by Cate Beauman
“Bullshit,” Shane fired back.
A week ago he never would’ve believed it either. “It’s the truth, man. I wish to hell it wasn’t.” He picked up his pace, as the dark green awning came into view. “I’m trying to figure out if you are too.”
“Fuck you. Are you on something, Quinn?”
“Look, Adam e-mailed me Saturday night telling me Task Force was running surveillance on Dimitri. They had him pinned to two possible locations. He found out I was having some trouble and encouraged me to bring Abby to New York. He assured me we could hang low here and you guys would give me a hand. We come and you tell me the team hasn’t had anything on Dubov in months. I check with my boss. Turns out you’re right.”
“There’s gotta be some—”
“Six months,” Jerrod interrupted, not wanting to listen to Shane defend Adam. “Six months in Los Angeles and Abby’s fine until some bitch reporter messes it up. Three days in Manhattan and she’s gone.” He slid a hand through his hair, barely able to stand the thought of Abby out there somewhere alone.
“I don’t know what to say, Quinn.”
He pulled open the glass door of the building. “There’s not much to say. I’m here at the apartment.” This right here would tell him whose side Shane was on. If he tipped Adam off that he was in the building, he would have his answer. “If I don’t get her back, I promise he won’t live to see another day.”
“Don’t do anything stupid, Jerrod.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes.” He hung up, stopping next to the elevator, punching the ‘up’ button repeatedly, impatiently waiting. The door finally slid open, and he stepped in, pushing the button for the twelfth floor. He dialed his phone again, pacing away his restlessness during his twelve-story ride.
“Cooke.”
“Did you pick up Abby’s signal again?” He kept hoping there had been a momentary glitch.
“No.”
He rubbed at the back of his neck. “What about the police? Do they have anything?”
“Not yet. They’ve issued a city-wide BOLO.”
He fisted his hand, tempted to punch his helpless frustration away, which would solve absolutely nothing. “Goddamn.” The elevator stopped with a jolt and ding, and the door slid open.
“I just got off the phone with Stone. He’s on the ground. Where do you want him?”
“I’ll let you know in about five minutes.” He stopped in front of apartment 12-3. “I’ll call you right back.” He hung up and pulled his gun from his holster, settling it in the back of his jeans as another wave of adrenaline surged through his veins. This was it. Abby would live or die based on what Adam had to say. Adam was going to spill one way or another. He desperately wanted to pound on the door, but instead he knocked three times.
Adam opened the door dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt for a day at headquarters, his eyes widening a fraction before he smoothed himself out and smiled. “Hey, Qui—”
Jerrod rushed him with a hand to Adam’s throat. He let his rage flow free as he slammed him against the wall, pulling Adam’s gun from the holster at his hip, pressing the weapon under Adam’s chin. “Where are they taking her?”
“What the fuck are you doing?” Adam’s breathing quickened as he stared at Jerrod. “I—”
“Where?” He jammed the barrel up harder.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sweat beaded along his forehead as his eyes darted about. Adam had never been a good liar.
“They have her, goddamn it.” He rapped Adam’s head back, growing angrier by the second. “You fucker, they have her.”
“Jerrod—”
Shaking his head, Jerrod held his gaze, planting his heel down on Adam’s bare foot.
Adam hollered in pain. “Goddamn. You just broke my fucking toes.”
Jerrod smacked Adam’s head against the wall for the second time. “You’re lucky it wasn’t a bullet.”
“I don’t—”
He brought, his elbow up into his ‘friend’s’ nose. “Wrong fucking answer.”
“Son of a bitch,” Adam groaned, pressing a hand to his nostrils as blood poured. “I don’t know where they took her. I don’t.”
The front door burst open. Jerrod pointed the gun at Shane as he pressed his arm into Adam’s windpipe.
Shane stared, his eyes huge. “Quinn, have you lost your mind?”
“Drop your gun and kick it over here.” He pressed harder on Adam’s throat, making him gasp and choke for each breath. “Now!”
The gun fell with a clatter. Shane kicked it in Jerrod’s direction.
“Shane—” Adam choked out.
“Shut up,” he said to Adam as he looked at Shane. “Come sit down where I can see you. Adam’s about to tell us where Abby is.” He loosened the pressure on Adam’s windpipe.
He coughed violently. “I don’t know.”
Jerrod plowed his fist into Adam’s stomach, growing more impatient with each denial. “Tell me now, you fucker!” He yanked him up, shouting in his face. “Next it’ll be your balls!”
“Jerrod.” Shane got to his feet.
“Sit down,” he said through clenched teeth.
Shane sat.
“They’re going to kill her if they haven’t already.” Jerrod shoved Adam to the floor, grabbing him by his sweat-soaked hair, yanking his face up to his.
“They’ll hurt Samantha.” Tears raced down Adam’s cheeks.
“You son of a bitch.” Shane rushed to his feet. “You fucking son of a bitch.”
Adam shook his head. “I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t.” Adam’s eyes pleaded with Jerrod’s. “I got in some trouble. I was supposed to help them elude capture; that’s it. This wasn’t supposed to have gotten so out of hand.”
He didn’t care about the whys. He just wanted Abby back. “Where is she, Adam?”
“They said something about a warehouse or an abandoned building.” He wiped at his eyes.
“Be more specific.”
“In Harlem.”
He grit his teeth. “It’s a big fucking place. East Harlem? West? Central Harlem? Where?”
“They said something about the abandoned row houses on 140th where they had the riots a few months back. They also said something about an empty warehouse on 142nd by the river. They don’t tell me much. They just threaten. God.” Tears poured again. “I didn’t want to do this, man.”
Jerrod shook his head. “But you did.”
“For Sam. She’s going to have the baby.”
“Innocent people have died because of you. The Stowers girl is dead because you’re an asshole.”
“I got in over my head at the tables. There were some guys that were going to do me in.”
“I guess it sucks to be you.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
Jerrod seared him with a disgusted look.
“Roll him over,” Shane said as he pulled out a pair of cuffs.
“You don’t have to cuff me.”
Ignoring him, Jerrod tossed Adam over to his chest and slid the cuffs in place. “How did they find us today? Is someone following me?”
“No. Surveillance. They traced the cabs using the cameras around the city. It took them all night…”
“They definitely had to work harder than just coming here for a quick pick up.” He’d heard enough. He took the piece of duct tape Shane tore from the roll and slapped it over his mouth harder than he needed to.
“Get his legs, Quinn.” Shane gave him the roll.
He wrapped his legs at the ankles. Adam wouldn’t be going anywhere or saying anything any time soon.
“She better be there, Adam,” Shane warned. “If she’s not they’ll never find you.”
Adam mumbled, nodding his head.
Jerrod stood, shoving Adam’s gun in his own holster.
“Here, man.” Shane handed him a damp towel and two Tylenol. “Wipe your face. That’s one hell of a gash.”
He impatiently swiped at t
he throbbing along his temple and tossed the towel down, dry-swallowing the pills. “Let’s go.”
They hurried out the door leaving Adam where he lay. “I’ll take the warehouse,” Jerrod said as he hustled to the elevator.
“I’ll give the row houses a look.”
He nodded, looking at the man he was relieved to still call his friend. The door dinged, and they stepped inside as he pulled his phone from his pocket. “One of my co-workers is here from LA. He’s waiting for instructions. I don’t want any backup—just you, me, and Stone. I don’t know who the hell to trust anymore. We’re looking for a blue work van if they haven’t moved it already, New York plates, first three numbers 3-5-5, one bullet hole in the right corner of the bumper.” He dialed Stone’s number.
“MacCabe.”
“Stone, it’s Jerrod. I need you to meet me up in Harlem at the 145th Street subway stop.”
“I’m on my way.” The phone disconnected.
The door slid open, and they booked it two blocks back to the tunnels, hopping the train seconds before the doors closed.
“I’ll get off at 135th Street and grab a cab.”
“Sounds good.”
“I’m sorry, Quinn.” Shane huffed with a shake of his head. “I had no idea.”
“Neither did I until yesterday. I apologize for questioning you.”
He shrugged. “Can’t blame you. We’re going to find her.”
His heart ached with the possibilities that it was already too late. Abby disappeared almost an hour and a half ago. “I hope to god you’re right.”
“We’ll find her,” he said again.
Eventually the train slowed, and Shane moved toward the exit as they stopped at 135th Street.
“Call as soon as you know. She’s more than my principal.”
“I know, Quinn.” The doors opened and Shane stepped out, hurrying through the crowds as he made his way to the stairs.
Eight excruciating minutes passed before the train finally slowed. Jerrod got off, running up the steps, looking around for Stone’s dark brown hair and tough build. He wasn’t here yet. “Screw it.” He took off, gaining speed, knowing he was mere blocks from where Abby might be. His phone rang as he moved closer to the grouping of old, abandoned buildings. “Quinn,” he said out of breath.
“I’m pulling up to the row houses now,” Shane said. “I don’t see anything. These places are burnt up rubble. There’s no one here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, man. No one’s hiding in the bricks and trash.”
“Then she’s here.” He glanced from one old mill building to the next—three in all, each a mess of broken glass and graffiti. “If Adam was telling the truth.”
“I think he was being straight with us. He knows it’s over.”
“I hope to Christ so.” He needed to hold Abby in his arms again and see those big blue eyes. He shook the thought away, knowing he had to concentrate on finding her, as he ducked among old mattresses and abandoned tractor-trailer beds decorated in gang signs. He inched his way closer to the first building as he assessed his surroundings in the bold daylight. The lack of cover in the winter sun was a major disadvantage. If Abby was here and her captors were keeping watch—which they would be—they would see him before he did them.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“I’ll see you soon.” Jerrod hung up and dialed Stone.
“McCabe.”
“It’s Jerrod. Come to the warehouses by the river on 142nd Street. You can’t miss them.” He moved toward a set of windows, glancing in at the uninhabitable space. The roof had long since caved in. No one was here.
Stone muttered something to the cabbie. “We’re almost over the bridge. I should be there in about five minutes.”
“I’m heading to the second building now. There’s hardly any cover.” He used the gutted Oldsmobile to his advantage, ducking behind the stripped vehicle, keeping his eyes open, straining to hear over the honks and traffic rushing by a block away. He inched his way toward one of the rusty barred windows, glancing in through layers of dust and grime. The place was disgusting but in better shape than the last one. He scanned the area, his heart accelerating as he caught sight of the bumper of the van he’d put a bullet through. “I see the van. She has to be in there somewhere.”
“Wait for me, Quinn, and we’ll get her.”
He wanted to storm into the dingy space now and take Abby away, but he had no idea how many men stood guard or if she was in fact there herself. She had to be. “Hurry.” He hung up as a car pulled around the building. He rushed back among the ancient litter, crouching as the man who’d hit him with the metal pipe opened a massive, garage-sized door. The Lincoln pulled in and the door closed behind them.
Jerrod made his way back to the window, watching as Victor Bobco stepped from the back seat of the vehicle, then Dimitri Dubov, both of the men smiling. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered as his stomach clenched with dread. Abby was definitely here, and she was running out of time.
~~~~
Abby shoved up her sleeves, took another deep breath, and pushed at the filthy oil barrel, grunting with her effort. She’d been trying to move the thing for more minutes than she wanted to count, but it wouldn’t budge. The drum was half full with ash, more than likely from the homeless trying to stay warm, but starting a fire wasn’t on her agenda. Her focus was on escape. If she could just knock the barrel to its side and roll it to the windows, she had a real chance. There had to be a bar or two loose in the decrepit frames, but she couldn’t find out if she couldn’t reach them.
Backing up several feet, she ran forward, pushing at the stubborn metal with no effect. “Damn it.” Her meager height and weight weren’t helping a mostly hopeless situation. She looked at her watch and the frozen hands stuck at nine forty-five, closing her eyes. She’d been here long enough to understand that her transmitting signal was damaged, along with the rest of the jewelry on her wrist. Jerrod wasn’t coming to save her—he would have no idea where to look. She would either find a way out of this situation on her own or die.
She cast an uneasy glance toward the huge rusted door. It was only a matter of time before Dimitri came for her. Shuddering, she turned back and shook her head. Escape—that’s what she needed to focus on. Licking her lips, she got back to it, pushing and shoving until sweat dampened her skin despite the deep chill. “Come on. Come on,” she whispered as she gave the barrel a frustrated kick.
She ran a hand through her hair, trying her best to keep her lips from quivering. Don’t give up on me. Jerrod’s words echoed through her mind as they had each time she’d been ready to sit down and accept her fate, but his steady blue eyes and her desperate desire to see him again gave her the strength to keep trying despite the odds.
“Okay.” She gave her shoulders a shake to loosen them up. “Okay,” she said again, backing up, running forward as she’d tried before, but this time she rammed the metal with the right side of her body, losing her balance as the heavy barrel fell forward with a huge crash. She coughed as ash spewed about the space, covering her clothing in soot. “Yes.” She rushed to her feet, brushing herself off with a renewed sense of hope, and began rolling the huge can toward the wall, stopping to push chunks of concrete and bricks out of her way.
Winded, she swiped her arm over her forehead, continuing on with her mission, smiling as she reached the wall. She grabbed the edge of the metal and pushed up in her attempt to right the barrel she’d fought so hard to topple, her arms trembling with the effort. Finally it moved and she gained leverage, righting the heavy drum, bottom end up. “Ha!”
The door opened behind her, and she whirled.
Luka stepped in. “What are you doing?”
She looked from him to the drum and back. “Uh, I want to start a fire. It’s cold in here.”
“You don’t need a fire.” He smiled, opening the door wider.
Dimitri walked in wearing black slacks and a gray long-sleeve s
hirt that accentuated his muscular frame.
She clutched the edge of the barrel as her legs turned to water, and her heart stuttered with the rush of outright terror.
“Little Bitch,” he clasped his hands together, smiling, the cruel, hateful gleam in his eyes burning bright. “You’re back.” His gaze traveled down her body. “And filthy. But soon you will be dead, so this doesn’t matter.”
Victor and Aleksey walked in, flanking Dimitri’s side.
She swallowed, glancing around at the heavy pieces of concrete, searching for a weapon as her breathing turned ragged. She could throw all the bricks and stone she wanted, but there were five men to stop her. There was no way out.
“Come to me.” Dimitri pointed to the floor in front of his feet.
She stayed where she was, still gripping the barrel, too terrified to move.
“I said come. Now!”
“No,” she shuddered out, still trying to think of a way to save herself.
“She has forgotten how to obey.” He crossed his arms, shaking his head with a mocking tsk. “Victor, bring her to me.”
“Don’t!” Abby bent down, picking up concrete chunks, chucking them and backing up as Victor advanced. “Stay away!” A piece the size of her fist connected with his temple.
“You bitch!” He froze, turning away as blood gushed from his wound.
“Aleksey, grab her,” Dimitri demanded.
Aleksey rushed forward, dodging pieces, grabbing hold of her arm.
“No!” She fought a useless battle, kicking about, twisting desperately as Aleksey carried her to his boss. “No!”
Aleksey kicked the back of her knees, sending her to the floor at Dimitri’s feet.
Dimtri bent down, slapping her across the face. “You will listen!”
Gasping, she fell back from the force and stinging pain, pressing her palm to her throbbing cheek.
“You don’t remember how to behave, so I will help you.” He slapped her again, and she cringed, bracing for the next blow as he raised his hand for the third time. “Next I will use my fist—the way I did with the little mouse.”
