Jake was opening the door before McCall finished. “Let’s go.”
The cement slab was hard and cold beneath her. Pain flowed through her body in an unending wave. How long had she been here? Hours, days? Weeks? Every time she regained some semblance of reasoning, he returned to her again. To torture, taunt, and shout odd, obscure directions she had no hope of understanding. Then he would shove papers in front of her and demand she read them aloud. She’d barely been able to make out the words, much less speak them. Would this agony never end?
She had long ago given up that LCR could save her. What had happened to Clarissa? The last time Angela had seen her, the woman was being rolled away on what looked like a hospital gurney. Though tied up and her mouth taped, Clarissa had twisted her head and given Angela a look—one of betrayal. Angela had told her she would save her and had broken her promise.
How could she have thought she could do this? Self-confidence had always been one of her best assets—seeing her through some of her darkest days. With all the naivety of a clueless child, she had carried that confidence into her first LCR mission. And now she faced the awful truth. Self-confidence hadn’t gotten her into this plight, it had been blind arrogance. She had been so damn cocky, so very sure that her training combined with her intelligence and courage could conquer anything. Having dreamed of being an operative for so long, she had believed that all she’d needed was the opportunity. And now Clarissa Eaton would pay for that arrogance with her life. As would Angela.
“Welcome back.”
Had he been standing there all along? Watching what remained of her spirit wither away? Waiting until he saw complete hopelessness before he began again?
Thousands of tiny jackhammers were on full blast inside her head and every part of her body, especially her feet, hurt with an unending agony. Ever since the hit on the head, her vision had been less than ideal. She had a concussion, at the least. That was only a minor problem though. And while pain covered every inch of her body, that wasn’t her biggest issue, either. Her greatest problem was deep within her, where the real Angela lived, breathed, and had learned to survive no matter what. The damage there was irreparable. The unquenchable fire that sustained her had been doused. She had lost all hope.
Angela swallowed or tried to—there was nothing to swallow. Her mouth was completely void of moisture. She managed a weak, rasping, “Where’s Clarissa?”
“She’s resting for her finale.”
“Finale?”
Smile smug, eyes gleaming with triumph, he said, “Yes, her time here is almost at an end.”
With lightning speed, the fire she had thought dead reignited within her. White-hot fury zoomed like a rocket blast…washing, cleansing, renewing. Doubts and recriminations vanished. A new, brighter confidence took hold. No way in hell was this sadistic SOB going to win. No. Way. In. Hell.
“Need to go to the bathroom.”
“Now, now. Is that the way I taught you to ask?”
Oh yes, she knew exactly what to say. Those words had been drilled into her with heartless regularity. She had no trouble obeying; she would do what she had to do, say what she had to say, to get free. “I’m begging you, my love. Please, may I attend to some personal needs?”
Delight lit up his features. “Excellent, my dear. I knew you would come around. And yes, I will grant your wish.”
Her arms were always the most painful part of the freeing process. He unhooked the chains and lowered her arms gently to her side. “Wrap them around yourself like I taught you.” When she complied, he said softly, “There you go.”
Having him free her like this was painful for another reason. He was at his most gentle. Somehow this show of tenderness revolted her just as much or more than what he did to her when he was at his most sadistic.
As she dealt with the pain in her arms, he unlocked the chain at her feet. She was cuffed at her ankles, so even if she got free, she wouldn’t be able to run fast or far. He had planned this well. It didn’t matter. This would be her last attempt. If she failed…No, she refused to even finish that sentence in her mind. She would not fail. She had someone depending upon her. She had to save Clarissa and she had to save herself. She had too much to live for. Jake’s harshly handsome face came to her mind. She wanted to see him again, tell him that she loved him. It didn’t matter that he didn’t love her. When you loved someone, you admitted that love. You didn’t hold it inside you. Love was for giving away, not keeping.
He lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the bathroom. Usually when he did this, she was so weak or in such pain, she could barely function. And though she felt only slightly more coherent this time, it was now or never.
At the bathroom door, he paused to open it and for one split second, wasn’t focused on her. Angela acted. Linking her hands together to form one giant fist, she swung around and up, smashing into the bastard’s face. A satisfying crunch followed. Before he could react, she repeated the action.
Screaming his rage, he dumped her onto the floor and backed away, holding his bloodied, broken nose with his hands. Angela leaped to her feet. Ignoring all pain, she did what she had been longing to do for days. She took four hops—she had counted exactly how many it would take—and grabbed an axe that hung from the wall. Swinging it around, she slammed it toward where he should be standing. He wasn’t there.
Pain erupted in her jaw, her neck jerked back. Adrenaline and determination kept her upright. She whirled around. He had somehow gotten behind her. With a wild animal roar, she swung the axe again and watched in triumph as it slammed into his head. The impact sounded like the thudding crack of a ripe melon.
His eyes were wide, filled with surprise and bewilderment. He took a step toward her. Angela raised the axe again. Before she could strike, he toppled like a felled tree, landing face-first onto the floor.
Dead or just unconscious? Didn’t matter. She refused to take any chances. She carefully swung the axe, breaking the chains at her ankles. Turning, she then rushed back to her stone pallet and grabbed the chains he had used on her wrists. In seconds, she had him chained. Tugging with an inhuman strength that she knew was pure adrenaline, she dragged him to an old steel furnace, wrapped the chains around it and clicked the lock.
For the first time since this ordeal began, she drew in an easy breath.
Still she couldn’t relax until she found Clarissa.
She turned and hobbled painfully, gratefully away from the creature on the floor. She went through the door and stood in a dreary hallway, noting several closed doors on each side.
“Clarissa?” she shouted. “Where are you?” Holding her breath, Angela listened. No sounds. Undeterred, she opened every door and peered inside—still no Clarissa. Despair filled her. He had lied to her—why had she believed he told the truth? Clarissa was already dead. Oh God, she had failed after all.
A soft, muffled noise hit her ears. Angela held her breath again. Yes, there it was. A voice…saying her name…coming from beneath her. Frantic, her eyes scanned the narrow hallway once more. There, in the shadows. Were those steps? Yes!
As if she had wings instead of badly damaged feet, she flew down the steps and into a small room, similar to the one she had just escaped. Clarissa lay on the gurney, chained. But her eyes were open and she was very much alive.
Swallowing a sob of thanksgiving, Angela ran to her and embraced her, chains and all.
“Oh, thank God. I thought you were dead,” Clarissa said.
“I feared the same thing about you.”
Clarissa looked fearfully behind Angela, as if the fiend might show up at anytime. “Where is he?”
“Chained to the radiator. Dead or just unconscious, I’m not sure…but he can’t get loose”
“Really?” Hope gleamed in Clarissa’s eyes. “I can’t believe this is over.”
“I need to find a phone.”
“I think there’s one in the room above this one. I heard it ring once.”
Angela rat
tled the chains on the gurney. “Do you know where the keys to these things are?”
“Behind you, hanging from that peg.”
Spotting them, she grabbed them and quickly unlocked the chains. Clarissa sat up slowly, tears flowing down her face. “I can’t believe I’m free.”
Angela held out her hand. “Let’s go make the call together. I’m not letting you out of my sight until we’re out of here.”
Clarissa dropped her feet to the floor, looked down and then gasped.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
Horror on her face, Clarissa whispered, “What happened to your feet?”
Agony shot through her, a reminder that she had some major injuries to deal with. She refused to look down. If she didn’t see the damage, she could continue to deny what he had done to her. “Never mind. Let’s go.”
Hand in hand, they walked up the steps together to make the call, ending their nightmare at last.
Jake’s cellphone rang. Pulling it from his pocket, assuming it was an LCR operative or one of the detectives, he answered, “Mallory.”
“Jake?”
He stopped breathing. Could it be? “Angela?”
McCall stiffened beside him and threw him a look of incredulity.
“Oh Jake.” Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper but it was definitely Angela.
“My God, are you all right?” He barely knew what to ask.
“I’ve been better. I’m not really sure where I am. Can you have this call traced? The monster’s name is Derrick Delacourte.”
“Where’s Delacourte now?”
“He’s unconscious and chained to a radiator in the basement. Where are you?”
He looked up at an ivy-covered brick mansion. “Right outside his house.” Before the vehicle came to a stop, Jake was out of the car and running.
Jake was here? Outside the house? It took every ounce of self-control for Angela not to try to make it to the door. Since she would have had to crawl, she decided against it. Besides, her energy reserves were depleted. While she was making the call to Jake, Clarissa had found a raincoat hanging from the peg. And in the coat was the man’s wallet, identifying him as Derrick Delacourte.
And now she was completely spent. Just the simple acts of making the phone call and putting the raincoat on had exhausted her. Both she and Clarissa sat at the bottom of the stairs, waiting.
They heard the door burst open and then Angela heard the most beautiful sound imaginable. “Angela! Where are you?”
“Down here,” she shouted.
Running footsteps headed toward her and then, larger than life, Jake was there. Myriad emotions crossed his face as he reached for her. Unable to stop herself, she tried to stand, lost her balance and fell into his arms. In Jake’s strong embrace, hearing his whispered words of thanksgiving, Angela finally gave herself permission to let go. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and allowed darkness to swallow her one last time.
Chapter Nineteen
Guilt clawed his insides like a rabid wolf in a feeding frenzy. God in heaven, she had been tortured.
Jake leaned against the wall outside Angela’s room. A doctor was with her. He had no real clue of her condition. Within a couple of minutes of finding her, an ambulance had arrived and whisked her away. She had still been unconscious but he had seen enough of her injuries to know that she had been through hell.
Clarissa Eaton appeared to be in much better shape, at least physically. Her only visible injuries were ligature bruises on her wrists and ankles plus severe dehydration. Mentally and emotionally she might never recover. She had gone into hysterics when Angela lost consciousness, shrieking and crying as if she were still in danger. McCall had managed to calm her down but she’d become hysterical again the instant the EMTs had placed her on a gurney.
The bastard was in the hospital too, under armed guard. He had briefly regained consciousness and claimed to know nothing about how the women had gotten into his home or what had happened to them.
Delacourte would be put away for life. That should be good enough, but it wasn’t. Jake wanted him to suffer as much as those women had suffered. And he wanted to beat the ever-living shit out of the monster for what he had done to Angela.
The door opened beside him and two women walked out. One of the women, distinguished looking with gray hair and a slight limp, had the nametag with Dr. Lucia Bittner pinned to her white coat. The nurse standing beside her was middle-aged, stocky and reminded Jake a little of his grandmother. Both women wore the same dismal expressions on their faces.
“How is she?”
In lightly accented English, Dr. Bittner said, “Considering what she’s been through, better than one would think. She has a concussion and multiple bruises all over her body. She also has some minor knife cuts to her torso that required a few stitches. Scarring should be minimal. Her feet are probably her most painful injuries. They have first-and second-degree burns, along with some shallow cuts. She won’t be able to walk for several weeks.”
Hell, the freak had only had her for two days but had apparently spent hours torturing her. Jake closed his eyes and swallowed back bile.
Dr. Bittner continued, “The tattoo can be removed but I would suggest she wait until her other injuries are healed.”
“Tattoo?”
“Yes.
Confused, Jake shook his head. That was something Delacourte had never done before. “What kind of tattoo?”
“A rose. Unfortunately he wasn’t a talented artist. It’s quite crude.”
“Where is it?”
“On the back of her neck.”
He took in a shaky breath. Tattoos could be removed, burns would heal, scars would fade. But what about the inside where no one could see? What kind of psychological damage had the monster inflicted?
“Can I see her?”
“In a minute. A nurse is getting her more comfortable.”
Jake nodded and thanked the doctor. Then slumping back against the wall, he covered his face with his hands and wept.
Angela opened her eyes, stretched gingerly and winced. She was still sore and despite the pain medication, her feet still hurt. But it was bearable. And, for the first time in days, her head was clear and her thoughts coherent. What a blessing.
A slight movement to her right brought her gaze to the man lying on the sofa against the wall. His six-foot-five frame was much too large for the short, uncomfortable looking piece of furniture. She had tried to get him to go back to his hotel room and he had refused. Other than when the doctors and nurses came in to perform their duties, Jake had been with her. She knew he had to be exhausted but he told her he wasn’t leaving until she left. The tenderness in his eyes shut down her protests. She was definitely not going to complain if he wanted to stay with her.
At the sudden knocking at the door, Jake sprang to his feet. On his way across the room, he shot Angela a concerned, protective look—the same expression he’d had on his face since she’d woken in the hospital days ago. She had a feeling it was going to be some time before he let her out of his sight again.
He opened the door to reveal Noah, who entered carrying a tray of coffees in one hand and a box of pastries in the other. “Feel up to company?”
“Absolutely. I’m feeling much better today.”
Noah passed her a coffee, then set the opened box of pasties on her tray table. After taking a long swallow of his coffee, he asked, “Samara get in touch with you?”
“Yes.” Angela laughed and added, “Though it was hard to talk to her since Micah kept insisting on talking, too.”
“He’s been very worried about his Aunt Angela.” His eyes went serious and sadder than she’d seen them in a long time. “We all have. Again, I’m sorry for what happened.”
She shook her head. “I’ve told you, Noah, it wasn’t your fault. Besides, it had a good ending.”
She followed his gaze to her bandaged feet. “Okay, so not a perfect ending but a good one all the same. I’l
l heal. And we saved Clarissa and stopped Delacourte. That’s what’s most important.”
“You’re right, it is.” He shot a glance at Jake. “I’ve got more info.”
“What’d you find out?” Jake said.
“Delacourte was a working actor up until a few years ago when his one-man play folded. Before that, he had a small amount of success but mostly because of his wife, Rose. She was better known and apparently her husband rode his wife’s coattails to semi-stardom. She died in a boating accident. After that, he had trouble getting work. His last gig—the one-man play—told the tale of Jack the Ripper. Apparently Delacourte identified with him in some way.”
“With Rose being his wife’s name and an actor who once played Jack the Ripper, seems like two damn big red flags we should’ve been able to detect.”
Noah shrugged. “In hindsight, they are. I doubt anyone would have given them thought otherwise, even if they’d known. Until Angela told us, we had no idea he was using disguises. That information helped a heluva lot. Not too many people would’ve suspected a middle-aged has-been actor to be playing out his last role for real.”
“I’m assuming the reason he chose tall, dark-haired women was because that’s what Rose looked like?” Jake asked.
“You got it.”
“But why did he take Clarissa?” Angela said. “Has anyone asked him?”
“He’s still claiming to know nothing about any of the abductions or murders. The police faxed me a family portrait. Delacourte had an older sister who died when he was about fifteen. Looked a lot like Clarissa.”
The conversation she’d had with Clarissa after she had been taken came back to her. “That fits,” Angela said.
“What fits?” Jake said.
“Something Clarissa told me. I don’t remember a lot of what she said because of the drug he’d given me, but I remember she said that he kept telling her the reason he had taken her would soon be revealed to him. He must’ve felt some sort of connection with her but in his crazed mind, he couldn’t figure out why.”
CHANCES ARE (Last Chance Rescue) Page 17