“You should worry about yourself, Lara,” he whispered back.
“You’d let him kill me? Your own father?”
“I’ve covered for him before.”
“How…?” I said, but couldn’t get any more words out, the gag slipped into place and tightened enough to draw tears.
“I’m good with cameras,” he said as the bag slipped over my head.
I started struggling. Probably a little too late, but what the fuck. The chains rattled. My hands damn near got cut off. Blood oozed out of the wounds at my wrists. I made a muffled angry sound behind the gag, accentuated in my ears by the covering of the cloth bag. I sucked in air through my nose and attempted to scream.
None of it worked. I was chained up to a cross and about to become someone’s path to Paradise.
My heart pounded so hard I could feel every single beat. Sweat ran into my eyes and was wiped away by the material of the bag over my head as I continued to doggedly struggle. I was tiring, but I was determined to show my unwillingness to be a part of this.
Nathaniel Marcroft was crazy. Certifiable, murderous, loony bin type crazy. Falkner. Jesus, I couldn’t figure Falkner out. He owned Carole. He did everything in his power to get her back. His revenge against Damon had been methodical. And now he’d used her to trap me and was throwing her away, just like Damon had suspected.
And Kyan? He was as bad as both of them but somehow his deception hurt more. He covered for his father, doctoring that security camera footage. His act was brilliant. I’d believed his surprise when we realised the recording was blurred. He’d just said he was good with cameras. I let a frustrated laugh out behind the gag at that. Of course he was. He owned an electronics company, which he was currently being investigated for by the SFO. Embezzlement or maybe something else. Like his links to the CCTV camera footage around town. In particular, Boardman Lane.
The dots made sense, but I still couldn’t quite connect Kyan to Falkner. But maybe the connection was Nathaniel. Falkner knows he killed Samantha Hayes. Blackmail can be such an insidious thing. No one deserved being the recipient more than the Marcrofts.
I hoped they rotted in Hell.
A humming started up. Deep, resonant, rising to the arches and bouncing back down again. A door opened; I heard the minute creak. The same creak as the main door to the cavern had. Footsteps sounded out. No doubt hooded figures entering the room. I was unrecognisable under the hood. So was Carole. Would Damon still see us? What would they do when he did?
But my father. Surely when the hoods were withdrawn he’d stop this insanity. Seeking control through borderline immoral acts was one thing. Breaking the law by allowing this to continue was something entirely else.
“Welcome!” Nathaniel, the Grand Master, said loudly, making the humming cease and the silence that followed sound echoing. “We have reached the ninth circle of Hell. Here lies the hardest of tests. Here our initiate can prove he is most worthy of acceptance into Paradise. Failure will induce expulsion.” I could just imagine what that was a euphemism for. “Success will allow transcendence. We shall begin now.”
The bag on my head was removed, but the gag left in place. It hadn’t been as long with my eyes blindfolded, so it took only a few seconds to get my vision back. Enough to know the room housed only four hooded figures. Not the entire Irreverent Inferno membership. Not my father at a guess.
One of the hooded figures stepped forward. Then abruptly stopped.
His features were hidden, but I knew it was Damon. His face swung one way and then the next as he looked from me to Carole. Then back again in rapid succession.
“What is this?” he said, pulling his hood down and breaking the rules. His hands shook, his face was blanched of all colour. Dark eyes came to mine and he let out a wretched breath. “Lara?” Another sweep of his head towards his sister. “Jesus, Carole.”
He took a step towards her and stopped, spinning ‘round to look back at me.
Chaos ruled his expression. Utter, mind-numbing confusion.
“Initiate!” Nathaniel Marcroft shouted, the word echoing around the chamber. “Make your choice.”
“What?” Damon exclaimed. “What do you mean, choice? Take them down. Take them down, right now!”
Falkner stepped forward, until he was beside Carole on her cross. His hood swept back as he effected the movement.
“What’s it gonna be, Michaels?” he asked, in a conversational tone. “Will you save your sister or your girlfriend?”
“You!” Damon growled taking another step in Carole’s direction. “Let Carole go!”
“Is that your choice?” Nathaniel asked gleefully. He rubbed his hands together, as though about to receive his most fervent wish.
“What? No!” Damon cried, his hands fisted. “This is ridiculous. Let them down now!”
“Them?” Nathaniel repeated. “Oh, no, Initiate. You only get to choose one to pass this test.”
It all suddenly made sense. If Damon picked me, he’d be betraying Carole. If he picked Carole, he’d be betraying me.
“Get her out of here, Damon,” I said, behind my gag. It was muffled and indistinct. But it made him swing his gaze back towards me.
Nathaniel laughed. “Shall we hear what the lamb has to say? Remove her gag!” he ordered.
It was the last hooded figure who approached. Kyan. I glared at him, willing him to do the right thing and stop this farce. There was no way this wouldn’t end in bloodshed. Their game was over. The dance winding down. I was a police detective. Damon was a HEAT investigator. Either they killed us, or they went down.
Four against one and Damon wouldn’t be armed. I had no idea where my handbag had gone, but I’d been holding my gun when the gas cannister consumed me. My guess, it was back at Greys Ave.
Kyan reached up and untied the gag, pulling strands of my hair while he was at it. I winced, stretched my mouth wide to bring the circulation back, and then rattled my chains making Kyan skip out of the way in fright. It was juvenile, but I smiled.
“What were you saying, Lamb?” Nathaniel asked politely.
I shook my head as I looked at him. Crazy motherfucker. He thought this was real. He thought this was sane.
“I’m placing you under arrest, Nathaniel Marcroft,” I said, hanging on my cross while I was at it. “For the murder of Samantha Hayes. The abduction and consequent assault and maltreatment of a street worker called Eagle. And for hanging me on a fucking cross.”
He started laughing. Falkner wasn’t far behind.
“Oh, there’s more for you too, Weston. Abduction, grievous bodily harm, arson.”
Falkner just shook his head, entirely too amused.
“Enough!” Marcroft senior shouted. I forced myself not to show a reaction to the thunderous echo that ensued. “Choose wisely, Initiate. Because your choice dictates their fate.”
I let a slow breath of air out. It was a trap. No matter what he chose, Damon would pay for it.
“Take her and go, Damon,” I said. “Get your sister out of here.”
He looked at me as though I was mad. I wasn’t the crazy one here. Not by a long shot.
“This is my job,” I said with meaning. “She didn’t sign up for this.”
“And you did?” he asked, his voice rough with some turbulent emotion.
I shrugged. The chain rattled. My wrists screamed for release. A steady beat started up in my fingertips. It hurt like fucking hell.
“She’s a civilian,” I said. “I’m a cop. Get her out of here. Please.”
“Make a choice,” Nathaniel barked.
Damon sucked in a ragged breath of air. His knuckles were white, streaked with the dull red of old grazes. I knew what he was going to do before he did it. I’d asked him to. I shouldn’t have felt such shocking pain in my chest. It was the only thing he could do. Save his sister. Appease the Grand Master.
Pass the ninth circle of Hell so he could demand his Paradise.
He took a step towards Carole. I coul
dn’t keep watching and lowered my face to the floor.
Then he said, “I choose Lara.”
My head shot up. My heart tried to break free of the confines of my ribs.
And then all Hell broke loose in Hell.
Chapter 36
“You can’t solve everything at once. But you can sure as hell solve everything eventually.”
The door burst open and several gas cannisters were thrown in the room.
“Not again,” I managed to say, before I sucked in air and held my breath.
Shouts and demands for “Get on floor! Get on the floor! Hands out where we can see them!” sounded out.
Flashes of light, and the thump of multiple heavy booted feet echoed under the arches. Tasers were fired, the zap and hum of their fifty thousand volts singing through the air. The walls thudded, the floor sounded like it cracked, and in the melee I lost sight of Damon.
I prayed he was on the floor and letting the Armed Offenders Squad do their thing. But all I could hear was what sounded like hand to hand combat. And all I could think was that Damon was in the middle of the world’s most chaotic fist fight.
He’d go after Falkner, knowing the AOS would take care of me. And in the distraction of the Marcrofts resisting arrest and hidden by the God-awful smoke screen shielding the room no one would see them fighting. And I didn’t trust Falkner. I laughed, sucked in gas and shit and then coughed. Of course I didn’t trust Falkner. He blew things up. He played with fire. And he was out for revenge.
“Damon!” I screamed, sucking in more life sapping chemical fumes. He didn’t answer.
But shouts and cries rose above the cacophony, the distinct sound of flesh meeting flesh joined in the fun. Chains rattled. Grunts burst forth. My head spun, the room tipped sideways, but I could tell I was still hanging upright on my handy dandy cross. And then a crash sounded out, that could have been caused by a bomb, and had the entire room scrambling.
Colour began to whirl in front of my eyes, noises sounded warped and twisted as the gas from the cannisters finally reached my nervous system and fucked with it for good measure. Streaks of light flashed by. Bursts of illumination blinded my eyes. Swirls of brain fogging smoke swirled all around me, like some creepy ghost fingers stroking across my bare arms.
Then strangely silence. Just me coughing, my chains rattling, and the plunk of blood hitting stone. I blinked back streams of tears, my eyes stinging like crazy, my vision warped from too much fluid, but I could tell the smoke was finally dissipating and I wasn’t the only one in the room.
Several masked AOS members held down Nathaniel Marcroft and his son. A few were groggily trying to get up off the floor, their masks ripped off and their faces blanched of all colour. I scanned the room for Damon. I searched for Falkner, because where he would be, Damon would be too.
I found Carole’s cross bare. The chains hanging loosely down the wooden beams, her gag and cloth bag hood pooled on the floor.
“Keen,” someone said beside me. “Let me get you down from there.”
“Where’d they go?” I demanded, but I don’t think I made any sense.
“One robed figure escaped in the chaos. Worst fucking AOS rescue I’ve ever seen.”
I turned my head toward the speaker, surprised beyond words to find it was Cawfield.
He looked me in the eye as he released one of my wrists. The pain was excruciating and for a moment Cawfield didn’t even exist.
When I came to I was huddled on the floor and Joe Cawfield was covering my body with his jacket.
My teeth started chattering. So when I spoke, the words were stuttered.
“Wh..where’s D..Damon?”
“Here,” Damon’s voice said from over my shoulder.
“You got her?” Cawfield asked, rising to his full height and staring warily at Damon.
“I’ve always got her, arsehole,” Damon succinctly replied.
“Whatever,” Cawfield said and walked away. I reached up and gripped his jacket, pulling it closer. Unsure why I felt indebted to a man I’d thought a traitor.
Was he? Or was he just the most aggravating, obnoxious, cocky peacock that ever existed and rubbed me entirely up the wrong way?
“Hey,” Damon said sitting himself down on the floor beside me. “You OK?”
“We should get out of here, those gases linger,” I said, not making an attempt to stand. I was sure I wouldn’t be able to.
I kept staring at that empty cross. The one that was opposite mine.
“The AOS guys said it’s harmless. Short acting. We’ll be fine.”
“And the Marcrofts?”
“Under arrest,” Pierce said as he walked into my line of vision. “Good work, by the way. Whatever you said to Kyan has made him sing like a canary. He wants to give his statement to you.”
“Me?” I said, feeling like it was the last thing I wanted to do.
“It’d be a solid arrest on your record, Keen. The sort that makes a sergeant out of a cop.”
The cross beckoned, like Samantha Hayes’ body had once upon a time done.
“Nathaniel killed her,” I said. “All part of walking the path to Paradise and atoning for his sins. But he couldn’t stop atoning. The atonement became a drug.”
“He would have kept going,” Pierce said in agreement. “And I’m guessing his son would have kept covering it up.”
“Fucked in the head,” I offered.
“The SFO has agreed to join forces. Give us what they’ve already got,” Pierce advised.
“Too late,” I said. “If they’d opened up their case sooner we might have seen what Kyan was capable of.”
“Which is?”
“Doctoring security camera footage. Circumventing Police CCTV recordings.”
“Shit,” Pierce said softly.
The cross was a loud siren inside my head.
I swallowed. Tasted blood that should have been on my hands.
“Where’s Carole?” I asked, unable to stop staring at an empty crucifix.
I realised Damon had been very quiet. I forced myself to turn my head and look at his face.
My eyes closed at the pain and guilt on display there. At the torment he was suffering.
“Rhys Kyle Weston,” Inspector Hart’s voice announced, breaking into my own type of agony. “Aka Andrew Falkner. Aka Terrence Watson. Aka Brandon West.”
I moved to stand. You didn’t sit when the Inspector was standing. Not just correct policing etiquette. No one wanted David Hart towering over them.
“Don’t get up on my account, Keen,” he grumbled.
I made it upright, pain and fatigue and utter heartache making it difficult to remain there.
An arm wrapped around my waist, heat washed down my side. I leaned into Damon while I still could.
If Hart was impressed with my fortitude, he didn’t show it. He turned and looked at the empty cross.
“I’m sorry, Michaels,” he said, and it sounded genuine.
“Ultimately, it was her choice,” Damon surprised the fuck out of me by saying.
Is that why he chose me? Because he thought his sister had asked for it?
“He’s brainwashed her,” I said softly. “Just like the Marcrofts brainwashed Eagle and possibly more of the street workers who disappeared. I wouldn’t put it past Weston to have shown them how. He’s an expert mind manipulator. Cunning. Intelligent. At a guess, a high functioning psychopath. She didn’t stand a chance.”
“Exactly,” Hart agreed. “Which is why I’m placing you in charge of finding him and getting her back.”
I blinked at him.
“He’s not done with you either, Michaels,” Hart added. Damon stiffened. “You might have chosen Keen, but this type of criminal doesn’t think like you and me. He’ll be either offended you didn’t try harder and want to punish you. Or he’ll think you’re playing dead, and he’ll strike back before you get the chance. In his mind, you’ll still be a challenge.”
“To his ownership of Car
ole Michaels,” Pierce added.
“He’ll go to ground for now,” Hart continued. “But not for long. We know who he is now. At least we have a name. A face to put to it. I want a complete profile on this nutcase by close of business tomorrow. And I want you, to tell Keen everything you know, or think you don’t know, about your sister. Likes. Hates. Desires. Hang outs. Places she despised. Places she dreamed about. People she trusted. People she didn’t. Everything.”
Damon slowly nodded, a look of resolve entering his tired face. He wasn’t giving up on Carole. He probably never would have, he’d just been shell shocked. Worn down. Blindsided. But Hart was giving him a goal, a focus. Enabling him to find the energy, the drive, to get his sister back.
“This won’t be easy,” Hart said, looking back towards the cross. “She trusts him more than she trusts you now. But this isn’t just about your sister. This is about HEAT and Malcolm Warren and Joe Cawfield. This about fucking with my department and thinking he can get away with it.” His voice was a low growl now. “You’ve got the use of any resource required, Keen. Get this done.”
He started to walk away then stopped.
“All other assignments are on hold,” he added.
“Oh,” I said, not sure how to take that. Cawfield might not have been the CIB traitor I’d thought him to be, but that didn’t mean I’d given up on pinning something on the bastard just the same. I shrugged his jacket closer when it began to slip off.
Then checked the pockets for evidence.
Nada.
“Head home,” Hart ordered. “Interview the Marcrofts together with Pierce tomorrow afternoon. Once that’s a wrap, you’re on the Weston case indefinitely.”
I nodded my head.
Pierce beamed a proud smile. Damon pulled me closer as though he couldn’t get close enough.
“And Michaels?” Hart said, still half turned away, half turned to us.
“Yes, sir,” Damon said in an exemplary show of professional respect.
“You’ve been seconded to CIB. Meet your new partner.” He nodded towards me and then walked away before he could see Damon’s reaction.
“What?” Damon said, but Hart had already gone. “I’ve got a HEAT division to run.”
A Touch Of Heat (H.E.A.T. Book 2) Page 33
