The Drowning Man

by Sara Vinduska

  Chapter 41

  Trent stood in the brightly lit hallway outside the door to Lora's condo. He rang the doorbell on the off chance she was inside, but heard only silence from behind the door. He waited another minute. Maybe she was asleep. Or in the shower. And maybe he should stop wasting time.

  As much as he wanted to kick down the door in his desperation to find her, the still rational part of his mind knew he couldn't risk that kind of commotion or a nosy neighbor calling the cops. Instead, he checked to make sure no one was around, then silently picked the lock.

  Inside, after a quick look at the mail and paperwork piled high on the kitchen table, he went straight to the spare room she used as a home office. He dug through the stacks of paper, sifted through the drawers, and found nothing. Giving up on being neat, he dumped the contents of the drawers onto the floor to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

  Not that he knew exactly what the hell it was he was looking for. Sighing, he stood and looked around the room. He was wasting time and getting nowhere.

  It was going to be a long night. One benefit of being a firefighter, was being able to go for long periods of time without sleep. Trent would need that skill now. He would not rest until he found Nicole and Lora. And God help Simon and Caroline if they had hurt either one of them. Then Trent would not rest until they were no longer breathing.

  Woods stabbed his finger at the off button on his phone as Trent's voice mail picked up again. He called the nearest patrol unit and ordered them to do a drive by on Trent's apartment.

  “What if he's there?” the officer asked, his voice hesitant even over the phone.

  “I don't care, chain him to the goddamned bed if you have to.” The earlier tip that had come in about a pawnshop that might have sold a gun to Simon hadn't panned out. He had enough to worry about without adding Trent's whereabouts to the list.

  “Detective Woods?”

  It took every ounce of his self-control not to shout into the phone. “Just follow him if he leaves, all right? And report all movements to me.”

  “You got it.”

  Woods looked up and muttered a curse as he hung up and saw Nathan Barlow walking across the room towards him, a scowl deepening the lines on his face. What was it with these Barlow brothers? Couldn't they stay put for one goddamned minute?

  “It's a little late for a visit. What are you doing here?” Woods asked, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice.

  “Checking in. And Trent's not answering my calls.”

  Nathan looked as miserable as his brother had when he'd left Trent's apartment. Woods put a hand on his shoulder, leading him further down the hallway. “I'm a little busy right now.”

  Nathan's eyes searched his. “If you know something about my daughter …” the unspoken threat hung in the air.

  “Go home, Nathan.”

  “Do not shut me out of this. This is my daughter we're talking about.”

  Woods briefly closed his eyes against the sudden pounding in his head. Hadn't he just had a different version of this same conversation with Trent? His eyes jerked open at the sound of his phone ringing.

  “A call just came in for Tate,” the dispatch officer said when he answered. “One of her snitches, says he's seen a man matching Simon Hewett's description. And a small blond girl,” she added quietly.

  “Where?” Woods asked. The jolt of adrenaline chased his headache away.

  “Around South Broadview and 82nd.”

  “Rough part of town.” The area was full of low income housing and run-down apartment buildings. A good place for Simon to hide out.

  “He only wants to speak with Tate. We've got the nearest patrol unit bringing him in.”

  “Thanks. I'll be waiting here.” And he would make the son of a bitch talk.

  “Roger,” she said, before signing off.

  Woods turned his attention back to Nathan Barlow. “I have to get back to work.”

  “I'm staying here,” Nathan said, a step behind.

  And he'd thought Nathan had been a pain in the ass when his brother was missing.

  “No. You're not. I'll walk you out.”

  Woods stalked out of the station and across the parking lot, leaving Nathan with no choice but to follow after him. He reached the car and whirled around to face the older Barlow brother. “You know you cannot wait here with me.”

  Nathan blew out a frustrated breath. “I need to do something.” Pain flashed in his eyes. Pain Woods feared might only get worse if things went the way they most likely would. He couldn't help but think of his own children and the devastation he'd feel if something happened to one of them.

  “You need to be at home with Amy and Samantha,” he said softly.

  Nathan's jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed but he didn't protest.

  The brief silence was shattered as a bullet slammed into the windshield of Nathan's sedan. Cracks instantly spider webbed across the glass.

  “Get down,” Woods yelled, pushing Nathan to the ground. Nathan’s head hit the pavement hard and for a moment, things went black. He blinked, saw Woods in the glow of the streetlights pulling his gun and leaning around the driver’s side fender, a bright red trickle of blood running down his dark forehead.

  There was another pop. Woods cursed and returned fire. One of the back tires blew. Nathan kept his head down. Shouted voices and commands of other officers soon joined the sound of gunfire.

  Nathan pushed himself to his knees in the parking lot when the shooting stopped. He looked across the now empty road. The shooter was gone. Trent was gone, and Nathan’s hope wasn’t far behind. He felt his last thread of control snap. What would a man who had no problem shooting at them in the parking lot of the damned police station do to a little girl? His fists pounded the pavement in despair until blood dripped from his knuckles. “He's going to kill my daughter,” he roared in a ragged voice.

  Woods came around the back of the car and put a hand on his shoulder. “Trent and Lora will bring her home.”

  “But what if -” he couldn't finish the thought.

  Woods jerked him to his feet, gave him a rough shake. “No. Don’t even think like that. You hear me? They’re all coming home.”

  Simon smiled as he thought about the arrangements he'd made for Detective Justice Woods. Hopefully he was dead by now. Wouldn't that be a nice little surprise for Lora and Trent. He opened his phone and dialed.

  Trent sat in the parking lot of Lora's building, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. He hadn't found anything inside. He'd go to the station. Damn KCPD protocol. Woods would not shut him out any longer. Before he could pull out of the parking space, his phone rang.

  The screen of Trent's cell glowed with the words unknown number above the time. 2:30 a.m. “Yeah,” Trent said.

  “Time for a new game plan, son.” Trent's hand tightened on the phone at the familiar voice.

  “Isn’t it past your bedtime, Simon?” Trent asked, struggling to keep his voice steady.

  Simon laughed. “I’ve had a busy day.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I like you, Trent. I do. You have more guts than almost any man I’ve met. So, I’m going to do something for you.”

  “What’s that?” Trent asked, his eyes scanning the dark night through the windshield.

  “I hold in my possession two of the things you hold most dear in this world.”

  “And what two things are those?” Trent forced himself to ask, with the little breath left in his lungs.

  More laughter. “What is it you see in that bitch cop anyway? She’s not worthy of you. Not even close.”

  “Prove it,” Trent said, his hand tightening even more on the phone.

  “Say hi to your Uncle Trent,” Simon’s faint voice said.

  “Uncle Trent, Lora’s here with me.”

  Trent closed his eyes, squeezed his other hand into a fist. Please, God, no.

  “Say hi, Lora,” Simon said in the distance.

  Trent held his b
reath as a brief silence was followed by sounds of a struggle, a muffled groan, then Lora’s voice. “I’m sorry, Trent.”

  The uncharacteristic waver in her voice made Trent's chest tighten. Before he could respond, Simon was back on the line. “There’s your fucking proof. Now, I’m making you a one-time offer. You, and you, alone will meet me at Caroline's house. You will have one chance to save them. If I see anyone else, they're both dead.”

  “Simon,” Trent said, but Simon had already ended the call. “Shit,” he shouted in the silence of his truck. He managed to stop his fist an instant before it collided with the windshield.

  Could it be possible? Would Simon and Caroline risk going back to Caroline's house? He tried to think like them. Simon didn't want him. He wanted Lora.

  Why? Because she'd shot him?

  No. Because she'd ruined whatever fantasy of playing house he'd had with Caroline.

  He thought of how he felt about Lora. Imagined Simon, in his own warped way, felt that way about Caroline. And it made perfect sense for them to go back there, to where they'd been happy.

  It also made perfect sense for this to end there.

  He should call Woods. He knew he should. But he wouldn't. As much as he trusted Lora's partner, he couldn’t risk going against Simon's warnings. There was too much at stake. The only way to save Lora and Nicole would be to turn himself over to Simon and hope for a miracle. Whatever the consequences to him were, if there was even the slightest chance of saving Lora and Nicole, he would do it. He just wished he'd managed to get a gun first.

  Woods stood in his boss' office, itching to get back out on the road. At least Nathan Barlow had finally let an officer take him home to his family. They'd caught the shooter four blocks from the station, hiding in a parking garage. The nineteen year old had been given cash, a gun, and a description of Woods. Now, he sat sweating and shaking alone in the interrogation room, in need of whatever his drug of choice was. He'd picked Simon Hewett out of a photo lineup and though Woods knew the officer who'd questioned him was one of the city's best, he resented the hell out of his boss for not letting him have a go at the kid.

  So he stood, waiting for the chief to dismiss him so he could get back to work, while another team worked the lead that had been called in earlier.

  Finally, the wiry bald man rubbed his moustache and looked up from his desk.

  “Let me have five minutes with him. Sir,” Woods added, trying one more time.

  “With the man who just tried to kill you,” his boss said.

  “He's a kid!”

  The chief rubbed his moustache again. “Five minutes and Brewster goes in with you.”

  Woods watched the kid’s eyes widen as he walked into the room and let the door shut behind him with a solid thunk. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms across his chest. Let the kid sweat it out for a while. Brewster stood silently in the corner of the room. Woods wasn't sure who he was keeping an eye on more, him or the kid.

  The kid grew increasingly agitated as the minutes drug on, his hands shaking uncontrollably, his thin body shifting in the chair, nervous dark eyes darting around the room.

  Woods pushed off the wall, sat down across from him and leaned forward. If this piece of shit knew anything about where to could find Simon and the Barlow girl, he would get it out of him. “Tell me your conversation with Simon Hewett. Word. For. Word.”

  The kid swallowed hard once then the words rushed out. “He followed me home. Told me he'd help me get what I needed.” He paused, took a breath, and continued, looking down at his hands. “Said if I helped him, he'd pay me good. I didn't know you was a cop until later. When I followed you to the police station. But I was desperate, man.” He clenched his shaking hands. “The big guy, he wanted you out of the way. So he could end it where it should have ended in the first place.”

  Woods leaned farther forward. “Say that last part again.”

  The kid looked genuinely confused. “What?”

  “About ending it.”

  “He wanted to end it where it should have ended in the first place. Where you should have already died.”

  Woods stood and ran for the door.

  Trent stopped his truck a quarter mile from the driveway to Caroline's house and made his way on foot, keeping to the darkest shadows of the property. Simon might know he was coming, but that didn't mean he had to know the exact moment.

  He stopped and looked up the road towards the darkened house from his nightmares. The front porch light was out. His heart hammered in his chest as his fingers reached for the front door knob. His breathing slowed. Whatever he found on the other side, there was an eerie calm in knowing that one way or another, this nightmare ended tonight.

  Trent watched as if from a distance as his hand closed around the ice-cold knob and turned. It turned easily and the heavy door swung open. He eased it closed behind him and looked down that long, long hallway.

  His lungs burned as they filled with water, his hands ached as they desperately pounded against the glass.

  No. It wasn't real. Not this time.

  Cold. He was so cold, he didn't think he'd ever be warm again. His clothes hung on his shrunken frame now, clinging to his wet skin.

  Not real.

  He shook his head, made himself focus.

  “Simon,” he called out, already knowing which of the closed doors he was behind.

  “Your boyfriend's here,” Simon hissed in Lora's ear. She felt her body sag, but Nicole stood next to her, her small body trembling from the cold and the fear. The tiny hand gripping hers gave her the strength to stay upright.

  “I'm going to give him a chance to save one of you.” His voice pitched even lower, “I hope he doesn't pick you though, because you deserve to die. I'll make Trent watch. He'll be a better man for it. Of course, he may have to get a little wet in the process.”

  “He never did anything to you,” Lora said.

  “Oh, you both did plenty.”

  “You'll never make it out of the city alive.” They were the words of a desperate woman, but she said them anyway.

  “Who's going to stop me? Your partner?” He paused, rubbed his jaw. “Oh yeah, he's dead.”

  Lora felt her last bit of composure crack. No. She had to keep it together. Grief would have to wait.

  Trent took a breath, pushed the door open.

  It was still there. In the middle of the room. The sight of the clear tank, still filled with water sent an ice-cold shiver of fear through his body. His eyes moved up and what he saw caused a wave of fear that took his breath away. It was even worse than his nightmares.

  Simon stood on top of the platform, two of the people Trent loved most in the world in front of him. This time a handgun had replaced the shotgun, the muzzle moving from one of them to the other. Lora's face was pale. Nicole was trembling but calm as she clutched Lora's hand. Her mouth opened slightly when she saw him. At least they were both alive and unharmed. Caroline was the only one missing. Whatever the reason, he'd deal with the bitch later. Simon grinned as Trent took a step into the room.

  “I’m going to give you a gift, Trent. A chance. Here they are. What will you risk? What fears will you face to save them? More importantly, who will you choose to save?”

  Trent's gaze shifted back to Lora. For a brief moment, their eyes locked. She mouthed the words I love you, then, taking a step forward, she dropped down into the tank.

  Simon cursed, then laughed. “Well, I was going to give you a choice, but it seems she decided for you.” He gestured at the floor in front of the tank. “I saved you a front row seat, though,” he said as he slid the panel on top of the tank shut.

  No. Trent had no idea if he'd shouted the word or if it was just in his head. Then there were no more words, just blind instinct as his feet pounded across the room towards the tank.

  Simon aimed his gun at Trent from the platform with one hand while he pushed Nicole down the stairs with the other.

  Trent grabbed Nicole
as she half-fell, half-stumbled down the last few stairs. He steadied her with his hand. “Run,” he yelled, aiming her small body towards the open doorway.

  “You took away my love, now I get to take away yours,” Simon yelled down at him.

  “No.” Trent rushed towards the stairs. “I didn't kill Caroline.”

  “You killed who she was.”

  Trent saw Lora in the tank, saw her pounding against the clear walls, felt his own lungs start to fill with water. No. It was not going to happen again, not to her. He started up the stairs, two at a time. “Don't do this. Let me save her or I will kill you where you stand.”

  Simon cocked his gun and looked down at him from the platform. “I don't think so.”

  Trent heard a low animalistic growl escape his throat as he lunged up the remaining stairs. He felt a burning sting across the top of his left shoulder an instant before their bodies collided.

  Slamming into Simon's chest was like hitting a brick wall. His teeth rattled with the impact. They wavered for a few seconds, then Simon's weight drug them both down. Trent's knee slammed against the side of the platform, as they went tumbling down the metal stairs.

  The gun fell from Simon's hands, clattering to the ground and skidding across the floor.

  Trent's head banged against the hard concrete floor. The pain took his breath away. Simon's weight on top of him forced the little remaining air from his lungs. His vision went dark. He blinked, fought through the pain and disorientation. Lora was dying. He had to save her.

  He turned his head. The gun was halfway across the room, out of both of their reach. Trent tried to push him off, reached for the staircase. He had to get Lora out of that damned tank. Simon's hand slid off Trent's blood-slicked shoulder and he was able to shove him off. Trent scrambled on all fours, made it halfway up the stairs.

  Below him, Simon slammed his big body against the staircase. Trent heard the creak, felt the metal structure shake, reached his hands for the top of the platform.