“You might want to tone down the attitude, Ms. Ferrell.” Bullard’s tone was belligerent. “Or I might be forced to give you a badly-needed attitude adjustment.” He inclined his head to the right of the fireplace. “Bathroom’s through there. Leave the door open.”
Her chin lifted stubbornly, but one look at the madness in the detective’s eyes and her defiance withered and died, along with her hope for a quick, painless death. This man was going to torture her, rape her, and make her suffer for hours, possibly even days before the sickness in his soul was satisfied. She got up and limped into the bathroom, frantically casting about for something—anything—she could use as a weapon. There was nothing. Nothing long enough, or big enough, or heavy enough. Even the lamps on the end tables were fat, squatty porcelain things that would be extremely difficult to hold onto while trying to bash someone’s head in with them. With a resigned sigh, she walked stiffly into the bathroom, grateful that, for the most part, the toilet was concealed by the bathroom wall. The only thing he could really see through the partially-closed door was her legs from the knees down. It wasn’t until she lifted her skirt and sat down that she realized she was still wearing one of the cocktail dresses she’d been trying on at Granny Grace’s. Oh, well. Her men would get the bill after she was dead.
She also realized that she was still wearing the butt plug Ash had so lovingly inserted this morning before they’d left the house. As comforting as its presence was, she knew it had to go. It would never do for the coroner to find it inside her dead body. So she pulled it out, wrapped it in toilet paper and dropped it in the trashcan.
“Hurry up in there,” Bullard yelled. “And if you’re thinking of trying to escape, don’t. The property boundary is nearly two miles away and the fence is electrified barbed wire.”
She washed her hands, splashed some water on her face, and limped back out into the great room. The bottoms of her feet were bruised from walking on gravel. But at least they weren’t bleeding. Her shins and both knees, however, were bleeding from where she’d fallen on them, as were the palms of her hands. The side of her face was beginning to swell and turn purple from where he’d backhanded her.
Avoiding looking at him, she resumed her seat in the wooden chair and closed her eyes, trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart. Simon. Caleb. Ash. Please hurry. This guy’s going to kill me and I need to see you one last time. I need to tell you how much I love you. And how happy you have made me. And how grateful I am to you for loving me.
“Hands behind you. Spread your legs.” He approached her, carrying a long length of rope.
She complied, acutely aware of how naked she was beneath the thin silk of the dress, although not in a good way. She winced as he wound the rope around her ankles and wrists, pulling it tight, securing her arms and legs to the chair. Then he walked back over to the kitchen table and picked up the hunting knife. Mouth dry, she watched in horror as he advanced toward her, brandishing the knife, tossing it from hand to hand, the blade flashing as it caught the light.
“You’re wearing way too many clothes,” he said. The look on his face was malevolent as he shoved the tip of the knife forward, puncturing a hole in the plum-colored silk of her dress, right between her breasts. She felt a sharp tug as he sliced upward, just barely jerking her head back in time to avoid getting a nasty cut on her chin. He took hold of the fabric with both hands and ripped downward as far as her waist. The two sides of the bodice fell aside, just barely hanging onto her nipples, revealing the generous slopes of her breasts. She held her breath, unable to tear her gaze from the sharp blade as Bullard sawed at the fabric gathered along her waist. The razor-like point of the knife punctured her skin over and over until she was bleeding freely all over the silk. Tears flowed down her cheeks. Finally satisfied, he pushed the fabric aside, staring down at her, a greedy expression on his face. “Oh, yeah,” he whispered. “Look at the size of those tits.” The sheer animal lust in his voice set her teeth on edge. Bile flooded the back of her throat.
She lifted her pain-filled eyes to his. “Why are you doing this?” Her voice was barely more than a croak. “What did I ever do to you?”
“You destroyed my life!”
“You did that on your own! I didn’t do anything to you! I never even met you before last Saturday!”
“You were a spy for the FBI!”
“That’s crazy!”
“You told them where Moretti hid his secret books!”
“I didn’t even know Moretti had secret books!”
Quivering with anger, he barely managed to keep himself from plunging the knife into her heart right then and there.
She made one last desperate try. “Look, let me go. You haven’t done anything really bad yet. I’ll tell the feds that I went with you willingly, so they can’t even charge you with kidnapping.”
He bit out a harsh laugh. “Guess again, bitch. I’ve been doing bad stuff for the Righettis for years. Besides, before I left Philly, I killed my partner. He thought he could take me in.” His expression hardened. “Nobody’s taking me in. No matter what, I’m not going to prison. I wouldn’t last five minutes behind bars. Hell, half the guys in there are people I put there. I’d be dead before I ever made it to my cell.” His face took on a cunning look. “So, I’ve decided to go out with a bang. And, unfortunately for you, little Miss Kylie Ferrell, I’m taking you with me.”
“But why?”
“Because I can,” he snarled. “Because I want to. You’ve been a thorn in my side ever since you stumbled onto your dead boss and reported it to the cops. You ripped my future away from me, bitch, so I’m going to rip yours away from you. But first, we’re going to have a little fun, you and me.”
“You’ll never get away with this.”
“I never planned to get away with it.”
“My men are coming for me.”
He let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Dream on, sister. No one’s coming to get you. I have covered my tracks very, very carefully. The only thing anyone will ever find of either one of us is tiny pieces.”
What?
Leaving her staring at him in bewilderment, he walked over to the kitchen table and began pulling things out of his duffel bag. Her bewilderment turned to mounting horror as he held up a pair of pliers, making sure she saw it before he placed it on the table in front of him. “When those two FBI assholes found Moretti’s books, I knew I was done.” He smiled, lifting a nail gun out of the bag. “In that one moment, my entire life turned to shit.” A sledgehammer came next. He placed it on the table beside the nail gun.
Kylie’s heart ricocheted around her chest, as if seeking a way out. She shivered as the heat drained from her body, carried away by the blood trickling down her belly from the line of cuts across her waist. God, she needed her three men. They would keep her warm. But they weren’t here. And she didn’t think she would ever be warm again. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was so dry, it felt as if she’d swallowed hot sand.
“Since all the local airports were being watched, I couldn’t leave the country,” he went on conversationally, as though she were an out-of-town visitor who’d dropped by for cake and coffee. He pulled out a drill, holding it up and turning it on again and again, like he was revving a motorcycle engine. “Did you know,” he continued in that same, weird conversational tone, “that if you drill a hole into the brain in just the right place, that you wouldn’t be able to think anymore, but you’d still be alive and you’d still be able to feel everything that was happening to you? Sort of like a zombie.” A bone-chilling smile crossed his face as he put down the drill and reached back into the bag. This time his hand emerged holding a whip.
Kylie stopped breathing. Despair grabbed her in its teeth wrenching a whimper from her throat. Bile rose up behind the tiny sound, filling her mouth with its sour taste. Icy tendrils of fear snaked through her belly, making her shiver so hard she thought her bones would snap. And she knew then that before this night was over, in spite of he
r determination not to beg or cry or plead or scream, she was going to do all of those things. He would make sure of it. She also knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that none of that was going to work. This man was on a mission and nothing she said or did was going to sway him from his diabolical course.
The last item to come out of the duffel bag was a black plastic box around the size of a cell phone. He pulled up an antenna and a red light started to blink. She stared at him, her eyes filled with despair. “You’re going to blow us up?” Her voice quivered, choked by tears.
He shrugged. “Too bad it didn’t work a week ago. If it had, you’d be dead and I’d still be in business.” He zipped up the duffel bag and stowed it under the table. Then he picked up the pliers and walked toward her. “You may have noticed that I haven’t gagged you,” he said, as if he were talking about whether or not he liked sprinkles on his ice cream. “There’s no need, actually. No one can hear you here. This house is situated on fifteen hundred acres. The nearest neighbor is over three miles away. So, go ahead and scream, bitch. I’m going to enjoy listening to you.” He approached, opening the pliers, letting the gripping teeth hover just in front of her left nipple.
Terror swept through Kylie. Oh, God! This is really happening. “Please,” she begged, sobs tearing from her throat. “Please don’t do this.” She watched the instrument move forward. Felt the cold steel touch her skin, making her nipple tighten, giving him the perfect target.
With a smile that froze her blood, he fitted the tip around her nipple.
Kylie screamed.
* * * *
“Simon.” Caleb’s voice came over the com unit. “Report.”
“Just unlocked the cellar door,” Simon whispered, shoving the bolt cutters back in the nylon bag hanging down his back. He tossed the ruined lock into the dirt and carefully lifted one of the wooden panels that opened onto the concrete stairs leading down to the space beneath the house. Thank God the hinges didn’t squeak. “Goin’ down the steps.” A quick sweep with his Maglite revealed a dirt floor and stone walls. That damp, musty, smell typical of such spaces enveloped him. “There’s an old coal furnace over in the far corner and a newer, natural gas furnace…wait.” He approached the new furnace, which was centered on a concrete slab near the open wooden stairs leading up to what was most likely the kitchen. He paused, sniffing cautiously. Simon had seen enough action with Delta Force to have much more than just a basic working knowledge of plastic explosives like C4. He was very familiar with all of its properties, including its slightly oily smell. A smell that certainly had no business being in a cellar with no oil furnace. Creeping closer, he looked around behind the furnace and his heart froze. “Ho. Ly. Shit!”
Caleb’s head jerked up. “What?” he and Ash asked in unison.
“Five M112 blocks of C4 behind the furnace. Enough to blast a hole in the universe.”
“Can you disable it?”
“Dunno. Lemme see.” He hunkered down and played his light all around the device, giving it a thorough inspection. “Doesn’t appear to be booby-trapped. Bastard didn’t even bother to take the stuff out of its wrapper. Just opened one end and shoved in a bunch of blasting caps.” He pulled them out, removed the wires, and put them in his pocket, quickly scanning the rest of the cellar. “Okay. Don’t see anything else. Hopefully, that was the only charge he planted. I’m gonna climb up to the top of the stairs.”
“Copy. Wait there until Ash gets into position. Ash?”
“Gettin’ there. Done tapin’.” He gave the window pane several sharp taps with his elbow, breaking the glass, making short work of destroying it. Slowly, carefully, he pulled the sheet of duct tape outward, bringing the shattered glass with it. He dropped it on the ground, hoisted himself over the window sill and dropped noiselessly to the floor. Unholstering his HK, he crept over to the bedroom door, pulling his NVG’s down in front of his eyes. “Okay. I’m in position.”
“Dwyer? Sweeney?”
The two FBI agents were standing on the front porch holding a long black battering ram. Hank Graham and Lou Giordano were behind them, one on each side, pistols drawn and at the ready. “Just waiting for your signal,” Dwyer said.
Kylie’s blood-curdling scream froze everyone in their tracks.
“Holy Shit!” Caleb threw all the breakers. “Gogogogogo!” he yelled into his com link.
Plunged into sudden darkness, the room erupted into total chaos and confusion. A loud crash outside sent the front door flying open, letting in just enough moonlight for Kylie to see four shadowy, helmeted figures, completely covered in solid black from head to toe, burst into the room, guns drawn.
She screamed again.
With a feral growl, John Bullard hurled the pliers he’d been just about to use to squeeze Kylie’s nipple at the head of the closest man. It glanced off the man’s helmet with a loud, cracking sound. He turned, and lunged toward the table to grab the remote that would blow the cabin and everyone in it to kingdom come. Just as he closed his hand around it, Simon stepped through the basement door and jammed the tip of his pistol into Bullard’s cheek. Enraged, Bullard lifted the remote and pushed his thumb down on the button. When nothing happened, his eyes widened. Staring at it with shock, he pressed it again. Simon opened his left hand, letting something metallic and looking sort of like long, skinny bullets cascade down to the floor, with a clatter. Bullard let out an angry grunt and rammed his shoulder into Simon’s solar plexus, his grunt instantly morphing into a howl as he encountered the ceramic armor Simon was wearing. Immediately the two FBI agents grabbed the detective’s arms and jerked him back away from Simon, yanking his arms behind his back and cuffing his wrists together. “John Bullard, you are under arrest for kidnapping, murder, drug trafficking, prostitution, illegal gambling, bribery, and a shitload of other charges too numerous to mention.”
Kylie was suddenly aware that yet another silent figure had moved up beside her. The helmet he wore, with its deeply tinted face shield, covered his head entirely, and those goggle things made him look like a space alien from a video game. She sucked in her breath to scream, but before she could let it out, the man placed his index finger to her lips. He hunkered down in front of her and began slicing through the rope binding her left leg to the leg of the chair. Her eyes never left him as he swiftly cut through the other ropes. Then he removed his helmet and said, “Kylie,” and her pent-up breath dissolved in a choked whisper. “Ash! Oh, my God, Ash, it’s you, it’s really you!” Her hand quivered as it lifted to touch his cheek. It was wet. Why was it wet? Was he bleeding? “How—how did you—he said—”
Suddenly the lights came back on and Kylie could see why Ash’s cheek was wet. He was weeping. “I’m sorry, baby,’ he said in an anguished whisper. “I’m so sorry. I never should have left you.” He turned his head, pressing his other cheek against her leg, letting his sobs rip through him. Yeah, “letting”. Like there was any stopping them.
“No—No, sweetheart—you—”
“Kylie.” Simon started toward her, holstering his pistol. Pulling off his helmet, he tossed it on the sofa. Bending over her from behind, he put his arms around her shoulders and pressed his lips to the right side of her face in a lingering kiss. He drew back and looked at her. The left side of her face was swollen and turning purple from Bullard’s backhand across her cheek. He touched it with his fingertip. “Jesus, Kylie, your poor face. I shoulda just gone ahead and blown his head clean off.”
Caleb burst through the open door pausing only long enough to ascertain her whereabouts before making a beeline straight toward her. “Kylie! Kylie! Oh, my God, sugar!” He fell to his knees in front of her, throwing his arms around her legs and laying his cheek against her lap. And all of a sudden Ash and Kylie weren’t the only ones weeping. They all were.
“Thank God you’re all right. When we heard you scream, we thought—”He broke off abruptly. Better to leave that thought unspoken. Giving himself a mental shake, he raised his head. That’s when he saw the
blood. Her skirt was soaked with it, especially at the top, around her waist area. “Jesus Christ!” He gasped in horror. “You’re bleeding! That bastard cut you!”
“I—he—”Suddenly swept by a wave of dizziness, she closed her eyes. Unshed tears scalded her throat. The chill that shivered through her was bone deep, as though her insides were nothing more than a solid core of ice.
Caleb jumped to his feet. “Move back, guys. Simon, get that brain bucket off the sofa.” Lifting her with infinite care and an aching tenderness, he carried her over to the couch and set her down so gently she had to bite her lip to keep fresh sobs from erupting. “God damn it, Hank!” he hollered. “She’s bleeding! We need to get her to a hospital, stat! Call an ambulance!”
“Already here,” the state trooper said even as the strobing blue and red lights of several emergency vehicles began illuminating the inside of the cabin as they rolled to a stop out in front. He grinned at Caleb’s shocked expression, one shoulder lifting in a nonchalant shrug. “You never know when you might have to switch to Plan B.” He nodded toward Kylie. “She gonna be okay?”
Caleb just shook his head. “I don’t know. I sure as hell hope so.”
The commotion of slamming car doors and heavy boots running up wooden steps preceded the entry of four uniformed Pennsylvania State Troopers, followed by two EMT’s pushing a gurney. Looking around, they saw three identical men beckoning to them and wasted no time rushing immediately over to the sofa. The troopers strode over to Dwyer and Sweeney. Two of them grabbed a belligerent John Bullard by the arms and escorted him outside while a third read him his Miranda rights.
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