Which meant Marvin and the other guy had retreated to the other staircase. They’d ascend to the fifth floor, just as Jessie and Morton were doing.
Then it would be a race to reach Christina Blackwood.
But Marvin had the Bushmaster and they only had handguns.
“Who’s out there?” someone called from above.
She turned and met Morton’s stare. He mouthed the word Christina.
Get back in your room, Jessie mentally urged the woman. You have no idea what’s coming for you.
They were almost to the fifth-floor landing when Morton swung his .38 up, fired. There was a surprised oomph from above but no return fire.
Morton moved around the spiral staircase until they were even with the fifth floor. He kept his gun poised on the stairs above them.
“Nicky?” she asked.
“Sixth story,” Morton whispered.
“You out there, Morton?” a man’s voice called. It was Teddy Brooks. At least, Jessie thought, there was an armed man with Christina. The only other voice Jessie could hear was the medium’s. The young woman sounded frightened.
Jessie couldn’t blame her.
“I’ll get Miss Blackwood,” Morton said. He nodded up the stairs. “You take Nicky.”
“He’s trying to separate us,” Jessie hissed. “You need me here.”
Morton fixed her with a fierce look. Speaking through his teeth he said, “There isn’t time, Agent Gary. What I need is your cooperation. What I don’t need is Nicky Irvin sneaking up and shooting me from behind. What I don’t need is having my orders questioned.”
Jessie wanted to slap him for his stubbornness, but he was right about one thing—they didn’t have time to argue.
Abandoning Sean Morton to deal with the Bushmaster and its owner on his own, Jessie clambered up the steps to the top floor.
Toward Nicky Irvin.
Chapter Six
Teddy heard the gunfire and knew what was happening right away. He stayed in his bed though, suspecting the collective bad karma he’d built up would pretty much guarantee him a slow and painful death if he got involved.
Just stay in your room, Christina, he thought, the covers drawn up around his neck. Just stay the hell in your room and let the feds handle this. It’s what they’re trained for, isn’t it? I’m just an ex-cop who drinks a little too much. This is outside my job description.
More thunder from below. Jesus. Someone had a machine gun down there.
Jorge could handle it, Teddy told himself. Jorge and that musclehead Chad Wayne. Even if Wayne had more muscles than brains, he would protect his boss when push came to shove.
But when Teddy heard Christina’s terrified voice in the hallway asking what was going on, he forgot how it wasn’t his job to help her.
Blowing out frustrated breath, Teddy shed his blankets and climbed out of bed. As he fetched his gun and slipped on his clothes, he heard another voice in the hall. It was Elena Pedachenko, sounding frightened and bewildered.
The gun at his side, Teddy went to the hallway. Opened the door and turned left.
Saw Christina’s distraught face. “What’s happening, Mr. Brooks?”
“Marvin got tired of waiting,” Teddy said. “Now why don’t you get in my room where you’ll be safe?”
Christina’s eyebrows gathered together in apprehension, but she nodded. That was good, Teddy thought. Still capable of coherent communication.
“Where are your guards?” Elena asked Christina.
Though it was a good question, Teddy didn’t want to stand here in the hallway ruminating on it. “Come on,” he said and took Christina by the arm.
They had just about reached Teddy’s room when shots behind them got his attention quick. Teddy saw shadows there, realized right away the shots weren’t being fired at them—someone in the stairwell shooting at someone else instead. But it was only a matter of time, he knew. You took a job offered by a billionaire being threatened by underworld killers, and being shot at was a mathematical inevitability.
What the hell had he been thinking?
“Let’s get our butts inside,” he said to Christina, gripping her arm and towing her along more forcefully now.
“Get down, Miss Blackwood!” someone shouted from behind them. Definitely one of the feds, Teddy thought. He and Christina were almost to Teddy’s room, but ahead of them Teddy saw two figures emerge from the darkness. One of them held a gun that looked like it could take down a wooly mammoth.
“Let’s get to your room,” Christina said in a tight voice.
Too late, Teddy thought. And pulled her to the ground beside him.
Jessie pursued Nicky Irvin up the stairs and chided herself for not checking out the top level of the castle earlier. She’d familiarized herself with the basement and the other five stories, it was true, but this oversight was unforgivable.
She hoped she wouldn’t pay for it with her life.
Nicky’s footfalls echoed in the spiral stairwell, then continued as the man’s feet landed on a different surface. She heard the footsteps accelerate, recede, and wondered if he was simply hustling all the way to the other stairwell so he could descend on the other side to rejoin his father. If that was the case, they’d at least only have to worry about being attacked from one direction. Maybe, Jessie thought as she neared the fifth floor, she could simply trail him, slip down the stairs behind him and then take them all by surprise. It would certainly make up for her inaction earlier, her stupid reliance on Morton to save them both.
Her gun drawn, Jessie stepped forward and saw the moonlight pouring through the windows into what appeared to be one large studio. The whole sixth story, she realized, moving into the room, was devoted to a piano and some seating areas.
A foot shot out and knocked the Glock out of her hands. Her first instinct was to go for it, but that was crazy. Nicky was armed too.
She let her momentum from his kick swing her body around, but rather than falling she completed the turn and whipped an elbow at him. His gun went off in the darkness, an unbelievable crashing sound this close to her ears. She went instantly deaf, the only noise in her head an unearthly ringing. No time to worry about that, though. Nicky was lowering the gun toward her.
Jessie thrust a forearm at his wrist, felt it connect solidly. The gun went clattering to the floor.
Nicky went for the gun, and though Jessie’s own gun was no farther away than his was, she decided not to chance it. He was bent over, reaching for the gun, his profile to her. She reared back and booted him in the side, the point of her toe catching him in the kidney. Breath whooshed out of him, a hand clamping over his side. He yawed to his right, looked like he was about to fall over. Jessie followed, moving into a position where she could kick him in the face. She reared back, meaning to knock the bastard out so she could retrieve her gun and help Morton.
But Nicky had been lulling her, pretending to be near a fall when he was actually reaching for something near his ankle. When Jessie’s foot arced toward his head, Nicky’s left arm whipped at her in a vicious backhand. Bright pain scalded the sole of her foot. He’s sliced through my sneaker, she thought. The pain was so terrible and unexpected that Jessie did what instinct demanded—she grabbed for her bleeding foot. But that allowed Nicky Irvin to slash at her again, this time ripping a hot gash in her bare shoulder.
Jessie sucked in shocked breath, slapped a hand to her shoulder, but the cut was deep, the blood already squirting out around her fingers. She realized she’d left herself unguarded again and all of a sudden understood how different this was from her training.
She was sure Nicky Irvin would deal her a death stroke from his knife, but rather than stabbing her or slicing her again, Nicky cocked a fist and brought it crashing down on her nose.
Jessie went down.
“That’s a sweet girl,” Nicky s
aid. She made out his words, though they sounded as though she had fallen into a deep well and he was calling down to her from a great distance. “You’re a feisty little kitty, aren’t you?” Nicky said. “We’re gonna have us a great time together, aren’t we, kitty?”
Something smashed into her side. Jessie doubled up, moaning. Nicky had kicked her, she realized. Kicked her like some stray dog he’d discovered foraging in his garbage.
Nicky kicked her again, this time right in the throat. Jessie coughed, her throat instantly ablaze. The pain was worse than any she’d yet experienced, indescribable.
“Wittle kitty hurt a wittle?” Nicky cooed.
No, she thought, tasting the blood that filled her mouth. Not like her training at all. Her training hadn’t been in a castle. Her training hadn’t involved awakening from a sound sleep to be shot at by an automatic weapon. And her training hadn’t pitted her against a psychopath in the dark.
Not just a psychopath, she thought. A torturer and a murderer.
And a serial rapist.
As though he’d heard her, Nicky reached out, tugged down her sweatpants.
“Oh my land,” he said, his voice thick with lust. “Look what we have here.”
Ben was hustling through the forest—for the moment his terror for Julia was usurped by the more imminent danger of what was about to happen at the castle—when he heard the first gunshots.
My fault, he thought, pushing himself even harder down the trail. The branches and outreaching weeds whipped his body. Ben’s skin was lashed in half a dozen places, but the physical pain was nothing next to the guilt crashing down on him, the dread knowledge that it was he who’d led them all here, he who had set them up in this isolated place to be slaughtered by Marvin and his animals. Teddy had told him stories, and though Ben lent them some credence, he hadn’t truly grasped the danger Marvin presented until this moment. He thought of Teddy, sleeping peacefully in his room; Agent Gary, who seemed far too human to be working for the government; Morton, who though humorless didn’t seem like a bad guy; he thought of Christina Blackwood, whose only crime was being rich. Who’d lost her only child a year ago and who therefore had a far deeper bond with Ben at the moment, one that eclipsed socioeconomic differences.
Christ, what had he done?
Another possibility, this one so dire he wished it hadn’t arisen, blasted through his mind: What if the beast had Julia hidden somewhere else? After all, there was no guarantee it had taken her to the redwood clearing. She could just as easily be lying there exposed near the shoreline, in one of the many caves, atop one of the cliffs on the southern side of the island…
…or within the castle itself.
More gunfire, this time announcing itself as some kind of machine gun. The mob guys had brought their heavy artillery to the island.
Nearing the forest’s edge, Ben slowed and took out his weapon. He emerged into the brilliant, moonlight-flooded castle lawn, took a few steps toward the front of the castle, then thought better of it. It was true they might have posted sentries at all three doors, but it still seemed more prudent to enter through one of the less conspicuous ones.
Knowing every second mattered, Ben pelted toward the back door. Ben ripped open the door and saw a fist the size of a Christmas ham come hammering down at his face.
Chapter Seven
Buuuhrrrrip-ip-ip-ip-ip-ip-iiiiiiipppppp—went the automatic, the sound so loud it made the fillings in Teddy’s molars vibrate.
The pom pom pom pom sound of return fire wasn’t quite as loud, but it came from closer to them and was therefore just as hard on their ears. He was splayed out on top of Christina, both of them facedown, and though he’d entertained more than one fantasy about engaging in some extracurricular activities with his wealthy boss, the circumstances made their current intimacy about as sexy as kissing his obese Aunt Regina. Teddy’s midsection pressed into Christina’s buttocks, and as the gunfire raged over their heads Teddy became aware of moisture down there. Either he’d pissed himself or Christina had or both of them had. It hardly mattered, and if it was Teddy who’d tinkled on his boss, he didn’t think she’d hold it against him. After all, he had saved her life. Or at least saved her life so far. They were far from safe, were in fact in the middle of a fucking war zone. But neither of them had been shot yet, perhaps because neither party wanted them shot.
Check that, Teddy thought, burrowing his head deeper into the crook of Christina’s neck. The two groups—the feds behind them and Marvin’s in front of them—didn’t want Christina Blackwood to die, but he doubted very much either party would fuss much if Teddy got hit with a stray bullet. Oh, the feds weren’t aiming at Teddy necessarily, but one less divorced detective in the world wasn’t going to make anyone in the Bureau lose much sleep. As for Marvin’s men, shit. They’d love it if Teddy got killed. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if Marvin and that goddamned automatic happened to dip a little and send the top of Teddy’s head somersaulting through the air like a bottle cap. Marvin wanted Christina and he wanted her alone. The only other person he might keep alive on this island would be Ben Shadeland, and that was only because Shadeland had a little money too. He wasn’t as rich as Christina—he wasn’t even in the same zip code as Christina—but he had more money than a private detective, that was for damned sure.
Shouting voices from the gangsters, a returning shout from the feds. Teddy had only seen one agent back there, but more could be there now. Who the hell knew? His body was dizzy with adrenaline, and his ears rang like lunatic church bells. Teddy had to get Christina into his room. Hell, he had to get himself into his room.
A new voice joined the chorus of shouting, this one back there with Agent Morton. Teddy risked another look back and discovered, lo and behold, that Agent Castillo had finally shown up. Nice of you to make time for us! Teddy thought bitterly.
“Get them to safety,” Morton said to Castillo. “I’ll lay down cover.”
Castillo nodded, though he looked none too excited about jumping into the O.K. Corral this hallway had become. Castillo moved forward, hunched over, and as he did, Teddy saw that he was looking beyond Teddy, in the direction of Marvin and his henchman.
Teddy realized Marvin had stopped firing.
He glanced up at Marvin and saw the man was indeed waiting. It was as though in the middle of the firefight the two men—Castillo and Irvin—had decided to wage a staring contest. What they were waiting for Teddy had not the slightest clue. But the window to get Christina to safety wouldn’t be open much longer, of that much he was certain.
“C’mon,” he whispered. And drawing Christina to her feet, he lurched with her the final four strides to his door. It was ajar, thank God, and Teddy rammed it with his open left palm. The door banged open, and Teddy thrust them both through. On their heels came Troy Castillo with his arms around Elena Pedachenko, who was wincing in pain. When Teddy strode over to secure the door he understood why. She’d been shot in the left arm.
“You okay?” he asked her, knowing as he said it how stupid a question it was.
“What do you think?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Hey, I—”
“And where were you?” Elena shouted at Castillo.
“Shut up,” the agent muttered. “I need to hear what’s happening.”
The request was reasonable. But even in the dimness of the bedroom, Teddy could see Castillo’s evasive expression.
What are you hiding? Teddy wondered.
Then the shooting started anew.
Jessie lay on her stomach, her head ringing, her sweat pants bunched around her knees.
She had never been raped before, had never even had a man try to force a kiss on her. She knew such abhorrent things happened all the time—much more frequently than they were reported—but it was still a shock when she felt Nicky’s fingers slither between her legs.
She cla
mped her legs together instinctively, rolled onto her side and slapped at Nicky’s hands, but that only elicited laughter from him, made him plunge his fingers closer to her sex. With a cry of revulsion Jessie jerked her hips around with Nicky’s hand clamped between her legs. There was a dull popping sound from Nicky’s wrist.
Nicky yelled, “Fuck!”
She thought for a moment she could carry him all the way over with the force of her rotating legs, but his hand slipped free, and then he was on his knees next to her, clutching his injured wrist.
Teeth bared, he growled, “Stupid bitch.”
Jessie knew she should yank up her pants, but her anger mastered her. She lashed out with the hand nearest him and watched her fingernails rip bloody troughs up the side of his neck.
Nicky bellowed, clapped at his bleeding neck.
Jessie rolled over, pulled her pants up.
Nicky was on her instantly.
He tackled her, knocked her back toward the staircase and landed on her. His right hand was uninjured, and it was with this fist that he set to work, jabbing at her like a frenetic piston, some of the blows missing but too many landing on her cheeks, her chin. One caught her in the mouth and Jessie felt her bottom lip explode in a wet burst of heat.
Nicky hammered her face, grunting out curses as he did. “Stupid… fucking…cunt…” Another blow opened the skin at her temple, the pain immense despite how dazed she felt. “Gonna drill…” A jab. “…that sweet ass of yours…” A blow rattled her jawbone. “…gonna come inside you…” His fist slammed into her. “…then I’m gonna kill you.”
Jessie realized he was straddling her so his punching angle would be improved. He’d left himself exposed. She shot a knee between his legs.
It didn’t get him square in the nuts, but enough of her leg struck home that he doubled over in pain, which allowed her to shove him off, roll over and retrieve the first object her blurred vision could discern.
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