by Cait Jarrod
“Stop just before the clearing,” Celine panted, pointing to a patch of grass a little ways ahead of them.
Charlene slowed, dragged her hand on a tree, and stopped. Panting breaths escaped her on a wheeze.
“Jeez,” Celine stepped onto the patch of grass and rested her palms on her knees, dragging in air. “I don’t know which hurts more, my feet or lungs.”
Celine sat on the ground and examined her blackened feet. “I bet I have shit all over me.”
“At least it’s not covering half of your face and body.”
Celine snorted. “There is that.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Sounds of motors, nearing, pounded adrenaline through her system again. Charlene yelled, “Go!”
They rushed from the clearing into the thicket of woods, leaves and sticks crunching under their feet. Charlene glanced over her shoulder, caught a glimpse of the field, and changed directions to go deeper into the woods.
“Ouch!” Celine hopped on one foot in the mixture of dead leaves and pine needles before bracing a hand against a tree and examining the bottom of her foot. “I have a freaking thorn.”
“Get it out!”
“I’m trying,” Celine snapped, pinching the skin on her foot together. “I can’t. Grab it!”
Charlene scanned Celine’s black feet and zoomed in on the spot between her fingers. A small briar stuck out.
The engines quieted.
“Hurry!” Celine ordered.
Charlene pinched the intrusive object between her fingernails and yanked.
“There they are. Behind the trees.” Roach’s voice boomed.
Blood rushed through her ears, matching the pace of her heart, and the speed of her feet. She forged ahead, listening to Celine crunching leaves behind her.
She rushed by a tree, hit a barbed wire fence, and flew backwards into Celine, knocking them both to the ground.
“Enough,” a deep, raspy voice ordered, his tone frosty as his face.
A toothless man, eyes black as tar glared at them. A bandana hung around his neck, and the all-telling Impalers cap on his head. “On your feet!” With the barrel of his gun, he motioned for them to move.
“Monk.” Albert approached, gasping and holding his stomach, eyes wide. “You got them.”
Roach appeared, panting. Sweat tripped off his ashen forehead.
“Take them to the pits!” Monk barked, his eyes narrowing into angry slashes.
“Oh, shit,” Celine said.
The day on the mountains slammed into Charlene. Fear like no other raced through her, stopping her heart. She gasped for air and came up empty. The ground and trees warped. Everything went black.
****
“Damn.” Larry tossed his cell onto the console of his Suburban next to the two jewelry boxes he planned to give Charlene tonight. He hoped she was ready to move forward as much as he was.
Jake sat in the passenger seat, calling Quigley.
“Charlene’s still not answering” Larry said.
Jake glanced at his watch. “She’s probably spending the day with Henry.”
Larry propped his elbow on the driver’s door and rubbed his jaw. Jake had a point. Charlene didn’t spend much time with Henry yesterday and probably wanted to make it up to him today. Still, a niggling feeling stayed in the back of his mind that something was wrong.
“Thanks, Quigley,” Jake said, capturing Larry’s attention. He’d missed their conversation.
“Can they make it?”
“Yep. Quigley’s calling Jackson. By the time we get to Greenwood Manor, we’ll have eyes in the sky and boots on the ground.” Jake raked a hand through his hair, tension and anger radiating off him. “Wish Steve was here. We could use the backup.”
“Me, too.” Missing the third man in their team, a team that could predict each other’s next move and thoughts, was tough on cases that hit so close to home.
Larry snatched his ringing phone. “Charlene!”
“Benny, it’s me, Mom.”
He ignored the worry of regret that Charlene wasn’t on the other end of the line and focused on Doris. “I’m kind of in the middle of something. What’s up?” he asked, waiting to hear her say, “I need help.”
“I won’t keep you.”
Larry’s eyebrows shot up and his hand tightened on the wheel. Something was seriously wrong. “Mom, what is it?” He couldn’t stop his worry from invading the tone of his words.
“Let’s just say, I’m taking you up on your offer. I found your hide-a-key and settled in to your guest bedroom. This is temporary. I will find a job and my own place. I’ll start looking tomorrow.”
His mother’s overzealous tone of voice was icing on the cake. She’d stepped over the imaginary line from accepting abuse to saying no more and healing. Overwhelmed with joy and pride, Larry’s head tipped back and he chuckled. “You can stay with me as long as you want.”
“Thanks, son.”
“Welcome home, Mom.” Larry disconnected and gazed at the country road. “Mom finally left.”
“Good to hear,” Jake said, sounding relieved. “I worry about her.”
Larry knew the feeling. Many nights, he stayed awake, trying to figure out what to do to help. One problem solved, yet he stared in the face of another, one he was afraid that was more menacing.
From that moment until they reached the abandoned road, not far from Greenwood Manor, Larry’s mind jumped. When he didn’t focus on Charlene and why she didn’t answer, he fixated on Mathews and the Black Scorpions. They were loose cannons. It was anyone’s guess what they’d do next.
A half hour later, Larry parked on the side of a dirt road, leading to a pond, and climbed out of the car. Squinting against the afternoon sun, he opened the back doors and grabbed two fishing poles. He propped them against the side of the car for a decoy, masking the real reason they were there, and reached for the artillery.
Jackson approached, parking his Camaro on the opposite side of the road, near the intersection. He and Quigley popped out of the car, wearing all black like him and Jake, and lifted the hood, making out that they had car trouble.
“Team two going in,” Quigley said over the radio, transmitting to Larry, Jake’s, and Jackson’s earpieces.
“Roger that,” Jake said, snatching his equipment from the backseat.
Larry shoved his backup weapon into his ankle holster and caught movement slithering up behind him. “Take cover,” he ordered, picking up a fishing rod to pretend he was checking the line.
Quigley and Jackson bent over the engine and looked under the hood.
Jake stood on the side of the Suburban, his body between the road and the trees, his gun drawn. A moment later, he exhaled. “Stand down. Jogger.”
Larry returned the fishing rod to the side of his Suburban and glanced over his shoulder. A woman disappeared around the corner in the opposite direction from the manor.
“It’s a go.” Larry slipped his night vision goggles onto his forehead, closed and locked the Suburban.
Quigley and Jackson climbed the gate and rushed toward the front corner of the field.
Larry and Jake sneaked across the road, slid between the strands of barbed wire, and made their way through the woods, leaves crunched under their booted feet.
Not seeing anyone near the location Hulk gave for the underground bunker, Larry said, “Team one heading toward the target.”
“Copy that. Meet at rendezvous,” Jackson replied.
Jake and Larry moved farther into the woods, jumped a gully, and moved toward the field.
“Found it,” Jackson said in the earpiece.
Through the woods, Larry could see Jackson and Quigley in the open field flat on their stomachs this side of the tree line from the traps and snakes.
“On the way,” Larry replied. He and Jake jumped the three-foot wide creek, maneuvered through rough terrain, and jogged toward Quigley and Jackson, staying low to the ground.
When they approac
hed, Jackson moved to a crouching position, gripped the handle to the bunker door flushed to the ground, and held up three fingers.
Larry lowered his night goggles, drew his gun, and gave a single nod.
Quigley and Jake followed suit.
Jackson lowered one finger at a time and lifted the door backwards on its hinges.
On high alert, Larry examined the entrance and climbed down a ladder into an underground room. Marijuana mixed with an earthy scent accosted his senses.
Jake descended next.
Larry swept his gaze and gun over the room. Dirt covered the floor, and boards shored up the walls and ceiling. An empty six by six table sat in the center of a twenty by thirty room; grow lights suspended from the ceiling, water hoses stuck out of the walls.
“Empty.” Jake stuck his gun in the back of his jeans’ waistband.
“All clear,” Larry said in his earpiece. Not surprised, but still, he expected to find a clue.
Quigley slinked down the ladder and scan the room. “Someone’s here. I smell him.”
Larry narrowed his eyes and shot Jake an inquisitive glance.
“I have my own personal hound dog,” Jake said. “Watch him work.”
“There’s another room.” Quigley ran his hands over a wall. “Search the wall for some sort of lever.”
Larry slid his fingers over the board next to him, grazed a raised object, and pushed it.
The wall scraped open. Larry shined the light into the dark room and motioned he’d take the lead.
Quigley and Jake stood on either side of the entrance, guns drawn.
With his weapon out in front of him, he entered the six by six room and fixed his gaze on a man sitting in the corner, his back to Larry. Hands and ankles bound.
Larry did a quick swipe of the rest of the room, then holstered his gun, and walked around to face the gagged captive.
Jake and Quigley joined him. A momentary shock silenced the room.
Smith, A.K.A. Mathews, was the last person Larry expected to see as a prisoner.
“I have a warrant for your arrest,” Jake said, tugging down the gag.
Smith’s flat brown eyes landed on Larry and widened. “You’re the agent Charlene’s screwing…”
A wild feeling engulfed Larry, forcing reckless anger to boil his blood. He drew his fist back and punched Smith in the jaw. The force knocked him and the chair to the dirt floor, and a cloud of dust rose.
Quigley and Jake righted Smith’s chair.
“Want to make another stupid comment?” Jake asked.
“F-u-ck! I had enough,” Smith mumbled.
Larry studied Andrew. Besides the bloody lip he gave him, he was black and blue. “Did you run your face into someone’s fist?”
“They have Charlene.”
Larry stiffened. He despised this asshole saying her name. “They have who?”
“They have her and some blonde chick.”
Larry’s heart jackhammered against his chest.
“What did he say?” Jackson’s deep voice boomed from above.”
“I planned to fight them,” Smith said.
“I don’t want to know about you, asswipe,” Jackson snarled, coming into the room. “Who do they have?”
“Whatever, man. Like I said, they have Charlene and some Barbie-looking dame. Can you untie me?”
“No,” they said in unison.
“I told him my wife was here to see me, nothing more, but he wouldn’t listen. He called me a traitor and stuck me in here,” Smith rambled.
Larry swallowed hard, trying to gain moisture to his sudden dry throat. “Charlene’s here?”
“Yes, you fuckwit. Haven’t you been listening?”
Larry drew his fist backwards.
“Don’t! We need him awake to talk,” Jake’s gaze warned Larry not to get emotional.
Larry sent him a silent okay and turned to Smith. “Where are Charlene and Celine?”
“I don’t know. Lavender’s crew picked the women up on Monk’s orders. I don’t know where they went.”
Quigley crossed his arms over his chest and jutted his chin toward Smith. “Who clobbered you?”
“Monk.” Andrew squirmed. “He said I set him up.”
Larry paced, feeling like a caged lion. Logically, he knew questions needed asking but his skin crawled from not searching.
“Did you?” Jake asked. “Did you set up Monk?”
Andrew nailed Jake with a glare. “Money talks. I needed some. The Black Scorpions could give me what I wanted and I have what…”
“You have what?” Larry asked, his gut instinct sending out warning flares.
With a snarl, Smith met Larry’s stern gaze. “You stole Charlene from me.”
“You lost her on your own.” Larry braced his hands on the arms of the chair. “What do you have?”
Smith sneered. “It’s too late. The plan is in motion. You know what’s even funnier and I couldn’t have orchestrated it better if I wanted to? Monk, the timid guy who never wanted to hurt a flea, is the brother of a Black Scorpion.” Andrew laughed, unfeeling. “I would hand over the FBI agent who killed the leader—”
Jake growled and lunged forward.
Larry flung his arm out, hitting Jake across the chest.
At the same time, Quigley clutched Jake’s shoulders from behind. “He’s not worth it.”
Jake shook Quigley off and walked over to the far wall and propped his shoulder against it, anger vibrating off him.
Smith chuckled.
“Don’t toy with me,” Larry said, seeing red. “You’re in no position for smugness.”
“Let me take a whack at this,” Quigley said, patting Larry’s shoulder, and pivoted toward Smith. “Did you shoot at The Memory Café?”
“Yep,” Smith said, eyeing Larry. “An eye for an eye. You shot Randy, a guy who never harmed anyone.”
“I’m the one asking the questions,” Quigley said, a hard edge to his tone. “Eyes on me. Who were the guys on the motorcycles?”
Smith lifted a shoulder. “What guys?”
“The ones that followed you,” Larry snapped.
“Were they Black Scorpions?” Jake growled.
“I haven’t a clue.”
Jackson stepped forward. “If Millstone’s so decent, why is he a friend of yours?”
For a beat of time, Smith didn’t say a word, just studied Jackson.
The amount of information Smith had willingly given them thus far surprised Larry. He expected some fist action to get the man to talk. With Smith staying quiet, maybe he was at his limit for playing nice. Larry would wait a few more minutes before relieving the stress that ran rampant through his system. In the same room with Smith, Larry’s nerves wanted to fight each other.
Smith cleared his throat. “I saved his ass when he rolled a car he was too young to drive. If I hadn’t pulled him out, he would have caught on fire with the car he wrecked.”
Larry had to admit, it was civilized of Smith, if what he said was the truth. “Back to my question, what was your deal?”
“I get the manor’s operation, clout, and the Black Scorpions’ acceptance, and most importantly,” he squared his shoulders as best as someone could while sitting in a chair with their hands tied behind their back, “I’d get Charlene back. She and I had one last roll for old time’s sake this morning. I appreciated you keeping the bed nice and warm. I didn’t have to do any work.”
Anger that had been holding at a boil bubbled into a full out fire. Larry saw red. He struck Andrew in the jaw. The hell Andrew put Charlene through tumbled through his mind. Larry’s fist connected with Andrew’s eye.
Andrew and the chair fell to the ground, blood spewed from his mouth.
“Whoa!” Jackson gripped the back of Larry’s shirt. “Stop, man!”
Ready to nail the son of bitch in the nose, Larry shrugged Jackson off and drew his arm back.
Jake caught the blow in his open palm. “Larry!”
He snapped fro
m blind fury and gazed at his friend.
“Get out.” Jackson pointed to the stairs.
Larry bolted up the ladder to fresh air. Way too much emotion battled around in his mind. If he had any hope of saving Charlene, he had to get a grip.
Jake approached. “Are you all right?”
Larry’s temper had him blowing out steam. He walked a few feet, placed his hands on his hips, and gazed at the mountains, releasing another breath. He prayed Smith was full of shit. That he hadn’t touched Charlene.
Larry ground his teeth, the only way Smith could have—his face flushed and the pulse in his neck thumped.
“Man, don’t let your thoughts go there. Nothing happened. He’s trying to rile you up,” Jake warned.
—was to force Charlene. Rage spurred Larry into action. He raced to the bunker.
Jackson came up the ladder, shoved a hand into Larry’s chest. “Don’t!”
Larry drew back.
Jackson held his ground. “I’m not your enemy. Cool your jets before this situation turns from bad to dire.”
Damn, Larry wanted to cold cock someone. He’d rather hit Smith, but with the uncontrolled anger flowing through him, he didn’t care who was the target as long as he could unleash it. That in itself wasn’t a good idea. He forced himself to take a calming breath and uncurled his hands. “I’m all right.”
Quigley slammed the door shut.
Larry backed away from Jackson. “That fucking piece of shit could rot in the hole as far as I’m concerned.”
Jake smacked Larry on the arm “I think he’s already made his death bed.”
“Abort mission, abort!”
A male voice blasted Larry’s eardrums. He pressed a hand against his earpiece. “What the hell?”
“Scorpions, twelve o’clock.”
Jake’s eyes shot toward the sky. A helicopter hovered above. “Paul?”
“Get the fuck out of there!” Paul yelled back. “You’re sitting ducks.”
Larry drew his gun and pointed it toward the house. On the other side of the tree line and the snake pits, a fence presented barrier for the motorcycles maneuvering around before they could reach them. Still, it’d only take a second for the bikes to blast through the metal gate.
“Fuck a duck!” Quigley yelled.
“Take cover!” Jackson shouted.