Through a haze of agony, Clark uttered the combination. This time the safe opened and Jase's eyes widened at the piles of cash within. Smiling, he aimed a kick at Clark's damaged shoulder. Clark's screams echoed through the house. "Thanks, man!" Jase said, pressed the gun to Clark's temple, and pulled the trigger. Clark collapsed.
Jase stuck the gun in his waistband and knelt to rifle Clark's corpse. He pocketed Clark's wallet, watch, and rings.
Upstairs, Brook heard Clark's cries, followed by the shot, and then silence. She stifled a sob. I'm on my own now.
Still fighting tears over Benny's condition, Pete sniffed as he entered the room and spotted the toppled lamp. Brook tensed, crouching low in the crook formed by the nightstand and the mattress. She raised her weapon with trembling hands, and aimed it toward the foot of the bed.
"You find her yet?" Jase called from below. Dumping the papers and files from Clark's briefcase, Jase filled it with the contents of the safe. He then hauled the case from the room and set it beside Benny’s limp form. There must be a million big ones in there, Jase thought before turning his face upwards once more. “Hey, Pete!”
But, Pete didn't answer. He was closing in on his prey. He flipped the switch, turning on the overhead light, and Brook blinked from her hiding place between the bed and the wall. Pete was tall enough to see over the mattress to where she huddled against the wall. Her eyes met his.
Chapter 64
On the drive to Denver, Lance had run numerous scenarios through his head as to what he would say to Brook when he arrived at her house. Her and her husband’s house, he reminded himself. He had finally decided that he’d just tell her the truth. He had come to take her home. Then he’d see what happened.
Now, at last, he was at the entrance to the gated community where Brook lived. He made the turn into the drive and his instincts went on full alert.
The gates were wide open.
The guard shack was dark.
Something was wrong. Way wrong.
Lance pulled up next to the small building that housed the guards and glided slowly to a stop. He stepped cautiously from the truck and approached the half-open door. “Hello? Is anyone in there?”
Receiving no answer, Lance pushed the door the rest of the way open. His eyes took in the interior in a flash; a television sat on a counter with a popular sitcom airing, wires hung from the desk console with a phone receiver dangling uselessly from its cord, and a man lay on the floor bleeding.
Flipping on the light, Lance knelt beside the hurt man, and administered first aid as best as he could. He did a quick survey and discovered the only injury seemed to be a wound to the torso, through which wheezed a bloody froth. The victim’s pulse was weak but steady and Lance didn’t think there was much chance of him dying anytime soon; at least he hoped that was the case. He slipped off his own jacket and applied pressure to the injury, laying the man’s arm over the dressing to keep it in place. Even though the man was unconscious, Lance still spoke to him. “You’re going to be okay. Someone will be here soon. Someone will help you.”
Feeling inadequate, Lance scanned the housing map on the wall, backed from the building, and jumped into his vehicle. He laid six feet of rubber as he made for Brook's house.
Soon after Lance passed through the open gates of the secured community, Detectives Conroy and Vicente pulled in. They too knew something was wrong. Marco jumped from the car before it had completely stopped and entered the guard shack with weapon drawn. He quickly holstered his gun and yelled to his partner to call for an ambulance and backup.
Randi placed the calls and moved to look into the interior as Marco knelt beside the injured man. “Shit,” Randi spat. “Those sons-of-bitches have found Brook already.”
“Go,” Marco said. “I’ll wait here."
“You got it.” Randi jumped into her car and followed the tracks towards Brook’s house.
Chapter 65
"Found her!" Pete called, as his eyes met and held Brook's gaze. He walked toward her and rounded the foot of the bed. "You're trapped," he taunted. His eyes were red from crying over Benny and he didn't notice the gun in time.
Brook pulled the trigger. The bullet slammed through Pete’s femoral artery and lodged in the bone. Blood spurted in a wide arch as he cried out and clutched his thigh. He fell on his side at Brook's feet.
"What the fuck was that?" Jase hollered from downstairs.
"She fucking shot me!” Pete screamed as he rolled back and forth on the floor. "She fucking shot me, Jase! Oh God. It fucking hurts."
Brook backed further against the bedside table. Her hands shook and she nearly dropped the gun. Blood spread out on the carpet. "Oh god, oh god," she whimpered.
Pete looked up at her in agony, his eyes filled with a childlike bewilderment. "Why'd you do that?" he sobbed. "Don't you know I was the only one who stuck up for you? The only one." He reached out and grasped Brook's ankle. "Help me."
“Go to hell.” Brook yanked her foot from Pete’s grasp. His hand was slick with blood and she easily kicked it away before crawling onto the bed and scuttling across the mattress to the other side. She lowered herself quietly to the floor and tiptoed to the door on shaky legs. Where is Jase? She strained her ears but could hear nothing over Pete's anguished groans. Clutching the gun in both hands, she tried to calm her breathing.
"Jase!" Pete mustered the strength to call out. "I'm fucking bleeding to death! Help me!" His wails gradually faded to soft moans.
Heart pounding in her chest, Brook crept to the door and peered toward the front staircase, then turned her head to scan the hallway. She edged into the hall, keeping her back to the wall and inched towards the head of the stairs. She craned her neck to peer down, ready to duck back if she saw any sign of Jase.
At the bottom of the stairs lay Benny, his form still and bloody. But no Jase. She looked quickly the other direction, expecting him to sneak up behind her by using the servants’ stairs. The long hall stretched out, empty of life. Still, he could be behind any of the doors. Or waiting for her downstairs in the kitchen, or just about anywhere. He might be taking aim on her from behind the drapes or some other hiding place. She was frozen with indecision.
In the bedroom, Pete suddenly fell silent. Brook heard a faint rustling noise but couldn’t pinpoint its location. She whipped her head from side to side and shrank back against the wall.
"It's a standoff. You've got a gun. I've got a gun." The voice came from somewhere below. It could have been the living room. It could have been under the staircase near the den. Or even behind the bar. Brook couldn't tell.
"I'll make a deal with you," Jase continued. "At this point, I'm ready to cut my losses and get the hell out. Sound good to you?"
Brook said nothing.
"I won't shoot you, if you won't shoot me." Jase's tone was conciliatory.
Brook eased down the hallway toward the back stairs. If she could get to the kitchen, she might be able to duck out the door to the garage and make a run for a neighbor’s house. She’d call the police and wait in safety.
"I'm leaving!" Jase shouted from downstairs. His voice echoed off the walls and tall ceilings. "You hear me, lady? Don't shoot me. I'm gonna walk to the front door and right outta your life. Say something so I'll know you understand!"
Hope bloomed in Brook. Could it be that easy? Would he just leave? Was he afraid of her? Brook admonished herself. It's a trick. He's just trying to find out where I am. She said nothing and tried to control her breathing, scared he would hear her even this far away.
"Listen! This is the sound of me leaving! We both live another day!" The front door opened and slammed shut.
Brook took a deep ragged breath. Her hands gripped the gun so tightly they felt fused to the weapon. Listening, all she heard was the rush of her own blood in her ears. She put a foot lightly on the top step leading down to the kitchen. Halfway down the stairway was a landing with a turn to the right. Tentatively, Brook edged down, st
aying close to the wall. She took another few steps; she was almost at the turn. A rectangle of light from the room below reflected on the wall ahead of her. Two more steps. A flitting shadow passed across the light on the wall. He was in the kitchen!
With a short sob, Brook turned and ran back up the stairs, right into Jase's waiting arms.
Brook screamed and tried to point the gun at Jase. As he attempted to wrestle the gun away, a shot flew into the ceiling. He squeezed her wrist, but she held tight to the gun. It waved wildly around as they fought over it. Jase punched her in the gut and Brook doubled over; his other hand still held her wrist in a vice-like grip. She sucked in a painful breath.
The smell of patchouli clawed its way into her nostrils and Brook experienced the beginnings of a flashback. Hate gave her strength. Jase snarled as he manhandled her, flinging her against the wall. Brook kicked and managed to tangle her feet in his. They fell, tumbling over each other, across the landing and down the stairway. And still she gripped the gun.
Her head bumped against the baseboard at the bottom of the stairs, and Jase landed hard on top of her. They both panted as they struggled to recover.
"I'm gonna enjoy the fuck out of killing you," Jase growled in her face. Holding her down with his body, he pinned her arms over her head and banged her hands against the floor. The gun discharged again. The bullet pinged into the refrigerator. With steel fingers, Jase pried the gun from her hands and tossed it away. It skittered across the tile and bumped up against the base of a cabinet.
Brook arched her neck and eyed the weapon. Above that, she noted the open window, bright under the outdoor security lights, curtain blowing in the cool night breeze. It had been the moving curtain that cast the shadow on the stairs, she realized with dismay. She had tricked herself right into the open arms of her enemy.
Jase pulled her to her feet and backhanded her. She stumbled backward and landed hard on the bottom steps. He launched himself onto her, pushing her arms down and pinning them under his knees. She wriggled beneath him, but could gain no purchase. The edge of the stairs dug into her back.
Jase panted, his dark eyes gleaming with malice. Reaching to his right calf, he slid up his jeans and pulled a knife from his boot. Flicking it open, he smiled. "I'm gonna carve you like Thanksgiving turkey, bitch."
Brook closed her eyes. A second later she felt his weight lifted from her.
"You fucking bastard," Lance bellowed as he slammed Jase into the wall. The knife dropped from Jase's hand and Lance kicked it away. He threw Jase across the room. Jase stumbled, trying to maintain his footing, but slipped and slid headfirst into the stove with a loud bang. He struggled awkwardly to his feet and swung a fist at Lance, but he was no match for the larger man. Lance grabbed Jase's hand and bent it back, snapping his left arm like a twig. Jase howled, and doubled over. Clutching his injured arm, he tried to scurry out the door to the garage, but Lance stormed over and dealt him a set of harsh blows to the kidneys. Jase dropped to the floor and squirmed, reaching behind himself with his good arm.
"Lance!" Brook clambered to her feet. "Be careful. He had a gun!" She stepped towards them.
"Get back, Brooklyn." Lance gave her a quick glance, then turned his attention back to Jase.
Jase finally freed his weapon from his waistband and turned it toward Lance. With a speed that belied his size, Lance kicked the gun out of Jase's hand and it slid a few feet away. Then Lance was on him, delivering blow after blow. Jase's head snapped from side to side.
"Freeze! Police!" Randi Conroy, gun drawn, shouted from the doorway between the living room and kitchen.
Without looking behind him, Lance raised his hands. "Okay, okay." He stayed atop Jase, who moaned, mouth bloodied.
"Don't shoot!" Brook dashed toward the detective. "He's the good guy. Don't shoot!"
"Get behind me, Brook," Randi said, her gun still pointed at Lance.
Brook didn't move. "No, that's Lance. That's my friend. Don't shoot!"
"Fine," Randi said as Marco joined her, weapon drawn. "Nobody's going to shoot anyone. Now, get behind me while we get everything under control."
Reluctantly, Brook stepped behind the detective.
"Sir, I want you to get slowly to your feet," Marco told Lance.
Lance rose carefully, breathing hard as the adrenaline gradually drained away. He moved away from Jase.
"Over there." Randi nodded toward the table. “Keep your hands where we can see them.” She moved cautiously forward, slipped on a pair of latex gloves, and snatched Jase's gun from the floor. She emptied the clip and slid the gun into a plastic evidence bag before dropping it into her jacket pocket.
Lance stood at the table and leaned against it with his hands splayed on the surface. Brook hurried to his side and wrapped her arms around him. At a nod from Randi, Lance drew Brook into an embrace, holding her close.
Jase rolled around on the tile, grunting like a wounded animal.
"You got this?” Randi asked her partner before she left the room to radio for assistance.
Brook turned her full attention to Lance. Crying, she stroked the sides of his face with her hands and threw her arms around his neck.
Without warning, a shot rang out. Brook and Lance pulled apart with a jerk. Randi rushed back into the room. All three stared first at Marco's weapon and then at the body of Jase, dead on the floor, Brook's gun in his limp, outstretched hand.
"He went for a weapon," Marco stated flatly.
“But I confiscated his gun,” Randi stated, confused.
Shaking violently, Brook sobbed, “It was mine; my gun. Oh god.”
Chapter 66
The house was soon crawling with officers and paramedics.
"I want the paramedics to have a look at you," Randi told Brook. "You're pretty banged up."
Brook peered at her from the shelter of Lance's arms. She didn't want to submit to an examination, but did so anyway at Lance's urging. She received and chose to ignore a recommendation that she go to the emergency room for x-rays of her back. As soon as the cursory exam was finished, Brook clung to Lance again. He put his arm protectively around her shoulders.
Randi spoke quietly with the paramedic and then approached Brook. Her voice was gentle. "I need you to identify the bodies, Brook."
Marco stepped into the kitchen and stopped near the doorway.
"Let's start with this one." Randi gestured toward Jase.
Brook stared at the body with distaste. "Jase. I don't know his last name," she said. "He's the leader of the gang who took me, raped me." Brook almost choked on the words.
"Okay, now we need to look at the others." Randi reached a hand toward Brook. "I know this isn't easy, but Marco and I will be right there on either side of you. You can hang onto our arms, if you want. We'll walk you over and ask you the name of each person. You'll give us the identity, and then we'll turn around and walk away. We'll hold onto you the whole time."
Brook nodded and Lance released her. With a feeling of great dread, Brook positioned herself between the two detectives, but declined their offer of support. She moved with them into the front room. Paramedics were loading Benny onto a stretcher.
"Him?" Marco prompted.
"Benny," Brook spat out. "The one who originally abducted me."
Stepping carefully around the smears of blood, Marco, Randi, and Brook then entered the den and stood over Clark's form. Brook trembled and her knees went weak. The detectives braced her between them and she allowed them to do so. This part of the process was very difficult for her.
Brook shot a panicked look over her shoulder, toward the paramedics in the front room. "Why aren't they helping my husband? Why are they wasting their time on that criminal, that piece of trash?"
"He's gone. There's nothing they can do for him." Randi patted Brook's arm. "Can you confirm for us who this is?"
"It's Clark Parrish, my husband." Brook squeezed the detectives' arms. Tears welled in her eyes. "Oh, Clark. This is all your fault, y
ou poor foolish man."
Randi exchanged a meaningful glance with Marco, storing Brook's comment away for later consideration. Randi cleared her throat to get Brook's attention. "We have to go upstairs now."
Brook met Randi's eyes. "Do I have to? I can already tell you who's up there. It's Pete. The other gang member. And I shot him. Lord help me, I shot him."
"It's okay. We still need you to look," Randi said, her voice calm as they led Brook up the stairs.
Shortly after she identified Pete, the forensic team and medical examiner arrived. Detectives Conroy and Vicente escorted Brook and Lance to the station to take their statements.
Chapter 67
In the wee hours of the next morning, the police finally allowed Lance and Brook to leave. He'd wanted to take her for medical treatment; her condition seemed so fragile. But, she had rallied some hidden strength and refused to see a doctor. Instead, they crawled into Old Reliable and headed for a midtown hotel. He had suggested separate rooms, but Brook said no.
Now, safely ensconced in a comfortable room, Lance stretched out on the bed and regarded his scraped knuckles. Apparently, he had hit Jase harder than he thought. With a dark, humorless smile, he glanced at the bathroom door.
Brooklyn had ducked into the bath shortly after they arrived. She had just finished the phone call to her parents, telling them all that had happened, and making plans for a trip home in the very near future. Then she'd turned to him with a tortured look in her eyes. "I need a few minutes. Alone," she had said. It had been more like an hour, but Lance thought he understood. She couldn't, in good conscience, take immediate comfort from her lover while her mind struggled to accept the violent death of her husband. Soon, though.
At that thought, the door opened and Brook approached the bed. The swelling on her face had diminished somewhat, but a bluish bruise stood out against her pale skin.
"He really hurt my back," she commented, turned, and lowered the white bathrobe. A large dark bruise spread from her shoulders to her waist. "Must have happened on the stairs." She painfully shrugged the robe up over her body and tied the belt loosely.
Betrayed - Alternate Ending Page 6
