Killer Bunny Hill

by Denise Robbins

  TWENTY-ONE

  Her father? He stiffened at her words, then forced himself to relax, and held on to her. She had told him the truth.

  “Your father? Are you certain?”

  Sam nodded against his shoulder. “Positive.” She squeezed him tighter, and reflexively he held her closer. “Oh, Max. He sounded so out of it.”

  “How so?” he asked, resting his chin atop her head.

  “His responses were short and slurred. He mumbled, and he just does not do that. My father was always cautious about mumbling for fear someone would think he hailed from Massachusetts.”

  He heard the smile in Sam’s voice, the whispered longing.

  “Where was he?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “What did he say?”

  When Sam went rigid in his embrace, Max realized he hadn’t been able to keep the contempt for her father out of his voice.

  “Sam?”

  She stepped away from him, crossed her arms over her chest, and looked him directly in the eye. “He said, ‘Trust no one’.”

  Max lifted a brow. “But you trust me.” Then a slow smile slid across his face, and his heart tripped in his chest. Sam trusted him.

  She nodded and rolled her eyes heavenward. “Don’t ask me why, but I do.”

  He knew. She loved him. She just had to admit it.

  “So why were you going to call home?”

  Sam reached for the phone. “It never dawned on me to check those messages. Maybe Dad left some information. Maybe he left his location or gave a hint at what was happening. At the very least he could have left me the key for the USB drive.”

  “I spoke to Ruby. She said to email her the file.”

  “Can you do it while I call my voicemail?”

  “Why? Afraid I’ll listen to your messages?”

  “No,” she answered, smiling back at his teasing grin. Maybe just a little.

  “All right. I’ll take care of the file.” Max kissed her forehead, then turned and left.

  Sam had a hunch. Before calling her house for messages, she dialed *69.

  After five rings, someone finally answered.

  * * * *

  Disappointed, she hung up. The only messages she had received had been from her business partner letting her know everything was under control there and to call if she needed any help in family matters.

  Ha, family matters. Sam didn’t think kidnapping, attempted murder, and arson qualified as family matters.

  “Sam, look at this.” Max, his voice tinged with excitement, stood in front of her, diamonds held out in one palm, jeweler’s loupe in the other.

  “What?”

  “Take a look at these. Tell me what you see.”

  With a shrug, Sam picked up a stone, and peered through the loupe. She saw light, rainbows, even cuts. Pretty.

  She handed both back to Max. “Okay?”

  “Now the others,” he insisted, shoving the other gems toward her face.

  How could she resist his urging when he reminded her of a kid wanting to show off his toy? Sam looked at the other diamonds, one-by-one. She didn’t see anything wrong with them. They were all beautiful, perfect.

  “I don’t get it. They’re all the same. So?”

  Max smiled, looking like the cat that ate the proverbial canary.

  “What am I missing?”

  “Every diamond has identifying marks, flaws. They could be dirt, cracks, a missed cut, something that makes it imperfect. These have none. They are absolutely perfect. All of them. There’s not even a serial number or name inscribed on them for certification.”

  She looked at the gems again. He was right. “The others?”

  “Exactly the same. Now,” Max drawled, “take a peek at this.”

  He pulled the diamond square from his pocket and handed it to her. One more time Sam peered through the loupe. Odd. It had the same appearance. It refracted light into brilliant rainbows, but there was something else. With the 10x triplet magnifier, she zoomed in on tiny wires. A lightning bolt hit her, and she gaped at Max in wide-eyed amazement.

  “A circuit board?” Her voice pitched in a soft squeak.

  “That’s my guess.”

  “No way.” She shook her head. “That’s ridiculous. Why? How?”

  “Only one way to find out. Let’s do a little research.”

  Palming the diamonds and loupe, Max took her hand in his and tugged her to the computer. Together they searched the internet until she came across the right key word combination. When Sam typed in ‘diamonds and computers’ she hit pay dirt.

  The title of the first article listed read ‘Diamonds Aren’t Just a Girl’s Best Friend’.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Max could not believe what he read. Diamonds as computer chips?

  “Listen to this.” Max read aloud. “According to the article silicon chips are reaching a limit as to how fast they can operate because of the heat they generate. The faster it goes the hotter they get, and then meltdown.”

  “What’s that got to do with this?” Sam asked fingering the square thingy like a good luck charm.

  “The article says diamonds may be the replacement for the computer chip, in particular diamond wafers instead of silicon.”

  Sam scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. The cost would be wickedly expensive. No one would be able to afford it.”

  “You’re absolutely right. The article states that the pricing is the last barrier, but the thought is that maybe manmade diamonds could be the answer.”

  “Like cubic zirconia?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

  “No. CZs are synthetic, not manmade.”

  Sam threw her fists on her hips, and huffed out a breath. “What’s the difference?”

  Max scratched his head and shrugged. “No clue. Yet. There’s got to be more on the Web.”

  He should call Ruby back and ask her to help with this research. After all, this was her area of expertise. But he had already overstepped the bounds. He had agreed with his boss, that he would not involve the company for fear of retribution by other government organizations. He had already roped Michael’s fiancée into helping with the encrypted file. No, this was personal and with the exception of Samantha, he was effectively on his own.

  So, he continued his search. When his eyes burned, and his head ached from staring at the glowing computer screen and the lists of articles, he let Sam take a turn at the helm. Besides, she typed faster.

  “A manmade diamond is grown or cultured using the same properties as a natural diamond,” she read, “using a process called CVD, chemical vapor deposition. They rain carbon on seeds of diamonds and grow bigger ones. This is so cool.”

  Max moved around to her chair and followed the article as Sam continued.

  “The benefit to manmade diamonds in technology over natural is that there are fewer flaws, actually it says practically flawless. And,” she carried on, holding a finger in the air, “if they add boron to the mix it can turn the diamond into a semiconductor.”

  Sam tilted her head back, peered up at him, her face showing signs of exhaustion, but energy rained off her in enormous waves. They were getting somewhere.

  “Manmade is real, Max. These,” she said, indicating the stones strewn on the table in front of them, “are practically flawless. You said so yourself. They’re too perfect.”

  “How do we know these are manmade? Is there any way of telling? And who made them?”

  “Well, the only way to tell the difference is some special test that very few companies will have because it’s costly.”

  “According to this article,” she clicked another link, “there are only two companies in the United States that make these stones, but they don’t list the names because they’re research is funded by DARPA, Defense Advanced Research Project Agency.”

  Max, on full alert, sprang away from the table. “Why the hell would the government be funneling money into fake diamonds?”

  “Real, Max.”

>   “This says the military’s DARPA research arm has pumped money into CVD projects. DARPA is not growing diamonds for jewelry, although that is probably a side benefit. Think of how it would feel to bring down the monopoly on diamonds, and get rid of blood diamonds.”

  Sam giggled. “DeBeers must be shitting their pants. I cannot imagine the lengths they would go to in order to prevent cultured diamonds from hitting the street.”

  “Right. DeBeers would want that information destroyed or shoved away in a vault for all time. Who would want the diamonds out in the public? Then there’s this computer chip thing? And a military research agency?” Max paced the room, scrubbed his hands through his hair. “How does this all relate to Kevin?”

  “I’m exhausted, and I can’t think anymore.” Max rounded the table, took Sam’s hand in his, and tugged her to her feet. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

  She wanted to. She really did, especially when Max kissed the nape of her neck like he did now, but she had other plans.

  “I’m not tired yet,” she told Max, speaking into his shirt.

  When he held her back at arm’s length, he gazed at her. It was all Sam could do to hold his stare and not give away her real thoughts.

  “I won’t stay down here too long. Just long enough to find a little more.” That was pretty close to the truth.

  “Want me to convince you?” he asked then kissed her.

  A long, slow, deep kiss that lasted until her heart hammered and she was wet. Then Max relinquished her lips, pressed his forehead to hers, and whispered, “You sure?”

  Hell, no, she wasn’t sure. She wanted to go up those stairs and make love to him until the cows came home, and then start all over again. She couldn’t. With regret, Sam stepped back.

  “You’re an evil man, Max.” She smiled mischievously at him. “Maybe we can finish what you started when I get done.”

  Max stuck his lip out in a pout. So cute. “Okay, I’ll be waiting.” He winked at her, and then headed toward the stairs. When he reached the first step, he turned back. “You’re sure?”

  Sam nodded, guilt not letting her make eye contact. As she cleaned up their food mess, she listened to Max’s retreating footsteps. Restoring the rest of their mess to some kind of order, she sat in front of the computer and waited.

  * * * *

  Max stirred, reached his arm across the bed and found it empty, cold. A movement downstairs caught his attention. Looking at the bedside clock, he checked the time. Two in the morning and Sam was still awake trying to put the pieces together. He wondered how she was making out. He contemplated going downstairs and helping her, then decided to rollover for more sleep figuring she wanted some solitude. He understood. Sometimes he did his best work in solitary mode. Then grinning to himself, he thought he did some great work with a partner.

  When he closed his eyes, he pictured some of his great work with Sam. The image blurred when he heard the thud of something falling to the floor. That was odd. Then he heard what sounded like the thump of someone bumping into a piece of furniture, followed by an oath. It was as if Sam couldn’t find her way in her own house, the house she’d grown up in.

  Suddenly Max was on full alert. That wasn’t Sam bouncing off furniture or dropping stuff. Someone broke into the house.

  Crap! Where was Sam? Did the intruder have her? Was she hurt? He couldn’t let himself think like that. He had to figure out how to get the drop on whoever was downstairs. Max slipped from beneath the sheets and stepped into his jeans. Cautious about not making a sound, he opened the nightstand and retrieved his Glock.

  Damn! Where was Sam? Sweating and nervous, his stomach flipped in answer to his question. How could he have left her downstairs on her own? How had he slept through someone breaking into the house? If something happened to her, it was his fault.

  Heart hammering in his chest, Max made it to the bedroom door, and watched for shadows. He saw nothing. Then he heard what sounded like someone riffling through papers, followed by the distinct ripping of knife against fabric.

  She must have hid the diamonds before they showed up. Good girl. Then his mind conjured up an image of Sam, beaten and bruised, the result of an interrogation. Squeezing his eyes shut, Max willed the ugly vision away. The persistent image came back, only this time he saw Lucy, her face as she heard the bullet, and the dark hole as it met its mark between her eyes. How she toppled backwards in silent death, his best friend and love exiting his life without a goodbye.

  He swallowed hard the bile of fear in his throat. He was going to throw up. No. He shook it off. He would not lose Sam, would not let down the woman he loved, not when he just found her. Not this time.

  Steeling himself against the emotions assailing him, Max focused on downstairs. With his back pressed up against the wall, he inched his way down the hall to the top of the stairs. Once again, he looked for movement, shadows.

  Fuck! The bastard was at the closet beneath the stairs. Knowing that most stairs creaked in the middle, Max treaded lightly down the edge of the steps near the wall. When his foot touched the step just above the landing above the closet, the very loud echo of old wood stressed by weight carried through the house. Shit, Max swore inwardly.

  The crack of bullets against the floorboards had him dancing the Mexican hat dance as the intruder shot up from the closet. Max fired back. The prowler ran from the closet and returned fire. The bullets shredded against the wall near his head. He ducked for cover, shot back blindly, and continued his descent.

  Before he made it to the main floor, the burglar retreated to the basement. Without care for his own safety, Max followed, only to hear the engine of a snowmobile roar away before he reached the outdoors.

  “Damn!”

  He didn’t see a passenger on the snowmobile, nor Sam. Was she upstairs? Was she alive? Fear pumped adrenaline through his blood as Max ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He checked the living room and saw the destruction to furniture, but no sign of Sam. He checked the rest of the main floor, still no Sam. Where was she? Then he checked the closet. He didn’t find Sam, but her father’s hidey-hole was empty.

  Max dropped his hands to his sides, threw his head back, and roared to the heavens in agony and defeat. First his brother, now Sam. With the diamonds gone, he had nothing to help him find Kevin or Sam.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Guilt gnawed a pit in her stomach. Max would never forgive her. The guilt so strong Sam actually hesitated leaving, but it was momentary. Then it pissed her off. She was not used to following someone else’s order or answering to a man. She would not start now. She could damn well take care of herself. She had been for a very long time.

  Her father had trained her how to use the loaded weapon tucked in the back of her pants, trained her in hand-to-hand combat until she out maneuvered him. Then he sent her for more professional training. Her father hadn’t raised an idiot for a daughter either, and Sam hoped she wasn’t being one now for taking off alone. Armed, but alone. Capable, but alone.

  Damn. Sometimes it was better to have backup. She knew that. Two heads were better than one, she taught that.

  No. Not this time. It was better this way. Even though Max wasn’t a perfect stranger, he was still an unknown. Sam figured her father would qualify Max, an ‘unknown’.

  The last thing she needed right now was to have the two men she loved at odds. Now, she needed answers. She needed to see for herself if her father was where she thought, and if he was safe, and healthy. If she found out more information to help them locate Kevin, Max would forgive her. Sam bit her lip. She hoped. If she was really lucky Max would never even know she had been gone. Could she be that lucky?

  With a prayer that Max would still be asleep when she returned, Samantha let herself into Betty Jacks’ house. It was easy. She had a key.

  She contemplated knocking on the front door, but didn’t trust Betty would let her in or tell her the truth. Betty could have been hiding her father the entire time. Sam didn’t think
that was the case, but she wouldn’t put it past the old broad. She would do anything for her father. If he asked her to lie to his own daughter, Betty would do it.

  Shutting the door without a sound behind her, Sam waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness before taking a step. The last thing she wanted was to bump into furniture and have Betty come running with a shotgun. The woman couldn’t shoot a pistol worth a hill of beans, but put a heavyweight, double ott shotgun in her hands, and she shot with the accuracy of an Olympic trap and skeet shooter.

  When her eyes adjusted, Sam saw the short hallway that led to the stairs where the bedrooms were located.

  “Dad!” she hollered. “Betty! Are you here?”

  No answer.

  She supposed they could be sleeping. She yelled again. “Betty, it’s me, Samantha.”

  No answer. She didn’t even hear anyone stir. Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe her father was not here. On the other hand, maybe he had been here and he and Betty took off. She didn’t think so. Maybe they hoped she would go away. Like that was going to happen.

  Knowing Betty Jacks’ house almost as well as her own, she made her way up the stairs and started down the hall toward the closed bedroom door. Hearing a noise, she stopped in her tracks and listened. What if they were—no. Sam shook her head. Then the sound came again. Someone moaned. Not a lovemaking-feel-good kind of moan, but a moan of pain.

  Heart tripping in her chest, she stumbled as she sprinted the short distance to the bedroom. To her father. Without knocking, she threw open the door and made out the outline of her dad lying in the bed, but no Betty.

  When her father groaned again, Sam rushed to his side. “Dad,” she whispered. “Dad, talk to me.”

  He answered with another moan.

  The room was too dark. She needed to see him. With the flip of a switch, the light illuminated her father’s face. Sam gasped and cringed at the sight of his beaten and bruised features. Tears came to her eyes when she saw his swollen shut.

  “Annie,” he mumbled.

  “Oh, Dad. What did they do to you?” She wanted to touch him, hug him, but she was afraid of hurting him. Instead, she eased back the covers to check his body and see the other damage done.