by Nancy Bush
“Did you push her?” she asked.
Luke glanced at her, arrested by her calm tone. She was looking at Blake.
He pointed both hands at his chest in a who-me? gesture.
Brian said, “She’s a drinker, Peg. Don’t listen to Denton. His partner tried to frame us and he damn well should be going to prison for it, but you know, you can’t fight the cops.”
“Did you push her?” she asked Blake again.
“Hell no.” Blake’s brows slammed together. “Fuck it, Brian. We’re outta here.”
“She said she wanted to sell,” Brian responded evenly. “Was that a lie, Peg? Did you just want to get Blake over here so you could fuck?”
“Shut up,” Luke snarled.
Peg took a step back into the kitchen and returned holding a gun.
“What the—?” Brian started.
“Whoa, whoa.” Blake put his hands up.
Blam! Blam!
“Stop! Stop!” Luke yelled as both brothers scrambled for their lives. He saw Blake go down and Brian reach behind himself for a gun.
“Wait!” Luke screamed, scrabbling for his sidearm as he threw himself toward Brian.
Blam!
Blam!
Luke fell into Brian with a thud and both men went down. Luke grabbed Brian’s arm and smashed the gun from his hand. But Brian didn’t resist. He looked at Luke with dazed eyes. “She shot me.”
Luke leaped up, gun in hand. He kicked Brian’s gun across the room. Blake was down. Eyes open. A bullet wound in the left side of his forehead. He whipped around and saw Peg still standing, the gun down at her side. It slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor.
She whispered, “Did I kill him? Blake? Did I kill him?”
“Peg, come here.” Luke put his arm around her and guided her to a kitchen chair. Brian was groaning on the floor. Darker color was staining the front of his dark sweatshirt. He’d been shot in the chest.
“I need to call nine-one-one,” Luke told her.
“Yes.” She looked down at her side. Blood was turning the pink bathrobe crimson.
“Oh, Peg.” Luke reached for his phone, stabbing in the numbers.
“It was worth it, you know. They killed Ted and they were never going to pay for it. Your partner tried to get them, but he couldn’t.”
“Nine-one-one. What is the nature of your emergency?”
“The doctors told me I had six months on the outside,” Peg went on. “I’ve about used that up, so I decided it was time to make them pay.”
“There’s been a shooting,” Luke said, his voice catching. “Three people down.”
Peg patted his arm. “It’s going to be okay now. . . .”
* * *
“We would like you to move to the waiting room,” the nurse said to Andi and Ben, who’d already been moved to the hall.
“What if she wakes up?” Ben asked. “I want to be here.”
“I’ll send the doctor on call to talk to you,” she said firmly.
Andi and Ben went down to the main floor. They stood in the reception area for ten minutes, but no doctor arrived. “They’re not going to let us back in there tonight,” Ben said angrily.
“They might,” Andi responded, but she was beginning to feel tired and was seriously considering going to Luke’s apartment. She thought about calling him but decided to wait till she was on her way.
“Guess I’ll go home for a while,” Ben said. “Get something to eat. Nothing else to do around here.” He pushed against the bar for one of the double glass doors. “You coming?”
“Might as well. I’ll come back in the morning.”
He nodded, then added, “You came with Denton, right?”
“Yes, but I can take Uber.”
“I can give you a lift. You going back to the cabin?”
She looked at Ben. “I’m still deciding,” she demurred.
“What’s to decide?”
“I don’t know.”
They looked at each other for long moments. Andi’s pulse began to pound, slow and hard. Ben had been nothing but loving toward his wife, but they just had his word that he’d taken the elevator and waited around for her, not knowing she’d used the stairs.
He said casually, “No one wants to hear what I think about the Carreras, but I don’t think it’s such a bad idea doing business with them. They’ve always made money.”
“They skate around the law,” Andi said.
“Everyone acts like they’re criminals. What they are is businessmen who know how to run profitable businesses. I know you and Emma are against them, but Carter seems to think they’re okay.”
“They’re not okay,” she said, reaching for her phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling Uber.”
“I said I’d give you a ride.” His voice was rising with anger.
“I don’t need one, thank you.”
She walked away from him, down a covered walk that divided the parking lot. She saw him slap the air at her in a huff and stomp toward his car. Her Uber app told her a car would reach her in seven minutes. Good.
Her phone buzzed with an incoming text.
Ambulance here. Shoot out. Peg and Carreras injured. Will call soon.
“Holy God.” She stared at the screen in shock. She wanted to call him. Knew she should wait for his call.
“Hey,” a male voice growled near her ear.
She jumped in fear. She hadn’t heard him approach.
“Don’t move or I’ll shoot,” he said in a gravelly voice she was sure was deliberately disguised. Something hard was pressed to the small of her back.
She wasn’t going to be taken hostage. She would take the risk.
But he seemed to outguess her because as she jumped forward, half-expecting the shot, he took back the gun and slammed it against the side of her head. Pain exploded inside her skull. She staggered and went down on one knee and he dragged her to a nearby car. A dark Ford sedan. She twisted to try to see the license plate, but he had her in the passenger seat too fast.
He wore a hoodie, a ski mask, and gloves. His lips were curved in a cold smile.
“Won’t be needing this,” he said and yanked her cell from her hand, tossing it into the bushes. Andi flung herself upward and then she was hit with a bolt of electricity that made the world disappear for a few seconds.
Tased, she thought, when she could arrange her thoughts again.
He’d zip-tied her hands and feet, buckled her into the seat, then circled the car to the driver’s seat.
She focused on what she could see of his face. The laughing mouth . . . those eyes . . .
Not Ben . . . Carter . . .
“Hello, little bird,” he purred, then lifted her limp head so he could rim her lips possessively with his tongue.
Chapter Twenty-Five
She nearly retched.
Carter was behind all of it.
Her stomach turned inside out at the thought of his disgusting kiss, if that’s what you could call it.
This can’t be happening, Andi thought wildly, her body still shaking, her brain rattling in her skull as she twitched in the seat of the unfamiliar car, and he stood in the open doorway, light from the interior spilling into the darkened parking lot. He was in silhouette for a second as she glanced at him. Dear God, did he have an erection?
Another surge of nausea washed over her and she wished she could leap to her feet, kick him in his nuts, and turn his own weapon on him.
She found it nearly impossible to believe that he had orchestrated it all: the threats, the misdirections, the “accidents,” and the cold-blooded murders.
Traitor. Killer. Freak. And pure, raw evil.
Pain surged through her. Her nerves didn’t seem connected to her mind, her arms and legs trembling wildly within her bonds. She wanted to fight, to scream, but even she couldn’t get out words that made any sense. The world was spinning, her eyes unable to focus on anything. Through the dirty windshield
the sky collided with the ground, then spun. Still, she caught a glimpse of the eyes staring smugly from behind his mask. She’d trusted him. Thought of him as family. Never would have believed he was the mastermind behind the terror she’d come to know. Or was that just a lie she was telling herself now? She’d always kept him at arm’s length, hadn’t she? She’d sensed he wasn’t completely on the up-and-up.
But a stone-cold murderer?
How had she missed it? And how could she escape and warn the world, turn the tables on this cruel, perverted bastard? She shivered, as much from fear as the effects of the Taser.
Help me. Please, God, someone help me.
She thought of Luke and his last strange, chilling message: shootout here.
Was he injured? Who had been shot? Why? Did it have anything to do with Carter? The images in her mind swam and ran together, but if she could only reach Luke . . . kiss him . . . touch him . . . love him . . .
She blinked. Realized she was fading out. But she refused to fall victim to the blackouts that had once snuck up on her. She blinked. Tried to focus. Luke would be all right. He had to be.
Pain made it impossible to struggle, her muscles refusing to obey her mind’s commands. She attempted to break free, somehow escape, but her body was still twitching and jolting.
“Don’t,” he warned. “I will kill you. If you scream, or so much as utter a word, I swear to God, I’ll pull the trigger.”
She believed him, and yet words slipped out, shaking on her tongue. “Please, Carter, don’t do this!”
“I said, ‘shut the fuck up,’” he reminded her and she stopped herself from pleading with him.
Fight! Don’t worry about the gun. He’s going to kill you anyway, the way he murdered the others. You know it. You’ll end up dead if you don’t resist. But her body wouldn’t respond and her head was pounding. Come on, come on. She tried to kick out, but her bound legs were rubbery and useless. Was there a security camera recording this, a guard even now watching the scene playing out in this night-shadowed parking area? Oh please!
“One bad move and I’ll tase you again, little bitch. I know you talked to Rafferty, and that just wasn’t smart. You’ll have to pay for that.”
She studied this man she’d known for so many years, a man, she realized now, she didn’t know at all. Why? she wondered anxiously. Why, why, why?
Carter had obviously killed Trini and that woman found in the Columbia River and probably Greg and maybe Emma, his own damned siblings.
Her lips still were wet with the vile saliva from his tongue. Her stomach revolted. Desperately, she tried to think of a way to save herself, but getting out of the car would be hard, running or escaping impossible. Her phone was long gone and no one, not one soul, was around.
She couldn’t let him get away with it. Gun or no gun.
She opened her mouth, intent on screaming, but just as she did he shoved a rag that smelled acrid and foul deep into her throat. She couldn’t help the gag reflex that followed but fought the urge to throw up.
God help me.
Satisfied with his work, Carter slammed the door shut and hurried around the vehicle. Instead of getting inside immediately, he took the time to reach into the backseat and withdraw a jacket that he shrugged in to, though he was still wearing his damned ski mask and hoodie beneath it.
She tried to focus on the inside of the car. Could she lock him out? Find a way to press the lock and . . . no. What about a weapon? Or getting out of the car? Staying in the vehicle, doing what he asked, was certain death.
But she was totally helpless, bound as she was.
Fear pounded in her brain. Think, Andi, think! You have to save yourself.
Ignoring the bad taste in her mouth, she leaned forward, intent on using the hand bound behind her back to locate the door handle, work the right buttons and somehow escape. Before she could even try the door, he slid inside the driver’s seat, the interior light casting a dim glow before he jerked the door closed again and they were plunged into darkness once more. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned, then leaned over to buckle her in. Not for her safety, she realized, but to disable her further. As he reached across her, she considered biting him, trying to sink her teeth into his arm, but the gag prevented her, and with a click, the seat belt was engaged and she had less room to move.
“Time to go,” he said with a smile in his voice and quickly started the engine. “Like my jacket?” He was preening, but a deadly weapon lay across his lap. “It’s the same one Ben wears.”
He was driving them out of the lot. Desperately, Andi tried to free herself, but she couldn’t do it. “Don’t you think we’ll look good on camera? A lot of people saw you walk out with Ben. He’s gonna have a lot to answer for.”
You son of a bitch.
If she could just get free, or find a way to use a weapon and jump him. But right now it was impossible. Her heart sank and she told herself not to give up. Just wait. Be patient. He might just make a mistake.
Then again, he might not.
He hit the accelerator. The car lurched forward. Panicked, Andi tried vainly to struggle.
“You don’t listen, Andi. It’s one of your biggest problems. Try anything and I’ll fuckin’ tase you. Did you hear it that time?” The gun was still on his lap.
She made gurgling sounds, and he abruptly pulled the car to the curb and in one quick motion opened the glove box, removed a roll of duct tape, and tore off a hunk with his teeth. “No more noise,” he warned, yanking the rag from her mouth.
She gasped, drew in a fresh breath, and tried to struggle as he slapped the duct tape harshly over her lips, the very lips he’d licked.
Again her stomach heaved, but she held back the acid burning up her throat.
Leaning so close, she felt his breath against her ear as he whispered, “I’ve waited so long for this. We have a game to play out,” he said, and for a second his voice held a far-off quality, as if he were looking into the future.
Icy fear shot down Andi’s spine. She leaned hard against the door and he caught the movement.
“Oh yes, there’s a game, little bird, and you’ll be an active player, but if you cross me, I’ll kill you.” His eyes found hers for a second.
* * *
Luke’s pickup fishtailed into the hospital parking lot behind the ambulance carrying Peg Bellows. Two more emergency vehicles screamed into the lot, each carrying one of the Carerra brothers. Were they alive? Dead? Mortally wounded? He didn’t give a damn about them, but Peg was a different story. He remembered the blood on her bathrobe, the calm in her eyes, as if she’d already given up.
He skidded to a stop near a light pole and cut the engine.
Two EMTs pulled Peg’s stretcher from the back of the emergency vehicle and met with nurses and docs in the receiving area of the ER. Luke glanced at them, then sprinted across the lot, catching up with the ambulance in the covered ER receiving area. “Peg,” he called as the rescue workers wheeled her in.
“Don’t worry,” she said around the oxygen mask. “I’ll see you later.”
Her final tone got to him. “You’re going to be all right,” he said, as much to convince himself as her. “You hang in there.” He tried to reach for her hand where an IV was already pumping liquid into her body, but the EMT intervened.
“Get away, buddy,” the burly red-haired responder warned before barking Peg’s vital signs to a waiting nurse and doctor. He shouldered Luke out of the way.
“Wait.”
“Not now,” the arriving doctor said calmly. “We’re taking her directly into surgery. OR two,” he said to a waiting nurse. “We’ll keep you informed.”
“But . . .”
“You heard the doctor.” The EMT was all business.
Luke went inside and tried to gain access from a woman behind a wide information desk. Prim and proper, she brooked no argument, and he found himself stymied by a wall of privacy, HIPAA regulations and mountains of red tape. It didn’t matter
that he’d phoned nine-one-one, he wasn’t kin of the patient, and the staunch receptionist at the information desk told him she could release no information on a patient. Not that he blamed her.
The wide glass doors of the emergency wing flew open and the Carrera brothers were brought inside. Luke hung close to the doors and listened to the exchanges between doctors and the emergency medical techs long enough to reason out that both Carerra brothers were probably DOA. The medical staff just had to make it official.
He was soon ordered out of the intake area and couldn’t get close to the information area again. He guessed any and all emergency personnel had been called to the scene because of the multiple victims, not to mention those waiting in chairs scattered around the waiting area. A twentysomething woman with stringy hair and a bad complexion was holding a crying baby while a pale two-year-old clung to her leg. Her husband or boyfriend leaned back in a chair too small for him and played some game on his phone. An older man and woman were seated near the windows; she was cradling one arm and staring vacantly into space. Now and again she winced, but she was trying hard not to show her pain. Her husband sat next to her, arms crossed over his expansive chest, lips tight in an unshaven jaw. Other various would-be patients and loved ones whose non-life-threatening injuries were forced to wait while the gunshot victims were either treated, operated on, or pronounced DOA.
Luke’s guts churned when he considered Peg, but knew there was nothing more he could do to help her. Like the others in this drab, cavernous room with its outdated magazines, well-worn chairs, and piped-in music, he would just have to wait.
He decided he had time to find Andi. She was supposed to be here, probably in Emma’s room or a nearby waiting area, so he texted her again. He hung out in the ER area for a couple of minutes and looked at his screen a dozen times. No answer. Had her phone died?
A bad feeling settled in his gut, but he told himself he was overreacting because of what he’d just been through. It looked like the Carrera brothers weren’t about to hurt anyone ever again, certainly not today.