None of my preparations steeled me for what I saw as I stepped inside. Blood. So much blood forming a bright red puddle on the marble-tile floor. Fresh blood.
Doctor Evil lay in the middle of it, his shirt saturated and his neck slit open.
The world slowed to a standstill, and my hand had only made it halfway toward clapping over my mouth when my brain digested the rest of the picture. There was a black man standing over him, a garbage bag in one hand, which he’d been placing his bloody shoes and clothes into. His eyes met mine as I sighted the laser light of the Taser on his bare chest and pulled the trigger.
He charged at me, leaping over the doctor’s cooling body, and time sped up again, the effect disconcerting. I blinked and he was right in front of me. Before I could choose a self-defense move, a hard shove sent me flying into the wall.
My elbow hit first, breaking through the plasterboard as my head rushed to join it. Perhaps in retaliation for the hole I’d just made, the wall knocked me to the floor, and my knees cracked against the tiles, the rest of me following suit.
Through a haze of pain, I saw Doctor Evil’s killer kick off his bloody pants and socks, shove them in the garbage bag, and bowl past me out the door.
27
I lay panting in shock, dragging in ragged breaths while my mind shouted at me to move. Run. Hide. Check he really left. Throw in a new Taser cartridge or find a weapon. Anything but stay there frozen in a crumpled heap like a fool.
Gradually the shouting got through and my muscles remembered how to respond. I hobbled shakily to the window and saw the black man—the African translator I belatedly realized—jump into a black limo. A limo that I should’ve spotted on my way in.
The girls.
He was going after the girls. They’d be the last thing he needed to clean up before he fled the country.
Either that or he’d already dealt with them.
Before I could think it through, my legs were running to the car, giving the bloody footprints he’d left a wide berth. It was handy that I only tended to vomit after the shock and adrenaline wore off.
I phoned Connor as I pulled out of the parking space and sped after the limo. “You’ve still got that GPS thing on my phone, right? Call Homeland and anyone else nearby who might help. The African translator just killed Dr. Dan, and I’m tailing him now in the hopes he’ll lead me to the facility. I think he’s tying up loose ends before fleeing the country.”
“Does he know you’re on his tail?”
“Yes.” Better not to mention how up close and personal we’d already gotten. I was trying not to think about it.
“Don’t get too close. If he killed his business associate, he won’t hesitate at killing you.”
His words sent a new surge of fear through me. All my self-defense lessons hadn’t prepared me for the speed and emotional terror of a real fight. Especially in the face of brutal violence so fresh it was still bleeding. It was terrifying to think how easily he could’ve killed me if he’d cared to stick around to do it. That was why I was trying not to think about it. At all.
We disconnected so I could concentrate on driving and Connor could start making phone calls.
The translator-cum-murderer was speeding along as fast as he could without attracting the attention of every cop he passed. He must’ve decided—quite rightly—that I was the lesser threat. My head ached from its impromptu introduction to the wall, but I tailed after him doggedly, doing the things Harper had wanted to do when we’d followed Taryn. In contrast to the man I was following, I was hoping the cops would notice me. Then I’d have some backup on the other end.
Still, high-speed pursuits weren’t my forte, so I was fortunate the limo wasn’t built for maneuverability and my Corvette had a decent engine in it. We sped through the streets of Studio City, I ran a stoplight at Woodbridge so as not to lose him, and we weaved through traffic along the Venture Freeway to a symphony of blaring car horns and shouts of abuse. Then my assailant took the Van Nuys exit, turned south toward Sherman Oaks, and six minutes later pulled into an extra-long garage attached to a sprawling clapboard home. A quick glance told me it was painted hunter green with white accents and had light gray roller shutters over the windows like Taryn had described.
I came to a stop in the driveway behind him. The area was similar to Levi’s with upper-middle-class homes on nice-sized lots. This particular property was shabbier than the rest and hid from its superior neighbors behind high timber fencing and a front yard full of shrubby trees.
Crap. Now what?
The garage door started its slow, squeaky descent. The man glanced back at me, then jumped out and ran for the internal door using the car as cover. Maybe he thought I had a gun.
Maybe I should have had one.
In the photo I’d seen of him, the safari shirt had hidden his powerful torso and well-muscled arms. Hand-to-hand combat wouldn’t end well for me.
He disappeared inside the building as the roller door slid shut. I hoped he was running inside to put on pants rather than fetch anything more menacing. Yeah right.
Did he have a weapon in there? Or was he just ignoring me—assuming the undoubtedly locked front door would stop my incompetent ass in its tracks—and getting on with killing the girls?
My phone buzzed with a message from Connor.
Got your location. A SWAT team and Harper are about five minutes away. Stay safe and wait for backup.
It was good advice. And Harper might be here even faster if her driving abilities were anything to go by. But what if five minutes was too long? What if he killed the girls in the time it took backup to arrive?
On the other hand, what if he did to me what he’d done to Dr. Dan?
I swallowed. Both were very valid concerns.
My mind torn, I postponed the decision by ejecting the used Taser cartridge and putting in a new one. I couldn’t miss this time.
That done, I sat there for another thirty seconds with visions of this guy slitting the girls’ throats one by one. Then I slid out of my seat and ran to the door on jelly legs. At least with the roller shutters down, there were no windows he could be watching me out of. Or aiming at me through. But what if he was just inside the door?
I wished I’d done a boatload more self-defense training. And offense too—nothing had prepared me for initiating an attack. All Nick’s lessons had been about getting away.
I also wished my life insurance consultation had been booked for yesterday instead of tomorrow.
The door was locked. Connor might’ve been able to shoulder through it, but I didn’t stand a chance. Lucky I had the doctor’s keys. I tried the first of the three. It didn’t fit. The second. It went in but didn’t turn. That made me nervous. What if Etta’s copies weren’t quite precise enough to work? I tried the third key. It slid in and turned without even needing to be jiggled.
I left the key in the lock and scoured the road to see if help was here yet. Nothing. Seemed my luck had been used up on the key thing. Or on not dying in my first encounter with the man I was about to face.
Every fiber of my being screamed at me to get back in the car, drive until I ran out of fuel, then start running.
Instead, I readied both my Taser and pepper spray, turned the handle, and cracked the door open an inch. When it wasn’t yanked out of my hand, I braved putting my ear against it to listen for any sounds. Nothing. At least nothing louder than my ragged breathing and my heart hammering in my ears.
I pushed the door open, Taser and pepper spray still ready to fire. The hallway was empty.
All along, despite what Taryn had described, I’d imagined the prison would be gloomy and dungeon-like, but the clean, brightly lit corridor before me was more like a hospital than a cell.
My adversary had pulled off his bloody socks at Dr. Dan’s, so there was no convenient trail signaling his whereabouts. Considering he didn’t know about the keys, I hoped that at least in turn he wouldn’t realize I was inside. Unless there was a hidden camera somewhere. Connor’s
toys had taught me how small they could be.
I slipped off my shoes so I could walk noiselessly down the passageway. Then realized I’d have to carry them until I found a place to dump them. I’d already shut the door behind me and couldn’t risk leaving them in plain sight where they might betray my infiltration of the building. I pocketed the pepper spray, picked up my shoes, and crept up the corridor to the first door I came across. Here too, I put my ear against it and listened as hard as I could. Silence.
Clutching my Taser in a white-knuckled grip in my right hand, I tried the handle with my left. It was made awkward thanks to the shoes, but the door opened quietly. My mounting tension was so strong that the relief of that small mercy almost overwhelmed me.
No one leaped at me. My eyes darted around the room, searching for any violent assailants or raised weapons. Instead, I spotted a bed, a nightstand with a food tray and plastic cup on it, a recliner, and a TV. The space looked like a private hospital room or a small hotel room like Taryn had said. It was the color scheme and the medicinal smell that made me think hospital. And in the white bed was a beautiful black girl, eyes closed. In rest or death, I couldn’t tell.
I slipped inside the room, let go of my shoes, and shut the blessedly silent door behind me. Then I walked over to her, hoping her eyes would open. But they didn’t. Whispering a prayer, I felt for a pulse.
It was there, barely.
This close, I noticed flecks of foam around her lips. A symptom indicative of poison.
I searched the nightstand for its source. There wasn’t much left of her breakfast, so I tasted the orange juice first, but it was just orange juice. I tried the apple core next, perhaps in some subconscious nod to Snow White and the evil queen. Nothing there either.
With increasing desperation, I turned to the remaining scraps. A few bread crusts, a sliver of bacon rind, and a smear of egg were all I had to go on. The crusts were clear, as was the bacon, but in that smidgen of egg yolk, I tasted niohydramine. I licked at the residue again. The subtle but complex bitter-sour taste that reminded me of curry powder wasn’t a figment of my imagination. Definitely niohydramine.
Instinct slithered a warning over the back of my neck, and I spun. Just in time to see a knife swinging toward me. I darted backward and fired the Taser in the same instant.
The probes embedded in his still-bare torso, but he didn’t fall uncontrollably to the floor. I’d fired from short-range, and the probes were too close together, causing pain but not muscular incapacitation.
A weaker man might still have dropped screaming, but my opponent didn’t even grunt. The only reason I knew he felt it was because he’d let go of his wicked-looking hunting knife when the probes first hit.
I kicked the weapon out of reach, dashed forward, and shoved the Taser against his shoulder to complete the circuit needed to cause incapacitation.
Or at least I tried to.
He caught my wrist in midair and slammed it into the nightstand. Pain lanced up my fingers, and the Taser bounced to the floor.
Then his hands wrapped around my neck.
Callused thumbs pressed painfully into my throat, and pure panic seized me in an equally tight grip. I writhed and clawed at his face, but he only shoved me farther away so I couldn’t reach his eyes.
Nick’s patient drill voice stepped me through the instructions. Drop your chin and lift your shoulders to decrease the pressure on your throat. I did, and the pain lessened a tiny bit. Bastard never mentioned it would still hurt like hell or the instinctive panic that would be clawing at you to clear your airway. In one fast move, grab his wrists and yank them past you while kicking him in the groin. This time, unlike with Jennifer, instinct didn’t soften my blow. I kicked as hard as I could, terror lending me strength.
My foot landed with a satisfying thud, and my attacker doubled over.
I sucked in air as his hands left my neck, then remembered a fraction later to follow it up by kneeing him in the face while he was still bent low. We both dove for the knife. I reached it first because he stumbled over my shoes. But my victory was short-lived.
He raised himself to his knees and grabbed a fistful of my hair.
The panic threatened to take over again, but I pressed my hand over his to lessen the pain, as Nick had taught me, then spun and slashed the blade at his face. No doubt demonstrating to him that I had no freaking idea how to use it, but at least he let go. I took further solace in seeing that my knee to his face had blood dribbling from his nose.
But making him bleed wasn’t enough. And I was struggling to stay alive, let alone incapacitate him.
I needed distance. If it came to brute strength, all he’d have to do is grab my knife arm, and I’d be useless, and he’d probably be more careful about protecting his manhood this time around. Men were sensitive about that kind of thing. I launched a kick at his head, but he blocked it with ease, and I crab-crawled backward until I hit the bed. He used the distance to get to his feet, giving himself an even greater advantage. I brandished the knife menacingly again but knew it wouldn’t hold him off for long.
All through the fight, he’d stayed silent, which was somehow much more unnerving than if he’d taunted or threatened. He didn’t change that now, but as his eyes ran over my prone position on the floor, he grinned.
I was dead.
Silver flashed, there was a horrible cracking sound, and then my attacker collapsed onto my legs.
His terrifying visage was replaced with Harper wielding a giant, bloodstained wrench and a grim smile.
I fought the tears that threatened to spill at the sight of her dear, friendly face and managed to croak, “A wrench?”
She shrugged. “It’s all I had handy.”
The girls.
“The girls have been poisoned. I need to call someone.”
But who? I had no idea what Taste Society protocol dictated on a call-out where the victims were neither clients nor employees. From what Hunt had told me and my recent experience with its contracts, it may well prioritize the secrecy of its antidotes over the lives of six girls.
Would whoever came put their job on the line for a bunch of strangers?
It took me several tries to pull my phone out of my pocket and find Levi’s number. “Urgent niohydramine antidote required for up to fifteen people at…”
Harper supplied the address for me, and I repeated it.
And twenty seconds later, a SWAT team burst through the door.
28
“Connor’s going to freak when he sees you,” Harper told me as men in SWAT gear rushed in and ordered us to the ground, hands spread. “You have an impressive bruise coming up on the side of your face, your neck is bright red, your hand is bleeding, and those are just the parts of you I can see.”
Someone announced the room as secured, and most of the team piled out, leaving a mere two guns pointing in our direction.
“Fabulous,” I said.
As if summoned, Connor entered a few minutes later and argued quietly with the two SWAT members who’d stayed behind to guard us. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but Connor handed them his cell phone, and after a short conversation with the person on the other end of the line, they gave him a nod and left.
As soon as they cleared the door, he swooped down and cradled me. “Don’t you ever do that to me again.” Impossible as it seemed, his voice was thick with emotion, and I wondered if he’d chosen to hug me from behind so I couldn’t see him cry.
Of course that didn’t stop Harper seeing him. “Aww. Connor loves Izzy. Or were you cutting up onions on the way in?”
His grip on me loosened a fraction, maybe so he could glare at his sister. “Nice to see you’re okay too. Has anyone called an ambulance yet?”
“They’ve been poisoned with niohydramine,” I said. “I called Levi, but they should go to hospital after he’s given them the antidotes—”
Connor cut me off. “That’s good, but I meant for you.”
“I’m fin
e. Just a bit bruised. Levi can look me over when he’s done with the girls.”
“You’re going to the medical facility,” Connor growled.
I realized it was pointless to argue. “Okay. Once all the girls have been given their antidotes, I’ll go.”
Connor’s jaw twitched against my cheek, but I guess he knew when it was pointless to argue as well.
Luckily for everyone, Levi’s house wasn’t far so he’d make good time. I’d expected the girls to be hidden away in a low-income neighborhood, but I suppose a limousine driving in and out would attract less attention here. The SWAT team finished sweeping the building, and Levi turned up at the scene a few minutes later. Connor made sure he got access.
Levi’s stride faltered when he caught sight of my injured state, but he recovered quickly and went straight to the girl in the bed.
The SWAT team had informed us that she was one of six.
Only six.
Suddenly feeling claustrophobic, I shambled outside, Connor and Harper accompanying me. The daylight seemed shocking after the shuttered interior of the facility. Or maybe it was after the horror of fighting a living nightmare. It wasn’t even noon yet. Except for the flashing lights of the SWAT vehicle, it could’ve been any normal day in Los Angeles.
“So…,” Harper said. “Why have you never introduced me to that gorgeous friend of yours?”
“Levi?” I asked.
“Yes, Levi,” she answered dreamily.
Despite everything, I found myself smirking.
Just wait until she discovered he drove a medical van.
Sunday, three p.m., four hours after we found the girls
We’d only managed to rescue six of the fifteen girls. The others were still missing. Probably killed a year after they’d disappeared.
The SWAT team had found a crematory in a locked room, fully heated and ready to go. The African translator—whose name was Thoko, apparently—had dumped the garbage bag with the murder weapon and bloody clothes next to it, intending to burn the evidence.
Poison and Prejudice (An Eat, Pray, Die Humorous Mystery Book 4) Page 22