by Laura Scott
He and Nate slid out of the car and Shane led the way through several neighbors’ yards, glad that his buddy was still wearing his uniform, his badge clearly displayed on his chest. It was broad daylight, not exactly the easiest time to sneak up on someone. Still, he wondered how many home owners might come outside to gape, giving them away?
Hopefully, most people would be at work.
When they crossed the street of the third block, Shane slowed down, signaling Nate to take cover. He spotted Jenna’s vehicle parked alongside the road and crossed over to pull out the SWAT gear she’d left in the backseat. Rather than wasting time changing into a full uniform, he pulled on the bullet-resistant vest over his sweater and grabbed extra ammunition, just in case he needed it.
When he finished, he continued on his path between houses. This particular neighborhood had many big, fancy homes with large yards and an abundance of trees, a fact that worked in their favor. He and Nate took turns moving through the backyard that butted up against Richard’s property, using bushes and trees for coverage.
Shane swept his gaze across the area, searching for any sign of Gabby or Creighton. When he saw a tan sedan parked in the driveway, his lungs filled with a wave of satisfaction. He knew full well that Richard’s car, a vintage Corvette, had been parked in the garage the last time he’d been here. Which meant the sedan had to belong to Creighton.
Gabby was here!
He crouched between a large fire bush and turned back to look at Nate, who was standing beside a large maple tree. Shane gestured to the sedan and then put his thumb up, as an indication they were on the right track.
His partner nodded and pointed upward. Shane’s gaze traveled up to the lowest branches of the tree. Jenna Reed was perched there, holding her M40 Sniper Rifle ready, the business end pointed directly at the house. She didn’t notice him and Nate standing there, since she was peering intently through the scope.
Could she see Gabby and Creighton inside? There were dozens of windows on the house and he had to think for a minute to orient himself, remembering the interior layout from the last time he’d been there.
Richard’s study was located on this side of the house in the corner facing west and south. Gabby was smart—even though Creighton had searched the study, she’d find a way to convince him that he’d missed what he was looking for.
At least, that’s what he hoped she’d do.
Now that he knew that his backup was in place, along with the possibility of a second sniper—hopefully, Caleb O’Malley, on the opposite side of the house—Shane decided it was time to make their move.
Once again, he took the lead, keeping low as he made his way across the yard to the side of the house. Inching along the side, he crept up to the front door. Testing the knob, he was relieved to find it unlocked.
Mistake number one for Creighton. Or maybe it was mistake number two, since coming to Richard’s in the first place could be considered a grievous error.
Shane eased stealthily into Richard’s house, practically hugging the wall to avoid any chance of stepping on a squeaky floorboard and alerting Creighton to his presence.
Once he cleared the foyer, he could hear voices coming from inside the study. Two voices, male and female.
Relief that Gabby was still alive filled his chest, infusing him with fierce conviction.
Gabby would not suffer at Creighton’s hands for much longer. He’d do whatever was necessary to get her safe.
Sacrificing his life for hers, if necessary.
* * *
Gabby held her cuffed wrists awkwardly in front of her as she watched Creighton warily. He still had his gun trained on her, but he was standing behind Richard’s desk, looking at her intently.
“Well? Now what?” he asked impatiently.
She wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold him off. Creighton had grown irritated with her questions, and she’d already taken him through the right side of Richard’s desk only to come up empty-handed.
All too soon, he’d realize she’d been lying to him about where the papers were.
And she was very much afraid that he’d shoot her in the kneecap, the way he’d threatened to, in order to make her scream with pain yet live to tell him what she knew.
“I know I’ve seen the file,” she repeated for what seemed like the tenth time. “It has to be in one of his desk drawers. I asked him to hide it amongst his business paperwork, in a place no one would look for it.”
Creighton’s gaze narrowed suspiciously. “Don’t lie to me,” he threatened in a low, dangerous tone. “Or I’ll make sure you regret it.”
She swallowed hard and wondered if it was time to change tactics. She’d been praying steadily from the moment Creighton had kidnapped her from the motel. And though she knew it was important not to lose faith, it sure wasn’t easy.
Please, Lord, please give me strength and courage!
Creighton bent down to go through the last desk drawer and she knew she couldn’t delay a minute longer.
“Okay, okay, you’re right,” she said abruptly. “I didn’t give Richard the information because I memorized it. Everything you need to know is in my memory.”
Creighton’s head snapped up to hers, his face turning an ugly shade of red and his eyes cold with fury. He slowly straightened and then deliberately tipped the point of his gun down, toward her legs. At this close range he couldn’t possibly miss.
She took a hasty step back, raising her cuffed wrists in a gesture of surrender. “Wait! Don’t shoot! You don’t understand—I have an eidetic memory. A photographic memory! I can remember every single detail, can re-create what you’re looking for right here, right now...” she said in a rush.
He stared at her for a long moment, as if he didn’t believe her. But then he threw his head back and laughed. “A photographic memory, just like your father, eh? It took a while to figure out that he used his ability to memorize things to skim money away from the casinos and into his overseas bank accounts so easily. He got away with it, too, until my uncle and the owner of the casino, Frankie Palmetto, got suspicious and hired someone else to double-check your father’s work.”
For a moment she winced, the pain returning as she realized her father had been guilty of a pretty significant crime. Why had he used his incredible talent to steal? Why hadn’t he just taken her and her mother away, somewhere safe, instead of risking his life for money?
Knowing she’d inherited his memory made her feel sick.
But then she realized that Creighton had given her exactly what she needed. Bank accounts! Of course, that’s what he was looking for. Overseas bank accounts that still held the money her father had embezzled all those years ago.
Abruptly, the memory she’d repressed as a child came rushing back to her.
Her father had been working from home that day, and she’d been sitting on the floor in his study, next to the windows beneath the golden rays of sunlight. He hadn’t minded her being there, as long as she was quiet, so she buried her nose in her favorite book, The Black Stallion. When the doorbell rang, her father got up to answer it, there was a loud noise, the front door banging open.
Her father had looked shocked and then scared.
“Hide, Gabriella! Under the desk. Don’t come out and don’t make a sound. No matter what happens, don’t let them see you!”
Gabby had taken her book and crawled under the desk, curling into a ball as small as possible. Her father shoved the desk chair in front of her to help keep her hidden from view.
At first, the men had only talked to her father, demanding the account numbers. Her father denied having them, but then she heard a harsh slap and knew that someone had been hit. There was another slap, and then another, and when she heard her father cry out in pain, she covered her ears and closed her eyes, wishing desperately that her father would just give them the account numbers so the bad men would go away and leave them alone.
Then there was a long silence, before one of the men accused
the other of going too far.
“You hit him too hard! He’s dead, you idiot! You’ve killed him! Now we’ll never get the account numbers!”
There was another loud thud, and from beneath the wheels of the rolling chair, she saw her father’s bruised and battered face pressed against the carpet, blood seeping into the beige fibers, spreading into a dark red stain.
Her father was dead.
She thought she might have screamed, but the men didn’t find her, so she must have only screamed in her mind. Over and over again...
“Are you sure?” Creighton demanded, drawing Gabby back to the present. “Are you sure you have them memorized?”
For a moment she stood there, looking at him uncertainly. Then she gathered every ounce of her strength together, knowing that she had to hang on long enough for Shane to find her.
“Yes,” she said, injecting confidence into her voice. “I have all the bank account numbers memorized. If you give me a few minutes, I’ll write them down for you.”
Creighton reached out and roughly grabbed her arm, yanking her around the desk. He pushed her into the chair and handed her a pen and a pad of paper. Holding the pen was awkward with the handcuff’s on but not impossible.
“Get writing,” he commanded, pushing the tip of the gun against her temple as if to remind her he was armed and dangerous. “And don’t think of trying to fool me—I have a computer and we’re not going anywhere until I’ve checked them out.”
When he pulled a tablet out of the inside of his coat pocket, her heart sank. This was it. The minute he checked the bank account numbers, he’d know she was lying.
Gabby glanced around the room, searching for a way out. She must not have stalled long enough, because she thought for sure Shane would be there by now.
“Well? Hurry up!” Creighton said, turning on his portable computer.
Her fingers tightened on the pen, and she wondered, briefly, if she could stab him with it, gaining the advantage long enough to escape.
Probably not. He’d no doubt shoot her. Her gaze went to the window, thinking that the bright sunlight was just as it had been back on the day her father had died. There was a flash of bright light in the tree that made her frown, but an instant later it was gone.
Had she imagined it? Maybe.
“You were there that day, in my father’s study, weren’t you?” she asked, risking a glance at Creighton. “You must have been young then, in your early twenties.”
For the first time since this nightmare started, Creighton looked surprised. “How did you know?”
“I was there that day, hiding under my father’s desk,” she said. “You didn’t realize that I was there, listening as you tried to beat the account numbers out of him with your fists. You killed him, didn’t you? You hit him too hard and killed him without getting the account numbers you wanted.”
Creighton gaped at her, clearly stunned by the news. She saw the barest hint of a shadow near the doorway, and her heart raced with anticipation.
Was Shane there? Waiting to make his move?
“You didn’t realize I’d witnessed my father’s murder, did you?” Gabby hoped that by talking she’d distract Creighton from noticing Shane. “You hadn’t anticipated that me and my mother would be whisked away into witness protection as a result.”
Creighton’s face got red again and she forced a harsh laugh from her tight throat.
“Everything backfired on you that day. If you hadn’t killed my father, you would have had the account numbers and would have gotten away free and clear.”
“Shut up,” he growled. “Shut up or I’ll shoot you right now.”
“No, you won’t. Not until I give you the account numbers,” she said, egging him on.
She saw the flash in the trees and decided Shane must have backup stationed outside. But they wouldn’t take a shot at Creighton as long as he had his gun on her. Now was the time to make her move. As soon as she was out of the way, they’d have a clear shot at Creighton.
Shoving back the chair, she slid down to the floor and dived beneath the desk.
The minute she hit the floor, the sound of gunfire and glass shattering echoed through the room. Gabby was tempted to cover her ears, just the way she had as a child, but she resisted, knowing she needed to listen.
Another gunshot made her cringe with fear. Shane? Had Creighton taken a shot at him? What if Shane was hit?
She poked her head out from beneath the desk, her heart lodging in her throat when she couldn’t see Shane.
But then she heard his voice. “Creighton’s down! He’s been shot twice, I need a paramedic team.”
Creighton was injured. Shane wasn’t hurt. It was over.
Her nightmare was finally over.
She awkwardly staggered to her feet. Shane was kneeling beside Creighton’s prone figure, holding pressure on his abdomen where she presumed Creighton had been shot.
Her trauma surgeon instincts kicked in. Despite everything Creighton had done, to her father and to all the people he’d killed since then, she knew she had to help.
“Can you get these cuffs off?” she asked, coming over to crouch beside Shane. “I need to be able to use my hands.”
He glanced at her, relief evident as he raked his gaze over her, as if reassuring himself that she wasn’t harmed. “Hey, Nate! We need handcuff keys in here, now!”
Nate materialized from the other room, crossing over to her. Gabby held her wrists out so he could use the key to unlock the cuffs.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Shane asked in a gruff tone. “He didn’t hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” she murmured, glad when the cuffs dropped away from her skin. She hoped they wouldn’t notice the bruises around her throat. There wasn’t time to worry about them now. “Where is he hit?”
“He has an abdominal wound and a right-shoulder wound,” Shane said grimly.
“Keep pressure on his abdomen while I check out the chest wound,” she said, going around to kneel on the other side of Creighton’s body, facing Shane. “Nate, I need towels, lots of towels.”
“On it,” Nate said, jumping to his feet. She could see the entrance wound in Creighton’s shoulder and applied pressure the same way Shane was doing on the abdominal wound.
“Here,” Nate said, tossing down several towels.
“Thanks.” She folded several towels into thick squares. She pressed the pad over the entry wound in his shoulder and then leaned over to help Shane put the second pad over the abdominal wound.
“Nate, come here and hold pressure,” she instructed. “I want to be sure that he still has a pulse.”
Nate took over holding pressure on the shoulder wound and she found Creighton’s pulse. His heart was fast and thready. He needed volume, fluids and blood. She could easily imagine the damage the bullets had done.
“I’m so glad you found me,” she murmured to Shane. “I was doing my best to stall, giving you time to get here.”
A muscle ticked in the corner of his mouth. “You did a good job,” he said with admiration in his tone. “But if anything had happened to you—”
“But it didn’t,” she said quickly. “I’m safe and I have you to thank for that, and so much more.”
Shane stared at her and she could tell from the raw emotion glimmering there that he was still torn up at how close she’d come to being hurt. More than anything, she wanted to throw herself into his arms, telling him everything would be okay.
Even though she wasn’t sure that was true, especially after the painful memories that had come rushing back.
“Shane, I—”
“I hear sirens,” Nate said, interrupting them. “The paramedics will be here shortly.”
Gabby nodded, keeping her fingers pressed against Creighton’s pulse, knowing she’d need to do CPR soon if the paramedic team didn’t hurry.
A few minutes later the crew arrived, quickly getting to work inserting an IV and providing life-saving fluids. Once they ha
d Creighton connected to the heart monitor and the fluids running, they picked him up and set him on the gurney.
The three of them moved back, giving the paramedic team room to get Creighton out of there.
“Make sure someone goes with him,” Shane directed to Nate.
“Will do.”
“We need to wash up,” she said, heading into the kitchen. Shane followed, and as soon as they were finished cleaning up, she turned to face him.
“I know where they are,” she said with a sigh.
He frowned. “What, you mean the account numbers?”
She nodded slowly, hating the fact that her father had started this more than two decades ago. Had gotten greedy and taken money that hadn’t belonged to him.
The pounding headache was gone, replaced by heartbreaking sorrow. So much loss...and for what? Money that her father hadn’t even been able to use.
Her father may have started this, but she intended to end it.
Once and for all.
SEVENTEEN
Shane stared at Gabby, watching the myriad of emotions that flitted across her face.
Regret. Sadness. Grim resolve.
He wanted to pick up their conversation where she’d left off, but this wasn’t the time. He’d heard her conversation with Creighton and they needed to find out the truth.
“Where are the account numbers, Gabby?” he asked gently. He ached to hold her in his arms but forced himself to give her room. Those minutes that she’d been gone were the longest he’d ever been forced to endure. Worse than being on the run while undercover. He wanted to hug her for himself, but she deserved space. She looked so fragile, so lost.
“Tell me,” he said encouragingly. “Where are they?”
Her expression was weary as she turned her face up to his. “I remembered everything,” she said in a quavering voice. “You were right, as soon as I faced my memories, the headaches disappeared. I remembered what happened to my father, because I was there. I was hiding beneath my father’s desk when they killed him. And when they threw him to the floor, I could see his battered, swollen face against the carpet.”