by Vella Day
“I came home from work and Craig wasn't here. I thought maybe Doug had picked him up, but when I called, he said no. Then I received a phone call from someone who said they'd release Craig if you came to the warehouse. I told him you could never come because you were dead. I didn't understand what he wanted me to do.”
Her mother must have mixed up the information. “Who called and what did he say?”
“I just told you.” Her tone came out scolding, like it did when she was ten.
“Did he give you a name, a number, the location of the warehouse?”
“A number.” The mom rattled off a Virginia number.
“Let me get something to write with. Hold on.” She set the phone down, opened the bathroom door and pawed through the side table drawer next to the bed. She came up with a pen but nothing to write on.
Her hand. She'd write the number on her hand. “Give it to me.”
Once her mother told her the number, Susan knew what she had to do. “Mom, I love you, and I'll talk to you soon.”
“When can I see—”
Susan disconnected, her blood pressure drilling a hole in her temples. The number on her hand mocked her. Dare she call this person? He'd tell her where she could retrieve her brother, and then she and Jake would figure out a plan of attack.
With her heart beating slower, she dialed.
An electronically altered voice answered. “Hello.”
Did she want to talk to this robot? “This is Susan Chapman.”
“Tomorrow at 8AM, meet me at the warehouse on Richter and Arlington if you want to see your brother again.”
“Can I—”
The dial tone didn't answer back. Stunned, she dropped the phone back onto the receiver. Was Craig even alive? Would this villain kill both of them once he lured her to the site?
In need of a warm shower to help her sort through the tangled emotions before she broke the news to Jake, she stripped and jumped into the stall.
The hot water poured down her face and her body, and the steam helped settle her mind. As she lathered the minty soap, she came to a decision. They would do what the man asked. If Craig died because she stood by safe and sound, she'd never be able to live with herself.
“Were you on the phone a minute ago?”
She jerked, nearly slipping on the wet tile. She must not have heard Jake knock, if he had at all, but she was thankful the steam had misted the glass shower door when he stepped in.
Shit. She didn't have to see the expression on his face to know he was beyond pissed. “Maybe.”
“We need to talk.”
She didn't do commands well. “When I'm done showering, I'll be happy to discuss the length of the stick up your butt.” She dropped her head and sagged. “I'm sorry. That was rude.”
“Water off. Now.” He waited a beat before he added the magic word, “Please.”
She shut off the water, reached outside the shower for the towel and wrapped the fresh smelling cloth around her body. She stepped out with shoulders straight, ready to do battle.
His eyes widened perceptibly, but his wide stance told her the rest of the night wouldn't go well. Her father always taught her to go on the offensive.
“My brother was kidnapped, and I spoke to his captor. There. Happy?”
“I wondered if you'd seen the report. Apparently, you had.” He stepped toward her and she battled fear, lust, and need at the same time.
“Yes.”
“You want a hug?”
Those were the sweetest words she'd ever heard. All she could do was nod and step into his waiting arms. He cradled her, rocked her, and kissed her, and then stepped back.
“Now tell me everything.”
**
Without help, Jake realized he could never protect Susan. Stubborn woman wouldn't take no for an answer. She wanted to leave right then and go to her mother.
That was out of the question. Whoever had Craig would no doubt have the mom's place under surveillance. If he still had his cuffs, he'd chain her to the bed again since this running had to stop.
“I want to get the bastard as much as you do,” he said, wanting to make sure she understood he was on her side.
“Thank you.” She ran a hand down his arm.
“Whoever orchestrated this kidnapping has to know we'll bring reinforcements, unless this person believes I'm persona non grata.”
“Which you might be,” she said.
“True.” His mind spun with different possibilities. “It's possible Joseph Francisco found out Dominick is dead and wants revenge.”
“How would he know that? Would your boss have called him?”
“I don't even know.”
She sat on the bed. The towel dipped, revealing most of her breasts. He didn't need to be lusting after her. They had a plan to conceive.
He cleared his throat. “How about you change and meet me downstairs?”
She glanced down and turned a pretty pink shade. “Sure.”
“I'm going to call Tom.”
“I thought you believed he was the one who leaked our location at his dad's cabin.”
“I did, until I realize lots of people in the office knew I used to stay there every summer.”
“Then by all means call him. I'm up for all the help we can get.”
Jake spun on his heels and raced downstairs, wondering if he could trust Tom, or should he call Stanton instead? If only he understood how the Francisco's were tied into the murders, he might make a more informed decision.
He understood Dominick wanted Susan dead. According to the partner, Ronnie Stenoff, Dominick had killed Cho. But why? The Francisco's hated the Caravellos. The logic made no sense to him.
Not wanting anyone to trace the call, he used his disposable cell, which was in a dire need of recharging. Jake dialed Tom, who picked up on the first ring.
“It's Jake.”
“Where the hell are you?” Tom asked.
“Hello to you too.”
“Jesus. I thought you were dead. Richard said you were seriously injured. When I didn't hear from you, I thought the worst.”
Most of his muscles relaxed. Tom hadn't betrayed him. “I'm fine. Or at least I will be with a little rest.” His thigh ached, but his leg functioned just fine.
“Is Susan dead?” Tom's voice cracked. “I heard Dominick Francisco killed her.”
“No. I told Richard that's what happened. I figured he might let it leak she was dead and whoever else was after her would believe it too.”
He regaled his friend with what happened and how he'd killed Francisco.
“Where did you go afterwards?”
“You won't believe it. We hitched a ride out of the area and ended up visiting Nicki Caravello.”
“No shit. How is the old guy?”
“Good. I know he'd love for you stop by.”
Susan came downstairs and stood next to him, her brows furrowed. “Ah, I called because Susan's brother was kidnapped today.”
“The guy in the wheelchair?”
“That's him. I need backup. I can't go in alone. I know I tied down Richard and broke just about every rule in the book by doing so, but—”
“You didn't hear?”
“Hear what?”
“Richard confessed everything to Stanton. Told him how he was being blackmailed into giving the addresses of the jurors. When they guy took his kids, he went ballistic. Richard was told to kill both you and Susan. Only he believed Francisco had taken care of Susan for him.”
“Jesus. Does he know who the guy was?”
“No, and we'll never find out. Richard ate a bullet this morning.”
Jake's muscles weakened. “I thought he'd gone off the deep end, but I couldn't be sure he was our mole.”
Susan waved her hands and mouthed, “Who?”
He placed a hand over the receiver. “Thomason.”
Her eyes widened, and she nodded as if she might have guessed.
“What do you want us to do?”
Tom said. “You'll get the full cooperation of the department. You know that, right?”
He hadn't five minutes ago. “I have a plan I want to pass by you.”
“Let's hear it.”
**
She wasn't happy they had to leave this nice house, but she understood her phone call to her mom had put them in jeopardy. Would the sick bastard have put a bug on her mother's phone now too? If he'd ripped her brother right out the house, he probably did have some kind of surveillance in the house.
Whatever. Tom said he'd give the local PD a call and ask them to watch over Caravellos' Maryland house in case anyone tried to break in. He also put a detail at her mom's place too.
Right now, they were on their way toward DC in a badass snowstorm—to Tom's house. The speedometer rarely reached forty and cars were piled up on the side of the road, either broken down or waiting out the storm. Good luck to them. She bet the snowplows wouldn't be able to keep up with this massive dumping.
Best case scenario, if they didn't run out of gas or get in an accident, they would make it the meeting a little after midnight. Tom had assured them, via Stanton's instruction, that the team would have everything under control by the time they reached Virginia.
She appreciated their effort to plan a strategy, but she didn't need a bunch of agents plotting what might be her last moments on earth without any input from her.
Jake stifled a yawn as he wiped the frosty windshield with his palm. “There's one thing we can be sure of.”
“What's that?”
“No one would chance attacking Fort Traynor with a gazillion agents inside.”
“You do have a point, but I for one will not be sleeping even if I know I'll be safe. I'll be worrying all night about what they might have done to my poor brother.”
“Or what they might do to you if you walk in there alone?”
She knew Jake's opinion on her decision to follow the man's instructions. “I don't care what you big agents say, I'm going in.”
“We'll see.”
An hour after they planned to arrive at Tom's place, they finally rolled in. From the number of black sedans lining the road, half the FBI was there.
“We'll have to park at least a block away. I'm sorry.”
“I can walk a block,” she said. The trek to Tom's front door would be easier than what she would have to do in seven hours.
Tom met them at the door and gave Jake a hug. “You must be Susan.”
“You guessed it.”
Tom sent Jake a how-did-you-get-so-lucky look, and Susan's face heated up. No makeup, bloodshot eyes, and about a ten pound weight loss made her less than attractive, but she was happy she hadn't scared them with her appearance.
“Come on in. We've tweaked your plan a little.”
Tom introduced her to the other five agents, four of whose names she couldn't remember. Stanton's name she recognized. He was older than she expected, and not in the best of shape, but he had an honest look about him.
The rest of the men all had short haircuts, were about six feet, well built, and looked between the ages of thirty and forty. Short life span for an agent, she guessed.
Tom spread out a large pad on the coffee table with a diagram of the building.
Stanton leaned over the map. “We debated sending in a trained FBI agent in your place, Mrs. Chapman, but if you were familiar to any of them we—”
“No substitute. I'm going in. I don't want to give whoever is doing this a reason to shoot Craig. And, before you ask, I won't wear a wire. They'll find it and kill me and Craig.”
All six men nodded, including Stanton, who was clearly the lead. “We agree. No wire, but we'll give you a cell phone with GPS on it.”
She leaned back against the seat, but the thick tension in the air kept her alert. “Fine. Then what?”
“You'll take one of our cars to the site. We'll be...around. No one will know we're there.”
This kidnapper seemed sharp and knew she was under the protection of the FBI. He'd suspect the agents would be strategically place but out of sight, which meant they must have concocted some kind of escape route for her.
“And Jake? Where will he be?”
Jake took a hold of her hand and squeezed. “The less you know, the better.”
She swallowed, not liking the way he wouldn't look at her, but she didn't argue. Jake would do what he thought best for both her and Craig.
Stanton hadn't factored in one thing. “What happens to my mother during this whole plan? I don't want anyone to go after her.”
The tallest of the group raised his forefinger. “We've got that covered, ma'am. She'll be safe. No one will get to her.”
Good. Her pulse slowed knowing someone was looking out for her.
Tom chugged the rest of his drink. “We all know what we're going to do. Let's get some shut eye and be back here by 0600 ready to rock and roll.”
**
Despite cranking the heat to full blast in the unfamiliar sedan, her bones refused to warm up. Her fingers were stiff despite sweat dripping down the back of her neck. Nothing was working right. Not her mind, not her heart, nothing. She'd never been this scared in her life.
Take that back. Almost being burned to death came close, and then having a gun pointed at her chest certainly hadn't lowered her blood pressure any. Knowing she could turn back at any moment had her doubting her decision to be here until Craig's face entered her mind. He'd always been her baby brother. When he lost use of his legs after the accident, she'd been the one to hold him and care for him. She'd promised she'd take care of him no matter what.
The FBI agent's voice on the other end of her headset startled her. “Take your next right.”
Even with the Bureau spread around the warehouse, Susan's nerves took a beating. She glanced at her hand gripping the wheel. The kidnapper's number hadn't washed off the skin, reminding her she could die today.
Jake's voice flashed in her head. What would her death do to him? Would he pine over her loss before moving on? Or would he fall apart? Like she'd do if he took a fatal bullet.
“You're almost there,” the annoying, yet somehow comforting voice announced.
Tom had put a trace on the phone number she'd given them but had found nothing. He said the man probably tossed the pre-paid cell in the trash. It didn't matter now. She was here, ready to confront the bastard.
The large red brick warehouse loomed before her. Alone for the first time in days, or was it weeks, her vulnerability index shot through the roof. Could she leave the safety of the car and enter a building filled with men with submachine guns aimed at her? Was she willing to die today? Would her actions save her brother?
She prayed the answer was yes—to the second questions, not, God forbid, to the first.
“I'm turning off the phone now.”
“Good luck, Mrs. Chapman.”
She wanted to ask if she could speak with Jake, but in case the kidnappers were monitoring what she said, the team thought it better to restrict conversation.
If she had spoken to him, what would she have said? Be careful? Don't do anything foolish? Or would she have told him what was on her mind? That she loved him.
Better not to tell him that last bit. He had enough to think about. The next time she held him in her arms and ran her hands down his chest, she'd let him know how much he'd grown on her, how much he meant to her.
She wiped the moisture threatening to spill from her lids and pushed open the door. The morning sky was bright blue, clear and cold—innocuous and inviting but certainly not calming. The wind was nearly still, the ground white and pure. Some broken equipment lay buried under the winter blanket giving the area a look of abandonment.
She studied the pristine landscape. Some might call this moment of reflection something akin to procrastination, but that wasn't entirely true. She wanted to memorize the details in case she needed to escape later.
Bullshit.
Okay. Okay. She wanted to know how the
kidnappers had entered the building? There weren't any tire tracks. Anywhere. Had they spent the night inside before the snow fell in earnest? If so, where were their cars? And how had they brought Craig inside?
Stop asking questions.
No doubt, someone was watching her. She didn't dare look up to the rooftops where she would hopefully find a hundred agents with guns trained on all the windows since she didn't want to give anything away.
Susan had promised she'd come alone. No cops. No friends. No one. He'd made sure to say, no Jake Yarnell. To her, his threat implied that's all the man wanted. Jake.
She believed she'd be facing daddy Francisco, a man who wanted revenge. Not for putting away his arch enemy, but for Jake killing his only son.
She had yet to figure out why he wanted the jurors dead in the first place, but she had more immediate issues to attend to.
Taking a large breath, she plowed ahead, her heart beating against her ribs, much too fast to provide her with a sense of calm. Who was she kidding? Not even her pinky had an ounce of calm. Her legs were leaden, her breath shallow, and her mind told her to run.
But she wouldn't. Couldn't. Too many lives—hers, Craig's, her mother's and Jake's—depended on her doing as the man instructed.
She reached the front of the building. The windowless front door was made of heavy metal, all rusty and paint chipped. She tugged on the handle and the door eased open. The temperature warmed slightly once she stepped inside. She wiped her nose—one bad effect of winter.
The dark interior corridor was lit with one small bulb so she waited a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the darkness.
“Hello, Susan. I'm glad you came.”
26
Susan shielded her eyes against the glare of the flashlight pointed at her face. Heart blasting, her feet stayed rooted to the floor. Her throat was too dry to talk, so she waited for further instructions, expecting at any moment to feel the piercing of a bullet.
“Come, come. I know you want to see your brother.” He sounded friendly and encouraging, but she knew he was far from the grandfatherly type.
The flashlight swung about and hit the worn hardwood floors. The man holding the light had stooped shoulders and white hair, but he walked with a strong stride. They'd guessed right. He must be Joseph Francisco.