Degrees of Darkness, page 94
Over the sound of the rain she heard more shouts. Adrenaline burning through her like jet fuel, Cody ran toward the noise. She rounded the back end of Heath’s truck and skidded to a halt at the sight on the other side.
In the lone, still lit headlight of the car, she gaped at Heath in hand-to-hand combat with a shorter man while two others circled them. It was like watching an MMA fight, but with unrestricted brutality. Heath throat punched his opponent, and when the guy clutched at his neck, Heath stepped on the man’s instep and broke his leg. Unable to scream, the opponent fell into Heath, who deftly jerked the man’s neck. The body flopped to the ground like a rag doll.
Cody’s stomach hurtled against her abdomen walls at the sickening display. In the next split second, another man moved into the fight and Heath went at his new opponent with a fury Cody hoped to God she never witnessed in him again. Unable to pull her attention away from the gruesome battle, she took a few faltering steps backward. When Heath broke the man’s arm and she saw blood spurt from the shattered bone breaking through flesh, she cried out and covered her mouth.
That sound made Heath turn. And cost him a staggering blow to the head from the other man. He tripped forward, shook his head, and straightened.
The press of metal against Cody’s temple made her freeze. Before her, Heath stiffened.
“Surrender or I end her life.” The accented voice in her ear sent a chill to the center of her soul.
Heath didn’t move, except for his arms slowly lowering to his sides. The single man left standing moved in to restrain him. The one keeping the gun at her head chuckled in pleasure as Heath’s arms were pulled behind his back and secured there by a thick rope. The gun-wielder muttered something in that same foreign language as the man who dragged her out of the truck. Through what had to be agonizing treatment, Heath didn’t make a sound; not a muscles twitched on his face.
Cody swallowed hard. It was as if he’d prepared for something along these lines. And that worried her all the more. Secured and forced to his knees, Heath stared at Cody, but his features remained blank.
Finally, the gun dropped away from her head, and the one holding it shifted around to face her. He moved slowly, gimping and adjusting to the soggy earth. He blocked her view of Heath and she got a good look at her enemy. And she was horrified.
His mouth, which appeared to be permanently drawn up in a painful smile, twitched. Half of his face was covered in ragged burn scars. Looking past the damage, she could make out the Asian features. Who was he?
“My, my, you do look exactly like your mother.”
“How do you know my mother?”
That Joker-like smile broadened. “The better question is, how do I know both of your parents?” His hand moved like the strike of a viper and he stabbed a hypodermic needle into her neck.
Cody gasped as he plunged the drug home. Quickly, a buzz zipped straight to her brain, her world blackened, and the last thing she sensed was her body slumping.
• • •
Remy trailed Steele to an abandoned farmhouse between Fort Worth and Dallas. Once they left the main roads he had to be careful to keep out of her sight while staying behind her. When the skies opened up and released their payload, he was able to keep up with her taillights until she stopped. Pulling over along the drive, Remy killed the lights and turned off the ’Vette. He peered through the downpour, catching a brief blink of a dome light going on then off.
It appeared he’d have to get out in the rain to see what she was doing. He reached for the rain gear he kept in the backseat. Donning the jacket, ensuring that the butt of his Ruger was readily accessible, he unsnapped the holster strap that secured his weapon and pulled the hood over his head. He bailed from the car and hurried through the deluge to Steele’s vehicle. He crouched next to the front end, and squinted at the dimly lit house. The constant plop of heavy drops on the hood blocked any sounds.
Remy pushed away from the car and sprinted along the cleared path to the front porch. Taking refuge from the rain under the porch roof, he freed the Ruger from the holster and quietly moved to the closest—and only—window. Pressed against the paint-chipped frame, he peeked inside.
A flashlight’s beam passed across the wall from somewhere at the back of the house, then Steele appeared in the front room. Remy could her speaking to herself in … was that Vietnamese? She rifled through papers on a table in the center of the room. The crack of thunder startled her; her attention jerked up from the papers.
Remy ducked back. He gave her a few minutes to resume her search before looking inside. This time fury overtook her and she grabbed the edge of the table and flipped it with a scream. Papers flew everywhere. Steele stood among the carnage, glaring at something.
“Where are you?” she demanded at the walls.
Leaning away from the window, Remy stared back at the way he’d come. Whatever Steele was searching for could mean she’d leave the house. And spot him. Best bet was to make a break for the Corvette, find a good place to hide out where he could see her leave, then return here to comb through the mess.
Remy holstered his Ruger and covered it with the rain jacket, then bolted through the continued downpour. He managed to avoid slipping on the wet grass, making it safely and hopefully undetected back to his car. Tucked inside, he shed the jacket and draped it over the passenger seat, started the car and backed down the lane to the road. Finding a good spot away from the lane entrance that provided him with a good view, he parked the ’Vette again and waited.
There were no messages from Anderson or Cody on his Droid or the department-issued BlackBerry. What was taking so damn long?
Ten minutes after he parked, headlights slashed through the dark. Steele’s car came to a stop at the end of the lane, then turned in the opposite direction of where Remy waited. He counted to fifty before driving back to the house. Parked closer to the house, he dashed inside.
The place smelled of decaying wood and fresh cigarette smoke. The kitchen showed use and stank of some kind of spicy concoction he couldn’t stomach. Returning to the front room where Steele had strewn the papers, he squatted down and lifted a few sheets from the floor.
In his hands he held intricate details on the movements and schedules for the Hammonds, Leland Kent, Jack Humphrey, and both Logan and Cody. Apparently Steele knew about these victims, the connections to his cases, and possibly who had done it, yet she allowed it to happen. Was she some kind of mole placed in the department to detour him and Anderson while they investigated the murders? Then why did she seem so agitated and determined to locate whoever was behind this?
Remy flipped over another page. His body felt like stone as he read the description of his wife, “the redheaded spawn of the CIA bitch.” Rocking back on his heels, he thumped to the floor on his rear.
What the …? Jodi Lewis had been in the CIA? Anderson had mentioned red tape that could bring the CIA down on him. Did Logan know about this? And if so, why the hell had he been hiding it?
His father-in-law’s ominous words to protect Cody blindsided Remy. He clawed out his Droid and hit the speed dial for her number. It went straight to voicemail.
Merde!
He tried Logan’s next. The phone rang a few times before his father-in-law answered.
“Logan, where’s Cody?”
The wail of a squad car siren broke through the silence.
“Logan, what the hell is going on?”
“Remy, there’s been an accident.”
The world spun out of control. No! Fear wrapped its deadly talons around his throat and squeezed. It was as if the Rodeo Sweethearts killer was kidnapping Cody all over again. “Where is she?” he croaked out.
“I don’t know. Anderson’s truck was hit by a car. There’s no sign of him or the driver of the other car. And … Cody was in the truck.”
Remy slammed his fist into the floor. “How do you know that?”
“Son, she’s missing and the accident took place on the road going to my ranch.”
He let out a rage-filled yell as he threw the Droid at the wall. It wasn’t possible that life could deal him the same murderous blow twice. Death couldn’t claim another woman he loved. Not again!
Grief struck him hard and he wept.
His tears splashed onto the papers littering the floor beneath him. Gathering them, a new resolve took hold. Lieutenant Bretta Steele knew something about this. He hurtled onto his feet and, with evidence in hand, stalked to the door.
Steele would answer for this. Even if he had to beat the confession out of her.
• • •
Logan juggled his cell phone, watching the sheriff’s department process the accident scene. He should find his son-in-law and they could rescue Cody and Heath, together. Yet, he hesitated in doing just that. He’d lose time searching out Remy. If the sound of a phone hitting something hard on the other end of the line had been any indication, Remy was probably in a dangerous emotional state. Despite his and Cody’s attempts to keep it from him, Logan knew about the brutal death of Remy’s first wife. And hearing that his second wife might befall a similar fate was certain to drive Remy out of his mind. One that, Logan knew from personal experience, would leave the younger man unable to think straight and be his normal calculating self.
And in this moment, Logan needed cold and calculating.
He waited for the sheriff and crew to become preoccupied with the accident scene, and slipped into his truck and drove away. A message dangling from the busted rearview mirror in Heath’s truck had taunted Logan. And fueled the embers of rage and determination feeding his soul.
He knew where they’d taken the pair. Once he confirmed that it was the actual holding place, he’d contact Remy again. By then, his son-in-law might have a grip on his sanity and be of some use. Logan’s unseen enemy had made sure he would come for them.
No more wild goose chases. No more games.
He would save his daughter.
Chapter Twenty-five
A steady pounding dragged Cody from the dreamless darkness. Slowly she came to awareness. Her senses were the first to register the smells and sounds floating around her. The pounding became less of a thumping and more like a drip. The air smelled musty and damp, and the combined odors made her cough. She shivered; her wet clothing had chilled her.
With her teeth chattering, she peeled her eyes open, blinked them into focus, and stared at a mold-covered stone wall. She tried to move her arms, but they felt wooden and heavy. She tried her legs next and encountered the same obstacle. What was wrong with her? She felt like she had after surgery.
Something scratched against her cheek. Looking down, she saw the stalks. She managed to move her fingers and contacted the abrasive bedding cushioning her. Straw. Her nose cleared further and she got a blast of aged straw and mold. Groaning, she somehow flipped onto her back.
The effort winded her, but it sent her brain into overdrive trying to grasp her situation. She lay there, gaping at what appeared to be the dark ceiling of an old barn. The last thing she remembered was the accident. Getting soaked by the rain, because … because someone pulled her out of the truck. Flashes of memory blinked through her mind. Seeing Heath kill a man by breaking his neck. The press of cold steel against her head. Then the scarred man stabbing her with a needle.
Cody gasped at that memory. He’d injected something into her to knock her out. Now it’d worn off and she was … where was she? Her arm jerked and slid to the stubble beneath her. Well, the feeling was coming back to her limbs. She gave them a few minutes more before she was able to push up into a sitting position.
An old stall. She was imprisoned in a horse stall. The rattle of metal alerted her. She glared at her bare feet. A pair of prisoner cuffs circled her ankles and were attached to an ancient metal ring bolted to the stone wall. Now that she was able to think straight, fear catapulted forefront to her mind and wrapped its poisonous vines around her. She rammed a dirty fist against her mouth to stifle the cry of despair clogging her throat. Trapped and barefoot. Her captor didn’t want her escaping easily.
Oh, God, what do I do?
She’d been in situations as bad as this and managed to get free. But this enemy was nothing like her previous captors. He wasn’t taking chances. She clutched the chain and tried to tug on it, but she was still too weak. Slumping onto her back, she struggled with despair and her will to survive.
An image of her husband and the horrific grief he must be going through if he knew she was missing broke across her mental anguish. All of her excuses for not telling him about the rape, or about the baby to avoid a repeat of Marie, had gone to hell.
Hell’s bells! Hadn’t she been saying for months she wasn’t like Marie? She wouldn’t succumb to the same fate. Determination cut a vicious path through the fear and despair. Cody sat up. She wouldn’t go down without a fight.
Tingling sensations ran up and down her arms and legs. Certain that she had enough feeling in her body, she gradually rolled onto her knees, then made a few unsuccessful attempts to stand. Falling onto her knees once more, she remained there, panting. Damn it! She could do this.
A heavy door sliding open on screechy rollers startled her. Cody flopped onto her rear and wrapped her arms around her freezing body. Heavy footfalls came her way. Her gaze darted to the top of the stall just as two men emerged. They paused outside, wicked smiles on their faces.
Cody swallowed and scrambled back as the door swung open and they entered. She cried out when they grabbed her, restraining her until she was freed from the cuffs, then hauled her upright and half-dragged, half-carried her out of the old barn. They splashed through large puddles on a path leading to an abandoned two-story farmhouse. Lugging her through the front entrance, they followed along a narrow hall and into a stark room, where they dumped her on the floor.
The impact of the wood floor on her knees rattled her teeth and sent excruciating bolts of pain through her nerves. She remained face down, roping in the urge to cry and attempting to control the fear trying to run rampant inside of her once more.
“Get up.”
The barked order made her head snap back. That voice belonged to Scarface. She stared at mud-coated combat boots, mentally releasing the seething anger. She wasn’t about to let some dickhead like him scare her, not after the evil she’d faced before. Drawing her arms underneath her, she started to push herself up.
“I said get up!”
Combat Boots grabbed a handful of her hair and ripped it upward. Cody screeched at the cruel treatment, clambering onto her feet. Once she straightened her torso, she found herself face to face with the man who’d put her into the drug-induced coma. Movement behind him caught her eye, and she peered around him. She choked on her gasp.
Half-naked and strapped to the arms and legs of a chair, Heath sat bloodied and battered. His blue eyes had lost some of their brightness.
“Heath.” Cody tried to step past her captor, but he slapped her face.
She reeled to the side, cupping her mouth. A roar from Heath earned him two brutal, rib-cracking punches. Cody lifted her head and glared at the man through a veil of her hair.
“You will not move from that spot.” He reached out and roughly made her stand straight. “We’re going to conduct a little experiment.”
Now that the drug had completely worn off and the unintended nap had strengthened her, Cody glared at her captor. “What experiment?”
That gross smile seemed to expand. “The kind where you give me the right answers. Or,” he about-faced and walked with a hitch over to Heath, “pretty boy here gets a bullet in each limb for every wrong answer.”
“What kind of sick game are you playing?”
A darkness, worse than anything she’d seen on the likes of her former enemies, including the man she shot to death, descended on the man’s ruined face. “This is no game, woman. This is you giving me what I want, or he suffers. Though the question remains, how much do you care for this man to not see him suffer?”
She avoided glancing at Heath to check his reaction. Scarface might be looking for more buttons to push, and she couldn’t allow it. Both she and Heath knew she cared for him as a friend, and she wasn’t about to see him suffer any more than he already had at this man’s hands.
“What do you want with me?”
He drew his pistol and aimed it at Heath’s bicep. “I’m the one who asks the questions. Let’s start with an easy one. Who was your mother?”
Cody locked eyes with Heath, willing him to free himself and snap that bastard’s neck in two. Shuddering, she hugged her body. “Jodi Malone Lewis.”
“What is your middle name?”
She frowned at the odd question. “Samantha.”
“Did your parents ever tell you the significance of that name?”
“No.”
His trigger finger left the guard.
Cody panicked. “All I know is that it belonged to someone from my mother’s past.”
He seemed satisfied with her answer. “What was your mother’s occupation when she met your father?”
Confusion addled her brain. Momma’s occupation? “I don’t know.”
The gun blast jolted her. Heath bellowed and struggled against his restraints, blood streaming from the wound on his arm. Cody went to move, then remembered the command to stay and froze. She battled the sobs clawing at her throat.
“Did I forget to mention that ‘I don’t know’ doesn’t count?” Their captor redirected his pistol to Heath’s thigh. “Try again. Do you know anything about what your mother did before she met your father?”
“Nothing. They didn’t tell me anything other than meeting at a funeral.”
