Stripped

by Brian Freeman

  Stride was squeezed into the back with eleven other cops in body armor. All men. Tension and pent-up adrenaline buzzed among them. Sawhill had made the decision to go in, and they were waiting for the green light.

  He heard chatter on his headset.

  “The street is clear. No civilians. We’re good to go.” That was the driver of the van.

  Sawhill radioed back. “Tammy, you concur?”

  Tammy was an undercover cop who had been staking out Blake’s building from a complex across the street for more than an hour. “Right, no civvies. Nice to do this in the middle of the night, guys.”

  “Alonzo, any movement in back?”

  “Negative.” Alonzo had slipped into position in a yard behind the building and was watching Blake’s apartment.

  “Lights from inside?”

  “Negative.”

  “Okay, insertion team, stand by.”

  In the van, they continued to wait, anxious to get started. The vests were warm, and their bodies were in close quarters.

  They had caught a break shortly after the cordon was set up on the surrounding streets. A Vietnamese man returning from his job in a downtown casino had approached them about access to his apartment. It turned out that he lived in Blake’s building. He was able to identify Blake from their sketch, pinpoint the location of Blake’s apartment on the second floor at the rear of the hallway, and give them a thorough map of the thirty-unit building itself.

  The warrant had arrived fifteen minutes ago. They were ready to go.

  Sawhill’s voice crackled on the radio. “One more time, people. We go with four in back, Rodriguez and Holtz on the north, Han and Baker on the south. The perp’s balcony is in the dead center of the building, count three from the north or south, one two three. Got it? Be ready if he tries to go over the side.”

  Several voices in the van grunted affirmatively.

  “Lee, Salazar, Alexander, Odom, Stride, Angel, you’re the assault team. Down the hall quick and quiet, then Lee and Salazar, you take the door, Alexander and Odom, you go in first, Stride and Angel, you’re behind them. Remember you’ve got a potential innocent party in the room with the perp. You’ve got a living area straight in, with a bedroom and kitchen on the south-side wall.”

  “Copy that,” Stride replied.

  “Kwan and Davis, you’re in the rear. Kwan, you take the upstairs hallway and keep any residents inside their apartments. Davis, you’re backup in front of the building.”

  “Roger.”

  “We go on my signal in one minute.”

  The seconds passed slowly. It gave Stride time to think about Amanda again-and Serena. He had been on a limited number of major raids in his career, mostly drug related. They were always risky.

  Sawhill’s voice came over the radio without fanfare. “Go.”

  The van’s rear doors opened on greased hinges, and the team piled out. For large men, they moved with grace and speed. The first four peeled off, two heading to the left side around the rear of the building, two repeating the maneuver on the right side. They all carried automatic weapons. Stride moved with his team of six across the street at a jog and up the sidewalk to the building entrance. The outer door was open. Alexander and Odom, carrying assault rifles, went first, moving inside the building and then signaling behind them an all-clear. The two policemen began slowly climbing the stairs to the second floor, their weight causing the wood steps to creak.

  Stride heard a voice on his radio. “We’re in position in back.”

  Two cops with battering rams followed up the stairs. Stride and Cordy went next. The last man held position at the top of the stairs while the others proceeded down the hallway, hugging the walls. Stride heard few sounds from the apartments they passed. It was the middle of the night. He counted five doors on either side, and ahead of them, less than a hundred feet away, was an identical door at the far end of the hallway.

  Blake’s door.

  They tried to be silent. It was almost impossible. The complex was low-end construction, and the floors groaned as six bulky men made their way to the rear. If Blake was awake and alert, he’d hear them coming. Alexander and Odom had their rifles aimed at Blake’s apartment, and they picked up the pace, knowing they couldn’t make a quiet approach. Stride saw a spy-hole in Blake’s door and wondered if he was there, watching them. If he was, he had to know he was trapped and outgunned.

  As Stride passed one of the apartment doors on the left, it suddenly opened inward.

  He spun and was bringing his gun up when he saw an old woman in the doorway, her eyes bleary. She wore a tattered white robe. When she saw Stride, her mouth fell open in fright, and she was an instant away from screaming when he quickly pushed her back into the apartment and covered her mouth with his hand.

  “Hold,” he hissed into his radio. Then, to the woman: “Police, ma’am. It’s okay. Stay in your apartment. Don’t open the door.”

  She nodded frantically.

  Stride smiled at her and backed out into the hallway. He shut the door with a soft click. “Go.”

  Alexander and Odom took up positions on opposite sides of Blake’s door. Stride went to the left, behind Alexander, and Cordy went to the right, behind Odom. They waited. There wasn’t a sound from inside the apartment, and no light shined from the crack at the base of the door.

  Alexander held up three fingers. Then he made a fist again and raised his fingers one at a time.

  One. Two. Three.

  The battering rams both hit the door at once, and it caved immediately. Alexander and Odom spun around the frame and ran crouched into the apartment with their rifles leveled. Stride and Cordy followed. They all shouted at once. “Police!”

  They made a circuit of the small living room in less than five seconds, but it was empty. One man shouted that the kitchen was clear. The only other room in the apartment was the bedroom, and the fragile veneer door leading there was closed. Alexander didn’t wait for the battering ram but simply brought up his giant leg, which was like the trunk of an oak tree, and kicked the door down, tearing it off its hinges and sending it flying into the room.

  He stormed in.

  “Hostage on the bed!”

  Stride followed him into the room. A young teenager was tied to the four casters of the bed. She was naked and spread-eagled, with a T-shirt rolled and tied around her mouth. Her eyes were as wide as saucers. She tried to scream, and she struggled with the rope that held her.

  “Clear!” Alexander shouted, having checked the closet and bathroom. “The son of a bitch isn’t here!”

  Sawhill’s pinched voice responded over the radio. “He’s not there?”

  “Negative.”

  “Rodriguez, Holtz, tell me you’ve got him in back.”

  “Sorry, sir, nothing here, no movement.”

  Sawhill was exasperated. “We had this place staked out five minutes after the 911 call! Where did he go? Start going door to door, check every apartment.”

  “What about the warrant?” Alexander asked.

  “We have a multiple murderer loose in the building. Just do it!”

  Stride interrupted on the radio. “Give me thirty seconds, sir. Let’s talk to the girl.”

  He gestured at the closet. “Alexander, grab me one of those dress shirts, okay?” The big cop pulled a shirt off the hanger and tossed it to Stride, who used it to cover the girl on the bed. She was small, and the shirt stretched from just below her neck almost to her knees.

  “Take it easy, okay?” Stride said. “You’re fine now.”

  He drew out a small knife from his pocket and cut the twine that tightly bound her tiny wrists to the casters of the bed. Deep red welts gouged her skin, and the rope was bloody where she had struggled to get free. As soon as he cut her loose, she sprang up and threw her arms around his neck. She sobbed, and her nose ran on his Kevlar vest.

  Stride let her cry out for a few seconds, then gently pushed her away.

  “Where is he?” he asked her.
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  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “When did he leave the apartment?”

  “A while ago. I don’t know. More than an hour, I think. I was afraid he’d come back.”

  Stride didn’t think Blake was ever coming back here. “What happened after he brought you into the apartment?”

  “He made me undress. Then he tied me to the bed, and he made me make the call. He held a gun to my head, and he told me exactly what I should say. As soon as I made the call, he gagged me and left.”

  “Call?” Stride asked. He suddenly understood and felt a sense of horror.

  “The 911 call. He made me call and pretend like I was outside, you know?”

  “You called 911?”

  The girl nodded earnestly.

  Stride shook his head. “Shit.” He spoke into the radio. ‘The 911 call was a hoax, sir. Blake made the girl do it. He bolted as soon as she did. He’s been long gone, an hour or more, while we’ve been spinning our wheels.”

  Sawhill, who never swore, sounded close to swearing. “I don’t believe this. Check the other apartments anyway, just to be sure.”

  Alexander nodded. “Got it, sir.”

  “He’s probably got a backup crib on the other side of the city,” Sawhill said. “Keep an eye out for reports of stolen cars from this neighborhood. He may have snatched another vehicle to get out of here.”

  Stride was about to reply, and then he thought about it. Blake had begun to get inside his head. He couldn’t have expected to encounter Amanda in the doughnut shop, so he had to act fast to get out from under the heat. The net would be tightening, and sooner or later, it would lead the police right here. He needed a diversion. An escape. Blake was buying time.

  Too much time, Stride realized. He didn’t need to invite the cops into a phony raid in order to get away. He was trying to tie them down, keep them occupied.

  So he could launch his last big play.

  Stride felt his whole body run cold. “That son of a bitch.”

  He had spoken into the radio, and Sawhill responded. “What? What are you talking about?”

  Stride ripped off his headset. He clawed his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed. It took forever for the call to go through, a stretch of dead air and silence that went on and on. As he waited, he began to have waking nightmares.

  The phone rang. His home phone. Where Serena and Claire were.

  “Pick up,” he begged them.

  The phone kept ringing. No one answered.

  Stride ran for the door.

  FORTY-THREE

  When Serena could see again after her eyes adjusted to the dazzling light, she knew she was about to die. Blake stood in the doorway with a SIG-Sauer pointed directly at her head.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” he said.

  He had a hint of a cold smile. There was arousal in his eyes, looking at the two women entwined on the bed.

  A flood of regrets ran through Serena’s head. That she had never been to Hawaii. That she had never been able to have children, although she had persuaded herself over the years that it didn’t matter. That Jonny would find them like this, naked, together, and realize she had betrayed him. That her weaknesses were stronger than she was. That he wouldn’t know how much she loved him.

  Her eyes flicked to the nightstand, and in an instant, she measured the time it would take to leap for her gun and get a shot off. Too long. Much too long.

  Blake watched her eyes. “Please don’t do that. Don’t make me kill you.”

  “Like you’re not going to anyway.” Serena gave him a defiant look. She laid an arm across her chest, covering her breasts.

  “Let’s just stay calm,” Blake said. “Claire, get off the bed and go to the other side of the nightstand.”

  Claire hesitated, and Serena reached over and squeezed her hand. “It’ll be okay,” she told her. A lie.

  Claire did as she was told.

  “Good,” Blake said. “Now, with two fingers, take the gun on the nightstand and hand it to me.”

  Claire picked up the gun as if it were a dead fish on the beach and let the butt dangle from her fingers. Blake kept his eyes and his gun trained on Serena the whole time. He took the gun from Claire and shoved it in his belt.

  “Get dressed,” he told them.

  Claire didn’t move. She waited until Blake looked at her. His eyes traveled up and down her naked body, and then he blinked, as if he were embarrassed. Serena thought his reaction was remarkably human for a multiple murderer.

  “Do you know who I am?” Claire asked.

  “You’re Boni’s daughter,” he snapped.

  “And do you know what that makes me?” she asked. She stared at him hard. “You know, don’t you? You have to know.”

  Blake’s composure developed a hairline crack. “Yes.”

  “Then how can you do this?”

  Serena waited to see if Blake would answer. He seemed to be at a loss for words. “Both of you, get dressed.”

  “My clothes are in the other room,” Claire said.

  “Use some of hers. Come on, let’s go. No sudden moves.”

  Serena wondered what the hell he was up to. Why get dressed? She had expected him to kill them both immediately, but Blake seemed to be following a more complex plan. That was fine. The more time she was alive, the more opportunity there might be to escape or overpower him.

  She slid her legs off the bed, still trying to cover herself. Quickly, she pulled on the clothes she had draped over a chair-panties, T-shirt, jeans. She opened two of her dresser drawers and tossed clothes to Claire, who was shorter and smaller than Serena. The clothes fit loosely, and Claire rolled up the pant legs.

  “Where are we going?” Serena asked.

  Blake didn’t answer. He pulled a roll of duct tape from his rear pocket and tossed it to Claire. “Bind her wrists together tightly.”

  Serena looked at Claire, and their eyes met. Serena extended her hands, palms together.

  Claire seemed to be frozen. She had the tape in her hands but didn’t move.

  “Do it!” Blake said.

  Claire’s eyes looked pointedly away at something behind and below Serena, then directly back at her. She did it again. And again. Directing Serena’s attention to something.

  It took Serena only a second or two to figure it out.

  Her nightstand. Her cell phone.

  “I can’t believe I trusted you,” Claire said bitterly.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You said you’d protect me!”

  “Shut up!” Blake insisted.

  “You?” Serena asked. “You arrogant little bitch! You could have hidden behind all your daddy’s money, and instead you got me killed, too!”

  “Fuck you!” Claire screamed, stepping forward and laying both hands on Serena’s chest, pushing her violently backward. Serena toppled off her feet, colliding with the nightstand as she fell, knocking everything on its surface to the floor. The lamp crashed, its bulb shattering, and books and keys littered the carpet. Serena twisted, landing on her face, but she already had the cell phone spotted as she hit her knees.

  “Get up!” Blake hissed. “Not another word!”

  “Fuck you, too!” Claire retorted. She turned and partially blocked Serena from view as she bent over and began wrestling her back to the ground. Blake leaped forward and pulled Claire back by the hair. Claire was still clawing for freedom.

  “Enough!”

  Blake pushed Claire away and fired his gun into a pillow on the bed. The explosion rattled the walls, and a huge cloud of feathers burst into the room, flying and floating over the two women.

  “The next one kills Serena,” he said.

  Both women froze. Claire was crying. “I’m sorry.”

  “Get up,” Blake told Serena.

  Serena got back to her feet, her face flushed.

  “Now tie her hands,” Blake repeated to Claire.

  Claire nodded meekly. She began wrapping the tape around S
erena’s wrists.

  “Tighter,” Blake instructed. “Go higher up.”

  Claire frowned and did the next loops more tightly and continued rolling the tape until it was almost to Serena’s elbows. With a tilt of her head, she managed to raise one eyebrow at Serena, who replied with the barest nod. A whisper of a smile came and went on Claire’s face.

  Claire finished, and Serena’s arms were locked in front of her, her hands dangling below her waist.

  “Now her face. Gag her. Do it.”

  Claire took a final strip of tape and placed it across Serena’s mouth.

  “Push her down on the bed,” Blake said. When Claire hesitated, he broke between them and roughly shoved Serena down. She landed on her back on the bed, her upper body strangled for motion. She watched as Blake tied Claire’s wrists next and then gagged her, too.

  “Come on,” he told them. “Let’s go. The two of you go first. If you try anything, you’ll both be dead, and probably some other innocent people, too.”

  He took Serena by the shoulder and forced her to her feet. She left the bedroom with Claire immediately behind her. They proceeded down the hall and then downstairs to the first floor. Blake pushed past them and opened the front door. He went out onto the porch, his eyes darting back and forth. With a jerk of his head, he gestured them outside and then down the steps to the street.

  An old white Impala was parked at the curb, blocking her Mustang.

  Somehow Blake had managed to steal the car and the keys. Or maybe he had kept another car hidden away for the endgame. He used the remote control on the keychain to pop the trunk. Serena’s heart fell again, and she had visions of him taking the two of them out and dumping them in the desert to rot. Or burying them alive. His desire for revenge was so bitter that anything was possible.

  “In the trunk,” he said. “Fast.”

  Serena tried to bend at the waist and ease herself inside, but with her arms bound, she could barely move. Blake came up behind her, grabbed her T-shirt and belt, and lifted her bodily like a suitcase and dumped her into the trunk. The hard floor smashed her face, and she tasted blood in her mouth and tried to swallow it quickly down so she didn’t choke. Her head banged the roof as she tried to move. Serena rolled to the back, and two seconds later, the car rocked as Blake threw Claire inside next. She heard a muffled cry of pain. Claire’s body was wedged against her.