A steel circle dug into her side. “Into the chair.”
God, help me.
A squealing sound shook the walls. Her gaze flicked upward. “What’s that?”
Angelo motioned to the opposite side of the room. The steel gate. The one Mick was puzzled about. Only, it wasn’t a gate.
An elevator shaft? Her brain clouded. How long had she worked here? Why hadn’t she noticed it before? Angelo stepped beside her.
“Vera?” Carson stepped off the shaft, his deep-set eyes locked on her.
Fear pounded its ugly fist on her heart.
Ward Voss, the liar of a lawyer, trailed behind him.
The three men spoke in hushed tones. What were they discussing? Her death? A shiver coursed over her, extending its icy roots to her marrow. She prayed for someone, anyone, to rescue her. A someone with strong shoulders, whose kiss she could still taste.
Carson strode toward her, leaving the two men behind. His face donned an inscrutable mask, his eyes raking her from the ankles up.
A trickle of sweat ran down her back, and she tugged the collar of her dress.
“I don’t know what to say to you, Vera.” His deep voice was scratchy, his mouth a taut line.
She pressed her lips between her teeth, keeping them from quivering. Silence kept her confident. At least, that was what she hoped.
“You ran off without a word. Then you accused me of murder.”
She shifted her weight from foot to foot, willing herself to remain tall under his glare. Was he mocking her? Was he expecting her to apologize, drop to her knees and beg for mercy? White-hot anger kindled behind his calm expression. She’d seen this before, but this time she’d receive more than a blow to the cheek.
Carson tipped his head back to the bouncer. “You got the orders ready for t’night?”
“Yes, boss-man. Parvis should be here any minute.”
“Good.” His look swung back to Vera. “We had something special. I wish this never happened.” He took out a cigarette and anchored it in his mouth.
The strike of his match made her flinch. Carson saw it, his lips curling as he lit the cigarette. “What’s done is done.” He fanned out the match and tossed it to the floor.
His cryptic words pulsed with an underlying meaning. She stared at a clump of dirt by her shoe. How could she have let this happen? Why did she have to be so nosey? If curiosity killed the cat, she didn’t want to know what it would do to her.
No. Dread wasn’t going to overwhelm her. She lifted her gaze to him, knowing she wasn’t just glaring down Carson but fear itself. “My life isn’t yours to take. You can’t kill me.”
He furrowed a brow but then lifted his chin, eyes confident. “I’m not going to touch you.”
Mick’s words echoed in her mind—He has a lot of friends who are willing to do his dirty work.
“I’ll take this back, though.” He grabbed her wrist, his hostile grip burning. “This belongs to me.” He unclasped the bracelet and slipped it in his pocket. “I have to run, Vera. I have another engagement.” He glared at her, eyes darker than the blackest sky, jaw set. “Goodbye, baby. Sorry that it had to end this way.”
A fire kindled in her core. “Tell the cops I’m down here when you meet them at the door.”
Carson turned awkwardly toward her. “Cops?”
Pull the curtains, it was time for a stellar performance. “I was supposed to meet them here. Guess I got here first.” She shrugged. “They have the goods on you, Cars. Have fun in the pen. Don’t be sore if I forget to write.”
Carson studied her face, doubt swimming in his eyes.
“That was a bunch of talk she just fed you, Kelly.” Ward stepped in between Vera and Carson. “My informant told me she’s not under police protection anymore. And even if she’s still buddied up to them, no way they’d allow her to come here alone.”
Carson clapped Ward’s shoulder. “My voice of reason. Thanks, Voss.” He wagged his finger at her, a wicked smile playing on his lips. “You should be careful telling stories. They get you in trouble.” He turned on his heel and summoned Angelo. “Take the boat. Go at night. Make sure no one sees you. I want you back here by four.”
“Got it, boss.”
His boat! Vera’s throat tightened, locking the air in her chest. There was only one reason for Angelo to go at night and keep out of sight. She scanned the room for an escape. Ward leaned by the elevator shaft. Carson and Angelo blocked the tunnel. No windows. No other doors. Trapped with murderers.
Angelo glanced back at the parcels by the door. “What about tonight’s orders?”
“I’ll handle them. It shouldn’t—”
“But you never deal with customers.”
Carson sent him a scathing look, as if he might pummel the brutish bouncer for questioning his authority. “Taking care of …” He cleared his throat. “Disposing of the garbage is your job tonight.”
Garbage? Vera’s hand curled into a fist.
“Voss will be here too.” Carson eyed Ward, who answered him with a small dip of his chin. “Did you coordinate everything for me? I need things to go smoothly.”
“Yeah.” Angelo reached for his flask.
Another glower from Carson. “Keep dry, Vinelli.”
Angelo gave a tight nod and shoved the liquor back into his pocket. “The client comes at two-thirty. He’s new. But he knows what to do.”
“Good. Like I said, no sneaking sips.” Carson glanced at Vera, and she narrowed her eyes. He smiled. “You need to keep your wits about you.”
Carson and Ward boarded the shaft and disappeared.
Angelo pushed down on her shoulders, shoving her into the chair.
Her tailbone smacked against the wood. “Umph.” Throbs shot up her spine like flaming darts. Angelo’s grip strangled her arm. He bound her, the coarseness of the rope slicing her skin. With one forceful yank, he tightened it around her wrists. She sucked in air through her teeth.
“Got company?” A gangly man emerged from the tunnel’s entry, his arms loaded with packages.
Vera gasped. Stony Eyes. She clenched the sides of the chair, wooden slivers spearing underneath her fingernails. The cloaked man who’d pulled her out of the club.
“Hey, it’s my girl.” Stony Eyes set the parcels on the floor and ambled toward her, his gait uneven, his lips wickedly curved. “Remember me, toots?”
Her gaze darted to Angelo, then to Stony Eyes. She pressed her elbows into her sides, squeezing.
Stony Eyes laughed. “She don’t know, does she, Vinelli?”
“Nah, don’t think so.” Angelo kneeled in front of her, holding the soiled handkerchief. “Vera, open your mouth or get conked on the head. Which is it?”
Escape was possible with a gagged mouth but not with her being knocked out. She slid her eyes closed and lowered her jaw enough for him to wrap the handkerchief around her mouth. The bitter taste pushed bile up her throat.
Angelo rose to his feet and stood beside Stony Eyes. Both men gawked at her, Angelo studying his tie job and the other studying her legs.
Stony Eyes licked his lips, like a wolf in a chicken coop. “The boss wanted to test your loyalty for this joint and hired me to ruffle you up a little. I got extra dough when Kelly gave me two shiners.” He pointed to his eyes.
Her toes curled in her shoes. Carson had set it up? He’d hired this man to assault her? Her shoulders spiked with an inhale. Here she’d thought Carson had defended her, but it had all been staged. All part of Carson’s scheme to get her to run into his arms. Look to him for safety and by that, give him control. Her stomach lurched, nausea striking.
“This all of them, Parvis?” Angelo motioned to the brown, paper-wrapped parcels on the floor.
So the animal had a name.
“All twenty thousand.” Parvis rubbed his grease-stained hands together. “I counted it three times.” He glanced again at Vera, baring his crooked teeth.
Twenty thousand what? Dollars? Grams? Carson had never taken drugs around her, b
ut who was to say he didn’t sell them? The gag tore into the sides of her mouth, a burning sensation spreading to her ears.
“That’s what we need. A boat is coming after closing at two-thirty.” Angelo pulled a flask out of his back pocket and took a swig. “Check the light and make sure the bulb works.”
Parvis flipped the switch, then walked into the tunnel.
When the light’s on, the boat comes. For months, she’d wondered at Grimby’s phrase, but never in her life would she have imagined she’d discover the true meaning this way. She glanced at the press. Maybe Carson falsified documents. A story once went around the club claiming he sold identification papers to immigrants. Back then, she’d laughed it off.
The mildewed odor lingered in her nostrils, threatening to close them. In a few minutes, she’d be reduced to breathing only through her mouth. Taking in air through the soiled handkerchief increased nausea. If she threw up, she’d choke.
Lord, please.
Parvis appeared in the entryway, panting and wiping his brow. “It works.” He flicked off the switch. “I’m getting too old for this.”
Angelo chuckled. “You won’t be sayin’ that when payday comes.” His face turned serious. “I remind myself of the cut when I have hard jobs to do.” He glanced over at her, and her stomach shrank.
“She sure is a delicious one.” Parvis stepped behind her. “Smells pretty too.” The man bent over and sniffed her hair.
Vera jerked her head back, knocking the bridge of his nose.
“Ouch!” He cupped his nose. “It’s bleeding.” Putting his sleeve to his crimson nostrils, he cussed. “You little wench.”
She ignored the dull throb on her crown as her brain scrambled to come up with a plan to escape.
Angelo shook his head. “That’s what ya get for messin’ with her.”
Parvis pinched his nose. “I’d like to mess with her more. Maybe I can finish what I started that night at the club.” The familiar predatory look invaded his eyes. “Can we have some fun before we have to ditch her?”
Vera’s chest pricked as if with the stabs of a thousand pins, her breath shallow and rapid.
No, no, no. Not another panic attack.
Her thoughts tangled as the dizziness set in, and her eyelids drooped. No, she had to keep them open. She popped her lids wide and focused on a rusty beam lining the ceiling.
Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out.
“Don’t touch her until it’s time.”
The suffocation subsided, but the pain in her chest remained. She shifted in her seat, trying to find a position where the ropes didn’t pierce as bad. Her spirit prayed within her, cutting short when footsteps thumped overhead.
Parvis raised a brow. “Kelly still here?”
“No. He’d be gone by now.” Angelo pulled his gun from its holster. “Lookin’ like we got a visitor.”
Parvis’ hands shook, fumbling to pull a penknife from his pocket. “What do we do? The heat is on this place.” He glanced at the packages by the tunnel door.
The heat? Vera’s mind scrambled to put together the pieces, but they swirled around her head like a twister. She couldn’t grab a rational thought.
“Parvis, go out the tunnel and spy it out.” Angelo lowered his voice. “Check and see if there’s a car and—”
“Not me. I ain’t gettin’ shot full of holes. You got two legs and a gun.”
“It could be anyone,” Angelo grumbled and moved closer to Parvis. “Listen, let’s both leave and come back for the girl later. She ain’t going anywhere. I can’t do anything until nightfall.”
They murmured back and forth, not regarding her.
Now or never. She squirmed, getting her foot in a better position, stretching against the bindings to reach the wall. The nubs of the rope stabbed her, but she … must … try. Got it. She took a deep breath and put her toes to work.
CHAPTER 34
Mick smacked the back of his flashlight with the palm of his hand. It flickered and then poured a steady golden beam on the Kelly Club’s floor. His steps were deliberate, his movements controlled. His heart the exact opposite, jackhammering against his ribcage ever since he’d spied Vera’s bag in the grass beside the building.
He pushed his lips together. Why had she come here? Of all places. She wouldn’t run back to Carson, place herself within his realm of mercy, would she? Surely, she’d know what those men do to those who betray them.
He’d understood her visit to the pawnshop. That was the first place he’d searched. The weasel Pat had given him a tough time, but cooperated when Mick told him he’d been obstructing a legal investigation. The pawnshop owner said he’d been nursing a headache at the time and asked Vera to return later, to which she’d left in a hurry. Mick’d scoured the streets until he passed the Kelly Club. Vera’s bag had been identifiable from the road.
He’d forced a side door open and now inspected the main hall. A cockroach skittered, escaping into a crack in the floor. The door to her dressing room, or what used to be her dressing room, stood open. Nothing there but a couple gowns and a vanity.
He stalked down the hall and slipped into the room next to the kitchen. His light skimmed over wire racks stuffed with bottles and boxes. A storage room. His stomach tangled in knots. Vera, where are you?
Tap.
A. He dropped to the ground, placing an ear to the crusty floor. Hoping against all hope that it wasn’t just a random sound in an old building.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
C.
He didn’t need to hear the rest. She was here. Beneath him.
Vera tapped again. E.
He pushed his ear harder against the splintery wood. Men’s mumbles. The tapping stopped. They caught her. His breath died in his chest. Lord, keep her alive.
How could he get down there? He made his steps light. Could they hear his footfalls? His gaze bounced with the flashlight. There was no door leading to a stairwell. A trap door, maybe? He put the beam to the planks under his feet. No. The flow of the flooring made it impossible.
He circled the room again with the light, a numbness twisting his chest. Something glistened from behind racks piled with large boxes and cans. He grunted, forcing a rack away from the wall. But it wasn’t a wall. The flashlight slipped in his sweaty hand. He tightened his grip.
Found it—the metal gate of an elevator shaft.
He’d known this building had once been owned by a wealthy socialite but had no idea they’d installed a lift.
Mick stepped inside and operated the controls, lowering the elevator into the pit of the Kelly Club. The conveyor’s squeals nullified a surprise attack. But it didn’t matter. He’d give his last breath for her. With his gun cocked and raised, he readied for anything. The elevator lowered to a stop. He flattened his back against the corner of the shaft, unsure if he’d avoid any oncoming shots, his heavy breaths the only noise. Were they waiting for him to step off and then ambush him? He took a cautious step, listening. Nothing. With a quick motion, he leapt out of the shaft.
No assailants.
He glanced to his right. The printing press. Next to it, an overturned chair with …
Vera!
He sprinted toward her, boiling at the sight of her bound, unconscious. “Vera?” He holstered his gun, then removed his pocketknife and cut off the gag, the white fabric stained red.
Blood.
Everywhere, soaking her hair, pooling under her head, streaming down her neck.
Oh God.
Not again. Not with Vera. Looking at her, it was almost as if his own blood drained from his veins, deadening.
“Talk to me, Ver.” He gently brushed the clumped hair from her face, exposing her pale skin.
No wound there.
His fingers searched for the source of injury. He stilled, inhaling quick breath. The crown of her head. Split open. He wrapped the gag tightly around her head, praying it’d keep it from bleeding more. “Pulse.” He tapped her wrist. “Come on. Beat.” It faded with eve
ry second. He cupped her face with his hands. “Don’t you die, Ver. Don’t you dare die.”
The way her head was positioned induced more bleeding. She needed to be moved, but one wrong jerk could kill her.
God, help me.
He smacked his hands off his thighs, removing any shakiness. The knot that bound her to the chair was tight. Pulling it loose would jostle her. He grabbed his knife. Holding the rope secure with one hand, he made precise slices with the other.
The rope fell to the ground, and he folded her into his arms. She didn’t groan or move, just hung limp against his chest. The coloring had left her skin, the rise and fall of her chest less frequent. Tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes. At this rate, she had only minutes. He’d been helpless with Phyllis and now even more so with Vera. No time to take her to the patrol car. If he did, he couldn’t keep her stable and drive at the same time.
He clenched his eyes. He couldn’t watch her die.
“God.” It came out a pathetic sob. “Touch her. Heal her.”
Her blood stained his arms, and he could hardly bear it.
“Lord, I believe, with everything I know to believe.” The seconds ticked away in his mind, but he couldn’t leave the words unsaid. Words—conscious or not—she needed to hear. He forced his stare on her ashen face. “I love you, Vera Pembroke.” Hot tears gathered in his eyes. “I love you so much it hurts.” His gaze flicked to the ceiling. This couldn’t be over.
“Fine time to tell a dame.” Through slit eyes, she looked up. Her limbs sagged, and her breath staggered, but she was alive. Alive!
“Sweetheart, hang on.” Glory to God! Mick wanted to roar a victory shout, but she wasn’t in the clear yet. He needed to find a way to get her help.
“Lord, You kept her this long, I believe You can keep her a lifetime.” He hoisted her up with him to a standing position, hope bolstering his soul.
“Mick … the press.” Her bloodied and cracked lips formed more words, but no voice was behind them.
“Saw it. I’m only concerned about you.” He watched her drift off again. “Keep your strength.”
A door yawned open from the other side of the room. Vinelli appeared in the shadowed opening. Mick’s heart stalled. He was defenseless. No way he could fight with Vera in his arms.
The Red Canary Page 25