Shit. “This isn’t a good time, Lucy. I’ll call you later.”

  “There might not be a later, if you’re doing what I think you’re doing.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re on a mission, right? Rescue the girl? Settle an old score? Get your head blown off?”

  “Lucy—”

  “Shut up, Jack. I know you. Probably better than anybody. So listen when I tell you he’s not worth it. You already lost your job. Don’t lose your life, too. Let the FBI bring him in. You can stand next to me someday and watch him get the needle, but don’t do anything stupid. You don’t need to be a hero.”

  “On your left,” Carlos said.

  Jack slammed on the brakes and bumped his chin on the steering wheel as the truck squealed to a halt. “Shit!”

  Lucy sighed. “Too bad you never listen to good advice.”

  “I listened.” He did a quick U-turn and brought the truck to a stop just yards away from Viper’s mailbox. Jack cursed himself. If he’d followed up on this lead himself, he might have prevented this whole fiasco.

  “You probably don’t get this, Jack, but I really do love you. I want you to be happy. I want me to be happy. I can handle losing you to someone else, but I can’t handle going to your funeral.”

  Jack thrust the truck into park. Lucy had the crappiest timing of anyone he knew. “I gotta go. And stop planning my funeral. Jesus. This’ll all work out.”

  He hoped.

  “Maybe,” she said bitterly. “But I’m a pessimist.”

  Fiona lay sprawled on the carpet, trying to get her wind back. She’d fallen awkwardly on her arm, and it hurt. Badly. She didn’t think it was broken, but she was certain she’d have bruises tomorrow.

  If she was alive tomorrow.

  She sat up and looked around, frustrated once again by the darkness and her bindings. The hallway outside was dim, but she could just make out a strip of gray beneath the door. On the far side of the room were faint, thin stripes of light peeking through miniblinds. There had to be a light switch somewhere, probably beside the door. She scooted over to it, and used the wall to help lever herself up. She rubbed her good shoulder against the Sheetrock and finally bumped into a switch. Using her chin, she flipped it up.

  Still dark.

  She heard a faint thud nearby.

  “Brady?” she hissed.

  Another thud.

  “Brady, where are you?” She followed the dull sounds until her shoulder brushed up against another door frame. Maybe a closet. Or a bathroom. She turned her back to it and groped around with her bound hands until she found the doorknob. She twisted it.

  The door was unlocked, thank goodness, and she pulled it open. “Brady, it’s Fiona. Is that you?”

  There was a grunt, and something bumped against her leg.

  She crouched down. “Is there something over your mouth?”

  Another sound that she took for a yes.

  “Lie down, okay?” She kept her voice low. “I’ll see what I can do, but my hands are tied up, so bear with me, all right?”

  She felt soft fabric over bony arms. Probably a T-shirt. Then a shoulder, a chin. There was something smooth stretched over his face, and she imagined it was duct tape.

  “Did he tape your mouth?” She managed to peel back a corner. It was definitely some sort of tape. “This is going to hurt, okay? But I’ll do it fast. Stay still. And stay quiet, even when it stings.”

  She tried to get a good grip on the edge of the tape, then steadied herself and yanked straight up as quickly as she could. She heard a moan and felt a hot rush of breath on her hands.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Are you okay? We have to talk quietly.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, but she could hear his breath wheezing in and out. Was he asthmatic? She didn’t know anything about his health history.

  “Brady, are you hurt? Can you talk?”

  “Yeah,” he rasped. “I’m just…I dunno. I feel weird. He made me drink something.”

  “What did it taste like?”

  “Maybe…grape? It was sweet. Some kinda medicine, I think.”

  Fiona’s mind raced. Lucy had been drugged with what she thought was cough syrup. The fact that Brady’s tasted fruity was probably good. Maybe it was a children’s formula.

  “I know you’re groggy, but try to think. Do you know if there’s a light switch or a lamp somewhere?”

  “There’s a light in here. He turned it on when he first put me in. This closet’s full of clothes and sports equipment and stuff.”

  Fiona pushed to her feet.

  “One of those pull switches. With the chain.”

  She stumbled farther into the closet and moved her head around until she felt something metal brush against her cheek. She managed to capture it in her teeth and pull.

  Light.

  Brady was curled on the floor. He squinted up at her, and she saw purple stains on his T-shirt, probably the medicine. She didn’t see any blood, but his hands were secured behind his back with silver duct tape.

  Duct tape was good. She could tear it, unlike twine, which they were going to need something sharp to get through.

  Barking erupted from the front of the house, and they exchanged fearful looks. They probably didn’t have much time.

  “We have to hurry,” she said, crouching down. “I’m going to try and tear your bindings. Then we can look for something sharp to cut mine. Or maybe you can undo the knots.”

  As she worked frantically on the tape, she heard a screen door slap shut. Then voices.

  “Someone’s here,” Brady said.

  The voices got louder, and Fiona strained to make out the words. It sounded like an argument. The dog had quieted, though.

  This wasn’t the cavalry coming to rescue them. This was someone who knew the killer.

  Finally, she tore through the top layer of tape. Then the next. At last, she pulled the sticky scraps loose and dropped them to the floor.

  “Ah…” He winced as he moved his arms around.

  “I know it hurts, but can you stand up?”

  The arguing in the other room intensified. Fiona really wanted to listen to get a handle on what was going on.

  “Look for something sharp to cut my hands free, okay? I’ll be right back.” She stumbled across the room, bumping into what felt like a bed, before reaching the door. She pressed her ear to it.

  “They’re fucking Anglos, for Christ’s sake! What the fuck?”

  Fiona didn’t recognize the voice.

  “You’ve lost sight of the big picture.” Her captor sounded eerily calm compared to the other man.

  “What picture? That you’re a total dumb ass?”

  Fiona turned to Brady. “Have you found anything?” she whispered.

  “No.”

  More arguing in the living room. “—and I never signed on for a kid. Never.”

  “The enemy takes many forms.”

  Fiona shrank back from the door. They needed to get out of here. Her gaze darted to the window covered with miniblinds. But what about the dog? Surely it would begin barking its head off if they started creeping around outside.

  “You’re crazy, you know that?” a voice boomed. “I’m done! I don’t owe your dad any more favors, and I’ll be damned if I…what are you doing?”

  The Honda was empty. Jack made a quick search of the vicinity around it, and didn’t find any clues.

  “She must be at the house,” he told Carlos. “Let’s split up. You go—”

  Pop!

  “What was that?” But Jack knew it was a gunshot. Coming from the direction of the house. He turned to Carlos. “Let’s move!”

  Brady looked terror-stricken. Fiona glanced at him, then back at the door as she struggled to think straight. They had to get out.

  She rushed to the window. “Over here. Help me.”

  Brady looked as though he might puke, but he staggered to the window and pulled up the blinds. It was a simple lock, and he undid it quickly. He tried pulling the pane up, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Maybe it’s painted shut.” Fiona glanced around anxiously. The front of the house was silent.

  “There’s a baseball bat in the closet,” Brady said.

  “Get it.”

  It couldn’t have been more than two minutes later when the bedroom door burst open. Light from the hallway poured into the pitch-dark room.

  “You. On your feet.” The man stepped toward her, and Fiona recognized the Ruger aimed straight at her face. “Where’s the boy?”

  “What boy?” Fiona pushed her shoulders back against the bed and struggled to stand.

  He seized her arm and jerked her up. “The kid. What’d you do with him?”

  “I don’t know—” Her eyebrow exploded with pain as the butt of the gun smashed into her face.

  “Don’t lie to me, bitch!” He lunged for the closet, yanked open the door, and pulled the light switch. The storage space was crowded with clothes and boxes and sporting gear, but no Brady. He scowled at Fiona and then his gaze landed on the window behind her. A chilly gust drifted in, stirring the blinds.

  He stepped forward and touched the gun to her forehead. The barrel was still warm.

  “I should kill you right now.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Jack plunged through the underbrush with Carlos at his heels. Carlos was talking into his phone, demanding backup, but Jack could tell it wasn’t coming fast enough.

  Finally the house came into view. Jack halted behind the cover of a cedar tree and motioned for Carlos to keep quiet as he surveyed the situation.

  Two vehicles—a white pickup and a beige Suburban. Jack recognized the Suburban.

  “Lowell’s here,” Carlos said.

  “This complicates things. He’ll be armed. He’ll—”

  An engine roared to life behind the house. “Someone’s taking off!” Jack said, panicking.

  “You think they’re still inside? Fiona and Brady?”

  “I don’t know. I heard one shot. Either one of them could be in there, injured or worse.”

  Carlos craned his neck to look at the house. “Or they could be getting away.”

  Jack envisioned Fiona bleeding out on the floor, right this second. “I’m going in,” he said. “Go see if you can get a visual on the vehicle. I’m guessing it’s Viper’s.”

  Carlos took off around the side of the house. Jack bolted across the front lawn and ducked for cover behind the Suburban. After a second of silence, he made a run for the door. He plastered himself against the wall beside it, and listened intently.

  Nothing. Not even a growl from that dog they’d heard barking like crazy just minutes before. The wooden door stood open, and Jack predicted the screen door would be unlatched. He readied his weapon.

  In one swift motion, he yanked the door open and entered low, ready to fire. He did a 180-degree sweep of the room.

  Silence greeted him. And Lowell, lying on a carpet soaked with blood.

  Fiona cowered against the side of the SUV, struggling to put as much space as possible between herself and the dog. The Rottweiler rested his nose against her seat and rumbled deep in his throat.

  “Max senses your fear,” the man told her. “It gives him the advantage.”

  Was he serious? Max already had a mouth full of advantages and a master who was holding her at gunpoint. She thought of leaping out of the speeding Tahoe, but she couldn’t get her bound hands around to the door handle without attracting attention.

  Establish a connection. She gulped down the bile clogging her throat and tried to breathe.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  He ignored her as they continued to bump and bounce over the terrain. As far as she could tell, they weren’t on any road, and yet he seemed to know where they were going. He also didn’t seem to care about mowing down cacti and scrub bushes to get there.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  He cocked his head to the side, as if considering it. “People underestimate dogs’ intelligence. Take Max, for instance. His IQ’s probably higher than yours.”

  Okay, non sequitur. Fiona darted a glance at Max, whose rump was settled on the backseat. His ears had perked up, and he seemed to know he was being talked about. What a genius.

  “How long have you had Max?”

  He sighed. “You know, you need a license to catch a fish, but any asshole can just walk into a pound and get a dog?” He shook his head. “That’s what’s wrong with this country; no one has any perspective.”

  All right, this guy had a screw loose. But she’d already known that.

  “What’s your name?” she asked again.

  He shot her a cool look. “What do you care?”

  She cared a lot, considering the sacrifices she’d made to help crack this case open. But beyond that, she needed to establish a rapport with him.

  “I’m Fiona.”

  The SUV rattled as they crossed a cattle guard. Suddenly he braked and put it in park. “Hey, Fiona. Shut the fuck up, okay? We’re not buddies.”

  Max growled from the backseat, as if to agree.

  “Why don’t you let me go?”

  “I don’t think so.” His eyes narrowed, making him look truly predatory. She’d seen his handiwork up close and knew he was capable of unspeakable cruelty. And now he was so near, she could smell his sweat.

  “Why am I here?” Her heart pounded against her ribs as she waited for an answer.

  “Thanks to you, Fiona, my picture’s posted at every gas station and police department in this godforsaken state.” He dug into his pocket and produced what looked like a polished animal bone. He popped out a blade, and she inhaled sharply.

  “I’m going underground. And if I run into trouble, you’re my bargaining chip. Gimme your hands.”

  She eyed the blade and decided the black stuff on it was dried blood.

  He jerked her around and started sawing away at the bindings. The twine loosened, and pain flooded the nerve endings in her arms and wrists.

  He scooted onto the console. “Climb over me. You’re driving.”

  “Me? Why?”

  He used one hand to fold and put away the knife, and the other to point the Ruger. “Because I said so.”

  This was her chance. She had to do something. But trying to wrestle the gun away would be suicide. Maybe she could make a run—

  “Now.”

  Fiona climbed over him, trying to conceal her left hand as she plunged it into her bra. Her fingers closed around her cell phone, and she tugged it out.

  “This better be an automatic,” she babbled, grasping for a distraction. “I never learned how to drive a standard transmission.” She plopped into the driver’s seat and tucked the phone into the folds of her skirt. Her black bra was showing now, and she hoped he wouldn’t notice and get curious.

  “Take a left,” he said. “And hurry it up. We don’t have all night.”

  She shifted into drive and took a cautious left onto a paved roadway. She didn’t see any signs, but it no longer looked like they were on private property.

  “Faster.”

  She pressed the gas pedal, trying to look comfortable behind the wheel, so he wouldn’t notice when she dropped her hand into her lap. She needed to activate her phone and press redial, but she had to think of something to cover the noise. Brady was back at the house, hiding under the bed, and she needed to get a message to someone before a SWAT team showed up and started shooting the place to bits. She had no idea what their procedures were, but she knew it wasn’t safe for a dazed little boy to be on the scene when they arrived.

  “I’m feeling nauseous,” she said. “Can we pull over?”

  “No.”

  They kept driving, and she tried to look ill. “Please…Would you open the window at least? I think I’m going to throw up if I don’t get some air.”

  He looked at her with disgust and then lowered the window a few inches on his side. Max helped with the distraction by scrambling out of the backseat and jumping into the man’s lap so he could poke his nose out.

  “Thank you, that’s much better,” she gushed. “Sometimes I get carsick.”

  She stared straight ahead, stiffly, and hoped he hadn’t just heard the telltale beep of her phone coming to life.

  Jack and Santos sprinted back to the truck.

  “Suspect is fleeing,” Carlos yelled into the phone. “And we got an officer down. I repeat, officer down. We need immediate assistance.”

  Jack jumped behind the wheel and started the truck. Before Carlos had even closed the door, he was hurtling down the highway. “I need the cross street that picks up Route 964. If they went north across this property, that’s bound to be where they end up.”

  “Chopper’s almost here,” Carlos told Jack. And then into the phone, “That’s right, no hostages. I repeat, both hostages still missing.” He snatched the map off the floor and bent over it. “You need Buck Ridge Trail. Should be the next one up. Hang a right.”

  The sign came into view. Jack made a sharp right and then gunned it. His phone started buzzing, and he jerked it out of his pocket.

  “Sweet Christ, it’s her.” He punched the Talk button. “Where are you?”

  She didn’t answer, and he realized she might not be able to talk.

  “Shh!” He motioned for Carlos to shut up and then pressed the phone to his ear.

  “…I think this is wrong.” Fiona’s voice was barely audible. “I mean, are you sure this is west? It feels like north to me. Or maybe east.”

  She was with him. Right now. She’s with him, Jack mouthed.

  Carlos gestured for him to put the phone on mute. Good plan. He did, and tried like hell to pay attention to the road, and the phone, and whatever the guy was saying. But the only voice he could hear was Fiona’s, and even that was barely a murmur.

  But she was alive.

  His shoulders sagged from relief over that one shred of information.

  Jack spotted the sign for Route 964 and hooked a right. If he guessed correctly, this road paralleled the back of Viper’s property.

 

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