“Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologized when she stood in front of Nash’s bed. “I’m in the wrong room.”
“No problem,” Ryan said, waving a hand as she turned around.
Brynn hurried out, feeling ridiculous for the subterfuge. Maybe they should have just gone in together and made something up. Nash hadn’t had more than a second or two to get a look at her.
Ryan wasn’t smiling when he met her back in the waiting room.
“It didn’t work, did it?”
“No.” Ryan managed a smile. “He said he thought you were cute, though.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Maybe it had helped after all. Nash used to tell her she was exotic looking and that she had sexy eyes. He would think about her now and then he would remember—everything.
59
Kendall trudged through the sloppy snow toward the outbuilding. The front had a large garage door and a windowless entry door to the left of it. The two windows, one located on either side of the building and both about four feet off the ground, were clouded over.
She tried the large garage door first. It was locked. The door to the side of it had a lock on the doorknob and another lock, a deadbolt, about ten inches above it. Both were engaged.
Then she heard something. A voice from inside the building? Was it just the wind? Or maybe she was just hearing things, imagining what she was hoping for, that Rachel Geror was in there and she was still alive. Kendall rushed back to the Highlander and asked Courtney to turn off the engine.
“Why?”
Kendall didn’t take time to explain. She hurried back to the side of the building, near the window. “Is someone in there?” she yelled.
She heard an answer. Muffled and unintelligible, but an answer.
As loudly as possible, she yelled, “I’m Detective Kendall Halsrud. I’m going to try to get in.” She heard the voice again and once more could not make out what it was trying to tell her. But it sounded like a woman. She returned to the car for some tools.
“You can turn the motor back on,” she told Courtney. “There’s someone in there. I think it’s Rachel. The place is locked, though, and I’m going to have to break in.” She took a tire iron and a crowbar from the back of the vehicle. “Stay here. I’ll come get you if I need help.”
Despite her efforts, neither door could be compromised. Kendall moved to a window with the crowbar and broke out the glass. Before she climbed in she removed as much of the lingering glass as possible. Then she hoisted herself up, feeling the stress in her ribs as her midriff hit the sharp window ledge. She pulled herself over and into the room, landing heavily on a concrete floor.
The interior smelled of gasoline. And something else, something foul. An old fishing boat on a trailer was parked next to where she’d landed, and using the trailer, she pulled herself to a standing position. A rusty blue pickup sat next to the boat. The room’s only light was a soft glow from the windows. Kendall pulled out her flashlight.
“Over here! I’m here,” a female voice called out.
A wood-paneled division in the back walled off part of the space, separating it from the rest of the building. The door in the middle was open, and Kendall entered a long, narrow room that covered the entire back wall. On the left was an office with an old, metal desk and a few filing cabinets, and on the right a musty couch and a metal cot. A woman sat on top of the cot, covered with a shabby, stained quilt. Her wrists were in irons, chained to bolts in the wall. A large, plastic paint container next to the bed revealed itself to be the source of the smell. It held human waste.
Kendall hurried over to the woman and saw she was Rachel Geror. The girl bore little resemblance to her photo. Her hair hung in dark, snake-like chunks, and her face was swollen and bruised. Angry, red cigarette burns covered her arms. “Are you Rachel?”
“Yes. Please, get me out of here.”
Kendall studied the girl’s restraints. “I’m not sure I can. I’ll have to go for help.”
“No! You can’t leave me here. What if he comes back? He’ll kill me this time.”
Kendall didn’t see any serious injuries, but Rachel’s body was hidden underneath the quilt. Her wrist cuffs looked immovable and the attachment bolting them to the wall was firmly in place. “Can you walk?”
She nodded. “He . . . he did terrible things to me. And kept hitting me. He said the next time he came here to see me would be the last. I know he meant he would kill me, not let me go.”
Kendall inspected Rachel’s restraints. “Rachel, I don’t think I can get you out of this by myself. I have a friend in the car. I’m going to leave you just for a few minutes and tell her to go for help. I’ll stay with you. I promise.”
Rachel whimpered as Kendall walked out of the room. Before she crawled through the window, she tossed a small bench out to help her climb back in.
She hurried to the car through the deepening snow. “Courtney, Rachel’s in there and I can’t leave her. You have to get help. Drive to the nearest place you can get reception and call 911.” Kendall passed her the cell phone.
“But what if her kidnapper comes back?”
“I have my gun. Go—now.”
Kendall turned away with Courtney still protesting. As she climbed back through the window, she heard the sound of the SUV turning around in the drive.
She found Rachel cowered on the bed, her bruised face pinched with fear. “Rachel, my friend is going for help.”
“Can’t you get me out of this?” She held up her hands, her wrists chafed, red and raw.
“I’ll try.”
Kendall used the crowbar first, but the heavy tool did little to loosen the bolts that held Rachel’s chains in place. She searched the room, and noticed that off to one side a video camera was trained on the bed; the son-of-a-bitch was recording what he was doing to the girl. She would have to take it with her. But right now, she had to find a way to release Rachel. She went into the garage, taking time to assure the girl she wasn’t going to leave her.
The wall that held the window she’d broken had a large pegboard displaying an assortment of tools. She went through them, looking for something that might help. A full-size firemen’s’ axe hung from one of the larger pegs. She pulled it down and went back into the other room.
“Rachel, I’m going to try to get the bolts out of the wall with this axe. You’ll still have the wrist cuffs, but at least we’ll be able to get you out of here. I’m going to tell you when I take a swing at it, so duck down as much as you can, okay?” Rachel cowered down with the quilt pulled over her head.
Kendall had no idea if using the axe would work. Whether it did depended on the strength of the wall itself; if it was merely dry walled, she should be able to get at the bolts. Once the plaster was off the wall around them, she could use the crowbar to pry out the bolts that held Rachel’s chains. If that didn’t work, she’d have to work on the studs that held them, which would be a lot more difficult.
Her first strike with the axe was to the left of the bolts and took out a large chunk of plaster. She was in luck. The room had been slapped together the cheapest way possible, and the rest of it broke away easily.
60
Courtney edged the Highlander along the snow-covered drive to the street, her hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. She wished she hadn’t begged Kendall to let her come along, but quickly scolded herself. What if Kendall had come out here by herself? Then what? Courtney had to keep it together and do her part to save Rachel.
With the sky darkened, the roads remained passable but treacherously slippery. Courtney drove slowly, and as soon as she reached a spot that wasn’t in a valley, she tried her phone. It worked. But when the 911 dispatcher asked where they were, she remembered that she didn’t have an address.
“Don’t worry,” she told Courtney. “Leave your phone on. They’ll use it to locate you. Try to describe the location for me.”
When the call ended, Courtney knew she should go right back to Kendall, but she was s
o damn scared. She called Ross.
He picked up instantly. “I just heard the 911. Tell Kendall I’m on my way.”
He ended the call without another word. Courtney stared at the phone for a second, dazed at Ross’s fast response. She had no idea the 911 dispatcher would get the information to the police so quickly. Remaining where she was and waiting for him felt tempting, but she had to go back to help Kendall and Rachel.
In the short time since she left the wedding place, driving visibility had worsened, the road getting slicker by the minute. She had to drive further away to find a farmer’s drive that was circular in order to turn the SUV around without landing in a ditch; she didn’t dare attempt a Y-turn in these conditions.
Courtney was so stressed about getting back that she hadn’t paid attention to the headlights shining through the falling snow from the other direction. Her insides flipped with terror when she approached the driveway and saw a car turn into it. The vehicle couldn’t be someone coming to rescue them—it was too soon. Oh God, oh God. Now what should she do? She couldn’t panic; Kendall was depending on her.
Courtney doused the headlights and pulled into the driveway behind the other car, praying that the thick snow would keep her invisible.
61
Kendall leaned against the wall, sweat streaming down her face. She practiced weight training regularly, but swinging a twelve-pound axe into a wall had all her muscles screaming in protest. The hardest part was chipping away at the two-by-four the bolts were screwed into; it felt like an endless task. Rachel stayed under the quilt, cowering from the blows of the axe. Her chains were pulled taut, keeping her as far as possible from the blade.
The final strike sent the chunk of wood holding the bolts flying from the wall, missing them by inches.
“You’re free,” Kendall said, wiping her face with her sleeve. “Can you walk?” When Rachel pushed herself to a standing position, Kendall nodded. “Okay. Let’s get you over to that workbench and we’ll cut the chains off so your hands will be free. The cuffs will have to wait.”
Once that was done, and Rachel was free of the chains, Kendall looked around for something to clothe her with. An old flannel shirt and a pair of fishing waders were the best the shed had to offer. Rachel pulled them on and wrapped herself in the quilt. “I don’t care how cold it is out there or what I look like. Let’s get out of here.”
Rather than try to get Rachel through the window in her weakened condition and wearing waders, Kendall tried to force the lock on the door. When nothing she attempted worked, she told Rachel to stand back and used her gun to blow the locks open.
When they stepped through the door, she was relieved to see a pair of headlights coming up the drive. But something about them didn’t look right—they were the wrong height—the vehicle wasn’t the Highlander, and there was no way help had gotten here this fast. Rachel’s kidnapper had returned.
“What’s wrong?” Rachel asked. “Isn’t that your friend?”
“You better go back inside; that’s not my car.”
“No, I can’t go back in that place! I’ll stay with you.”
Kendall didn’t have time to argue. “Then go hide behind that oak tree over there and don’t move no matter what happens.”
Kendall rushed to cover around the side of the building as the car drew nearer and stopped in front. It was a white SUV, not the Highlander, just as she had suspected. A dark form exited the car. She pulled her head back as the outline of a man grew nearer, a growing apparition in the heavy snow.
His footsteps stopped. “What the hell?”
He’d seen the shattered door. She listened as he ran inside, hoping when he saw that his victim was gone, he would run for his car and leave. His muttered swearing felt like a bodily threat. This man was pure evil, and she was alone here with his victim. She hated to let him get away but Rachel’s safety came first.
Suddenly Kendall saw a dark car coming up the drive with its lights out. It wasn’t a rescue vehicle; it had to be the Highlander. Damn. She didn’t want Courtney in danger too.
The man exited the building and stepped out onto the drive, holding a shotgun. Kendall stepped out and raised her gun.
“Police! Drop your weapon and put your hands above your head.”
Faster than she thought possible, he raised the shotgun and fired in her direction. Her training kicked in, and she returned fire while ducking back to the shelter of the storage building. Before she reached cover, one of his shots hit its mark and peppered her left shoulder, knocking her to the ground. The impact sent her gun flying.
Her body burned where the pellets had broken her skin, penetrating her shoulder and part of her back. She searched for her gun in the snow, but it must have landed in front of the shed when she was hit. She peeked around the corner and saw him gripping his arm. Her bullet must have at least grazed him. He immediately raised the shotgun and blasted once again in her direction.
The next time she looked out, she saw something that made her blood run cold—Courtney was standing next to the white SUV, Kendall’s emergency weapon in her outstretched hands, her body in a shooter’s pose. Kendall crept forward and groped for her gun in the slush.
The man saw Courtney. “Drop it, honey, or I’ll turn you into a pin cushion.” He hollered to Kendall, “Throw me your gun or I let her have it.”
Courtney didn’t move. Fear had frozen her in place. Kendall dropped to her knees, feeling for her weapon. She looked up suddenly when she heard footsteps moving through the sloppy snow.
Looking like a madwoman escaped from an asylum, Rachel bounded through the snow toward her captor with the axe in her hands, gradually picking up speed. Kendall froze in place at the sight. She hadn’t noticed Rachel pick up the axe when they left the building.
Rachel’s abductor looked from Courtney to Kendall, and then glanced at the odd figure running toward him, apparently trying to decide which one of them to deal with first. He aimed the shotgun at Courtney.
Kendall stumbled to her feet with the located gun just as Rachel, filled with adrenalin and hate, raised the axe above her head and with a vicious sweep, planted it firmly into her captor’s back. He went down into the snow, the night air filled with his screams.
Rachel stood over him, gasping and crying. Kendall reached them and pulled the shotgun from his hands. It was him—Dalton. He’d been Holmes’ accomplice all along.
Courtney came running over, the gun still in one hand, pointed at the ground. She rushed over to Rachel and put her arms around her. “You’re safe now, Rachel.” Tears streamed down their faces, mingling with the wet snow.
All Kendall felt was rage. And anger at herself that she hadn’t caught on sooner. Her wounds burned like they’d been lit with a blowtorch. Rachel’s wounds, the ones not visible, would be with her for life.
But they had done it—three women had stopped a monster.
62
Kendall’s wounds, although painful, weren’t serious, and kept her in the hospital overnight. Rachel Geror was admitted, her condition more one of psychological trauma than physical. With enough time, her body would heal. Whether her psyche followed would depend on the girl’s strength of mind and the skill of her therapist. Maybe knowing that she had been the one to bring down Dalton would make her recovery easier.
Her strike with the axe hadn’t killed him, but had hit his spinal cord. He’d spent the night in surgery, and it was possible he would never walk again.
The sedative she was given kept Kendall sleeping until early the next morning, when she awoke to find her father and her uncle sitting in the room with her.
“You’re back,” her father said.
“I don’t think there was ever any doubt about that,” she quipped. “Have they told you anything about Rachel Geror?”
“Not us, but your partner was here all night. He said they’re going to keep her here a couple days for observation and therapy, but he thought she was doing pretty well.”
“If you�
�re going to lecture me about going out there to find Rachel by myself you can save your breath.” Kendall attempted sitting up, but the pain in her shoulder stopped her. She grimaced.
“I’ll get a nurse.” Her uncle left the room.
“Guess he doesn’t know about these,” she said, holding up the buzzer for the nurse.
“I think he wanted to give me some time alone with you.”
“Why? Is there something you want to tell me?”
“No, I think there’s something you need to tell me.”
“Like what?” she asked, sure she knew what was coming. She hadn’t told her father everything about Nash, other than the fact he’d been hurt working undercover in Milwaukee and had been unconscious for a while. Ross must have filled him in on the details.
“I heard about Nash, that he doesn’t remember anything from before he got hurt.”
“Dad, I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“But, Kenny, you can’t let it go on this way, letting him think you don’t even exist.”
“There’s nothing I can do about it, Dad. The doctors say it’s best this way.”
Her father laughed mirthlessly. “Doctors. I could tell you stories about doctors.”
“I’m sure you could, but right now I want a pain pill and I need to get out of this hospital and back to work.”
“You need your rest, Kenny. And you should go see Nash. Now, before it’s too late.”
She sighed. “It’s already too late. I went into his room one night under false pretenses—he didn’t remember me.”
Her father stood as the nurse came into the room carrying a small tray holding a paper pill cup. “Anything I can do for you, honey, you just let me know.”
“I will, Dad. And in case you’re thinking of dropping into Nash’s room, please don’t. I’ll deal with it. I’m going to call Shari when I get home and ask her to include me the next time she talks to his doctors.”
Iced Malice Page 21