11

by Kylie Brant

  “Watch your step. It’s dark as pitch.” As if to prove the words he stumbled over a coil of rope lying on the wooden planks in front of them. “The boat we want is about three-quarters ways up.”

  “Stop! What are you doing here?” A flashlight beam spotlighted them in its glare. Mia froze.

  With a warning squeeze to her shoulder Jude turned. “My boat.” In an undertone he hissed, “Stay here.” And walked casually back to the man who was rapidly approaching them. The beam from the light the stranger held bounced as he moved. Although he wore some type of uniform, he wasn’t law enforcement. Security maybe.

  The knowledge failed to calm her. A vise was tightening in her chest. Policeman or not, there was no way he’d believe a Caucasian man had a boat docked in the area. He’d alert someone else, perhaps police this time.

  There was a scuffle. Something heavy hit the dock. Nerves wound tightly, Mia whirled to see the flashlight the man had once held rolling dizzyingly across the planks until it dropped into the water with a quiet splash. Jude was grappling with the shorter figure. There was the sound of a fist meeting flesh and the stranger slumped into Bishop’s grasp. Unceremoniously he dragged the man onto the nearest boat and was lost from sight.

  A long breath shuddered out of her. It didn’t occur to her to assist him. Jude Bishop was a man who embodied self-reliance. The rope that had been one of his purchases was wrapped around his waist, the duct tape in the pocket of his hoodie. He wouldn’t need the wicked-looking knife that had also been one of his purchases. The stranger was already subdued.

  She moved slowly further up the pier, in the direction of the boat he’d indicated. Without knowing exactly what time the owner was supposed to meet them, it was impossible to know how soon to expect him. But there was movement in the shadows up ahead. Someone was on the connecting wharf.

  Mia swiveled to survey the dock behind her. Bishop still hadn’t reappeared. When she faced forward again the stranger had turned and was heading Mia’s way.

  A nasty tangle of nerves clutched in her belly. The figure was about her own height, wearing a wide-brimmed conical straw hat popular with men and women alike in the city. Gender undetermined. The stranger’s pace was non-threatening, something between a stride and a stroll. Mia’s hand crept under the tee shirt and hoodie to hover over the knife still strapped there.

  Returning to the boat where Jude had disappeared would put her back to the approaching stranger, something Mia was loath to do. She slowed until she was barely moving, keeping her head ducked, her free hand in her pocket.

  The figure was nearly upon her. Loose-fitting dark long-sleeved top and jeans. Sneakers. Close enough now that Mia could see the person had arms crossed, both hands tucked in the opposite sleeve. Unease skittered along nerve endings already heightened. Fight or flight. Primitive instincts were especially well honed after her captivity. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of the knife as the person approached her. Passed.

  She began to pivot in order to watch the figure’s departure. Heard a rush of air. A shoe squeaked on the dock. Mia dodged, but too late. Something short and solid missed her head and made contact with her shoulder, numbing her arm at the precise moment her knife cleared the sheath.

  When the stranger’s body hit her, Mia went down, landing hard on the planks. The knife skittered from her grasp. She rolled awkwardly to her back, the pack she wore keeping her from a prone position, and bucked beneath her attacker’s body. No. Not a stranger at all. Because it was Four’s face above her. She pressed the short wooden club she’d concealed up her sleeve against Mia’s throat. Pressed hard.

  “Our master is anxious to get you back, Eleven. Why, I don’t know. You never deserved to be selected.” Her face was close, eyes glittering in a way Mia recognized. They’d held that exact look whenever she was about to cause pain.

  Mia bent her leg awkwardly to kick hard at the woman’s back, one hand going to clutch at the Four’s fingers. There was a buzzing in her ears as the outside world faded. Dots danced before her eyes. Four applied more pressure and Mia labored for air. Her free arm stretched, straining as she searched feebly for the knife she’d dropped.

  The woman’s lips were moving. Mia could no longer hear her. Lungs strangled, her chest was bursting with the need for oxygen. Her struggles grew weaker, as unconsciousness eddied. Then her fingers touched metal. Conscious thought was impossible. Sheer instinct had them closing around the handle of the knife. Bringing it upward with more determination than strength.

  Four stiffened, a screech bursting from her lips. The pressure against Mia’s throat eased a fraction and she drew a great gulp of air before stabbing the woman again, her body heaving beneath her assailant.

  Mia managed to dislodge her, and lay there for a few moments, filling her lungs, regaining a semblance of conscious thought. Only then did she become aware of another voice, further away, calling her name.

  Four struggled to her feet, stumbled off. Mia forced herself to her knees, then rose drunkenly to go after her.

  “Mia! Stop! Not another step!”

  Dimly she was aware of Jude’s voice, low enough not to carry, but still fraught with command. She didn’t obey. Four would know where he was. If there was the slightest chance the woman could be made to talk, Mia had to catch her. Dark fingers of clouds smudged the half moon, casting the area in more shadows. Her focus narrowed to the slim figure staggering away from her along the docks, picking up speed as she turned onto the main connecting wharf. With a burst of adrenaline Mia closed the distance between them. Grabbed a fistful of Four’s shirt. Pulled her to a halt.

  The other woman turned and tugged mightily, trying to free herself. The fabric slipped from Mia’s hand. She let go suddenly, sent off balance by the abrupt release.

  Four reached for her as her body teetered. Then her eyes went wide. She made a wild clutch for Mia but she was too far away. Her heel slipped from the edge of the dock. As if in slow motion Mia watched the woman’s arms wheel wildly before falling backwards into the water, hitting her head on a nearby boat before becoming completely submerged.

  “Mia!”

  She heard fury and fear in Jude’s voice and he ran with near silence toward her. She got down on her belly, searching the water’s surface frantically for a sign of the other woman. The nearest boat bobbed gently from the small disturbance but the water was already smooth. And try as she might, Mia couldn’t discern a human shape anywhere in the vicinity.

  “Dammit.”

  She fought when she felt herself being lifted. Was Four dead? If she’d been knocked unconscious she soon would be.

  “Are you hurt?”

  The feel of two warm male hands doing a quick clinical check for injuries finally diverted her attention. She slapped them away.

  “I’m fine. Help me find her. Four. She went in the water there.” Mia pointed. “She may be knocked out.”

  “Good riddance, then.” But he peered closely in the direction she’d indicated for several moments. Then his attention returned to her. “C’mon. The commotion might have alerted others. We need to get hidden before anybody else gets here.”

  “Wait.” She dug her heels in, felt a flash of annoyance when he took her arm and began to lead her away inexorably. “If she’s not dead…she could tell me where he’s at. The Collector. He could finally be caught.”

  Jude stopped, grabbed her other arm to bring her close to him. “Listen. I’m not doing any diving tonight to rescue a murderous nutjob. If she’s dead, great. If not…we’ll deal with that later. We’ve got a lead with her passport. But every second you stall, our chances of getting away tonight diminish. So you decide whether you’re coming, conscious or unconscious. Because one way or the other, you are coming.”

  Mia swiveled her head, scanning the waters where the other woman had disappeared. “It’s not just me.” Her voice was subdued. The waves were dark. Unwilling to give up their secrets. “He still has the others. She’s their best chance, too. If I co
uld get her to talk…”

  “You have no idea what she does or doesn’t know, or what information she’d give up.” His voice was calmer. Rational. He let go of one of her arms to bend down and pick up the knife she’d dropped. When he began moving again this time she went with him. “But she’s not an option now. Focus on the priority. Getting out of the country.”

  In some distant part of her brain she knew he made sense. But with every step she took she felt an increasing sense of loss.

  Four’s loyalty to the monster that had held them captive was absolute. Could she be made to give up facts about his whereabouts? They’d never know now.

  And Mia couldn’t help but believe that somehow this evening she’d failed every one of those women who still waited, clustered in their cells, hope dying a bit more each day.

  4

  Mia’s fingers tightened around the glass she held as Jude reentered his office, this time accompanied by another man carrying a leather briefcase. Adam Raiker. She recognized him immediately from the research she’d done years ago. He looked no more approachable in person than he had in the photos she’d found of him. The scar across his neck and one cheek captured her attention for a moment, before she caught herself comparing his wounds to Jude’s. The articles she’d found had detailed the events that had resulted in Raiker’s injuries. She was more curious about how Jude had acquired his.

  She wouldn’t ask. After the harrowing experience on the docks, they’d both been hyper alert on the boat trip across the South China Sea. The boat owner Jude had hired hadn’t seemed all that trustworthy to Mia. And the crewmember that had come along had spent more time focused on her than he had on crewing the boat. But in the end, the captain’s professed knowledge of the Coast Guard’s patrol patterns aided in their escape. In the two days since they’d been back in the country Jude had arranged for an apartment and security for her. His deft dispassionate professionalism was somehow simultaneously admirable and annoying. The man’s tactics might set her teeth on edge, but he got things done. With that she couldn’t argue.

  “Ms. Deleon.” Raiker’s voice was gravelly. A result, quite possibly from the scar that rode across his throat. “Thank you for meeting with me. I thought you’d be more comfortable in Bishop’s offices.”

  “Mr. Raiker.” Mia inclined her head. She could have told the man that in spite of the time she’d spent in close proximity with Bishop in recent days, she found nothing about him particularly comfortable. Although she doubted he’d admit it, she thought he felt the same. Most often they were like two feral animals, circling each other warily. He was opaque, but he’d made it clear enough he didn’t believe much of what she said. Which meant she was losing her edge. Because it had been a long time since she’d given a damn what anyone else thought of her. “Jude didn’t tell me many details, but it was enough to intrigue me.”

  “I didn’t have a lot of details to give him. I have more now.” When Jude headed for the bar he had set up across the room, Raiker said, “Nothing for me. My wife and stepson are waiting in the car. From here we’re heading to look at a new school for Royce.”

  There was a flicker of surprise on Bishop’s face before he retraced his steps and sat down at the man’s other side. “Something wrong with the one he’s in now?”

  “He likes it.” Raiker set his briefcase on his lap and unsnapped the locks. “I think it could be a bit more security conscious.” His attention switched to Mia. “What do you know about my agency?”

  A bit taken aback by his abrupt transition, she hesitated. “Not much. You had an impressive career with the FBI and now head a renowned forensics agency.”

  He gave a curt nod. “I also compiled a team of the top investigators and forensic scientists in the country. In addition to lab services, my agency provides consultation on specific cases at the invitation of law enforcement entities.” Reaching into his briefcase he withdrew a file and glanced at her. “Hope you don’t have a weak stomach.”

  She stared back at him. All of the most human tendencies had slowly diminished in captivity. Being regularly brutalized by a sadist had pared down traits shared by normal people. Surprise. Empathy. Disgust. Mia sometimes wondered how much longer it would have taken for her to turn into something like Four. Walking, breathing, talking, but no longer human in a way most would understand. A soulless robot fashioned by a monster.

  “I’ll be fine.” Five and a half years of freedom had rebuilt some softer emotions. But her defenses were fortress strength.

  He handed her a folder and she set down her water to take it. As she looked at the photos stoically he explained, “Female. My forensic anthropologist is working on an approximate age. She was left in a mineshaft about four years ago. We found a scrap of scalp that had ink on it…the type used for tattoos.”

  Mia’s gaze flew to Raiker’s, before looking at Jude. His face was expressionless. He’d known about that fact before coming after her. She’d bet on it. But he hadn’t chosen to share it. She wondered if that stemmed from loyalty to Raiker, or his distrust of her.

  “Your tattoo.” Raiker’s voice had grown quieter. But his brilliant blue gaze never wavered. “Do you still have it?”

  A sudden wash of nausea threatened. Fighting it, she swallowed hard. Mia hated that his mark was still on her. Had been tempted more than once to have it removed. But something…some niggling thing had prevented her from doing so. Although the police hadn’t considered it much of a clue, it was the only tangible proof she had of the demon who’d kidnapped her. Who’d raped and abused her for years.

  And it was the only connection she carried of the other women she’d left behind. If she erased it, she’d erased the last link to them. And her abandonment of them would be complete.

  “Yes.” The word was barely audible. She cleared her throat. “Top of the head, here.” She pointed to a spot four inches above her eyebrows in the center of her scalp. Four inches, centered exactly. That hated voice remained so clear despite the intervening years. Precision is important, Eleven. Perfection is all.

  “It’s unlikely that a matching sample of the ink will give us any particular clue about the killer’s identity. But it’s remotely possible a match would help establish a link between this victim and your case.”

  She stared at him; unable to believe she’d heard him correctly. “You think she…this victim…she’s one of The Collector’s?”

  He exchanged a glance with Bishop. “The Collector?”

  Mia considered the photos again. “I thought of him that way. He called us his collection. All perfect specimens on the outside. Beautiful. He said he was perfecting us on the inside. So we’d be worthy of him.” A quick tremor racked her. Steeling her spine, she shook it off. Gazed more closely at the pictures in her hands, before looking at Raiker. “What grade is that clear plastic sheeting she’s wrapped in?”

  Something flickered in his gaze, although his expression remained impassive. But she had a feeling she’d startled him. “Why do you ask?”

  She shuffled the pictures, peering at each more closely. The skeletal body inside the tarp told her nothing. But the sheeting… “He used twenty grade.” She stopped, thought a moment. “No, that’s not the right word. Mil. Twenty mil. It’s the thickest clear sheeting available. We’d be wrapped in multiple layers of it for punishment.” Jude made a small sound then, but she didn’t glance his way. It was easier to pretend he wasn’t here.

  “He had cuffs.” Unconsciously her wrists drifted together. “Fur lined, so as not to leave abrasions, but a metal exterior. If our transgression wasn’t too great, we’d be hoisted to a pipe overhead like this. For worse offenses we’d be suspended by our ankles.”

  “Why the tarp, Mia?”

  “He was…an enthusiastic disciplinarian.”

  Repeat your lessons! Who do you belong to? The words swirled across her mind, leaving ice in their wake. “But he didn’t like to leave marks. We were no longer perfect if he left marks. So we were wrapped in layers o
f sheeting first. It was held in place by…” Her mind blanked. “Those thick elastic stretch cables with hooks.”

  “Bungee cords,” Jude murmured.

  She looked down at the photo. Only one showed the body bound in the sheeting, but she could make out a familiar cord holding it in place. Mia shook her head, gathered the pictures in a pile and handed them back to Raiker. “He doesn’t kill. At least he never did while I was held. We heard over and over again the time and effort he put into choosing each of us. Successfully snatching us away from our friends and family was part of the thrill for him.”

  The room was silent for several long moments. A thought occurred then and she asked Raiker, “What kind of shape was the body in when it was found?”

  Obviously choosing his words carefully, he answered, “The state of decomposition…”

  “No. I mean, was she…broken? Was the body dropped down the shaft? Or…somehow preserved. Like placed there or lowered inside.”

  “Why do you ask that?” The man’s voice was sharp.

  She rose, suddenly unable to stay still another second. “Because he idolized perfection. He talked about it all the time. We were chosen because we filled some fantasy he had. The perfect beauties.” Bitterness filtered the words. There had been a time when she’d taken her looks for granted. Had even used them to get what she wanted. Chin, eyes, mouth, nose, cheekbones…all put together by some random lottery of genes. An arbitrary collection of features that had somehow drawn a monster to her.

  “I don’t think I’m following.”

  She picked up her still full glass and took it to the ornately carved table and set it down with the decanters and glassware. Although she thought she was guarded enough not to get her hopes up, she couldn’t help a feeling of disappointment. It likely wasn’t him. Almost certainly wasn’t.

  “I’m just questioning whether a man like that could drop a body—part of his collection, chosen and groomed to his specifications—down a mineshaft without any consideration to what the fall would do to it.” As brutal as he’d been, there were never any broken bones, or disciplines resulting in scars. Nothing could mar what he saw as perfection.”