by LJ Vickery
Escape attempts. Pietro got tired of me trying to evade his men and sneak off the property. He thought I should be grateful for every sliver of comfort I was given and felt justified to take it all away.
Solina snorted.
So he planned my incarceration here, telling me he had contracted with an auction company to come clean out the space to make my new room.
“Which is where the box comes in,” Solina guessed. “Via the auction company.”
A small, sad smile came to Mary’s lips.
Yes. The box was upstairs in Father’s library. I stole it, brought it to my room and placed the note inside. Then I tricked Pietro into showing me this room days before it got cleaned out, planting the box with all the things to be sold.
She reached out a trembling hand to Solina, then brought her pen back to paper.
I’m so sorry you got dragged into this. If I had known my actions would put another person in danger, I never would have done it.
Solina dismissed Mary’s concerns. “Of course you had to do it. You needed to try something to get free of that monster. And don’t worry. We’ll get out of here.” Solina tried to sound positive when she felt anything but. If she’d been dealing with a sane human being, she might have been more confident. But going up against the psychopath Mary described?
Terrifying.
“What does he need the money for?” Solina had her suspicions, having had a look at Pietro’s written ledgers.
Drugs of some kind, I’m sure. I’ve heard enough talk to figure that out, and I’ve seen large shipments come and go. I’m not sure what kind of substance it is. It could be illegal prescription drugs for all I know. My father was in the pharmaceutical business, and Pietro may have made connections. She shrugged.
Solina had an idea what Pietro dealt in, and it wasn’t prescriptions. “C Shipment” and “H Shipment” more than likely meant cocaine and heroin.
They were in some serious trouble here.
“Listen. I have a knife and some brass knuckles,” she told Mary.
What had seemed like the ultimate in protection when she’d gleefully hidden them on her body now sounded woefully inadequate. But she wouldn’t broadcast her uncertainty.
“So what I need to do now, before Pietro finds out I lied to him about the location of the box, is try to unlock the door.”
Mary looked terrified. You lied to Pietro?! He’ll… She stopped writing, a pained look on her face.
“I know.” Solina tried to hide the quaking in her limbs. “He’ll beat it out of me. I was warned, so I have to act quickly.” She figured it had been at least half an hour since the minions were sent to her home. It would take them forty-five minutes to arrive, then another fifteen or twenty to figure out the box wasn’t there. She hoped Ostrich would be okay, but if she knew her normally antisocial cat, he’d hide where the men couldn’t find him.
That meant she had about thirty minutes to break out.
She lifted her pant leg and removed her knife, earning a raised eyebrow from Mary.
“Yes, I can do this,” she spoke with a confidence she didn’t feel. “How hard can it be? They do it on television all the time.” What had she seen on those cop shows? She knew it was a two-tool process. Some hook-like thing was inserted into the bottom of the keyhole, while a sharp tool fiddled around above it. A knife she had, so she just needed to find a hook.
“Mary, I need a small piece of metal with a hook on one end, or something I can bend. Do you have anything like that?” She watched Mary ponder.
Pietro doesn’t allow me any knives or tools. She frowned. I have a few beauty items in the bathroom, though. Tweezers, perhaps?
“That door?” Solina asked, leaping up and pointing. She’d spent her whole life studying small things, and if there was something in the bathroom that could help, she’d find it.
Mary nodded. Solina practically ran in, flipping the light switch on her way. “I hope you don’t mind if I rifle through all your things, Mary,” she called out, opening one drawer after another. “But I don’t have much time.”
She found the tweezers and set them aside, rummaging further. Toothpaste, face cream, cuticle tool made of wood, nail clippers. Wait… Nail clippers? Oh please. Oh please. With fumbling fingers, Solina rotated the top piece that opened the cutters and… Yes! Inside was one of those nail files. Thinking fast, Solina braced the attached end of the file on the counter, cantilevering the other end over the edge. She grabbed it with the tweezers, applying pressure.
Bend. Bend, she begged the thin metal. And, like a wannabe Uri Geller, her tool did the trick. Now she had her hook.
Dodging Mary, who stood in the threshold, watching, Solina strode to their prison door, carrying her tools, eyeing the doorknob. Carefully, she inserted the hook at the bottom and the knife at the top, wiggling both.
Nothing happened.
Think, Solina. Think.
She forced herself to concentrate. How did a lock work? One of the tools had to manipulate the pins residing within, the other had to act like a key. And a key turned. Solina tried again, sweat beading up on her brow.
She inserted the hook and turned gently, feeling a positive amount of pressure. That had to be good. Next, she slid the tip of the knife above it and wiggled. Was that a click? She couldn’t be sure, but she kept her forward momentum and jiggled again. Yes. Now she was sure. She felt something give. Could that be two of the pins? How many did a normal lock have? How many did this one have? She had to be patient. Taking a deep breath, Solina didn’t give up. The clock was ticking.
After what Solina believed to be the fifth click, the mechanism lost its rigidity. Oh, my god! Had she done it? Leaving the tools in place, she attempted to turn the knob.
Success.
Solina felt Mary move in behind her, but there was no time for celebrating. “I don’t think there’ll be anybody out there, but just in case, stay behind me until I tell you it’s safe.” She eased open the door and peered out into a large, center room lit with a single bulb.
“All clear,” she whispered and removed her letter opener from the lock. She also fished inside the top of her shirt and withdrew her brass knuckles. Showing them to Mary, she slipped them on. “We have to be very careful.”
They crept toward the stairs before Solina thought to ask, “Is there any other way out?”
A look of triumph flashed into Mary’s eyes. She nodded, turning in place, and crooked her finger at Solina, as if to say, Come with me.
Following close on Mary’s heels, they ducked into a dark room where Solina could just make out the bulk of a huge, old oil furnace. She had a smaller version of it in her first house and knew its anatomy pretty well.
Still in MacGyver mode, she walked toward it, her eyes darting around. Score. A flashlight sat on the floor beside the ancient monolith. Turning it on, she quickly pointed it above the furnace, locating the red plate she knew she’d find. There was no hesitation. She strode forward, reached up and removed the small, black button…a thermally fused electrical switch that would instantly kill the power to the furnace…from the middle. The furnace belched to a stop. Yes. The technician who’d educated her deserved a big, fat kiss.
If she and Mary got caught, the asshole brother would either have to call a service company to repair the heat or make everybody freeze their asses off by morning. She tossed the item into a nearby sump pit and heard it hit with a reassuring splash. They’d never find that one.
Mary hissed and beckoned toward a set of stone stairs that led up to what could only be a bulkhead. Solina, still in possession of the flashlight, joined her at the bottom and aimed the beam up to the underside of the door. It looked to be closed with a thick metal bar threaded across two brackets. She stepped up to remove it, but Mary grabbed her arm.
“What?” Solina whispered.
Mary pointed above her head and put a finger to her lips.
“Pietro is up there?” she murmured.
Mary nodded. This sma
ll utility room sat right next to their basement quarters, so she had to know what she was talking about.
“So no noise,” Solina ascertained, almost silently. “I get it.”
As Solina studied the closure and pondered the best way to open it without a sound, a phone rang somewhere over their heads.
“Yeah?” they heard Pietro bark.
Oh damn. This can’t be good.
“That fucking bitch. You stay put. I’ll get it out of her.”
Solina’s eyes met Mary’s. Without verbal communication, they abandoned their escape attempt and ran back to their room. If they were caught now, there’d be no second chance. If they could retrace their flight to freedom later, it might give Solina the strength to endure whatever Pietro would dish out.
They slipped into the room just as they heard the door to the upstairs crash open. All Solina had time to do was click theirs shut, slip the nail file out of the lock and send that, her knife and her knuckles across the floor in a desperate attempt to slide them under the bed. They made it.
She and Mary flew to the couch and sat down, attempting to still the pounding of their hearts. Although, with the way Pietro banged into the room, there was good reason for elevated pulses.
“You fucking cunt!” he roared, striding to the couch and lifting Solina up by the front of her shirt. Even though she towered over him, he had a lot of weight to put behind his physical assault. He threw her to the floor. “I told you not to fuck with me.” He landed a kick to her stomach, knocking the breath from her lungs.
Solina wheezed and tucked into a ball, trying to protect herself. Pain exploded in her head as he sent his shoe into her temple. Light burst behind her eyes.
“Stop. Stop,” she gasped.
Barely able to look up after a second kick, she saw Mary attempting to come to her rescue, but Pietro shoved the small woman back to the couch with a blow to her chest. “I’ll deal with you later, bitch,” he told his sister.
He reached down and hauled Solina up by her hair. Her scalp burned. She whimpered, sure he had pulled some out by the roots.
Holding her still, he slapped her across the face again and again, branding her cheeks with so many blows, Solina lost count. The only thing keeping her on her feet was his unrelenting grip on her long tresses. He struck her over and over until she no longer felt it, but imagined her brain rattling in her head.
When she thought she’d surely pass out, he threw her to the floor again, standing over her, his chest heaving with anger and exertion. “Now, tell me where it is, and don’t screw around this time. You saw what I did to Mary. I’ll have no trouble gouging your friggin’ eyes out of your head to get answers. You can talk without eyes, you know,” he snarled.
Solina didn’t doubt him. She nearly gagged at the mental picture he presented, but forced it down, moaning, and licked her numb lips. There were probably a few teeth loose, but there’d be plenty of time to take stock of her injuries later. First, she had to tell the asshole what he wanted to hear.
“In my antique shop,” she rasped. “At the top of my driveway. Shelves numbered. Row eight-A, position forty-two.”
He stepped back, for which Solina was grateful. She used the opportunity to inch closer to the television, farther from the sofa where he stood. He took his phone from his pocket and dialed.
“Yeah. It’s me. She says there’s an antique shop at the top of the road… Right. I’m staying on the line until you get there. Break in and...”
Solina’s head buzzed as he gave his men instructions. Although her ears rang, she didn’t think she was as much concussed from his kick as she was oxygen deprived from his other spiteful blows. Trying to suck in as much air as possible, it eventually got easier, but her face was on fire by then. God, if she felt like this from one beating, what the hell had her companion endured since Pietro had taken over her life? Mary was one resilient woman, and the thought of that had Solina struggling to sit up…which she managed to do after a few false starts. She caught the end of a sentence from Pietro.
“…shelves are marked. Do you see numbers?” He shot her a malevolent look. “Yeah. Eight-A. And then… Right. You see it?” Pietro smiled, an ugly look for him. “Okay. Grab it and get the hell out of there,” he ordered. “I’ll see you when you get back.” He hung up.
He looked down at her and sneered. “You’ve had a small taste of what I can deliver,” he warned. “So Mary’s note better be in the box or you’ll get a larger dose. Next time, I won’t hold back.”
He stalked from the room, slamming the door and locking it with a decisive click.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Wiley looked at the clock and dialed her number again. It was nearly midnight and Beauty wasn’t answering. He’d started calling nearly an hour ago, but it went right to voicemail each time. After leaving two messages for her to call him back, he’d given up on those, but continued to ring her. With no luck.
His gut told him something wasn’t right, even though he’d spent the last fifty minutes assuring himself that he was making stupid assumptions. She was in the shower, off at a friend’s house, her phone wasn’t charged. Right?
Wrong. Solina knew he’d call before bed, had even told him she looked forward to it. Something. Was. Wrong.
His first inclination was to dial Del, but the poor guy had a newborn who kept him up until all hours. He needed his sleep. Prez had a small house full of females who might be disturbed by such a late-night call.
Sarge.
He hit the number for his genius friend.
“Yo, Wiles. What’s up?” Sarge asked.
Good. It didn’t sound like he’d been sleeping.
“Tell me I’m off my ass here, Sarge.”
His buddy didn’t hesitate. “Not ‘til you give me some intel on what the fuck you mean by that.”
“That’s why I love you, man.” Wiley heaved a sigh of relief. Sarge would look into this for him. “I’ve been calling Solina for over an hour, but she’s not answering.” He hurried on. “I know there could be all kinds of reasons, but my gut is telling me something’s fucked up.”
“You want me to drive to her house?” Sarge didn’t question any further. He understood the feeling they all got from an op gone wrong…or a teammate in danger.
“Yeah. I’ll be on standby. Here’s the address…” He rattled it off. “And thank you, man.”
“Not a problem, Wiles. I’m bored off my ass with Del and Prez in family mode. This will give me something to do. At this time of night with no traffic, it’ll take me…” Wiley heard tapping on the computer he was certain Sarge slept with, “twenty-five minutes.”
Twenty-five minutes for Wiley to pack his bag and book a red-eye flight back to Boston.
****
Fifteen minutes later, Wiley sat on the end of his bed, nervously bouncing his leg. He’d accomplished what he could, set the wheels in motion. There was nothing else he could do until he heard back from Sarge. The waiting sucked.
Wiley watched the clock. Twenty minutes…twenty-five. His fingers itched to call Sarge back, but he knew he’d hear as soon as his teammate had anything.
When his phone chimed, he fumbled as he picked up. “Yeah?” he barked.
“I’m calling the guys as soon as I get off the phone with you. It’s not good, man. Her house has been tossed.”
Wiley leaped to his feet and shouldered his bag. “What about her car?” His stomach threatened to eject dinner. He took a couple deep breaths to settle his gut.
“Not here,” Sarge replied. “I don’t know what that means yet, but we’ll find out, Wiley. Just get your ass on the next plane east.”
“Already booked it. ETA in Boston is zero six hundred. I’ll see you soon after.”
“Don’t fuck up in rush-hour traffic. We’ll keep you updated.”
“Thanks, Sarge.”
Wiley hung up and hurried down the hall to his parents’ room. He could leave them a note, but if they were awake, he preferred to tell t
hem. He knocked lightly.
“Come in,” his father called.
Wiley turned the doorknob and cracked open the door. “I don’t want to disturb you, but I’ve got to go.”
“What?” His father started getting out of bed. “Is everything all right?”
“No,” Wiley choked. “It’s not.” Dammit. He swallowed down the tears that threatened. He didn’t want his folks to see him bawl.
“What is it, honey?” His mother was at his side before he could blink, wrapping her loving arms around him.
“This girl… I… She’s in trouble. She’s missing. The guys have gone to her house, but I need to be there.”
“Someone special?” his mother asked.
“Very special, Mom.” The lump in his throat threatened to suffocate him.
“Then go. I’ll let everybody else know.”
His father joined them as he and his mother sped down the stairs. “And you’ll be in touch? Keep us updated, right?” he inquired.
“I will, Dad. And I’m sorry…”
“No apologies necessary,” his mother hurried to say. “But, sweetie, when you get your girl safe, bring her here to meet us. I can’t wait to hug the woman who finally won your love.”
A single tear escaped and slowly traveled down his cheek. His mother had it right. Beauty held his heart, and when he found her, he’d damn well make sure she knew it.
****
Sarge already had a good, long look around Solina’s house by the time Del, Prez, Billboard and Perk drove up. He waited for them on the small front porch.
“Sitrep, Sarge,” Del commanded, wasting no time.
“Not a robbery, boss,” Sarge told him assuredly. “This B&E was done by two men looking for something specific.”
“I’m sure you’re right, but how do you know?” Prez asked.
Sarge was notorious for his attention to detail, and his team understood. Sometimes he knew too many details, but in this line of business, it served him well. “Two distinctly different boot prints at the front door. And lots of valuable stuff is thrown around, so the perps weren’t here for a simple robbery.”