“What do you mean?”
“Young. Impulsive, reckless, idealistic. Pampered. Spoiled. Dark eyes that get them whatever they want. Until it gets them hurt or killed.” Mick slammed his bottle on the counter as he glared at the dark-eyed girl dancing around the kitchen, laughing with his sister. Malachi watched his dad ruffle Paige’s dark hair. Watched her throw her arms around him and give him a hug. His father blushed, his mother laughed.
He pondered his brother’s words a moment...dark eyes? “You’ve lost someone, haven’t you, Mick?”
His brother’s eyes flashed, eyes the same color as Malachi’s. “None of your damned business, Mal. It’s not open for discussion.”
“Anytime it is...” Malachi watched as his brother stormed into the kitchen. Grabbed the obviously heavy trash from Paige’s hands and shouldered open the outside door. The kitchen’s occupants paused a moment, watching him, as well.
Mick’s behavior confirmed Malachi’s suspicion. Paige reminded his brother of someone—someone he’d cared a great deal for. Someone he’d lost. And Mick was taking his grief out on Paige. Unfairly. Mal would have to make sure the situation didn’t get out of hand—for either Paige or Mick.
In the meantime—that bag of trash Julia held did look somewhat heavy. He walked into the kitchen with purpose.
Chapter Seven
* * *
Jules wasn’t leaving until the last of the kitchen was spotless. She’d enjoyed spending the time with Alessandra’s parents and had probably stayed a little too late. She was exhausted and her whole body ached. Still, it had been nice to see how a family interacted. Meredith and Kenneth Brockman were the kind of parents every child from a dysfunctional family dreamed about. Al and her brothers were very lucky.
Julia’s mother and step-father had drunk themselves into oblivion every night until they’d died in a drunken accident around Julia’s twentieth birthday. Not exactly Norman Rockwell. Not like the Brockmans, though Julia’s family had actually been more well-to-do than the Brockmans.
Julia, Paige, and them—Mick and Malachi—shooed the elder couple out the door. They’d worked hard enough pulling the party together; they didn’t need to worry about the cleanup, too.
After they left with Al driving them home, Jules, Paige, and the two brothers worked diligently returning Malachi and Al’s home back into the spacious open floor living area it was intended to be. Jules took down the decoration with silent help from the giant Mikhail. Paige and Malachi collected all the trash scattered throughout the house. Even though the house was huge by most standards—huge and open, airy—it’s first level wasn’t designed to hold over two hundred people comfortably. But it had. And it was left to four people to clean up the results.
If Malachi Brockman and his brother weren’t there, Julia wouldn’t have minded at all. But they did come in handy for heavy lifting.
Soon it was all finished; the only thing left to do was carrying out the remaining trash bags. Paige and Julia agreed the brothers could handle that little chore, and Jules gathered her things. Paige would be staying the night. She lived clear across town, in a small basement apartment that was currently being repaired. It had been damaged by fire two days ago, and Paige would be staying with Al and Malachi until the repairs were finished.
Paige disappeared, but Jules knew she’d most likely found her bed. Paige ran on an odd metabolic clock. She could stay up for days at a time and be fine, but once she hit bottom, she slept hard. Jules worried about her friend. Paige’s nightmares would catch up to her one day.
Her sigh was long as she threw her backpack over her shoulder. Thankfully, Jules didn’t live too far away. Twenty-five minutes and she’d be home in her own bed.
* * *
Malachi knew when she was ready to leave, and he met her by the back door. “Ready to go, Julia? You’re more than welcome to stay here. We still have a bed free.”
“What about Paige?” Her words were low, exhausted, and suspicious. Malachi fought a soft smile. He resisted the urge to torment her somehow—she was obviously too tired for a good sparring match. In fact, she looked more than tired, she looked almost wan.
“Crashed on the porch. Hammock.”
“It’s thirty degrees outside! And snowing!”
“It’s enclosed and there’s a small heater out there. She’ll be fine. She’s done it before. She likes sleeping outside.” Probably a remnant of sleeping in alleys and on park benches. It made him frown. Maybe it wasn’t a good thing. He’d have to give it more thought. Later.
“No. I’m going home.” She shook her head. “Don’t leave her out there. It’s too cold for her to lie out there.”
“Honestly—I think she did it deliberately. Put some space between her and Mikhail. He makes her nervous.”
“That’s because he’s a jackass. I think it’s a trait his brother shares.” Her dig was said around a yawn so it lacked impact. Malachi grabbed her arm and shook it chidingly.
“That’s not nice, Dr. Bellows. I’m a perfect gentleman. My brother’s the same. That’s the way our mother raised us.”
Julia snorted, then sniffled. “Your mother may be a remarkable woman—and I do mean that—but she failed in one area. Two, if you count your brother.”
“You are a heartless woman.”
“I never said otherwise.” She walked carefully down the path, her heels crunching in the snow. Malachi stayed at her side in the uneven drive.
She said nothing as they approached her car. She slipped her key in the lock and turned to him. “Well, as you can see I’ve arrived at my car. Your duty is done—”
He smiled, the grin glowing in the low light. “Jul—”
The thud sent him reeling into her. Julia screamed, arms reaching up to catch him as he fell. Dark shadows seemed to come from everywhere, surrounding them quickly. Malachi jerked, his hand falling against her car. He spun, fist shooting out at the first shadow.
Chapter Eight
* * *
The sounds of fist meeting flesh was the only sound heard. Jules couldn’t get an accurate count, it was too dark and they moved too fast.
She swung her backpack, knowing that the shadow with the white shirt was Malachi and being careful to avoid him. She’d slipped spare shoes in the bag earlier, spiked heels that would do some damage if her luck was good.
As tempted as she’d been earlier to hit him, he was her only ally against whatever, whomever, it was surrounding them. And she prayed he’d be able to fight off whoever it was.
Jules hadn’t been that terrified since Stephenson had attacked her in Georgia’s kitchen and she’d known Matthew was less than fifteen feet away. She’d been so scared that monster would go after the little boy. Malachi fought hard, and Julia wasn’t exactly a slouch.
Still, they were outnumbered. And she couldn’t tell by how much. She slipped in the snow, her ankle twisting viciously. She went back with another cry, landing heavily against her car.
Malachi turned toward her, the distraction costing him. He went down, and didn’t get back up. Soon three shadows stood around him, kicking him. Hard.
Jules screamed again. Fought against the fourth man. He was relentless. And he was on her, slamming her hard; her head hit the hood, the pain reminisce of Stephenson’s fist plowing into her face months ago. She didn’t move for a moment.
Then one of the men cursed, and another blur joined the fray around Malachi. Then Paige was there. Paige yelled, told Jules to run, get help. To get inside, get to Mikhail. Jules couldn’t. She wouldn’t leave Paige fighting alone. And Malachi still hadn’t moved.
Paige was swinging a ball bat, and she got in several good hits. Jules fought her own assailant, mentally counting. There were at least two men kicking Malachi. Jules struggled with a third. That left one unaccounted for. No, he was the one fighting with Paige.
So where did the fifth shadow come from? The final man had Paige’s arms; Jules heard the bat hit the side of her car as one man threw it. Then they
turned on Paige, two men viciously attacking the girl. Jules tried, but she couldn’t throw the man on her off. Couldn’t help her friend. And Malachi still wasn’t moving.
“Let’s end this!” The one said, his hands suddenly around Jules’ throat. Jules heard the thud of Paige’s body hitting the snow, then she felt pain as the man rammed her head into the hood of her car.
Chapter Nine
* * *
She smelled copper, smelled blood. The smell mingled heavily with sweat and cologne.
For a moment she thought she was in the midst of the nightmare she experienced every night. Thought that she’d soon see the mangled Toyota with her husband and brother-in-law trapped inside. Would soon hear little toddler Matthew crying for his daddy, would hear Georgia’s sobs as she pulled the child free from his car seat.
Then she realized it was too damned cold to be that nightmare. She always remembered the heat, the July sun beating down on her as she tried in vain to help Bryan. Her Rick had already been gone, gone before she and Georgia had gotten to the car. For some reason she always remembered the heat first.
But now...now she was just damned cold. She opened her eyes, afraid of what she’d find.
Malachi Brockman’s face was the last thing she expected to see. An undignified squeak escaped.
His blue eyes jerked open. He looked just as surprised as she felt. Then realization dawned. He started to sit up, his hands rose to his head, pausing when he realized he’d been bound.
Horror filled her as the events of earlier filled her mind. It hadn’t been a bad dream.
* * *
Malachi hurt all over, worse than the time he’d fallen two stories while chasing an UNSUB—unknown subject—through Detroit. Then he’d ended up with three cracked ribs and a wrenched thigh muscle. This was worse.
And he wasn’t exactly certain what had happened. He remembered walking Julia out, remembered teasing her. Remembered something hitting the back of his head.
And then he remembered a desperate fight in the dark, remembered hearing her scream. Remembered an intense sense of failure as he’d fallen.
“Julia, are you alright?” There wasn’t much light in the room they were being held in, just a tiny patch of probably early morning sun shining through what had to be a basement window. Still, Malachi could make out the scared eyes of his companion. “Sweetheart?”
She nodded. “You? How’s your head? Your ribs? You can feel all your extremities? They hit you pretty hard.”
“I’m fine. What exactly happened?” He ran a quick eye over her. She had bruises forming on the skin around her neck—bruising he could accurately identify. Some bastard had had his hands wrapped around her pretty throat. Her hair was tangled around her face. Her bottom lip was swollen.
Her dress was torn, revealing the smallest glimpse of pale skin and silky bra. Her coat was missing; her skirt had ridden up obscenely high. Or been jerked up.
She still wore sexy lace garters and black stockings. Fury filled him at the knowledge that their captors had most likely seen those legs, those stockings. Stockings that were shredded and muddied. Bloodied. Oh, God. “How badly did they hurt you, sweetheart?”
“Not as badly as they hurt you...or...Paige. God, Paige.” Tears filled her eyes. Malachi stiffened.
“Paige was there?”
“After a minute, after you’d been knocked down. She had a ball bat. But there was a fifth man.” Her voice was husky, the tears making speaking difficult. “They left her in the snow. She wasn’t moving.”
Malachi’s throat constricted. Why would they take him and Julia—but leave Paige? Paige was a bigger threat than Julia. Julia might have been Quantico-trained, but she was a doctor first, not an agent. Paige was by far the larger threat. Unless Paige was already dead. Paige couldn’t be dead. Not her. Not his Paige. Still, why would they kill Paige but not Julia? Not him?
“I’m sure Paige will be ok.” They both knew his words were a lie. “Mikhail was there, remember? He’ll find her and take care of her. And then he’ll kick ass and take names.”
She bit her lip, her expression one of mixed hope and disbelief. “We have got to think of some way to get out of this.”
Malachi had never felt like a bigger failure. He’d failed at keeping her safe. Failed at keeping Paige unharmed. Malachi knew she was right. “First we need to figure out where they’ve got us. And who the hell they are. I need you to tell me exactly what you remember.”
Julia closed her eyes for a moment. “There were five of them. All male. As big as you, if not bigger. They didn’t say anything other than the one saying they were going to end this. Then his hands were around my throat. I’m sorry, that’s all I can remember.”
“It’s a start. I need you to untie me.” They hadn’t bound her. That told him they didn’t see her as a threat. But they would have had to have known she’d untie him. So, they obviously thought they had them pretty well contained in this room.
It took her clever hands less than two minutes to have the knot worked free. He bit back the curse as the blood flowed back into his mangled hands. He’d struck a few faces hard enough to bruise his knuckles. She rubbed his hands and fingers gently. “Can you feel every finger? This?”
She ghosted one finger lightly against his palm. Malachi shivered. She frowned.
“Yes, Julia, I felt that.”
Her eyes shot to his. “Good. That means they didn’t damage your hands.”
That wasn’t what Malachi was concerned with at the moment. He wanted her to continue touching him, in spite of where they were. That wasn’t good. He coughed. “We need to get thinking.”
“I know, but where do we even begin? This is not my game, remember? I deal with dead people who’ve been found.” Her words trembled. He tangled his fingers in her hair, scooted closer on the thin mattress where they’d been tossed. It was most likely that of a futon or hideaway bed. Cheap, tossed on the bare basement floor. One thin blanket and a sheet was all that had been provided.
Thankfully, the room did appear to have some sort of heat coming through the one lone vent high above their heads. There was nothing to stand on, nothing to let them look out the window ten feet above the floor.
There were two doors; one had been left open and Malachi could see the edge of an olive green toilet. He stood and explored the bathroom. The faucet worked, not well, but it did function. The toilet flushed. The light switch worked. They had some heat and running water. If they were stuck there for a while they wouldn’t dehydrate and they wouldn’t freeze to death. He opened the cabinet beneath the sink.
Various canned meats with current dates were crammed into the small space. No dust covered the labels—they were fresh. Prepackaged individual containers of raisins, applesauce, plastic spoons, and crackers were also jammed in the linen closet. No, whoever their captors were, they didn’t intend to kill them right away.
It gave Malachi hope, but also puzzled the hell out of him. What was going on?
Chapter Ten
* * *
Jules shivered again as she watched her companion explore the room. She cataloged his movements, half afraid he’d keel over, leaving her to face whoever it was responsible for them being there in the first place.
His ribs were injured. His face was scuffled, worse than she’d ever seen him. He’d lost his glasses somewhere between his home and here—where ever here was.
He bent over, and his face tightened. His left hand rose to hold his ribs. Julia jumped to her feet, ignoring the slight ache in her head. She was sore, but they hadn’t hurt her too badly. Instead they’d focused on him.
He frowned at her as she moved closer. She ignored his protest as she pulled his arm down. She poked and prodded around his chest and ribs. The man was solid, his body strong beneath the once white shirt.
“I think it’s cracked, not broken.” Jules gave her final diagnosis. “Do you hurt anywhere else?”
“Stomach. I think they kicked me a few times.” He p
ushed her hands away, but she was undeterred. She pulled the shirt free from his waist. He had an actual six-pack under his clothes—who knew? She pushed that thought out of her head and dropped his shirt back into place.
“I don’t think there’s any internal bleeding, but I’ll check again later.”
* * *
Her hands had felt good against his skin, the connection reminding him that he wasn’t the only one in this situation. That was a mixed blessing for sure. He wanted nothing more than to get her out of there, take her home where she’d be safe, then come back and find the men responsible for putting that scared expression in her pretty eyes. He led her back to the thin mattress in the corner and they sank down on it. He leaned against the wall and pulled her closer, vaguely surprised when she didn’t protest. A few hours earlier and she would have ripped his arm off at the shoulder if he’d tried to touch her. But now it was obvious she was terrified and needing some sort of familiar connection. Even if it was just him.
He grabbed the thin blanket and wrapped it awkwardly around her shoulders. She dropped her head to rest against him for a moment. That, more than anything, concerned him.
“What’s this about?” She trembled against him. “Did you recognize any of them?”
“I don’t have a clue.” They had to have been after him, not her. Why else would they have been at his home? “I’m sorry they’ve involved you in this.”
“We need to figure a way out of here, before they come back.”
“I don’t think we can.” He looked around again. They couldn’t reach the window easily and the door had apparently been dead-bolted—from the other side. Until someone opened that door, they weren’t going anywhere.
He wasn’t wearing a watch and only the angle of sunlight passing through the window helped him keep any sense of the time. Hours passed. They spent most of that time in silence. Occasionally, she would ask him how he felt, then try to examine him for internal injuries.
HUNTING (PAVAD) Page 3