While You Were Dead

by CJ Snyder

  No.

  No quick bullet here. Not when it had taken three years to find him. Blade would know his destiny before it found him. Sharp. Swift. Painless. But first he would know.

  The late spring Mexican sun was merciless. He’d been here, waiting, for hours now. Hot sweat beaded and dripped along his back, his brow. Max didn’t move. Clocked once at fourteen hours of such still, silent surveillance, he knew he could do more. Whatever it took. Enemies had stepped carefully around him. . .over him, all without ever knowing he was there. Until it was too late. No, he wouldn’t move.

  This would end today. Kat was waiting.

  The woman moved back into the shack. He heard voices, one male, one female. Hers took on a decidedly crisper edge and then rang out across the valley.

  “Of course he’s there! You know he’s there! I can feel him, Peter!” The shout ended in a wail.

  Peter. Ice knew him only as Blade. He felt one sliver of anticipation race up his spine then all his emotions faded. Like a bag of marbles with a large hole in the bottom, the man waiting on the hillside was empty inside.

  A man appeared in the doorway of the shack, a rifle slung over his shoulder. Ice sited, but didn’t breathe. The man spun in a slow circle, shielding his eyes from the sun, surveying the hills surrounding his valley. Ice almost smiled. He wouldn’t be seen. He never was.

  “Ice! I didn’t set them up. I wouldn’t betray the team. You know that.”

  He knew no such thing. He’d seen the proof himself, insisted on it before he’d accepted the assignment. Blade was lying.

  He watched his one-time friend lift the rifle strap from his shoulder with one finger. Again Blade twirled, the sun reflecting dully off of his own sniper’s tool as he slowly completed another 180 degrees. “I’m puttin’ it down, Ice.” He slung the rifle to the ground, too far away for him to retrieve it should Ice miss. A useless gesture. Ice never missed. “Take me in, buddy.” Blade’s knife, his signature weapon, clattered to the ground atop the rifle. “Let’s have a trial.”

  Ice felt an irritating blip of annoyance. Only because it was Blade. Only because he, too, had trusted the man with his own life. Too many times to count.

  End it.

  At the last second, Blade turned again, facing Ice–staring right at him. He lifted his hands in a universal gesture of surrender.

  And died.

  ##

  Vic did know where Mitch was, or at least he had the physical address of the phone number Mitch had given him. Kat watched in breathless amazement as a map appeared on the small screen in Vic’s car. The unit was almost identical to the one she had in her own car.

  “Bloody technology’s grand, isn’t it?” Vic turned the screen so she could see more clearly. “Of course that begs the question of what to do now.”

  Not for Kat, it didn’t. From the moment she’d taken Max’s gun–the little one he hadn’t shown her–she’d known a feeling of inevitability. Of course it would come to this. In her mind, the outcome was just as certain. She’d be back before Max woke up. With Lizzie by her side.

  She leaned further into Vic’s rented car and pressed a kiss against his cheek. “Thank you so much.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  She smiled. “Go see Mitch, of course.” She closed his car door and headed for her own, parked just three spaces down.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Vic caught her arm as she reached to open her door. “Katherine, please. I really must object. You suspect the man of being involved in a child-napping, you can’t just go knocking at his door.”

  Kat gave him a cool smile and gently, but firmly, removed his hand from her arm. “Give me a little credit, Vic.” He relaxed a little, enough for her to push past him and get her door open. “I’m not going to knock,” she announced as she sat and pulled the door closed in one smooth motion.

  She wasn’t fast enough for Vic. At the risk of great harm to his fingers, he inserted his hand into the opening, not allowing her door to close. Kat sighed. He never had known when to give up and leave. Apparently he still didn’t.

  “You can’t mean that, Kat.”

  “Oh, I do. But I’ll be careful.”

  “But you can’t–“

  ”Yes. I can. And I will.”

  “At least call the police.”

  “No. This is–it’s personal. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Then I’ll go with you.”

  She almost laughed. Right in his face. The picture of staid Vic, with his upper-crust beard and thousand dollar suit, being of any use against whoever had her daughter was nearly too much. At the last second, she managed not to, but only because she knew how much it would hurt him if she did. “Thank you, Vic. But no.”

  “Then let me call someone.”

  “There isn’t anyone to call. Mitch was very clear. I’m to go alone. I’m just going a little early, that’s all.”

  Vic shook his head, looking quite perturbed. “I cannot allow it.”

  “You can’t stop me.” The warning was calm, but very clear.

  For a moment he looked sad, and then he patted her arm. “You always did underestimate me, dear Kat. From the very beginning. But maybe that was part of our problem.”

  He took a step back and Kat rewarded him with a quick smile. Steady, reliable Vic. He never could control her, even though he’d really wanted to. That was definitely part of their problem.

  ##

  Max jerked to full awareness. Or at least as much awareness as he was allowed, with his head still spinning from the drugs. Blade’s lifeless eyes continued to accuse him in his mind. The dream was too close, burned into his brain cells. Funny, his final mission was the only one he ever dreamed about. The only one that haunted him.

  His ribs ached, and his back. The rest of his body, too, though less. He tried to scrub the sleep from his eyes and ended up scratching his forehead with the splint. He swore irritably, swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Kat wasn’t here, at least not in the room. Two nights of sleeping next to her had been enough to revitalize his keen awareness of her.

  He remembered. . .what did he remember? Strawberries. And Kat. Sleep. And Kat, next to him. Kissing him. Kat. Now gone. Strawberries?

  “Kat!” he bellowed, but only half-heartedly. She wasn’t there. Her house was empty. He staggered down the hall, hand on the wall to support him. In her fastidious kitchen, the blender sold her out. He ran a finger around the froth-covered interior. Tasted strawberries and cream.

  Still swaying, he fumbled for a paper towel and laid it out on the counter before snagging the small glass out of the sink. It too was coated with the pink-tinged treat. Max upended it on the paper towel and found the evidence he was after. Gritty remnants of medication littered the towel. His curse echoed through the empty house.

  Why? What the hell had happened while he’d slept? Where the hell was Kat?

  ##

  Kat wiped her sweating palms on her black leggings and took the 120th Street exit off of I-25. Seven more miles, give or take. How accurate were these GPS gadgets anyway? Was it possible Lizzie could really be this close? She drove past shopping centers and strip malls before turning left on Holly. The neighborhood was suddenly residential. At the last stop sign, she frowned at her well-lit GPS screen. According to Vic, Mitch’s location was within a mile. Would they really keep Lizzie in a tidy little suburb like this?

  You need to ask a question like that after what you did to Max?

  Would they drug her? Kat shivered, knowing the answer. They’d cut off her toe. If drugs didn’t work, they could easily go further than drugs. She stomped down on the accelerator when the light turned green. She’d know soon enough.

  The speedometer clocked another half-mile before she swerved and pulled over. Vic was right on one account. She had to get Lizzie. Now. Tonight. But she didn’t have to be stupid about it. She reached for her cell phone and dialed Detective Reicher. Her dash clock told her it was approaching mid
night, he’d probably be home in bed. All the better to reach him.

  He answered on the third ring. “What’s the problem, Doc?”

  Kat swallowed hard. Confessing her intentions to Vic hadn’t been hard. Reicher was probably going to take some convincing. “I’m going after Lizzie, Detective.”

  “You’re breaking up, Doc. Where are you? Where’s Crayton?”

  Translation: I don’t want to talk to a hysterical female. Men! He’d order her to stay put. To wait for Max, or back-up. For sure he wouldn’t understand she didn’t have time to wait. Not for anything. Lizzie was all that mattered. She simply couldn’t give the police or Max a chance to order her to do anything.

  “South of 128th on Riverdale in Thornton. Look for my car.” She repeated the exact address over protests that echoed with static, but she cut the connection, turned off her phone, checked for nonexistent traffic and pulled back on the road. Four large towers with blinking red lights stood as sentries in the fields ahead of her, pulling her attention away from the winding road. She slowed for a particularly sharp curve, checking the display.

  There! On the right. She braked then continued. Better to drive by once and take a peek. The sight wasn’t the least bit reassuring. The property encompassed acres of land. The only access from the road was through electronic gates. The moon lit three buildings behind the imposing gate, what looked like a main house and two outbuildings.

  Kat rounded another curve, well beyond the walled property line of her destination and rolled to a stop. Clenching the steering wheel with hands that shook, she battled an overwhelming urge to go home and get Max. Except Max, with his injuries, couldn’t help her. She could wait for Reicher to send troops. She should wait for Reicher, but the what-ifs storming her brain wouldn’t allow it. Lizzie’d been hurt enough. She wouldn’t wait another second.

  Snuggling the gun she’d stolen from Max in the crook of her elbow, she yanked the keys from the ignition and stuffed them in her pocket. There were trees galore, which probably meant a river or creek somewhere nearby, but they’d serve as cover from the moonlight. She’d just have to be careful where she stepped. She was dressed all in black. Unwilling to make a sound, she eased the door shut and didn’t lock the car. It wasn’t highly visible, but the police should be able to find it. The night was chilly but dry. Quiet. No breeze, so it had to be animals creating the rustling in the underbrush around her. Kat shoved away thoughts of foxes, raccoons or worse.

  The gun felt warm from contact with her skin. Warm, but foreign and she wanted to put it away. She checked the safety instead and wrapped the fingers of her right hand around the butt. It wouldn’t go off accidentally, but it was readily available if she needed it. She refused to think what would happen if she ran into trouble before she found her daughter.

  Her eyes had already adjusted to the night and the moon made it easy to find a path. The six-foot brick wall that served as a fence turned west toward the house just ahead. She’d follow the wall until she was closer to the outbuildings, then use them as cover to approach the main house.

  She would have plowed right into the first guard if he hadn’t lit a cigarette as she cleared the brick wall. He had an earpiece that would have looked more appropriate on a secret service agent, a revolver in a holster at his waist and he cradled a long rifle in his arms. Kat shuddered. He wasn’t out for a stroll. He was on duty. Watching for her? The police? As she looked on from the shadows of a large, windowless building, he appeared to be listening intently to someone. Receiving orders? Had she been seen?

  Kat’s heart thundered in her ears, surely loud enough for him to hear. Her fingers tightened around the gun. The guard grunted a response and turned his back on her, heading for the front of the compound. She blew out a long, silent breath. It didn’t help steady her heart, although it was slowly sliding back into her chest.

  Finding Lizzie had to be her only priority. And it had to be accomplished quickly. If she was here, Kat would find her, and then God could take care of the souls of any who tried to stop her on the way out.

  Compound described the place perfectly. Lizzie’s abductors could hide a small army behind the tall fence. Why else would a man with a gun be on alert outside? She spotted another guard, fifty yards away, also moving toward the country road. They obviously didn’t know she was here, but they were watching for something. For someone.

  Kat slid to the back of the building, even more wary now. A pick-up outfitted with a camper top was backed in at an angle, providing the perfect cover for her to reach the next building. She stooped at the rear door of the camper shell, fingering silver specs that gleamed in the dirt. Duct tape. Shredded duct tape. Her eyes narrowed. Ahead of her, nothing moved. Kat shot a glance toward the street, now forty yards behind her, and crouched. The next building–and her next hiding place–was twenty feet away across a bare stretch lit as bright as a schoolroom by the moon. Could she make it before the guards reached the street and started back again?

  Moonlight reflected off of something just under the camper. She bent further, careful not to kneel, as that might leave a trail of her actions. The white muzzle of the horse from a Denver Broncos logo winked up at her from a baseball cap. She plucked it up out of the dirt, her heart galloping again.

  Kat buried her nose inside the cap and was transported back to a room of wild colors, intense joy, and bitter betrayal. Swaying as she battled the fierce emotions, she clamped her mouth shut to keep back a gasp. Her hands trembled as she twisted the cap in the moonlight, searching the inside band.

  L.C.

  Lizzie Clark.

  Lizzie was here.

  Rage overpowered the joy, swept aside the betrayal and left her calm. Exquisitely calm. Calm and cold, steeled with determination so intense there wasn’t room for anything else. She slid the safety off her gun and stole toward the middle building.

  ##

  Max checked the cell phones first. His had no record of recent calls. Kat’s was missing. He dialed it on his. Out of service.

  Her car was missing, too. Her purse was on the little table inside the front door where she liked to leave it. Max dumped the contents onto the kitchen table. Her wallet was gone. He tossed the purse to the table, on top of the jumble of miscellaneous contents, and spun around. There had to be a clue, a note, something. When she’d gone shopping while he slept, she’d left him a note, in the kitchen. Except for the blender and the paper towel, the cool tiles were bare. Just like her night stand. That left the living room.

  The blinking message light flashed like a beacon from her desk. Max stabbed play, not too hopeful. Unless it was Kat, calling to tell him where she was, anyone who’d left a message must have done so after she departed.

  A warm, very English, very male voice filled the room. Then Max’s heart. Fury followed swiftly. “Hi, love. I’m in town.”

  Vic.

  English-upper-crust-to-the-core Vic.

  Smooth, steady Vic.

  Husband Vic.

  Ex-husband, he reminded himself.

  It didn’t help.

  Vic wasn’t finished. “Are you lonesome tonight?”

  Max saw red, but quickly told himself it didn’t matter. She didn’t get the message.

  “Vic?” Kat’s breathless greeting was the last thing on the machine.

  Red didn’t begin to describe it. His cell phone’s quiet ring was the only thing that saved the answering machine from total annihilation. Max backtracked to the kitchen and flipped it open. “Crayton.”

  “What the hell’s going on?” Reicher sounded as furious as he felt.

  “I wish I knew.”

  “Where’s the doc?”

  “You tell me.” Max tried to will away the rage, the betrayal, and couldn’t. “Why? Did you hear from her?”

  “She said she was going to get your. . .Lizzie. Then her cell gave out and now there’s no answer.”

  Fear ate up the rage. Dread started in his brain with thoughts he wouldn’t acknowledge. It slid d
own his spine and out into his body, icy-hot pinpricks that brought physical pain. “What else?”

  “There isn’t anything else. Don’t you know where she is? She was supposed to be taking care of you.”

  Max ignored that. “I was asleep. She’s not here. Run a Victor Fordon for me, would you? That’s all I’ve got. He’s English.” He spelled out the last name for the detective. “There’s a message here from him, says he’s in town. She got the message before she left. He’s her ex.”

  “Ex what? Husband? I didn’t know she was married.”

  “She’s not!” Too much fire. Max closed his eyes, systematically removing all the emotion from his mind, closing the door on his heart, letting ice take its place. “Get me anything you can find on him. East coast. Media-relations attorney or something like that.”