“Have him text me so we can coordinate the timing,” he said. “Let’s move out.”
They stepped out into the hall, dogs and handlers moving in sync as they walked into the stairwell. They didn’t try to be quiet. Justin wanted Boyd to think he had the upper hand. That, combined with his arrogance, would be his undoing.
Justin knew what needed to be done.
He knew he and Quinn could do it.
He could only pray that they’d be able to do it quickly enough and that Gretchen wouldn’t be injured during the process.
* * *
Blood still flowed sluggishly from a wound in her head, and she was pretty sure she had a concussion. Her vision was blurry, her stomach churning, but she wasn’t going down without a fight.
Gretchen knew what Boyd planned. She’d heard him on the phone with Justin. He wanted to draw Justin out and kill him. Once that was accomplished, he’d kill her.
She scanned the bedroom in Yvette’s apartment, looking for something that she could use to her advantage. There was a bed. A dresser. The two chairs. A bookshelf filled with books.
She shifted, trying to ease the throbbing pain in her shoulders. Boyd had handcuffed her to a high-back chair, her arms pulled through the spindles in the back. The cuffs were loose, and she could move her arms, but they were pulled so far behind her, she thought they might pop out of the sockets.
“I hope you’re not trying to escape,” Yvette said quietly. She was sitting in another high-back chair, staring at Gretchen as if she were afraid she’d pull a magic trick and disappear.
“How do you suppose I’m going to do that?” Gretchen asked, her head pounding with every word.
“I don’t know, but the last time I watched a prisoner, he escaped. Boyd and I had a huge fight about it. We didn’t speak for a month.”
“Who was that?”
Yvette replied, “Why do you want to know?”
“Just curious.”
“Nosiness can get a person killed,” she said. “Look at you. You came here to learn some new skills, but you couldn’t keep yourself from butting in where you didn’t belong. Now...” She shook her head sadly, and if Gretchen hadn’t known better, she’d have thought Yvette felt bad for what was happening.
“It’s my job to track down criminals, Yvette. You know that.” She felt dizzy, darkness edging in, but she had to keep it together. She had to escape before Boyd accomplished his goal. If something happened to her, and Justin lived, he’d blame himself. She knew that for certain. She’d feel the same if she survived and he didn’t.
They both had to come out of this alive.
Please, Lord, help me figure this out, she prayed silently.
“Boyd is not a criminal,” Yvette said.
“What do you call a murderer?”
“He didn’t murder anyone!” she spit. “He was forced to seek vengeance on people who were trying to destroy him. If he hadn’t killed them, they’d have killed him. It was self-defense.”
“Do you hear yourself, Yvette? You’re defending a man who took innocent lives. Who ambushed a bodyguard and killed him because he was in the way. Who kidnapped a sixteen-year-old girl and terrorized her.”
“The bodyguard shouldn’t have taken the job,” she said coldly. “And Portia has a big mouth. She needs to learn to keep it shut. If she hadn’t been blogging and saying all those hurtful things about Boyd, he’d have left her alone.”
“The bodyguard needed money to support his wife and children. He took the job because your boyfriend threatened a kid.”
“He’s more than my boyfriend. He’s my fiancé.”
“Really?” Gretchen said, purposely looking at Yvette’s empty ring finger.
“He’s going to get me a ring as soon as he—” She frowned.
“Kills me and Justin?” She shifted again. Between the throbbing in her shoulders and the pounding in her head, she was having difficulty focusing, but she had to pull herself together.
There was always a way out.
One of her brothers had told her that when she was a kid and he’d brought her into a carnival fun house. She’d been seven, and she’d hated it. The mirrors. The noises. The oddly moving floors. She’d been certain they were going to get trapped there.
There’s always a way out.
Currently, she couldn’t see one.
“Look,” Yvette said, leaning forward, her expression earnest and sweet. “You have to understand. Boyd is special. He’s got a lot to give to the world. He can’t do that from prison.”
“So far,” Gretchen responded, “he’s taken more from the world than he’s given. Those people who died? They were gifted, too. We all are, Yvette. Boyd isn’t someone put on earth to rule us all. He’s a human being. Fallible and fallen.”
“He’s everything to me,” she retorted, sitting back and looking away. “And I’m everything to him. He says that I look like one of those Greek statues they have in the museums.”
“You look like a petulant child.” The words slipped out, and Yvette jumped to her feet.
“I’m going to tell Boyd to kill you now. You’re mean and hateful, and all you’ve done is cause problems.” She fled the room, and Gretchen could hear her high-pitched voice as she explained things to Boyd.
Hopefully, she had a lot to say.
Gretchen’s tactical vest had been removed, and she could see it lying in the corner of the room. Her gun was gone, and she was pretty certain that was the weapon Boyd planned to murder her with.
He’d like the irony of that and the power it made him feel.
She tugged at the cuffs, knowing she’d never get her hands through them, but she felt compelled to try. She shoved her feet under the chair, trying to stand. If she could, maybe she could make it to the vest. She wasn’t sure what she could do with it while her hands were cuffed behind her back, but at least she’d have more options.
“Going somewhere?” Boyd asked, stepping into the room, Gretchen’s service weapon in his hand.
She was cold with fear, but she wasn’t going to let him know it. “Trying to stretch my legs. I’m not used to sitting for ten hours.”
“It hasn’t been that long,” he said, stopping beside her and pressing the barrel of the gun to her head.
She was helpless, and he knew it.
She was terrified, and he probably knew that, too.
But she planned to decide how she’d die. Cowering wasn’t it.
“Does killing people who can’t fight back make you feel like a man?” she said, moving her feet, trying to widen her stance so she could get enough leverage to throw herself sideways and knock him over.
“I’m not going to lose my cool because you taunt me. If you’re hoping to make me lose my concentration, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“I have a feeling you lose your cool all the time. Bullies usually do.”
“She wants me to kill you. You know that, right?” He flicked her hair with the gun, scowling when she didn’t wince.
“I’m not surprised. I figured she was the one calling the shots. I’ve heard about your time in basic training. Your work was mediocre at best. If you’d graduated, you’d have been at the bottom of the class. Yvette was better. I think she was in the top ten percent. It’s not surprising that she’s the one who’s planned this all out.”
“I do the planning,” he growled. “And I’m the one calling the shots. Right now, I want you alive. Later, I won’t.”
“Let me guess, you want to kill me in front of Justin, so you can see him suffer?”
“Good guess. Have fun thinking about it for the next few hours.” He smirked, walking back out of the room and shouting for Yvette to return.
She had tears in her eyes when she sat down in the chair minutes later, and finger marks on her wrist.
Despite the f
act that Yvette wanted her dead, Gretchen couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.
“No one you love should ever hurt you, Yvette,” she said.
“He didn’t.” She rubbed her wrist and frowned.
“Then why are there marks on your arm?”
“I bumped into the kitchen counter.”
“You’re going to want to have a lot of those excuses in your repertoire, because if you and Boyd make it off base and to wherever he’s promised you, you’re going to have a lot of bruises to explain.”
“Shut up, Gretchen. You have no idea what it’s like to be with someone like him, and you never will. You’re not good enough to attract a man of his caliber.”
“I’m very thankful for that,” she said sincerely, her eyelids so heavy she wanted to close them and let herself drift away for a while. She rolled her shoulders in the sockets, letting the pain drive her back to wakefulness. Her fingers brushed cool wood and the heavy fabric of her military jacket. When she was a kid, she’d dreamed of having one just like it. She’d open her father’s closet and stare at his uniforms and imagine what it would be like to be a hero to the world.
He used to laugh when she asked him what it felt like, lifting her up and swinging her in circles, his pockets jingling with keys.
She blinked, that last word lodging in her brain.
Keys.
Had Boyd removed them from her pocket?
He’d taken the obvious set—the one she’d had hanging from her belt—but her father had taught her to keep an extra handcuff key hidden on her person. Just in case. She’d assumed he’d meant in case she lost a set. Now she thought he must have meant in case she was ever trussed to a chair with her own handcuffs.
She bent her arms, trying to maneuver them closer to her jacket pocket. The key was in a small slit she’d made in the fabric. It would be difficult to get, but if she could, she’d be able to free herself.
“Wiggling isn’t going to help you,” Yvette said.
“My shoulders are in agony. I’m trying to ease the pain.”
“Don’t worry. In a few hours, you won’t be feeling a thing.” She giggled, her angelic face obviously hiding a very dark soul.
“At least my eternity is going to be spent in a much nicer place,” she responded, wiggling again, using her hip to force the coat back against the spindles.
Her wrists felt like they’d snap, but she managed to get two fingers between the spindles. She used them to pull the coat taut and feel for the pocket.
There! She found the edge and shoved her fingers in between the fabric.
The key was there, the metal cool against her fingers.
“You know what your problem is, Gretchen?” Yvette asked, apparently oblivious to Gretchen’s efforts to escape.
“What?”
“You think you’re better than other people.”
“What gave you that idea?” she asked, trying to keep the woman talking as she eased the key out of the pocket. She was sweating with fear, terrified she’d drop it, but she managed to get it out and close her fist around it.
“Boyd told me that’s the way women like you are, and he’s right.”
“Like me? What am I like?”
“Career military. You get in and stay in and think you own the world because of it.”
“I’ve only been in eight years.”
“And you’d be in for eighty more if you lived long enough. Which you won’t.” Yvette laughed. “You were so busy thinking you were better than me that you didn’t notice I was collecting information.”
“I guess I didn’t.” She felt the edges of the key, tried to get it in the right position. She might only get one shot. She didn’t want to waste it.
“Well, I guess you’ve learned your lesson. It stinks being under lock and key, right? Now you know how my poor Boyd felt when he was in prison, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you thirsty? I mean, I know Boyd’s right about the kind of person you are, but you were always nice to me. Even if you were faking it, I appreciate that.”
“Water would be good,” she lied. The thought of taking even a sip made her stomach heave.
“All right. I’ll get you some. Kindness for kindness, right? That’s what makes the world go round.” She left the room, and Gretchen shoved the key into the lock, turned it.
She felt it click, and then she was free.
The cuffs were double locked, but she didn’t open the second one. She was afraid they’d fall and make enough noise to bring Boyd running. She pocketed the key and positioned her hands so that only someone looking closely would know the cuff was open.
“Here you are.” Yvette said, walking into the room with a water glass in hand, a straw poking out of it. “Don’t worry. I didn’t drug it. Boyd says you should be awake for the festivities.”
“That’s really nice of him,” she muttered, taking a tiny sip of the water.
“You didn’t drink much.”
“I think I have a concussion. I don’t feel very well. As matter of fact, I might get sick.” That was the total truth, and she hoped to use it to her advantage.
“As in throw up?”
“That’s what it feels like.”
“You do look a little green.”
“Maybe you could open the window and let some fresh air in. That might help.” She knew from the setup of her apartment that Yvette’s window would open. She also knew that a balcony stretched the entire length of the unit. If Yvette opened the window, all Gretchen would have to do was crawl through it.
“All right. I guess that’s not going to hurt anything.” She flipped the lock and cracked open the window.
“Can you open it a little more?”
“You’re awfully demanding for someone who’s on death row.”
“Death row inmates get special privileges.”
She opened it wider, and Gretchen winced as the vinyl pane squeaked.
“There,” Yvette said. “Don’t ask for anything else.”
“I won’t.”
The doorbell rang, and Yvette jumped, whirling toward the bedroom door. “Who’s that?”
“I have no idea. Maybe you should go check.”
“It can’t be your friends. They’re off with their dogs, hunting for you. I can’t wait until they find out you were here all along.”
The doorbell rang again.
“Yvette!” Boyd appeared in the doorway. “Get your butt out there and open the door.”
“But what if it’s Justin?”
“It’s not going to be. I set up cameras at the front of the building, remember? If he came back, I’d know it.” He grabbed her arm and then pointed the gun at Gretchen.
“You scream or make noise and I’ll kill whoever is at the door.” With that, he yanked Yvette out of the room and shut the door.
TWELVE
Gretchen stood, her legs wobbly, her head fuzzy.
She was four floors up. She’d climbed rock walls higher than that, and on any other day, she wouldn’t be worried about making it down the fire escape.
Today, though, her movements felt disjointed, her gait unsteady.
She could hear Yvette speaking to whoever was at the door.
Boyd had to be hiding somewhere close enough to take out anyone who tried to enter the apartment. Which meant Gretchen had a golden opportunity to get out. She had to hurry. She had to escape. She had to warn Justin. She had to get the team to the apartment building before Boyd fled.
But it was all she could do to make it to the window.
She managed it. Barely.
Once she was there, she leaned against the wall. Just for a second. Just to catch her breath.
Move it! She could almost hear her brothers shouting the orders. Or maybe it was Justin’s voice.
> She levered up, pushing her upper body through the window, her head swimming.
“You can do this,” she muttered, pressing her hand against the siding, trying to gain enough momentum to slide through.
She closed her eyes, because the world was spinning.
Glass shattered, and for a second, she thought she’d broken the window. Then Yvette screamed, the sound raw and terrible.
Someone grabbed Gretchen from behind, yanking her back into the room, swinging her around, the cold barrel of a gun pressed to her cheek. She could see Justin in the doorway of the room, Quinn beside him. The dog lunged, growling and snarling.
“One wrong move, Justin, and I’ll kill her,” Boyd said.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Justin replied.
“Stupid would be letting you capture me.” Boyd shoved Gretchen forward, his grip tight on her upper arm.
“Let her go,” Justin responded, Quinn growling deep in his throat, his teeth bared, his eyes on Boyd.
“Get out of the way,” Boyd shouted, swinging the gun wildly, aiming it at Justin.
Gretchen tried to grab his arm, but her movements were slow and uncoordinated.
“I said move, Justin,” Boyd screamed, the gun suddenly against her cheek again. “If you don’t, I’ll blow her beautiful face off.”
“Calm down, Boyd,” Justin said, stepping backward out of the room, his eyes locked on Gretchen.
She could see the fear in his eyes, but he wasn’t panicked.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said calmly, and she believed him, because she believed in him. In the strength of his conviction and his faith, in his ability to think through the problem and come up with a solution.
And she believed in what he’d said, and what Henry had: that God was in control. That He would bring good to those who loved Him, and that no matter what happened, everything would be okay.
“Not if I don’t get a car and a clear path off base,” Boyd said. “You have three minutes to arrange that, Justin. You don’t get it for me, and I’ll shoot her in the knee. Every three minutes after that, I’ll shoot her again. She’s not just going to die, she’s going to suffer.”
“I’ll get the ride,” Justin said, taking another step back. He seemed to be moving toward the hallway. Or blocking Boyd’s view of it.
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