Cassidy Kincaid Mysteries Box Set

by Amy Waeschle

  “They’re here,” Izzy said. Her tone was icy, but the anxiety was back in her eyes. “Now go before you ruin everything.”

  Thirty

  Stunned, Cassidy had no choice but to retreat and rethink the problem. She slipped from the room, her mind reeling. What is keeping her here? she thought.

  I’m the only one who can save her.

  Save who?

  Cassidy hurried to the adjoining room and ducked through the door, then paused, hoping to catch a glimpse of whomever was meeting Izzy. Peering through a crack in the door, she didn’t have to wait long. Five men entered the hall, each in various types of clothing—jeans to camo pants, Western shirts to t-shirts but all with a common muscular physique, their faces gritty with stubble and dark eyes gleaming. They swaggered down the hall, talking loudly, one with a toothpick tucked between his lips, followed by Saxon, dressed now in cowboy boots, designer jeans, and the same tight black t-shirt. Their escort, Cassidy thought, or videographer. At Izzy’s door, one of them adjusted himself and made some kind of joke that got them all chuckling. Then the door opened and the party stepped inside.

  After the door closed, Cassidy heard the murmur of conversation—rich, low voices coupled with Izzy’s higher one. She laughed but it sounded forced.

  I have to get her out of there.

  Standing with her hand on the doorknob, she tried to form some kind of plan. But there was no one to help her make one. Calling Bruce would do no good—Cassidy knew she was currently burning that bridge. There was the gun but what good would it do against six men? And what about all the other people behind the doors? How would she free them, too? She could call the police, but would they even believe such a story? Even if they did, how long would it take them to send someone? Meanwhile Izzy was stuck in that room with a gang of predatory males. And then there was Bruce and his plea to walk away. By calling the police, would she put their undercover agent in jeopardy?

  I need an earthquake, Cassidy though. Or a fire. Her mind ticked through all of the ways she could cause a distraction. Was there anything in the warehouse that would burn? But then Cassidy realized that she had no idea what was in the boxes. What if it was something flammable and the whole building went up before she could get Izzy out?

  I’m good at this, she thought, reviewing the warehouse space for materials, ideas. Then, she remembered the pipes hanging from the ceiling. Quickly, she slipped from the room, making sure the hallway was empty, and dashed to the stairs. At the bottom, she hurried across to the middle row of shelves and gazed up. Directly above was a sprinkler head.

  By the time she reached the top of the second shelf, beads of sweat dripped down between her shoulder blades. The thick metal construction was so sturdy it barely moved when she pulled and braced against it. By the time she folded her body over the last level, the ground felt very far away. Dust and thick, stuffy air filled her nostrils and glommed onto her eyeballs, threatening to eject one or both of her contact lenses. Don’t rub your eyes, she told herself.

  On her hands and knees among odd-sized boxes on the top platform, she got to her feet slowly, feeling the shelf jostle slightly beneath her, until she was standing upright below a long, skinny pipe with a red sprinkler head. Even at full reach, the fixture hovered several feet above her. So she pushed the biggest box beneath it and climbed on top, imagining the box lid punching open and her legs falling through, then everything crashing down. But the surface held. Using all of her focus, she stood, her lips clenched. She saw her ten-year-old self standing at the barre practicing her tendus and tried to remember the way tightening her core helped with balance.

  Carefully, she reached for the gun tucked into her back waistband. It felt dense and dangerous in her hands. Balancing, trying to keep the wobble out of her legs, she positioned the gun carefully in her right hand then reached up to hold the narrow pipe with her left. The pipe wiggled dangerously, making her feat that the whole system might collapse on top of her. Gritting her teeth, she swung the butt of the gun at the fixture. Ting! She tried again, swinging harder, which caused her to sway forward too far, nearly knocking her off the box. She gripped the pipe, deciding that if her feet gave way the pipe would at least slow her fall. The pipe squeaked but held.

  Cassidy tried to calm her rapid breaths. She eyed the fixture again, steeling her resolve. I can do this, she thought as her left eyeball began to burn. After shifting slightly to create a different angle of attack, she focused every shred of energy on the red target, wound up her shoulder, and heaved her arm forward.

  Ting! Having nailed her target, her body followed through, upending her balance. The box tipped underneath her and she began to topple forward while above her, a gushing, hissing sound filled the air. As she flew into space, cold water sprayed her back. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion: her hair and shoulders soaking with water, the dusty air filling her lungs, the ground yawning at her as she opened her mouth to scream.

  She landed on her elbows and knees atop a jumble of boxes. One arm dangled over the side—the other still held the gun. The sound of the gushing water blared in her ears—she thought she heard the faint sound of an alarm but couldn’t be sure. Something hard was poking into her thigh, and something sharp stabbed her forehead. But she was okay. Nothing felt broken. Quickly, she repositioned herself as water cascaded down her face and arms and soaked into her t-shirt. She squinted at the scene, trying to get her bearings. Why couldn’t she see? She shut her left eye and things came back into focus, meaning she had lost her right contact after all. Opening both eyes, she knew that her good one would compensate, but her depth perception would be off, so she was careful to double check her descent before lowering over the side.

  Water flowed down the metal posts, making them slippery, as if the decades-old grit and dust mixing with the water created some kind of lubricant. Purposefully not looking down, she gripped the post with her legs and shimmied shelf by shelf. All around her water sprayed down like rain. Cardboard boxes were now dark brown, the ground below shiny. When she reached the ground, she nearly lost her footing the on the slick surface. She took off running for the stairs, her bare feet splashing through a layer of water.

  Taking the steps two at a time, she wondered if Saxon was waiting for her on the other side of the door. Had the men taken Izzy? Cassidy pushed through the entrance. The hallway was a tunnel of dark mist but she made out the shapes of people running, all of them feeling for the door at the end of the hall lit up by a red “EXIT” sign. Cold water seeped through her toes as Cassidy splashed across the flooded floor, the alarm’s peal ringing over the sound of gushing water pouring down from the ceiling. But she also heard another sound: someone screaming.

  Cassidy burst into the room, calling Izzy’s name.

  Her brain refused to make sense of the scene before her: black leather straps bound Izzy’s wrists to the bed frame while she kicked and squirmed, her cheeks smeared with black mascara.

  Cassidy untied the restraints while Izzy sobbed. This time, the girl did not resist Cassidy’s hand.

  The two women ran for the door. From the window, Cassidy heard the approaching whine of sirens.

  But before they could reach it, Saxon burst through the doorway. His expression exploded with fury once he saw them. His black t-shirt was soaked and water dripped down his face.

  Cassidy stopped in her tracks and pushed Izzy behind her. In doing so, she remembered the gun tucked in her waistband. Had she put it there before climbing down the shelves?

  “I’m taking Izzy out of here!” Cassidy shouted over the gushing water. The sounds of the sirens were getting closer; there was more than one engine now.

  With a roar, Saxon lunged for them.

  Instantly, Cassidy drew the gun. She planted her feet firmly and extended her arms. She had no idea if the gun would fire after being exposed to so much water, but Saxon didn’t have to know that.

  Saxon sneered at her. “You have no idea what you’re getting into,” he said, th
en looking past Cassidy, he added, “We made a deal, Izzy.”

  “Your deal’s off!” Cassidy said, realizing that there was no way to keep him captive until the fire department arrived. He’s going to get away, she thought with agony.

  “Not without what’s mine,” he said, and stepped toward Cassidy.

  The gun went off, a thundering bang that exploded in her ears. Saxon jumped. Across the room, Cassidy saw the dark hole in the wall from her bullet.

  Saxon eyed her shrewdly, like a tiger facing off his enemy. “This isn’t over,” he said, his tone icy.

  Thirty-One

  Cassidy held her ground. Outside, the sirens neared, they were seconds away.

  In a flash, Saxon turned and fled.

  Cassidy heard Izzy sobbing, but didn’t stop to look at her. She pulled her into the hallway, empty now, and raced to the back door. Water poured down from the ceiling, and with her compromised vision, everything looked dark and hazy. In an instant, they were half-sliding, half-running down the stairs. Sirens and air horns now mixed with high-pitched wails—so the police were coming too.

  At the bottom of the stairs, they sprinted for the door. Outside, she grabbed her pack but couldn’t locate her flip flops. From the left, a giant fire engine swung into view, its red lights splashing off the sides of the buildings. Behind it, a police car followed, sirens wailing.

  “C’mon,” Cassidy said, grabbing the girl’s hand again. “We’ve gotta get out of here.”

  Izzy wrenched her hand from Cassidy’s. “You’ve ruined everything!”

  “We’ll work it out later!” Cassidy cried as the fire engine approached. In seconds, they would be exposed. “Trust me on this,” she said, imagining the shit storm of media attention this story would cause for both of them. “Let’s go!”

  Izzy released a groaning wail, but let Cassidy lead her forward. Quickly, they fled into the darkness.

  Thirty-Two

  Quinn pulled up at the curb and jumped from the car. Cassidy leapt into his arms. With everything that had happened in the last few days, being wrapped in his warm, strong embrace filled her with relief so strong it was like a drug.

  “Hey,” Quinn said quietly to Izzy once Cassidy released him. “I’m Quinn.”

  Izzy sniffed but didn’t reply.

  With no way to get to the bike without being spotted, Cassidy had called Quinn and to her luck, he was on his way from the airport. While waiting for him to get his car, the two women had sat in silence. She had tossed the gun in a dumpster a few blocks away from the warehouse, promising herself to repay Dutch as soon as she got the chance, plus return his motorcycle—with Quinn’s help, of course. But which hospital had the ambulance taken him to? Was he okay?

  Cassidy had at least been able to give Izzy the second t-shirt she’d worn as part of her disguise, but the red of her underwear flashed from beneath the hem, and both women were barefoot. Cassidy was sure Izzy’s feet were as cut and bruised as hers.

  Together, the three of them got into the car. Quinn drove in silence while the sound of the sirens looped through Cassidy’s mind.

  At Quinn’s apartment, they climbed the stairs. Cassidy noticed Izzy limping. Once inside, Quinn busied himself with getting them all glasses of water.

  “We can stay here tonight, and then tomorrow we’ll figure out what to do,” Cassidy told Izzy.

  Izzy’s head lifted sharply but she didn’t reply. She didn’t need to—her resentful eyes said it all. She then flicked them accusingly at Quinn, who took the hint and went to his room.

  Cassidy led Izzy to the guest room, a space she had occupied many times. The bedside lamp cast a warm glow over the queen-sized bed made up with a soft yellow comforter and the white easy chair positioned in the corner. Instantly, Cassidy craved the feel of the sheets against her skin and imagined drifting off to sleep in its folds. But she would defer this room to Izzy. Quinn had offered his bed, but Cassidy wouldn’t hear of it—she would take the couch.

  Izzy sat on the bed.

  “Can I have a look?” Cassidy asked, pointing at Izzy’s feet.

  Izzy looked away but didn’t resist when Cassidy kneeled down. She used her good eye to inspect the bottom surface of Izzy’s foot, finding mostly minor scrapes, but one deeper gash under the curve of her big toe looked raw and gritty with dirt. “Does it hurt?” she asked.

  Izzy winced. “A little,” she said.

  Cassidy looked at the other foot but found no major injuries. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” Cassidy asked carefully. It occurred to her then that maybe Izzy needed medical care.

  At this, Izzy began to cry, her body bucking with sobs.

  Cassidy wanted to embrace her but wasn’t sure such a gesture was welcome. So, she grabbed the box of tissues from the bedside table and placed them in Izzy’s lap. She sat next to the girl as she cried until she couldn’t stand it any longer and put an arm over her shoulders. Izzy seemed to collapse against her.

  “I’m the only one who can save her,” Izzy choked out before another wail left her lips.

  “Who, Izzy?” she asked, trying to be patient.

  When Izzy didn’t reply, Cassidy’s anger resurfaced. “Look, maybe this wasn’t your ideal, but your shenanigans have caused grief for a lot of people. The geology department, your friend Alice, me, Martin. He may get kicked out of his program, Izzy. I may lose my job.” Her voice had risen dangerously. “What is so important that you would do this? Let alone do whatever you intended in that room?”

  Izzy’s shoulders slumped. “My mom,” she said.

  Cassidy felt the fight drain out of her. “What?”

  “She’s dying.”

  Cassidy tried to make sense of this. “I don’t understand.”

  “She has a brain disease. There’s this treatment. In Sweden. It could save her,” she said, her voice desperate. “But she doesn’t have the money.”

  “Oh,” Cassidy said, thinking back to the events of the last two days. She remembered what Charlie had said—that Izzy worried about her mom. She’s alone, Izzy had told him. The answer was right under my nose all along. “So this is all about . . . getting it?” she asked, seeing her video with Cody in a new light. “Won’t your father help?”

  Izzy’s lips curled into a grimace. “No.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Vegas,” Izzy said. “After field camp I was going to go see her. I told her I’d come up with the money somehow.”

  “Your dad won’t help?”

  “No,” she replied, her mouth hardening.

  Cassidy grimaced. How could someone with so many resources deny care to a person so important to his daughter? “And then Cody proposed you make that video.”

  Izzy nodded, her eyes filling with tears again. “At first, we were just messing around, and then he tells me how much money we could make. I’d slept with Cody before and I knew Will had a crush on me, so it didn’t feel like that big of a deal.”

  “Was it?” Cassidy asked.

  Izzy hugged herself. “I was pretty fucked up that night, so when I saw it the next day I . . . I don’t know,” she said. “And then Cody sent it to my dad.”

  “Is that why you took off?” Cassidy asked.

  Izzy nodded.

  “Does he know about your situation with your mom?”

  “He’s the only one who knows.”

  “Wow, Izzy, you’ve taken on a lot with this.”

  “Thanks to you, everything’s ruined,” she said with hatred in her eyes.

  Cassidy tried to step back from the angry reaction building in her chest. “Maybe you should get some rest,” she said, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. “We can talk more in the morning.”

  Almost as if Cassidy had cast a spell, Izzy lay down on the bed. Standing, Cassidy looked down on the young woman. Her hair had since dried but faint smudges of mascara still marked her cheeks. Her blue eyes stared blankly at the wall, her body looking too small for the bed.

  “Goodnight,” Cas
sidy said from the doorway. Izzy did not reply.

  Back in the living room, she found that Quinn had left her blankets and a pillow. Light shone from under his door, so she knocked.

  “Yeah,” he called softly.

  Cassidy drifted into his room to find him unpacking, his hair still wet from a shower. He was dressed in plaid pajama pants and a gray t-shirt.

  “Is she okay?” Quinn asked, tossing his dirty laundry into the basket.

  “No,” Cassidy said, sitting sidesaddle on the edge of his bed.

  “You want to tell me what exactly is going on?” he asked, his quick eyes catching her gaze.

  “I need to call her father,” Cassidy replied.

  “You also stink,” Quinn said. “Where do they get the water for those pipes, anyways? The lagoon?”

  “Probably,” Cassidy replied, feeling so tired she wasn’t sure she could even stand, let alone take a shower. “I think Izzy got recruited to work for Saxon. Some guys were paying to . . . do things to her.” Cassidy shared the brief version of tracking Izzy’s movements and how she came to find her in the warehouse.

  “Wow,” Quinn said, sitting down next to Cassidy, his shoulders slumping. “Are you okay?” He gave her a long look.

  “I won’t be running for a while,” she said, taking a peek at the sole of each battered foot, noticing a dark red gouge in her right heel. She thought back to her flashback and the battle she’d fought with her emotions every step of the journey. Though freeing Izzy from that warehouse made it all feel worthwhile, Cassidy felt drained and hollow, and the feeling that she would never be right again lingered.

  A chill tingled her spine when she remembered Saxon’s words: This isn’t over. But had they been directed at her or Izzy? He knew her profession, probably where she worked. It would be easy to fill in the rest. Like where I live.

  “Why didn’t you just call the police?” Quinn asked. “Izzy could have told them about Saxon.”