by BETH KERY
"Good evening. My name's Manuel Gutierrez."
Hope's anxiety escalated a hundredfold when he raised his hand next to her head and something metallic slithered between his fingertips. She stared in amazement at her silver locket. She'd last seen it in the year 1906 ... in the hand of Diamond Jack Fletcher.
"Jim Donahue asked me to show you this for some reason, miss. Do you know him?" the man asked in a hoarse, accented voice.
"No," Hope replied as she began to edge away from the sink and the man. But he reached up and grabbed both of her shoulders in a strong grip. Hope lunged but he pulled her back in front of him with a hard jerk. Despite her growing fear, his cold eyes held her gaze in the mirror.
"Well, he seems to know you. And he specifically asked me to bring you to him so the two of you could discuss your acquaintance."
Hope twisted wildly in order to escape, but Gutierrez cocked his fist and struck her temple.
Her knees sagged. The room dipped and swayed. She started to scream but Gutierrez covered her mouth.
"Let's be on our way, sweetheart. I know a back entrance, which is a good thing, because I think you've had a little too much to drink," Hope heard him say sarcastically.
She stumbled precariously alongside him as he held her against his side and forced her out of the lounge. He pulled and dragged her down the empty hall, cursing in Spanish when Hope used her legs to resist him and then staggered frantically to regain her balance when he jerked her hard.
Abruptly Gutierrez shoved her down a darkened side corridor. She slipped on the marble tiles as she attempted to twist away from him. Damn these high heels Ryan's mother had given her to wear.
Ryan. He was going to be so irritated with her.
But she had no more opportunity to worry about Ryan at the moment because Gutierrez pushed her front side into the wall. Hope opened her mouth to scream but then felt the unmistakable hard barrel of a gun push against her spine.
"Keep your mouth shut or I'll shoot you. I don't care if Dona-hue wants to nail your ass or marry you. There's nothing I hate more than a screaming, whining woman, do you understand?" He sounded so hard and hateful that she had no problem comprehending him whatsoever. She nodded, wincing when he ground the pistol further into flesh. "I'm glad we got all that settled. Now . .. you're going to walk on your own two feet out that door at the end of this hallway."
When he released her Hope slowly stepped back from the wall, her legs trembling like they were made of rubber. A hand at the back of her neck gave her a hard nudge toward the door in the distance.
TWENTY-SIX
Ryan heard a tapping noise and flipped back the lock on the van door. Ramiro clambered in wearing his dark blue Chicago Police Department tactical coat in place of his tuxedo jacket. The two agents wearing headsets and sitting amongst all the surveillance equipment looked up.
"Menendez, Alvarez and Myerson," Ryan said perfunctorily.
Alvarez and Myerson nodded once before they went back to focusing on their work.
They were parked in the driveway of a darkened house that had access both to the alley behind the Sweet Lash and the street on the next block.
"What's happening?" Ramiro hissed softly as he slid the van door shut.
Ryan took off his headset. No covert surveillance devices needed here. "You can only make out every tenth word they're saying the damn music is so loud. I think Chirnovsky is holding up his end of the bargain, but I don't think it'll do us any good with the shit the Sweet Lash is blaring out of the speakers."
"Fuck."
Ramiro's assessment was concise, for once, and Ryan wholeheartedly agreed with it.
"Where are the others?" Ryan asked.
"There are units farther down the alley and stationed at all entrances to the Sweet Lash.
Crenshaw's listening in to this," he waved at the two technicians who were trying doggedly to single out the men's voices from the booming music, "but he says we have to sit tight until Chirnovsky delivers."
"We're running out of time," Ryan said tensely. Frustration ,rose in his chest, feeling like burning acid. Damn. They'd worked So hard for this. Ramiro signaled for him to give him his headset.
"Did Hope and Gail leave the museum?"
"They were still there when I left," Ramiro said as he started to put on Ryan's headset. He grimaced when his cell phone rang. He i scowled at the number and turned away to answer it. "It's not really a good time."
At first Ryan hardly paid attention to Ramiro's annoyance at the inconvenient phone call but then he saw his dark brows furrow.
"Did you go and look for her?" A pause ensued. Ryan's muscles tensed. A thousand buzzing little alarms started to go off in his Drain. He leaned forward in the passenger seat of the van when he ade out the distant voice of Gail talking rapidly.
"What's wrong?" Ryan demanded.
"How long ago did she leave?"
Ryan swatted Ramiro's arm to get his attention but Ramiro just eld up his hand and nodded as Gail talked.
"Try to get a museum official to search around the museum with you. Maybe she did get lost. Before you do that, though, call the station and have dispatch put you in touch with Marty Simon . . .
Yeah, I spoke to him earlier and he's on duty tonight. Tell him I asked him to come by and help you look for her."
Ryan tried to grab at Ramiro's cell phone at that point but Ramiro leaned back, avoiding him. Marty Simon was one of their many cop friends who worked patrol. Jesus, they were talking about Hope being missing, weren't they?
"Yeah, okay. Let me know as soon as you do." Ramiro held up his hands in a "mea culpa" gesture when he disconnected the phone and Ryan glared at him. "I've got all the information. You weren't going to get any more out of Gail. Let her start looking for Hope again."
"What happened?"
"Hope went to the ladies' room forty minutes ago. They were supposed to leave as soon as she returned, but Hope never came back. Gail's been looking for her for the past fifteen or twenty minutes but came up short. Hope probably got lost or caught up in looking at the exhibits. You know how excited she was to see that museum."
What Ramiro said made sense logically. So why was his stomach churning with panic?
"Look . .. there's nothing you can do about it right now. Marty'll get there before we could, even if we weren't busy working."
"She promised me she wouldn't wander off by herself," Ryan muttered, fury, fear and frustration flavoring his tone in equal measure.
"She'll be fine. Don't—"
"Hey."
Alvarez signaled to the headset when they glanced over at him. Ramiro shoved the headset down over his ears. Ryan gave the agent a querying look.
"The target has just moved locations. He's headed toward the back of the facility.
Communications are clear. Crenshaw wants you to move in," the agent explained tersely.
Something caught Ryan's eye. He moved to the front of the van and peered out the window.
"We've got incoming traffic in the alley . . . from both directions."
Ramiro covered the mouthpiece. "Happy fucking day. Let's go," he said with barely restrained excitement.
"What?" Ryan asked as he flipped open his holster and extracted his gun. He took the headset Myerson handed him and put it on hastily.
"We've got that red-handed fuck and not just on tape, either. He's headed with Chirnovsky to the rear of the Sweet Lash at this very moment to receive a delivery of women from Mexico," Ramiro explained, grinning like a man who saw his enemy's remaining minutes waning.
They exited the van and waited, crouched behind a hedge and some garbage cans. The night was cool but pleasant for November. The throb of the bass from the Sweet Lash emanated into the still night. People who lived around here must possess a vast collection of earplugs.
"That's not something to be transporting eight women in from Mexico," Ramiro whispered in confusion when a Lexus passed in the alley, gravel popping out from under its wheels.
"There's a vehicle coming from the other direction," Ryan explained, knowing Ramiro hadn't heard him earlier because he'd been listening to instructions from Crenshaw.
They heard a car door slam in the distance. Crenshaw gave the order for several units, Ryan and Ramiro among them, to tighten the perimeter around the Sweet Lash's rear parking area.
Ramiro and he crossed the alley. They took position behind a warehouse just west of the Sweet Lash. Back pressed to the side of the building, Ryan peered cautiously around the corner. He could hear the muted sound of men's voices.
The large van was parked in the center of the lot while the Lexus had pulled up closer to Ryan and Ramiro. He could see three men standing in the lot: Chirnovsky, Donahue and one other man—presumably the driver of the van. Because of his particular vantage point he could also see movement in the passenger seat of the van and also in the driver's seat of the Lexus. He flipped the switch on the headset and softly described the situation to Crenshaw in case he didn't have clear sight due to the hulking van.
The driver of the Lexus got out of his car and Ryan recognized him. Gutierrez called out something jovially and Donahue came toward him. The two men drew close and spoke too quietly for Ryan to make out what they said.
Ryan heard Crenshaw curse through the headset. "Have you got Donahue, Daire? The van is blocking us."
"We've got Donahue and Gutierrez," Ryan said just above a whisper. He mouthed Gutierrez to Ramiro and signaled for him to move around the other end of the Dumpsters where he'd have a straighter rush at his prey.
Gutierrez handed Donahue something. Donahue gave a low, sinister chuckle and walked around the front of the Lexus. Ryan could see his puffy face perfectly. Something about his narrowed eyelids and smug, sharklike smile sent an alarm bell to clanging in his brain.
"Pearson and DiMarco will cover you from the south, Daire. All units stand ready."
Several tense seconds passed. Ryan's heart hammered in his ears even though the beat was slow and even. The adrenaline of a takedown always focused his attention to a knife's edge. He watched as Donahue opened the passenger door of the Lexus. The order to move in came at the same moment.
"No. Wait," Ryan muttered into the headset when he saw what Donahue part lifted and part guided out of the passenger seat—a
woman. , Shit.
He hadn't been able to see the female because the seat had been lowered. Despite his surprise he was already in motion, rushing his target as silently as possible. .
Shouts and a few subsequent curses filled the still air. "Freeze and put your hands above your head. Do it," Ryan added forcefully when Donahue's body sagged slightly at the shock of his voice, the woman's body falling back to the seat. Donahue's wide back blocked the car entrance.
"Put her down and get your hands in the air. Move away from the car" Ryan barked furiously when Donahue merely looked over his shoulder.
"Daire," he hissed. He twisted his broad torso and lifted the woman in one. fluid movement. He sat in the car seat, draping her body over his for protection from one of Ryan's bullets.
Ryan saw the gleaming, dark hair and the spill of the frothy rose-colored gown. It felt like a jolt of electricity had suddenly slammed into his heart and lungs. He aimed his gun carefully, setting aside his fear the moment he recognized it. He saw the silver duct tape covering Hope's mouth and binding her wrists. She began to struggle in Donahue's hold.
"Let her go or I'll shoot you."
But Donahue must have sensed his doom because he behaved like an irrational, trapped animal energized by fear and adrenaline. He clambered wildly over the console, jerking up on Hope's waist brutally and pulling her along with him. Ryan experienced Hope's muffled cry of pain like a blade to the flesh.
There was a possibility Gutierrez had left the keys in the car, he realized. Besides, all Donahue needed was a few seconds to retrieve his gun and hold Hope hostage in earnest.
For a microsecond Hope looked up between disarrayed, glossy curls and met his gaze.
The same weird thing occurred that had happened when Mario had been shooting at him and shattered the mirror.
Time stretched. A second became an agonized eternity. He stared into Hope Stillwater's frightened eyes and wondered if destiny was an even stronger force of nature than time.
What if he'd brought her to the year 2008 only to experience her murder here? Now?
What if he hadn't saved her from anything ... just delayed the inevitable?
Recognition flashed in her midnight eyes. As if the sight of him had galvanized her, she started to struggle wildly. Ryan gritted his teeth and aimed his SIG. Damn, that woman was a squirmer. He held on to her panicked gaze like it was her hand and she was falling over a cliff and ground out two words.
"Stay still."
She froze in a position that left a portion of Donahue's right shoulder and arm unprotected. It might as well have been a mile-wide target, as close as Ryan stood. He fired. Donahue grunted.
Ryan lunged forward and grabbed Hope's shaking, bound hands as Donahue's grip faltered. He yanked her up and shoved her behind him while he continued to keep Donahue in his sights. Two agents rushed to the scene, guns drawn.
The whole encounter had lasted less than ten seconds, Ryan realized with dawning amazement. He saw Donahue grabbing his shoulder where Ryan had shot him. Three guns were aimed point-blank at Donahue's head, a fact that Ryan was only too pleased to tell him.
Donahue held up his hands in surrender, grimacing in pain. He lifted his dark head.
Beady, brown eyes filled with hatred focused on Ryan.
"When I realized it was the cops I had a funny feeling it was going to be you behind me, Daire," Donahue rasped. He panted and was starting to sweat profusely.
"It was all just a matter of time," Ryan told him.
"Where'd you hit him?" Pearson asked as he inched toward Donahue.
"Winged his right shoulder." Ryan blinked at his own words. It was the exact same place he'd shot Diamond Jack Fletcher earlier in the week.
Weird.
Donahue let out a howl of rage and pain when Agent Pearson shoved his hand beneath his tuxedo jacket in search of his weapon. He withdrew an automatic a second later and handed it to Agent DiMarco. Donahue's curses and complaints escalated when Di-Marco helped her partner yank Donahue into the passenger seat of the car. Pearson held him while DiMarco secured his wrists behind his back.
"I've been shot, you bitch! What're you doing cuffing me? I need to go to the hospital before I bleed to death."
But Agent DiMarco just kept on reading him his rights with no inflection whatsoever in her voice as she secured Jim Donahue.
Donahue groaned like they were torturing him.
"Now that's a sweet sound," Ramiro said as he approached. He smiled broadly at Donahue's glare before he looked at Ryan. "We've got 'em. Crenshaw has set up roadblocks to keep out all but official personal. No one is getting in or out of the Sweet Lash until they check out. There are nine very scared young women in the back of that van."
Ryan felt Hope start behind him. He lowered his hand down over the curve of her hip, pressing her tightly against him, needing to feel her flesh. He partially turned and looked down at her.
"This is going to hurt a little," he said softly before he removed the duct tape from her mouth. She didn't even wince but just continued to stare up at him with enormous eyes.
"Hope?" Ramiro said incredulously.
"Are you all right?" Ryan asked at the same moment.
She nodded. "I'm fine."
Ryan gritted his teeth in helpless fury. Despite her assurance at being "fine," her face was about as pale as the snowy white dress shirt he wore. He glanced over at Donahue, who sat cuffed in the passenger seat of the car, the stain of blood slowly growing on his shirt.
Too bad the only viable target on the asshole hadn't been directly over his shrunken little heart.
"What did you want with her?" Ryan asked, his voice quiet since Pearson wa
s communicating their situation on his headset.
Donahue's mouth twisted angrily. For a second Ryan thought he'd give him a smart-ass answer or refuse to respond, but instead Donahue nodded at the gravel a few feet from his shining black leather shoes. Ryan saw something glittering on the white stones. He regretfully stepped away for a moment from Hope's trembling body.
"Ramiro, get that tape off Hope's wrists. DiMarco?" he asked, making sure the agent who currently had her weapon trained on Donahue understood that he was going to be bending down within kicking distance of Donahue's feet. She nodded and Ryan crouched. He lifted the delicate chain from the rocks. He immediately recognized the silver filigreed locket.
"Where did you get this?"
His response was an insolent stare.
"Tell me," Ryan grated out.
"I found it between one of the floorboards of the Sweet Lash years ago. I carry it with me for a good-luck token. I suppose you're going to tell me that's a federal crime as well?"
Ryan stared down into Donahue's eyes, dragging his soul for lies. Surely he didn't retain memories from his previous lifetime, did he?
"The photos on the inside of the locket are of a beautiful woman who lived a long, long time ago. You can imagine my surprise when I walked into that party tonight and saw her sitting there at a table—very much alive. I had my coworker ask her to come here to talk about the coincidence, that's all." He paused and for a second Ryan sensed Donahue examining him deeply, as though he searched for answers for the strange circumstances as well.
Ryan exhaled and relaxed a little. Donahue didn't have any solid memories. He might have glimpses of understanding—flashes of emotion and perceptions from another lifetime. Maybe that was why he seemed to take an instant dislike to Ryan when Ryan's father had introduced the two of them years ago. Certainly that must have been why he was so drawn to his criminal lifestyle and the Sweet Lash . .. and Hope's locket. More than likely Donahue'd been as captured by Hope's image as Ryan had been.
The wail of sirens approaching distracted him from the unsettling thought of having anything remotely in common with Jim Donahue. A moment later an emergency medical technician rushed over to the Lexus. DiMarco and the EMT helped a grimacing Donahue to stand.