Savage Deception

by R. T. Wolfe

  She leaned over and bit his earlobe, letting her hand travel south.

  He turned his head to face her. "After what we just did in the basement, I might need a Gatorade or something."

  "Hmm," she crooned, maneuvering over him. "If I know you like I think I know you, that might not be altogether true."

  She lifted, bringing heat to heat as he admired her silky skin. Sure enough, his body... woke.

  Her smile was breathtaking. She shifted just enough to make his toes curl. "I thought so," she said. She arched her head back and pulled his mouth to her.

  * * *

  Duncan heard the telltale sounds of pots and pans banging on porches and entire boxes of Black Cats igniting. "Happy New Year," he said as Nickie taped the surveillance wires to his chest.

  "Why are you smiling?" She sounded honestly irritated.

  "It's our first New Year's together."

  "I'm not comfortable with this."

  "Being alone in a strange room with me?"

  "I'm ignoring you," she said as she buttoned his shirt.

  He took her hand and finished the buttons himself. "The rush. Don't you feel it?"

  She shrugged. "I suppose."

  "Must be a guy thing," he said, lifting his brows up and down.

  Taking his hand, she turned it supine and placed a small handful of small, circular devices in his palm. He brought them closer and noticed they had a paper backing. Stickers?

  "The ones with the red paper are visual only, the green ones audio. See if you can plant some of these suckers. They work outside, but we'd like to get some on the inside."

  Before he finished tucking in, she opened the break room door. They were upstairs in the Alabaster police station. Moody's hometown. This police department was far different from the one in Northridge. Everyone except reception seemed to have a personal office. It was absent of the large common area he had come to believe was a staple feature in any police station. It seemed odd without metal desks bunched in twos and scattered throughout. The carpet was new, the walls were painted with a fresh coat of yellow and the coffee in his hand was a dark espresso blend, fresh.

  The two special agents she worked with were there, along with four detectives from Moody's hometown police force. No one questioned why they were walking out of a closed room while Duncan fastened his belt. Full-tactical SWAT waited in the basement. Duncan thought it was overkill, considering what they had in mind.

  He'd barely had his arms in his suit jacket before she reached in his pocket and grabbed hold of the jammer he'd rigged in the garage of his home. Granted it would have been hard to miss. It was big enough that she had trouble extracting it from his pocket. It was her turn to lift her brows.

  "I told you Moody uses the same security system model I did previously. Andy and I worked this to match the frequency. It should jam it temporarily."

  "Should? How temporarily?"

  "An average of fifteen seconds from our tests. It jams only to the current state of the system. Cameras stop rotation, the gate freezes closed... or open. In theory."

  * * *

  Nickie rode with the feds. Duncan was alone in his Audi R8. He wanted to drive his SUV, but she insisted he drive the same vehicle he had during his first visit to Moody's. He couldn't argue with the logic. He wanted to be discovered—just not right away.

  As he drove, he slipped his Beretta from beneath his seat and tucked it in the back of his pants. Placing the security system jammer on the seat next to him, he checked his pockets for the bugs Nickie had given him.

  Her actions had been cool and rehearsed. To others, they would read it as a cop who was smooth and knowledgeable. Not that she wasn't. But he had learned to read it as her automatic pilot mode. She had the ability to shut down her emotions, to close everything out and focus on her goal.

  Chapter 18

  The neighborhoods were quiet and dark. Twice, they passed homes lined with a dozen or so cars, lights and movement inside. Apparently, the pot and pan bangers had either gone home or found a spot to gather for an all-nighter.

  The FBI staged their arrival a few blocks from Moody's property. The unmarked cars parked at the end of the cars at the party house three blocks north of Moody's main entrance. The SWAT vehicles waited in a neighborhood park the same distance south.

  Duncan's heartbeat quickened as he pulled in behind the SUV Nickie was in. It was just the two vehicles alone in a dark spot at a far edge of Moody's property. She got out and went right to the driver's side of his car. Turning off his ignition, he opened the door and stood.

  "Change in plan," she said and untucked his shirt. Reaching in, she pulled the wires from his chest.

  Damn. His jaw flexed and released. "What—" One of his eyes closed involuntarily. "—was that for?"

  "I'm not comfortable with this." She held up the wires, then stuffed them in her pocket. He cringed at the thought of what the FBI would have to say about it.

  Visibly, she took a deep breath. "And I'm going with you."

  "That's more than a change of plans."

  "The risk of you getting caught wearing the wire is too high. You could be outnumbered, and the target is too far from the road. We wouldn't be able to get to you fast enough. And you're a civilian. I had no trouble convincing Strong and Lewis."

  "Do I need to remind you I specialized in covert tactical explosives in the Middle East?"

  "No, you don't, because I'm still going with you."

  She got in, slid the passenger seat back as far as it would go and placed the homemade jammer on her lap. Sticking her arm out the window, she signaled to the FBI, then rolled it up.

  "Okay," he breathed, more out of confusion than nerves.

  "Does Moody's system have audio or visual only?"

  "Visual only," he answered.

  She nodded.

  The grounds were dark. He hadn't expected it with the lights Moody had installed, but he supposed it made sense. And Duncan didn't need the lights. Moonlight between the trees was enough for him. He remembered the grounds like a map taped to the inside of his eyelids. The location of each camera and each turn in the road.

  He pulled over before they reached the scope of the entrance camera.

  "What are you doing?" she barked.

  He lifted a brow and took out a bottle of Boones Farm. "Toast?"

  "What the hell?"

  He twisted the cap, took a long swig, gargled and swallowed. "I would have explained had I known you were coming with me."

  Her eyes were wide and her mouth open. It was a most endearing mix of disbelief. But she said nothing more.

  When he covered the end of the bottle with his fingers and turned it upside down, she nodded in understanding. He dabbed the wine on his neck, hands and jacket like a woman putting on perfume.

  "You smell disgusting."

  "Good. Now we wait."

  "We what?"

  "We wait."

  "I thought you had your jammer thing?"

  "I do. It's a jammer, not a key."

  "Oh boy." Bringing the walkie to her mouth, she notified the rest of the crew. "We're in a holding pattern, gentlemen. Stay tuned." Readjusting her belt, she reclined her seat and slouched.

  "This is anticlimactic," he said into their first hour.

  "This is what most police work is."

  "Nickie," he said as a bright red Ferrari pulled to the gate.

  "I see it." She tucked her long legs close to the rest of her and slipped into the space in front of her seat. Impressive. "Are you going to move?" she barked.

  "Not yet." He waited for the gate to open, the car to enter and for the gate to begin to close.

  "Duncan," she growled.

  He thought of the time of night, the men who waited around the neighborhood and truly hoped this was going to work. He waited for the gate to begin to close, leaving enough room for his car to fit before activating the jammer.

  It stopped. Fifteen seconds, he reminded himself.

  His tires sque
aled as he pulled away from the curb. He approached the gate and tucked between the metal, scraping the side of his car. "Damn," he said, spinning his tires in deep snow before reaching the road. He really liked this car.

  He checked his rearview mirror and watched as the gate stood frozen. "Traceless," he crooned.

  "Sometimes you scare me," Nickie said, but she didn't sound scared. She sounded positively jovial.

  Trolling painfully slowly down the drive, he worked to swerve and hit the grass every twenty to fifty yards. The trees stood in the calm evening air like a painting. They lined the road as if they were watching, waiting. The drives were plowed clean. Footprints littered the deep snow everywhere, human and animal alike. This was much different from the last time he was here.

  He took another swig of the Grey Goose, threw his head back to gargle and reapplied some to his clothing. "My car is damaged and smells."

  "And he worries about his car," she said to the air.

  He approached the white house, surprised he hadn't been stopped before then. So far so good. Until he got closer.

  It was dark.

  Other than the streetlight over the parking lot, there were no lights. No cars. No people. No kidnapped girls. No johns.

  "You said this would happen," he said to her, but was still disappointed.

  "Yep. He knows. It sucks. Plan B."

  He pulled his car to the grass near the only corner he remembered the cameras didn't reach. She called in their current position. Purposely, he bumped the house and, leaving the car in neutral, pulled the emergency brake. "You have exactly ten feet in each direction," he whispered. "Here." From his pocket, he removed one of the camera bugs and an audio only bug, then handed them to her.

  As she slid out her door, he opened his, staggered into camera view and called out for Moody, loud and drunken. "Moody! Where are you?" He clutched his Grey Goose and purposely tripped on his feet as he pulled a red sticker from the first bug and headed to the closest window. Slapping his palm to the window frame, he stuck the visual recording device to it as he dipped his head and pretended to choke. Then, he tipped the bottle in the air and faked a long drink of nothing.

  Over his shoulder, he noticed Nickie. She was already slithering back into his car. Something was wrong. He wanted to go to her, but this might be their only chance.

  He pounded on the window, turned in a circle, and fell on a bush, leaving an audio only device at the base. Nickie said they worked outside. He hoped they were water resistant. When he reached the front door, he set his bottle on the concrete step and laid his right hand high on the jamb. He placed a visual device high on the outside framing of the door as he pounded with his left hand. He heard the tires coming but was determined to get one more bug placed before he was stopped.

  Stumbling around the side of the house, he pounded on the window that overlooked the parking lot and placed a visual bug in a crease between the wooden siding.

  A car door opened and he spun, making sure to trip on his feet, stagger and right himself. The gun pointing at his head would make other men lose their composure. But Duncan had a gun pointed at him more than once in his life, and the rush of adrenaline was more than enough to keep it interesting. After all, he knew Moody was onto him. Moody wouldn't believe Duncan was here by drunken chance and might be privy to the location of the SUVs waiting outside his property. The most Moody could accuse him of was trespassing, and he had a plan for that too.

  "Mr. Moody would like you to stay where you are until he gets here, Mr. Reed."

  Duncan leaned his back to the side of the house and slid down to the snow. "Whad ja gotta gun for?" He threw back a swig of nothing.

  He ached to place one more bug along the house or in the bush that slept in the winter next to his leg. But he knew they were recording his every move and decided to take his winnings and run.

  Then came the red Ferrari. Did Moody know or care how cliché that was? Moody came to a controlled stop and stepped out fully dressed in a three-piece suit. "Are you disappointed it's only me here this evening, Mr. Reed?"

  Duncan stared at him with lids half closed.

  "I can have the police here in five minutes." He pulled off his gloves, one finger at a time. "Maybe less, as it seems they don't have far to go. Did you think you could outsmart me?"

  "For wha?" Duncan slurred. "I have an appointment." He took the business card Moody had given him at their previous appointment, held it up and turned it over. On the back, Moody had listed his private phone number and the words 'week after Christmas.'

  Moody tore it up in a small tantrum. "At two in the morning? I have cameras, Mr. Reed. Cameras that will prove you broke onto my property in the middle of the night and—"

  "And?" It was difficult to continue the show for the cameras. "I made a copy of yer card," he said, and threw back another drink of nothing. "Never can be too careful. And I didn't break onto yer property. W-w-why w-w-would I do that?" Pushing up along the siding, he inched his way to a standing position.

  "How did you get in, Mr. Reed? The gate was not opened for your car or anyone else."

  "I followed the red car. Can we get started? I brought my s-s-stuff." He staggered toward his Audi.

  "Consider our agreement terminated. You're not welcome on my property again, witnessed by my help, here." Moody sounded completely exasperated. "Make sure he gets out," he heard Moody say as Duncan staggered to his car.

  Duncan was reluctant to speak to Nickie. Scared to glance down at where she curled at the foot of the passenger seat. Resisting the urge to spin his tires, he inched the wheels to the asphalt. It didn't matter what Moody thought. As long as he didn't go running his fingers along the windows and doorframes, the evening was a success. And they never had to move to plan C.

  The worst thing Moody could prove was that Duncan was driving drunk and had a poor sense of deciphering the back of a business card. Camera footage wouldn't show the lapse in time when Duncan passed through the fence. Let Moody watch that stretch of tape a few hundred times.

  As soon as they were out of sight, he spoke to her. He was reluctant, wondering if the cameras might be able to see him talking. So, he tried to speak without moving his lips.

  He continued to swerve along the road at a snail's pace. "I planted three visual and one audio, Detective. I want a raise. I want an accommodation and a raise."

  She didn't answer. He allowed himself a full look at her. Her body was shaking as if she had been standing in the cold for hours. Tucked tightly in a fetal position, her arms covered her head. Her hair was three shades darker with the dampness of sweat.

  "Nickie. Nickie, what's the matter?"

  He heard nothing but whimpers. Screw the cameras. He pulled out his cell to call the special agents. "Shit," he said aloud, realizing he had no number to call, and tucked it back in the pocket of his coat. He hit the road and leaned in to take her walkie from her pocket.

  She grabbed his wrist as if she was hanging onto the edge of a cliff. "No."

  Her face turned to the side as she spoke. She was white as a sheet with dark makeup smeared around her eyes.

  "Nickie. They're waiting for us. A lot of people are waiting for us. What do you want me to do?"

  Lifting into the seat, she shook her head and tried to move away the damp hair that stuck to her forehead.

  He pulled in front of the SUV that held special agents Strong and Lewis. The exited their vehicle as he did.

  "There's something the matter with Detective Savage. I'm taking her to a hospital."

  They offered no sympathies and turned to gawk at each other. "Now?" Strong asked as he peered over Duncan's shoulder, checking on her through the front windshield. He winced at the sight of her, pale, sweaty and trembling.

  "What the hell happened to her?"

  "Look," Duncan said. "I planted three visual and one auditory bug. I'll draw up the exact placements, and you can debrief us tomorrow in Northridge. I'm getting her to a hospital now."

  He cr
awled back into his car and slammed it into gear.

  "No hospitals, Duncan, please."

  "I know. Let's get you safe and dry."

  * * *

  Nickie knew she was technically in the first bed and breakfast Duncan had found on his GPS. But the white house was too fresh in her dreaming head and deeply seeded in her subconscious memory.

  She was a little girl, shaking in the corner of the four-poster brass bed. Her whimpers were only partially artificial.

  "I'd hoped you'd be that way, honey."

  She told him about the camera. She didn't think he believed her, but he tossed his suit jacket over the lion's head anyway.

  The weight of his body pressed on top of her. It made her sick to her stomach, but she focused, focused on the tie. Reaching it with her fingertips, she maneuvered it around his neck. Thrashing, she scrambled behind him and tightened the tie until her arms shook.

  The man paused, but only for a moment, before he began shaking his body from side to side and grabbing at her. She wrapped her thighs around him as tightly as she could and pulled the tie like a crazy girl. Like a savage.

  Covering her face, she knelt, sucking air as Duncan came into the room dressed and with wet hair.

  Chapter 19

  Duncan dropped his towel and reached Nickie in three strides. Relief that he was there washed through her. No words were spoken. He sat in front of her on crumpled sheets and pushed away the strands of hair that were stuck to her brow. She focused on his face. It was the most stable thing she had in her life. Taking her forearms, he pulled them together and lowered them to her lap. She hadn't realized they were shaking, still aching from pulling on the tie in her dream.

  Gingerly, he propped his back against the antique headboard and pulled her to his chest. She listened to the sound of his heart through his shirt. It beat faster and faster, a direct contrast to his calm demeanor.

  "There is much I don't remember. I was young."

  She sighed, letting the draw of his hand over her hair soothe her heart and clear her thoughts.

  "But I recognized Moody's voice." She sat up and looked him in the eye. "And the house. I've seen the bracelet. I've seen it when it was on his wrist. I think he was one of the—" She dropped her head back to his chest. "—men who came for me."