, she checked her watch. Just past midnight. Surely Hamilton would have come back down by now if he’d intended to kill them tonight. That must mean he’d gone to bed, as she’d hoped. Dev had told her he was always in his room by ten and rose before dawn. That should buy her a few hours.
But he wasn’t going to sleep until dawn on this new day. She planned to rudely awaken him long before that—as soon as everything was in place.
And if all went well, in a handful of hours, she and Darcy would be free.
“I’m not liking what I’m seeing here.”
As Cal dispensed with a greeting and cut to the chase in a sober tone, Dev gripped the steering wheel and braced himself. “What did you find?”
“Signs of a hasty departure. There were lights on in the house when I arrived, so I went up to ring the bell and found the door cracked open. I invited myself in. Your client wasn’t there, but I did find her phone on the couch. It was still on. The coat closet door was open. The blow-dryer on the bathroom counter looks as if it had been in use and suddenly set down. Neither bed has been slept in.”
“Is her car in the garage?”
“Yes. So I nosed around outside. There was a single set of footsteps cutting diagonally across the snow on the front lawn toward the sidewalk. A lot of people have cleared their walks, but I was able to pick up a few of her prints in the uncleared areas and follow them down the hill, to an empty lot. There’s some tramped-down snow where they disappear. That’s where I am now. I do see tire treads in the snow at the curb, as if someone pulled over, but it’s impossible to tell how recent they are in this weather. They could have been frozen here for days. Give me a minute while I look around for more footprints.”
As the line went silent and Dev processed this new information, everything clicked into place with a sickening thud. If Hamilton had suspected he was being watched, he could gain access to a car without detection by inviting Faith over, telling her to park on the next block, then giving her some kind of drug to knock her out for a few hours.
It was brilliant.
The man was even smarter than they’d given him credit for.
Dev’s stomach clenched, the same way it had when things had gone south on his last undercover ATF job.
The day Cat had disappeared—and later been found murdered.
Please, God, no! Don’t let Laura die!
The prayer came unbidden, torn from the recesses of his soul. It was the same plea he’d uttered on that fateful day five and a half years ago—to no avail. The day he’d stopped believing that God took an active interest in the human race.
Laura didn’t believe that, though, despite her own hard times. She’d still managed to find evidence of God’s presence in her world. Still believed he listened.
Maybe he should give prayer another shot.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Lord, I’m sorry if I failed you. But please don’t fail me tonight. I need your help—and your strength. Keep Laura safe and . . .
“You still there?” A door slammed in the background as Cal spoke.
Dev opened his eyes and cleared his throat. “Yeah.”
“No more footprints.”
“That’s what I figured.” He related the story the cop had told him about where Faith had parked, as well as his theory. “If he lured Laura to his car and brought her back to his house, that would explain why he refused to answer the door when the officer rang—and the presence of blood.”
“What about Darcy?”
“She may be in there too. Maybe that’s how he convinced Laura to go with him. Proved he had her, then threatened her if Laura refused to cooperate.”
Dev heard an engine start. “Pushing it . . . but possible.”
“I need to get in there.” He tapped the steering wheel and did a sweep of Hamilton’s house as a plan began to take shape.
“Do you have a ruse in mind? A legal ruse?”
“Ruse, yes. Legal . . . let’s just say it’s worth the risk if it saves lives.”
“You gonna let me in on this?”
“It might be better if I don’t.”
“Forget it. I like to know what I’m facing before I dive into a situation—and I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“Connor’s here already, covering the alley.”
“If this goes down tonight, you may need all hands on deck. So what’s your plan?”
As Dev talked him through it, making up a lot of the details as he went along, Cal remained silent. That wasn’t usually a positive sign. “So what do you think?”
“It’s risky. Hamilton may not react the way you expect. You could find yourself facing charges if he doesn’t.”
“I know. But I can’t think of any other tactic to flush him out quickly, force him to show his hand. It will look very suspicious if he refuses to cooperate.”
“It could also make him panic.”
“I know that too.” And that was the risk that was churning up his insides, not the danger to himself. If Hamilton thought he was cornered, he could go off the deep end. Dev had seen it happen on plenty of occasions during his years in law enforcement.
Except he was pretty certain Hamilton had already gone off the deep end. And with Laura now missing too, letting this thing play out over an extended period wasn’t tenable.
“Based on what we know so far about what’s happened tonight, I think waiting is riskier.” He sucked in a breath. “Someone’s bleeding in there, Cal.”
At the uncharacteristic thread of desperation in the last sentence, he frowned. What was that all about? He was always cool under pressure.
Cal’s next comment told him he’d noticed the anomaly too. “Listen—hang in there. I’m wit
h you. And Larson’s a sharp guy. He’ll push this as hard as he can within legal limits.”
“Good to know. Expect some action when you get here—but stay on the sidelines unless things start popping. No sense everyone getting their hands dirty if this goes south. See you soon.”
Connor wasn’t all that enthusiastic about his plan, either, when he called to brief him, but he didn’t balk. Just promised to be close at hand in case backup was needed.
Once he got squared away with Connor, Dev pulled out the officer’s card. Without hesitating, he punched in the man’s number.
“I had a feeling I might hear from you before the night was over.” The police radio crackled to life in the background as Larson answered. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing yet, but I’m getting ready to place a call to 911 about a broken window at Hamilton’s. If you head back now, you might catch the perpetrator—and get a chance to talk with the owner while he decides whether to file a report.”
Two beats of silence passed.
“This doesn’t sound like Phoenix’s usual modus operandi.”
“It’s not. This is a personal decision. But lives may be hanging in the balance.”
“I’m on my way—and I’ll bring some backup. Two cars are always more impressive than one.”
Nice to know the officer was on his side.
Once he got the dial tone again, Dev tapped in *67 followed by 911.
“911. Please state the nature of your emergency.”
“I want to report some suspicious activity. My guess is a rock’s about to be thrown through a window of a house.” He recited the address.
“Can you—”
He cut off the call in the middle of the operator’s question.
Seconds later, after verifying no one was peeking out of the upstairs window, he slipped from the SUV and jogged toward Hamilton’s house. He’d already scoped out the front with the night-vision binoculars while formulating his plan, and he headed straight for the rock-rimmed flower bed abutting Hamilton’s property.
Trapped (Private Justice Book #2): A Novel Page 33