by Tiffany Snow
“Kat, where the hell are you?” Blane answered, his voice anxious.
“I have her,” Frankie said. “I thought you m-m-might want to s-s-say goodbye.”
A pause. “Who is this?” Blane’s voice was like ice.
“The man who’s going to k-kill K-K-Kathleen. Then I’m going to k-kill you and K-Kyle.” he said. “Do you want to listen?”
My terror spiked when Frankie carefully set the phone on the ground before moving closer to me. I couldn't look away from the gun still steady in his grip, and was taken aback when he grabbed my hand.
“No! Stop!” I cried, trying to jerk away. In the next instant, I heard a sickening crack as fierce pain shot through my hand. I screamed. He’d broken my finger. I cradled it to my chest and bit my lip to keep from making any further noise. Tears ran down my cheeks.
“Kathleen! What the fuck are you doing to her?”
“She will pay for what she is,” Frankie said, speaking with utter conviction.
“I am going to hunt you down and kill you,” Blane rasped. His voice reeked of menace and sent a chill down my spine. I’d never heard him sound that way before.
“I'm going to shoot her and let her bleed like my father bled. Then I'm going to burn the hair she's so proud of. Then if she's still screaming, I'll cut her throat.”
Terror shot through me. “No, please,” I managed, my voice strangled. Frankie’s stammer was strangely gone, his demeanor preternaturally calm as he described how he would torture and kill me.
“Any last words, Kat?” Frankie mimicked Blane’s nickname for me. I looked at the gun in his hand, the look on his face, and realized that this was it. I was going to die. I would never see Blane again.
“Can you hear me, Blane?” I called out.
“Yeah, babe, I can hear you.” His voice was gentle now, the sound of it breaking my heart.
“Blane,” I choked out. I took a deep breath before quickly blurting out, “His name's Frankie. He's driving a city cab, about 5’7”, twenty years old, hundred fifty pounds, clean-shaven-”
Frankie slammed the gun against the side of my head, abruptly cutting off my words as pain exploded in my face. I cried out as I fell to the floor.
“Kat!” I could hear Blane through the tinny speaker phone, but I was fighting to stay conscious and couldn’t reply.
“Time’s up,” Frankie interjected.
Before I could even shut my eyes, he fired the gun. I screamed again, as the bullet tore into the flesh of my thigh.
Frankie walked toward me, standing over me. His eyes were completely empty of all emotion. They were the cold, remorseless eyes of a killer.
“I’ll see you soon, Kirk,” Frankie said. He brought his heel down hard on the phone still lying on the floor, shattering the glass.
I clutched the wound in my leg trying to staunch the hot flow of blood, my flesh felt like it was on fire. I’d never felt anything that hurt so badly in my entire life.
Frankie crouched down next to me. I glared at him, hatred in my eyes.
“B-Because of your big mouth, I’m going to have to f-f-find him b-b-before he finds us,” he told me, stammer again intact. “And once I do, I’ll b-be back to f-finish you.”
“He’ll kill you first, you sick fuck,” I hissed. Pursing my lips, I spat at him.
The spittle hit his face and he flinched in surprise, wiping it off before backhanding me again.
“Just for that, I’ll m-m-make him s-s-suffer,” he hissed.
He was gone before I could do more than make a feeble grab for him, the wood door slamming shut with a finality that made me want to scream.
Sweat rolled down my face, even though the room was freezing. I could see the puffs of air as I panted for breath. I knew I had to do something to staunch the bleeding. Reaching up, I ripped at my sleeve, jerking until I heard the shoulder seam tear. Taking the fabric, I wrapped it around the wound in my leg, cinching it tightly. I gritted my teeth at the pain. I had to keep going, had to get out of here. If I didn’t, I knew I would die here in this cement hole. I fought to keep from passing out, but knew I wasn’t succeeding. I slumped over several times, only to jerk awake. I had no idea of how much time had passed since Frankie had left, but it felt like hours.
I looked up at the window. It seemed very far away, at least two feet or more above my head. My eyes fell on the dead man and I had an idea, an awful idea, but I was desperate.
I crawled toward him, turning him over on his back. Dog tags peeked from his shirt and I picked them up. Brian Bowers. It looked like he hadn’t disappeared of his own accord.
“I’m so sorry, Brian,” I said to him, tears choking me. “But I need your help.”
I dragged his stiffened body toward the window, stopping every few feet to retch. The smell was overpowering. Feeling something on my hand, I looked to see that maggots were crawling up my arm.
I shrieked, flinging them off. I collapsed on the floor, the pain in my leg agonizing. Hopelessness and despair rose in me. I couldn’t do it. I was going to die here while Blane might be dying out there.
The thought of Blane had me back up on all fours, grabbing Bowers and resuming my journey. After what seemed an eternity, I reached the wall. I rose, barely able to put any weight on my injured leg. The tourniquet seemed to be helping – the bleeding wasn’t as bad. Or maybe it was the cold that kept the blood moving only sluggishly.
It took all my strength to prop his body against the door. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I had to do. It felt wrong, but I prayed that Brian would have understood.
Using his body as a human ladder, I grappled my way up until I was able to stand on his shoulders. The transom was now at my chest. I grabbed on, struggling to pull myself into the small opening even as Brian’s body shifted beneath me. Making one last monumental effort to heave my body upward even as Brian slid out from beneath me, I lay with half my body through the window, my legs still dangling inside the room.
Spots danced in front of my eyes and I panted for breath, waiting for them to go away. When they did, I looked down at the floor, several feet below me. I knew it was going to hurt like hell, but I pulled myself the rest of the way through and dropped to the floor. The ground met my feet and pain shot through my leg. I collapsed, struggling not to scream at the pain, biting my lip hard enough to draw blood. When I finally caught my breath, I struggled to my feet to look around.
It was some kind of basement, the floor dusty and wooden. To my right, a flight of stairs led upward. Groaning, I limped my way toward them, my fingers scrabbling against the rough wall for support, every moment causing pain to shoot through my leg. The stairs were excruciatingly slow going as I dragged my wounded leg up each step. I prayed the way out would be here because I didn’t have it in me to go much further. Sweat poured from me and blood ran freely down my leg, soaking my jeans. Chills wracked my body.
The stairs opened into a kitchen. It wasn’t kept well, with dirty dishes piled in the sink. My eyes locked on the doorway and I limped toward it. My single-minded focus was getting to the front door.
In the doorway, I had to stop for a moment. My breathing was fast and shallow and I was afraid I was going to hyperventilate, pass out, or both. Clutching the doorframe to stay on my feet, I tried to regain my breathing. A slight noise made me raise my head.
Blane stood not twenty feet away, a gun in his hand. I jerked in surprise to see him and opened my mouth to speak, but stopped when he laid his finger against his lips in the universal signal to stay silent.
I realized that Frankie must still be in the house. Spots danced in front of my eyes and my heart rate spiked in fear. My grip tightened on the door.
Suddenly, someone grabbed me from behind, their arm locked around my neck, and jerked me backwards. My feet skittered on the floor and the pain shooting through my leg made me cry out.
The cold metal of a gun pressed against my temple made my breath freeze in my chest.
“Kirk,” Frankie s
narled. “Did you c-come looking for your whore?”
Blane didn’t say a word, his gun trained steadily on us. His face was a cold, hard mask.
“I’ll k-k-kill her first,” Frankie said, “then I’ll kill you.”
“You can’t get both of us,” Blane said, his voice deadly calm. “You shoot her, I kill you.”
Frankie laughed. “S-s-stalemate.”
“I’ll put down my gun-” Blane began.
“No-” I said, before Frankie jerked his arm back hard against my windpipe, choking off my words.
Blane’s steely eyes followed the movement of Frankie’s arm before he continued, as though I hadn’t spoken. “I’ll put down my gun, and you let her go. I’m the one who’s going to get Kyle off. Remember, he’s the man who shot your dad. I’m the one you want.”
I pulled at Frankie’s arm, my nails digging into his skin, and he jerked again on my neck. My eyes were frantically trying to meet Blane’s, but he carefully avoided my gaze.
“Do we have a deal?” Blane asked.
Frankie nodded. “P-put down your gun, K-K-Kirk.”
I watched in dismay as Blane slowly complied, his eyes locked on Frankie and the gun held to my head. I could hardly breathe, unable to believe that Blane was about to be shot right in front of me, and I was powerless to stop it.
The instant Blane stood after laying the gun on the floor, Frankie whipped his hand around to point it at Blane. He fired.
“No!” I screamed, watching in horror as the shot hit Blane in the chest, knocking him backward to the floor. My knees collapsed and I fell to the ground, Frankie releasing me as I dropped.
A second gunshot sounded, then another in quick succession. My head swung up to look at Frankie behind me. He still had an expression of surprise on his face, even as red blossomed on his chest. His knees gave out and he collapsed on the floor, dead.
Behind him I could now see what had been hidden.
Kade.
He must have come in a back entrance while Blane had come in the front. Kade hurried to me, quickly holstering his gun.
I was trying to get back up on all fours to crawl to where Blane lay motionless, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. I gave up and started pulling myself forward on my arms.
“Hey, take it easy,” Kade said, falling to his knees. He pulled me back and gently cradled my head and shoulders in his arms.
“Blane-” I choked.
“Shh. Don’t try to talk,” he said. His hand cupped my cheek.
“But Blane-” I couldn’t understand why he was just letting Blane lie on the floor.
“I’m fine, Kat. I’m right here.”
I jerked my head and was stunned to see Blane crouching down next to me.
Speechless, my mind sluggishly tried to comprehend seeing Blane, alive and unhurt, next to me.
Blane turned to Kade. “Call 911,” he ordered.
“I’m on it,” Kade replied, handing me carefully to Blane before moving down the hall.
“Blane, how did...”
“I had a vest on, Kat,” he explained. He probed my arms and legs, looking for other injuries.
I started to cry. I couldn’t help it. I’d thought for sure he was dead.
“You’re going to be okay, Kat,” Blane said softly, his fingers combing through my tangled hair. “You’re strong, Kat. Stronger than you realize.”
“Why would you do that?” I rasped. “He could have killed you.”
Blane regarded me seriously, his finger brushing the skin of my cheek as he replied, “That was a chance I was willing to take.”
I wanted to say something, tell him how much I loved him. The close call we'd both had making my fears and insecurities seem so trivial, but the words died on my lips as dark oblivion overtook me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When next I opened my eyes, it was dark. Afraid it had all been a dream, that I was still trapped in the cold cellar with Brian Bowers’ dead body, I struggled to sit up.
“Take it easy. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
A hand rested on my shoulder and I realized Kade was standing next to me. I collapsed in relief back onto the bed.
“Where am I?” My throat was dry and hurt, my voice came out barely above a whisper.
“Indiana University Hospital,” he replied.
I processed this. “Hate hospitals,” I rasped.
“That’s what Blane said. But you needed to come here. They had to remove the bullet from your leg and you’d lost a lot of blood.”
“Thirsty.”
Kade grabbed a cup from a nearby table. Placing an arm behind my shoulders, he helped me sit up, holding the cup to my lips so I could take a drink. The water was the best thing I had ever tasted and I drank deeply.
“Thank you,” I said, once I’d had my fill.
“No problem,” Kade said, easing my head back down into the pillow.
“How’d you find me?” I could still remember how stunned I’d been to see Blane.
“I put a tracking device inside your cell phone after the first time you disappeared on me,” Kade answered. “I wasn’t about to lose you again.” He paused. “Though it seems I nearly did.”
I recalled how he’d been sitting at my kitchen table that morning and had gone through my purse, finding the names and addresses I’d written down. That must have been when he’d planted the tracker. Not that I was complaining. If he hadn’t done that, I might still be in that house – only dead.
“What time is it?”
“Around five a.m.” Kade answered. “You were missing for over six hours. We would have gotten there sooner, but the asshole must have turned the phone off. It stopped sending a signal. All we had to go on was about a square block radius.”
Something Blane had said to Frankie came back to me. “How’d Blane know about Frankie’s dad?”
“He was with me when Frankie called. I heard what you said, the description you gave. That was enough for me to track him down. Frankie was Franklin Randall Wyster. Son of James Walter Wyster, a.k.a., Ahmed el Mustaqeem.”
It seemed like ages ago since Clarice had told me the name of the man killed in Iraq – Ahmed el Mustqueem.
“Frankie and his dad allegedly committed an honor killing a couple years ago,” Kade continued. “The victim was his daughter, Christine Wyster. She was fifteen at the time. They were never prosecuted.”
I shuddered, horrified at the thought of what the poor girl must have endured at the hands of people who were supposed to love and protect her. “I thought Ryan was the one who killed those people,” I said, “but really it was Frankie.”
“Frankie may have killed them,” Kade said, “but Ryan was the one threatening them into changing their testimony. I don’t know who he was working for, but I’m going to find out.”
I took internal stock of my body. I didn’t have a lot of pain, but felt...strange. My brain felt sluggish and slow and it was difficult to concentrate.
“Why do I feel funny?” I asked.
“Painkillers,” was his curt reply.
That explained why my leg didn’t hurt. Thank God for modern medicine, but it was making my mind sluggish, almost like I was drunk. My eyes wanted to stay shut when I blinked, but I struggled to stay awake. “Knew you’d find me,” I slurred.
“Six hours was a long fucking time, princess,” he muttered. Kade’s hand closed around mine, the gentleness of his grasp belying the harshness of his tone.
The familiar nickname brought a smile to my lips although I couldn’t pry my eyes open.
It was a moment before Kade spoke again. “Go to sleep, Kathleen,” he said, his other hand smoothing over my head. “You need your rest.”
His hand slipping out of mine made my eyes fly open.
“Don’t leave,” I protested, reaching for him.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured me, and the feel of his hand in mine made my body relax back into the mattress.
Then sweet oblivion took me
again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Are you sure you don’t want a wheelchair?” The nurse was quite persistent.
“No,” I said, adamant. “I can use the crutches just fine.” The last thing I wanted was to be wheeled out like some invalid.
“I’ll help her,” Blane said reassuringly to the nurse, who gave him a nod before leaving. I “harumphed” in exasperation.
“Can we go now?” I asked, pleading, desperate to leave the hated confines of the hospital. This was the second day I’d had to endure it and I’d reached my limit.
“Absolutely,” he said, grabbing my purse and handing me my crutches. I eased them under my armpits and took a tentative step. I could handle it okay. We started making our way cautiously down the hallway.
“Thanks for being here,” I said, swinging the crutches forward. It was slow going.
Blane had been by my side nearly the entire time at the hospital, leaving only to meet with the police, Judge Reynolds and the prosecution. I'd been relieved when he'd told me that, given what had happened with Ryan and Frankie, Judge Reynolds had dismissed the case. Blane had seen Kyle off at the airport mere hours ago.
“Of course,” Blane said evenly. “Happy to help.”
It was awkward between us. He’d put his life on the line for me, would have died if Frankie had aimed for his head instead of his chest, and I wanted to know why. Was it just Blane being Blane, the military man? Or did he do it because he felt something deeper for me?
Blane helped me into his car and I leaned back into the leather seat with a sigh. Crutches were hard work and my broken finger didn’t make things any easier.
The doctor had told me they’d done a blood test when Blane had brought me in to see if I was pregnant or not. The test had turned up negative. I hadn’t yet told Blane. The words stuck in my throat as he got in the driver’s seat and started the car. I made myself speak.
“I’m not pregnant,” I blurted.
Blane glanced at me as he shifted the car into gear. “Okay.”
“I...I just thought you should know,” I said, my voice faltering. “Sorry for the scare.”
