Taken - Before her very Eyes
Page 10
Chief Dickson glanced over at Summer who was frantically tapping her watch with her finger. He held up a hand to John Scott, stopping him just outside the door of the interrogation room. “Follow me. We’ll finalize the paperwork over here. This shouldn’t take too long.”
Ten more minutes was all he had to stall for then the reporters would do the rest, keeping John Scott busy with all their questions. Chief Dickson knew everything would fall apart if John Scott wasn’t close by when the kidnapper called to confirm his release.
They walked across the station, then down the short hall to the admissions counter where Chief Dickson disappeared through the door and met John Scott at the window opening. He knew exactly where John Scott’s belongings were, but he fumbled through the filing cabinet, digging through old log sheets and forms, pretending he was searching for his file.
After stalling for a few minutes, he turned back but John Scott wasn’t at the window anymore.
“Shit!” He grabbed the small pouch of belongings and ran around the corner and out into the hall, but John Scott was gone.
****
Nate didn’t know if he was doing the right thing or not, but he slid open the drawer marked with Summer’s name and stared at the newly issued badge and gun. She’d never worn either since the night John Scott had stripped her of her old ones. There was hatred bubbling inside at the mere thought of that fucker laying a hand on Summer and he would never forget the day he found her. The image of her small naked body, battered and bruised, covered with blood, clawing up the side of the weed choked ditch was enough to make him sick.
Summer never did anything to deserve what he’d done to her. The amount of physical damage was so massive that he didn’t think she’d survive for a single day. It had only been a matter of twenty-four hours that she’d been stolen away from him, desecrated, then left to die like a wounded animal on the side of the roadway.
Nate reached into the drawer, withdrew Summer’s service revolver and clip of ammunition. The cold steel felt good in his hand and he wondered if he should just walk into that interrogation room and sink every bullet into that fucker’s skull.
What did he have to lose? His wife left four years ago. Packed up, left in the middle of the night and moved across the country. The last he’d heard, she was shacked up with some other guy, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t be bothered to waste another thought on someone who’d left without saying goodbye. Besides, he had Summer as a partner. What else could he ask for? She was ten times prettier than Julie, and despite her tough exterior, he saw Summer for what she really was, a beautiful, caring woman who didn’t seem to realize just how captivating her appearance was. She knew she was a looker, but he doubted that she really understood exactly how she made him feel.
Even without any chance of a sexual relationship, he still counted himself lucky just to spend time with her.
Nate shook his head and tucked the gun in his ankle holster. He could get in a lot of trouble for this, but hell, he owed Summer so much more. He’d never forget that day he ran off into the woods after the hit and run driver, leaving Summer alone with John Scott. How could he ever forget? How could he have left her alone? Why did he always have to be the hero and capture the criminals? Why couldn’t he have stayed at the scene of the accident and let the other cops try to track the runner down?
Nate slammed the drawer shut and pounded his fist on the top of the cabinet. If only he’d stayed at the scene, he and Summer would be out patrolling the city like old times—And she wouldn’t be reminded about his failure every time her body shook.
Nate slipped into the adjoining room and opened his locker. He stood staring at the two photos clipped inside and felt the nagging, burning pain in his stomach intensify. He grabbed for the bottle of antacids and popped four in his mouth as his eyes darted between the two photos of Summer. There was one taken at the staff party where Summer looked like a supermodel posing for the camera, then the one taken for evidence, illustrating the massive damage that had been inflicted upon her body. Every time Nate looked at these pictures they reminded him of how much he’d let her down and how stupid he could be when he didn’t take the time to think.
Nate could hear the chief’s voice echoing down the hall and knew he was busy releasing John Scott while he stood there, reliving the nightmare that the bastard had caused. He glanced in the mirror and saw the puffy bags hanging from his eyes. He knew he looked like shit and owed it all to that guilty bastard. Nate tried to smile, hoping to look less like he was capable of ripping someone limb from limb, but it didn’t work. The effort it took to smile right now was just too much, so he let his frown lines live and headed for the door.
If the chief found out he’d retrieved Summer’s gun for her, he’d be strapped to the reception desk for the rest of his life, but when Summer asked, he didn’t have to think about it, he had no choice in the matter. He owed her a lot. More than he was capable of giving. Besides, a little reprimand would take his mind off the guilty feeling that has been eating at his stomach for the last five months.
Nate slammed the locker door, hearing footsteps out in the hallway. Everybody in the station knew about the pictures in his locker—everyone except Summer. How could he explain why he had those pictures posted in there? The guys let it go, thinking he was secretly in love with her, but how would she react? Nate knew exactly how she’d react. She would fly off the handle and rip them into tiny shreds and request never to be his partner ever again.
Stepping through the doorway, Nate tried to look happy for her sake, but it wasn’t Summer coming down the hallway heading toward the back exit. It was the cause of all his pain, heading straight toward him.
Seeing that bastard walking calmly down the hallway with no one else in sight ignited the furry inside. His body quivered with excitement at the thought of putting an end to all Summer’s pain. He could try, convict and sentence John Scott right here and now in this hallway and nobody would know what had really happened.
When Nate stepped from the doorway, into the middle of the hallway, blocking John Scott’s exit route, he thought he would see fear in the bastard’s eyes, but there was none. John Scott stopped in his tracks, waiting for Nate to move out of his way as if he owned the place.
Anything from John Scott would’ve been better. A scream. An attempt to run in the opposite direction. Hell, Nate had hoped for him to land a free shot to his chin, but there was nothing and that pissed him off even more. John Scott was acting like he was king shit and Nate was his toilet paper.
Nate lunged for his throat, gripped him by his shirt collar and paused a second to see if there was a small bit of regret in those blackened eyes for what he’d done five months ago, but they looked empty. As empty as a vampire’s soul.
“You son of a bitch!” Nate unleashed his furry with a blistering series of right hands to John Scott’s face. He landed each blow harder and harder, hoping to snap John Scott’s neck with each one. It felt so good, like nothing he could’ve ever imagined. He welcomed the pain in his fist and savoured each impact.
“Stop!” Chief Dickson grabbed his arm and only managed to slow the last blow before restraining Nate.
“He tried to escape,” Nate said, feeling his nostrils flaring so much that it was painful. “But I stopped him.”
John Scott stepped back and spit the mouthful of blood onto the white ceramic floor. “What the fuck is going on?” He turned to the chief. “You said I was free to go and that’s exactly what I was doing until he started pounding on me for no reason!”
“Oh, I’ve got a reason. A good reason!” Nate glared at John Scott who was standing behind Chief Dickson, just out of reach. “Her name’s Summer Demure. Officer Summer Demure.”
Chief Dickson wiped the smile from his face and turned to John Scott. “You’re not free to leave until the paperwork is completed. So next time you think about sneaking out the back door you’d better think twice, because there may be an angry friend from your past waitin
g to catch up on old times.”
Chief Dickson paused at the far corner and turned back to Nate. “Wait inside until this is over, understand?”
Nodding, Nate waited until they’d disappeared around the corner before he tucked his swollen hand under his other arm and bit back the scream of anger that needed to escape.
Chapter 11
Crippling pain exploded in Dean’s stomach as he struggled to pull the shirt over his head. He knew Gavin was standing right beside, but would never admit that he needed help getting dressed, even if it was from his own half brother.
“Sorry, man,” Gavin said, standing beside the closet, holding a few pairs of pants in his hands. “These are the smallest I’ve got. I guess you should’ve eaten all your fucking vegetables like I did.”
Dean poked Gavin in the stomach. “Don’t tell me that’s vegetables.”
“It’s a little of everything.” Gavin sucked in his stomach. “I guess after eight fucking years of eating prison crap I kinda went overboard on the treats.”
Dean ripped the top pair from his hands. “Give me the jeans. Even if they’re a little baggy, at least they won’t attract as much attention as these things.”
“That’s a fuck load of fucking blood you’ve spilled on yourself. Are you sure you shouldn’t be getting back to the hospital?”
Dean grinned. This was the first time he and Gavin have been this close in a long time. Ever since Gavin got hooked up with the wrong crowd, about ten years ago, their close relationship had slowly deteriorated until they never talked at all. “Now you’re starting to sound like mom.”
“Fuck you!” Gavin threw the other pair of pants at Dean then headed to the bedroom door and glanced at his watch. “Put your fucking makeup on and let’s get you the fuck down to the fucking police station and find out what those stupid fucks have found out.” He started down the hall and called back, “And hurry up! I’m not gonna wait all day.”
“Fuck this, fuck that,” Dean muttered as he slid the blood covered pants off. “Is that the only fucking word you know?”
He lifted his shirt and stood before the mirror, staring at the crusted, puckered seam that the doctor had stitched an inch above his belly button. It seemed so long ago that he’d been stabbed on the street corner, but as he glanced at the clock he realized that since Sabrina had been taken, his whole world had come to a crawling halt. Time seemed to be barely moving and he realized at that moment he’d been wasting his life, letting it race past without stopping to appreciate the important things.
How could he have been so stupid? How could he have thought that time apart would allow Summer to come to grips with what had happened? There was more to it, and it was all too clear now. He’d never forget the look in Summer’s eyes when she told him that Nate had found her crawling from that ditch. Dean shook his head, knowing that he’d been the one searching the city and countryside nonstop, praying that she’d be fine. Then lucky old Nate, Dean’s body tensed at the thought, had swooped in and become the hero—Summer’s hero.
“Why couldn’t it have been me? Why couldn’t I have been the one to find Summer?” Dean shook his head. He knew that if he’d been the one to find Summer, then her life now would be different. She’d still love him and wouldn’t be afraid of his touch.
Dean pulled on the fresh pair of pants and buttoned them hastily. “I’ll bet she doesn’t pull away from Nate, like she does me.”
“Come on, Dean,” Gavin yelled from downstairs. “Hurry the fuck up!”
Dean took one last look at his reflection in the mirror and agreed that his appearance did look better—at least his clothing did—but his face was still pale and shinny, looking dramatic against his dark head of curls.
He cinched up the belt and stuffed the gun in his waist band, beneath his shirt, grateful for the added insurance. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he noticed Gavin was waiting impatiently at the front door for him.
“You don’t have to come with me. Just drop me off at the office and I’ll take the company van down to the station.”
“Don’t be silly, Dean. What kind of brother would I be if I let you go off by yourself in this condition?” Gavin smiled and grabbed Dean’s arm, hurrying him to the car. “Besides, if Mother found out I let you go on your own looking like you might drop dead at any time, she’d kill me.”
“Don’t worry about her.” Dean grinned. “I’m the one with the gun.”
Gavin’s face hardened. “You’re bringing it with you? To the police station? Are you completely fucking mad!”
“What?” Dean pulled the prescription bottle from his front pocket and popped another pill in his mouth. “It’s not like I’m going to pull it out and start shooting everybody.”
Gavin ran around the car and climbed in. “You fucking better not!”
“What’s your problem?” Dean opened the passenger’s door and cautiously lowered himself inside. “You said your prints aren’t on the gun.”
“No, but if they confiscate it, they might just trace it back to some other job.”
“Like what? What else are you messed up in?”
“Nothing. I’m just saying, I got it from a friend, but I can’t guarantee that it’s completely clean. He’s usually pretty reliable, but I wouldn’t bet my life on it.” Gavin gave Dean a quick once over. “You on the other hand look like you could drop dead at any moment, so go ahead and bet. The odds aren’t that high.”
“Oh, thanks for the confidence.” Dean placed a hand over the wound and the warmth felt good. “The doctors did a good job patching me up. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
When Gavin turned down Wellington Street, heading toward the police station, Dean couldn’t believe the amount of vehicles around the station. There were media vans parked all throughout the parking lot and down the sides of the streets.
“That’s a lot of fucking press for a kidnapping,” Gavin said.
“Kidnapping, plus the jailing of John Scott. I guess they want to see that bastard locked away as much as I do.”
Gavin laughed. “You don’t get it, do you? Jail doesn’t do that fucker justice, not after what he’d put Summer through—and you.”
“Well, that’s all we have so it’s the best we can hope for.”
Gavin pulled to the edge of the road behind the Chanel 9 news van. “Yeah, too bad we don’t have the death penalty here, cause he’d be fried crispy in no time.”
Dean climbed from the car, careful not to strain his abdomen muscles and stood on the side of the road, beside the bridge. His eyes followed the winding water as it twisted and turned along the downtown until it disappeared in the distance, around the bend at the park.
He shivered, feeling the morning sun on his back and was glad that the rain had stopped. In his current weakened condition, the last thing he wanted was to be soaking wet.
“Come on, Dean.” Gavin glanced at his watch then crossed the road. “Let’s ask around and see what’s happening.”
The last Percocet he’d taken was beginning to kick in. His head was spinning and his legs felt like rubber as he struggled to keep up to Gavin, who seemed to be on a mission. He had almost caught up when he recognized Ike Turner, the local news reporter standing at the back of the crowd of reporters, giving a sound bite for the camera.
Dean turned and headed straight for him. If anybody knew what was going on around here, it’d be Ike. But Dean didn’t have to walk far. It seemed that Ike had recognized him, too, because he and his camera man were now racing across the parking lot toward him.
“Mr. Demure,” Ike said, jockeying for position before the camera. “I thought you would still be in the hospital.”
Dean forced a grin. “They let me out on good behaviour.”
“I heard you were stabbed only hours ago. Is this true?”
Dean nodded. “What’s going on here? Is all this because of Sabrina’s kidnapping?”
Ike looked slightly confused. “Yes, the kidnapping, but also the ran
som deadline is approaching and we’re waiting for John Scott to be released.”
“What the hell are you talking about!” Dean stumbled forward, grabbing Ike’s shoulder. “There’s a ransom for Sabrina?”
The outburst attracted the attention of the other reporters who, after a brief discussion, all must have decided that Dean’s story was worth filling in the time as they gathered their equipment and raced toward them.
“Yes. You haven’t heard?” Ike glared at the approaching competition. “Of course you haven’t. You’ve just come from surgery. How stupid could I be? The kidnapper left a ransom note demanding that John Scott be released at ten o’clock this morning. Now, if you’ll step into my van we can—”
Dean spotted Gavin talking to an officer beside the barricades and took off shoving his way through the sea of reporters as they inundated him with every question possible. But Dean couldn’t be bothered with their questions, for he had a question of his own swirling around in his mind. One that he needed answered right now.
“Gavin,” Dean grabbed him roughly by the shirt collar and pushed him through the two barricades, “did you know anything about the ransom to have that bastard released?”
The officer standing guard started to protest, then recognized Dean and stepped back, grabbing for his radio.
“How the fuck would I know something like that?” Gavin whispered.
Dean leaned in and lowered his voice. “Cause you already tried to have him killed.”
“Not killed.” Gavin broke free of Dean’s grip. “Just messed up.”
“How do I know you’re not in on this?”
“Because I wanna see the fucker pay his price, not walk away free.”
Dean wanted to believe him. He prayed that Gavin wasn’t involved in this mess, but the evidence was piling up and even he couldn’t look past all the coincidences.
“But why the hell would someone kidnap Sabrina just to get John Scott released from jail?” Dean muttered. “How the hell could they possibly plan to get away with it? Half the cops in the country will be on the lookout for them the minute Sabrina’s released—unless they don’t plan on releasing her.”