by Mary Stone
21
At five-thirty the next morning, Jillian whizzed down the highway toward the airport, slamming on the brakes when a silver BMW changed lanes at the last second and cut her off.
“You knucklehead!” She reached out to make sure her travel mug was still safe in the cupholder before shaking her fist at the other car. “You’re lucky you didn’t spill my coffee!”
“We’re good too. Thanks for checking.”
Jillian rolled her eyes at Ellie before focusing her attention back out the windshield. “Hey, a girl has her priorities in the morning. Coffee comes first.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
Jillian’s rearview mirror showed Clay saluting her with his cup from the back seat.
“Now that our lives are no longer flashing before our eyes, can we get back to discussing our game plan once we get to Portland? Or lack thereof, I guess I should say.”
At Ellie’s reminder of the trip’s purpose, Jillian’s humor melted away. Right. Ellie and Clay were flying to Portland to track down Gabe without a clear strategy in mind for achieving that goal. She changed lanes to get around the terrible driver in front of her, but now her mind was too preoccupied with Portland to bother with flipping him off. “Are you two sure this is a good idea? Maybe you should wait until you hear from Gabe again.”
Clay leaned forward, resting his forearm on the back of Ellie’s seat. “We’re not sure of anything, but this is what Ellie wants to do, and I support her decision.”
Jillian bit her lip. She didn’t like this. Not at all. “Ellie?”
Her friend blew out a frustrated breath. “I’m not feeling much more confident than Clay is. What I do know is that, until Gabe contacts us again, our hands are tied. The one thing we do in the meantime is make sure we’re already on the ground in Portland, ready to go when he calls.”
If he calls, Jillian corrected, but only in her head. Ellie was stressed enough without Jillian adding to her friend’s worries. She sipped her latte, hoping another injection of caffeine might calm her fears.
“Once he makes contact, we’ll pick him up and let Frank know. Then we’ll figure out a way to transfer him to a new safe house. Although…” Ellie released an angst-filled growl.
Out of the corner of her eye, Jillian caught Clay giving her friend’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Hey. I have faith that we’ll figure out where the leak came from, but if for some reason we can’t, then we’ll hide Gabe ourselves until we do. Deal?”
Ellie sighed. “Deal.”
After one more squeeze, Clay released Ellie’s shoulder and dropped back into his seat.
Jillian snuck a quick peek at Ellie’s grim expression and sighed. Not for the first time, she wished that her friend and Clay would quit being so darned stubborn and give in to their feelings for each other already. The fact that they were still into each other was so obvious, even Jacob had noticed. For a big tough FBI agent, Clay wore his heart pretty openly on his sleeve. As for Ellie…
She studied her friend’s tight-lipped profile before turning her attention back to the road. Ellie hid her feelings better, but every now and then, Jillian detected an intense yearning in her friend’s green eyes when she watched Clay from across the room.
Jillian made an impatient noise in her throat. Maybe she should mind her own business but living with the pair of star-crossed lovers made butting out tough. Especially for her. She had Ellie to thank for the happiness she’d discovered with Jacob. Was it so wrong that Jillian wished for that same happiness to find her best friend? Clay and Ellie were perfect for each other. Nothing like that spoiled ex of hers.
She navigated the morning traffic, marveling over how much had happened over the past year. If Fortis hadn’t banished Ellie to the basement to work on cold cases, she and Jillian might never have become friends. In turn, Ellie wouldn’t have introduced Jillian to Jacob, and the four of them wouldn’t be cohabitating in a house with two dogs. Yeah, so Jillian could have passed on being kidnapped or almost getting blown up by Kingsley.
Behind her eyes, the Audi exploded into orange fire all over again, and her lungs seized with remembered fear. The deafening boom, the flying chunks of metal shrapnel. Jillian had been steps away from going up in flames herself.
Red lights flashed in front of her, so she tapped her brakes and tossed her head. If skipping the bad parts meant having no Ellie, Jacob, or Clay in her life? Forget it. The trade-off was worth every terror-filled moment.
Her spine chose that moment to twinge, and Jillian grimaced. Okay, the back pain, she could really do without.
“Hey, isn’t that the airport exit?”
Ellie’s question jerked Jillian from her memories. She glanced at the sign and flipped on her turn signal. “Hold on.” She gassed the SUV and swerved across two lanes of traffic at the last possible second, accelerating into the exit lane without a moment to spare. The driver behind her slammed on their brakes and blasted the horn. Yeesh. She totally deserved that one.
Jillian glanced in the rearview mirror to wave an apology but dropped her hand when she spotted the silver BMW from earlier. “Ha! Karma’s a bitch, jerkface.”
Clay whistled. “This is a side of Jillian I’ve never seen before.”
“Oh yeah, I carry a mean grudge. You best remember that, Clay Lockwood.” Jillian ruined her warning by snickering.
Her levity faded by the time she pulled up to the curb outside their gate and threw the SUV into park. Clay grabbed their duffle bags from the back while Jillian rounded the front of the SUV and threw her arms around Ellie. “You be careful out there, you hear me? Otherwise, I’m going to let Sam roll around on that white suit you love so much.”
“Don’t you dare!” Ellie squeezed her back before stepping away. “And okay already. I’ll be careful, I promise.”
Clay walked up with the bags, so Jillian pointed her finger at him.
“You too, Clay. Be safe.” Before the FBI agent could protest, Jillian gave him a quick hug too. Over his shoulder, she noticed a nearby airport security guy giving her the stink eye. “All right, I’ve gotta go before they throw me in airport jail for exceeding my curb time allotment. Text me when you get there.”
Jillian hurried back to the driver’s seat, waving off approaching security. “I’m leaving, okay? Chill!” Flicking on her turn signal, she took one last look at her friends, catching sight of Clay’s cowboy hat and Ellie’s red braid before they disappeared between the sliding doors that led to the gates.
Once they were gone, an odd sensation slithered across her skin at the sudden emptiness of the SUV. She rubbed the back of her neck and scowled. What was she, five years old again, and afraid to be alone? She told herself to quit acting like a fool.
A driver waiting for her spot blasted his horn, prodding Jillian to finally put her middle finger to use while she hit the gas. She followed the airport signs to the 26-East and merged into the slow-moving rush hour traffic. Every so often, Jillian found herself checking the rearview mirror for signs that someone was tailing her. Her heartbeat stuttered for ten minutes straight when she noticed the same white Honda Accord on her butt. She signaled and cruised into the slow lane. The car whizzed on by.
“Idiot. Of course he was following you. You’re on the freeway. That’s what cars on the freeway do.”
Despite her muttered joke, the uneasiness persisted. Served her right for brushing off Ellie’s security detail this morning. At the time, she’d dismissed the offer as silly, figuring why waste their time by forcing them to follow her to the police station? She regretted that choice, but too late for a do-over now.
Jillian checked the rearview mirror again. Her lungs seized at the white car behind her. She slammed her foot on the brake, and the car swerved into the next lane. Only then did she spot the blue, black, and white emblem on the hood. A BMW. Not a Honda.
At this rate, Jillian would end up in an accident long before she ever made it to work.
Annoyed by her jumpiness, she cl
icked on the radio, turning to a morning news program in hopes that would soothe the cold, oily sensation that stretched across her neck, her shoulders, down her spine. The DJs’ chatter as they traded jabs sounded like gibberish, though.
Jillian turned the volume up and attempted to concentrate, but her attention diverted back to her life over the past few months. As much as she loved that her proximity to Ellie and Clay allowed her access to cases and secret information that no one else knew, Jillian had to admit that the downside was pretty terrible. Because of his sick obsession with Ellie, Kingsley had targeted her. Multiple times. Now, the sociopathic doctor was going after Gabe.
People around Ellie ended up hurt.
Jillian eased off the gas to let a car in the next lane merge, her shoulders hunching at the traitorous thought. No fair. Ellie couldn’t help that a madman was obsessed with her. She flipped the buttons until hard rock blasted from the speakers, turning up the volume until the noise drowned out the static in her mind.
When she parked in Ellie’s usual spot in front of the Charleston PD, Jillian clicked off the radio, but she didn’t get out right away. Instead, she gripped the wheel and stared straight ahead. The truth was, Jillian was right to be on high alert. They all were.
Gabe had only thwarted Kingsley to save Jillian’s life, and look what was happening to him. Guilt twisted her gut. If anything, whatever Kingsley did to Gabe as a result fell on her head, not Ellie’s.
But guilt alone wasn’t responsible for the invisible bugs crawling along her skin. Jillian had experienced fear enough times to recognize the sharp, coppery taste. Because Kingsley would stop at nothing to get back at his former assistant, and once he did? He’d move on to the next person on his list. The man got off on torture, and his appetite for pain would never be quenched.
Jillian trembled. One of those names on that list that Kingsley had yet to scratch off was Ellie’s. Jillian was deluding herself if she didn’t believe her name showed up on the list too.
She dragged her hand down her face before shutting off the engine and climbing out. Speculating this way got her nowhere, unless she wanted an ulcer and a heart attack by forty-five.
Pessimism was a trap. A mental state that sucked away all hope, the way a black hole did light. Jillian smoothed her hair and reapplied her red lipstick. She was an optimist. Time to start acting like one.
Jillian flung back her shoulders as she marched toward the station’s entrance. There was nothing wrong with being extra cautious, or keeping her senses switched into high alert. Caving to panic and allowing fear to infiltrate every aspect of her life was the problem.
As she entered the building, a reedy Christmas tree towered in the far left corner, snagging her attention with its joyful, twinkling lights. Her hand flew to her chest. Wow. With all the craziness lately, Jillian had pretty much spaced on the holidays. She bet Ellie had too.
While she gazed at the festive tree, a wonderful idea struck her. She clasped her hands together. Yes, a little holiday spirit would go a long way toward elevating all their moods right now. As she bounded down the stairs that led to her basement office, Jillian’s anxiety all but vanished.
Jillian might be useless to change the outcome of Clay and Ellie’s rescue mission in Portland, but one thing she could do was ensure their homecoming was full of hope and light.
22
Gabe drifted through the darkness, almost like he was floating underwater. In the distance, a noise blared, low and throaty. Familiar, yet wrong. The sound penetrated his weightless world, bobbing along with him as he tried to place the intrusion. It was on the tip of his tongue but vanished into the ether before Gabe could solidify the idea to words.
The noise blared again. Louder this time. Gabe’s eyelids twitched as he floated in that direction. He pushed, but they were too heavy to lift.
Buzz. Buzz.
Tiny feet danced across his cheek. Gabe flinched and attempted to bat away the tickle, but his arms remained boneless. Too heavy to move.
Buzz.
A new tickle on his nose. Gabe wanted to scratch, but he still couldn’t move. He frowned. Something was wrong.
A whirlpool materialized in his tranquil lake. The current tugged at his legs and accelerated his pulse. Now he remembered. His pool wasn’t safe. Monsters lurked below the surface, circling until they decided to pull him under.
He had to get out. Now.
His eyelids still felt weighted, like someone had taped rocks to the skin, but his growing sense of dread made him push harder against the restriction. After a huge effort, he managed to blink. Only the world resisted sharpening into focus. Awareness returned to his limbs, one cell at a time. A chair. He was sitting in a chair.
Gabe frowned again, somehow disturbed by that realization. Why a chair? Had he fallen asleep? That same noise blared again, and recognition clicked. A foghorn! But wait. Didn’t a foghorn imply that a boat was nearby?
As the drugs continued to wear out of his system, Gabe blinked his eyes again. He managed to keep them open in a squint. Everything was still blurry, but through his altered vision, he could make out the shape of a man sitting a few feet away.
Gabe tried to lift his hands to rub his eyes, but he hit resistance. Same thing happened when he attempted to move his feet. Not weightless at all. Restraints. Around his wrists and ankles. He was tied down.
Adrenaline surged, pulsing the last of the fuzziness away. As he regained consciousness, disjointed memories flashed behind Gabe’s eyes. Packing up his few belongings and sneaking out of the safe house. The bright lights of a convenience store. A bald man with bushy eyebrows. Flickering letters that spelled out M-O-T-E-L. Strong arms grabbing him from behind and shoving him into a van. The smell of garlic.
One of the last things he remembered was a needle piercing his neck, and a soft hand stroking his hair. The rest was a blank until he woke up…here. Wherever here was.
He’d traded the imaginary monster from his drug-induced haze for a real one.
Gabe drew in a shuddering breath, cautioning himself not to panic. Not that his pep talk helped. He was in a strange place, tied to a chair, waiting for Kingsley to torture him until he screamed for mercy. His focus sharpened, allowing him to make out the features of the man sitting opposite him. Except, that made no sense.
Gabe blinked, but the image before him stayed the same. The man examining him from a few feet away appeared to be no older than forty, with brown skin, thick hair, and sharp cheekbones. Not Kingsley. A stranger.
But that didn’t make any sense. “Where am I?”
The stranger’s impassive expression didn’t change, nor did he respond to Gabe’s question.
Desperate, Gabe fought his restraints, yanking with all his might. He tired far too quickly. An aftereffect, he suspected, of whatever poison had been in that syringe.
Gabe relaxed, giving his wobbly limbs time to regather their strength. Not too much time, though, because he had to get out of here. Before Kingsley came back.
As he waited, Gabe appealed to the stranger again. “Please, help me! Cut me free. The Feds will be coming any minute now, but if you hurry up and cut me free, they won’t have to know about your role in this, whatever that may be. Please.”
Again, no reply from the stranger. The man leaned forward in his chair, though, which Gabe grasped at as a hopeful sign.
“Do you work for Dr. Kingsley? We don’t have to tell him. You could say I escaped. Please.”
This time, the man’s lips quirked upward. Before Gabe could process that reaction, a door squealed open behind him before clinking shut again. He froze. Oh god, was he too late? Was that Kingsley?
With his pulse thundering in his ears, Gabe swiveled his head to the left, toward the newcomer. The constriction in his chest eased when the man’s long, gaunt face and sunken cheeks registered. Another stranger. Not Kingsley.
Gabe’s chin fell to his chest in silent thanks. He lifted his head again, and his gaze snagged on an object that flashe
d in the newcomer’s hands. The gaunt man carried a tray, and on that tray gleamed a display of knives arranged in a fan. Gabe’s throat turned into a desert as the invisible force resumed squeezing his rib cage, forcing the oxygen from his lungs.
The man walked the tray over to the brown-skinned stranger, who continued to study Gabe with that same odd smile. “Here they are, Mr. del Rey. Freshly sharpened and polished, as requested.” The gaunt man stopped within reaching distance of the brown-skinned man he’d called Mr. del Rey. He lowered the tray so that Mr. del Rey could inspect the contents without leaving his chair.
Gabe racked his brain for clues as to why this was happening. He’d been so sure Kingsley was behind his kidnapping, but he didn’t recognize these men at all. Who was this Mr. del Rey, and what did he have against Gabe? Or the gaunt man, for that matter?
A shiver slid down his arms as the brown-skinned man stroked a single finger down one of the gleaming blades. Gabe yanked his arms and legs, testing the ropes binding him in place. If anything, the knots tightened.
Mr. del Rey glanced up from the knives and clucked his tongue. “Relax, dear boy. The fun is about to start.”
The words stopped Gabe cold. No, not the words, he realized. The voice.
His muscles froze in instinctual panic as the pleasant, lilting tones sifted over him. His mouth opened on a silent gasp as he stared at the man, searching for any proof that his ears weren’t failing him. But no. The brown-skinned face smiling back at him was a stranger’s. The voice, though. That voice would accompany Gabe to his grave.
He shook his head, dazed. Maybe he was stuck in a nightmare, and fear was playing tricks on his brain. That made more sense than the other possibility that tugged at Gabe’s consciousness.
“No. No.”
Gabe didn’t hear his own whimpers until the brown-skinned man shushed him. “Now, now, stop that. Pretending not to know who I am won’t change a thing.”