Poindexter came to stand beside him and dropped a bag at his feet. “Ah, fresh air,” he said, his chest stuck out and inhaling a deep breath. He offered a thin smile that didn’t meet his black eyes. “You thought you and that little girlfriend of yours were pretty smart, didn’t you?”
Jake looked the man in the eye. He guessed Poindexter was of English ancestry. He had the look of an aristocrat, the bearing of nobility in all the photos Jake had seen of him. His immaculately trimmed hair was always precisely combed, his suits most likely in the thousand-dollar range. Not today. Up close he looked more like the spawn of Satan. The wind coming up the riverbank whipped at his hair. No light reflected from his eyes, not even with the gray light of a winter day at high noon. His complexion declared a serious case of acne at some time in his past life. His nose was crooked. The man radiated cold better than Mother Nature.
“Where is she?” Jake asked.
Poindexter lifted his left shoulder with indifference. “You mean Lacy Wright? It doesn’t matter where she is today. It only matters where she’ll be tomorrow, and what she’ll see when she closes her eyes every night for the rest of her life. You know how it is. Some images tend to stick in our heads. I’ll bet you saw plenty of guys get blown apart when you were over in Iraq or Iran or wherever you were.” He leaned closer, his voice gravelly and deep. “Tell me, Weylin. Does that bloody, gory picture in your head ever go away? Don’t you still wake up covered with sweat and screaming because of all the guys you lost over there?”
Poindexter seemed to be waiting for an answer, but Jake closed his eyes and took in a deep lungful of the winter air. Poindexter had already given him what he needed to hear. The rat bastard didn’t know where Lacy was.
A wave of warm calm swept over Jake. He had no doubt that whatever happened next would scar Lacy. But scars were one thing. Death was another. He was thankful to the core of his worthless soul that Lacy wasn’t there, that she’d been spared. She might hurt for a while after he died, but she was tough. She’d find a way to endure, and hell, maybe she’d paint him on one of her canvasses. Maybe he’d get to feel her sweet breath on his face one more time after all.
The notion of her soul reaching out to him after he died soothed Jake in a way he’d not expected. Lacy would remember him. He hadn’t gone through all he’d gone through in vain. She would love him long after he was gone because he’d mattered to her. Maybe she’d get her oils and brushes out and they’d have a good long chat together before she painted him—home.
That profoundly special word brought another level of calm to the edge of the precipice. Somehow in the circuitous ways of destiny and fate, he’d been meant to be with Lacy, if only once. Lacy was his home, his comfort at the end of a tough, hard life. She’d opened up her apartment, but more, she’d opened up her heart. She could paint him home all she wanted, but he’d never leave because she was his home.
He stiffened his spine and took another deep breath for the task ahead, the task of dying without her. Even that brought a measure of peace because now he knew. Lacy wasn’t here on the edge of life with him. She was safe. She would live.
“You see, Weylin,” Poindexter said as he looped the rope through a metal carabiner, his voice almost conversational. “I’m a very ambitious man. Do you know what accolades come after my name when I’m offered speaking engagements at college graduations and business conferences? They introduce me as the entrepreneur of the year. They say I’m driven and bound for success in everything I do. Even after all these years, they say I’ll go far.”
Plunkett busied herself by being a tramp. She trailed the tip of her tongue over the top of Jake’s ear while Poindexter watched. Jake turned away from the treacherous woman. Connie really needed to do some serious job hunting.
“Stop playing,” Poindexter snapped as he jerked the rope in his hand, dropped it, and proceeded to do the same with another section of the nylon coil and another carabiner. “They call me fearless and ambitious, Weylin. I’ll bet you didn’t know I own more high-end real estate property than any other person in the entire United States, did you? Hell, probably in the entire North and South American continents, and do you know why?”
Jake remained silent. Nothing good ever came from arguing with a fool.
“I’ll tell you why.” Poindexter stepped up to Jake with a switchblade in his hand. With one twist of his wrist, he flicked it open. “Because I’m a better man than everyone else, that’s why.” He reached around to Jake’s back and cut the ties that bound his wrists, brought the wicked blade into sight again, and with another twist of his wrist, snapped it closed.
Rocky Rabbit grabbed Jake’s arms then, straining his shoulder sockets until he had no choice but to lean over the edge. Gravel and dirt clods fell to the rusted slab of metal below. The damned thing had to be several inches thick. How it came to be there was one of those details a dying man wondered about, but didn’t care about at the same time.
Cold-Hearted Bitch had taken position on the opposite side of him. And there he was, standing on the edge of insanity with a psycho to his left, one to his right, and a freaking moron on his six. He contemplated jumping. Breaking his neck in the fall might be an easier way to die.
Jake could’ve sworn he heard his buddy’s words drift on the wind. It ain’t over ’till it’s over.
Not sure what your idea of over is, Zack, but this sure feels over to me.
“So I’m making you a one time good deal.” Poindexter chuckled in his demented, twisted way. He tossed one of the ropes to Rocky Rabbit. “I’m going to let you live.”
Rocky Rabbit jerked Jake backward and made quick work of wrapping the rope around his wrists, only this time in front instead of behind his back. And then Jake understood how bad it would get before it was over. His surroundings jolted into clarity. He saw the sunken dock below in the cold gray Potomac clearly. He was standing at the edge of an abandoned shipyard. A heavy-duty engine hoist stood behind him just beside the cave entrance, its boom extended over the edge. The damned thing was as rusty as the iron below. Mounted to the boom was a chain and hook. He debated jumping again.
Rocky Rabbit’s left lip lifted into a sneer. “Want you to look pretty for your lady friend,” he muttered as he grabbed hold of the hook and pulled it down. Poindexter and the cold-hearted bitch held Jake between them while Rocky Rabbit secured the hook beneath the bindings and worked the hoist lever. Inch by inch he lifted Jake until he was nearly off his feet.
Then the fun began. Cold-hearted Bitch stepped forward with her idea of a knife—a box cutter blade. “I hate to waste a good man,” she said while she pressed the lever at the side of the cutter, pushing the razor into view. She pulled his shirt out of his pants and stretched it tight, creating a taut surface between them. Very slowly, her blade bit through the buttons on his shirt. “But I’ve already got a good man. What would I do with two?”
With Jake’s chest now exposed, she took another step forward. The damned bitch winked at him like she was all hot and bothered, and this was all in fun. She lifted the razor to his throat.
Jake tilted his chin upward and stared at the gray clouds overhead, hoping she’d nick his carotid and he’d bleed out quickly. But no. She started at the hollow of his throat and cut one single slice down the centerline of his chest over his belly to his belt. He shuddered with the fiery pain, hissing against the words that sprang to his tongue. She hadn’t cut him deeply enough to go through the muscle, just enough to part the skin and make him bleed. Shaking from the assault, he gritted his teeth and shook it off. He wouldn’t give her the pleasure of uttering one word.
With his hands bound over his head, Rocky Rabbit shoved Jake backward off the cliff and Jake prepared for the worst. The terror of being suspended over thin air almost made him scream, but he chose to bite his lip and stare his murderers down instead.
That damned Zack had something to say about freezing to death, too. Deep breath. Exhale slowly. Don’t get mad. Get even.
&nb
sp; Shut the fuck up, Zack! You get even. You aren’t the one hanging over a river and about to die, are you?
The wind caught him. His body swayed like a side of beef hung in the butcher’s freezer. Poindexter had the oddest smile on his face. Cold-hearted Bitch lifted her fingers to her lips and blew Jake a kiss. He spat to his right, so there was no doubt what he thought of her.
Rocky Rabbit cranked the lever that lowered the hoist’s boom. Inch by shivering inch, Jake dropped below their line of sight. Poindexter disappeared momentarily, but only long enough to return with a long wooden pole. He grinned from his higher position on the bank, stuck the end of the pole between Jake’s arms, but only enough to turn him one hundred eighty degrees until he faced the river.
“Smile pretty,” Rocky Rabbit cackled.
“Shit,” Jake growled under his breath. He was lowered until he was directly in front of the rusted slab of iron. Inch by inch, his body was cranked backward. Shivers raked him at the frozen touch of skin on metal. One more crank and he came to rest, spread out on his deathbed.
“Die well, Jake Weylin,” Poindexter called from high overhead. “It has been a pleasure matching wits with you, but as you can see, I always win.”
Jake didn’t bother to look up. His heart turned to Lacy. This would hurt her more than it would him. He shivered. The Potomac in December was a damned cold place to die, but it would be quick. Even the slice down his belly didn’t hurt anymore. Maybe it was shock setting in. Maybe he was just numb like he’d been since he’d left the Corps. Who knew? He sure as hell didn’t.
“You’re a lucky man,” Poindexter called over the edge.
Jesus H. Christ, why don’t you just leave?
“You will be glad to know that I’m on my way to place an anonymous call to all the newspapers on the East Coast. I’ll be sure to tell them where to look for you. I’m sad to say you’ll be dead by the time they get here, but rest easy. You know how they are, Jake. They’ll print every last picture of what they find, and they’ll bring the television crews with them to take more pictures of your dead body.”
Bits of dirt and gravel rained down on Jake as Poindexter monologued. “Birds and rats may already be feasting on you by the time they arrive, Jake. After all, animals like things that bleed, and you are bleeding, true? They’ll be here before I fly off in my private helicopter. But think about this while you hang there and bleed to death.” More gravel rained over Jake. “What’s the last thing your precious Lacy Wright will see every night for the rest of her life? What will she dream of?
The bastard laughed. “You might have outed me to the world, but I’m not finished yet, Weylin. You are.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lacy came to outside the open passenger door of his SUV with the mighty Zack on his knees, his palm on her forehead like he was checking for a fever. A buttery soft leather jacket was pulled up to her chin over Jake’s denim jacket. But her cap was missing.
A section of her hair floated like wisps of cedar vapor in front of her eyes, and she was cold, a shivering kind of cold that went all the way to her toes. Two jackets weren’t enough. Her palms went instantly to her biceps to rub warmth back into her body.
“Why am I so cold?” she asked, blinking up into liquid brown eyes. Damn it. If Zack had been dressed in any kind of military uniform, she’d really be in trouble. The guy was a walking babe magnet. Tall, dark, and handsome only skimmed the surface. His pecs didn’t fit inside that too tight black shirt he had on. It was stretched nice and tight. Something about the guy made her heart skip a few beats. She would know. The damned thing was running a mile a minute and skipping, too. But Zack wasn’t Jake, was he? He might be here, but she wanted the man who owned that crazy heart in her chest.
“There you are,” Zack said kindly when he noticed she’d opened her eyes. He danced in and out of focus while he spoke into the cell phone tucked into the crook of his neck. “Right. She’s coming around now, but I need an ambulance. We’re at—”
“No, you don’t,” she growled groggily, waving at one of his three faces. She swallowed past the dry lump in her throat. “No ambulance. Give me a break, Lennox. Didn’t your wife ever faint?”
“Yes, when she was one month pregnant, but that’s not why you passed out.”
Oh, for hell’s sake. Not that again. Lacy elbowed herself upright, holding tightly to his wrist for support and to keep her balance. “I’m not pregnant. It’s just been a long week, and I’m tired. Come on. Let’s go get Jake and Jamaal.”
The damned SUV at Zack’s backstop kept moving, only it was going side-to-side, not forward and backward like a vehicle on wheels should. Didn’t matter. A little dizzy spell didn’t equate to a ride in an ambulance. Her heart thudded louder, talking to her in a not so romantic way. She clutched her chest, more determined than ever to get on her feet and to stop the drum inside her ribcage.
“No,” he said firmly, angling his wrist out of her grasp to press her shoulder back into the seat. Pocketing his phone, Zack ran his other hand down her cheek to her neck. “Lie still.”
She closed her eyes and did as he requested. Damn. Her whole body was one giant pulse, and the normally sedate organ in her ribcage felt like the hooves of a hundred racehorses were tap dancing all over it. Maybe Zack wasn’t that hot after all. Maybe he was right.
“Have you felt like this before?” he asked, his eyes intent on the gold watch at his wrist. He was taking her pulse. She stilled and let him.
“Like what? Like I’m, I don’t know, ready to blow apart?”
“Have you had panic attacks before?”
“No, and I’m not having one now.”
“Ever had a heart attack?”
“No,” she gulped. “Well, maybe. I kind of had a heart problem once. That’s the only reason, umm, he let me go.”
“Who let you go, Lacy?”
“Him,” she whispered. “Dr. Death.” The guy who said all those volts of electricity wouldn’t hurt. It will soon be over. It’s for your own good. That guy.
Zack tucked his jacket more firmly around her. “Get comfortable. You’re not going anywhere. I don’t know who Dr. Death is, but your pulse is sky high. Whatever’s going on, you’re not fit for duty right now. I’m calling the game. You’re grounded.”
“No, I’m not, and you’re not… calling anything. I’m going in… and I’m… finding Jake if… it’s the last thing I do.” Damn, it was hard to breathe.
“Lacy. You’re ill. Stay down and let my boss locate him. He’s already on scene, remember?”
“Where’s my… hat, damn it?” she asked when the breeze blew her hair into her face for the last time. She’d had enough. Pushing off the seat, she set both boots to the SUV floor despite the big jock in her way. Lacy squared her shoulders and shot him her best USMC stare down. “Jake doesn’t have all day. Are you coming… with me or not?”
Zack rolled his eyes, but said, “Yes, ma’am, I am,” as he reached one long arm behind her and lifted her winter hat from the back of her seat. He handed it to her and offered a reluctant hand up. Lacy took a deep breath and pushed out of the SUV. She wasn’t sure why she’d passed out, and she didn’t care. Whatever was happening to her heart had something to do with whatever was going on in that building across the street. Jake was in trouble. How could she get comfortable while that was going on?
Zack offered one little nod, closed the door behind her, and hit the remote key lock on his key fob, which she’d just noticed he’d been holding in his right hand all along. Clever guy. He knew she wouldn’t go easy into an ambulance. She did notice his left hand still cupped her elbow though. Good. She didn’t need to face plant now that she was on her feet and moving.
The big guy was carrying. She returned his leather jacket so Zack could conceal the hardware on his hip. Besides, Jake’s jacket was good enough for her. It smelled like him.
“Alex is still inside with the FBI. I’ll radio him and let him know we’re coming in.” Zack’s voice di
d have a baritone dipped in honey kind of tone. She shot him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye while she stuffed her hair back undercover. Was he related to Jake? They looked nothing alike, but Jake had that same mellow timbre to his voice that hinted of inner strength. That hidden strength that he didn’t know he still possessed.
Her heart thudded, stealing her breath. The dizziness swelled up around her once more, a sneaky black shadow that made it hard to keep walking. But she did. Jake needed her help and she meant to get to him.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Again!” Jake ground out. He’d already flipped his body over and faced the rusted slab. By now his face and chest were covered with blood and orange rust, maybe some ice. Oddly, the frosty metal had numbed the memento left by the Cold-hearted Bitch. He couldn’t feel the slice on his torso any more. His slacks were thin protection at best and soaked. His socks too. He’d kicked the dress shoes off because he needed tread and their soles, wet or dry, were too slippery to gain traction on the metal.
Wet socks gripped the pitted surface better, and the slab slanted just enough that he could climb. Inch-by-inch he’d crept upward, and he’d gotten close enough that his fingertips touched the bottom curve of the hook. All he needed was another inch or two, and he’d be home free. The hook was solid enough. One good five-fingered grip, and he could pull himself up high enough to lift the rope over the hook.
Jake had a plan. Once free of that hook, he didn’t mind falling even if he landed in the river. He could run the shore to keep warm. He could survive this war. Poindexter wasn’t any different than any of the other assholes roaming the world for power and fortune.
But like the last hundred times, his feet slipped just when his fingers grazed the frozen hook.
“No, no, no!” he growled, willing his hands and fingers, his knuckles and joints, to stretch enough to make up the difference. He just needed an inch! “Shit!”
Jake (In the Company of Snipers Book 16) Page 18
