by Cindy Dees
Cari stared at him long and hard. Finally, she whispered, “What are you saying?”
Gunter closed his eyes. His face looked pained. He opened his eyes and looked right at her. “I swore I would never betray your father. And I won’t,” he ground out. “But I’m telling you there’s more to what you just saw downstairs than meets the eye. You need to decide whether you are always going to be your father’s daughter and take him at face value or whether you’re going to be your own person and think for yourself.”
Had he and Joe compared scripts with each other? Was she nothing more than her father’s daughter? Was she bought and paid for in blood, trained too well to do Daddy’s bidding to ever stop jumping when he ordered her to? She didn’t like the person who had accepted jewelry in payment for prostituting herself, who let men like the Slav paw at her to please Daddy. She didn’t like being used. Not by her father and not by Joe.
She closed her eyes, the pain of his betrayal so raw she didn’t know if she could stand it.
Gunter had taken a huge risk in picking up Joe’s phone, and an even bigger one in giving it to her.
“Why?” she asked him.
“Why what?”
She half-laughed, half-sobbed. “Why couldn’t you have been my father?”
The older man gathered her in the first hug he’d ever given her. “Aww, honey, I wish I was.”
She buried her face against his shoulder and let out a shuddering breath.
Slowly, she opened her eyes. Reached out. And took the phone. She would make the call. But not for Joe. Not because Gunter asked her to. But for herself. Because Gunter was right about one thing. It was time for her to stand on her own two feet. To make decisions for herself.
She stared at the phone for a few seconds, pondering how to find out the last number Joe had called. Could it be as easy as hitting the redial button? What the hell. She gave it a try.
The phone connected and began to ring at the other end. She started when a male voice barked in her ear, “Go ahead.”
“Uh, hello. My name is Carina Ferrare. I’m calling to…” Who was she calling to speak to?
“Miss Ferrare? Has something happened to Joe?”
“Uh, yes. But that’s not why I’m calling….” God, this was hard. Was she supposed to just blurt out a demand to know if this guy had murdered Julia?
“What’s happened?” the man asked urgently.
She took a deep breath. Quelled an urge to disconnect the phone and flush it down the toilet. “A man came to the house tonight. He had pictures.”
“Pictures of what?” the man prompted with gentle urgency.
“Of my sister. Dead.”
“What?” the man exclaimed. “How? When?”
“He said it happened last night. She was shot.”
The man at the other end of the phone swore violently. “Just a moment. Stay on the line. I’m going to make another phone call. Okay? Will you wait for me?”
“Uh, okay.” She’d hung in there this long. What were a few more minutes?
Somebody knocked at her bathroom door. Her gaze snapped over to Gunter, who signaled with his hands for her to send away whoever was out there. Didn’t he want anyone to know he was in here with her? The size of the risk he was taking by being here, by handing over Joe’s cell phone, struck her forcefully.
“Go away,” she called out. She didn’t have to fake the wobble in her voice.
“Miss Cari. Your father told me to make sure you’re all right.”
It was Grace. Her longtime maid. “I’ll be okay, Grace. I just want to be alone.”
“You’re sure, ma’am?”
“I’m sure,” she called back firmly. “I’m going to take a shower and see if I can relax a little.”
“All right. I’ll be right outside your room. You just call for me if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” she replied in genuine gratitude.
“Still there?” the man said in her ear.
“Yes,” she answered.
“I’m patching you through to your sister, now.”
“What?” she gasped.
“Stand by.” There was a click in her ear, and then a long pause that was nearly the death of her. At long last, her sister’s voice came on the line.
“Cari? What’s going on?”
Cari’s knees collapsed out from under her and she sank to the floor, sobbing in relief. “Is that you? You’re alive?”
“Of course I’m alive. What is going on?”
Cari blinked. Her brain couldn’t seem to wrap around the words. “You’re not dead? The Blackjacks didn’t murder you?”
“Good Lord, no!” she exclaimed. “What the hell’s going on down there?”
“A visitor showed my father a message from you—from the Blackjacks—to the Pentagon, saying that you died. The guy had pictures of you. Lying on the ground. Shot in the heart. And the man standing beside you, holding the gun, was the man who drove Joe and me to get married.”
The man who’d patched Julia through interrupted. “Listen to me, Cari. I’m the man who drove you and Joe to Judge Cabot’s house. My name is Colonel Tom Foley, and I’m the commander of the Blackjacks. Nobody shot Julia. At least, not last night. She was shot a couple of months ago, though.”
“She was shot?” Cari exclaimed.
Foley added hastily, “She went to a meeting with her father and some of his men. The Blackjacks were there, too, and shooting broke out. Your father tried to kill one of my men and Julia dived in front of him to take the bullet. She was hit in the chest. But Joe was able to control the bleeding and we got her to a hospital in time. She’s still recovering from the wound, but she’s going to be fine. You must have seen photographs of that incident.”
“Julia?” she choked out. “Is this true?”
“Yes.I’m fine. Colonel Foley told me what Daddy did to you. I swear to God, I wasn’t shot last night. I took a bullet a while back, but it was Daddy Dearest who shot me. He was aiming at Dutch, but… It’s a long story. I’ll tell you some other time. Are you okay, honey?”
“I am…now,” Cari hiccupped.
“I can’t wait to see you. I’ve got a ton of stuff to tell you.”
Cari laughed through her tears. “I’ve got a ton of stuff to tell you, too. And, Julia?”
“Yes?”
“I love you, big sis.”
“I love you, little sis.”
Cari disconnected the call, and Gunter lifted her gently to her feet. She couldn’t help it. She flung her arms around the older man and sobbed her relief into his shoulder. “She’s alive, Gunter. She’s alive!”
“I’m glad to hear it, sweetheart. But I’m afraid your young man won’t be alive for too much longer if you don’t do something soon.”
Joe. Oh, God. Joe. He was down in the basement, no doubt being beaten to a pulp. And it was her fault! No. Delete that. It was Eduardo’s fault. He’d set the trap for Joe and used her—again!—to set up the man she loved. What an unmitigated son of a bitch!
She checked her mounting fury. She didn’t have time to be angry at her father right now. First things first. She had to rescue Joe, and then she would strangle her father.
She hit the Recent Calls button and redialed Colonel Foley. He answered on the first ring.
“You were right. I’m sorry I believed the worst.”
“It’s all right. I’m glad we got it straightened out. But we’ve got more pressing matters to deal with. We’ve got to get you out of there. Now. Let me speak to Joe.”
“Uh, my father has Joe. He knows he’s in the Blackjacks. I…I let that slip when I thought the Blackjacks murdered Julia. I’m so sorry—”
Foley cut off her apology. “No time for that. You say Ferrare’s got Joe?”
“Yes. He’s probably in the basement.” Gunter nodded beside her. “Yes, he’s definitely in the basement. My father’s got a—a torture chamber…down there. He’ll do terrible things to Joe before he kills him.”
/> “We don’t have anywhere near enough firepower to storm your father’s house,” Foley replied. “Is there anyone inside who can help you? We need to get you out. Now.”
“Yes, there’s someone who’ll help me. But I’m not leaving without Joe!”
“This is no time for heroics, Miss Ferrare. My job will be easier if you’re not running around in the line of fire. When we come in, I don’t need to be worrying about pulling you out, too.”
“I won’t go without Joe,” she said stubbornly. “Besides, I can help you. How close are you?”
“I’m looking at your father’s house, as we speak.”
“I can probably drop some of the perimeter security systems and let you in. I’ll call you back when I’ve done it.” She disconnected the line before Foley could argue with her anymore.
Gunter’s brow furrowed. His betrayal of her father might extend to passing her Joe’s cell phone, but it might not extend to letting the enemy in the front door.
“We’ve got to save him,” she said earnestly. “It’s my fault that he’s in trouble. We can’t let him die. I love him! If you’ve ever had any feelings for me, Gunter, I’m asking you this one thing. Help me tonight.”
Chapter Eighteen
Gunter sighed heavily. “I took a vow once that I would never betray or harm your father. He saved my life and, in turn, I swore I would never turn on him.”
“I’m not asking you to kill Eduardo,” Cari pleaded. “I’m begging you to help me save Joe. Please. I’ll never ask anything of you ever again. Just this one thing.”
Gunter stared at her for a long time. Then he said heavily, “I’ll do what I can.”
They left the bathroom and headed for the hallway door. And stopped short when the knob wouldn’t turn under Cari’s hand. Gunter tried the door. Shook his head. It was locked.
She called through the panel, “Grace? Let me out.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Ferrare,” a male voice said outside. “I can’t do that. I’m under orders to keep you in your room until further notice.”
Gunter called out, “Guillermo, it’s Gunter. Let me the fuck out.”
“I’m sorry, sir. Eduardo was explicit. No one comes into or goes out of Miss Cari’s room until he says otherwise.”
Cari blinked. And stared at Gunter in dismay. Had Eduardo figured out what Gunter was up to? Had the German just thrown his own life away in the name of rescuing Cari from her grief?
The German shrugged, his face set in grim lines.
“I’m so sorry, Gunter,” she choked out.
“I knew something like this might happen. It was my decision. I accept my fate.”
Her eyes narrowed. One thing she’d learned from Joe was never to say never. She wasn’t going to roll over and play dead. Not yet. There had to be a way to get out of here and help Joe.
“The ladder,” she whispered to Gunter, acutely aware of the bugs in her room.
A grin broke across his face. He nodded and the two of them sprinted across the room toward her balcony. Gunter grabbed her arm and stopped her from bursting outside. He stood to one side of the French doors and peered out from behind the curtains.
She whispered in his ear, “Joe says that the cameras all line up facing away from the balcony every few minutes. We can slip out then.”
Gunter’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that how you two got out for that skinny-dip?”
She smiled briefly and nodded.
“How long is the coverage gap?” he muttered.
“About fifteen seconds,” she replied.
“We’ll have to be fast, then.” He glanced down at the high-heeled sandals on her feet. “Go put on tennis shoes while I watch for the cameras to line up.”
She raced to her closet and threw on the black slacks and turtleneck from the night before, along with the tennis shoes. She was just tying the last shoe when Gunter gestured for her to come to the door.
“Next pass of that camera to the right,” he murmured.
She nodded her understanding.
There. It was swinging away from them. They slipped outside silently and threw the ladder over the side railing. Gunter looked twenty years younger as he disappeared over the edge of the balcony. But she didn’t have time to stop and wonder why as she swung her legs over the edge and raced after him.
I’m coming for you, Joe. Hang on just a little longer.
They tag-teamed pounding on him. When one thug got tired, the next one would step in. Thankfully, the pain made Joe pass out quickly enough that he didn’t suffer through much of it.
He came to when a bucket of cold water was thrown on him. Eduardo was standing in the corner, grinning like a damned shark. He didn’t bother telling the bastard what he thought of him. Ferrare wasn’t worth wasting his breath on.
“Now that we’ve got him tenderized a bit, what say we move on to something a little more interesting?” Eduardo gloated.
Several of the men left the room, no doubt to fetch some lovely toys like car batteries and filleting knives.
The door opened and another guard stuck his head into the room. “Excuse me for interrupting, sir, but there’s something going on down in security that you need to take a look at. We’re picking up a transmission out of the house.”
Eduardo turned in irritation. “What sort of transmission?”
“We’re not exactly sure. It’s sort of like a phone signal.”
Eduardo cursed and headed for the door, followed by two more of his flunkies. That left Joe alone with just two guys. He felt like hamburger, but it was probably the best and only chance he would get to try and help himself.
He spoke up derisively. “Can’t you sissies do any better than this? It feels like I’ve had a nice massage, but that’s about it.”
On cue, both thugs advanced on him. His arms might be tied to the chair, but his legs weren’t. He held his feet still until both men were well within his reach, then lashed out viciously, kicking the nearest man in the groin. As the guy went down, shouting in pain, Joe flung the chair onto its side, rolled and came up, bent over but on his feet. He charged forward, ramming the top right corner of the chair into the second guy’s solar plexus. The thug went down, gasping like a dying fish.
Joe slammed himself into the table, praying the chair would give way before the table. It did. Damn, that hurt! The chair back partially tore free of the seat. Struggling to stay conscious as waves of pain poured over him, he worked the ropes binding his wrists free enough for him to turn around partway in the chair.
The first guy was back on his feet. Joe raised the chair remnant overhead and smashed it down on the thug. The guy dropped like a rock, but even better, the chair busted the rest of the way. He shook his hands free of the wreckage, looped both ends of the rope around his hands and choked the first guy until he turned an ugly purple color and was well and truly unconscious.
He spun around and kicked as hard as he could, nailing the second guy, who was still down on the ground, in the groin. The guy screamed. He wouldn’t be standing—or fathering children—anytime soon. The guy appeared to pass out.
Thankfully, the padded walls had absorbed the sound of the fight, not that anybody would think twice about screams coming out of this room right now. Joe cracked open the door. Two thugs were moving quickly away from him toward the stairs. He could hear Eduardo talking excitedly in the security office, barking orders, but Joe couldn’t make out the words. Nor did he have the time to try.
He slipped outside into the hall and tried to run for the freezer. But the best he could manage was an old lady limp. They’d busted him up good, all right. He hobbled down the hall, ducked inside the meat locker, closed the door and turned on the light. Got to keep moving. He grabbed a mop from the corner and wedged it into the big stainless-steel handle so the door couldn’t be opened from the outside.
He headed for his stash of tools. He grabbed the crowbar and tore the lid off one of the crates marked C-4. He stuffed a dozen blocks of the heavy gray
putty into plastic grocery bags he grabbed off the shelves. Into another bag he threw the pliers, wire cutters and wire he’d stashed earlier.
And now for a weapon. He hoped. He applied the crowbar to the large, coffin-like crate. One of the padlocks popped off and he pried open the lid, peering inside.
He recoiled and let the lid slam down. Those weren’t guns in the box. They were an expensive pair of leather men’s shoes. An occupied pair of shoes. Eduardo actually had a dead man stored down here beside his food! How twisted was that? Joe examined the other boxes quickly and found none marked as weapons. Quickly, he tore the lids off all the C-4 boxes and dumped their contents on the floor. When it blew, it should set off any other ammunition in here, and hopefully it would take a good chunk of the house overhead with it.
He grabbed a coil of detonator cord out of one of the crates and tossed it over his shoulder. He jammed one end of it into a block of C-4 and fed the cord off his shoulder as he headed back toward the door.
He pressed his ear against the thick steel and faintly heard a ruckus outside. His escape must have been discovered. He heard shouting and what sounded like pounding feet. After a few seconds, the noise died down. Very slowly, he cracked open the door of the freezer. The hallway was empty. Laying the detonator cord on the floor along the wall, he fed it down the hall as fast as his broken body would go. He stepped into the interrogation room, which was now empty. He wrapped the cord around a block of C-4, set it on the floor by the door and, after a quick check of the hall, slipped outside once more.
Next, he ducked into the big storage room. Lots of good flammables in here. He wired another block of C-4 and took the detonator cord over to the big generator in the back. He pulled out the wire cutters and pliers and connected the cord to the timer he’d wired up the night before. Then he started a second strand of detonator cord, leading away from the timer.