by Debra Webb
“Take it easy.” Lacon held his hands out on either side of him.
A hand patted his jacket then reached beneath for his weapon. “Let’s go back in the house now.”
For an instant he considered trying to tackle the guy. There was always the chance the first shot would miss. The trouble was, there were likely two of them, and if he did anything stupid and got himself killed, Issy would be completely at their mercy.
So he did as he was told.
They climbed the steps and walked through the door.
Lacon had cleared the door when Issy screamed.
He pivoted.
The thug’s weapon discharged.
Lacon’s brain assimilated a number of things simultaneously. Issy had hit the man’s arm with something that looked like a fireplace poker. The man with the gun howled in agony. The weapon he’d dropped spun across the floor.
Lacon made a dive for the weapon. He hoped like hell a neighbor would call the cops about the gunfire.
“Leave the weapon or I will shoot her.”
Lacon didn’t immediately remove his hand from the gun on the floor. He shifted his attention to the new man in the room, the one holding the muzzle of his weapon against Issy’s temple. The first guy had snatched the poker from her and stood glaring at her as if he wanted to deliver a little payback.
Damn it all to hell. Lacon pushed to his feet, hands in the air. “You probably should call your boss. He wants Dr. Frasier to take care of a situation over on South Calumet.”
The two men exchanged a look, and then the one with the gun on Issy laughed. “That was for your backup. He’ll be rushing over to South Calumet, but not the two of you. Now, let’s go.”
The guy with the poker strode toward Lacon, nudged him with it. “Back off.”
When Lacon had taken a couple of steps back, the bastard reclaimed his weapon and tossed the poker aside. “Anybody else does something stupid, and I’m putting a bullet in your head.” He pointed to Lacon. “You got that?” he growled at Issy.
She glowered at him. “Got it.”
The younger thug took Issy out the back door first. The older guy trailed Lacon, nudging him regularly with the muzzle of his weapon. They walked down the narrow driveway Lacon had opted not to use for parking when they arrived today to avoid the possibility of his car being trapped in the event of a takeover exactly like this one.
So much for trying to cover all the bases.
Once they reached the street that ran behind Issy’s home, they made a right and walked half a block to a black sedan.
“You.” The man behind him jabbed Lacon in the ribs with his weapon. “Get in the front passenger seat.”
The other guy forced Issy into the back and slid in beside her.
When they were all in the car, the guy in the back warned, “Keep in mind, Traynor, you make one wrong move, she gets it.”
“Give me your cell phones,” the driver demanded.
Lacon handed over his phone. The guy tossed it out the window.
“Let’s have it,” the guy in the back snapped at Issy.
A couple seconds later his window went down, and Issy’s phone hit the ground.
Lacon should never have allowed her to leave the safe house. He shouldn’t have allowed her to go along with the police in hopes of trapping Anastasia.
The problem was, none of those choices had been his. Issy had wanted to take Anastasia down. She had known that he would never stop coming after her as long as he was out there and still drawing breath.
Lacon had every intention of changing one or both of those things.
North Burling Street
IT WAS DARK by the time they pulled through the gate onto Anastasia’s compound. Marissa imagined they had waited for the cover of dark to approach his home. They’d driven around far longer than necessary to come straight here from her place by any reasonable route.
The thug who’d dragged her out of the car and was now gripping her arm ushered her across the expansive yard. He was still favoring his right arm, which she supposed was why he held on to her with his left hand. She wished she had hit him harder and on the head. If she’d moved faster, maybe Lacon would have been able to grab his weapon before the other man could stop him.
She glanced around, wishing there was a full moon tonight. The landscape lighting she had noticed on her and Lacon’s previous visit was missing tonight. The sound of the water in the reflecting pond dribbled in the darkness, adding another layer of eeriness to the fear expanding inside her. Her heart beat faster and faster as they neared the rear of the house. She glanced over her shoulder twice, making sure Lacon and the other thug were still behind them.
She was going to get him killed. William’s stupidity and her plummet into that same stupidity were going to cost this man his life. She had to do something. He was doing his job, yes. He was aware of the danger, yes. But the potential end result wasn’t right any way she looked at it. She could not allow this to happen.
Once through the French doors, the thugs ushered the two of them away from the main living area and down a long hall. Finally, they crowded into what appeared to be a storage room. Shelves loaded with dry goods and household supplies lined the walls. The bastard clutching her arm reached for a box of detergent, but when he moved it a portion of the shelving slid away, revealing a staircase.
Just like in a bad movie. How would Lacon’s backup, Ian Michaels, or the police find them here?
At the bottom of the stairs was a fair-sized room that looked somewhat like a small den. The typical U-shaped sectional sofa was arranged atop thick beige carpet. Rich paneled walls gave the basement room a more classic look. A large television and a fireplace sat on opposite ends of the space. On each of the other two walls was a door. One might have gone to a bathroom and the other maybe to a bedroom. Except the one on the farthest wall from where they now stood had a keypad and looked more like a panic room door. That was the direction in which they headed, and dread swelled like a rock inside her stomach.
“Where is Vito?” She jerked at the man’s hold. “I need to speak with him.”
“In due time,” the thug said. The keypad had the usual numbers for entering a code, but it also had a biometric pad. The man pressed his thumb there and the door swung inward.
He pushed Marissa inside. Digging in her heels, she didn’t make it easy.
Lacon was shoved in right behind her.
“Make yourselves at home,” the thug who’d dragged her here said. “For now.” He laughed until the door closed, blocking the awful sound and any possibility of escape.
“You okay?” Lacon touched her arm.
She stared at the angry red marks the man’s grip had created. “He didn’t hurt me. Just made me mad as hell.”
He pulled her into his arms and hugged her. “Don’t try to be a hero, Issy. Just do what they ask until help comes.”
She drew back and stared up at him, searching his pale brown eyes. With every fiber of her being, she had feared this moment would come. “How do you know they’ll be able to find us?”
He smiled. “It’s the Colby Agency. They always do.”
She couldn’t do this. She should never have involved anyone else. Somehow she had to rectify that mistake.
“Lacon, I appreciate how well you’ve taken care of me the past few days.” She drew out of his embrace and squared her shoulders, hanging on to the last threads of her courage. “But I don’t want you to do anything else. I want you to just stop. Right now.”
“What?” The word came out on a choked laugh. “Are you firing me again?”
“Yes. I’m firing you as my bodyguard.” She folded her arms over her chest in hopes he wouldn’t notice the way her body had started to tremble. “You...” She cleared the emotion from her throat. “You are not to take any additional measures to defend me in
any way. From this moment, your only concern is staying alive.”
For ten or so seconds he stared at her as if he were too stunned to speak. To escape his daunting stare, she allowed herself to look around the room and fully assess the situation for the first time. It was far larger than the room outside that door. No warm paneling or soft carpet. Just cold concrete walls and floors. There were only two chairs, and each had straps to secure a person’s arms and legs. Her body trembled harder when she considered the steel table, much like the one found in an operating room, complete with straps for securing whoever might end up stretched out on it.
Nearby, a glass-front cabinet displayed drug vials, very similar to those found in the dispensary at the Edge, along its top shelf. The other shelves were filled with what could only be called the tools of torture. Scalpels, knives, a hammer, small forceps, a hacksaw and a multitude of others she couldn’t fully see.
She had to look away. It didn’t help. Her gaze next landed on a heavy chain that hung from the ceiling. The hook on the end suggested it was for hanging something or...someone. Another small table, this one with wheels, sat close by. A control box of some sort with various attached cables sat atop it. She could only imagine what it was.
“Did you have anything else you wanted to say?” Lacon stared at her, his hands resting on his lean hips.
Emotion tangled in her throat. “No.” She cleared her throat. “I guess that’s all I have to say.”
He laughed as he, too, took stock of their situation. “Well, you picked a hell of a time to decide to fire me.”
A tear escaped her fierce hold, and she swiped at the nuisance. “Sorry. I don’t have a lot of experience with this sort of thing.”
He grabbed her and pulled her against him. “You can’t fire me, Issy,” he said, his tone as desperate as the look in his eyes. “This stopped being about work the first time I kissed you.”
Those damned tears spilled past her lashes in spite of all she did to attempt to staunch them. “I do not want you to risk your life for me. Just do whatever they tell you until...until we get out of here. All I need is your word that you’ll do as I say.”
He smiled and her heart reacted. “I can’t promise you that, Issy. We’re in this together, and I’m not backing down. I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep you safe. That’s what people who care about each other do, so don’t ask me to do otherwise.”
She exhaled a frustrated breath. “Fine. Just don’t take any unnecessary risks.”
He grunted a sound that couldn’t be called an agreement. Before she could argue her point further, he took her by the hand and ushered her along to the cabinet near the steel table. He checked the doors. Locked. She doubted he had expected otherwise.
“Stand back,” he ordered.
She moved a few feet away as he turned his back to the cabinet and then elbowed one of the glass doors. The glass shattered. He reached inside and grabbed a knife and the hammer. What in the world would he be able to do with those?
The glass crackled under his boots as he walked back to where she waited. He offered her the hammer. “You have a pretty mean swing, so here you go. A weapon.”
Her trembling lips slid into a smile despite the fear and worry spiraling madly inside her. “My brother liked to play cops and robbers when we were kids. Conking him over the head was my favorite part. No matter how many times we played that game, he never resisted, even when he knew that bop on the head was coming.”
Grinning, Lacon slid the knife into his waistband. “I think I like your brother.” He hugged her again. This time he pressed his lips close to her ear and whispered, “There are cameras. They’ll take these weapons away from us when they come back.” He drew back a little and kissed her hard on the mouth, his right hand sliding down her back, fingers slipping into her hip pockets. He pulled his mouth from hers and hugged her again and murmured, “I’m hoping they won’t find the scalpel I just slid into your back pocket on the right.”
The door opened and they drew apart. Lacon grabbed her hand and ushered her behind him. Marissa wished she could think of something to say or do that would somehow change what she feared would happen next.
“Put the weapons down!” the thug she’d whacked with the poker shouted, his weapon trained on Lacon.
The thug’s friend waltzed in next, his weapon leveled on Marissa. “Come with me,” he ordered.
She shook her head. “Only if he goes, too.”
“No can do.” He motioned with his weapon for her to come with him. “The boss only wants you.”
Fear blasted through her veins. “If you want me, you’ll have to come and get me.” She gripped the hammer a little tighter.
The one with his weapon aimed at Lacon was taller and older, and he walked closer. “Do as he says or I’ll shoot your boyfriend.”
Fear exploded in her chest. What the hell did she do now? She divided her attention between the two men coming closer.
“Put the hammer down,” Lacon said, “and do like he said.”
She swung her gaze to him. “No.”
He sent her a desperate but determined look. “You go with him. Don’t worry, I’ll catch up.”
The younger thug grabbed her. She swung the hammer at his head, missed. Tried again to hit him before her pathetic weapon flew from her grasp. His arm went around her waist, and the barrel of his weapon nudged into her temple.
“You behave yourself, Doc, and I won’t have to hurt you. Mr. Anastasia wouldn’t be too happy about that.”
Her eyes stayed on Lacon until the bastard dragged her out the door. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to scream. To cry.
Mostly she wanted to kill Vito Anastasia.
The man hauled her up the stairs and into the long hall that led back into the main living area of the house. She relaxed a little and didn’t fight him as much. So far he hadn’t checked for any other weapons. Please don’t let him look.
He stopped at a door before they reached the grand entry hall. She wondered where the fancy butler and the kitchen staff were this evening. Did they all blindly go about their business while their boss did horrific things to their guests? The urge to scream burgeoned in her throat. The need surged with such intensity, it was all she could do to hold back the sound. But she didn’t want to do anything that would make this thug angry. The one thing she had on her side was that scalpel.
Maybe that narrow piece of steel would be the miracle she needed.
The thug pushed the door open. The room was empty save a couple of wooden chairs and a video monitor mounted to the white walls. The floor, ceiling and walls were so white they were blinding.
“Sit,” the thug ordered.
He pushed her toward one of the chairs, and she hit the floor in front of it on her hands and knees. She ignored the pain in her wrists and knees and climbed into the chair.
“Are you going to behave yourself or do I need to tie you to the damned chair?”
She glared up at him but didn’t say a word. “What could I possibly do?”
“Good.” He laughed. “I’ll be back.” He hesitated at the door and pointed to a place in the ceiling where the flow of white ballooned out like a basketball. “That’s a camera. We’ll be watching every move you make.”
There had to be something she could do to stop this. “I want to see Vito. He will not be happy that you’re treating me this way.”
The man sneered at her. “He knows you’re here. You’ll see him soon enough. Just relax and enjoy the show.”
She frowned. Show? What show?
The monitor on the wall flickered and then the image cleared. The scene on the screen was from the basement. Lacon and the older thug were still facing off—the thug’s gun aimed at Lacon... Lacon still holding the knife.
“Oh my God.” She stood, moved closer to the monitor.
There was no sou
nd, so she couldn’t hear what they were saying. The man with the gun gestured to the steel table. Lacon placed the knife there and backed away. The thug picked it up and pitched it aside. Then he gestured to the table again. This time Lacon hopped onto the table’s edge and then lay down.
“No.” Her hand went to her mouth.
The man made another motion with the gun and said something else she couldn’t hear.
Lacon fastened the first of the straps, securing himself to the table.
Marissa touched the screen and began to scream.
Chapter Thirteen
The door opened and Marissa’s personal thug charged into the room. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded.
She pointed at the monitor. “If your friend hurts my friend, then I’m done here. My answer to Anastasia’s proposal will be no.”
The bastard laughed. “Don’t you get it yet, Doc? No isn’t an option.”
The door behind him was open. If she could only get past him and to a phone. She turned back to the monitor and started to scream again.
He stormed across the expanse of tile that lay between them and reached up to turn off the monitor. That’s when she bolted.
She ran for the entry hall. The front door was right there. With the house so close to the street, all she had to do was get outside and scream at the top of her lungs. Someone would surely hear her. All she needed was one person to call the police and report the disturbance. The Colby Agency would be looking for them already.
Afraid to slow down as she reached the entry hall, she slammed against the door and twisted the lock. Her fingers curled around the door handle. Her heart swelled. Get out the door and—
“Open that door and your friend dies.”
Her fingers stilled on the handle. Her heart thundered; her blood roared in her ears. But he was right...if she did this, they would kill Lacon. He probably had a gun pointed at her head even as he spoke. She had banked on the idea that he wouldn’t shoot her for fear of Anastasia’s wrath.
She dropped her hands to her sides and turned to face him. “I want to see Vito.”