by Vella Day
In her heart, she knew her brother's kidnapping wasn't about her. The fact he wanted Jake made her step slower and her heart sink a little further into her stomach. If she turned back now, they would kill her brother just for her act of defiance.
Go.
Putting one foot in front of the other, she followed behind the man of death. As soon as he turned left at the end of the hall and out of sight, the instinct to flee grabbed hold.
Don't give in. See that Craig is okay first.
Slow and steady, she studied the bare walls as she moved down the hall, hoping to learn something about why he'd picked this building. Not that it mattered, but examining the environment gave her something to do for the next few seconds until she learned her fate.
When she rounded the corner, she halted. Craig was in his own wheelchair, arms bound, mouth gagged, and eyes blindfolded. She nearly sank to her knees. She wanted to run to him and comfort him, but when one of his men took a step forward with his gun aimed at her chest, she remained by the entrance, mentally sending support to Craig.
“Craig?” Her voice came out sounding too thin—scared, weak, and helpless—when she wanted to be strong for him.
He grunted something through the dirty looking rag.
“What did you say?” She dragged her wet palms down her hips and turned an ear toward him.
He mumbled again. Had he recognized her voice? Did he think his mind was playing tricks on him? To him, she was dead.
She swallowed to get her tongue to work. “I'm alive, Craig. I hope they didn't hurt you.”
Stupid thing to say, but the words she was usually good at formulating into eloquent sentences had evaporated.
Of course, he couldn't answer. All he could do was wiggle, shake, and grunt. From the motion of his head, he wanted her to run.
No way. “I'm going to help free you.”
Three men, with semi-automatics, not big Uzi's as she'd expected, stepped closer in unison, as if some silent signal had been given.
“Check her,” Francisco said. This time the steel in his voice would have crushed the hardest diamond.
She shifted her weight to her right leg and tilted her head, trying to act bored, praying they wouldn't see the need to search her. She held up her palms. “I'm not wired, guys, and I don't have a gun or any kind of weapon.” She spread her arms wide as they approached. “I did exactly as you asked.” True, the wonder phone was clipped to the belt at the small of her back, but maybe they wouldn't consider it a threat.
Her ploy didn't work. The fat one with the pimples must have drawn the long straw, for he patted her down, making sure to rub against her at every opportunity. He smelled of body odor, sharp and pungent. When he swiped his hand to her butt, he retrieved the phone.
“Got something.”
“It's called a phone, dumbass.” Crap. She hadn't meant to let the sarcastic retort slip out, but her sleep-deprived brain wasn't functioning very well.
The guard reared up and slapped her. Hard. She cried out, and then clamped her mouth shut, not wanting to give Mr. Francisco the satisfaction his man had hurt her. Bastard. Why did men have to hit her on her most vulnerable side? Blood trickled down her cheek, but she didn't attempt to wipe it away.
Craig struggled against his restraints. If he'd been able to walk, he would have done something heroic. Poor Craig.
“I'm fine, Craig.”
Francisco waved his men to the other end of the hallway. “Let's go.”
The fat, pimply man grabbed her by the arm and dragged her away from her brother.
“Craig, it's okay,” she yelled behind her. Not that he could see her, but the clicking of her boot heels on the hardwood floor would clue him into her movement—away from him.
The harder she dug in her heels, the more pimple face tugged. She lost the battle. “Mr. Francisco, please.” Oh, shit. She shouldn't have said his name. Now he'd have to kill her for knowing his identity.
The older man turned around and smiled, benevolent like, though she knew he was debating whether to order the hit right then.
“You have a request, Ms. Chapman?”
“Will you let my brother go? I did as you asked.”
“Of course, just as soon as we get out of here.”
Like she believed him.
Mr. Francisco gave one nod to her jailer. Something prinked her arm, and then her knees weakening a second before her body collapsed.
**
Jake checked the time on his cell five more times. Still nothing. No shots, no explosions, no Craig wheeling out of the building. Where the hell was Susan? Had they harmed her? He wanted to rush in and save the day but he understood the need to follow procedure.
He tapped his earpiece. “Anyone see anything?”
“The brother is in the middle of the room. Looks like he's alone.” This must have come from one of the snipers on top of the roof across from the building.
“And Susan? Do you still see her?”
“No, sir. I did see her, but she's no longer in the main room.”
Shit.
“Stanton, we have to go in.” Jake's voice cracked, and his muscles bunched.
He pounded the steering wheel. The team had insisted he remain a block away. Dan Pritchard, some newbie punk agent, was in the car behind him—for his own protection Stanton had said.
“Don't do anything stupid, Jake. Hold on. We'll go in shortly. Without you. You hear?” His boss' tone came out demanding.
Fine. “Clear.”
The windshield fogged and he turned down the heater. He wanted the cold to chill his body, to numb the flesh to the point where he had no sensation. If he lost Susan, he'd lose everything he wanted. She'd been difficult to handle at first, but once they worked together, the battling turned to banter, which turned to trust.
That was it. He trusted her to never leave him. Only now she had.
“Got the boy.” Stanton's voice came in loud and clear.
Jake held his breath, waiting for word of Susan.
“Stanton?”
No answer.
“Stanton, what about Susan?” His heart rattled against his ribs, and the air sucked from his chest.
He opened his door, hoping to get a better feel for what was going on and to draw in some air.
“Jake. They're gone,” Stanton finally reported. The clinical statement nearly froze him to the spot.
“I'm coming in.”
He jumped out of the car without waiting for the go ahead. The probie behind him must not have gotten the word, for he took off after Jake. Jake looked over his shoulder and slowed, his leg not ready to work overtime. He shouted at the man gaining speed. “I've been given the all clear to enter.”
The man looked doubtful as he slowed. It would only take a minute for the kid to learn he wasn't lying.
Once Jake reached the door, he drew his weapon in case it was a trap. He eased inside and waited for the kid to join him. Jake held a finger to his lips the moment Pritchard entered.
Jake led the way down the long corridor. Seconds later he rounded the corner and saw five agents surrounding the boy in the wheelchair. He scoured the large room but Susan was nowhere in sight.
He raced up to Stanton and grabbed his arm. “Where are they?”
“We don't know. They didn't climb out the windows, and we've checked every exit.”
“They have to be somewhere.”
Stanton crouched in front of Craig. “Did you see where your sister went?”
“That was really her?” His eyes widened as his mouth lifted into a smile.
“Yes. Susan is alive.”
He wiped a tear from his cheek. “I can't believe it. They blindfolded me, so I can't be sure. One minute they're standing around me, and the next, they hightailed away from me. Then you guys barged in about two minutes later. I thought I was a goner.”
Jake didn't need to hear anymore. He raced to the back of the room. The only door there led to a large closet with no egress. Where th
e hell had were they?
The Traynor's cellar flashed in his mind. There had to be a hidden door and a hidden tunnel to somewhere. He placed his palms on the walls, hoping to find a switch. He pressed, pounded and pushed. No luck.
“Damn it.”
Stanton called from the other room. “You find something in there?”
Jake stepped out of the closet. “No. I was hoping for some kind of hidden door. There has to be something we can't see.”
Stanton flipped a switch on his phone. “Chuck, do a perimeter search for any exit doors.” He pressed a different number on the walkie-talkie. “Bill?”
“I'm here.”
“Search any cars leaving the area.”
“Will do.”
Jake appreciated his boss' forward thinking, but he needed an activity to focus on. “You going to dust the place for prints?”
“Already called Trip. He and his team will be here shortly but don't get your hopes up. I'll call Tom and ask him to pull up the construction plans of the area to see if there's a tunnel going somewhere." Stanton took one step and knelt down. “Looks like blood.”
Craig wheeled around. “Some jerk slapped her pretty hard.”
Stanton nodded. “She had a cut on her face. Maybe the hit made her bleed. We'll check it out.”
Jake stepped closer to his boss and kept his voice low. “You know this kidnapping might have nothing to do with the jurors' deaths and everything to do with the fact I killed Francisco's son.”
“It's possible, but we don't know Francisco is behind this mess.”
“Think about it. Francisco's son killed at least one juror, and probably more. I don't think Dominick was bright enough to orchestrate these kills. He had to have help.”
“Good point.”
His heart lightened. “Do you now believe that Peter Caravello had nothing to do with any of the jurors' deaths?” He wanted his friend to be innocent. The betrayal might kill him.
Stanton stared at Jake for a split second too long. “Probably not, but what was he doing with Janet Starkey's wallet in his house?”
“He was framed.”
Stanton cocked one eye. “By whom? And why?”
The tumblers in his mind clicked into place, but he didn't want to toss out his theory just yet. “Couldn't say.” He shuffled his feet. “You need me to do anything?”
“No. Go home and rest.”
He'd go but rest wouldn't be on his mind.
Half way to the door, Stanton called after him. “Jake?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“If anyone calls you, don't play hero. Let us handle the details.”
He held Stanton's stare. “I won't do anything stupid.”
“Cross the line and it'll be your job.”
Jake's fist clenched. He wanted to flip his boss the bird. Instead, he strode away, his blood pounding in his head.
**
Throbbing pain thudded in Susan's head. Where was she? She couldn't see anything, but one thing she knew. It was cold as a bitch. Her eyes felt as if she'd fallen face first into a sand pit, and her body ached even worse than after the explosion. Her muscles were leaden and her throat raw and dry.
How had she gotten here? And when?
She searched her memory. Craig had been held captive, guns had been pointed at her, and then she'd be given a needle in her neck.
She'd been drugged. Francisco's cruel face and pimple face's pawing made her skin crawl. Susan blinked, trying to see something. Why was it so dark? Her breath came out fast and her heart beat even harder. Bile shot up her throat and goose bumps spread over her body as fear threatened to rob her of all thought. She fought the tears brimming on her lids.
“Craig?” She prayed he was somewhere near.
Nothing but the wind whipping around her small cave answered her. She shivered and drew in a breath. The stench of fertilizer made her cough. Was she in a shed? Or in a dumpster?
What did it matter? Wherever she was, freedom was her goal.
Reality pressed in on her. If she didn't get out soon, she'd die of exposure.
A wave of nausea blasted her, and her body swayed as her mind clouded. Move. She struggled to rise to her knees, but as she tried to press her hands on the ground, she failed. Someone had bound her hands and feet. Shit. Not again. She twisted her body right and left to loosen the ropes, but the jerky movement tore at her wrists and ankles. Blood dripped down her palms.
This bastard was not going to win.
Determined to do whatever it took to escape, Susan worked to undo her bindings, but after what seemed like half an hour, she had made no progress to free herself.
Instead of trying to undo the bindings, she tucked her legs under her butt and rocked to stand. Dizzy. Weary. And oh so cold. If she could reach a door handle, she could reach freedom. To what though, she didn't know.
Kneeling, Susan leaned against the side of the small building and swayed back and forth until she landed on her feet. Using all her energy, she half stood. Splinters sliced through her skin as she slid up the side wall. While she couldn't see her body, from the scraping on her shoulder and back, she was naked. Dear God. Had she been sexually assaulted?
It was too cold to tell, but she pushed her thoughts away from the atrocity and focused on finding some way to escape.
With her back to the wall, she edged around the confinement. Her knees buckled and she slammed back into the hard floor. Shit. Determined not to let the bastard get his way, she tried again. Standing took so much effort, but what choice did she have?
Her eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness. Thin slits of light eked their way through the wooden slats, allowing her to tell where a door might be. As she reached her destination, her hand brushed against cold metal. Yes, but when she pushed down on the latch and leaned against the door, the damn thing wouldn't budge. Locked or blocked, she couldn't get out. She slowly sank to the floor and let the pity take over.
She shivered and sobbed, but the warm tears nearly froze on her cheeks.
A creak outside caught her attention, and her muscles tensed. Was the killer coming for her? She debated beating against the wall to attract attention, but what if he was coming to see if she had died?
She stilled, and as she forced her breaths to slow, her mind lost focus. When the door didn't open, she decided the noise was only from a car going by in the distance.
“Help!”
She slammed her feet against the opposite wall to make a racket. Her frozen feet had no sensation. She pounded and yelled until her throat turned hoarse.
Out of energy, she slumped against the wall. Her toes were numb, her body no longer shivered, and each breath came out slower and slower. Susan tried to count backwards from one hundred, but couldn't remember anything below ninety-two. Her mind clouded, and she closed her eyes, too tired to struggle.
Her last thought was that she'd never see Jake again.
27
As soon as Peter opened his front door, Jake stepped inside without a word, and snow flurries followed him in. He stomped into the living room and turned around.
His friend planted a hand on his shoulder. “Susan was kidnapped? What happened?”
He jerked out of Peter's grasp. He couldn't handle pity right now. “Yes. She just disappeared.”
“Disappeared? Or was kidnapped?”
“Both.”
Peter stepped back. “When?”
“This morning.”
A lithe, pixyish girl rushed in from the kitchen. She wiped her hands on her apron. “You must be Jake. I've heard a lot about you. Nice to finally see you in person.”
Peter pulled the woman to his side. “Jake, this is Maria Francisco.”
“Maria.” He wasn't in the mood for socializing even though he was curious about Joseph Francisco's daughter.
Peter led Maria back to the sofa. “How did they get to Susan with you hovering over her all the time?”
Guilt crashed down on him. He told
Peter and Maria about Susan's phone call to her mom, and the phone call she'd made to the perpetrator. “She voluntarily went into this warehouse at eight this morning to save her brother.”
Veins bulged in Peter's neck. “You let her go in by herself? Are you fuckin' crazy?”
Jake held up his hands. “She wouldn't listen to reason.” God only knew he should have stopped her and thought of some other way to free her brother without her jeopardizing her life. “Stanton and about five other agents came up with a plan that sounded foolproof.”
“Stanton was part of this insanity? The FBI never substitutes one hostage for another. Why'd he let her go in alone? I hope she was armed or at least wired.”
Jake stabbed a hand over his bald head. “She's stubborn. No to the weapons or the wire. She had a cell phone with a GPS, but they left the phone behind.”
“I didn't think a prosecuting attorney would be so stupid—or careless. Didn't she care about her life?”
Jake winced. He was the one who understood the danger but had done nothing to stop her. Her passion for her brother had swayed him. If Peter had been kidnapped, he'd have done the same thing.
“We had snipers at every window and had the place surrounded. There was no way anyone could have snuck out of the warehouse. Every exit was covered.” His rationalization sounded lame even to him.
His lips curled. “But apparently they did. I'm sorry. Do you want a drink?”
“Scotch. On the rocks.” Beer wouldn't help quell the fury that burned through him.
Had the situation not been so serious, he would have smiled, picturing Susan's disdainful face when he first asked for a beer in the townhouse. What he wouldn't give to see her frown again.
Peter strode over to the wet bar, made a tall drink, and handed him the glass. “Sit down and start talking.”
Jake wanted to pace, to think, but he might drive them crazy. He reigned in his panic and did as Peter asked.
Maria spoke up. “Do the FBI have any suspects?”
“Nothing solid.” In fact, they had zip. He wasn't ready to propose his number one suspect.
Peter stabbed a glance at Maria then back at Jake. “Start from the top and tell us everything—in detail. Maybe there are similarities to what happened to me.” Peter always was the straight shooting kind, though when had he been kidnapped? Jake didn't have time to ask.