Monroe, Melody S. - Verdict (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Melody S. Monroe

  “Anything?”

  Stone swiveled around, his pulse spiking. Harrison. “No.”

  “Let’s regroup.”

  Shit. Where had he taken her?

  * * * *

  Remaining still, Susan let her senses react to the surroundings. Fresh, perfumed and warm. She remembered someone picking her up from that horrible place and carrying her into a house, but she couldn’t visualize his face. One thing for sure, her hero hadn’t been Stone.

  The only logical explanation was that the kidnapper had dumped her in some random shed and her banging had alerted the owner. If she was correct, why hadn’t her rescuer called 9-1-1? He had to have noticed she was naked and possibly assaulted. She hadn’t been raped, if the lack of burning between her thighs was any indication, but from the stitches on her face and her exposure to the freezing cold, he had to understand she needed help.

  She guessed all that really mattered was this wonderful place. Or had she been checked out by a paramedic and declared okay without her knowledge? Is so, wouldn’t they have kept her overnight in the hospital for observation? Since she didn’t have any identification on her, the hospital would have notified the police. The FBI surely would have put some kind of alert on her disappearance too, and once Stone learned where she was, he’d come running. Her breath slowed and her stomach calmed, but only for a moment. What if there had been no medic or police to ask her questions and most importantly, no Stone? The lack of answers drove her crazy. Just relax. You need the rest.

  She wiggled her butt. A soft mattress was underneath her and lots of blankets on top. With her bonds cut, her muscles slowly gave in to the comfort. She rubbed her wrists and met bandages. Her savior must have doctored her. She shuffled her feet, but the circulation didn’t return. Despite the added comfort, cold was deeply imbedded in her pores. She doubted she’d ever get warm again.

  She scanned the rather large room. Dawn was streaming in through stark white silk curtains. This might not be heaven, but she was sure the mysterious place was nearby. Two twin beds, a desk, and a comfortable seating area filled the room. Given the expensive-looking modern paintings on the walls, she wasn’t in a hotel room. So where was she?

  She took one more sweep of the room, hoping there’d be a phone. No luck. Damn it. She needed to let Stone know she was safe. Crap. She didn’t even know his number. If she ever got the chance, she’d call 9-1-1 and have them patch her through to the FBI.

  Pushing up on her elbows, Susan dragged her body to a sitting position. The sheet fell down, exposing her chest, and she glanced down. Someone had draped her in a men’s shirt, starched and smelling of lemons. Her fingers dashed to her hips and met soft flannel. She lifted the covers. Men’s pajama bottoms. Glory be.

  Who was this man? And why hadn’t he come in to see how she was doing? The room’s light was growing stronger. Surely, he’d be in soon. Susan dragged her legs off the side of the bed. She placed her feet on the floor but couldn’t sense the thick carpet. Surely, once she warmed up, she’d get feeling back in her legs, or so she wanted to believe. Her belly soured at the thought she might lose some appendage from exposure. Using her thumb and forefinger, she squeezed her thigh and yelped at the sharp sensation. As she worked her way down her leg, the numbness increased. At least her knees had blood flow.

  Stop playing doctor and check out the place.

  Given the height of the trees outside the window, she was at least on the second floor. Escape out the window was not an option. But then, why escape until she’d spoken with the owner to find out his intent?

  Not sure if she could stand, she held onto the metal bedpost and stood. Her knees buckled and one knee smacked the floor. Shit. Her hand loosened from the post, but she caught herself before she did a face plant. Not good.

  She decided crawling was her safest option. The door wasn’t more than twelve feet away. She could make it that far.

  When she made it across the room, she reached up and twisted the knob.

  Locked. She didn’t like the implication but wanted to believe the worst of her ordeal was over. Too bad she didn’t have enough facts to draw a clear conclusion. Using a lot of her strength, she pounded on the door, not caring if she woke up the whole household. She needed answers.

  No one came. She placed her ear to the door but heard no sounds. No clanking of coffee cups or feet stirring. Okay. She’d at least use the bathroom before waiting until the household awoke. Her knees stung, but she managed to get back across the room. Once in the bathroom, she locked the door and sat on her butt, her knees near her chest. The cold tiles did little to help her thaw, but the added layer of safety from the locked door between her and the outside world did a lot for her mental well-being.

  Back up on her knees, she reached the sink’s faucet and gulped down handfuls of water.

  Feet pounded down the hallway and into the bedroom. Her muscles stiffened.

  Someone stood outside the bathroom and knocked. “Susan? You in there?”

  Her breath caught in her throat. How did he know her name? She’d been naked and had no identification on her. Oh, shit.

  * * * *

  Stone’s cell roused him from a deep sleep. He patted the side table for the phone. Would Susan’s kidnapper call this early? He flipped open the phone and recognized the familiar number. “Hi, Peter. What’s up?”

  “Listen, Maria and I are going out of town for a while. I’ve got to stay in the state because of the ongoing investigation, but I can’t take any chances something will happen to her.”

  He didn’t need to add, like Susan.

  “Good idea.”

  “Just wanted you to know.”

  The dial tone rang in his ear before he got a chance to respond.

  His friend sure was in a hurry. Stone wet his lips and eased out of bed, his head pounding from stress and lack of deep sleep. He glanced at the glowing red numbers on the clock. It was only six thirty in the morning. Why hadn’t Peter waited until he reached wherever he was going before calling?

  His muscles tensed. Was his friend being threatened? He shook his head. Nothing would make sense until he took a shower. He needed time to sort things through.

  The pulsating water marginally eased the pain thudding through his body. Susan had been gone close to twenty-four hours. He wished he could steal the pain from her. She’d already been through too much.

  He refused to believe she was dead.

  Whoever was behind all this mess wanted him, not Susan. His mind raced too fast, and his shower lasted only three minutes, a lot shorter than his usual morning ritual. He toweled dry, changed and headed back into the bedroom where he booted up the computer, in need of more information on Joseph Francisco. Using his constantly-changing security code, he logged onto the FBI database.

  He clicked on his e-mail and fifteen messages loaded. The one from Peter caught his eye. The subject read: James. The time was late last night. He read the contents. Then he read it out loud, hoping he’d missed something.

  Stone. Got off the phone with James. I know, I’m surprised, too, that he called. When was the last time he contacted me? After our face-to-face conversation I thought he’d never speak to me again. Get this. He told me Joseph Francisco asked him to kidnap Susan. He refused and decided then and there he wanted nothing to do with any of the Franciscos, even though he was half Francisco himself.

  Stone’s gaze latched onto Susan’s name. He wasn’t sure if he should be happy at the clue or panicked at the confirmation Joseph Francisco had her.

  He read further.

  James said he wants to “make up.” Can you believe that shit? Maria and I decided to get the hell out of Dodge for a few days. I need time figure shit out. I know you’ll understand.

  Stay safe.

  Peter

  He wasn’t sure what it was about the letter that didn’t ring true. He read it once more, looking for some clue why he sent an email instead of mentioning all this crap when he’d called. Or why he’d bothere
d to call when the same information was in the note.

  It hadn’t occurred to him when Peter first told him to ask how James had reacted to learning he was Francisco’s son. He imagined James must have gone ape-shit at first. Was all the killing and kidnapping some kind of revenge scheme by James? Against who, though? If he’d been James, he would have been angry with John Caravello for not telling him, not at Joseph Francisco for keeping his distance.

  If James was responsible for some of these deaths, had he embraced Dominick as his brother and was willing to work with him? Or had he washed his hands of Francisco the day he found out he was his son?

  With no facts to back up any of the idle speculation, he went in search of coffee.

  While the cup heated, he printed out the email, hoping a fresh eye could spot something he’d missed.

  * * * *

  Susan scooted backwards as the door bowed inward from the pounding.

  “Unlock the door.” At first, his voice was pleading. Now he sounded royally pissed.

  “Who are you?”

  “The person who saved you, goddammit. Don’t make me break down my own door.”

  He would. “Okay.” He could always shoot his way in, and the bathroom wasn’t big enough for her to safely hide.

  She rolled onto her sore knees, flipped the lock upward, and pulled open the door. Her heart stuck in her throat when she recognized him. “You.”

  He held out his hand, his face softening. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s a long story. Come down for breakfast and I’ll tell you what happened.”

  The food part sounded good, as did the more information part. Could she eat the food? If he wanted her dead, he’d have already poisoned her. “Okay, but I can’t walk. My feet are too numb.”

  “Do you think a warm bath would help?”

  Was he kidding? “A bath sounds wonderful.” Maybe he was on the up-and-up. According to Stone, Peter was innocent. Maybe his brother was, too.

  “Can you run the water yourself?”

  Maybe she’d totally misjudged James Caravello. Hell, she’d thought Stone was a killer at one time. She needed to work on her people skills. “Yes.”

  His gaze slipped to the right. “Take a bath. I’ll have food ready when you’re done.”

  He spun around and left before she had a chance to say thank you.

  She wasn’t sure she could get into the tub without help, but she sure as hell would try. She ran her hands over her feet to massage them. The skin was cold but not so dead she didn’t feel something.

  Filling the tub with warm, not hot water, might help ease the transition from frozen to normal. She locked the door again, not wanting him to come in, not that Caravello hadn’t seen her naked, but why tempt fate. She figured he wasn’t married or she’d be wearing something a little more feminine.

  With effort, she eased into the sudsy water. Her feet stung as the blood raced through her veins. She welcomed the pain as the re-warming meant one step closer to recovery. Not wanting to piss off James by keeping him waiting, she only stayed in long enough to stop shivering. This time when she stood, her legs held. Relief ran over her. She’d have breakfast and ask to borrow James’ phone to contact Stone.

  Once again dressed in the borrowed pajamas, she inched her way across the room, her toes still not responding well, but at least she could walk. Noise from the kitchen and the aroma of strong coffee made the direction clear.

  James was at the kitchen counter with a pile of scrambled eggs and English muffins beside him. He looked up and smiled.

  “You’re looking much better.”

  “Thank you. The bath helped.” She scooted onto the stool next to him. Her chest and face wound needed some bandages, but she’d cover her injuries once she got home. Wonderful home. The next time she saw Stone, she’d tell him how she felt. The day Joseph Francisco was put behind bars, maybe she and Stone could actually go on a date without having to look over their shoulders.

  He slid a cup of coffee toward her. “Sugar and cream over there.”

  She took a sip. “Mmm.” She’d eat, then find out how he’d found her. “The eggs are delicious. Thank you.”

  He merely nodded as she filled her belly. It was time to learn how she’d ended up at his house. “Did you hear my banging on the shed door? Is that how you found me?”

  “Actually the dog found you. He trotted back inside and barked up a storm. I’m surprised you don’t remember him.”

  A half-filled dog dish sat in the corner, confirming his story. “How did I land on your property?”

  “Peter, my brother, I found out, has been in cahoots with Joseph Francisco. In fact, he plans on marrying his daughter.”

  Maria. That wasn’t the story Stone said Peter told him. “Are you saying he kidnapped me and tossed me into your shed?”

  “Yes. To frame me. He always wanted to take over Dad’s business and was jealous of me.” He drained the rest of his coffee. “Only you were supposed to die. He figured that when the gardener discovered your body the next day and called the police, I would have been accused of murder.”

  The news overwhelmed her. Here, she’d thought Peter was the good son and James the bad. Where did Stone fit into this scheme? “Did Peter tell you all of this?”

  A noise sounded behind her. She turned around and gasped. A man wearing a ski mask, dressed all in black, came at her.

  “I see she didn’t die after all.”

  Peter?

  James jumped up from the stool and lunged at the intruder. The masked man punched James in the gut. He stumbled backwards and hit his back against the counter. Before she could even get off the stool to escape, the masked man took two steps toward her and stabbed a needle in her neck.

  Not again. Airflow stopped and her eyes rolled back into her head.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The team didn’t have squat. After they met with a dead end at the Francisco house, Stone wasn’t sure which way to turn. Harrison sat at the head of the large conference table. Tom, William Burroughs and Nancy Darden faced Stone. The missing seat, usually occupied by Richard Thomason remained empty. Stone wasn’t ready to say he was glad Richard was dead, but the person in charge of finding safe houses for witnesses should have gotten help the moment someone threatened his wife and children.

  Six people had died because of him. Six people who were doing their civic duty, who had families who loved them. He knew life wasn’t fair, but these deaths could have been avoided.

  “You said Peter e-mailed you this morning?” T-Squared interrupted his internal rant.

  His friend was the only one who’d met Peter and understood the childhood connection between them.

  “Yes.”

  Stone passed out a copy of the e-mail to the team and studied their reactions. Tom’s eyes widened, whereas Harrison adjusted his tie, a sure sign of agitation and frustration. Nancy clasped a hand to her chest. William sat stone-faced as if he’d known the information all along.

  Harrison looked up. “Any suggestions on how we should proceed? According to Richard’s research, you’ve been friends with the Caravellos for years. How do you interpret this e-mail?”

  He hadn’t wanted his background exposed to the department in this manner. Now they’d reconsider his involvement with the jurors’ deaths. The TV commercial where the guy wanted a Twix bar to stall for time flashed in his mind. He was surprised Harrison hadn’t reamed him out for asking for the assignment when he had a connection to the case.

  “I knew Peter well, but James wasn’t around much when I was at the Caravellos.”

  “Can you give us a personality sketch of James? Peter must have talked about his older brother.”

  “Sure.” Stone’s phone vibrated at his hip. This was his disposable phone, and only Peter and Tom had the number. He pulled his cell from his pocket and checked the number. All it said was Out of Area. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  He pushed back his chair and raced out. As the door to the room swung close, Wil
liam mumbled something, probably derogatory.

  Was this the kidnapper asking for a ransom? “Hello?”

  The voice came out distorted. “You have ten minutes to get to Peter’s house if you want to see Susan and Peter alive. Bring even one FBI agent and I swear, I’ll kill them both. My men are scouting the whole area and will know if you try to pull any tricks.”

  He was sure his heart had stopped beating. No air went into his lungs. Even if he’d wanted to answer, he’d lost his voice. The dial tone rang loud and clear. Susan had said the kidnapper’s voice had been distorted too.

  A hand clasped on his shoulder. “You okay?”

  Harrison. Shit. If he did as the killer asked, he’d be breaking all Bureau protocol. He’d lose his job and be thrown out of the only home he’d ever known—the FBI. Being jobless would suck, but his actions might save Susan and Peter.

  Oh, shit. Would he end up like the chicken-shit Richard, thinking if he just did what the killer asked, all would be okay? Stone pulled up every ounce of control he had and faced his boss. “It’s my aunt. She’s been in a car accident. I have to go to the hospital.”

  Harrison watched him for a long minute. Nine minutes left. Even if he raced out of the building and into his car right now, he might not make it to Peter’s in time, especially in this storm.

  “I didn’t know you had an aunt.”

  “She’s old. She was the one who refused to take me in when Mom died.” That part of the story was true.

  Harrison stepped back. “Hurry back. We need you. And give me the damn number of your new cell.” His gaze shot to the phone in his hand.

  “Sure. 555-2385.”

  Harrison rushed over to an empty desk, ripped off a piece of paper for the pad and wrote down the number. “2395?”

  Stay cool. Ten seconds won’t matter. “2385.”

  “Keep in touch.”

  “Will do.”

  He ducked into his office to grab his coat. The urge to run nearly toppled him. He strode with a purposeful step, guessing that if his aunt were in the hospital, rushing made sense.