Colby Justice

by Debra Webb

  Temporary Command Center, 9:40 a.m.

  Jim Colby held his breath as the two glowing forms on the scanner moved swiftly down the stairwell to the third floor…then the second.

  “Damn it,” he growled. “They must have seen the heat trace.” Which could only mean that the enemy had a thermal scanner, as well.

  “Don’t move, Steele,” Ian ordered.

  Jim glared at him. “What the hell are you doing? They have to get out of there.” As Victoria’s son, Jim had thought he’d made himself clear twenty-four hours ago. He was in charge.

  “Anything they do now,” Ian Michaels said, in that too-calm voice, “could result in their being captured. Until we’re absolutely certain their presence has been detected making a move that will certainly announce their presence would be a mistake.”

  Neither Simon Ruhl nor Lucas Camp said a word, their silence shouting loudly and clearly that they were with Ian on this one.

  Jim planted his hands on his hips and turned away from the screen tracking the movements of the enemy…growing closer and closer to the only hope for the rescue of Victoria. Jim’s gaze landed on Leland Rockford. Rocky was the only other member of his team here. He, too, kept quiet.

  Maybe this was too close for Jim. Maybe he couldn’t keep emotion out of the scenario. God knows he’d never had that problem before.

  Fear tightened in his throat. He’d allowed that thin line to stand too long. He had permitted Victoria, his mother, to give far more than he ever allowed himself to grant. Last year’s attempt on his daughter had set off long-buried emotional ripples deep inside him. Those ripples were still evoking changes in him—changes he wasn’t fully able to control.

  Changes he should have allowed long ago.

  “We’ve got company at the front entrance,” Ted Tallant called out from his position at the window. “White, nondescript panel van. Tinted windows, no way to tell how many occupants.”

  Jim moved to the window, as did the others, except for Rocky, to observe the arrival of the van. Two men, dressed completely in black including ski masks. The two were likely part of the team Jim had seen when he’d attempted to bargain for the release of his mother.

  “I believe it’s safe to assume that those are the two from the stairwell.”

  “That could mean they don’t have a thermal scanner or didn’t catch the blip we did.” Jim’s knees threatened to buckle with relief. If Steele and Alexander were caught…Jim’s mother would likely be the first victim of retaliation.

  Jim could not let that happen.

  He should have gone in himself.

  But he did not possess the lean body frame necessary for the infiltration.

  Guilt and frustration gnawed at him.

  Ian relayed the update to Steele and Alexander.

  All in the room relaxed marginally.

  They were still in the clear.

  For now.

  At the front entrance of the building across the street, two men from the van handed off rectangular boxes to the two men in black. Six boxes total. The boxes were stacked in the lobby by the members of the enemy’s team, then the van drove away and the entry doors to the building were locked once more.

  “More case files,” Tallant explained as he peered through his binoculars to read whatever lettering was stamped on the boxes.

  “Probably the files on the Reginald Clark case,” Lucas surmised. “Or the personal ones belonging to Gordon. Those disappeared from the county’s official storage facility, as we know.”

  Less than twenty-four hours ago, Slade Convoy, posing as an official courier for Cook County, had picked up six boxes of files from former District Attorney Gordon’s personal residence and transported them to the county storage facilities. They had learned mere hours later that the boxes had been given to Gordon’s head of security.

  Evidently Thorp was aware that Gordon’s personal work files contained evidence he would need to carry out his mock trial.

  Reginald Clark, The Prince, was the reason all of this was going down. How the hell could the justice system let criminals like him continue to escape punishment? Jim knew the answer…because of equally filthy scum like Gordon. Only, in Jim’s opinion, Gordon was far worse. He had been entrusted with a position of power—one that was supposed to protect the citizens. Instead, he used that power for personal gain with no care as to the protection of those under his jurisdiction.

  Ian and Simon moved back to the screens providing their meager view into the building. Tallant resumed his monitoring of the front of the building.

  “Jim.”

  He turned to face Lucas, too preoccupied with ending this to wonder what his stepfather might have on his mind at this point.

  Wise gray eyes searched Jim’s. “You’re tired. You haven’t slept in more than twenty-four hours. Why don’t you take a break? I’ll stay on top of things here. If anything at all changes, I’ll let you know.”

  Jim forced air into his lungs, reminded himself that Lucas was only concerned for his welfare. “You haven’t had any sleep yourself,” he reminded his mother’s longtime friend and husband. A man who had been his father’s closest friend…a man who had helped Jim to survive emerging from the depths of sheer hell. Another person in Jim’s life to whom he had failed to show proper gratitude.

  “That’s true.” Lucas smiled sadly. “But, truth is, I can’t close my eyes for more than a second…that second could be the one that would have made a difference.”

  Jim summoned a similarly miserable smile. “How about some coffee?”

  “I do believe we’re in the right place to see to that request.”

  Chapter Four

  Inside the Colby Agency, 9:55 a.m.

  Victoria Colby-Camp reached up with a shaky hand to check her forehead. The dull ache beneath the lump roared at her touch. She bit back the moan that accompanied the horrendous pain. Her vision was still clear, no more dizziness. Perhaps it wasn’t a concussion. She was strong. She could endure the pain…the uncertainty was another matter.

  Hours ago her stomach had stopped the unsettling roil. She moistened her lips, wished for a tall glass of water. But the bastards had refused her water or any sort of nourishment. Terrorists. They could be called nothing else. These men had taken control of her agency, abused her staff and dragged others into the nightmare.

  The man brought here in shackles and with a sack over his head, Reginald Clark—aka The Prince, had been beaten again. Former District Attorney Timothy Gordon now shared the conference room with her and Clark. Gordon had received a share of the mistreatment, as well. A black eye and split lip reflected his own physical abuse.

  One of the enemy stood at the window, alternately monitoring their movements and keeping an eye on things outside. The weapon in his hand was warning enough to keep Victoria as well as the others still and quiet.

  She rested her head against the wall. After her son had been forced to leave her here, she’d been dragged back to the conference room where she’d resumed her defeated vigil on the floor. The guard refused to allow them to sit in the chairs around the table. How much longer could this go on? She had felt the escalation of tension between the masked intruders since Gordon’s arrival. She’d heard a new voice she hadn’t recognized in the corridor outside the conference room door around one hour ago.

  Or had it been several hours?

  Soon after hearing the voice, she and Gordon had been ushered into chairs at the conference table. Clark, still shackled, had been hauled into one of the chairs positioned around the table as well. Then Leonard Thorp had come into the conference room and introduced himself. Victoria had recognized that the voice she’d heard outside the conference room had been his.

  After a brief announcement that justice would prevail this day, he’d walked out before Victoria could demand any answers. The masked men had forced both Victoria and Gordon back to the floor, against the wall in a corner where their every movement could be easily monitored. Clark had remained sh
ackled and seated at the table. His own tension had been visible in the defeated slump of his shoulders.

  Victoria understood now what this unholy operation was about. Vengeance. She vividly recalled the case against Reginald Clark. He’d walked away a free man because of the district attorney’s inability to prove his case…and the jury’s conclusion that guilt had not been proved beyond a shadow of a doubt. She had served as one of the jurors who’d had no choice but to comply with the rules assigned in determining innocence or guilt.

  Gordon suddenly leaned closer to Victoria. “This is your agency’s fault,” he murmured. “You won’t get away with this. I’ll make sure that you pay for this renegade behavior.”

  Victoria turned her head to face him. His pale blue eyes were wide with fear and denial. His face, as she’d already noted, was bruised, indicating he’d taken his share of punches before being forced into the conference room with her and Clark. Despite the reality of the situation, Gordon still refused to own his part in the actions that had culminated in this travesty. That was too bad.

  “Perhaps,” she confessed. “But we’re both here for a reason. I would wager it’s safe to presume that we’ve committed some perceived wrong against Thorp.” She shifted her gaze to the shackled man on the other side of the room. “As did he.” She turned to Gordon once more. “I’m certain if you really think about it, your alleged part in that wrong will come to you.”

  Gordon clamped his mouth shut instead of hissing his argument, but his lips trembled with the effort. Like her, he feared the worst.

  “If we survive this,” Victoria whispered to him, “I’m certain we’ll both be well aware of our sins.”

  The door to the conference room abruptly swung inward and Thorp, who didn’t bother concealing his face or his identity, entered, followed by two of his hired thugs. One of the followers was the man in charge. Victoria recognized not only his voice and eyes when he got closer, but also his body language as he moved into the room. His bearing was far more composed and proud than that of the others. This was not the first siege he’d planned and executed.

  Another man carried a box into the room, placed it on the floor at one end of the conference table. This same man made another trip to the corridor and returned with yet another box, then another and another. As the number in the stack mounted, Victoria recognized the boxes as those used to store office files. Official office files.

  Next to her, Gordon swore beneath his breath. She turned to him.

  “Some of my work files,” he murmured, his attention glued to the movements around the table.

  Thorp pulled the chair next to the boxes away from the table. “You’ll sit here, Gordon.”

  The former D.A. shared a look of sheer desperation with Victoria before one of the masked men yanked him up and all but dragged him to the table.

  Victoria’s pulse skittered with the adrenaline now searing through her veins. So it began.

  “Juror Number Eight,” Thorp announced as he pulled a chair from the other side of the long conference table.

  Victoria stood of her own accord before the man headed toward her could reach her. She sidestepped around the bastard and moved to the middle of the long table and took the offered seat. That put her directly across from the accused, Reginald Clark.

  Thorp took the seat at the head of the conference table, the one Victoria usually occupied. He stared down the long expanse of mahogany that separated him from Gordon. “Now, Mr. D.A., you have a second opportunity to make your case. It would be in your best interest to do it right this time.”

  Two of the masked men, including the one she’d recognized as being in charge, sat down, one on either side of Victoria.

  Thorp gestured to those seated on Victoria’s side of the table and said to Gordon, “All you have to do is convince your jury in the next few hours.” Thorp smiled. “As judge, I’ll levy the sentence and see that it’s carried out. Any questions?”

  Gordon shook his head adamantly.

  Victoria turned to Thorp. “Just one.”

  Thorp eyed her for a moment. “Speak your piece, Victoria, because once this trial has begun, nothing or no one is going to get in our way.”

  Victoria held his gaze. As determined as he clearly was, there was no way to mask the agony in his dark eyes. “Do you believe that justice will be served—” she gestured to the man across the table “—that executing this man, will bring you peace?”

  Thorp simply stared at her. In that moment of silence, Victoria urged, “I know exactly where you are, Mr. Thorp. I’ve been in that very painful, dark place. But nothing you do today will change the fact that someone you loved is dead. Surely you understand that this is not going to change that reality in any way.”

  Thorp nodded. “I fully understand that what you say is correct.” He glanced at Gordon before resting his full attention back on her. “I’ve worked for months and months to try and get someone to do the right thing.” This time the look he arrowed in Gordon’s direction was cold and lethal. “But they all ignored me. Still, I didn’t give up.” He laughed but there was no humor in the sound. “Until two months ago.”

  Victoria prompted, “Two months ago?”

  “I have advanced pancreatic cancer. It’s too late for any sort of treatment that might make a difference. Perhaps if I hadn’t been so caught up in trying to guarantee that those we trust to carry out justice were doing their jobs, I might have sought medical attention sooner.” He gave his head a little shake, then leveled a look of pure determination on Victoria. “At any rate, I will not leave this earth without seeing that the man who brutally murdered my sweet Patricia has been punished. So you see, there’s no more time for doing this the so-called ‘right way.’ It has to be done now. And this is the only way it will get done properly.”

  Victoria turned to Gordon. She hoped he comprehended what this news meant. Thorp had nothing to lose. Unless her people could find a way in without detection and could stop this…they would all surely die.

  Chapter Five

  Inside, 10:12 a.m.

  Penny ran her hand over the edges once more. Definitely a smaller side tunnel that branched off to the second floor.

  An exit point.

  The rhythm of her heart kicked into high gear.

  A way out…of this closed-in space.

  She closed her eyes, told herself she was okay. But she wasn’t. Her breathing sounded too loud in the engulfing silence. The roar of air had ceased about the same time her hearing had adjusted to its soothing constancy. When that stopped it triggered her pulse to kick into high gear, and her heart had started to pound.

  Anything had been better than the near complete absence of sound.

  Sweat had formed a sticky film between her and the skintight suit she wore to protect her from being seen on a thermal scanner.

  Her hands shook even as she concentrated hard to keep them steady.

  She could do this, had to do this.

  Take a breath.

  A tap on her left shoulder warned that Steele had moved up as close as possible. His long, lean body aligned almost completely with the length of hers.

  She turned to him. Swallowed hard as she blinked to try and focus in on his face. The night-vision goggles hung impotently around her neck. There had been no reason to put them on…there was nothing to see at this point. Yet, she needed to see…but not like that. It was too dark. Too damned dark. She couldn’t see a damned thing with her own eyes!

  Calm. Stay calm.

  No reason to panic. She had memorized the route. There was nothing here to be afraid of. Just four metal walls…closing in on her.

  Stop!

  He leaned his face closer to her head. “We have to keep moving,” he whispered in her ear. “Is there a problem?”

  The lump that had swelled to capacity in her throat now ballooned into her chest. If she told him…she couldn’t tell him. No one could know. That would be a huge mistake.

  But she had to get out of he
re.

  Without responding, she twisted her torso and low-crawled to the right, sliding as quickly as humanly possible into the narrower metal corridor leading to an exit. Steele snagged her by the ankle, but she jerked free of his clutch and increased her forward momentum toward escape.

  Get out. Get out. Get out.

  Penny tried with every ounce of her being to grab back control…tried to restrain the urge to rush toward any sort of escape. She couldn’t. She just couldn’t tamp down the need throbbing and swelling inside her.

  She needed air…space.

  With one shaky yank, she cleared the filter out of her path, then tinkered with the clips until the return grill flew open. Steele was still clutching at her as she scrambled out into a long carpeted corridor.

  She stood on rubbery legs. Blinked.

  Check your perimeter, Penny. Don’t go totally stupid.

  She scanned the corridor. Deserted. An interior corridor judging by the lack of windows, she surmised. Dimly lit, but even a little light was better than none. No noise. No sign of the enemy.

  The ruthless grip of fear on her chest eased fractionally, allowing her to drag in a much needed lungful of air.

  Strong fingers, just as ruthless as the fear had been, wrapped around her arm. She turned to face her partner. The glare in his eyes told her he was not happy. But they couldn’t talk here.

  Doors lined each side of the corridor. All they needed was one that was unlocked.

  She motioned for him to follow her. Checking doors as she went, she opened the first one she encountered that wasn’t locked.

  Office. Large. Gleaming wood furnishings. View of the Magnificent Mile below. En suite half bath. It had to belong to a top executive.

  Steele hauled her to the en suite bath and quietly closed the door. In the split second before he flipped the light switch, her heart rate had already started rising again.

  “What the hell, Alexander?” he muttered in a harsh whisper. The ferocity of his tone jump-started the guilt that had hovered around the fringes of her illogical fear.