G-Men: The Series

by ANDREA SMITH

  I followed behind, because there was no way I’d let my best friend get anywhere near danger without having her back. Lindsey and Louise walked over to the driver’s side door which faced the back of the building, with me right there with them.

  “Norma?” I heard Louise say, wrapping her arm around Lindsey’s shoulder as they walked up to it. “Norma, I want you to meet my…”

  The door to the van opened and I watched, as if it were playing out in slow motion, the look of surprise that engulfed Lindsey’s face.

  “Daddy,” she shrieked, as the man stepped down, holding a Glock in one hand, and tossing a set of keys to his mother with the other one.

  “Quiet, Lindsey,” he warned. “Just get in the back. We’ll talk once we’re out of here. You too,” he said, nodding towards me.

  Who me? Naw—dude I’d really, really rather not…

  He watched with his presumably loaded gun pointing towards us as Louise opened the side panel door, waiting for Lindsey and me to climb in before she shut and locked it. I noticed it couldn’t be opened from the inside. The door lever had been taken off.

  Fuck.

  I seriously hadn’t thought I’d find myself hog-tied and gagged once things had ended with Easton and me. Given the fact that, this time, there wasn’t a clean, soft mattress underneath me, but instead, a dirty, rodent-dropping-infested concrete one did little to conjure up more pleasant memories.

  It was probably my own fault, running my mouth the way I had in the van after I’d been told to keep it shut more than once. I finally got the message when Lindsey’s dad pressed the barrel of his weapon into my back, once we’d reached this deserted warehouse and parked inside.

  Lindsey was, of course, trying to plead and reason with the son-of-a-bitch, but that wasn’t working. Apparently, the dude inherited his sociopathic personality from his maternal side, despite what she’d said earlier about his need to control coming from his father.

  Yeah…right.

  Grandma Louise was holding the gun now, making sure that Lindsey (who was not tied up or gagged) stayed put in the chair she was provided. Daddy-dearest was counting the cash, not only the wad that Lindsey had given his mother, but what he’d taken out of our purses once we’d arrived here. Fuck! I’d brought over fifteen hundred dollars in cash with me to shop, since my one and only credit card was at its limit. He’d scarfed another six hundred from Lindsey, plus her wedding set, the fucking rat bastard. I’d given him my jewelry without hesitation. He wasn’t going to get all that much out of it.

  Louise had removed the batteries from both of our phones and tossed them into a trash can before we’d left the lot. No tracking technology for this heist.

  “Daddy,” Lindsey said once again, “how could you do this to me? I’m your own daughter for Chrissake? I can’t believe this…”

  That was probably the tenth time she’d asked him that since we arrived here and I’d been forced to stop yapping with the scarf that was being used as a gag.

  “Listen,” he said, his voice carrying the desperation he must be feeling. “Do you think I wanted to? Do you think if there were any other way possible for me to get out of the country without involving you, I wouldn’t have grabbed it? Honey, it’s about surviving and, without this money and my mother’s help, I’d be dead in a week. There are more people after me than the authorities…people that are more threatening to me than the authorities. I have no choice. This money will buy my way out of the U.S.”

  “And then what?” she asked, now getting a bit louder. “What will you live on once you get where you’re going? What kind of life are you going to have?”

  He gave her a sardonic smile. “One where I’m free to pursue other money-making interests without drug lords, thugs or the Feds breathing down my neck. Yeah, I made some mistakes, Lindsey, but I can’t undo them now. And I won’t go to prison. I’d never survive inside, considering who I’ve sold down the river in order to survive this past year and a half. I wish there were another way, sweetheart.”

  “Don’t call me that!” she hissed. “I’m ashamed of you and the fact that you’re my father. Most of all, I’m sorry that I ever loved you.” She buried her face in her hands, the sobs coming full force.

  “Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, Lindsey, but after tonight, you’ll never have to lay eyes on me again.” He turned to his mother, instructing her to keep the gun on us until he returned. She nodded, handing him a key.

  “It’s locker 247,” she said. “Tell your contact that it’s right down from the south entrance. He nodded and took off, telling her he’d be back before dark. He pulled his dark hoodie up around his face. I wasn’t sure what he’d looked like before, but with a full beard and mustache and a knit hat covering his hair, he looked like someone that had been living on the street for a while.

  “Grandma,” I heard Lindsey implore, “Can you at least untie Darcy so she can sit in a chair? She’s pregnant.”

  “No,” Louise snapped. “She doesn’t know when to keep her fuckin’ mouth shut. I don’t need the aggravation.”

  “What are Daddy’s plans for us?” she asked, timidly.

  “You’ll know soon enough,” she said. “Now you keep quiet or I’ll find a gag for you too, girl.”

  I closed my eyes, and for the first time in a very long time, I prayed and meant it.

  chapter 54

  ~ Easton ~

  It was after six in the evening when I finally pulled myself up and out of bed for a shower. I’d definitely imbibed too much at the reception. I’d consumed even more when I returned to my loft afterwards. I should’ve known by now, it never did any good trying to drown my thoughts and feelings about Darcy with alcohol. There was nothing that could take her words out of my head. Yet I couldn’t blame her one bit.

  I checked my mobile once I was out of the shower and dressed. Just more missed calls from my non-related brother, Taz. He’d called several times leaving messages over the past couple of months that I hadn’t bothered to return. What was the point? We’d never been close and now there was no reason to even try. I deleted the voice messages without evening listening to them.

  I ran my hands through my still-damp hair, trying to figure out if I should even attempt to salvage what was left of Sunday. I sat on the sofa and pulled my laptop over to check e-mails. There was one that had come in from Dobbs about eight this morning. It was a reply to mine that I’d evidently sent to him at four-thirty this morning (while clearly under the influence) instructing him to de-activate the Night Moves chip that had been embedded in “Farcy’s” clit ring.

  Bloody Christ—my inebriated fingers couldn’t even get her name spelled correctly. Drink much, Easy-E?

  Oh, hell. That’s what she used to call me when she was being playful…or maybe when she was just being a pain…either way, I’d loved it.

  Dobb’s wanted clarification from me that I’d been referring to Darcy, not someone else named ‘Farcy’…Seriously, Ryan? And he wondered if I also wanted the navel piercing de-activated if, in fact, I had meant ‘Darcy.’ I must’ve forgotten about that one in my drunken stupor.

  He’d sent another e-mail at two-thirty this afternoon, clarifying that he’d taken it upon himself to presume I’d meant “Darcy” and had de-activated the chip in the clit jewelry and now awaited instructions from me before de-activating the matching jewelry for her navel.

  How anal is he?

  I hit the reply button and started typing my instruction for him to stop being so fucking anal and just get it done, but the loud pounding on the door to my loft interrupted me mid-sentence.

  “Bloody hell,” I shouted, getting to my feet to see who the hell was pounding the fuck out of my door. Where the hell was the doorman, anyway?

  I opened the door, and my former brother stepped through it as if he were being inconvenienced by the interruption.

  “Don’t you fucking return calls, ass-hat?” he asked, pointing his finger at m
e, his eyes definitely showing some flashing rage.

  “If I feel there’s something to talk about, Trace,” I replied. “Thing is, mate, we’ve no blood between us so really, what’s the—”

  “Shut the fuck up, Easton,” he snarled. “I’m not here about that right now. I’m here about my wife. She’s missing and it seems that you were the last one to see her and Darcy last night before they left for their hotel. I got that information from your former fuck-buddy, Lacee.”

  “I see,” I replied, with a smirk. “The same Lacee that most likely provided you with my address here?”

  “I work for the bureau, bro. I can get this information whenever I want it.”

  “Touché,” I replied, closing the front door and turning back to face him. “Have you asked Darcy where your wife might be hiding?”

  “She’s missing as well,” he growled, fisting his hands at his side.

  “Taz, I haven’t seen either one of them since last night. They’re certainly not here, but you’re free to check. No search warrant required,” I added.

  He looked around, as if he were contemplating doing just that, as if I would’ve lied about it. He was rattled. I needed to stop antagonizing him at the moment.

  “What about their mobiles? Do you have the means of tracking Lindsey?”

  “I’ve called both of their phones and they’re shut off, or the batteries have been removed.”

  “What are you doing in New York, anyway?” I asked. “Did you just get in?”

  “No,” he said, impatiently. “If you’d have listened to any of my messages, you’d have known we’ve been working a case in the area for the past month or more. I was supposed to stop by the hotel to visit Lindsey this afternoon and she wasn’t in. The staff said they hadn’t seen either one of them all day,” he shrugged, “I guess I thought maybe Lindsey had come along with Darcy to visit you…I mean, I know you and she were…involved at some point.”

  Taz was clearly rattled. For a senior agent to be rattled like that told me there was definitely something very wrong here. I grabbed my mobile and called Dobbs.

  “Ryan,” I nearly shouted when he answered, “Do not deactivate the other chip Darcy’s wearing. Do you understand?”

  “Sure. No problem, Easton. I didn’t intend to until I’d received further clarification.”

  Thank God he’s so fucking anal.

  “We may be in luck,” I told Trace, pulling up the Night Moves program. “If they’re together, and if Darcy’s still wearing her bellybutton stud, we’re in luck.”

  Taz didn’t even question the correlation as he stood behind me and watched as I pulled up the coordinates, quickly transforming them into a street address, and then pulling up the real-time stream of the building, which showed the front entrance. And a huge building it was.

  “What the fuck,” he commented, looking at it closely. “It looks like an abandoned warehouse.” Taz was immediately plugging the info into his hand-held GPS, pulling up a map and directions, which of course, I had already at my fingertips with this newly developed track-ware.

  “It’s in Washington Heights,” he said, “Right across from Mullaly Park.” He pulled his mobile up to make a call. “Slate,” he said into his mobile. “I’ve got an address where Lindsey might be…and Darcy.”

  Just then, as we both watched the live stream, a dark panel van pulled up onto the sidewalk in front of the building. Someone jumped out, and headed up to where an overhead door was located just down from the main entrance. Whoever it was, pressed a button next to the door to raise it, turned and started back toward the van.

  “Holy fuck,” Taz said. “Can you freeze-frame that, Easton? Or maybe save the feed somehow?”

  “Of course,” I replied, hitting the menu to do both. “Done.”

  He went back to his conversation, his voice exuding emotion. “Slate, I can’t be sure, man, but I’m going to send you this video feed. You’ll know better than me, but I think it’s the rat bastard.”

  This can’t possibly be a good thing.

  chapter 55

  Something was definitely going on outside. I wasn’t sure how long we’d been in this hell hole. All I knew was that I couldn’t feel my left side anymore. It was the side my weight was resting on against the cold, dirty concrete. The rats weren’t even all that shy in this building, now that it had started to get dark outside. Which was just awesome, said no one…ever.

  Lindsey’s father had returned with a satchel and a newly purchased pre-paid phone. He’d been on it most of the time, arranging for a drop somewhere tonight at ten-thirty to pick up the weapons. God only knew what kind of weapons he was dealing in. Lindsey had come over and put her jacket under my head for comfort, sitting beside me, instead of in the chair she’d been provided.

  ‘Geez-Louise’ continually watched us, making sure we both saw the Glock being held steady in her hand. I had no doubt in my mind that she would use it just as easily on Lindsey as she would on me. There had to be something in this for her, and I doubted it had anything to do with loving her son.

  A thunder storm was rolling in—yeah, I know. Just what I needed to make this horror story perfect, right?

  Lindsey was patting my arm every time the crack of thunder sounded outside and I jumped. As much as anyone who’s been hog-tied can jump, that is. She was trying to soothe me, when in reality, I truly believe she was more frightened than me. She didn’t know just how far her father would go to save his own ruthless hide.

  Jack Dennison’s current call was cut short when the blaring sounds of sirens could be heard over the thunder and rain pelting against the building, screeching to a halt outside. When, soon after, the sound of a helicopter could be heard overhead, it sealed the deal as far as I was concerned.

  Yes! The cavalry is here!

  I saw a look of relief flood over Lindsey’s face. It was short-lived however.

  “Lindsey,” her father bellowed. “Come here. Now!”

  She scrambled to her feet and approached her father tentatively. It was almost as if she wasn’t sure whether she was walking into a death trap, or into her father’s arms for comfort. He bent down, wrapping his arms around her. And, for a second, I actually thought he was trying to comfort her before he had the good sense to blow his own brains out. He motioned for Louise to give him the gun, and to follow him.

  He pulled Lindsey in front of him like a fucking human shield, his own mother falling behind him to serve the same purpose as they left me there on that, cold, dirty cement floor to kick at the rats who seemed to get braver by the second. He was going to try and escape. What a stupid fuck!

  By now, it was difficult to distinguish the flashes of lightning from the headlights and spotlights directed on the building. I heard the van start up, most likely Lindsey was forced to drive it out of there, while Jack and Louise cowered in the back like the cowards they were. I could see the light from the street as the door opened and the van pulled out and then nothing. It was relatively quiet for several seconds until I heard the loud sounds of ‘Pop! Pop! Pop!’

  Oh my God…Lindsey!

  I was cold, tired, dehydrated, and hungry; yet tears still formed in my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. I could even hear my own muffled sobs from beneath the scarf that was tied tightly over my mouth and seemed to get tighter by the second. I didn’t need to hold my sobs back. There was no one here to see me break this time. The rats didn’t care. So I let loose, but I couldn’t really and totally let loose because the fucking scarf was muffling everything that I wanted to let out: the anger, the rage, the total fucked-upness of how a father could do what Jack Dennison had done. It was unfathomable to me.

  Maybe my pregnancy hormones were making me feel things more deeply and more personally then I ever had before. Maybe it was the fact that, when I’d first felt that fluttering within my gut, I had insta-loved this little tad-pole inside of me that I’d named “Junior.” At five months pregnant, I already loved him
or her. My God! Jack Dennison had 19 years with Lindsey before he split. What the fuck?

  My musings were interrupted as I heard footsteps coming down the metal stairwell that led to the floor above this one.

  Oh God—what now?

  I squeezed my eyes shut, as if that would make the sound go away. I willed my ears to not hear what was approaching. Then, I opened my eyes. What could be any worse than what I’d been through? Having a homicidal vagrant come through the door would beat laying here and getting chewed on by rats. Darcy Nicole Sheridan was made of tougher stuff than this.

  As my eyes, once again, adjusted to the darkness settling in, with only the occasional flash of lightning to illuminate my surroundings, I heard the sound of the footsteps on the concrete getting closer and closer.

  And then I saw them. Bruno Magli Micolino braided-strap loafers in black. And as they got closer, I knew that everything was going to be alright. Who else would be wearing black Italian leather in a shit-hole like this?

  Easton…

  I felt his hands on me, untying my binds, talking to me in his very soothing voice, telling me that he loved me, that I was going to be fine and not to worry, and I knew that it was true. I didn’t say a word, even when he removed the scarf that had been tied around me. I simply crawled up into his lap as he rested on his haunches just inches from me, and tucked my face into his broad chest, not wanting to look at anything right now. I was just listening for the sound of his steady heartbeat. There it was.

  “I lied,” I whispered against him.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he replied, lifting me up and carrying me towards the door.

  “It matters, Easton. I love you. I never stopped.”

  “I know,” he replied, his arms tightening around me. “I know, baby.”

  I felt the cold chill of the wet, night air hit my face as he carried me outside. The rain had diminished to a slow drizzle. The flashing lights were everywhere and as I gazed about, I could see that New York’s finest were perched all around the building, along with FBI swat team members dressed liked ninjas in black, with knit ski-mask type head coverings on, and an arsenal of semi-automatic weapons aimed to fire. They were on top of buildings as far as I could see down the street, the reflective lettering “F B I” visible on the back of their field jackets.