A sob tore through her as she remembered the second time Mama wore that dress. But she couldn’t allow herself to think about her mama’s funeral. She had to remind herself where she’d come from, that right now, only she could change her course. She had to maintain strength and courage.
Damn it, she had to keep hope alive in her heart. Because they were both stubborn and insecure, she and Cash had wasted two years of their lives together. Madeline and Roderick would not keep them apart. She had to believe that.
She stiffened.
The switchblade.
Oh, God. Please tell me they didn’t take it.
They hadn’t removed her shoes—a good sign. Had either of them frisked her while she’d been out cold? Holding her breath, she rolled her right ankle as much as the binding would allow, then half-laughed, half-cried when the small blade pressed into her lower calf. The hope she’d been searching for blossomed in her chest. She might be unable to reach the knife right now, but knowing it was there had her thoughts toppling over one another with ideas of what she could do once she had the blade in her hand.
All of those thoughts collided into one…killing Madeline.
Lola’s Hotel Room, Tallahassee, Florida
Monday, 6:27 p.m. Eastern Daylight Saving Time
Cash checked the clock on the nightstand, and wished it was later. Lola had insisted that they not only find out everything they could about who occupied the Georgian plantation house, but that they wait until dark before making a rescue attempt. Instead of going after Mel like he’d wanted, he was stuck in the damned hotel room, impotent, frustrated and worried, his mind constantly straying to his wife and how she was doing. He understood why they were waiting, but he didn’t have to like it. He was also glad they had Rachel helping them. Using the address they’d received from the GPS data, the CORE agent had researched the Bower County archives and had found the floor plan for the plantation home known as the House of Archer. To keep his mind somewhat occupied, he, along with Vlad and Lola, had been studying the layout of the house, along with its land, and coming up with a plan of attack for later that night.
Needing a break from the confining room, and something to drink, he stood. “I’m going to the vending machine. Want anything?” he asked Lola.
“I’m good,” Lola said without looking up from the laptop.
He stepped out of the room. Vlad sat on the concrete, his back against the stucco wall, smoking a cigarette. The Russian looked up at him, then down at the pile of butts smashed into the concrete.
“Why everything bad?” Vlad asked.
“Everything isn’t bad.”
“Cigarette bad. Vlad like cigarette. Vodka bad. Vlad like Vodka. Food fry in oil bad. Vlad love that. Polina grow too big and kill Vlad. Vlad love gator.” He looked up at him again. “Everything Vlad love is bad.”
“Women aren’t bad.”
“Vlad love of life bad. Misty take bat to Vlad car, smash Vlad phone.”
“Sounds like you just need a new woman.”
The Russian pulled out another cigarette, then shoved it back in the pack. “Could Repo Man leave Mel for new woman?”
“We don’t have a bad relationship. She doesn’t take a bat to my truck or smash my phone.”
“This true. Ice Cream Lady not violent.”
Cash sat against the column across from Vlad. “Mel has a temper on her. She likes to push and shove. She’s badass with a knife, but I know she’d rather throw it at targets than people.”
He cocked a brow. “Vlad would hope. Vlad have knowledge of knife wound.”
“You’ve been cut?”
The Russian chuckled. “No. Vlad have made many of cut.” He shrugged. “Two have died—the rest only wound of the flesh.”
“You’re fucking with me, right?”
“Why Vlad lie about such things?”
“Okay, so you’re telling me you’ve killed two people with a knife.”
“That what Vlad say. Understand, Vlad a lover, not a killer.” He shrugged. “But, when Russian mafia own Vlad…Vlad have no choice.”
Cash had no idea what to do with this man, or what to believe.
“No choice is bad,” the Russian continued.
“Yeah, back to the everything is bad deal—who’s Polina and what does she have to do with a gator?”
“Polina is gator. Vlad’s pet. Did not Repo Man hear Harry crybaby over Polina?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “I heard something about it, but blew it off because I thought the way you two were fighting was stupid.”
Vlad narrowed his eyes. “Vlad Russian heavyweight—”
Cash held up a hand. “I’m not talking about physically fighting. But for the record, if I was living in the same house as you, I wouldn’t crybaby about your gator, I’d get it the hell out of my house. Harrison has a lot more patience than I ever would. And, you’re right. If you don’t get rid of it, it’ll—at the very least—rip off your arm.”
The Russian hung his head. “Vlad know such things.”
Cash looked to the hotel room door, willed it to open, and for Lola to tell them it was go-time. He wasn’t good with heart to heart conversations. With Mel he did okay. But he loved her. He thought about the part of the brain that makes people empathetic toward others. He had it. He just didn’t like to deal with other peoples’ emotions. It didn’t mean he didn’t have sympathy for them if they were down. Like now…Vlad was down about Harrison. Instead of focusing on his fears for his friend, the Russian was lumping his troubles together. His therapist would tell Vlad this behavior was unhealthy and self-destructive. That he needed to pour his energy into what was really bothering him.
“Vlad, you’re scared for your friend, not about losing your arm to a gator,” he said, because he was no therapist. “Keep your mind on the real shit bothering you, and try to figure out a way to get it to stop bothering you.”
Vlad stared at him. “Repo Man very wise. This true. Vlad fear for Harry. Vlad also wish…” He heaved a deep sigh. “Vlad say bad thing to Harry. What if Vlad never see friend again?”
“You’re gonna see him. Don’t think like that. When you do, end the fight between you two.”
He nodded. “That mean Vlad cannot smoke.” He tossed the cigarettes onto the cement. “Polina also must go. It break Vlad heart.”
If the Russian started crying, he was out of there. “I get it, man. I love my dog. Maybe that’s what you need. Set Polina free into the Glades where she belongs and adopt a dog.”
“Vlad partial to chee-chee-wa-wa.”
“Chee-chee…do you mean, Chihuahua?”
“да. Chee-chee-wa-wa. That what Vlad say.”
Cash tried to picture Vlad with a tiny dog, but couldn’t. A man Vlad’s size needed a big dog to match. “What about a Great Dane?”
“Like Scooby-Doo?” Vlad shook his head. “Man-size dog leave man-size poopy.”
The Russian knew how to take a conversation and make it uncomfortable. “I’m going to the vending machine. Need anything?”
“Vlad have made offense?”
“No, man. It’s weird to hear a guy say ‘poopy’.”
Frowning, Vlad stood. “What that mean? Does Repo Man question Vlad’s manliness? Would Vlad sound like tough guy if Vlad say shit?”
Cash held up a hand. “I am in no way questioning your manliness. I apologize.”
He gave Cash a nod. “Vlad let it slip under couch.”
“You let what slip under the couch.”
The Russian rolled his eyes. “Repo Man insult to Vlad. Vlad let it slip under couch.”
“Good,” he said, still confused. “So do you want something from the vending machine?”
“Vlad have Hershey bar.”
As he made his way to the vending machine, his thoughts drifted to Mel. His strange conversation with Vlad had given his mind a short break from reality. Once he had a Coke and chocolate bar in hand, and neared the hotel room, reality quickly returned.
&n
bsp; Lola held the door open, as Vlad walked into her room. She met his gaze, and he didn’t like the anxiety in her eyes. He quickened his pace. “What’s wrong?”
“With Rachel’s help, I found out who else is living in the plantation house.”
Earlier they’d discovered Florence Archer, a seventy-eight-year-old widow, owned the home. None of them believed Florence to be Madeline. Although he still had yet to see the woman, Bobby had claimed Madeline was in her twenties or thirties. That didn’t mean Florence wasn’t involved, but it had led them to assume there were others working with or for her. Or, the woman was dead and someone was using her house.
He stepped into the room, and tossed Vlad the chocolate. “Who?” he asked, once she closed the door.
“Her grandson.” Lola moved to the table, then turned the laptop in his and Vlad’s direction. “Meet Dr. Rodney Archer.”
Without opening the Coke, Cash set it on the nightstand. His stared at the Time magazine cover, which displayed a picture of a man who could have been posing for GQ or an ad for expensive clothes, and moved toward the laptop. Unease balled in the pit of his stomach as he drifted his gaze from the man’s photo, to the Nazi swastika splashed along his forehead, to the caption below the man’s face. Dr. Rodney Archer: The Modern Mengele.
“Please tell Vlad this all mistake.”
“You know who Joseph Mengele is?” Lola asked.
“Vlad was not born under rock. Дед fought in war.”
“English, please.”
“Grandfather. Vlad дед with Soviet troops who liberate Auschwitz. Vlad have love for history. Good and bad. Mengele very bad man who experimented on prisoners.” He shook his head and ripped the wrapper off the chocolate bar. “Mengele have decide fate of prisoners. Jews go into Auschwitz, none come out. Same for Poles, Gypsies, Soviet POWs. Vlad have seen many things. Vlad have done things that would make Дед sad. But Vlad never want to see what Дед did in 1945.”
Cash stared at the man. Less than ten minutes ago, Vlad claimed he wanted a Chihuahua and used the term ‘poopy’. Now he was giving them a history lesson.
“I’m glad your grandfather survived,” Lola said. “Life wouldn’t be the same without you.”
The Russian’s ears and face reddened.
“Did you read the magazine article?” Cash asked, keeping the focus on Archer.
“I did. About five years ago, Dr. Archer developed a drug that he claimed would target the part of the brain where psychopaths are deficient.”
The unease in the pit of his stomach traveled north, lodging in his chest. “The drug used on Noah can’t be a coincidence.”
“Agreed. Anyway, the U.S. government had taken an interest in the drug, and allowed the pharmaceutical company Dr. Archer worked for to use federal inmates as human guinea pigs. Supposedly, the prisoners consented. Since each man who took the drug is now dead, we will never know.”
“Why would government allow such thing?” Vlad asked.
Lola shrugged. “Think about it. If there were a drug out there that could remove all psychopathic tendencies from an individual, in theory, violent crimes would become nonexistent, and war and terrorism would be a thing of the past. Of course, I’m not sure how the government would go about getting the drug into our enemies’ bodies, or even in the guy in the room next to mine.”
“Does not government allow fluoride in water?” Vlad asked.
“I don’t want to even think about our government conspiring to taint our water with a drug to control our levels of activities.” Frowning, Lola rubbed her head. “Back to Archer…he went to the prison, then administered the drug to five men. After forty-eight hours, with the men showing no sign that they’d been affected by the drug, they were released from the clinic and placed back in their cells. Within twenty-four hours, each man had committed suicide, but not before killing two prison guards and seven inmates.”
“Were they able to explain the delayed reaction?” Cash asked.
She shook her head. “Dr. Archer claimed that the experiments he ran from his lab had never seen these results.”
“Who was he experimenting on from his lab?”
“According to the article, the pharmaceutical company posted ads in the paper and online for people who had been diagnosed with schizophrenia, since that illness causes slightly similar brain deficiency.”
Infected with worry, Cash’s hand trembled as he picked up the can of Coke. Before he hurled it at the wall, he cracked open the can and took a long drink. He’d allowed his wife to go into a house where a mad scientist lived. No, she chose to go with the woman. The woman…
“Can you explain Madeline?” he asked.
“Not yet. Maybe she’s his assistant or girlfriend.”
“We don’t need a maybe, we need confirmation.” He looked to Vlad. “We need to go to the plantation house and get Mel and Harrison out of there.”
Lola’s lips slid into a grim line. “Look, I’m just finding out about Rodney Archer. Rachel’s looking into everything she can find on the man. Before you and Vlad storm the building, we need to know exactly who we’re dealing with and if they are dangerous. Two of my people are already at risk. I won’t do anything without thinking this through or having a plan.”
“Vlad wonder, this drug Archer make…it same or different from drug in Noah?”
“Thank you for bringing that up,” she said. “While you two were outside, Ian, Rachel and I talked about this. We all think it’s interesting that Archer’s original drug had been developed to stimulate the psychopath’s inactive part of the brain, and yet the drug used on Noah did the exact opposite. I’m wondering why Archer would go from one extreme to the other.”
“What happened to him after he’d been accused of being no better than Mengele?”
“His career was obviously ruined. Because the pharmaceutical company was held solely responsible, and Archer was merely an employee, he never faced criminal charges. Several civil suits were brought against him, but none of them made it to court.”
“So he got away with murder,” Cash said, then finished the Coke.
“He didn’t murder anyone. The drug he’d administered somehow had an adverse effect.”
“Well, what if Archer is a psychopath? He wants to hurt people, but doesn’t want to go to prison for it. So he makes a drug that causes people to become like him, they kill—unknowingly—for him, and he still gets off on the thrill.”
She stared at him for a moment before shaking her head. “That’s ridiculous,” she said, her tone unconvincing. “Archer isn’t Frankenstein.”
Although she was right, he had no other explanation. “Really? Then why dope up homeless people with a drug that can turn them into monsters?”
“Vlad have theory. Archer make drug to help psychopath, but fail. Archer laughingstock, no?” He pointed to the Time magazine cover. “Vlad would not want associate with Nazi doctor. What if Archer feel same? What if Archer make drug to make killer so Archer can fix him?”
“That’s an awesome theory, man.” Cash looked to Lola. “Vlad nailed it. That makes sense.”
“In a very strange way.” She tightened her ponytail. “If Vlad’s theory is right, and I hope he’s wrong, then Rodney Archer and Madeline—whoever she is—are going to try and turn Mel and Harrison into psychopaths.” She picked up her cell phone. “I’m calling Ian. Thirty-six hours could be too late.”
Finally. Although relieved they were going to take action, Cash couldn’t shake the unease. What if they didn’t stop Archer in time? Did the drug have lasting side effects? Would his wife go from being a passionate, loving woman to a cold-hearted killer?
Lola ended the call. “Do you own a gun?” she asked him.
“In a lockbox mounted under the backseat of my truck. My concealed carry permit is in the glove box.”
“Good. We’ll still leave at dark. By then, we’ll hopefully have more information on Archer and who might be working with him.”
He didn�
�t want to wait until then. Too many things could happen to Mel. He knew where the house was located. He had a gun. He could drive there right now and take his wife out of there.
Hell, that was how he handled his repo business. He went in, took what he wanted, then hauled ass.
And he’d almost lost his life because he’d been too stupid to go in with backup. When he’d been in the Army, he’d never go on patrol without Dolly. Now that he thought about it, Dolly had been the only partner—next to Mel—he’d counted on, and his dog had lost her legs saving his life. His therapist popped in his head, and Cash remembered a session they’d had earlier this year. The man had asked him why he was afraid of depending on anyone. He’d thought the question stupid. He depended on Jude to help take care of the garage, and on Sully, Pete and Ross to do their jobs.
Later that evening, when he was helping Dolly from the pool, he’d thought about what the therapist had asked him, and about the honest answer he should have given him. He was afraid someone would be hurt or killed trying to help him. Dolly had lost her legs in war. The repo business wasn’t even comparable to war, but there were plenty of dangers and unknown factors with each job. What if he took Sully with him on a job, and a frickin’ nutter pulled a gun out and killed his buddy? Better him than Sully. He couldn’t feel guilt if he were dead.
He glanced to Lola, then Vlad. Both were in front of the laptop, looking at the file Rachel must have just sent. They were good people, with the same goal in mind. Remove Mel and Harrison from the house, and stop Archer from killing or hurting anyone else. He could understand why Mel was loyal to them. He needed to be, too. He needed to trust them, and his gut. Trust that Mel was strong enough to handle whatever she was enduring.
Even if the not knowing was killing him inside.
Chapter 17
The House of Archer, Bower, Georgia
Monday, 7:21 p.m. Eastern Daylight Saving Time
ADELINE UNBUTTONED THE top four buttons of her white blouse, then spread the material aside to reveal her abundant cleavage. After giving her neck a spritz of the perfume Rodney had given her for her birthday, she used her fingers to give her thick curls added volume. She applied a small amount of lip-gloss, then stepped in front of the full-length mirror. Turning to the side, she eyed the ultra-short, denim cut-offs, and the way they exposed plenty of leg and a hint of her ass. She faced the mirror, then decided to tie the bottom of her blouse in a knot to bare her belly. The effect was perfectly sexy and slutty, especially since she wasn’t wearing a bra. Rodney would love seeing her nipples poking through the material, along with all of her tanned skin.
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