Exposed - A Thriller Novella (Chandler Series) by J.A. Konrath & Ann Voss Peterson

by JA Konrath

  She opened her eyes halfway, and I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

  “What … how did you do that?”

  “A little training, and a whole lot of fearing for my life. You ready to get out of here?”

  “How?”

  It was a good question.

  Process. Evaluate. Segregate. Then take control of the situation.

  The sun shifted through the windows, the pilot turning the craft around, heading back to the mansion. I touched the wall between passengers and pilot, soundproofing material backed with steel. A check for parachutes, weapons, or anything else I might use came up empty.

  To get to the cockpit, I would have to climb back out of the craft and access a separate door, a door that would be locked. Not the best plan. But I couldn’t wait for the craft to land. No doubt the pilot had used his radio to arrange for a welcome party to greet me.

  And by greet I meant kill.

  I finished scanning the compartment, spotting speakers but no cameras, and then I brought my attention back to Julianne.

  My assignment was to get her out of this mess, unharmed.

  I’d get her out. But the unharmed part probably wasn’t going to happen.

  A dip in altitude and a glance out the window told me we were approaching the mansion, the bay where it nestled already in sight. I had to make my move soon, or I wouldn’t get to make it at all.

  “You got shot,” she said, pointing an unsteady hand at my shoulder.

  “Just a little bit.”

  I grabbed the bottom cushion of the seat opposite me and pulled. The Velcro holding it in place made a ripping sound, and it detached. I ripped another free then released Julianne’s seat belt.

  “What are you doing?” Her words came out in a slow ooze.

  I didn’t answer. After the sound of the Velcro and her muttered question, no doubt the pilot was listening over the intercom and would be wondering the same thing. I didn’t have much time before he figured it out.

  My heart hammered hard enough to break a rib.

  I grasped the door handle and shoved it open. I moved quickly, not only hoping to catch the pilot off guard, but Julianne, too. Even in her state, she would resist if given the chance.

  Hell, I was resisting it myself.

  Holding the seat cushions by their built-in straps, I pulled Julianne out of her seat and looped her left arm around my shoulder and my right arm around her waist. I needed the perfect moment. Low enough so the impact didn’t injure us, but not so close to shore we hit bottom. Or worse, land.

  “What are you doing?” she repeated.

  When we descended to thirty feet, the beach coming up fast, I made my move. Scooping in a deep breath, I held Julianne tight against my body and jumped.

  She screamed all the way down.

  “There will be times when you must work with other operatives,” The Instructor said. “Rely on your counterpart to put his mission first, always, and you do the same. As long as you share the same goal, you don’t need to worry about trust.”

  The water hit my feet first, slapping them hard, the force shuddering up my legs and through my spine. Cold enveloped my body and closed over my head. Moments after we submerged, I lost Julianne.

  I was only under for a few seconds, just enough time to stop my downward trajectory and fight my way to the surface, but it felt like forever.

  It felt like I was going to die.

  I almost—almost—freaked out, but peeking through the water, eyes stinging, I could see the sun glinting off the waves above me, and my arms and legs scrambled hard and fast, like I was crawling up out of a grave.

  When my head broke the surface, I gasped too soon. Salt water filled my mouth, making me gag and cough. Above, the helicopter blades continued to beat out their rhythm.

  Julianne’s blond head broke the surface just two feet away. She stared with panicked eyes. Reaching out, she clawed at me like a frightened kitten.

  I grabbed her hands and did my best to control her, keeping us both afloat with a scissors kick. I knew how to swim well enough, and once I got myself beyond the terror of being plunged into water, I could do okay. But that didn’t make it easy. Julianne’s grabbing and thrashing made keeping my own fear in check more challenging.

  When panicked, a drowning swimmer can pull down anyone attempting a rescue. If this kept up, I would have to dive deep, forcing her to choose between holding onto me or self-preservation. Once she let go, I would be able to secure her with a cross chest carry.

  I preferred it wouldn’t go that far. I’d drowned once before and didn’t care to risk repeating the experience.

  “Julianne, I have you. It’s all right.” I looked straight into her panicked blue eyes and kept repeating the words. Finally she focused, and I seemed to break through.

  I caught sight of a seat cushion carried on the waves, too far away to justify the effort to fetch it. Instead I placed Julianne’s hands on my shoulders, so I could perform a tired swimmer’s assist.

  “Lean back and float.”

  Miraculously she did as I said, her legs coming up on either side of me. Moving my arms and legs in a modified breast stroke, I pushed us both toward shore.

  When I finally touched sand, my muscles were so fried I wasn’t sure I could walk. We emerged from the water and limped up on a strip of land flanked by a crowded, summertime beach and a waterside restaurant, its parking lot nearly empty in the hours between lunch and dinner.

  Julianne leaned against me, her steps uneven as we wound through swimmers and sunbathers scattered along the beach’s edge. People eyed her dripping clothes, but no one spoke or tried to help.

  Overhead, the helicopter hovered high in the sky, its blades still beating staccato. No doubt the pilot had seen us come out of the water. Hawk Nose and whatever men he had left would be descending on the beach soon. We needed to be gone when they arrived.

  I dipped a hand in the purse still slung diagonally across my chest and brought out my phone.

  After locating a sign proclaiming the beach’s rules, I texted the name to the number Jacob had given me.

  I sure as hell hoped Morrissey was close. If he didn’t arrive soon, we’d have to make a run for it and hope there was a train station nearby. At least I had the cash Jacob had stashed in the purse.

  “You … threw me out of a helicopter,” Julianne said. Her tone was belligerent.

  “It was the only way.”

  “I’m sure there were other ways. There had to be other ways.”

  “There weren’t.”

  “You’re crazy.” She yanked her arm away and stumbled on her own for a few steps.

  I caught up, grabbing the crook of her arm.

  “I’m here to help you.”

  “Get the hell away from me.”

  “Those men weren’t working for a modeling agency, Julianne,” I said. “You were right to be afraid of them.”

  “You threw me out of a helicopter, you crazy bitch.”

  Standing there with her hands fisted by her side, she reminded me of how young she actually was. And how stupid. But I couldn’t be too angry. After all, as many mistakes as she’d made, I was still about half a dozen up at her age.

  “Those men are human traffickers, Julianne. Ever hear of sexual slavery?”

  She shook her head.

  “They sell girls. They were planning to sell you.”

  “What?”

  “You think normal modeling agents carry guns around? They’re going to sell you to some rich asshole overseas, where you’ll be raped and killed.”

  Her eyes went out of focus. She stammered something I couldn’t decipher.

  “What are you on?” I asked, squinting into her eyes. “What did they give you?”

  “Leave me alone.”

  Her pupils looked normal. From the slightly slurred speech, and the lack of coordination, I guessed it was something in the diazepam family, Valium, maybe Xanax.

  “Julianne, you have to
listen to me and do whatever I say. We’re not safe here.”

  “If you don’t leave me alone, I’m gonna start screaming.”

  I saw her take a deep breath. Screaming would draw attention, which would draw Hawk Nose.

  I raised my hand and slapped her, hard, wet palm against wet cheek.

  Her eyes went wide.

  “I don’t give a shit if you don’t believe me, or you’re confused, or the drugs are clouding your head. These are dangerous men, Julianne. You’re in trouble, and if you don’t do exactly what I say, when I say it, I’ll knock out every one of your teeth, and then any chance you might have at a modeling career will be gone. Got it?”

  She nodded quickly. “I … I …”

  “Shut up and come with me.”

  I took her by the hand and led her into an overpriced gift shop in the beach parking lot. After spending a minute working the rolled up fifty dollar bill out of my purse lining, I bought each of us a Red Bull and ordered Julianne to drink hers. They didn’t have first aid kits, and the bandages they sold were too small for my wound, but they had the next best thing—super glue. I dripped half a tube onto the bullet burn, effectively stopping the bleeding. It was ugly, but effective.

  The limo pulled up just as we walked back outside.

  Morrissey lowered the window. “I think everyone east of Oyster Bay saw you jump out of the helicopter. Cops will be here any second.” He eyed my shoulder. “Are you bleeding?”

  “I was. I took care of it.”

  “Is she?”

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  I pulled on the door handle. It was locked.

  “Open the goddamn door, Morrissey.”

  “Are you sure she isn’t hurt?”

  “I’m fine,” Julianne mumbled.

  The door unlocked. I pushed Julianne into the back seat of the car and slipped in beside her. Morrissey hit the gas, flattening us against leather. I fastened my safety belt and made sure Julianne did the same. The air conditioning raised goose bumps on my nearly naked skin.

  We wound along twisting, tree-lined streets dotted with quaint Victorians that probably cost half as much as my apartment building back in Chicago. I spotted a dark blue van turn onto the street behind us and caught a glimpse of Hawk Nose behind the wheel.

  They had automatic weapons. If we got stuck in traffic, we were dead.

  “You spot ‘em?” I asked Morrissey.

  “Yeah. See the bar back there?”

  I glanced at a leather-covered compartment just to the right of Julianne’s footspace.

  “I stashed something in the ice bucket for you.”

  I opened the little cubicle. Tucked into the insulated bin was a Glock 22. Fifteen .40 rounds in the magazine, one in the chamber.

  Julianne made a mewing sound in the back of her throat.

  “Hold on.” Morrissey swerved across traffic and onto a ramp leading to the expressway. Tires squealed and horns honked.

  I glanced out the back window in time to see the van complete the same risky maneuver.

  “You didn’t shake them.”

  “I see that.” Morrissey’s tone was dry, as calm and still as I’d noted when I’d first seen him outside the hotel.

  He drove on, a mile, two, five humming by under the tires, Hawk Nose and his boys still following.

  I held the gun in my lap, my index finger stretched along the side of the trigger guard, thinking. So many parts of this assignment didn’t add up. So many details didn’t make sense. A whole house on Long Island Sound and only one girl loaded into the helicopter? At least five highly-trained and armed men to watch over her? Pornocopia central but no one laying a finger on her?

  After I’d jumped with Julianne, things must have gotten immeasurably messy for The Bradford and Sims Modeling Agency. They had no idea who I was, who I worked for. The smart move would be to cut their losses, wipe down their rented house and disappear, not go on a high speed chase to … do what? Recover one girl? Or erase three witnesses while potentially creating many more?

  The whole thing seemed foolhardy.

  “Who are these guys?” I asked Morrissey.

  He shrugged a shoulder. “I know as much as you.”

  “Haven’t you been on this case for a while?”

  “Working for the car service, not the modeling agency.” He accelerated, weaving through a caravan of slower moving cars. “I do what I’m asked, just like you.”

  My turn to nod. And seeing that I’d already delivered Julianne to Morrissey, my part of the operation was over.

  Not that now would be a convenient time to take my leave.

  “Where are you taking her?”

  “Somewhere safe.”

  I sensed Julianne’s glance from Morrissey to me. I met her eyes. “It’s going to be all right.”

  “How do I know that?”

  “We’re the good guys. We were assigned to protect you.”

  “Protect me? You threw me out of a helicopter.”

  “I did it in a protective way.”

  She eyed me as if I was crazy and she was afraid it would rub off. I thought once more about Jacob’s orders, that she not be harmed in any way.

  Was this really human trafficking? Or something else?

  “Who is your father?” I asked her.

  “What?”

  “Your dad. Who is he?”

  Some of the fear went away, replaced by anger. “It doesn’t matter.”

  I had lived up to my end of the op. I had no control over what happened to her from here on out, and I had no business knowing anything more. Any curiosity I felt, any sympathy I had for this girl, were meaningless to the mission. So rather than push it, I clammed up and turned my attention back to the men chasing us.

  The green whipping past the windows fell away to shopping centers, and finally, industry. Ahead, the Manhattan skyline shivered in the glare of the afternoon sun like a mirage.

  I heard a pop. The car lurched and skidded.

  I threw an arm over Julianne, forcing her down.

  “Are they shooting at us?” she squealed.

  Morrissey regained control, but the car shuddered and bucked with each rotation of the punctured tire.

  Ahead, a sign directed us to the Queens Midtown Tunnel. Morrissey took the turn.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  “Tell me you’re not heading into the city with these guys on our tail.”

  He glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “You have a better idea?”

  This chase along the expressway was one thing. Once we were in the city, traffic would be slow, sometimes standing still. What would prevent Hawk Nose and his boys from walking up to the limo and taking a shot?

  “Yeah, drive somewhere else. Unless you want to make us a slow-moving target.”

  “I get the idea that you can move pretty fast when you want to.”

  “What are you planning?”

  “I’ll take care of the guys behind us. You have the girl at Columbus Circle at six o’clock.”

  I didn’t ask how he was going to take care of them. I had a feeling he’d find a way, and that I’d know what action I had to take when the moment came.

  We moved through the EZ Pass toll and plunged into the tunnel.

  Traffic moved steadily in two Manhattan-bound lanes. The air held the odor of trapped exhaust. The shiny, cream colored ceiling reflected headlights, their glare adding to the artificial lighting and neon-bright speed limit reminders every hundred feet. There was a cacophony of horn honking, helpful New Yorkers trying to tell us we had a flat, as if the sparks being thrown off the bare rim weren’t obvious enough.

  “Hold on and be ready to release your seat belts.”

  Julianne’s fingers circled my free hand and clenched. I braced my legs wide.

  The Town Car’s wheel screeched, metal on pavement. The drivers around us fell back, apparently not wanting to get too close. Only the van stayed glued a few feet behind our bumper, close enough
for Hawk Nose to glower at me, close enough to take a shot.

  So why didn’t he? He might hit the girl?

  Morrissey slowed the car and inched toward the center, straddling lanes. Horns echoed off concrete. Surrounding cars fell back farther. A few more seconds passed.

  He hit the brakes and the car skidded sideways.

  Tires screeched all around, the sound amplified in the tunnel.

  “Now. Go.”

  Before the car had reached a complete stop, Morrissey was moving. He pulled an assault rifle from under the seat and slid across to the passenger door.

  I was moving too, pushing Julianne in front of me, over the seat, out the door. The cars ahead kept moving down the tunnel, leaving both lanes free and clear. I grabbed Julianne’s arm and ran. The soles of my bare feet slapped pavement. The muggy air smelled of exhaust and burned rubber. Angry voices and horns behind us gave way to bursts of gunfire and screams.

  My heart was a hummingbird trapped in my chest. With all the training I’d had, the sound of gunfire was still a viscerally frightening thing, especially at my back. I was sure it was much worse for Julianne. To her credit, she kept up as best she could, her sandals pounding the concrete behind me, her breath coming fast and rhythmic.

  I wasn’t sure how long one man could hold off Hawk Nose’s entourage. In a firefight, numerical superiority usually won out. I had to wonder if we’d see Morrissey again, but I pushed those thoughts from my mind and kept running. Finally I picked up the faint smell of fresh air, the first sign that we were near the end.

  An explosion shook the tunnel around us.

  Julianne screamed.

  I looked back, over my shoulder, back to where we’d left Morrissey. The tiled walls and shiny ceiling reflected the orange glow of flame. The smoke came fast, like an acrid thunderhead.

  Unlike in the movies, gunfire doesn’t easily cause car explosions, but explosives wired to the gas tank could. They also caused one hell of a traffic mess when detonated in a tunnel. And one hell of an emergency response that criminal types would be eager to avoid.

  I had a feeling Morrissey was going to come out of this just fine.