“What did you do to him?” Randy bellowed. “Jack!”
Danny rubbed his hands against his jeans nervously. “Bernard gave him the same drug he gave you.”
Gates frowned. “I gave him a second injection while you were still out, to keep him quiet.”
“Look at him,” Randy ordered. “He’s having a bad reaction. What did you shoot me up with?”
Gates seemed as surprised at Jack’s condition as Danny. He muttered, “It’s a combination of fentanyl and some other narcotic. I found a supplier on the internet.”
“Is that where you found your scheme too, asshole? I outweigh Jack by seventy fucking pounds at least. If you gave him two loads of the same amount you gave me, he’s overdosing.”
Danny tried to move into the room to check on Jack, but Gates suddenly waved the gun at both of them. “No. Stand back, Danny. This is what we need.”
Gates looked straight at Randy but pointed the pistol at Jack’s prone form. “Your last chance, Mr. Vaughan. Make a deal or you can watch Mr. Fraser die right now.”
“Bernard!” Danny protested. “No!”
“Shut up, Danny. Mr. Vaughan, he doesn’t look well at all. If you let him die, how will you live with yourself?”
Bastard. Randy gritted his teeth. There was no sign of Torres. The way Gates was waving the pistol around, he’d never held a gun before; it could go off at any moment, hitting Randy or Danny. Or Jack.
On the concrete floor, Jack moaned and started to shake. “Fine,” Randy spit out. “Get medical help for Jack and I’ll give you the painting.”
Chapter Nineteen
“See, I knew you’d eventually be reasonable,” Gates gloated, and Randy wanted to put a fist in his smiling face. “Excellent.”
Jack twitched violently, maybe on the verge of convulsing, and Randy’s training kicked in. “Danny, you have to position him so he doesn’t hurt himself if he seizes.” Gates waved the gun to indicate permission to Danny. Randy winced and yelled at Gates, “Stop doing that, you moron. You’re going to shoot someone accidentally and then you’ll face the death penalty.”
Gates obviously was unaware that DC didn’t have that punishment, but he was nonplussed by Randy’s threat and he looked at the gun in his hand. Randy hoped vindictively that it would go off in his face, but no such luck. At least he held the gun more gingerly and kept it pointed to the ground.
“Fine,” Gates said grudgingly. “Danny, do as he says.”
Danny rushed into the cell and crouched so he could face Randy with Jack’s prostrate body between them. “What do I do?”
The twitching seemed to quiet down, so Randy said, “Roll his body gently toward you.” Danny put a hand on Jack’s leg and another on his shoulder and tugged until Jack was on his side facing Danny. The risk of aspiration on vomit was lessened with that position. “Pull the tape off his mouth. Good. Now use your knee as a brace so he doesn’t roll too far forward. Pull up his bottom arm—yes, like that—and put his hand on his cheek. It will help keep him in that position.”
What else? Think, Vaughan.
“Check his belt. Make sure it isn’t tight.” Danny complied and Randy breathed a little easier. That would hopefully keep Jack from hurting himself if he did seize.
He looked at Gates with loathing. “How are you going to play this?”
“What do you mean?”
Randy rolled his eyes. “I’m not giving you the painting until I know Jack is safe. You going to call an ambulance? Where will you tell them to come? How are you going to get him out of here? Jesus, what kind of criminal mastermind do you think you are?”
Gates grew increasingly red with Randy’s insults. “Shut up,” he yelled. “I have to think.”
Danny said, “He’s sweating really bad. I think he needs a doctor right away, Bernard.”
Gates pulled at his hair with the hand not holding the pistol. He was pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. He clearly hadn’t thought anything through, and Randy decided that was his best opportunity—to keep Gates reeling. “If he dies, there’s no deal. You’ll have to kill all of us. You ready for that?”
Gates flinched and paled. Danny looked at him fearfully, as if the peril they were all in finally got to him. “Bernard…” he began carefully.
“No. Hush.” Gates stiffened. He stalked into the room where Jack lay on his side and waved the gun at Danny. “Go stand over there. Near Vaughan. But not too close.” Danny rose to his feet carefully, stepped over Jack and sidled around Gates. His eyes were terrified as he approached Randy, but he kept out of arm’s length.
Gates turned his body so he was staring Randy in the eye and raised the gun in his hand to point at Jack’s leg. “It occurs to me, Mr. Vaughan, that you may need more motivation to conclude our transaction. So here’s what is going to happen.
“In five minutes, I’m going to shoot Mr. Fraser in the leg, which I expect will hurt him quite badly. You should have just enough time until he bleeds to death to get the Brousseau delivered here. Once the painting is in my possession, I’ll load it on my cart and be gone. I will leave Danny with the key to the handcuffs, and he can free you and help get Mr. Fraser to hospital. That should give me enough time to disappear.”
He looked at Danny. “Apparently, I won’t be able to deliver the release to your father that we’d hoped for, but I am grateful for your help. Now, please give Mr. Vaughan your mobile so he can arrange for delivery of the painting.” He paused, then pointed the pistol at Randy. “And in case you think about giving the police our location, you should understand that I am quite prepared to shoot you, Danny, and Mr. Fraser. Now how does that sound?”
Terrible, but Randy could see no other option. Not yet. The gun trembled slightly, but the desperation in Gates’s eyes left Randy convinced the man had reached his limits and would shoot if pushed much farther. He nodded slowly.
“Excellent. Danny?”
Danny reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone Randy had never seen before. He entered his pass code but stared at the screen. “There’s no signal in here, Bernard. I can’t make a call out.”
That explained why Torres hadn’t yet been able to use Randy’s cell phone to find them. A glimmer of an idea appeared.
Randy said to Gates, “Uncuff me and let me get close to a window or something. You still have Jack hostage so I won’t be able to do anything.” He sneered. “And I’m not a fucking coward like you. I won’t run and leave Jack or Danny in danger.”
Gates grunted and looked back and forth between Randy and Jack where he lay on the floor. Jack seemed to have calmed and the shivers had stopped. Randy couldn’t tell if he was still breathing, but had to assume so. There was nothing else to do at the moment.
“Fine,” Gates said. “Danny, you will take the key from me, unlock Mr. Vaughan from the pipe and then relock the handcuffs.” He looked at the row of windows that spilled a small amount of street light into the warehouse. “There should be a better signal over there, and I can keep a close watch on you. Remember, Mr. Vaughan.” He pointed the gun again, this time at Jack’s head. “Mr. Fraser is depending upon your cooperation.”
Danny edged over to Gates and took a small silver key, then hurried back to Randy. He leaned over the cuffs so his back was to Gates and muttered, “I’m so sorry, Randy. I never thought it would go like this.”
Randy said nothing, but stared at the auburn head bent over his wrists. Danny unlocked the cuff from his left wrist and waited for him to step clear of the pipe to which he had been chained. Randy caught his eyes and continued to stare, making Danny flush as he again secured the wrists. Randy yanked on the cuffs sharply to make Danny jump.
He held out his hand for the phone, then walked slowly to the wall of windows. His eyes were on the phone’s signal meter. C’mon, c’mon. Just as it showed one bar, the phone hidden in his underwear vibrated slightly. Incoming messages, maybe. Both phones had a signal, so everything depended on whether Torres could indeed track his loc
ation, and was close enough to make a difference.
He turned back to Gates. “Where do I tell them to bring the painting?” Gates rattled off an address Randy recognized as being just four or five blocks from the warehouse where he’d been captured. He dialed Thomas’s number from memory.
Gates said, “Put it on speaker.”
It rang just twice before Thomas picked up, and Randy immediately pressed the button to turn on the speakerphone function. He heard urgency as Thomas said, “Hello?”
Randy cleared his throat. “Jason? It’s Randy Vaughan. You’re on speaker. Please listen.” He gambled using Thomas’s given name would make him focus and understand what was happening. Maria Torres was one of the few people who knew that Thomas had dropped the name when he moved away from Seattle.
“Randy! Where are you? Are you all right?”
“Listen, Jason. Please. I need you to do something very important for me. Bring the big painting in your bedroom to me.” He gave the location. “Do you have that address? Jason, don’t call the police.” Call the police, he thought frantically. “This will all be fine, but we need to proceed carefully.”
“I think I understand, Randy. But the painting is big. It won’t fit in my Maserati.”
“Fair point. Hold on.” To Gates, Randy said, “He doesn’t have a vehicle big enough to transport it.”
“Bollocks,” Gates muttered. Then he brightened. “Call one of those Uber things. A big one.”
“That will take some more time. If you shoot in five minutes then Jack will be dead. I’m not doing that deal.”
“Fine. I’ll wait an extra twenty minutes.”
Better. Every few minutes help.
Randy said into the phone again, “Jason? Can you call an Uber big enough to transport the painting?”
“Yes. I’ll do that as soon as we hang up.”
“Thank you, Jason. Please remember. No police.”
“Understood.” Thomas disconnected the call and Randy passed the phone back to Danny. The three men stared at each other as precious minutes passed, and the silence built uncomfortably.
Gates kept the pistol pointed at Jack but eventually raised his other wrist to glance at his watch. “Fifteen more minutes and I will shoot.”
Randy growled deep in his throat as the last conversation with Jack filled him with remorse. He’d wanted to explore if there was a way to make a connection even though Jack lived in England, but his own pain at discovering nothing more could happen than a one-night stand had made Randy cruel. His feeble attempts to guard his heart had led Randy to wrong Jack, even if just by his doubts in the man. What if Jack died without knowing how sorry Randy was, that his disappointment in Jack’s engagement had caused him to lash out? Even if they all survived Gates’s trap, Randy might never again get to kiss his soft mouth or stroke his beard or help him fly, but he racked his brain for a way to get Jack out of this mess.
More minutes ticked away. Danny chewed on his lip and hugged himself in the fraught, chilly air of the warehouse. Randy was painfully aware of how still Jack was laying. It might already be too late. He gritted his teeth and asked, “Is he breathing?”
Gates glanced down quickly. “Yes.”
“How did you know what the painting was?” Randy eventually asked to break the heavy atmosphere.
Gates preened. “I know you think I’m a hack as an art dealer, but when Mr. Fraser approached me to ask about the sunrise painting, I grew curious. He never told me why he was looking for it, but I did some research into Mr. Fraser and the puzzle grew more enticing. After all, a representative of a museum with a renowned collection of Brousseaus, showing interest in a work that was in the style of Brousseau, would be enough to pique anyone’s interest. When I made a casual inquiry to the family that had consigned the work to me initially, I learned that Mr. Fraser had also contacted them to ask about the painting and in particular about an old appraisal. Well, at that point, I was reasonably sure what I had let slip through my fingers.
“I had declined to give your contact information to Mr. Fraser, but I immediately wrote in hopes I’d reach you before he did. When you replied with your demand for forty thousand dollars, I feared I had given an inkling of its true worth so I grew cautious. Once I found the news reports about your escapade involving Zachary Hall, I realized an ally would be essential. Then when I chanced upon Danny here, the pieces came together.”
“How did you arrange the fake mugging?” When Danny glanced up at him, red-faced, he continued. “It’s not likely you brought a posse over from London.”
Gates rocked on his heels again, obviously pleased with himself. “Oh that was fun. I created an account on Craigslist in your name and using your picture from the news reports. I pretended I was looking for someone to help me fulfill a fantasy for my young lover.”
He almost giggled as he looked at Danny. “I said that your boy wanted to be rescued by his big, strong hero, so I needed a few people willing to act it out. The man who contacted me was able to round up a few friends and I paid them two hundred dollars each for the scene. I told them when to show up at your bar and sent them a picture of Danny.” His grin faded and turned rueful. “It went as expected until you thrashed one of the men pretty well and took his knife. He threatened to go to the police unless I paid extra, so your heroics cost me another five hundred there.”
“Put it on my tab,” Randy scoffed. He looked around the vast room and thought about the other location where he’d initially been caught with his guard down. “How did you learn about these warehouses?” he asked.
“Through internet searches about the historical records of your city. I’ve been in Washington for several weeks following you and then Mr. Fraser, you see. I wandered by these warehouses once and I had an inspiration when I saw the construction signs. I waited near this warehouse until I saw a man approach with a roll of architectural drawings under his arm, then I struck up a conversation with him in my most charming manner. Even played up a bit of a cockney accent. Well, you know how the Yanks are for a kindly English bloke. He thought I was charming and, Bob’s your uncle, he was showing me through his site. Even pointed out that tunnels used to be important to connect the various warehouses to the railway for deliveries. Clever, yes?”
“Yeah, you’re the next Laurence Olivier,” Randy snarled. “Or maybe the next Mr. Bean. You just keep racking up the potential witnesses, don’t you?” Gates flushed angrily.
Danny had been standing quietly but stiffly near Randy. Suddenly he jerked his head as if surprised. He glanced at Randy, then back at Gates. In an unusually loud voice, Danny practically yelled out, “You just used me, didn’t you? All this time. You had no intention of trying to help my dad.”
Gates frowned at him. “Calm down. I did try. You heard me ask Mr. Vaughan to support his release.”
Danny took a step toward Gates and balled his hands into fists. His face contorted as he shouted, “You’re a monster and I was such an idiot. If you didn’t have that gun, I’d… I’d hit you. I should never have trusted you.”
Randy heard it then. A slight squeal of metal. The scuff of a boot. Danny had been trying to cover the sounds with his own shouting.
Randy bellowed out, “Danny, get down!” and jumped forward just as officers in flak jackets burst into the room. Gates whirled and raised his pistol, but Jack rolled himself over to collide with Gates’s legs, sending him sprawling.
“No!” Gates yelled from the floor. “Get away. Get back!”
He swung the pistol wildly as he tried to regain his feet, and Randy could do nothing but track the barrel as it moved through space and came to a stop pointing directly at him. He heard Jack scream out his name, mixed with the roar of the large gun going off, and was unable to comprehend why he was knocked sideways and off his feet in a blur of auburn and purple.
He was still cuffed, unable to break his fall as the concrete rushed to meet him. He hit hard and expected even more pain as heaviness settled on his side. It too
k him a moment to realize that he hadn’t been shot but that a limp bundle weighted him down. A bundle that wasn’t moving.
“Danny!” He scrambled to free himself from under the boy and lay him gently on the ground. Danny was pale as blood darkened his purple sweatshirt. Randy pressed a hand to the hole in the shoulder to try to staunch the bleeding. The wet, red stuff oozed between his fingers as it pumped from the wound.
“We need an ambulance,” Randy yelled. He heard one of the officers speaking into a radio, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Danny’s white face. Dimly, Randy was aware of two police officers securing Gates while another helped Jack to his feet. One of the officers hurried over to do what he could with the gunshot wound.
Randy scooted back to let the officer help but he couldn’t look away. Jack was there to pull off his own T-shirt and offer it as a makeshift bandage. He became aware of Torres speaking in his ear. “Ambulance is on its way, Randy. I don’t know who the hell the guy with the white hair is, but he’s with my team heading to the station. Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?”
Randy blinked slowly and turned to look up at Torres, bending over him. He was unable to think clearly, and all he could say was, “That bullet was meant for me.”
Jack sank to the ground next to him, shivering as he sagged and croaked out in his burr, “Randy, ay up, duck.” Randy needed badly to hold Jack and stretched out his arms, only then realizing he was still in cuffs.
Jack managed a ghost of a smile. “And it’s Detective Torres, I believe? We met recently when you asked me about the break-in. I think the key to the handcuffs is in the young ’un’s pocket.”
“Mr. Fraser. Are you all right?” She reached into Danny’s jeans, careful not to jostle his unconscious body, and pulled out the small silver key.
As soon as she unlocked Randy, he reached for Jack to lend him warmth. The smaller Jack fit perfectly into the shelter he offered, relaxing into Randy’s body and dropping his head back against Randy’s shoulder. Randy flashed to the contentment he’d known when he woke up at Cuir with Jack safely under his protective arm.
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