Unafraid

by Allie Harrison

  “I see.”

  He doubted that.

  “I’m sure there are more agents right behind us.” John noticed Tex stooped down near Bob, but out of reach and stared at what had to be a heap of pain. Both his hands were mangled; joints protruded at odd angles and appeared out of place. Blood oozed from his nose and slack, misshapen jaw. And were those teeth on the floor nearby? John was surprised Smith was able to focus on him.

  “You’ll never get away in your own car.” John’s words were soft, but still seemed to echo over Bob’s bleating.

  “Well, I’ve got to get my kids. I don’t have a choice. They’ll think I knew what he was doing, that I helped him, when I didn’t. My kids will be orphaned and sent into a deeper hell than they’re already in, all because of him.”

  John pulled the key fob from his pocket. “Our car is down the street.” He nodded in the direction. “It’s big with lots of room. I’ll show you. It’ll give you a little more of a head start. Is that bat the only thing you used on him?”

  For the first time, she looked at him sheepishly. “No, there’s a knife in the sink.”

  John nodded. “We’ll take care of it. Get out of here. Go get your kids, and don’t come back.”

  With a gloved hand, Monty was already picking up the bloody knife from the sink. Tex stood and grasped the bat, his hands also covered with gloves.

  Maggie Smith moved toward the garage door slowly, afraid to turn her back to them, as if his idea of letting her go might be a trick. At the door, she turned and met his gaze again. “There’s a hidden room beneath our basement I discovered this morning while I was cleaning.”

  John offered her a slight nod, gave Bob another hard look. Did he see recognition in that monster’s defeated eyes? He thought so. Then he followed her out the door, his team behind him, where he knew they would always be. In the garage, which was now empty with the coffee truck gone, she turned back to him again. “I’ve got stuff in my car, stuff my kids need.”

  “We’ll help you with it.” John watched her lug the bags down the driveway. He put on his own pair of gloves and carried the third bag and a box with a model in it. He hoped to hell she didn’t get stopped, hoped if she did the vehicle didn’t get traced to him. At the sight of the model in his arms, he felt his heart melt at a memory of sitting at the kitchen table with Charlie, putting together a car piece by piece. Patience and time and working together that brought a bonding which could never be taken from him. Of course the car was filled with a lot of finger prints, but it was a chance he had to take. As he placed the box into the back seat, he met Maggie’s gaze as she stood at the opposite door. “Spend time with your kids,” he said. “Help your son put together this model and teach them to build things, not destroy. Keep your kids close and teach them love.”

  “I will.” She paused. “This car? After I get a new one, I could—”

  “Leave it in a grocery store parking lot somewhere. I’ll find it.”

  “Thank you. I have no idea who you are. I doubt you’d tell me if I asked, but I remember seeing that tall guy in Bob’s office before Bob was shot and arrested.”

  John said nothing.

  “Why are you helping me?”

  “I care what happens to your kids. We care about what happens to innocent people.” Then with another nod, he closed the door and stepped back while she climbed behind the wheel and adjusted the seat.

  As George drove the coffee truck up from the other direction, John climbed in and closed the door after she started it. He watched in the rearview mirror as Maggie Smith left her house, drove down the street, and disappeared around the corner.

  John glanced at George. Then the Smith house was growing smaller in the rearview mirror.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  For fear he might fall asleep, John didn’t dare lean back in the front seat of the coffee truck and close his eyes. George drove smoothly, taking the next corner with ease. As soon as he wasn’t in the closed compartment of a vehicle where his teammates could hear, he’d give Abby a call and see how her ribs were fairing. It still burned his gut he had to drop her off at the shop and leave her behind, but he wasn’t about to let her anywhere she might be breathing the same air as Bob Smith again. When it came to breathing, he did it carefully, his chest sore. At the same time, he was damned glad Bob Smith was a good shot and hit them all square on the vests they wore. He had no doubt Monty was breathing as carefully as he was.

  Just as he thought about Monty, Monty spoke. “There’s still no word from Virgil.”

  “Any news on Detective Emily Benton?”

  “I just checked. She didn’t show up for work this morning. No one’s heard from her.”

  This morning when Abby had snuck a bug on Brubaker seemed ten years ago, not just a few hours. “Activate Virgil’s locator.”

  Years ago, when they had returned from the Middle East, made the decision to remain a team, and knew the jobs they’d be taking on, they made the decision to place locator chips beneath their skin. At various times throughout their career, the chips had to be activated and John was always glad they had all secretly agreed. Only his team members knew about the implants. Only his team members knew the pass code to activate them.

  “I already did. Actually, I activated it right before we reached the park,” Monty replied, rhythmically typing keys on the laptop. “But with the way things worked out, I didn’t get the chance to tell you until now. He shows up in a house north of here, same place he was when I first activated it.” Monty rattled off an address. “You need to get back on fifteen, heading north. Get off on exit twenty-three.”

  “I’m on it.” George maneuvered the coffee truck and got them heading in the right direction in a matter of minutes.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Virgil stayed quiet, literally biting his tongue to keep from drawing attention to himself. Although it had been mere hours, it felt like he’d spent days moving his arms to rub the plastic ties that bound his arms to the chair. He swore men with tiny sledge hammers were beating on his face around his jaw. At the same time, he was certain his wrists were being used as kindling. It took all his concentration to breathe rhythmically and evenly and silently. Even when Emily whispered to him, “Virgil? Virgil? Can you hear me? Are you awake?”

  It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He ignored her. He didn’t know if his kidnapper watched him. He didn’t know if there were cameras anywhere and he needed every advantage, which meant he couldn’t let his kidnapper know how responsive and capable he was.

  The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself.

  He could not let his captor see his hands were free.

  He had to bide his time.

  His legs were numb, until he tried to subtly move them. Then he discovered they were weak and stiff, which was not surprising considering he’d had his butt on this chair and hadn’t moved—except for rubbing his arms on the chair—for hours. He knew if he attempted to jump to his feet and stop the bastard, he was liable to fall flat on his face—which he absolutely did not need again.

  Then again, perhaps he could use that to his advantage.

  Without moving his head, his eyes barely open, he watched the shadowed figure of a man come down the stairs that were lit by only that skeleton bulb hanging from the ceiling.

  Virgil weighed him out carefully. He was perhaps three inches shorter than Virgil. Pound-wise, they may have been the same. Virgil was leaner. This guy had some beefy arms and broader shoulders. And Virgil knew he had to be strong in order to lug dead weight into his van after tasing someone.

  He hardly gave Virgil a second glance, which worked in his favor.

  He stopped by Emily, leaned in close to her.

  Virgil gripped the chair arms to remain planted in the seat and not do anything stupid.

  The shadow man sniffed loudly as if he was trying to memorize Emily’s scent. Maybe he was.

  After all, the puncture wounds were made with arrows.r />
  The bastard was hunting women.

  He touched her hair, rolled it between his fingers and thumb, as if checking the softness of it.

  Emily let out a loathing sigh and tried to move away. The man grasped her hair tighter and held her in her place.

  He leaned closer near her ear. “I liked what you said on the news, that you were close to catching the Necktie Killer. You just had no idea how close I really was to you, did you? I don’t know what I’m going to do with your boyfriend yet.” He held up a gun. “Of course, I wonder why he feels the need to carry a gun like this when he doesn’t carry any type of identification. But I don’t really care. I’ve got more important things to worry about. As soon as I finish with this one over here, you’ll get your turn to see if you can run my gauntlet.”

  His words were thick, he had a slight speech impediment.

  He touched Emily’s hair more, carefully tucked it behind her ear.

  “Why do you do this?” Emily asked.

  Virgil knew her tactic, stalling for time while searching for answers.

  “Why? Because I can. I can tell you things because it doesn’t matter. You won’t survive my gauntlet. You see, I got my first taste for blood from a friend—I guess you could call him a friend—although after that first girl, we went our separate ways. It was back when we were about twenty. It was what gave me the idea for the ties. It was Halloween, this pretty girl was dressed like a guy at a party we crashed. She was wearing this beautiful red silk neck tie, tied like a businessman. I doubt she even knew how to tie it herself. My friend insisted on keeping it when we were done with her, done showing her that girls should not pretend to be men, ever. He said he always needed a trophy. He also said girls would never be equal to men and shouldn’t try to be.

  “It took me years to set up and perfect my gauntlet. Only once did a young woman escape, and I had to bail in a hurry and start over. Do you know what really amazes me, Detective Benton?”

  Emily said nothing.

  But he answered her anyway. “Several things, really. It amazes me that women still think they can be like me. All of the women I’ve taken—women who think they can do a man’s job, can be equal to me—have proven in the end they are nowhere equal to me. That young woman over there—” he nodded to the semi-conscious, injured woman on the nearby cot. “She’s taking classes to be a fireman, oh excuse me, a fire fighter. I can’t call her a fireman because she doesn’t have the right parts. Of all things. Do you honestly think she’s going to be able to lug another human being out of a burning building? I doubt it. It also amazes me that women don’t even want to dress pretty anymore. They wear pants, hell, they even wear underwear that looks like boy underwear. What kind of pretty panties are you wearing, Detective?”

  Following his question, he stuck out his tongue and tasted her ear, causing her to flinch.

  Virgil’s gut burned hotter than his wrists.

  “I’ll soon find out. Don’t be so fidgety, Detective,” the Shadow man whispered loudly. “You’ll get your turn to prove yourself. Isn’t that why you decided to wear a badge, work a man’s job? So you could prove yourself?”

  Emily apparently had enough with trying to stay quiet. “Fuck you.”

  “Oh, you will, I promise. You will fuck me, just like I tell you to, then the real fun and games will begin.” He moved to the young woman on the cot. “Speaking of fun and games, sweetheart, it’s your turn.”

  “No,” she moaned. “No, please.”

  Without hesitation or finesse, he grabbed the girl by her arm and hauled her to her feet. Her hands were still laced together with plastic ties. Her knees seemed to crumple as if they were brittle sticks in a strong wind. She would have hit the floor, but he jerked her arm up and kept her moving with him.

  Unmoving, not breathing, Virgil watched him pull the woman in his direction. He knew they had to draw close to reach the stairs that were not too far away. It was now or never. He had to do something. The girl was dazed and could hardly stand. She would not survive a hunt. She didn’t appear able to survive the trip up the nearby stairs.

  If he let them get up the stairs, the prick might lock him in, and he’d be just as helpless as if he were still tied to the chair.

  His move was simple and effective.

  As they stepped past him, Virgil stuck out his foot and tripped the bastard. He might not be tall, but with his muscled weight and his attention on keeping the young woman moving, he fell hard and fast.

  The girl fell with him. Not that Virgil wanted her hurt further, but the action added to his confusion and instability. Despite the fact he still held Virgil’s weapon, Virgil wasted no time jumping on top of him, just like he’d learned to tackle in high school football, his moves perfected by what John had taught him. He punched just like he learned to fight as a SEAL. Then he pressed his thumb between the guy’s knuckles of his middle and ring finger. He knew the move would hurt like a son of a bitch. And it worked, the guy let out a yelp and the gun slipped from his hand.

  Virgil snatched it up and pistol whipped the guy. He hit him hard enough that the impact vibrated up his arm and through his chest.

  But it didn’t take the guy down. For a moment, Virgil thought the bastard was going to gain an advantage. He tried to fight back, his arms flailing, legs kicking but missing Virgil, who gave him an expert twist and shove. He landed hard on the floor, face down.

  Grabbing the guy by the back of his hair, Virgil slammed his face against the concrete.

  Bam, bam, bam, bam.

  It had been the right move. Pins and needles attacked Virgil’s legs feeling like a million huge mosquitoes. He would never have been able to stand for longer than a second or two before his legs gave out beneath him. But down on the concrete floor, he felt like a powerhouse. All the anger, the need to lash out at Shackleford as well as this prick who tazed him and Emily, especially this prick who thought it was hunting season for women.

  Virgil heard the crack of his nose break. He slammed his face again.

  It was the soft sound of Emily’s voice, seeming to call to him through the dense fog.

  “Virgil, stop. That’s enough. Besides, you’ve got your gun in your hand.”

  He paused, panting heavily and met her gaze from the across the dark room. The young woman lay nearby. He took her in, thinking the floor had to be cold on her bare skin. The sounds of her loud breathing told him she may not be conscious. His own heavy breaths and the blood rushing in his ears were the only other sounds in the room.

  Until he let go of the guy and his bleeding face made a soft plop against the concrete.

  A door from above burst open with a bang and footsteps sounded loud.

  “Shit…” He let out, working to get his legs to accept the command his brain sent to them as he tried to get to his feet.

  If this killer had a friend or two to help him, this could be bad. He hadn’t even been able to check to make certain his weapon was loaded. Then Virgil thought, hell, no. He wasn’t going to die in this dark, dank place, not without a fight. The pins and needles stabbing his legs were gone. Virgil was willing to go the distance, just as John had trained him to do.

  His weapon became an extension of his hand as he rolled and pushed to his feet, ignoring the weak feeling and the touch of nausea that tried to grab him.

  Then he let out a chuckle and moved his gun to point to the floor at seeing John and his team. “What took you guys so long?”

  “We ran into a bit of trouble,” John replied.

  Tex rushed to the woman on the floor. “She needs help.”

  Monty pulled out a knife.

  “Yes, she does.” Virgil took the knife from Monty, still gripping his gun, carefully stooped down and freed Emily. “We can get help on the way, but we have to leave. We can’t be here when it gets here.”

  “Oh, that’s right, you’re on vacation. All right, I got this, although I doubt anyone will believe I managed to do that to him without getting one bruise.”


  He grinned at her. “I’ll bet you can convince them you tripped him and jumped on his back and slammed his face to the floor.”

  He held her arm and helped her to her feet. She swayed but managed to stay upright. He couldn’t get over the softness of her skin and found himself wanting to feel more. “Are you okay?”

  “I think so. You? Your hand…”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “How convenient this guy is carrying extra zip ties.” Tex pulled one from the unconscious killer’s back pocket and used it to bind his hands behind his back. “I wouldn’t have wanted to leave you alone with him if his hands were free, Detective. And here’s his phone. Use it to call for help so this all looks legit. There’s a gun and phone upstairs on a table which are probably yours.”

  “Thank you,” Emily said, although she looked up at Virgil through the gloom of the room. He reached out, gently cupped the side of her face. The softness seemed to melt its way all the way to his soul.

  Then the moment was gone, and she moved away, taking the phone Tex held out.

  “Did he have you tied to this chair, Virgil?”

  “Yeah.”

  John pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, quickly wiped it down, and moved it to another spot in the room. “We already got your phone from upstairs.”

  “Thanks,” Virgil said.

  “You didn’t have anything else that could be traced back to you, did you?” John asked.

  Virgil shook his head. He’d had the insight to lock his badge, which he’d shown Emily in the morgue, up in his car before their tryst at the smoothie shop, which seemed like weeks ago instead of mere hours.

  Then John looked at the injured woman, Charlie’s friend. “Her name’s Sarah.”

  Emily moved away from Virgil and he was certain a sweet breath of spring air went with her. “I’ll talk to her and take care of her. I’ll make certain she understands that bastard could be set free if certain things—like your presence—are mentioned. But I don’t think she’s been conscious enough to know you’re here.” She knelt beside the injured woman. “She needs a hospital. You guys get out of here.”