by Dana Marton
She spat into his face.
He smacked her with the hand that held the plyers.
The pain was instant, excruciating, and if he shattered her cheekbone, she had no time to think about it.
The asshole was between her and her sister, severely underestimating them both.
“Now!” Emma screamed as she kicked him, tipping him forward, Kate plowing her shoulder into him with all her strength.
He smacked his head into the cement block wall behind them with a satisfying thud. Kate jammed her shoulder into his ribs. Emma kicked the gun from his waistband, then kicked it farther away. Then they used their heads, shoulders, and knees to pummel him.
If they weren’t tied up, they could have beaten him senseless. But without hands, without being able to rise, they had too little leverage.
With a beastly roar, he lunged back and picked up his gun. He aimed it at Kate’s head.
She didn’t flinch. She wouldn’t look away.
Then he pointed the gun at Emma, and that was more difficult to take.
“Go ahead, you limp-dick piece of shit,” Emma taunted him, her eyes blazing with courage.
“If I didn’t have a more painful plan in mind for you than just a quick bullet, you’d already be dead.” He spat the words, then spat blood next.
And then, with a last vicious curse, he left them.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kate
“He’s going to blow us up at the parade.” Emma pulled her knees tightly to her chest, her bravado gone.
They were both deflating and fast.
“I think so.” Kate looked at her sister with one eye. The other one was rapidly swelling shut. “But first he’s going to call Murph here, using us for bait.”
“Murph will know it’s a trap.”
“He’ll come anyway.” Kate let fury fill her. “I’m not going to let Asael hurt my baby, or you, and I’m not going to let him hurt Murph. I’m not going to let him hurt this town either. We have to warn people.”
She retrieved the pieces of the manicure set one by one. Good thing she’d been gaining the lost weight back and her pants were tight, so nothing had fallen out. Being tied to the water pipe, she could move her hand up and down, could scoot close enough so she was able to reach into the back of her waistband. “How do these plastic ties work? You thread the end through the little hole in the other end and something catches, right?”
“The plastic is serrated. I think it’s the same as the green ones Dad uses to tie out his tomatoes.”
Kate went through her tool set by feel and settled on the slim metal nail file.
She tossed the file toward Emma’s feet. “Hey. Yoga Queen. Do you think you could pick that up with your toes, lift your legs and bring your feet behind me, and shove the tip of the file into the plastic tie’s lock mechanism?”
To give her sister a better chance at seeing where she was aiming, Kate turned to the other side, presenting her hands tied behind her back.
“I think,” she said, “that the only thing keeping these ties locked is a little lip of plastic inside. It catches against the serrated side of the tie and holds. If you can slip the tip of the nail file over that lip and push it down, I could get free.”
Emma pinched the nail file between her toes, then folded herself in half, lifting her feet over her head. Then promptly stabbed Kate.
“Ouch.”
“Sorry. Difficult to be coordinated in this position.”
“You’re more coordinated than I would be. Keep trying.”
Emma made another attempt. Then another and another and another, stabbing again and again and again, until Kate could feel blood running down her skin.
When she couldn’t hold back a hiss at the next stab, her sister unfolded herself. She lay there on the cement floor for a few seconds, breathing hard. “I don’t think this is going to work.”
“It should, dammit. If you could wedge the tip of the metal right in next to the plastic tooth.” Kate visualized the process. Oh. “Okay, hang on. I know what we’re doing wrong. You need to push the file in from the bottom, not from the top.”
She pulled her hands up the pipe to make room for Emma’s foot under them.
Her sister folded back up and tried again. Failed. Huffed. “The angle isn’t right.”
No, it wasn’t.
“Put the file in my hand,” Kate instructed.
When she had it, she wedged the tip of the nail file into the little locking loop from the bottom, then lowered her hands until the other end of the file was resting on the cement floor. She used the floor for leverage as she yanked down her hands. And accomplished nothing.
“Let me try the clipper again.” This time, she felt the plastic with her finger first, located the spot where she’d already weakened it with the cuticle cutter, and she clamped the nail clipper onto the exact same spot.
Emma sat up, craning her neck. “Is it working?”
“No. The plastic is too damn thick. I can cut into it, but I can’t cut through.”
“If it’s damaged enough, can you just break it?”
Kate dropped the clipper and tried.
Snap.
When the tie fell away, she could have cried in relief.
She didn’t waste time on rubbing her wrists or celebrating. She snapped up the file and got on her knees next to Emma to release her.
The trick was much easier to perform now that she could see what she was doing. Within thirty seconds, Emma was free.
“Shoes on.” She grabbed her socks and sneakers. “We’ll need to run.”
“Bathroom first.” Emma picked up her shoes and socks, then darted around the stairs to open a door Kate hadn’t been able to see from where she’d been tied up.
“Thank God.” Kate ran after her sister and took her turn.
By the time she came out, Emma was at the torture table, grabbing a large wrench. Kate grabbed a hammer.
Her first impulse was to tell her sister that she would protect her. But then she smiled instead. “You’re so kickass.”
“Thank you for noticing.” Emma stole up the stairs.
Kate followed silently behind her. “In my defense, the last time we lived in the same house, you were a teenager.”
She held her breath while her sister tried the door at the top.
“Locked.” Emma breathed the word. “Got a credit card?”
Kate pulled the nail file from her right sock.
Emma shifted out of the way and looked up.
Kate followed her gaze to the dark lightbulb.
Neither of them dared to turn it on. If Asael was out there, he might see the light through the gap under the door, and their surprise attack would be spoiled.
Kate shoved the flat end of the nail file between the door and doorjamb, swiping down, slipping, then swiping down harder.
When the metal tongue gave, she could have kissed the damn door.
She opened it with trembling fingers, only an inch, then waited, listened. The outside was silent.
She widened the gap until she could see what was on the other side. A corrugated metal ceiling soared high above. Shelving lined the walls. Equipment Kate couldn’t identify littered the cement floor—carpentry tools?
“I think we’re in a warehouse.” She waited and watched. Nothing moved. “I don’t think he’s here.”
She stepped forward, gripping her hammer, into the large space, about sixty feet by a hundred. Emma came up behind her, the massive wrench in hand, at the ready. But Asael didn’t pop out from behind any of the shelves stacked with old boxes that had Nowak’s Antiques printed on them.
“I know where we are,” Kate whispered. “The Broslin Industrial Park.”
Then they were far enough into the warehouse so they could see the bay door to the right, the roll-up kind, the white van that had brought them there parked in front of it on the inside.
They ran to the van, Emma reaching it first. “No key.”
“Com
e on.” Kate hurried to the metal door and tried to yank it up, but it seemed to be padlocked from the outside.
“Over there.” Emma took off toward the man door at the far end of the building, with the red EXIT sign above it. “Quick, before he comes back.”
Let it be unlocked, let it be unlocked, let it be unlocked, Kate silently chanted as she ran.
They were just a dozen feet from the door when it swung open.
The second of surprise that crossed Asael’s face didn’t slow him down. He stepped inside without breaking his stride and closed the door behind him, his eyes growing cold, then colder.
Kate and Emma raised their weapons. They lunged to rush him together, screaming like a couple of banshees, but he had his gun out before they were halfway there.
And they froze, neither willing to risk that the other one might get hit.
“Drop those toys,” he snapped. “I’m not going to miss. This is what I do for a living.”
Emma’s wrench clattered to the ground a second before Kate’s hammer.
Asael reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small black container, then tossed it to Emma. “Open it.”
Kate watched as the contents were revealed: a single syringe filled with a colorless liquid.
“You push half of that into your sister’s arm. Now.”
Emma threw it back on the ground. “Like hell I will.”
“It’s a sedative. Either you do it, or I’m putting a bullet in your sister’s head. And then I’ll put one in yours.” Asael aimed his gun between Kate’s eyes. “One. Two.”
Emma pressed her lips together and stared him down.
Kate picked up the syringe and jammed the needle into her own arm, through her shirt. Pushed in some, pulled back a little and pushed another batch into the gap between her shirt and her arm, the liquid trickling down her skin.
Then she turned to Emma. “Give me your arm. Dead later is better than dead now.”
She repeated the procedure, half the drug injected, half wasted.
Asael stepped closer and pressed the barrel of his gun against Emma’s temple. “Now you two get into the van.”
Chapter Thirty
Murph
By midafternoon, Murph was going out of his mind with worry.
They’d gotten zip out of the traffic cameras, but he refused to give up. His instincts said Asael was keeping Kate and Emma in Broslin.
When his phone rang on the passenger seat, he snatched it up. Bing.
“Anything?” Murph demanded.
“Where are you?”
“About two blocks from the station. Thought the FBI might be there by now. I want to talk to Cirelli.” A warm day, his window down, he could hear cheers and clapping in the distance, horns blowing. The festival had begun, with a dozen parade floats making their way down Main Street.
“Cirelli isn’t here yet. But we just got a message.”
“From Asael?”
“Yeah.” A pause. “Okay. FBI just walked through the door. I have to go. We’ll talk when you get in.”
The line went dead, and Murph needed every ounce of his self-control not to snap the phone in half.
What freaking message?
When he finally reached the station and parked his truck, he took off running. He burst through the door, sailed by reception with a hurried nod to Leila, past the empty desks on his left, and straight to the captain’s office.
Cirelli hadn’t aged a day in the past five years—same short hair, same strict suit. Murph didn’t waste time on greeting the agent. He didn’t apologize for interrupting either.
“What message?” He couldn’t breathe until he had it. “Let me see.”
The captain turned his laptop around with an ominous expression, and Murph stared at the screen. It took him a few seconds to decipher that he was squinting at an explosive device attached to a two-by-four board with duct tape. The photo was a close-up, showing little else other than plywood behind the board.
“Any text with it?”
Bing scrolled up until three characters were revealed: 1/5.
“One of five.” Murph reached over and scrolled back down to the picture. “Any idea where they are? Or at least where this one is?”
“Inside some kind of a wooden structure,” Cirelli pointed out the obvious. “Beyond that? No.”
“It’s Asael,” Murph said.
The agent nodded. “Multiple crazies on this level in a town the size of Broslin, at the same time, would be highly unlikely.”
Murph kept his eyes on the picture. “The wood isn’t weather-beaten. Looks like something recently constructed. Do we have a list of building sites in town?”
“The two new developments,” Bing said. “Then hundreds of small-time reno projects probably. I already asked the township for a list of current building permits. And then there are people who work on their houses without asking for a permit.” He scratched his chin. “But why blow up something and kill a couple of innocent carpenters or a DIY enthusiast?”
“Unless Kate and Emma are in the house.” Murph was ready to tear the town apart with his own hands to find them. “Who’s tracing the phone that sent the image?”
“The FBI.” The captain nodded toward Cirelli.
“We should have the information soon,” she said. “But it’s probably a burner.”
“Has everyone on the team seen the photo?” Murph asked. “Someone might have a better guess than we do.”
“Sent it to everyone at the PD,” the captain told him. “They’re all out securing the…” His right hand curled into a fist that he banged on the table. “Parade.”
The single word had the power to suck the air out of the room.
They stared at each other in horror.
The parade. Thousands of people.
A split second of frozen shock. Then they all launched into action.
“The device is somewhere along the parade route.” Murph looked back at the picture and scrutinized every pixel. “What’s new construction?”
“The spectator stand and the stage,” Bing said.
Murph grabbed his phone and dialed Maria at Hope Hill. When she picked, he spoke only a single sentence. “I need everyone with explosives experience on Main Street.”
Cirelli was shouting orders into her own phone. The captain was radioing the information to the rest of his team.
Murph didn’t wait for them to finish. He took off running. He’d just slammed behind the wheel of his truck when his phone rang. Unknown caller.
“I’m having a party,” a male voice said on the other end. “So far, it’s just me and a couple of your friends. Why don’t you join us and even out the numbers?”
Before Murph could respond, the man added, “I’ve got a camera on you, Dolan. I’m watching you. Now roll down your window and toss your gun and phone as far as you can. Two cars down, there’s a Nissan Altima. Key in the ignition. Directions to the party on the dashboard. If you try to signal for help to anyone, in any way, I’ll blow your insignificant little town off the map.” He laughed. “I’m undecided on it, to be honest. Play your part and play it well, and I might just spare the town yet.”
“I’m not tossing a loaded gun into the street. I’m going to take the bullets out and leave them in my truck.”
“Does the good-guy stuff ever get tedious? Because the bad-guy stuff is still just as much fun after all these years. You should consider a career change.”
Murph made a show of emptying the weapon and stashing the bullets in his glove compartment, sneaking out his smaller backup gun and the ankle holster at the same time. He pretended to drop a bullet. Swore so Asael could hear him, then ducked and fastened the holster under his blue jeans.
Then he opened his door and tossed his main weapon under his car.
“Phone next,” the hitman ordered.
Murph ended the call, lowered the phone to his lap, snapped it out of its thick protective case, and hid it in his boot. Then he tossed the pr
otective case under the car too. He hoped Asael wouldn’t be able to tell the difference from the distance, that the man would see a flash of something small and black and the right shape, and his brain would fill in the rest.
Murph got out immediately after, to keep Asael’s attention on himself.
The Altima waited for him as promised, a hand-drawn map on the dashboard. The hastily scribbled drawing showed the old industrial park as his destination. Made sense. In hindsight.
The parade floats were stored in the empty warehouses out there.
Murph hadn’t thought of the place, exactly because of that. Crews were coming and going all day. But that could work for Asael too, couldn’t it? If he’d found a way to blend in.
Murph had to drive around the streets that were closed for the festivities, but even with the detour, he was at the location the X on the map specified in fifteen minutes.
The building was perhaps the smallest on the sprawling lot. According to the sign on the side, it had housed an antique repair/storage shop at one point, but with its peeling paint and the weeds reaching halfway to the roof, it looked long abandoned.
The shop was surrounded by larger warehouses, the ones that housed the floats. They must have been a bustle of activity an hour ago, but now they were deserted, the crews at the parade with their creations.
Murph pulled to a stop behind a building a hundred feet from his destination, out of sight, then he ran in a half circle in whatever cover he could find, to get himself behind the old antique repair place, marked by X on Asael’s map.
At the back wall, he pulled out his phone and texted Cirelli his location, then he dropped his phone into the bushes. If Asael managed to drop a dime on him, Murph didn’t want the bastard to know that reinforcements were on their way.
I’m coming, Kate.
Murph climbed up the cement block wall, just enough mortar missing from between the old blocks for a fingertip or toehold here and there.
He was on the corrugated metal roof in under two minutes, thanking the wind that made enough noise to cover him as he bent down over the edge to the aluminum vent. His pocket knife came in handy to unscrew three corners of the vent cover.