She darted away down the corridor, perspiration trickling down her neck. Her leg felt like it was on fire, and she gritted her teeth every time she put her weight on it. She paused, sticking her leg back and twisting to look down at it.
She swallowed. Her jeans were ripped and stained with dark crimson. Even now she could see the stain spreading. She leaned over and touched the ragged edges, and her stomach heaved when she saw the sliced flesh. Her flesh. Tears pricked her eyes. Damn, it stung. The cut was just above her ankle holster. She shook her head. She could have used the gun. Just using it against a living, breathing human being was a whole different ball game than shooting black cardboard cutouts at the range.
A soft sound, like the slight shuffle of shoe on concrete, snapped her head up, her eyes wide. She held her breath. There it was again. She paused. It wouldn’t be Ryan. No, he’d call out. Oh, heck, what had happened to Ryan? Was he okay? Did that shoe shuffle belong to Simon? Was Ryan alive?
The alternative had her backing up the corridor, casting about wildly for someplace to hide. She silently cursed the barren corridor. No hiding place. She started to run again in a limping rhythm that had her gritting her teeth to stop herself from crying out with pain. Now she was sweating profusely.
Please let Ryan be okay, please, please, please.
She came up to a hatch in the wall. The laundry chute. That will do. She swung the door inward and hoisted her hip up over the ledge. Biting her lip, she maneuvered her legs down, then the rest of her body, slowly closing the door above her. She braced her feet and back against opposite walls of the chute. Her injured leg began to throb. It couldn’t take much of her weight, so she compensated with the other leg, her thigh muscle tightening under the strain, and shuffled her way down, just out of arms reach. Just in case.
She trembled in the darkness, trying to control her breathing. There. Someone was out there. She opened her mouth, trying to breathe silently. She used one hand to brush the sweat off her face, and then let it drop to her side. It brushed against something that startled her for a moment. She reached out in the darkness, feeling along the metal sides of the chute until her fingers brushed against a cord. She frowned. What the hell?
The rope was attached to something above her, and dangled down the chute. It was heavy, as though something was hanging from it.
Her legs began to shake, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep herself braced, hanging on to the rope, and heard the slide of shoe right outside the chute.
She held her breath.
* * *
Hank opened the door to the office suite and stood aside to let everyone else in. Jeffrey walked in, with Deborah holding his arm, offering him support. Paula walked in next, holding a wad of towels to Jennifer’s head. Hank frowned and looked out into the foyer. He halted Paula and turned her to face him.
“Where’s Meagan?” he asked.
* * *
Ryan rolled around on the floor, hitting the legs of benches as he fought Simon. The man was feral, grunting and snarling as he tried to strike him with the blade. Ryan dodged, twisting and rocking in the close-quarters fight.
He blocked a stabbing strike, eyeing the knife that gleamed in the fluorescent lighting of the kitchen. Simon moved, and Ryan yelled in surprise as the man’s teeth clamped on to his wrist. A dirty fighter, huh? He grabbed the knife-wielding hand and punched Simon in the face with his own fist. Simon howled, jerking back, then his head snapped forward and he slumped on Ryan.
Ryan looked over the unconscious man’s shoulder to see Drew standing at his feet, hefting a fry pan in one hand.
“That’s what you get for starting without me,” Drew stated, indicating the senseless Simon. Ryan rolled his eyes and shoved the man off him, not caring when he received another thwack to the head as he fell to the side and against the steel leg of a bench.
“You take too long,” Ryan said as he rose to his feet.
“You’re welcome.”
“I could handle him,” Ryan said, gasping for breath.
Drew nodded. “Sure you could.” He kicked idly at the guy’s feet. “He’s out cold. What do you want to do with him?”
“Tie him up. Let’s get at least one of these psychos restrained and incapacitated.”
“I incapacitated him. You restrain him.”
Ryan shook his head. “You restrain him, I’ll go find Vicky.” He turned and jogged down the aisle to the other kitchen door.
Drew made a face. “Fine. I’ll restrain him,” he said gloomily at the spot where Ryan no longer stood.
* * *
The chute door swung inward with a clang, startling Vicky. Her foot slipped, and she fell deeper into the chute, crying out as the cord burned in her hand before she finally grabbed it tight enough to stop falling.
A head peered inside. The light of the corridor was behind the figure, casting the face in shadow. She couldn’t quite see who it was, but the silhouette—long hair. It was a woman. Not Simon. Not Ryan, either.
The woman leaned in, and finally Vicky could make out her features in the weak light.
“Meagan,” she gasped in relief, then faltered. Meagan was staring at her funny.
Meagan’s gaze narrowed as she caught sight of Vicky. “Well, well, well, what have we here?”
“Jade? Jade, is that you?” Vicky gasped.
Jade smiled, her lips twisting in a proud sneer. “Why, yes, it is.” She leaned in and grabbed the cord. Vicky’s eyes widened. Uh-oh.
Jade pulled, and Vicky was dragged up a couple of inches.
“Here, let me help you,” Jade offered sweetly.
Vicky had no choice. She let go of the rope and cried out as she slid down the chute.
* * *
Jade watched as the red-haired woman was swallowed by the darkness. She cocked her ear, listening, until she heard the thunk at the bottom. She smiled as she closed the door and jogged down the corridor to the stairs. She knew exactly where the woman would end up.
And Jade would be there to greet her.
* * *
Ryan kept his eyes on the floor as he followed the blood trail. Vicky was hurt, damn it. He stopped at the door to some room, glancing inside. She’d gone in, he could see that. He frowned. But then she’d left. Probably realized it was a bad place to hide. Good girl.
He followed the drops of blood. They were getting bigger, closer. Either she was slowing down, or she was bleeding faster. Either way, it wasn’t good.
He picked up his pace, continually scanning ahead. And then the trail stopped. He frowned, turning around, looking at the ground. The trail ended. He lifted his gaze. The laundry chute.
He swung the door in and glanced inside. No Vicky, but he could see a smear of blood on the edge. She’d climbed inside. He peered into the inky darkness. It must lead down to the basement. He withdrew, looking down the hall. There’s got to be stairs somewhere. He ran down the hall until he found them, pushing open the door and clattering down. He needed to find Vicky, keep her safe.
He hated the sick feeling in his stomach. Just like that evening, long ago, when he’d seen his father’s car drive by his new friend’s place. His father hadn’t seen them, playing in the yard. He wouldn’t have recognized him if he had. His mother had dyed his hair and cut it in a different style than the one his father insisted he wore.
But he’d seen his father. And he’d run. He’d run all the way home, wishing his legs would move faster, faster.
He was feeling the same thing, as though no matter how fast he moved, it was still too slow. Heart pounding, legs pumping, he’d run all the way home, but he hadn’t been in time to save her, to warn her.
He swallowed as he took the stairs two at a time, the panic rising in him as he remembered that night, of bursting in to find his dad standing over his mother’s beaten
body, wiping the blood off his knuckles. He’d fallen to his knees, crying over his mother as he tried to wake her. And he remembered that little wheezing laugh behind him.
He remembered the hot rage, the red fog that had filled his mind, of launching himself at the man who’d sired him. Everything got a little hazy after that. He vaguely remembered the police hauling him off his father, of the paramedic rushing to the old man’s side to patch him up.
His old man had gone to prison for murdering his mother. The cops at the scene had insisted to the judge that they found Ryan defending himself, so he’d gotten foster care.
And now he had that sick dread lining his gut again, heart pounding, legs pumping, as he tried to find Vicky.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Vicky tumbled into the laundry bin at the base of the chute, winded as her fall was suddenly stopped by a mound of cloth. The bin rolled away for a moment, until it came to an abrupt stop against a wall.
She lay there for a moment, blinking, wincing, trying to suck air back into her lungs. Holy crap. She battled her way through the material until she could pop her head free. She looked around, like a gopher sticking its head out of a hole.
She was in the basement. At least, she thought it was the basement. She wheezed, trying to get her lungs to work properly again. Wait, what was that? She held her breath and listened. There was a faint dinging sound of metal meeting metal. The door to the chute. Meagan had closed it. She held her breath. She must be taking an alternative route down to here.
The thought had Vicky fighting to get her arms out of the confines of tablecloths and sheets, until she could wrap her fingers around the rim of the bin and pull herself up. A sharp, hot, stinging pain lanced through her leg. She sucked in her breath. Damn, it hurt. She sat on the rim and pulled the cloth away from her leg. And she was till bleeding, darn it.
She grabbed a napkin and pressed it tightly against her leg, trying not to shudder at what could be on the napkin, transferring to her exposed cut. She grabbed another napkin and tied it around the other, firstly to anchor it in place, secondly to slow the bleeding. Her movement shifted more fabric in the bin, and she spied something stained a rust-brown.
She frowned. She was bleeding, but hopefully not that much. Grimacing, she pulled the cloth from the bin. It was a coat. A white coat, like they used in labs. She looked blankly at the insignia on the pocket. Chicago Mercy Hospital. She recognized it because that’s the hospital where Orla had stayed. But why was there a hospital coat here?
It took a while for her exhausted brain to process the information, and when it did, she gasped, tears filling her eyes. Oh, God. They’d killed her. Orla hadn’t died in her sleep.
Shudders shook her, and she flung the coat away from her in horror. She lurched out of the bin, trying to put as much distance between her and the terrifying evidence. She limped backward.
Oh, God. Her stomach heaved, and she backed up against a wall. She sank slowly to her feet, tears running down her face. Poor Orla. Her friend, her serene, special friend, gone so suddenly. She’d been attacked, nearly blown to smithereens, and now...she eyed the bloodstained coat and covered her mouth, hiccupping as she tried to quash her screams of pain, of grief. Of terror.
A door at the other end of the basement opened, then clanged shut.
She froze, her hand tightening across her lips, trying to stuff any sound back into her mouth. She desperately wished Ryan was here with her. No, she desperately wished they were home in Chicago, and none of this crap was happening.
Suck it up, Buttercup. That’s what Ryan would say if he was here. She took a deep, silent, shuddering breath, and pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the scorching pain in her leg.
Do what you have to do, to get the job done. That’s what he’d say. She backed up along the wall, feeling her way. Footsteps, quiet clicks as heels met concrete, echoed through the large area.
“I know you’re down here,” Jade’s voice called out.
More sounds, something heavy being dragged somewhere. What was the woman up to?
Vicky shivered as she crept up to another laundry bin. Where could she hide from the psycho bitch?
There were several designated areas, from the looks of things. The laundry area, full of wheeled bins. There was something that looked like a large meat locker, next to the area where the staff stored their own ski equipment. There were plenty of storage cages, but the area was largely an open plan.
Vicky peered around the corner. How could she get out of here? There were more curious sounds, tapping tins, ripping, and then something that made Vicky’s blood run cold.
The sound of a match being struck, followed by a low “whoosh.” She smelled something acrid and smoky. Oh. Crap. Jade had set something on fire.
Vicky glanced about. There looked to be a flight of stairs near the meat locker, which was in the opposite direction to where she’d heard Jade. That was her way out.
She scuttled across, keeping low as she limped along, using various laundry bins and equipment as cover.
Vicky sidled up next to the meat locker. She glanced toward the far end, where she’d heard Jade. An orange glow flickered over the top of the far laundry bins. She could see smoke. She couldn’t see Jade.
She turned around. The stairs were directly in front. She peered up them. There seemed to be some sort of conveyor system running up the ceiling of the stairwell. She followed it with her eyes. It led down to the meat locker. Next to the staff ski storage area. Vicky eyed the stairs.
Did the stairs lead up to the kitchen? But she’d run from the kitchen. That was where Simon and Ryan had been fighting. There was no sound from up there now, though.
She was stuck potentially between Simon and Jade. Ah, hell. She pressed her back against the meat locker, the seam of the door digging into her back. She turned. What about this thing?
She fumbled with the latch and swung the door open as quietly as she could and peered inside. A wave of cold billowed out over her, and she shivered. She hesitated. What if she went in, and then Jade locked her inside? That would be a slow way to die. She wondered absently what would get her first, the cold or the fire?
She glanced behind her. Wheels squeaked as a bin near the laundry chute was moved. Jade was looking for her.
Vicky wrinkled her nose and slipped inside, brushing against carcasses that hung from the ceiling. She took a couple more steps in, then stopped. No, this is stupid. What if she was trapped inside here with Jade? Or worse, Jade simply closed and locked the door. She’d seen it happen enough on TV to know it was a dumb idea to hide in the freezer. She turned around to leave, bumping into a carcass that hung off to the side. A carcass that was clothed.
She looked up and screamed, tumbling backward and out of the meat locker.
* * *
Ryan burst through the door, then fell backward, raising his arm to his face.
Flames ate at a pile of rags, slowly spreading along the floor of the basement toward the heating system.
Ryan lowered his arm, squinting against the heat. Damn. What now? He peered past the flames, ducking a little to see into the gloomy basement. Smoke was beginning to rise, and the bare lightbulbs looked like hazy halos.
He had to get to Vicky, help her. He knew there was another door, leading directly to the outside, but he couldn’t waste the time to race back up through the labyrinthine corridors to the nearest exit. Vicky needed him now.
And he wasn’t going to fail her. He took a few steps back, lifted his shirt to cover the lower half of his face, and sprinted into the flames.
* * *
Jade smiled as she heard the screams. Ah, now she knew where she was hiding. She ran over to the meat locker in time to see the woman scrambling to her feet, her hand clapped over her mouth.
“I see you’ve found my handiwork,” Jade commen
ted, planting her feet casually and leaning against the carving bench. The one with the bloodstained meat hook.
The redhead glanced between Jade and the meat locker. “Why did you kill her?” she asked, her voice faint with horror.
Jade shrugged. “She threatened me. She had to go.” Wasn’t it obvious?
The redhead swiveled, and Jade’s eyes narrowed when she saw the limp. A weakness. “Why did you kill Orla?” The woman asked, lifting her chin.
Jade’s lips pulled into a moue. “Oh, you knew Orla, did you? Aren’t you full of surprises. Who are you? Police? FBI?”
The woman shook her head. “No. I’m the admin manager,” she said, straightening her shoulders.
Jade blinked. “The what?”
The redhead glanced about. “Uh, I mean, I’m private security.”
Jade’s eyebrows rose. “Ah. And who hired you?”
The redhead met her gaze with a stare so direct it was almost unnerving. Almost. But nothing unnerved Jade Maxwell. Not now. “Orla Kruger.”
Jade shook her head. “This just gets better and better.”
“Why did you do it, Jade? Why did you kill all those people?”
Jade’s lips pulled into a sneer. She made it sound like it was over. But it wasn’t. Not yet. Her pulse accelerated at the thought of what was to come.
“You know what they did to me.”
The redhead nodded. “I do, and it was terrible. I’m so sorry that happened to you.”
Jade frowned. She seemed...sincere.
“But why kill so many? Why go to all this trouble?”
Jade’s eyes narrowed. Finally, someone recognized their efforts. This woman could appreciate their struggle, and their achievements.
“They stole my life,” she jabbed her thumb against her chest. “They stole Simon’s life. I had promise, I had potential. So did Simon. We had it all planned—graduation, marriage. My parents threw me out of the house when it happened. They called me a slut. Then that—that excuse of a man pressed charges against Simon. When Simon went to prison, I was left all alone.”
For Her Eyes Only (McCormack Security Agency) Page 29