Holly Lin Box Set | Books 1-3

by Swartwood, Robert

  “He’s not my boss.”

  Erik frowned.

  “But—”

  Nova hooked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to James sleeping in the seat behind him.

  “He works for the man. Me … I’m simply an associate.”

  Erik didn’t know what this meant and didn’t want to ask—somehow he knew he’d still be confused—so he tilted his head at James.

  “Doesn’t he talk?”

  Nova shook his head.

  “He’s mute. Has been most of his life.”

  “Does he communicate with sign language?”

  “I would imagine so. Why, you know sign language?”

  “I do, actually. I learned it when I was a kid. I haven’t used it for years, so I’m sure I’m rusty, but I remember some of it.”

  Nova didn’t say anything to this, and glanced out his own window.

  Erik said, “So can you tell me anything about what’s going on?”

  Nova kept staring out his window.

  “We’re flying to D.C.”

  “Yeah, I get that part. And we’re going to try to find the people watching Holly’s family. But what happens when we find them?”

  Nova stared out his window for another moment before glancing at Erik again.

  “Look, you appear to be a smart guy, so I’m sure you get the sense I’m not really on board with having you here.”

  Erik nodded but said nothing. He had certainly gotten that impression.

  “If it were up to me, we would’ve left you back in that piece of shit town, probably tied up in the apartment so you couldn’t contact any of your fellow deputies. But obviously the powers that be had other ideas. Atticus isn’t my boss, but he’s a man I’ve come to trust. Every time I’ve needed help, he’s provided it.”

  Erik studied Nova sitting across from him, trying to decide who the man worked for.

  “Are you CIA?”

  Nova smiled, and shook his head.

  Erik said, “FBI?”

  Nova snorted, made a face, but still said nothing.

  “I’m guessing you’re not NSA, and you don’t strike me as working for another country.”

  Nova said, “I’m an American boy, through and through.”

  “So who do you work for?”

  “I told you, chief. I don’t work for anybody. I’m just here to help out a friend.”

  “Holly.”

  “That’s right.”

  “But shouldn’t we, you know, try to figure out what happened to her, too?”

  “Atticus is working on it. The moment she was taken into custody, he was alerted. That’s how he contacted me. I was out in the middle of nowhere, had been staying at a cabin by a stream to do some fly-fishing. Atticus gave me a call, said James would meet me, and several hours later we ended up in Alden.”

  “And I walked in while you were searching Holly’s apartment.”

  Nova shrugged.

  “We were wrapping up by the time you walked in, but yeah, basically.”

  “Did you mean what you said before?”

  “I guess it depends on what I said.”

  “That Holly can take care of herself.”

  Nova nodded, almost thoughtfully, and tilted his head so that he stared out his window again. Erik thought he might say something else, but he didn’t.

  “So what are we going to do once we land?”

  Nova glanced back at him, took a deep breath.

  “Once we land there will be some cars waiting, and weapons, and comms. We’re going to have to split up right away. Holly’s mom lives across town, and her sister’s husband works during the week. Summer just started, so her nephews won’t be in school, but there’s no telling where they might go during the day.”

  “I don’t get why we can’t call the police.”

  “And tell them what? We don’t have any proof her family is even in any danger. We’re doing this based on your word only. And no offense, but as far as I’m concerned, your word is worthless. Hell, you could be part of the group that abducted Holly for all we know. Playing us for fools.”

  Erik said nothing, too shocked to say anything at all.

  Nova shifted in his seat to give Erik his full attention. His hands didn’t move—they stayed where they were on the chair’s armrests—but Erik was all too conscious of the fact the man still had the FNX-45 on him.

  “Tell me the truth, Erik. You playing us for fools?”

  Erik didn’t bother shaking his head. He kept his gaze steady with Nova’s as he answered.

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Nova nodded slowly, and glanced back out his window.

  “I certainly hope that’s the case. I hope we don’t get to D.C. and find out we’re wasting our time.”

  “What happens if and when we find the people watching Holly’s family?”

  Nova kept staring out his window.

  “Nothing.”

  This wasn’t at all what Erik had expected to hear.

  “What do you mean, nothing?”

  “I mean it exactly as I said it.”

  “But that’s insane. If we find the men, why don’t we just—”

  Erik cut himself off, suddenly seeing it.

  Nova glanced at him again, and nodded.

  “That’s right. The moment we take them out, Holly’s life is over. Right now the people who took her want something from her, and they’re using her family as leverage.”

  “Say we do find these people. Say we manage to get one of them alone and force him to tell us where to find her.”

  “Say we do. An operation like this is a house of cards. Take one card away, the whole thing comes down. That’s why we first need to confirm the surveillance is real, and then we wait.”

  Erik shook his head, feeling more frustrated now than he’d felt all day.

  “But what are we waiting for?”

  “For Holly to do what she does best.”

  “And what’s that?”

  His head still tilted back, Nova shifted again in his seat to get comfortable and closed his eyes.

  “Survive.”

  Twenty-Nine

  The alarm on the nightstand goes off at seven o’clock on the dot, and a second later the door opens and Louis stands there, dressed in a fresh shirt and slacks, the Glock still holstered to his hip.

  “You want a shower?”

  It’s an odd question—like, of course I want a shower—but I don’t answer him, just keep lying in bed with my head tilted up to look at him.

  His expression doesn’t change.

  “You want a fucking shower or not?”

  I nod, rising a bit on my elbows.

  He tosses something at me. It’s small and plops down near the end of the bed. It’s a key, which will unlock the clasp on the collar.

  Louis says, “Need to recharge the collar anyway. You’ve got five minutes.”

  I stand as I grab the key and start fiddling with the clasp and only pause when Louis speaks again.

  “Oh, and Holly?”

  He reaches toward something in the hallway with his left hand as he unsnaps his gun from the holster and draws it, both hands seeming to work in concert, and then Jose fills the doorway with him, the boy still not looking at me, keeping his gaze tilted down at the floor, and Louis presses the barrel of his gun against Jose’s temple just hard enough for the boy to flinch.

  “Any funny business and the boy gets one in the head.”

  Louis, like his boss Hayward, finds power in making these kinds of threats, and I decide not to acknowledge it, moving straight for the bathroom and reaching into the small shower and turning on the water.

  I started the countdown as soon as Louis said five minutes, and four minutes and forty-six seconds later I shut off the water and grab the towel and start drying off. When I step back out of the bathroom, wrapped in the towel, a fresh pile of clothes has been set on the bed, and a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon
and toast sits on the nightstand.

  Louis doesn’t appear to have moved, and neither does Jose.

  I say to Louis, “I was out in less than five minutes.”

  His expression still doesn’t change.

  “Yes.”

  I gesture at Jose.

  “Well, let him go.”

  Louis doesn’t move at first—just stands there with his gun pressed against the boy’s head—but then finally he relaxes his grip on Jose.

  “Put the collar on.”

  I’m confused at first—does he mean the collar I left in the bathroom?—but then I spot a new collar on the bed next to the pile of clothes. This collar looks to be just like the other one—it snaps together, though it can’t be unsnapped without a key—and it fits snuggly around my throat.

  Louis says, “Where’s the key?”

  I tilt my chin at the bathroom.

  He doesn’t like this response, and presses the Glock’s barrel against Jose’s head again.

  I quickly retrieve the key and the other collar from the bathroom and slowly approach Louis. I hold out both items—the collar in one hand, the key in the other—and still without looking at me Jose reaches out and takes the items.

  Louis says, “Take four steps back.”

  I take four steps back, my calves brushing up against the bed behind me.

  Louis waits a beat and then moves the Glock away from Jose’s head.

  Holstering the gun, Louis pushes Jose down the hallway, and I can hear the boy’s soft footsteps rapidly retreat.

  I decide when I kill Louis, he, like his boss, will suffer greatly.

  Louis doesn’t move from the doorway.

  I say, “This isn’t a striptease. Mind giving me some privacy?”

  Louis points up at the camera in the corner. Of course. In Neverland, privacy doesn’t exist.

  I ask, “So what’s on the docket for today?”

  Louis keeps watching me with his blank expression.

  “Ten minutes to get dressed and to eat. Don’t be a second late. Or else the boy will suffer for your insolence.”

  Before I can say anything, he shuts the door.

  I stand there for a beat, watching the space he occupied a moment ago, and then I shift my gaze up to the camera in the ceiling.

  My first impulse is to give it the finger, but I think about the collar around my neck and the zap I’d felt last night. I could handle another one of those, but then I think about how Jose or maybe another child—that girl from last night—might get zapped for the gesture instead.

  I haven’t been here long and already I’ve become conditioned. I can’t even begin to imagine what these children go through on a daily basis.

  As I turn away and drop the towel and start to get dressed, I decide that when I kill everybody at this place—the guards and freelancers and anybody else who’s had a hand in hurting these children—they’ll all suffer greatly.

  Thirty

  Louis leads me outside into the morning sunlight. The sky is clear, only a haze of clouds on the horizon, and it’s much easier to scan the area.

  Besides the three buildings and the shed sitting several hundred yards away against the rise of a hill, there isn’t much else. Everything is sort of tucked in at the bottom of the hill, like we’re in half a bowl.

  Last night there were guards roaming the grounds, but today they’re gone.

  “This way.”

  The man’s voice is flat, indifferent, and he walks ahead of me with no fear whatsoever, the fob in his hand, the Glock 17 in its holster.

  We head out into an open field. Four men wait beside a folding table and chair. I peg them as the same freelancers who had abducted me from the Marshals. They each wear sunglasses, Beretta nine-millimeters holstered to their hips. Earplugs hang from strings around their necks. They don’t speak as we approach, and as we near, I notice the sniper rifle laid out on the table, along with a box of ammunition and a pair of earplugs and binoculars.

  Louis stops beside the table and crosses his arms.

  “We didn’t know which was your dominant hand, so we got you a Nemesis Valkyrie. Are you familiar with it?”

  I nod, staring down at the ambidextrous bolt-action sniper rifle. The weapon has already been assembled and sits upright on its bipod.

  Louis says, “We opted for the twenty-inch barrel. Supplied you with more than enough 6.5 Creedmoor to show us whether or not you can complete this mission.”

  I nod again and step closer to the table. Each of the freelancers draws his Beretta as I reach for the rifle.

  I raise an eyebrow at them.

  “Relax, boys. How else am I supposed to fire this thing if I don’t touch it?”

  The men don’t answer. They don’t aim their pistols at me, though, and just keep them at their sides. Ready for anything.

  Louis clears his throat.

  “As you can see, the rifle is not loaded. We figured you would want to do that yourself.”

  The Valkyrie has a ten-round magazine. I open the box and start feeding the magazine cartridges.

  “What am I shooting at today?”

  Louis gestures at the field.

  “We’ve set up a dozen two-liter soda bottles, as well as a few smaller bottles, roughly one thousand feet away.”

  I insert the magazine and pick up the rifle, and that’s when the freelancers aim their Berettas at me. They’ve moved in a sort of V-point position—one to my left, one to my right, two behind me—so that if I were to try to take out one the rest would easily put me down.

  “Like I said, boys, relax.”

  The freelancers don’t look relaxed.

  Louis says, “They’re simply doing their jobs. Now, why don’t you do yours?”

  Ouch.

  “Where do you want me to set up?”

  Louis picks up the binoculars from the table, and points at the chair.

  “Use the table to rest the rifle.”

  I sit down on the chair and secure the plugs in my ears. Pull the rifle close to me, peer through the scope. I spot the soda bottles hiding in the grass at the other end of the field. They’ve been stripped of their labels and look to be filled with water.

  My finger touches the trigger.

  I take a deep breath, let it out. Take another breath … and squeeze the trigger as I release the breath.

  One of the two-liters explodes.

  Louis, now with plugs in his own ears, lowers the binoculars from his face and nods at me.

  “Again.”

  I pull back the bolt, which spits out the spent casing, and then aim at one of the smaller bottles. Squeeze the trigger again, and another bottle disappears.

  This is almost too easy.

  I pull back the bolt again, ready to keep shooting, when Louis shouts.

  “Wait!”

  I keep my finger on the trigger but don’t squeeze it. Wait a couple seconds, and when Louis remains silent, I lean back and look at him.

  Hayward is headed toward us. He wears chinos and a white button-down shirt and a Panama hat. Jose and his minder follow, the boy staring at the ground as he walks.

  When they reach us, Louis hands off the binoculars to his boss. Hayward peers through the binoculars at the field and then hands the binoculars back to Louis.

  “Not too bad, Ms. Lin. Of course, those are stationary targets. And there isn’t any pressure, is there? You have unlimited chances to hit these targets here, while when the time comes to hit your intended target, you will only get one chance.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk, coach.”

  Hayward’s face colors. He glares at me for a beat, then glances down at Jose.

  “You have a soft spot for children, don’t you, Ms. Lin?”

  Jose stands motionless, keeping his face tilted down. It’s because I remember how he writhed in pain on the floor last night that I don’t say something smart to Hayward.

  Instead, I ask, “Who’s my target?”

  Hayward merely smiles.
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  “All in due time, Ms. Lin. You’ll be a guest here at Neverland for at least another day. You and I will get to know each other better. Plus, you’ll be able to practice your target shooting. So far”—he gestures at the field—“you seem to be capable, but remember, when the real time comes, you will be under a great deal of pressure. After all, if you do not follow through and successfully eliminate the target, your family will die. Your mother and sister and brother-in-law and, most importantly, your nephews. You don’t want them to die, do you?”

  It’s a stupid question—obviously I don’t want them to die—but the man is playing with me, and because he calls the shots right now, I have no choice but to play along.

  “No.”

  “That’s right, Ms. Lin. Of course you don’t want them to die. And because I feel it’s in your best interest to practice under some pressure, I’ve brought Jose along to give you extra motivation.”

  I don’t like the sound of where this is going.

  Hayward smiles again.

  “I want you to shoot one of the smaller bottles. And if you miss, Jose will suffer.”

  Jose, still staring down at the ground, starts to tremble.

  I wet my lips and again think about how when I kill Hayward I’m going to make him suffer. Break some bones. Maybe gouge an eye. But right now that’s all just a distraction. I need to focus. Need to calm my nerves.

  So I turn back to the rifle. Reset the earplugs. Peer through the scope. Center on one of the smaller bottles standing in the grass. Touch my finger to the trigger. Take a breath, let it out. Take another breath—

  Louis kicks the table as I pull the trigger, and the shot goes wide.

  At once Jose cries out as he falls to the ground. I immediately push to my feet, but a sudden bolt of lightning courses through me, and I jerk and drop to one knee as Hayward simply stands there, his hands clasped in front of him, watching me.

  A couple seconds, that’s all it takes, and the lightning blinks out and all that’s left is a lingering pain, a shadow pain.

  Jose stops writhing on the ground, but he doesn’t get up.

  Hayward shakes his head at me, a disappointed father.

  “Turns out you’re not so great under pressure after all.”

  He waits for me to answer, and when I don’t give him one, he turns back to the boy.