Dad would finally be able to rest in peace.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Alex’s private cell rang as she was buckling on her duty belt. She plucked it out of a pocket and glanced at the screen. It was Bruce’s number. She swiped the Answer button. “Bruce, did you see the news about Sergeant Gaffney?”
“Yeah, because I killed her.”
She froze, eyes widening as her belly went into free fall. Oh shit, Frank was right. It had been Bruce.
Bruce had murdered Ted and Diane Gaffney and wrecked Alex’s life. “You son of a bitch.”
Frank froze in the act of lacing up his uniform boots.
“Shut up.” She’d never heard Bruce sound so cold, so savage. It was like listening to his father. “You’re going to do exactly what I say.”
“Fuck off!” God, she wanted to throw up. Frank moved to stand over her, his gaze locked on her face. “You’re a dead man, Greer. We’re going to—”
“I have the Coach and your mother.”
It was like being dropped into a frozen lake, feeling the ice crack under her, plunging in the airless cold, water closing over her head as she sank into darkness. “That isn’t funny, Bruce.”
“I’m not joking, bitch.”
A muffled voice cried out in shock and protest. “Tell her!” Bruce snapped. It sounded like he was shaking someone. “Tell her I have you and the Coach. Tell her I’ve got a gun to your head.”
“Alex, stay away!” her mother screamed. A slap, the sound meaty and unmistakable. Mary yelped, echoed by an enraged bellow that could only be the Coach. “Go to hell, Bruce!” her mom cried. “Alex, you—”
“Quiet, bitch!” Another slap, followed by a short, vicious struggle before Greer came back on the line, panting. “Alex, I have them, and I have a gun. You do the math.”
Oh, my God! What the hell am I going to do?
Stall. Think. “What do you want?”
“Come to Casa Coach. Come alone. And you’d better be here in twenty-four minutes. I know exactly how long it takes to get here from your pervert lover’s house. I timed it. But if you tell Murphy I’ve taken them, if you breathe a word to the cops, they die.”
She felt strange, as if the earth had fallen away. Replying by rote, she regurgitated her training. “Cops don’t give themselves up to hostage takers, Bruce.”
“If you don’t, they’re dead.”
“And if I do, you’ll kill me and them. I’m not that stupid.”
“Nobody has to die, Alex. All I want is to make a little cell phone recording. You, admitting what a slut you are. Admitting how you betrayed me and my father. Obey me, and I let everyone go. If you don’t . . .”
He really did think she was stupid. Frank stared at her, shaking his head, mouthing, “No, Alex.”
“Why should I believe you’re telling the truth?”
“You’d better hope I am, hadn’t you?” Contempt dripped in his voice. “Besides, submitting’s your thing, isn’t it? You like obeying Murphy in those deviant games, right? Well, this time you’re going to obey me. If you do, I won’t kill anyone. If you don’t, well, you and your brothers are going to be scrubbing Daddy’s brains off the walls.”
“Don’t hurt them!” He’s going to kill them, and then he’s going to kill me.
“Do what I say, and I won’t.”
Fury came to her rescue. No. No, I’m not going to just give up. Ken Rogers’s little girl didn’t roll over for some asshole with a gun. I’ve got to stall for time. Figure out a way out of this.
Alex knew one thing about Greer: he loved the sound of his own voice. If she could get him talking . . . “Just let them go, Bruce. They never did—”
“Yes. They. Did.” It sounded like he snarled it from between clenched teeth. “And so did you. The only question is, how am I going to punish you for it? I could just humiliate you by making you tell everybody what a little whore you are. Or I could kill them—and make sure it takes them a long time to die. It’s up to you, whore. Twenty-four minutes. That’s how long you have before I start doing damage.”
Stall. For God’s sake, Alex, stall! “Don’t hurt them! I’ll come!”
“Don’t try anything and nobody dies. Get cute—”
“Fine! Fine, look, I won’t tell—”
“You really do think I’m stupid.” She heard the thud of something hard hitting something meaty, heard a muffled male grunt.
BOOM!
At first she thought he’d set off a bomb, the gunshot was so loud. Her mother cried out, the sound echoed by her father’s hoarse cry.
Bruce said something, but half deafened, Alex couldn’t tell what. Her knees buckled, but Frank was there, bracing her upright. She fumbled the phone to the other ear. “What—what did you just do? If you hurt them, you fucker, I’m going to blow your fucking head off!”
“Daddy’s fine, whore. There’s a nasty hole in the drywall, that’s all. But maybe next time I’ll put a bullet in something that bleeds. Choose, Alex. One little five-minute recording, or do I shoot them?”
“All right! All right, I’m coming, you son of a bitch!”
“You better watch what you call me. In fact, I think you better call me Master.”
Fury steamed through her, but she made herself lie. “Whatever you want. I’ll call you whatever name you want.” Until I can blow your brains out.
“‘Master.’ ‘I’ll do whatever you want, Master.’”
She wanted to tell him where he could shove his gun. And then she wanted to pull the trigger. But she didn’t dare say any of that, not with her parents’ lives on the line. “Master.”
“Oh,” he purred as if trying to copy Frank’s delicious rumble. “I like the sound of that.” His next words emerged in a vicious snap. “‘I’m coming, Master.’ Say it! My gun is pointed at your mother’s hip. You know how fragile old women are. A broken hip really hurts for a long, long time.”
“I’m coming, Master!” And then I’m going to gut you.
“I’ve got friends on the force, whore—and you don’t know who. If you try to call for help, I’ll know it. And then you’ll find a hell of a mess.”
Shit. He might be lying, but she couldn’t take the risk. “I won’t call anybody . . .” Alex paused and added through her teeth, “Master.”
“Twenty-four minutes, Alex.” He sounded smug, as if he held all the cards. And he did. “Don’t be late.”
Her phone beeped, signaling that he’d hung up. She sagged, sick horror running through her. What the hell do I do?
“It’s Bruce.” Frank picked up his Glock, checked the safety, and holstered it. “He’s the sniper.”
“And he’s got my parents at Casa Coach.” She strode out of the bedroom, making for the garage, where her patrol unit was parked. “He’s going to kill them, unless I do exactly what he says.”
“Wait. We need weapons.” Frank veered for the gun cabinet, produced a key ring, and unlocked it.
“We?” But if he had additional firepower, she wanted it.
He pulled out a rifle and handed it to her, then started buckling knives in leather around his forearms.
“He told me not to bring anybody, Frank. Look, I’ve only got twenty-four minutes. I don’t have time to argue!”
“Then don’t. Come on.” He stood, took the rifle she’d leaned against the wall, and headed for the garage.
* * *
“You drive,” Frank said to Alex’s surprise, striding around to the passenger side of her patrol car.
“Frank, he told me not to bring help or he’d shoot them.”
He shot her a look over the roof of the car. “Which is why you’re letting me out around the block, where he won’t be able to see me. I’ll cut through the woods and go in from behind the house.” He sounded utterly matter-of-fact, as if he were talking about dropping by the Gas-N-Go for a donut.
“But what if —”
“Alex, I’m not going to fail you. We’re going to get your parents away from that fu
cker alive. Period.” Frank opened the passenger door and slid inside. “Drive. Drive fast.”
Swearing, she got in, started the car, and threw it into reverse, waiting impatiently for the painfully slow garage door to rise.
Slapping the car into drive, Alex flicked on her lights and siren. She’d turn them off once she got close. At the moment, though, she needed to avoid a crash while she hauled ass.
“I’ll call the SWAT lieutenant, tell him what’s happening.” Frank took his department-issue cell off its belt clip. “He can get the SWAT team into place around the house.”
“Bruce said he’s got a partner among the deputies.” The tires squealed as she hit the gas, made a three-point-turn, and shot toward the road.
“And you believe him?”
“I don’t think I can afford not to believe him.” Her hammering heart was making it hard to think, and the siren’s cycling wail only made it worse. Dammit, I’ve been in touchy situations before! But never with her folks’ lives on the line. “He’ll be monitoring scanner traffic. If he finds out we’ve called in the cavalry—”
“Then I’ll tell the lieutenant to contact his men individually and caution them not to use the radio. They’ll go in quiet, keep him from finding out they’re there until it’s too late.”
“Until SWAT surrounds the house, and he kills everybody.”
“Think like that, and everybody will die—starting with you.” Frank began to dial. “Instead, you’re going to distract him while I go in there and put a bullet in his brain. Do you know combat breathing?”
“Yeah. Ted taught me.” The technique used a pattern of deep, slow breathing similar to what she’d learned in yoga class. It had the effect of slowing down the heart rate and forcing the body to calm so you could retain frontal cortex function. Otherwise the rapid heartbeat of an adrenaline dump was likely to erode fine motor control and make it impossible to think. Sometimes fight or flight wasn’t the best choice.
“Good. Use it.”
She obeyed, drawing in deep breaths as she drove, holding them, and exhaling slowly. Her heartbeat began to slow.
As panic receded, Alex listened as Frank briefed Lieutenant Chris Davis, the SWAT commander.
The lieutenant didn’t like their plans. Strenuously.
“We don’t have time to wait for you to assemble the team, Lieutenant.” He still sounded calm, despite the white-knuckled grip he had on his phone. “Rogers will go in and distract him while I—” He paused as Davis interrupted. “I know, but he’s obsessed with her, sir. This whole thing has been about hurting Alex from the start. Killing Ted. Shooting at us . . . They dated in high school and . . . Nine years ago. She and her parents were involved with his parents’ death. Bruce’s father was abusive, and Alex’s father sheltered Bruce and his mother . . . Yeah, that case. His father beat his mother to death and committed suicide. I’d bet my next paycheck this has been brewing ever since.”
He told the lieutenant about Bruce’s threats. “Obviously I’m not about to let her go in there without backup, so . . . Yeah. Alex and I will keep a lid on the situation until you and the team can move in.” Frank paused again, his expression going grim. “We’re aware of that, sir, but if we wait, he’s going to kill them . . . No, I doubt the hostage negotiator will be able to talk him into surrendering. Greer’s already killed two cops—he knows the state’ll execute him. Going in hot and taking him by surprise is the only way the hostages have any chance at all . . . Fine, we’ll be there.”
Frank ended the call and sighed. “Well, Davis is mad enough to chew bullets and spit BBs. He’s probably going to write me up for insubordination.”
Alex glanced at him. “He insisted I stay the hell out of there, didn’t he?”
“His exact words were, ‘Does she think this is some kinda fuckin’ TV show?’”
“I wish. TV heroes always get away with this kind of stupid shit.” She wove the car around an SUV that had slowed down at her approach, probably trying to avoid a ticket. “I would have thought there’s no way in hell you’d let me go in there, if you had to sit on me to keep me out of it.”
A muscle rolled in his jaw. “Yeah, well, I’m not exactly thrilled. Davis is right—we’re effectively handing Greer another hostage.” Which you were never supposed to do.
“I’m not going to sit on my thumbs while that bastard kills my parents.”
He glanced at her and said mildly, “And I don’t expect you to. We’ll save them, Alex.”
“Yeah.” She glowered at the road ahead, praying silently that he was as good as he thought he was.
* * *
Letting her do this went against every instinct Frank had. Subs by their very nature tended to be less aggressive, and anything less than a brutal willingness to kill would get you seriously dead in a situation like this.
But if he’d learned anything in the last week, it was that Alex wasn’t your typical sub. Letting him tie her up in the bedroom didn’t mean she wasn’t capable of kicking his ass outside it. She was a cop. The words she’d said about Ted were just as true for her: the phrase “Serve and protect” wasn’t just a slogan on the side of a patrol car to Alex. It was etched on her soul.
Frank knew that, because he had that same deep drive to protect those weaker than he was, to serve those who found themselves in dangerous situations they weren’t equipped to deal with. Alex was equipped to deal with this; Ted and her parents had spent years turning her into a warrior.
You couldn’t deny a warrior the opportunity to fight, even if you were stronger. You had to let her use the weapon she’d made of herself, or she’d always be less than she should be.
Besides, Frank needed a distraction. He needed that crucial ten seconds when Bruce’s gun wasn’t pointed at his captives’ heads. Alex could give him those seconds—and keep herself alive in the process.
Like it or not, he had to trust her to do just that, or Mary and the Coach were dead. Even if Alex survived, she’d never get over the loss. True, parents eventually died, but having them die because of what you saw as your own failure could gut you.
Look at what it had done to Bruce.
Frank didn’t know for certain the Greers’ murder-suicide had warped their son into a killer, but the idea had the sharp, solid weight of truth.
And I’m sending Alex up against that? A military vet who was three inches taller, with somewhere around three times her upper body strength. And who was batshit crazy on top of that.
He’ll kill her.
A memory flashed through Frank’s mind: clamping his hands over the wound in Randy Carson’s belly, listening to his best friend’s last sighing breath. The thought of Alex’s eyes staring empty and fixed made him want to howl like a grieving wolf.
He thrust the emotion away hard, stuffed it down deep. He couldn’t afford the lethal distraction.
Frank breathed in deep, let it out slowly, calming himself, reaching for that glacial chill that had made him so effective in battlefields halfway around the world. He’d gut through this with the same ruthless stubbornness that had gotten him through Iraq, BUD/S Hell Week, and his childhood. When it was over and everyone was alive, he’d have Alex.
And by God, he’d keep her.
* * *
“Stop here,” Frank said, his voice emotionless in a way that reminded Alex of a skim of barely cooled stone over lava. Instant incineration lurked beneath that thin control.
She pulled the patrol car over to let him out in a lot wooded with hickory, maple, and oaks blazing with all the colors of fall. Automatically, she looked toward him, wanting to see those cool gray eyes, fiercely handsome face, sensualist’s mouth.
In case it was the last time.
A big hand encircled the back of her head, pulling her in. He took her mouth like a brushfire attacking a forest in the grip of August drought. She made a tiny, helpless noise, and his tongue stroked and swirled around hers. Alex sank into the kiss, tasting desperation and mint toothpaste. For a precious mom
ent the kiss unspooled like a glowing ribbon, binding them both in need.
Finally he ripped away from her. His gaze stabbed her. “You fucking stay alive.”
“You too, Frank.” Her chest ached, the pressure thick and relentless.
And then he was out of the car and gone, out into the tree line to find his way to Casa Coach. He didn’t look back at her.
She swept a cautious look over the woods, but there was no sign of the SWAT team. How long would it take them to gear up and find their way here? Would they be in time to back Frank up?
Would she be in time to save her parents?
Alex checked the dash clock. Three minutes left. She really had driven like a bat out of hell. Heart pounding, suddenly afraid the clock was wrong, she hit the gas and raced down the familiar stretch of road to God knew what.
* * *
Alex walked into her parents’ house with her gun drawn, wondering if she would leave it alive. Wondering if any of them would leave alive.
“Up here.” Bruce’s voice, sounding bizarrely cheerful, rang from somewhere upstairs.
“I’m coming. You’d better not hurt my parents, you son of a bitch.”
“That depends on you.”
That’s what I’m afraid of. She thought of Ted, sprawled on his back, a bullet hole gaping above empty eyes.
Bruce had killed him. Bruce, her friend, her former lover, the boy they’d invited to Thanksgiving and Christmas after the death of his parents.
Now he was threatening to kill hers.
Raging terror kicked her heart into her throat, and her hands began to shake. She sucked in a deep breath and went back to combat breathing. She was definitely in combat.
Ted had taught her to breathe like that. There were a lot of things Ted had taught her over the past five years. Hopefully some of them would save her life today. Save her parents, save Frank.
Bruce, she really didn’t give a shit about.
“Go into a fight knowing that you’re going to get hurt,” Ted had told her. “If it’s fists, you’re going to get hit. If it’s a knife, you’re going to get cut. If it’s a gun—well, try like hell not to get shot. But accept whatever pain you suffer and don’t let it stop you. The thing is to win, and get the innocents out alive. That’s all that matters. You’re a cop. That’s the job.”
Without Restraint Page 29
