by Blake Pierce
Not Danielle.
Someone’s attacking me…
The second thought was what brought her fully to her senses. By then, though, whoever had slammed the door into her was falling down on top of her. She caught an elbow to the chest and the wind went rushing out of her. She then felt the full weight of her attacker on top of her. They both wrestled for position but the surprise of the attack and being pinned beneath his body put Chloe at a severe disadvantage.
As she tried her best to gain the advantage, he drove a knee hard into her hip. As she tried to slide away from that attack, she then felt an elbow slam into her side. Again, more wind went rushing out of her. As she gasped, she felt the weight of her attacker come off of her but the relief was minor and barely registered at all as she then felt a pair of vise-like hands wrap around her throat.
She was very much aware that the attacker knew what they were doing. The surprise element at the start, expertly pinning her down by lying on top of her, knocking the wind out of her before going for the throat. He had done this before—perhaps several times.
She could tell by the build and sheer strength that her attacker was male. His face was like stone, staring coldly at her as he strangled her. His blond hair was pulled back into a small ponytail which barely moved at all as he perched rigidly on top of her.
Chloe felt her body tensing up. She drew her arms up, trying to punch at the man. She tried throwing a hard palm strike directly upward into his chin but he was arched back just enough for the strike to miss—further proof that he was no stranger to what he was doing. She kicked her feet out, hoping to find something to rest her foot on to push herself…anything to move, to make the attacker have to move the slightest bit to maintain his position.
But there was nothing. Her feet kicked out at empty space, her right toe just barely striking one of her barstools. She tried pushing her elbows against the floor to force herself into a half-sitting position but when she did so, the attacker pressed down harder, making the movement hurt her elbows as she tried to push.
She felt something being pinched in her throat. Excruciating pain swept through it as she tried to draw in a breath. She saw little white dots in her vision as her lungs begged for air. She winced, fearing that the man might actually break her neck before he managed to strangle her.
She felt the fight rushing out of her. The pain in her neck was second only to the pain in her lungs, now desperate for air.
Then, somehow, miraculously, his grip around her neck was gone. At the same time, she was doused in something wet, in something that smelled bitter. She had no time to figure out what had happened, though; as soon as she realized she was free, she used her elbows to push away from him. It was easier than she had anticipated because he was slowly falling over away from her.
What the hell?
But then she saw what had happened. It might have been funny any other time but in that moment, it was all business.
Rhodes stood over the attacker. She held the neck of a wine bottle in her hand, dripping red wine. The rest of the bottle was littered over the floor and the attacker. Most of the wine had splattered to the floor, but a great deal of it was on the back of his head.
Common sense told her what had happened: Rhodes came over with a bottle of wine, probably trying to be a good friend during a time of weird emotions. Seeing what was going down on the kitchen floor, she had blasted the attacker over the back of the head with the bottle of wine.
But even as Chloe registered all of this, things changed drastically. Rhodes leaned down to place a restraint hold on the man but he was ready for it. When she tried latching her arm around his neck, he grabbed her arm, wrenched it, and curled himself into a hard ducking motion. The result was Rhodes flipping over his shoulder, directly in the wine and broken glass.
Chloe sat up and tried getting to her feet, but her body was not having it. Her lungs were still aching and her brain was still convinced that death was only a few moments away. The world swam in front of her eyes and she nearly pitched forward on her face when she tried to stand.
Meanwhile, the attacker was now dropping down on Rhodes. Only before he could land, Rhodes got a knee up. It threw him to the side just enough for Rhodes to roll away. But the man was incredibly fast. He came charging at her, nearly leaping.
Rhodes stopped him with a rapid kick to the face, a kick that came so quickly it was like watching a rabbit. The kick stunned the man for just a moment. As he shook it off and came at her again, Rhodes repeated the motion, this time throwing out two kicks with rapid speed. The first created a crunching noise that broke the man’s nose. The second sent a jettison of blood down the man’s face.
He roared and instantly retreated. Rhodes got up to give chase but the man threw an elbow behind him which caught her in the side of the head. Rhodes went stumbling backward, catching herself on the back of the couch. Chloe could see where some of the glass from the shattered wine bottle was bitten into her arm.
Chloe then watched as the attacker retreated through the door, taking a left to head back down the hallway. Chloe stumbled up to her knees, trying to use the couch as support.
“Chloe, where’s your gun?” Rhodes said. “I don’t have mine.”
“Bedroom. Dresser…”
She managed to finally rise up to her feet, wobbling against the couch. By the time she regained some semblance of strength and balance, Rhodes had retrieved the Glock from its place in her bedroom and started rushing for the front door. Chloe wanted to call out to her but the two words she had just spoken felt like it had torn her sore throat into shreds.
She could only watch, slowly regaining her breath and her strength as Rhodes raced out the door, headed in the same direction as the man who had nearly killed Chloe less than a minute ago.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Several second after Rhodes left in pursuit of the blond man with the ponytail, Chloe scrambled over to the kitchen counter. She grabbed her phone and called Assistant Director Garcia, knowing full well she stood a better chance of getting him on the phone than she did Johnson. Garcia did answer, and right away. Chloe did her best to get the words out, her throat still aching terribly.
“I was attacked. Rhodes is in pursuit on foot. My apartment building…”
She simply could not get any more words out. She ended the call, confident that Garcia would send someone over to assist.
In the meantime, Chloe could not just allow Rhodes to risk her life for her. She knew it was a bad idea, but she went racing out the door and broke off in the same direction Rhodes and her assailant had headed. With each step, her legs seemed to get a bit braver and her brain started to realize that it was indeed alive and there was a job to get done.
She could hear footfalls ahead of her, from the stairway. The sound of it sent a jolt of adrenaline through her and her legs were much more trustworthy as she came to the stairs. She hurried down them as quickly as she could. As she made it halfway down, she heard Rhodes yell out from what sounded like the lobby: “FBI, move to the side!”
Chloe instinctually reached for her sidearm, realizing stupidly that it wasn’t there; she had told Rhodes to take it.
She came to the bottom of the stairs, her lungs aching as a reminder of what they had endured less than three minutes ago. She allowed herself just a moment to rest. She saw a woman and her child, no older than ten, down on the lobby floor and pressed against the wall—presumably the people Rhodes had yelled at second ago. Chloe then looked ahead, through the building’s glass doors. Outside, night had just started to fall, but she could clearly see Rhodes crossing the street, the gun still drawn.
Chloe went out after her but by the time she reached the sidewalk, Rhodes was out of view. Chloe ran in the direction she had last seen her, ignoring the traffic and the few pedestrians who looked around wildly, having noticed that something dangerous was afoot. It was because of these people that Chloe was able to understand where Rhodes and her assailant had gone. Halfway down the bl
ock across from her street, a small alley cut between a Chinese restaurant and a small overpriced antiques store. Chloe ran for the alleyway, her legs now working to their maximum, but her lungs still struggling.
As she rounded the corner and entered the alley she saw that the attacker had somehow gotten the drop on Rhodes. They were fighting against the side of the antiques store, Rhodes pinned to it while the attacker drove a hard right fist into her stomach. Chloe watched as Rhodes buckled. When she did, the attacker grabbed her right wrist and twisted it hard, trying to get her to drop the gun.
Sure enough, she did. The moment it clattered to the ground, the man punched Rhodes in the face. She stumbled a bit to the right, managing to keep herself upright against the wall. As the man reached for the gun, his back slightly turned to Chloe, Chloe took off at a full sprint. She felt like she was having to work for each breath she drew in but she barreled on anyway.
The attacker sensed her coming when she was about ten feet away. He had not yet come up with the Glock; he was still slightly bent over and peering back at her. He hurried a bit but being distracted by Chloe made him momentarily lose the grip on the Glock.
That was the window of opportunity she needed. She dove for him, faking a high strike but switching at the last moment. Her shoulders collided with his legs, just below the knees. He went down in a heap, right on top of her. He fought for purchase, trying to strike her in the back, but it was poorly aimed, thrown in haste, and barely grazed her side.
In the tangle of arms and legs, Chloe spotted her Glock, lying about five feet away. She scrambled for it, her hand gripping it just as the man brought a hard knee down on her back.
Chloe screamed out in pain, waiting for another blow, but it never came. Instead, Rhodes locked the man in a headlock from behind, wrapping her arm around his neck and trying to drag him to the ground. Like Chloe before her, though, Rhodes was not prepared for the man’s brute strength. With one hard lunge, he backed into the wall of the Chinese restaurant, smashing Rhodes. Chloe could hear the back of her partner’s head slam into the brick. She lost her grip on the man’s neck and he wheeled around to catch her. He grabbed her by the hair and drew her head back as she tried to get back to her feet.
He’s going to smash her skull against the brick, Chloe thought.
It was a thought that made her next option a clear one. There might be repercussions later, but so be it.
Before the man could shove Rhodes’s head forward, Chloe drew up the Glock, took aim, and fired. The shot took him in the side of the head, rocking his body from the chest up hard to the right. From such close range, Chloe also saw the results of the bullet’s exit but looked away quickly.
She kept the gun pointed at his fallen body, but it was clear that he was not getting up. She looked over at Rhodes. Some of the man’s blood was splattered across her forehead and her eyes were wide with shock. She got to her feet slowly, leaning against the wall and looking at the fallen man.
“Who is it?” Rhodes asked.
“Don’t know,” Chloe said. The words seemed even harder to squeeze out now. But in her head, she guessed it was someone who worked for Alejos. Perhaps even the man who had killed Jessie Fairchild.
She looked at his blond ponytail, now stained with blood, and it started to slowly click into place.
But when she heard sirens in the distance—likely the cavalry sent by Garcia—she stopped trying to piece it altogether. She lay on the ground, her eyes locked on Rhodes, and listened to the sirens draw closer.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Roughly three hours after Chloe had put a bullet into the head of the man who had attacked her in her apartment, Julio Alejos put in a request to speak with Chloe. Though she was up for it and wanted answers, Johnson ordered her to reject it. Besides, it was hard to accept such a request when she was being treated and tended to in the hospital.
As it turned out, she had been incredibly lucky. She had a massive bruise on her back and multiple bruises still forming and changing colors on her neck. There had been several X-rays and tests done, but nothing had been broken. Her windpipe showed signs of stress but it had not been majorly damaged. The doctors had asked her to lay off on overblown talking for the next few days, and she was fine with that.
She was awaiting results on the final test for her throat when there was a knock at the door. She looked to the doorway and was surprised to see Director Johnson standing there.
“I hear you might be out of here pretty soon,” he said.
She nodded. She pointed to her throat, then to her mouth, and shook her head.
“Yeah, I know you’re not supposed to talk. The doctors already told me.”
She nodded and then managed to get out a single word: “Rhodes?”
“I think she got it worse than you. A nasty bump on her head, a mild concussion, and seven stitches for a cut on her arm. She says she brought the wine to your place because she was trying to cheer you up. Everything okay?”
Chloe only shrugged.
“Well, I come bringing some decent news. Once we told Alejos that you had been attacked and that the attacker ended up getting killed, he was a little more open to talking. I think that’s why he asked for you. He was a little more forthcoming. The forensics results helped, too.”
Chloe tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. “Forensics?”
“They took a hair sample from the attacker…whose name was Deacon Galimore, by the way. He had a long history of drug trafficking in New York and was a known friend of Alejos. Mitchell Beck, too, it seems. Anyway, Alejos says Mark Fairchild got greedy…tried to blackmail some of Alejos’s men and embezzle some of their money. Apparently, he was successful. Alejos says it was a matter of about five hundred grand or so. And apparently, five hundred grand buys a dead wife. Julio admitted to sending Galimore to kill Jessie Fairchild…a way to get back at Mark. Retribution or whatever. Anyway…the hair samples from Galimore match the ones you found at the crime scene.”
“So what happens to—” she started.
“Stop talking,” Johnson interrupted. “He has asked for a few more hours to stew in it. He’s trying to make a deal…information on his cartel in exchange for enough information to not only find Mitchell Beck, but to put him away for good. He says Beck is behind a string of unsolved murders from ten years back and that he’s also got his hands in a human trafficking ring. Alejos says there are a lot of public figures—politicians and entertainers—linked to Beck. It could be very big…which is why Alejos might get whatever deal he asks for.”
Chloe rolled her eyes.
“I agree. Anyway…whatever he decides, whatever deal is struck, the Jessie Fairchild case is closed. Right now, we’re just trying to nail down the convictions for Mark Fairchild and Alejos. You did some great work, Agent Fine. Rhodes said you basically saved her life. You know…that’ll be the second time, right?”
“Who’s counting?”
“I’m pretty sure Rhodes is.”
With that, Johnson gave her a smile and headed back out. Chloe watched him go, trying to find some happiness in the update he had just given her. Jessie’s killer had been found and taken care of. Mark would be facing some time for his involvement, and she and Rhodes had not only helped to start the dissolution of a huge drug cartel, but also played a hand in what could lead to the exposure of a highly sought after professional criminal in Mitchell Beck.
Yes, it all sounded good and she figured at some point, she’d soak it all up and manage to be proud.
But her mind was already turning back to Danielle. She still wasn’t answering her phone, and with every hour that passed, Chloe became more and more worried about her.
She also could not help but think of her father. Somewhere ahead, there was a very rough moment for the three of them. Maybe once that was over and done with, Chloe would be able to resume her normal life, could work on violent cases without her judgment being clouded by her own drama.
But until that day came, she had to
own it and not let it ruin her in the process.
EPILOGUE
At 1:15 in the morning, while her sister was being discharged from a Washington, DC, hospital, Danielle Fine crossed the Oklahoma/Texas state line. She was tired and hungry, but she knew she could not stop.
Her father had been making noises in the trunk for the last hour or so. She had turned up her music, some loud and abrasive stuff from her teenage years, to drown it out. It had worked, and she had allowed herself to drive in a sort of hypnotic state as the night lured her on.
She knew she’d have to stop for gas soon. And that was fine…she’d pull off onto some little two-lane stretch of nothing and fill up at a convenience store in a no-name town. There would be less traffic and far less chance of anyone hearing the whining and complaining of the man in her trunk. She’d stopped in Tennessee and taped his mouth shut. She’d also reinforced the duct tape along the edges of the quilt. She’d thought about giving him water, but in the end decided fuck it. He could go without.
And now he was moaning again, through the tape. She could hear it even through the brazen bass drum of the industrial music that flooded the car.
She turned down the music and waited a moment.
“Dad, can you hear me?”
There was no response from the trunk. She slammed on the brakes, stopping in the middle of the two-lane. There was no traffic coming from either direction, allowing her to be a bit reckless. Of course, she stayed her course in terms of the speed limit. It would be terrible to be pulled over by the police, given what she was carrying in the trunk.
The jostling noise in the back from slamming on the brakes made her smile. “I said, can you hear me?”
This time, she got a slight response.