Touch of Red

by Laura Griffin

  You’re not alone. I’m right here. I’m—

  The cloth over her head was whipped off.

  Brooke blinked into the brightness.

  A dark silhouette loomed over her, blocking out the sun. She squinted up at him.

  And found herself staring at the barrel of a gun.

  CHAPTER 27

  Brooke’s mouth went dry. She stared at the round black hole, immobilized with terror.

  A screen door slapped shut, and she turned toward the sound as a bulky, black-haired man stepped from a ramshackle cabin nearby.

  Where the hell were they?

  And who was he?

  He had brownish skin and jet-black hair, and his brown eyes zeroed in on her as he approached.

  Brooke glanced at Cameron beside her. He had a black T-shirt wrapped around his head, and his shoulders were hunched forward as he buried his face against his knees. Blood had seeped through a rip in his jeans, and Brooke noticed what looked like vomit on the sleeve of his red sweatshirt.

  The black-haired guy was talking to Baseball Cap, who still had the pistol pointed at Brooke. A Glock nine-mil. Having processed countless bloody crime scenes, Brooke hated guns. But at this moment she longed to snatch that thing out of his hand.

  She shifted her gaze to the black-haired guy, who was watching her closely with those odd brown eyes. There was something odd about his skin, too. Almost as if . . .

  Mahoney.

  It was him.

  He’d dyed his hair and spray-tanned his skin and put in colored contacts . . . But the cocky way he carried himself couldn’t be disguised. He looked at her with contempt, as though her presence here was an unexpected pain in the ass. His gaze moved to Cameron, and he barked an order at Baseball Cap, who had to be his bailiff.

  Hurd reached over and yanked off the T-shirt covering Cameron’s head.

  Cam gave a startled gasp. He blinked rapidly, and the tear tracks on his freckled cheeks made Brooke’s heart ache. She couldn’t resist leaning into him to offer some kind of comfort, but he wasn’t focused on her at all. Even more surprising, he wasn’t focused on the pistol pointed at him by Hurd.

  No, his entire focus was on Mahoney.

  The stark terror on Cameron’s face eliminated the last shred of doubt in Brooke’s mind. Cameron had witnessed a savage murder. He knew a secret, and now Brooke knew it, too.

  And Eric Mahoney planned to make sure they took that secret to the grave.

  • • •

  The car ride had seemed endless, but now everything seemed to be happening too fast. Mahoney was in the shed, a corrugated-metal building that might once have housed a tractor or a couple of ATVs. A black pickup truck was parked there now, and Brooke watched it silently, recalling the heart-stopping moment when it had slowed in front of Cameron’s house.

  Cameron recalled it, too. Brooke could tell because his whole body stiffened when he noticed the truck.

  “Cam,” she whispered.

  “Hey!” Hurd pointed the pistol at her. “Shut the fuck up.”

  Cam darted a fearful look at Brooke. She wanted to talk him through some things, but Hurd wouldn’t let her speak.

  Mahoney crouched beside the back bumper, unscrewing the license plate. Brooke’s heart drummed in her chest as she watched his brisk movements. The window was closing on her chance to get them out of this.

  She looked up at the pistol still pointed at her. At the beast of a man holding it. He outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds. And he held that weapon like he knew how to use it.

  Even armed, Brooke probably wouldn’t stand a chance against him.

  Brooke rested her hands on her knees. Her wrists were bound together with a zip tie, and she could no longer feel her fingers. She took a deep breath and shifted her jaw, which was sore from being clenched shut.

  Brooke looked at Mahoney. “You know, I testified in your courtroom.”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  She ignored the bailiff and focused on the judge. He was the alpha here even though he wasn’t holding the gun.

  Mahoney tossed a look over his shoulder. “I don’t remember you.”

  “You should listen to your expert witnesses.” She refused to look at Hurd because the judge had given her tacit permission to speak. “Really, we know what we’re talking about. Every contact leaves a trace.”

  The judge darted an annoyed look at her. He tossed the license plate into the shed like a Frisbee and picked up a Mexican license plate, and Brooke’s heart skittered as another element of his plan fell into place.

  “You’re not going to get away with this. We’ve left DNA all over the place. In that backseat, in that trunk. On the ground here.”

  Mahoney got to his feet and disappeared into the shed. He returned with a red plastic gas can, which he set on the ground right next to her.

  She was getting under his skin. She could tell. And she needed to get deeper.

  “So . . . you plan to torch the car, is that it?” She shrugged. “Won’t work. Not completely. We’re leaving traces all over the place, just by sitting here breathing. You, too. You left skin cells on that gas pump. And fingerprints. And your face is on the surveillance tape.”

  Mahoney shot her a knowing look.

  “You think a disguise will help you? Sorry to break it to you, but you’re wrong about that, too.”

  Hurd eased closer. Brooke ignored his gun and plunged on, even though her mouth felt so tense she was surprised she could talk.

  “Might fool a few border agents, maybe. But long-term? That won’t work either.”

  Mahoney darted her a glare now as he tromped into the wooden cabin. The screen door slapped shut, and Brooke looked at her knees because she didn’t want a confrontation with Hurd.

  “You think you can talk your way out of this?” He turned and spit in the dirt. “Not going to happen.”

  A slight whimper beside her. Cameron hunched deeper into himself. His shoulders were practically at his ears now, and his face was buried against the torn knees of his jeans.

  Mahoney was back with a shotgun slung over his shoulder. The easy way he carried it made Brooke’s blood turn cold, and she immediately pictured him swinging the weapon up to shoot birds out of the sky. She pictured bursts of feathers and little carcasses raining down.

  Hurd kicked her feet with his boots, and Brooke’s confidence wavered. She’d been on a roll, but now she felt insanely reckless for opening her mouth.

  Mahoney popped open the trunk and pulled out a black duffel bag. From the way he hitched it onto his shoulder, Brooke could tell the bag was heavy. Was it filled with weapons? Ammo? Money?

  He unzipped the bag and pulled out three thick stacks of bills, which he handed to Hurd.

  “You think they won’t come after you? They will.”

  Mahoney dug some keys from his pocket and handed them to Hurd, too, and Brooke felt her window closing even further.

  “Even plastic surgery won’t help you! Certain things can’t be disguised. The space between your nostrils, your pupils. The shape of your ears.” The words spilled out of her as she looked at that shotgun. “Facial-recognition software will pick you up in a minute, and it’s all over the world. There’s nowhere you can hide. You think you’re smarter than everyone, but you’re wrong and your game is up!”

  Mahoney swung the shotgun back and whack.

  Brooke fell sideways, knocked breathless. Stars swam in front of her eyes. She pressed her bound hands against the ground and forced herself up. When her eyes were able to focus again, she looked at him.

  It was working. She was getting in his head and pissing him off. She was buying time, but it might not be enough.

  Sean, Ric, Callie, somebody find us! She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, but she forced herself to just stare defiantly.

  Brooke knew this man better than he realized. She’d figured him out. His need for control was his Achilles’ heel, and she had to use that to her advantage. It was the only adv
antage she had.

  He stepped over to her, swinging the shotgun back and forth, missing her battered face by mere inches as he smiled down at her, enjoying her fear.

  He stopped the motion with a loud smack of his hand against the barrel. The smile disappeared and his eyes turned cold as death.

  “On your feet, bitch.”

  • • •

  Sean skidded to a stop on the dirt road and checked the mailbox.

  “It skips a number,” Jasper said.

  “This has to be it.” Sean shoved the car into reverse and then hung a right onto the dirt road. They bumped along, passing several locked gates until they came to one that was propped open with a rock.

  “Here?” Jasper looked at him.

  Sean checked his phone again. Callie had sent him a satellite map of the area, and Sean checked it against the nearby landmarks.

  “The third gate past the low-water crossing. This has to be it.” Sean pushed open his door and looked at Jasper. “No noise.”

  They got out and looked around. Sean checked the sky, but still no sign of the police chopper that was supposedly combing the area. Several Marshall County sheriff’s deputies were supposedly on the way, too.

  Sean went around to the back and opened the trunk.

  “Shouldn’t we wait for backup?” Jasper asked.

  “You can, but I’m going in.”

  “I am, too, then.”

  “Your call.”

  Sean reached into the trunk and grabbed the two long guns, a Remington 870 and a Ruger Mini-14 rifle.

  “Which do you want?” Sean asked.

  “I’m better with the Ruger.”

  Sean handed Jasper the rifle and took the shotgun for himself, along with a box of shells. Jasper combed through the trunk. He found a box of bullets and stuffed some in his pocket. Sean grabbed the Kevlar vest and handed it to him.

  “You have it,” Jasper said.

  “No.”

  “Really, man.” Jasper tried to hand it back, but Sean wouldn’t take it.

  “I outrank you. Put the damn thing on.”

  Jasper shook his head and pulled the vest on, tightening the Velcro straps as he glanced around.

  “Remember the layout we talked about,” Sean said. “There’s only one road in. I’ll keep to the western property line and circle around to the house. I expect they’ll either be there or by this shed near the pond.” Sean tapped the satellite map on his phone. “You come from the north, but keep off the road and try to stay out of sight.”

  “Roger that.”

  The distant hum of an engine had them both turning toward the open gate. Someone was on the move.

  “Listen to me.” Sean clasped Jasper’s shoulder. “To Mahoney, prison with a bunch of convicts is a fate worse than death. You understand? He’s going to feel cornered and desperate when he realizes we’re here.”

  “I got it.”

  “Be careful.” Sean gripped Jasper’s shoulder. “And don’t hesitate.”

  • • •

  Brooke lay on her stomach in the truck bed beside Cameron as they bounced along the road, picking up speed. Where was Mahoney taking them?

  “Cameron,” she yelled over the noise.

  He turned to face her, and he was crying. Brooke squirmed closer to him and used her bound hands to check his bindings. His zip cuffs looked even tighter than hers. But at least their feet were free.

  She glanced at the back window of the truck cab to make sure Mahoney wasn’t watching, but his attention was on driving.

  “Cameron, I’m going to create a distraction, okay? When I signal you, you need to run for cover. Did you see all those scrubby-looking trees and bushes? Run there. Get as far away as you can and then stay hidden.”

  The truck jerked to a halt. Mahoney jumped out. Then the tailgate opened with a squeak and he grabbed Brooke by the ankles. She scrambled out of the truck, landing hard on her tailbone. Mahoney seized her arm and hauled her to her feet, then grabbed Cameron by the ankles.

  Brooke glanced around frantically. Nearby was a large pond surrounded by grass on three sides. The nearest tree cover was at least thirty yards away.

  “Move!” Mahoney shoved her, and she tripped forward. He shoved her again, and she felt a sickening sense of déjà vu.

  Her pulse raced as she struggled to formulate a plan. A weathered wooden pier stretched out over the water, and a small metal skiff was tied on the shore beside it.

  She glanced at Cameron, then Mahoney. “You won’t get away with this.”

  Another shove. “Shut up.” Mahoney pointed the shotgun barrel at the ground beside a wooden shed. “Sit down.”

  Cameron sat. Brooke lowered herself into a crouch, but Mahoney poked her shoulder with the gun, pushing her off-balance and onto her butt.

  He tromped across the grass to the shed, which evidently had a door facing the water. She heard what sounded like a padlock rattling as she glanced around. She noticed a rock on the ground in front of her and snatched it up.

  Mahoney reappeared with yet another black duffel bag, which he dropped beside the pickup.

  “You think you’re so smart?” Brooke yelled. “They will come after you! Everyone will. You’re a disgrace to the justice system. You’re an embarrassment. Every law enforcement officer in the state will track you to the ends of the earth.”

  He returned to the shed, and Brooke glanced at Cameron. She lifted her bound hands, showing him the rock. He nodded.

  Brooke waited, trying to time the moment perfectly. She glanced at Cameron, who was perched on the balls of his feet now, ready to spring.

  Mahoney returned to the truck, this time carrying a metal toolbox, which he heaved into the truck bed. The moment his back was turned, Brooke lifted her arms over her head and hummed the rock at the metal boat.

  Ping!

  Mahoney turned and jerked his gun up. He frowned in the direction of the noise and walked slowly toward it, pumping the shotgun with a loud sch-schick. Brooke’s heart hammered in her chest as he moved past her and approached the boat. One step, two, three.

  Cameron took off. He darted behind the truck, and Brooke held her breath, waiting for Mahoney to turn around.

  A few seconds later, he did. His face flushed red when he realized Cameron was gone.

  “God damn it.” He stomped over to Brooke and kicked her ribs so hard she fell sideways. “Where’d he go?” When she didn’t answer, he reached down and hauled her to her feet, sending a bolt of pain up her arm.

  “On the pier. Move!”

  Brooke forced herself not to look in the direction Cameron had fled. Instead, she looked at the pier. She took a tentative step forward. Then another. Thoughts raced through her brain faster than she could process them.

  But as her foot touched the wood, everything slowed to a crawl.

  All at once, she understood. She understood the remote location, the water, the pier.

  “It won’t work.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “The cadaver dogs, they can sniff out anything. Even twenty feet deep. I’ve seen them do it.”

  He snugged the gun against his shoulder and took aim. “Shut up and walk.”

  Brooke’s legs quivered. Her heart pounded. The blue-green water glimmered in front of her, and she thought of Sean. Her throat burned and she wished she’d told him. Why hadn’t she told him everything she felt?

  He would get here. She knew it. Maybe not in time for her, but in time for Cameron.

  Please, Sean. Please, please, please.

  Brooke swallowed a lump of fear in her throat. She pictured Cameron making a dash for the trees, and with every drop of hope left in her, she prayed he would make it.

  She forced her feet to move, even as her lungs seemed to stop working. The shimmering water was closer and closer and closer, and she desperately wished she could stop time, but she could do nothing but hold her breath and brace for the blast. How fast would it happen? Would she even hear a sound?

  The end of the pie
r loomed in front of her, and calm settled over her. She would never take those last steps for him. She wouldn’t do it. No matter how futile it was, she was going to—

  Crack.

  Brooke lunged for the water.

  • • •

  The sound stole the air from Sean’s lungs. He ran toward the gunshot and heard it again as he burst from the trees just in time to see Mahoney hobbling toward a black truck, clutching his arm to his chest.

  Sean raised his shotgun and fired, but Mahoney ducked behind the cover of the vehicle. He heaved himself behind the wheel, and Sean fired again, shattering the back window.

  The truck peeled away in a cloud of dust.

  Movement caught Sean’s eye, and he sprinted for the water.

  “Brooke!”

  She struggled toward the pier, using her legs to propel her.

  Sean ran to pull her out. “Are you hurt?” He hauled her up and out of the water, and they collapsed into a wet heap on the wood.

  “Cameron,” she gasped.

  “Are you okay?” His gut clenched as he got a look at her face. It looked like someone had hit her with a baseball bat. “Jesus Christ, what happened?” He whipped out his pocketknife and cut through her bindings.

  “I’m fine,” she choked. “We have to find Cam.”

  Sean wiped the wet hair from her face and took a good look at her. She was clearly injured, but she was talking and breathing, and already scrambling to her feet.

  “I’ll find him,” Sean said, pulling her up. He helped her off the pier and glanced around for any sign of Jasper.

  “There’s two of them,” Brooke gasped. “Mahoney and Hurd. Mahoney’s in a black pickup. Hurd took off after he got paid.”

  “I saw Mahoney right after Jasper shot him. He’s wounded and he’s trying to make a break for it.” Sean led her to the shed. “Brooke, listen to me. I have to go help Jasper. There’s only one road out of here, and there’s bound to be a confrontation.”

  “Cameron—”

  “I’ll look for him.” Sean put the shotgun in her hands and wrapped her fingers around it. “Stay here. Stay low behind this shed. Have you ever fired a shotgun?”