Vow of Justice

by Lynette Eason

  He knew she was. “Thanks, Annie.”

  “Hold up, people,” Mark said, his voice coming over the earpiece loud and clear. “We’ve got another visitor. Or three.”

  “Who is it?” Linc asked.

  “If I’m not mistaken, that’s Vladislav Nevsky and a couple of his goons.”

  Allie woke slowly, noting the fire in the back of her shoulder had faded to a dull throb. She was still on the bathroom floor, which meant Henry hadn’t come looking for her. Which meant she hadn’t been out very long.

  When she’d passed out, she’d done so sitting up and leaning against the wall. Fortunately, the cloth was still pressing against the open wound.

  Reaching back, she held the fabric in place and slowly stood, making sure her legs would hold her.

  They did.

  In the bedroom, she glanced at the bedside clock. Twenty minutes had passed since her self-inflicted surgery. She downed three more ibuprofen and noted that her fever didn’t seem to be quite as high—if she could gauge it simply by how she felt.

  She returned to the bathroom to glare at the tiny round device sitting innocently on the counter. A tracker. So that’s how Henry had stayed one step ahead of them each and every time. She’d led him right to Daria, and of course, he’d want her taken out because she was one of the few who knew Allie was alive—and that he was corrupt.

  Allie figured the device had been placed in her by the doctor at the rehab center. Forsythe. And Henry didn’t want her to leave the room because he planned all along to keep her “dead” from that point on. Only she unwittingly ruined his plans when she stopped taking the meds that had kept her sedated and left the room in search of a laptop.

  She supposed the kicker had been when she ran into Catherine Hayworth. She sealed that woman’s fate the moment she’d become Allie’s nurse. Allie’s anger came in waves, bringing tears and the need to defeat Henry in whatever way necessary. Give me a plan, God, please.

  Voices reached her. Loud voices. In the well-stocked medicine cabinet, she found several Band-Aids and pulled out three. By the time she got them on, pulling the raw skin together as tight as possible, she was sweating, but at least the worst of the dizziness and nausea had passed.

  “Allie?”

  Henry was back. She almost tried to move to sweep the evidence of her actions into the cabinet under the sink, then let the items sit there while she awkwardly pulled her shirt on.

  “Allie? You in there?” He actually knocked.

  “Come in,” she said. Her fingers curled around the knife.

  The door opened and his eyes widened at the mess on the floor next to her. She stared up at him. Only the fact that she would lose in a hand-to-hand fight with him at the moment kept her from using the last of her strength to launch herself at him and bury the knife in his throat. That . . . and she still didn’t know where Catherine was. “I had to get rid of the infection.”

  “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “Unbelievable! I told you I would take care of it!” He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped the screen.

  He was going to punish Catherine because she was trying to help herself? “Henry! No!”

  His hard eyes met hers. “Too late.”

  He tapped the screen again. The television in the bedroom came to life.

  At first nothing.

  Then a sharp cry reached her. Then a full-blown scream. Then another. “Stop it! Make it stop!”

  Allie lurched to her feet and staggered into the bedroom to see Catherine standing in the middle of the room, swiping the red ants from her. Welts appeared.

  This time Allie did hurl herself at Henry, her good shoulder connecting with the middle of his chest. The breath whooshed from his lungs and he stumbled back against the bed. Another shove sent him to the floor. Before he could recover from his surprise at her attack, Allie grabbed the hand with the phone and slammed it against the carpet, then jammed her elbow into a pressure point on his biceps. Henry howled and the phone tumbled from his fingers.

  Allie grabbed it and stumbled back into the bathroom, slammed the door and locked it, shocked she was able to actually lock it. She glanced at the still-open screen and tapped the icon for water, praying that it was one that started the sprinklers so Catherine could use the water to help wash the ants away.

  Then she popped the phone out of the case, dialed Linc’s number, then stopped. He was dead. Grief nearly sent her to her knees, but she bit off a sob, hung up, and dialed 911. The operator picked up. “911. What’s your—”

  A hard slam on the bathroom door sent her adrenaline rushing faster. “My name’s Allie Radcliffe. Catherine Hayworth and I are being held hostage by FBI Special Agent Henry Ogden. I just need someone to know I’m not dead and to find him—”

  Another hard hit. “Don’t make me break this door down, Allie!”

  “Ma’am?” The operator’s voice sharpened. “I can hear him. Where are you?”

  “I have no idea.” And she wouldn’t have enough time to leave the phone on long enough for someone to try and trace it. If they could even do so. Which she doubted.

  “Who are you calling, Allie? Who’s going to believe you? You’re dead, remember? Any calls you make will be looked at as some kind of bad joke. 911 can’t even trace the call. Now open the door!”

  She hung up and with a sob, dropped the device into the toilet, praying the water would ruin it before Henry could get it out. He probably had another way to control his torture room, but at least he’d have to work to do it.

  “Dr. Forsythe is here to help you,” he said.

  She stayed quiet, thinking. Desperately thinking and trying to summon her strength for the showdown that was sure to come. Oh, Linc, I wish you were here. Well, not in a hostage situation, but—

  “Let me in, Allie. All I have to do is find a drill and I can take the hinges off in seconds.” The calm in his voice was almost more terrifying than his shouts. “If you open the door, I’ll have Dr. Forsythe take a look at Catherine and make sure she’s all right.”

  “I don’t believe you.” The words were out before she could stop them.

  A heavy thud slammed against the door, then silence. She could almost picture him trying to control his rage. “It’ll go better for you if you just open the door,” he finally said. “The longer you make me wait, the worse it’s going to go for you. And Catherine.”

  “Got a 911 call from someone claiming to be Allie Radcliffe,” Izzy said, her voice coming over Linc’s earpiece.

  He sat in the back of the command center, doing his best to keep his heart rate steady. He’d had Izzy put the 911 center on alert for any calls coming in about Allie or Henry and to let him know ASAP.

  “Did she say where she was?” Linc asked. “Is she okay?”

  He couldn’t describe the relief that flowed through him. The fact that Allie had made a call meant she was still alive. Now to keep her that way.

  “Said she and a woman by the name of Catherine Hayworth were being held hostage by FBI Special Agent Henry Ogden, but she didn’t know where they were. And then she hung up.”

  Linc stood and pulled on his tactical gear. “I’m going to approach.”

  Mark frowned at him. “You want to get her killed? And maybe you too?”

  “The longer we sit out here, the more danger she’s in. Will you back me up?”

  “I will.” Brady’s voice came over the COMMS.

  “Count me in,” Derek said.

  “Me too,” Izzy said.

  “We don’t know what’s in there,” Mark said. “We need to wait until we have eyes in the place.”

  Linc narrowed his eyes. “Normally, I’d agree. But not this time. I know Henry. Once he knows we’re out here, he’s going to kill everyone that’s a threat to him, cut his losses, and find a way out.” His eyes met the other agent’s. “And he will have another way out. One that we’re not aware of and isn’t on any blueprints.”

  Mark hesitated, then shrugged. “All right, then. Le
t’s do it.”

  27

  Allie shut the lid to the toilet and sat on it, gathering her strength and trying to think. Quickly. On the other side of the door, a low buzz reached her, then something dropped to the floor.

  A screw. “You don’t have to take the door down, Henry. I’m coming out.” Delaying the inevitable was stupid.

  The drill stopped.

  She stood and opened the door.

  Henry stared at her, and if his look could have killed, she would be dead. For real this time.

  “You killed her, you know,” he said, sullen and . . . pouting?

  “No, Henry, you did.” I’m sorry, Catherine, so very sorry. Pictures of the woman’s two little girls flashed into her mind and she stiffened. Henry would not hurt them as long as she had breath in her body. “I didn’t know trying to lance a wound would cause you to go off like that.”

  “Lance a wound? It looked like you were—”

  “What?” Trying to dig a tracker out? Yeah, she’d bite her lip on those words.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing.”

  He didn’t need to know she’d found it. As long as she kept it in her pocket, he would still get the location on her. Her head pounded and she pressed her hands against hot cheeks.

  Henry motioned with a sharp wave. “Get out here. Where’s my phone?”

  “I flushed it.” She braced herself for the next wave of fury.

  His eyes darkened and his cheeks flushed. Then he laughed.

  Allie blinked.

  Henry laughed harder, but she took no relief in the sound, as it wasn’t an amused one. When he finally stopped the demented cackle, he sobered so suddenly, she took a step backward. “You think that will stop me? I thought you were smarter than that. Come on,” he said. “Now.”

  Allie swallowed and followed him into the bedroom. She glanced at the television and saw Catherine on the wet floor covered in welts, but couldn’t tell if she was breathing or not. Tears pushed against her eyes. That poor woman. God, please! Do something!

  “Henry?” a voice called from beyond the bedroom.

  “Be out there in a minute, Nate, just make yourself at home.”

  Allie flinched and swayed. “Forsythe is in this with you?”

  “In this? No. He’s a trusted friend, but if you say anything . . . well, that you shouldn’t say . . . it could cost him his life, you understand? You’ve already killed Catherine, you want him on your conscience too?”

  “At least I have one,” she muttered.

  His fingers tightened on her biceps. “I’m not playing, Allie. You understand me?”

  “Yes.” But that didn’t mean she couldn’t try to slip the man a note. Then again, Forsythe could be working for him, and Henry could be testing her to see if she would try anything.

  She stepped into the hall and made her way into the den, where the kind doctor from the rehab center stood with his back to her in front of one of the large windows overlooking the lake. “Hello.”

  He turned. “Allie, good to see you again.” A frown tipped his lips downward. “I hear you’re feeling under the weather.”

  “I am. Was. I think Henry probably called you out here for nothing.”

  “I was coming out later this afternoon anyway. Henry simply urged me to come quicker because he thought you needed immediate attention.” He shot the man a questioning glance.

  “She has a fever,” Henry said. “And her stitches are infected. Or at least they were.”

  “The Motrin finally seems to be doing the trick,” Allie said, “but mostly, I think I need an antibiotic for the wound. I lanced it and think I got most of the infection out, but . . .” She shrugged with her good shoulder.

  “Lanced it?” Nonplussed, he stared. “You mean you opened it up?”

  “Yes.”

  “By yourself? With no painkillers?”

  “Well, it hurt enough that I wouldn’t have minded a few if they’d been available, but I managed.”

  “Let me take a look.”

  “I didn’t have to undo all of the stitches and I’ve got it all bandaged up at this point, so I think we’re good.”

  “Allie, let the man look at it.” Henry gave her a steely-eyed glare.

  She met him glare for glare until a strange certainty washed over her. He was going to kill the doctor as soon as the man finished with her. The fact that Forsythe had been coming to the house that afternoon anyway convinced her.

  “All right. Do you mind if I lie down on the bed in my room while you look?”

  “Of course not.”

  She led the way back down the hall and Henry followed them. The doctor was one of the few people who knew she was alive—other than the 911 dispatch officer now, but Henry didn’t know about her. Yet. He knew she’d called someone, though, and the 911 call would stand out. With his connections, he’d probably be able to get the name of the person who took the call. At that moment, the burden of escaping and stopping Henry couldn’t weigh any heavier.

  The doorbell rang. Allie stopped in the doorway of the bedroom and turned to see Henry place a hand on his weapon. Her heart thudded an extra beat. He wasn’t expecting anyone if his reaction to the bell was any indication. Hope sent her head spinning once again.

  “Go ahead and check her out, Nate,” Henry said, “while I deal with this.”

  Forsythe lifted a brow. “Sure.”

  Henry’s gaze met her once again for a split second and she had no trouble reading the message there. Keep your mouth shut.

  Convinced Forsythe was relatively clueless about Henry’s criminal activities, she gave Henry a short nod, then led the doctor into the bedroom.

  “What are you doing here?” Henry’s shout rang out, followed by two gunshots.

  Linc and Mark joined Izzy, Derek, and Brady and made their way to the edge of the property, staying out of range of the cameras. At the sound of the two pops, they froze.

  “I’m in,” Annie said, excitement tinting her words. “That was a challenge.”

  “Perfect timing. Just heard two gunshots,” Linc said. “Can you see anything?”

  Several clicks on the keyboard, then a gasp. “I think there’s a body on the floor in the entryway.”

  “Male or female?”

  “Male.”

  Not Allie. A pang of guilt hit him at his relief.

  “Adjusting the camera and . . . there’s a male suspect standing just inside the front door flanked by two mean-looking dudes. The guy in the middle is holding a weapon on the man on the floor.”

  “Is the guy on the floor moving?”

  “Yes. Think there’s a bullet in his shoulder. At least he’s got his right hand over it. Wait a minute. That’s Henry!”

  Nevsky had to be the guy in the middle of his two bodyguards. He’d shot Henry? “What else?”

  “Oh man. Female down in a bedroom. This woman’s got her back to the camera, but I can see some welts on her hands and arms and she’s not moving. Water is raining down on her and there are . . . wow.”

  “What?”

  “It’s hard to see details through the falling water, but it looks like some kind of insect zoo in there. Bees, ants, spiders, scorpions.”

  “Sounds like Henry,” Linc said. “Where’s the room?”

  “I can’t tell. Looking at the blueprints, it could be any room in the house.”

  Most likely, it wasn’t on the blueprints. “Thanks, Annie. You’ve got every door in the place under surveillance, right?”

  “Right. If one opens or anyone tries to leave, I’ve got eyes on them.”

  “Any sign of Allie?” he asked, not expecting a positive answer. If she’d seen her, she would have said.

  “No. According to the blueprints, there’s another room around the corner from the kitchen. If there’s a camera in there, it’s not turned on.”

  Linc frowned. “Okay, keep eyes on that door especially. Let me know if anyone comes out or goes in.”

  “Will do.”

/>   And now to figure out if the place was booby-trapped. Nevsky had seemed to simply drive right up and approach with no problem.

  Then again, he’d probably been there before and knew the layout and if there were any areas he should avoid. Or Henry had simply assumed he wouldn’t need to set any traps because no one would be able to find him.

  Either way, Linc was about to find out.

  Allie had heard the shots and turned to a stupefied Nate Forsythe. “Do not leave this room, do you understand?”

  “But—”

  “Do you want to die?”

  He flinched. “Of course not.”

  “Then stay here.” Without waiting to see if he would obey, Allie darted out of the room and around the corner. The great room was empty, but Nevsky was yelling from the foyer, a mixture of English and Russian. “He’s alive, you incompetent idiot. I look at the cameras and what do I see? That FBI agent and my daughter standing in the pool house.” Allie’s heart soared, her blood flowed faster and adrenaline spiked. Linc and Daria were alive?

  “You are no good to me now. Today, you die.”

  “No, wait!” Henry’s fear rang in his plea. “I can still benefit you. I can.”

  Allie trod on silent feet to the end of the wall and peered around the corner to catch a glance of Nevsky standing over a groaning Henry, who begged for his life. Part of Allie wanted to intervene, but what could she do in her weakened state with no weapon, except get herself killed? That wouldn’t do Catherine or Dr. Forsythe any good. The shakes hit her and she raced back to the bedroom.

  “What is it?” Forsythe asked. “Who was shooting? Where’s Henry?”

  Allie grabbed the remote and turned on the television.

  “Catherine needs your help more than Henry does at the moment. Look.”

  “Cath—” His horrified expression as he caught sight of the screen solidified her belief that he’d not been part of Henry’s sick plans—he’d been a pawn.

  Although he had put a tracker in her back. But she’d deal with that later.

  “Give me your phone.”

  “What?”

  “Your phone,” she whisper-yelled. “Give it to me.”