Unspeakable

by Elisabeth Naughton

  Panic pushed Andy out of his seat. “Who knows? Who took her?”

  “Your fucking assistant and your fucking client.”

  The blood drained from Andy’s face. “H-how do you know it was them?”

  “Because security cameras outside the facility picked them up leaving the damn place. You had one job, Renwick. One measly job. To keep that bitch under control. But you failed.”

  “I-I’ll talk to her. I’ll make sure she knows how serious this is.”

  “Don’t bother. We’re handling it from here on out.”

  “No.” That panic turned to full-on terror. “I’ll warn her again. Sh-she must not have understood me yesterday. She—”

  “She’s a liability, Renwick.”

  “No, please. This isn’t her fault. It’s McClane—”

  “We should have taken care of her two years ago when we took care of her father. That’s on you as well, convincing us she’d never be an issue. You were wrong on both counts.”

  “Please, listen. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt her. This isn’t her fau—”

  “Stop fucking whining. It’s unbecoming of a man in your position. Both of them will be dead by morning. Unless we decide to sell Blake to one of our investors instead. In which case, she’ll wish she was dead.”

  The line clicked in his ear. Pulling the phone away from his ear, Andy stared at the screen in horror. Hand shaking, he dropped it on his desk, scrambled for his personal phone in his top drawer, and dialed Harper’s number.

  “Please,” he whispered, “please pick up.”

  It rang three times and went to voice mail.

  “No. God no.” He dropped into his chair, rested his elbow against the desk, and swiped the sweat forming on his brow as he dialed again. “Answer, Harper. Goddammit, just answer.”

  Rusty didn’t feel like going back to Hunt’s place. He knew if his brothers took one look at him, they’d know something was wrong. And he wasn’t in the mood for sympathy or the inevitable what-did-you-expect-getting-involved-with-a-cop looks he knew he’d get from Alec.

  His gut said Harper shouldn’t be alone, not if the Plague knew about her. But he couldn’t make himself stay, so as he walked out of the station, he pulled his phone from his pocket, sent her a text, then told himself the woman could take care of herself. Hell, she could easily kick his ass. She had, both physically and emotionally.

  Maybe it was stupid to go home, but no one had followed him today. No one at the station had spared him more than an annoyed glance. Pierce hadn’t seen him at the research facility, and if Renwick had told the Plague he was Robin Hood, he’d already be dead. But just to be safe, he decided to grab a blanket and a bottle of scotch and lock himself in the wine cave for the night. No one would find him there. And there was no sense taking stupid chances. God knew, he’d taken enough stupid chances in his life, especially during the last week.

  Feeling like a schmuck, a grade-A asshole, and an idiot all rolled into one, he turned onto the vineyard and bypassed his house. It was still standing, still in one piece, not a single thing out of place. Parking in front of the barn, he grabbed his car keys and slammed the door.

  The barn was dark and deserted, just the way it was supposed to be. He’d gotten in the habit of leaving his keys to the caves hanging on a hook in the loft for the contractor so the crew could get to the building fixtures he’d stored out of the weather, and as he jogged up the temporary stairs to the upper deck, he hoped they were still where he’d left them. Work tools were scattered across the naked floorboards—hammers, triangles, crowbars, a nail gun, the stapler he’d left out after hanging a sign warning the construction crew about some rotten floorboards. The makeshift table was stacked with plans, pencils, squares, and used paper coffee cups no one had thrown away yet.

  He turned in a slow circle in the middle of the massive space, seeing it all in his mind’s eye. It was going to be perfect when it was done. Rustic, classy, everything he’d imagined for nearly fifteen years. Except the one person he’d started envisioning here in the space with him wasn’t ever going to be here. Not now. Not when he knew the truth.

  “Moron,” he muttered, shaking her from his head as he pushed his feet forward. The sound his boots made on the wood echoed as he crossed to the far side and looked up at the markings Matt had made both on the header above and the floorboards below. He’d do exactly what he’d always done. He’d focus on work. On the property. On getting by with what he had. He’d made it this far on his own. Being alone was what was familiar to him.

  Shuffling sounded on the stairs. And he frowned when he realized he wasn’t alone. If Harper had followed him, he wasn’t sure what the hell he was going to say to her. He turned toward the stairs, then froze.

  Not Harper. Not even close.

  Two men stepped into the moonlight coming through the open wall. Two men he recognized because he’d seen them only an hour ago at the facility.

  Harper wasn’t sure if she wanted to vomit or if flames were about to shoot straight out of her ears.

  As she left Robinson’s office and turned to skirt the edge of the cubicles in the middle of the room, she realized there was a chance both could happen.

  He wasn’t going to arrest Pierce. She understood the reasoning, but she didn’t like it. And she hated that she doubted Robinson would do the right thing and let Pierce lead them to the head of the Plague. What if Robinson was corrupt too? Hell, he hadn’t believed her once before, why would he believe her now?

  She rounded the corner and stared at the empty bank of chairs where she’d told Rusty to wait. Slowing her steps, she glanced right and left, looking for him. All she saw was the normal chaos of the department, officers answering calls, typing on keyboards, moving around with papers and coffee cups.

  “Jessica,” she said when she recognized a young officer in a blue uniform with her auburn hair pulled back in a slick ponytail, moving toward her, heading for the elevators.

  “Hey, Blake. Haven’t seen you around here lately. You meeting someone for drinks after their shift?”

  “No, I had a meeting with Robinson. There was a guy sitting here a few minutes ago. Civilian. Tall, dark, wearing Romeos, jeans, black Henley, and a jean jacket. Did you see him?”

  “Oh yeah, he was cute. All dark and brooding, just my type. Was he with you?”

  Yes, absolutely he was with me, she wanted to yell, but forced herself to stay calm and instead said, “Yeah. Did you see where he went?”

  “Yeah. Where you just were. He was over here for a while, then he got up and moved toward Robinson’s door. Stood there for a few minutes and left. That was only a few minutes ago. I didn’t realize you were inside.”

  “Left?” Panic surged inside her. “What do you mean, ‘left’?”

  She chuckled. “‘Left,’ as in, he walked this way, got on the elevator, and left.”

  “Dammit.” Harper’s mind spun as she glanced down at the floor. If he’d stood outside Robinson’s door and was gone now, she could think of only one thing that would make him leave with no word.

  “Shit.” She pressed a hand against her forehead as sickness swirled in her stomach.

  He’d overheard Robinson discussing her deal with the commissioner.

  “Hey, you okay?” Jessica asked, placing a hand on Harper’s arm. “You don’t look so well all of a sudden.”

  “I-I’m fine. Thanks.” But she wasn’t. She was freaking the hell out.

  Swiveling around, she rushed to the elevators, hit the “Call” button again and again, and stared up at the lights above the doors as she waited, willing the damn car to get here.

  She knew exactly what he was thinking. Exactly why he’d left. And he wasn’t wrong. He just didn’t know that between the time she’d made that deal and now, she’d completely changed her mind about what she wanted.

  The elevator doors opened, and she rushed inside and hit “Lobby.” Minutes later she burst through the front doors of the building an
d scanned the dark street.

  Rusty’s truck was gone.

  “Dammit.”

  Her phone buzzed, and she quickly tugged it out, hoping it was from Rusty. It was, but not the words she’d wanted to see.

  Something came up. Call O’Donnell. He’ll take you back to his place where you’ll be safe. Don’t be stupid and try to go home. They know where you live.

  Her stomach rolled. She knew without even calling O’Donnell that Rusty wasn’t at his apartment. She could all but hear the hurt in the words on her phone. Glancing right and left, she quickly scanned the street for a cab. A yellow vehicle idled two blocks down near a restaurant.

  She pushed her legs into a run and waved her arm to get the driver’s attention. He didn’t seem to notice her. Heart thundering, she raced toward the corner. Just as she passed a dark doorway, a hand reached out of the shadows.

  An arm snaked around her waist and yanked her into the darkness. Harper gasped but didn’t have time to scream. Another hand closed over her mouth and jerked her up against a hard male body.

  Something cold pressed against her throat. Something sharp. And in her ear a menacing voice whispered, “Don’t move.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Rusty stared across the room at Pierce and the Eastern European they called Mihail, listening for any sounds that anyone else was with them. He couldn’t hear anything, but that didn’t mean they were alone.

  “You’re missing your little bodyguard,” Pierce said, resting his hands on his hips. “Lucky us.”

  Instead of the cheap suit he’d been wearing last week when he’d questioned Rusty, tonight he was decked out in dark jeans and a black turtleneck. Mihail was wearing the same, except the prick had added a stocking cap to protect his bald head.

  “Guess you should have arrested me then,” Rusty answered, watching both of them closely in case they made any kind of move for the holsters at their hips. They were armed, he wasn’t, but he knew this construction site and they didn’t. If they came at him, he’d give them a few surprises they wouldn’t forget, even if he died in the process.

  “Guess I should have.”

  “How do we want to do this?” Mihail asked.

  “Suicide would be best,” Pierce answered. “Fewer questions. It won’t be hard to stage the scene. Get close, though.”

  Fuck that. Rusty bolted for the sawhorses. His shoulder slammed into the hard surface as he flipped the make-shift worktable over, ducking behind the hardwood they’d nailed to the top.

  A gunshot went off, echoing through the space.

  “Motherfucker!” Pierce screamed. “Are you an idiot? Don’t start shooting up the place. It’ll look too damn suspicious!”

  “Oh. But you said—”

  “Just fucking go get him,” Pierce hissed.

  Footsteps pounded close. Rusty glanced right and left, searching for a weapon. Mihail yelled, “Come out from behind there, you dickhead, and take it like a man.”

  Rusty wrapped one hand around the handheld work light that had been hanging from a pole on the side of the worktable and which was still plugged in. Then he gripped the nail gun that had flown off the table when he’d flipped it over and breathed hard as he waited.

  “I said,” Mihail growled only feet away, “come out.”

  His head popped over the edge of the table. Rusty looked up just in time to see the barrel of the gun. Lifting the work light, he flipped the switch, illuminating the room. Mihail grunted and stumbled back. Rusty didn’t hesitate. He popped up, lifted the nail gun, and pulled the trigger.

  A hiss sounded as the nails left the gun, followed by a series of thwacks as they struck Mihail right in the forehead, not more than a foot away.

  Wide-eyed, Rusty stared at the blood oozing from the man’s face. In front of him, Mihail swayed, grunted, then collapsed against the ground, lying limp with his eyes wide open.

  Rusty’s stomach pitched, and bile shot straight up his throat.

  “Motherfucker.” Across the room where he’d been watching, Pierce reached for his weapon.

  Knowing he didn’t have time to deal with what he’d just done, Rusty swiveled and pointed the nail gun at Pierce. But when he depressed the trigger, nothing happened. Gunshots echoed through the barn. Rusty dropped the nail gun and light and dove back behind the table. The thwack, thwack, thwack of bullets digging into the wood at his back sounded all around him.

  He scanned the ground, spotted the cord to the light, and yanked the plug from the outlet, dousing the room in darkness.

  “You think you’re tough?” Pierce yelled. “You think that nail gun’s gonna save your sorry ass? You don’t know shit.”

  Rusty’s heart beat hard. Sweat broke out all over his body. He looked around, searching for something—anything—he could use as a weapon. The closest objects were a crowbar and a sander.

  “I did some research on you,” Pierce growled. “Found out what kind of sick fuck you really are. You like young girls just as much as our clients, don’t you? I think we’ll have to make sure your whole family knows just what kind of shit you like. We can find that nice doctor mother of yours and fill her in. And your slutty little sister, and all those pretty little wives those bastards you call brothers managed to fuck. Bet they’ll be a hotter lay than Blake. You’ve taken a liking to her, haven’t you? I get the appeal. Trust me. But she’s not worth the effort. If she’s not dead yet, she will be in a matter of minutes.”

  Rusty’s vision turned red. Grasping the crowbar in one hand, he reached for the sander, jerked to his feet, and hurled it straight at the sound of Pierce’s voice in the darkness.

  The man grunted and stumbled back. Something whacked the floor. Scrambling over the table, Rusty hurled himself straight at him and swung out with the crowbar, nailing him in the side of the head.

  A crack echoed through the large space. Pierce groaned and rolled across the floor. Muscles vibrating, Rusty gripped the crowbar and went after him.

  “You son of a bitch.” He swung out just as Pierce found his footing. The crowbar smacked against the side of his face.

  Pierce went flying. His body hit the ground. He groaned, writhed against the ground in pain, and tried to push up on his hands and knees.

  Breathing heavily, Rusty watched him, fighting the urge to finish the son of a bitch off. Pierce managed to push to his feet, then stumbled to the left, like a dazed fighter, his head lolling on his neck, and hit the ground with a grunt.

  He wasn’t worth it. Rusty released the weapon at his side. It clattered against the floorboards.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone to check on Harper. He only got in three numbers before Pierce lurched to his feet, screamed, and rushed right at him.

  Rusty only had a split second to decide what to do. He lifted his fists to defend himself, and then he realized where he was standing.

  On the markings Matt had made for the door tracks. Two feet from the drop-off that was more like three stories up instead of two. Where the deck would eventually be but wasn’t yet.

  Every muscle in his body tensed as Pierce’s enraged face shot toward him. But just before the man’s fist made contact, Rusty ducked to the side and stepped to the left. Pierce’s eyes grew wide when he saw nothing but darkness, but it was already too late. He went sailing over the edge of the old barn loft and smacked with a thud against the concrete far below.

  Rusty’s heart raced as he turned to look. Pierce was facedown, not moving. Bending forward, Rusty rested his hands on his knees and sucked back air. Far below, a cell phone rang. Rusty lifted his head and peered over the edge as it rang again, realizing it must be coming from the phone in Pierce’s pocket. The man still didn’t move a muscle.

  The ring died out, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. Dropping his head, Rusty focused on breathing, on filling his lungs with air and slowing his racing heart. Behind him, another phone shrilled.

  He whipped around and scanned the space. It was coming from the m
iddle of the room. From Mihail’s pocket. It too rang four times, then died out.

  Shit. The Plague was checking their progress. He had minutes before someone else showed up.

  He fumbled for his cell phone, hit Hunt’s number, and reached for the keys in his pocket as he raced toward the stairs.

  “Hey,” Hunt said, picking up on the first ring. “Where are you? We thought you two were coming back here tonight. Kelsey made din—”

  “Harper didn’t make it back?” Panic pushed his voice an octave higher.

  “No. Was she coming here alone?”

  “Goddammit. I thought he was baiting me.”

  “Whoa. Slow down and tell me what happened.”

  “They have her, Hunt.” Rusty hit the concrete floor, darted for his truck, and jerked open the driver-side door. Jumping inside and starting the engine, he said, “Harper and I went to the facility, and when we were there—”

  His phone beeped with an incoming message as he was backing around the sedan Pierce and Mihail must have driven. Heart in his throat, he hit the brakes, hoping maybe it was her and that Pierce had been lying. “Hold on.”

  He yanked the phone away from his face and looked down at the message. And felt his heart shoot right into his throat.

  It was a picture. Of Harper. Bound, with duct tape around her ankles, her knees, and her wrists, which were trapped behind her back. Her eyes were open but only partway, and the dazed look reflected in their hazel depths told him she’d been drugged. Another strip of silver duct tape was secured over her mouth.

  He couldn’t tell if she was conscious or unconscious since it was a still photograph. But he saw the blood dripping down her face and oozing from beneath the tight tape. And inside, all he knew was rage. White-hot, blistering rage.

  His phone dinged again, only this time it wasn’t a picture that came through; it was a text. A text that told him they knew he’d escaped death. And that they were using her as bait.

  Her life is in your hands. If you want her to live, follow these instructions very carefully.