Stronger than Sin (Sin Hunters)

by Caridad Piñeiro

  Liliana couldn’t allow that.

  “I’m pretty sure there’s a warehouse up a ways from the road,” the sheriff said in response to the address Ramon had given him.

  “Is there any way you can send a man to the area to confirm that?” Ramon said, and the FBI agent beside him nodded in agreement with his request, listening to the exchange over the speakerphone.

  “Possibly. I think I have an officer who passes by there toward the end of his shift.” A muffled sound came across the phone line, as if the sheriff had covered the mouthpiece while he was asking something, but then he came back on the line, loud and clear. “Make that a definite. Should be able to swing by in no more than five minutes.”

  “Make sure your man understands he’s not to be seen and not to engage. These are dangerous individuals with whom we’re dealing,” Special Agent Sanchez advised.

  “Ten-four. I’ll make sure he understands.”

  Ramon met Sanchez’s gaze as they stood there, hunched over the speakerphone. He understood what the other man wanted. “We’re on our way down, Sheriff. We could use backup if we need to enter the premises.”

  A long pause was followed by a loud, uncomfortable sigh. “We’re a small force, Chief. Only four of us, and two are already on patrol.”

  “Roger that. I’ll see if I can’t muster up another man or two here,” Ramon said and then provided the sheriff with his cell phone number so he could keep them advised of developments.

  Ramon straightened and looked around his squad room. His department was bigger, but not by much. Besides his computer technician, there was a desk sergeant and a community-relations officer. All were trained officers and certified to use a handgun, but none had the experience necessary for any kind of raid.

  His four other officers were out on patrol.

  “Wintertime is quiet around here. I have two officers I can pull off patrol,” he advised and for a moment considered phoning Mick but then remembered his promise to Liliana.

  Sanchez was already dialing his cell phone. As it rang, he said, “I can roust two agents from the Philadelphia branch that are working with me on this case.”

  Ramon did the math. Six of them against Whittaker and at least two others. Two-to-one odds being generally good until he recollected the information he had gotten on Whittaker and his men, plus the 411 that Sanchez had provided.

  “We could call in the state troopers,” he said, worried for his men and for Liliana and Jesse.

  Sanchez nodded. “Once we confirm the existence of the warehouse, I’ll make the call.”

  Which seemed logical. No sense pulling in a dozen officers only to find nothing of value, although with every second that passed, Ramon worried about what was happening with his cousin and Jesse.

  “I’ll yank my men from patrol. It shouldn’t take all that long,” he said, hoping their delay would not cost someone their life.

  Liliana took a deep, steadying breath, rallying her courage. Then she charged back toward the trio of men, setting her sights exclusively on Jack, who was so gleefully electrocuting Jesse.

  The little man clearly hadn’t been expecting her.

  He cried out in surprise as she barreled into him, knocking him to the ground but failing to dislodge the Taser from his hand. It was jabbing her in the midsection, since she had landed on top of the slight man, driving the air from his body.

  She reached beneath her and pulled it from his grasp. For good measure, she yanked loose the wires from the machine.

  From behind her came a footstep.

  She knew what was coming and rolled off Jack, avoiding the first blast from the cattle prod.

  She rose, but as she scrambled to get away, her feet got tangled up in the loose wires from the Taser. She fell hard, scarcely a foot away from Jesse. He was lying facedown on the ground, eyes open but barely focusing.

  As Morales grabbed her, Jesse surged up off the floor and captured the scientist, freeing her. Jesse fell and hauled Morales down with him, urging Liliana, “If you love me, you’ll go.”

  Her heart broke with his words, but she understood.

  She scrambled for the door, Jack just a few feet behind her. He caught up to her as she struggled to open the heavy door, but she knew the only way to now save Jesse was to get free.

  With strength she didn’t know she possessed, she jabbed the man in the solar plexus, driving the air from his body. When he doubled up, she turned and drove upward with her knee. A sickening crunch told her she had connected successfully and Jack stumbled back, hands to his face, blood leaking from between his fingers.

  She dashed out the door and into the woods, searching for some way to hide. The pines here were thin and provided little cover, but she ducked down, dodging from one large bit of underbrush to another. Trying to keep her steps quiet to avoid detection.

  Finding one large pine overgrown with trailing vines, she hid beneath it and waited. Held her breath as from a distance came pounding footsteps and the crunch and rattle of leaves and debris.

  “Bitch, I’m going to kill you,” Jack called out and continued mumbling over and over as he traipsed through the woods, attempting to locate her.

  His noisiness was good, she thought, huddling in the protection of the foliage. She could tell that he was heading away from her, searching closer to the road she had noticed on her dash from the warehouse. She had to get to that road and follow it to what she hoped would be a main thoroughfare. For now, though, she just had to sit tight and stay free.

  She didn’t know how long she hid there, waiting for Jack to finish his search. She didn’t dare move and possibly alert him to where she was concealed.

  The groan of metal filtered through the afternoon air, followed by the sounds of screams. Multiple voices, and in that cacophony she searched for Jesse’s but couldn’t discern it.

  Then came the heavy thud of a door closing, shutting off the cries of the patients.

  Had they been screaming all during the melee to escape? she wondered. She had been so focused on Jesse and securing their freedom that she hadn’t noticed. But now those cries, along with Jesse’s unnatural howl, whipped at her soul, forcing her to act.

  Cautiously she moved the first inch, holding her breath to listen for any sounds that might give her away.

  Nothing.

  She shifted another inch, finally poking her head from the protective cover of the vines and evergreen.

  Nothing again.

  As she peered back toward the warehouse, she noted the door was closed. No sign of Jack anywhere, not that she could rely on that.

  Carefully, keeping her head down, she moved from her sanctuary and out into the woods. Cautiously considering each step to remain undetected. Pausing every few feet to wait and see if someone was still trying to locate her.

  A loud snap came from up the road, followed by the sounds of tires crunching along the uneven ground of the dirt-and-stone path.

  Someone was coming.

  She crouched low to the ground, held her breath as the noise grew louder, signaling the approach of the vehicle. As she waited, she prayed it would not be Whittaker returning with his men.

  Instead, as the car passed by, she noticed its two-tone paint—dark blue and white—with some kind of emblem on the side.

  Police? she thought and gingerly inched a bit higher, confirming that it was a police car heading toward the warehouse.

  Joy surged through her, but she tamped it down.

  She had to warn the police officers.

  Risking discovery, she hurried after the cruiser.

  CHAPTER 34

  Morales jabbed Jesse with the cattle prod, but the only response he received was a reflexive jerk to the electric shocks. He would have kept on electrocuting Jesse as punishment for his helping Dr. Carrera escape, except Whittaker would be angry if Bradford ended up dead.

  The warehouse door slammed shut and Jack rushed in, bits of branches and leaves sticking to the blood that had streamed down his face an
d onto the front of his shirt. His nose was swollen, and the skin beneath his eyes was already turning black from the female physician’s blow.

  Unfortunately, Jack was alone.

  Not a good thing. It wouldn’t take Carrera long to make it up to the highway and flag a car to a local police department. They didn’t have much time left before discovery, especially if whoever had been monitoring the GPS signal had gotten a good read before he had destroyed it.

  As Jack approached, hunched over and eyes averted like a whipped dog, Morales pointed to Jesse with the prod.

  “Get him back in his cage. I’ve got to contact Whittaker and advise him of what’s happened.”

  Morales hurried to his office and slammed the door, dialed Whittaker while he watched Jack dragging Jesse’s body across the warehouse and into the cage.

  He waited while the phone rang and rang, then went to voice mail.

  Weird, he thought. Whittaker never failed to take a call.

  Trying his partner Edwards, he had a similar result.

  Unsure of why they were unavailable, Morales was certain of one thing—he had to clear out before any law enforcement types arrived. As for Jack, there was no reason to bring him along for the ride. He needed someone to watch the patients until he could decide what to do. If the police did arrive before that…

  Jack had always been an expendable part of the operation.

  Opening his drawer, he removed two handguns and laid them on his desktop. Grabbing his coat from a nearby rack, he slipped it on and then tucked one of the guns into his coat pocket.

  Walking to the far wall where Jack was busy cleaning himself at one of the slop sinks, he laid the second gun on the edge of the sink.

  “I’m not expecting trouble anytime soon, but just in case.”

  Jack’s gaze jerked down to the gun, but he didn’t hesitate to tuck the weapon into the gap between his jeans and stomach.

  “What do you want me to do with them?” Jack jerked his thumb in the direction of the cages, where the patients had finally quieted down.

  “Same as always. Keep an eye on them. I’m going to meet Whittaker at the other location. I’ll call you with instructions.”

  With that, Morales walked out, only to find a police cruiser pulling up in front of the warehouse.

  Fuck, he thought but planted a bright smile on his face and strolled to the clearing in front of the building.

  Liliana was halfway back to the warehouse, keeping hidden along the underbrush, when the building door opened and Morales exited.

  He had that smile—the dangerous one. Only you had to have experienced the sting of that smile to understand that.

  She ducked lower but continued pressing forward. She had to warn the officers.

  As the car door opened, a dark blue uniformed leg became visible before the officer stepped from the cruiser. Only one officer, she realized.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” the officer said. He stood behind the open door, one hand on the roof of the car. The other on his holstered gun.

  Morales’s smile broadened and he took another step forward. Put his hand in his coat pocket.

  “Can I help you, Officer?” Morales said.

  The officer closed the door, and as soon as the officer was clear, Morales moved in a flurry of action.

  He pulled a gun from his pocket and fired.

  Liliana gasped as the officer stumbled back a step before his knees crumpled, his one hand on the cruiser, struggling for purchase.

  Morales fired again.

  The barest recoil of the officer’s body indicated Morales had not missed. Then the officer slowly fell back, his knees still bent as he collapsed into an unnatural heap.

  Liliana held her breath as Morales walked toward the fallen man, his gun upraised.

  She couldn’t see clearly enough to determine whether or not the officer was dead, but if he wasn’t, she feared Morales would finish him.

  Pressing forward, she tried to think of what she could do to distract Morales. How she could stop him, but before she reacted, Morales reached the officer.

  He pointed the gun at the man.

  Only a slight twitch came from the officer. A death twitch? she wondered as Morales lowered the weapon and then tucked it back into his coat pocket.

  With a careless shrug, Morales pivoted on one heel and walked away.

  Liliana continued moving forward, but the sudden roar of an engine made her pause again. Seconds later, a black SUV came around from the side of the building and plowed down the road, passing the fallen officer and his cruiser. Continuing with the crunch of tires on the hard, frozen dirt until the sound faded into the cold of the late autumn day.

  Jumping out of the underbrush, Liliana hurried to the officer, praying that he was alive and that she could help him.

  But before she could reach him, the door to the warehouse opened again and Jack stepped out.

  Liliana ducked back into the foliage along the edge of the road.

  Jack scurried toward the car, and his eyes opened wide as he noted the officer slumped on the ground.

  “Fuck me,” he said and raced back into the warehouse.

  Liliana cursed beneath her breath. How long did she have before Jack did something drastic?

  How long did she have to do something—anything—to help Jesse?

  Not long, she thought and pressed forward toward the police officer.

  CHAPTER 35

  The cold of the floor registered first against the side of his face.

  Chilly. Hard. Wet.

  As he rolled onto his back and stared at the metal struts of the warehouse ceiling, Jesse realized he had been drooling. His entire body seemed disconnected from his brain. Not under his control.

  He attempted to rise but couldn’t.

  He decided to do something less strenuous and focused on moving a finger.

  His pinky twitched. The pinky he had broken during the Rose Bowl in the last quarter of his senior year. He had hit a linebacker’s helmet as the man had charged at him during a blitz. He’d had the trainer wrap the pinky and finished the game.

  He focused again, managed to move his entire hand this time.

  The hand Liliana had touched just earlier that day. Closing his eyes, he remembered the warmth of her skin. The feel of it, so soft and smooth.

  Jesse wondered if he was dying. If this was what people saw when they said that their lives flashed in front of their eyes.

  If so, he wanted to hold on to the picture of her, smiling at him. Her dark eyes welcoming and promising so much love.

  A loud bang intruded.

  The door to the warehouse slamming shut followed by Jack’s mumbled and repetitive, “Fuck me.”

  He wasn’t dead. At least not yet, Jesse thought.

  Forcing himself to concentrate, other things slowly registered, and he wished that they hadn’t.

  His head was pounding and his body felt on fire. The combination of numbness and ache in his right side was a testament to where Morales and Jack had managed to shock him. Somehow he rolled onto his side and, using his arms, managed to finally get upright.

  Jack was pacing back and forth in the center of the lab. He was pulling at his hair, clearly distraught. Mumbling under his breath as he walked to and fro in the empty space.

  Jesse wanted to stand, but his body was still not cooperating. A hangover-like haze lingered in his brain, possibly from the electric shocks he had endured. Pulling in a deep breath through his nose, he held it, then released it. Repeated the action until his mind cleared a bit.

  Reaching up, he wiped the drool from his face and got to his knees by holding on to the bars of the cage.

  His action drew Jack’s attention.

  The man stalked over and, as he neared, Jesse realized Jack had a gun tucked into his waistband.

  When Jack reached the cage, he kicked out at Jesse’s hands, landing an awkward blow above them, making Jesse yank his hands back.

  “Fuckin’ bitch. Bastar
d. It’s your fault this is happening,” Jack said and kicked at the bar again, his actions clumsy.

  “She got away, didn’t she? The police are coming,” Jesse said, feeling energized at the thought that Liliana was safe. That they might all soon be safe.

  Jack stepped away from the cage and whipped out his gun, aimed it at him. “Bastard. The police are here, but he’s dead. Shot.”

  Jack’s obvious agitation and the brandishing of the gun awakened the attention of the other patients. They streamed to fronts of their cages, saw what was happening, and then erupted in a cacophony as their drug-addled minds reacted to the menace.

  “Shut your fuckin’ mouths,” Jack said and spun around, gun raised high, which dimmed the noise, but only a little.

  Jesse laid his hands on his thighs and glanced up at Jack. “It’s not too late to do the right thing.”

  Jack whirled to aim the gun at him. “Right thing? I’m in this too deep, Bradford.”

  “It’s not too late,” Jesse said again, containing his fear as he stared down the barrel of the gun.

  Before Jack could respond, the loud chirp of a cell phone penetrated the air. Jack reached into his pocket, whipped out his phone, and put it to his ear.

  All Jack did was listen as the voice on the other end of the line droned on, punctuated by an occasional barked comment. When the caller stopped, Jack whined, “I didn’t sign up for this. This wasn’t part of the deal.”

  The barking grew stronger across the line, more insistent. Brooking no disagreement.

  “This’ll cost you,” Jack said, snapped the phone shut, and tossed it aside.

  Facing Jesse once again, Jack raised the gun, pointed it at Jesse’s head. “You’re dead meat.”

  Ramon sat in the back of their police van along with Sanchez and two other officers. Another of his men drove while the last one sat shotgun as the van sped the final few miles down the parkway, siren blaring.

  Ramon’s cell phone chirped and he answered.

  “Gonzalez here.”

  “Our officer finished his shift nearly ten minutes ago but hasn’t reported back. He’s not at home, and he’s not answering his radio,” said the sheriff from the small local town they had nearly reached via the parkway.